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reidrum · 30 days ago

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so high school | s.r.

A/N: oooh first reidrumversary post pls be nice. requested here.

summary: in which professor reid finds his sabbatical to be not so bad if you're around

cw: fluff, not proofread

wc: 1.2k

When Spencer started his sabbatical, it was entirely against his will. Being recently released from his incarceration, he wanted nothing more than to immerse himself into work and all the open cases the BAU had to work on. The last thing he wanted was to have more free time to spend alone with his thoughts, because the brass thought him too risky to reinstate him full time in the field.

He supposes he should feel lucky they even allowed him back at all, what he went through is certainly uncommon for any special agent and it should stand as a testament if they still valued his presence enough to give him such a chance again.

Lucky, he finds, actually walks through the door as he’s gathering the last of his papers from his desk.

“Hi Dr. Reid!” you sing as you traverse down the stairs to the front of the hall, “How are you doing today?”

The first few weeks of his teaching gig were an adjustment period. Still grappling with the complex emotions of being released, Mr. Scratch, and the brass’ claim to protecting him by giving him monthly periods away from the field, he felt as though he was relearning how to live. So much autonomy had been taken away from him in such a short period of time, it’s all he can do for now with small attempts to take it back.

“I’m alright, Professor.” he grins, hoping you can’t read the simultaneous look of joy and relief now that you’ve finally graced himself with your presence.

You brush a hand off in the air, “So formal, I told you not to call me that.”

“And I thought I told you that you could call me Spencer, so I guess we’re both bad listeners,” he jokes. He jokes, Spencer Reid is making jokes. In the hopes of making you laugh. Groundbreaking.

“Oh come on, with all the fancy degrees you have it feels disrespectful to not call you that.”

I’d let you disrespect me anytime, anywhere, he wants to say. He doesn’t.

You’re wearing a pantsuit set that accentuates your figure so beautifully he’s envious of its proximity to you, makeup done so effortlessly and hair pinned up in what you would call a haphazard but he defines as ethereal with the ways a few pieces frame your face like a halo. You’re beautiful, and it’s certainly not news to him.

“I think I see you far too much for you to not call me Spencer,” he chuckles.

You fake a pained expression, “Getting sick of me already?”

Never. That string of words simply does not exist in his lexicon.

“As long as you’re not sick of me,” he smiles and closes his satchel, “so what’s on your lesson plan for today?”

“Social and economic influences on Gothic art and architecture! Should be riveting.”

“That does sound really interesting, did you know Gothic literature often describes the exploration of taboo subjects like the occult and how it in turn challenges societal norms?”

You smile, corners crinkling with glee, “Actually I did, it’s the assigned reading for today.”

Spencer blushes, of course you know that you teach the damn subject. “R—Right, sorry.”

“No, no! Please, it’s always nice to talk to someone who actually cares about art history beyond a letter grade. Doesn’t happen much around here, not since you came.”

“Really?” He really finds that hard to believe, the few times he’s sat in on your classes you’ve proven to him why you hold the tenured position in your department.

“Not all of us teach super cool things like criminal profiling, Spencer.” you giggle.

“I think the badge excites them more than the actual content, but I appreciate the effort.”

He’ll admit he maybe doesn't care all that much about art history, but he does love paradoxical problems. The paradox being you, talking about the greatest artists of history, their mark left on the world through their everlasting paint strokes and artistry as if you’re not the most beautifully sculpted piece of artwork he’s ever been able to lay eyes on.

Maybe he does love art history.

“Oh that’s not the word on the streets about you, Professor Reid.” you move around the desk to stand next to him and unload your belongings.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, “What’s the word about me?”

“I just think you should ask how many people are auditing your class next time, and see who raises their hand.” you say teasingly.

“Audit?” he mumbles, “why would anyone audit this class?”

“Something about more than just the badge and content seems to excite your students, or so they say.”

Oh. Oh. If he wasn’t blushing, he definitely is now. “You’re not saying that people take my class because they think I’m…” he trails.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, it’s a well known fact of the hallways Dr. Reid.” you grin, “all those degrees and you couldn’t figure that out?”

He stammers, “Well—I…I didn’t want to assume…”

You bump shoulders playfully, “Well, you better start believing it. You’re a hot commodity. If I could find a way to get my kids as involved as yours, I would.”

There’s no way he’d start believing it, not because he didn’t find it to be true, but because his mind is already preoccupied with much, much, more important things. Like working up the courage to ask you the question he’s been working on since the day he met you.

“Maybe you could take them on a field trip?”

“I don’t think the budget covers that and we wouldn’t even have time to go during the school year. I wish, I’ve been wanting to go to the Washington National Cathedral for so long, I just never can find the time.” you sigh.

He clears his throat, “Well, you don’t work weekends right?”

“No,” you laugh, “Why, do you?”

He shakes his head, “No, but maybe we could go? Like our own little field trip?”

You gasp in excitement, “Really? You’d go with me?”

I’d go anywhere with you, just say the word, he thinks.

Spencer matches your big smile, your happiness doing more wonders for him than any mandated therapy has ever done.

“Of course, it’s a…date?” he questions, more himself than at you.

Your smile goes all saccharine and easy, “Sounds like it, Dr. Reid.”

He’s too distracted by you to even correct you on his name. He gives your arm a quick squeeze and a soft smile before rounding the desk and walking up to the top of the lecture hall. Spencer gets halfway before stopping in his place and turning around.

“I—Is that the only word on the street?” he asks, referring to your earlier words. He hopes he used it right and doesn’t look like an idiot.

“What is?”

“That students audit my class because they think I’m…” he falters.

“That you’re cute?” you smirk.

He breathes out, “Yeah, just wondering if there might be…anyone else? That might also think that?”

You hum, “Well Spencer, I guess you’ll find out Saturday won’t you?”

“I guess I will.” he says bashfully.

#reidrumversary #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x gn!reader

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pathologicalreid · 1 year ago

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Hello, love your writing, can i request a oneshot for spencer Reid x wife!reader with the plot of the movie taken where she goes on a business trip or something and she gets taken and the team have to work against the clock to get her back. Had this idea for so long and thought you would be perfect to write it. Perfectly fine if you dont but im craving this story.

leave a message after the beep | S.R.

When you go missing under suspicious circumstances on a business trip, the BAU goes to Texas - and ends up in the middle of something bigger than anticipated.

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: kidnapping, blood, guns, reader almost kills someone, hospitals, the securities and exchange commission, typical cm violence, texas, takes place maybe circa season 7 word count: 4.03k a/n: okay anon so like yes i can write this but also i've never seen the movie taken so really i took your request and made it my own! i hope you like it either way!

Tuesday, 2:17 p.m.

“Hey, Spence, it’s me. Shame I got your voicemail, but I just landed at Dallas Fort Worth and I’m waiting for my ride to take me to meet the regional officers. Not sure if you’re traveling, but uh, call me when you get this, I guess. Or when you can. Hopefully, this trip goes better than I think it’s going to… oh, I think my ride is here.”

Tuesday, 6:42 p.m.

“Hey babe, so, the first meeting went fine, they don’t seem very receptive, but people generally aren’t when I’m sent in to change their methods. Wish you’d pick up your phone. Anyway, I’m on my way to the hotel now, I’ll probably try you again before I go to bed. I know my updates are probably riveting.”

Tuesday, 8:09 p.m.

“Well, I’ve definitely stayed in nicer hotels than this one, but I guess I can’t complain about being put up for free. I’m probably just biased because the a/c unit is busted – oh, my room number is 316, I know you like to have it. I opened the windows to let air in but it’s so dry here that I’m not sure it’s helping any. I’ll shut them before I go to sleep, so don’t worry about that. Call me back, I miss you, don’t worry about waking me up. I think that’s all I’ve got, goodnight, I love you!”

There was a collective sigh in the roundtable room, five agents around the room all looked nervously at each other. No one wanted to be the first person to speak. No one wanted to be the first to propose a theory. “Where’s Spencer?” Emily asked, looking through the voicemail transcripts that were splayed out in front of her.

“In Hotch’s office, they’re talking,” Rossi said, eyeing the photo of you that was being projected up on the screen. Most of the time, Penelope just used driver’s license or passport photos in files, but for you, she had chosen a photo from the last BAU O’Keefe’s outing. Your skin was flushed and there was an odd shadow being cast on your face, but your smile was unmistakable.

The official files would have your driver’s license photo, but that picture was for the BAU. Seemingly unable to peel her eyes off of the screen, JJ asked the question that everyone was sitting on, “We’re on this case, right?”

It felt ridiculous, one of their own had gone missing in the middle of the night and they weren’t even sure if they had the jurisdiction to look into it. When no one answered, Morgan looked around the room, “The brass isn’t seriously going to try to tell us not to investigate.”

“No, they’re not,” Hotch said, suit jacket unbuttoned and fluttering behind him as he walked into the roundtable room with purpose. “We’ll debrief more on the plane, JJ and Garcia will stay here, the rest of us are headed to Dallas,” he instructed, nodding at everyone before turning around and walking out the door, the rest of the team following like ducks in a row.

On the jet, the traveling members of the team watched as Rossi held a cup of coffee out for Spencer to take, but the team's youngest member took a moment to even recognize that it was there, “Oh,” he mumbled, “thank you.” Blinking a haze from his eyes, he took the cup in his shaky hands.

A familiar concern flowed among Spencer’s teammates, they all watched as he twisted his wedding ring around his finger – a nervous habit that usually presented itself when he missed you. “Y/N’s boss is en route to Quantico to talk with JJ, the flight’s about three hours, we should get started,” Hotch was the one to speak up, herding the sheep in the correct direction while everything felt aimless.

With his legs tucked beneath himself, Spencer watched the team as they bounced back and forth in a discussion on what you were doing in Dallas and Penelope scoured through your recent communication.

“According to the voicemails and the hotel records, her room was on the third floor,” Emily spoke up, flipping through the file in front of her. “Do we have crime scene photos from the hotel room yet?”

On the video screen, Penelope shook her head, “CSI is still processing the scene, I have an inquiry in with them to send the photos as soon as they can.”

Checking his watch, Hotch looked over at Spencer, still sequestered on one side of the jet, “Make sure they keep the scene undisturbed for when we arrive. Dave and Morgan will meet with the sheriff at the hotel, and the rest of us will head to the precinct to set up.”

If Spencer wanted to be the one to investigate the crime scene, he didn’t protest his assignment, he just continued to spin that gold band on his finger. He didn’t notice the glances exchanged between the rest of his team; he could only think of you.

With the involvement of the BAU, the team had been redirected to the Dallas Field Office. “There was a hole torn in the window screen, the crime scene techs think that’s how they got inside,” Morgan announced to the team, they were all gathering in the conference room.

“On the third floor?” JJ questioned over video chat, she and Penelope sat right next to each other on the screen.

Rossi nodded, “We must be looking at a team. At least two, likely three UnSub’s in order to pull something like this off. They cut the camera feed and broke into the hotel room where she was staying – this was premeditated.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce that being taken from the third floor of a hotel meant that you had been a target, but the evidence of a break-in settled like a boulder on Spencer’s chest. Someone had intended to take you. Someone had intended on grabbing you from your hotel room in the middle of the night – and they had succeeded.

“Is there any chance she forgot to close the windows when she went to sleep last night?” Emily looked over at Spencer, dark brows raised quizzically as she leaned over the table, skimming through the voicemail transcripts again.

Clenching his jaw, Spencer shook his head, recalling your promise to close the windows before the end of the night. “No, she’d never forget. She knows I worry,” although, after this, you’d never be able to chide him for worrying too much ever again. Sharing a knowing look with the brunette before him, “So, she’s been missing since last night, not this morning.”

The initial assumption had been that you’d disappeared at some point early in the morning, maybe on your way to your first meeting of the day, no one was entirely sure, but this confirmed that you had been missing for at least eight hours more than the first estimate.

A knock on the door garnered the attention of the team, each of them turning to see a field agent, “Uh, Ezra Buchmann is here to speak with you, he said he got a call from your tech girl.”

Hotch nodded succinctly, “That’s the co-worker who reported the case. Morgan, go see if he needs anything. Dave, let’s go check out the office building that Y/N had been working at.”

“Do you think she might’ve been caught up in something at work?” Spencer asked, following his team members with his eyes as they left the conference room.

The unit chief didn’t provide a forward answer, “I’d like to start checking off some possibilities. It’s been fourteen hours with no firm leads.” It wasn’t as optimistic as anyone had hoped, but Hotch shared a look with Emily before leaving the room.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Spencer turned to the evidence board, looking at the pictures of your hotel room, the water splashed around the rim of the bathroom sink, your phone charging on the bedside table, your wedding ring resting on the counter, and if he separated himself from the missing posters, he could almost convince himself that they were just random pictures. Almost.

Frowning at the blown-up images of partial fingerprints and a random CCTV shot from across the street, he recalled your voicemails. “I wasn’t busy,” he confessed to Emily. “When she called me, I wasn’t busy. I was doing other things, but I wasn’t too busy to answer the phone. I assumed that I’d have the chance to talk to her today,” he said, slightly leaning over the oak table, resting his fingerprints on the varnished surface in an attempt to keep himself standing.

Pursing her lips, Emily took a member for responding, “That’s not an outrageous assumption to make,” she tried to reason with a miserable man. “You’d never think something like this would happen.”

“Until it does,” Spencer continued. “We see it happen to people all the time, we’ve made a life of it, but I never thought it would happen to me. To her,” he maundered. If he had a dollar for every time he had heard the same sentiment from victim’s families, he’d never have to work another day in his life. “I did call her back when I got home last night,” he added, though, he wasn’t entirely sure who he was trying to reassure.

In an effort to comfort him, Emily reached out and patted his arm, “We will find her, Spencer.”

Dead or alive? He wanted to retort, but he bit his tongue, holding it in.

As a favor to him, in the hopes of providing him with some emotional respite, Emily had haggled with the field agent whose name was last on the chain of custody of your belongings. It wasn’t entirely proper for evidence to be released to family, but she offered to put her name on it in the interim.

She stayed with Spencer in the conference room, letting him keep your things nearby as she spoke with JJ and went through the information that had been acquired back at Quantico. The team now had your performance reviews at work and, according to JJ, your boss couldn’t say enough good things about you. While it was nice to hear, it didn’t bring them any closer to finding where you were.

Tracing the woodgrain of the table with his fingertips, Spencer eventually tuned the phone call out, instead wondering at what point he was obligated to call your parents. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice your phone was ringing in the evidence bag before him until Prentiss tapped him on the shoulder.

It was an unknown number, but that was a barrier easily blocked by Garcia with a quick search. The rest of the team watched as she blanched on the screen, “Uh, you might want to answer that.”

“Garcia, who is it?” Hotch asked, a hardened look on his face as he looked from the screen to the buzzing cellphone.

JJ frowned at Penelope’s monitor as if she couldn’t believe what she was reading, “It’s the SEC,” she responded.

Swiftly, Hotch answered the phone call, turning on speakerphone so the rest of the team could hear, “Hello.”

“Hello, may I speak with Mrs. Reid?” A male voice came through the receiver, everyone sharing the same wary look.

Focused on the phone call, Hotch shook his head, “This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, you can speak with me.” He said, elaborating on the situation and rendering the SEC investigator speechless.

Unable to listen to the conversation any longer, Spencer got up, minding his movements as he walked out of the conference room. He checked the map of the building that was posted on the wall before walking up the stairs, making his way up to the roof of the building.

The dry heat of Dallas was about as miserable as everyone made it out to be, but it was hard to ignore the way it reminded him of home. Maybe he could call his mom – speaking with her usually brought him some semblance of peace. Though, she might have a negative reaction to the situation he found himself in. On the hot rubber roofing, he kicked around piles of dirt before leaning against the ledge of the building, craning his head back and closing his eyes when he heard the rooftop door open.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for any sort of discussion right now,” he complained, neglecting to spare a glance at whoever was disturbing his quiet – not exactly an Eden, but quiet.

He recognized Emily by the sound her boots made, even on the rubber that had been softened by the relentless sun, “I’d be more surprised if you were in the mood to talk.”

Impulsively, he rolled his eyes, “Did Hotch put you in charge of me?” He was glad his eyes were still shut, that way he couldn’t see the look on Emily’s face when he sniped at her.

“No,” she responded, gathering his attention as he brought his head down, squinting in the sunlight. “I thought you might want to know what just happened,” she nearly challenged, dark hair gleaming in the daylight.

Mentally kicking himself, he nodded for a moment, “You’re right, I just… I’m sorry.”

Taking a moment, Prentiss walked over, standing next to him, “I know.” She sighed, turning around and taking inventory of the surrounding buildings, “She was sent out here to look at some shady dealings of the company – insider trading, that kind of stuff. The main branch has an investigation open with the SEC, and they have been for the last few months. She was supposed to meet with that Ezra guy this morning to try and work something out. Hotch is talking to the CEO right now, he’s claiming he couldn’t tell JJ because it’s need-to-know,” Emily explained, focusing her eyes on the highway in the distance. “The SEC has an office in Fort Worth, they’re sending some people, and they faxed over all of the files.”

Setting his jaw, Spencer was the first to move to the stairs, the air conditioning providing an instant relief as he strode down the steps with Emily trailing close behind.

A field agent was standing in the middle of the office, stirring a cup of coffee, “Would someone really kidnap a woman over an SEC investigation?”

“We’ve seen much worse for much less,” Spencer mentioned in passing, swerving through the office of people until he made it back to the conference room. “Why would Y/N’s boss send her to investigate something that had already been brought to the SEC?” He posed the question to the rest of the team, taking one of the files that Morgan handed him and reading through the pages.

Rossi shrugged, nodding his head in the direction of the evidence board, “He wanted it handled quietly,” he posited. “Maybe he thought she could negotiate a solution and they could call off the securities investigation.”

Understanding where Spencer was going with his question, Hotch watched the board as if it was all coming together, “But, Y/N had no idea there was an open investigation. This was just another assignment to her.”

You had basically said as much in your voicemails, you went in, and you cleaned up fires across the country, and now you were caught in a blaze. “It was a setup,” Spencer concluded.

“And I know just who you need to talk to,” Garcia said over the phone, typing on her keyboard, “Check your phones.”

Ezra’s assistant folded immediately under the threat of being charged with interfering with a federal investigation. She had no knowledge of what her boss was up to, but she did know where the BAU could find him.

On the edge of the city, your company held an old office building that was slated for demolition. With the information from the assistant and some actions of questionable legality from Garcia, the team was able to nail down Ezra’s location and, hopefully, yours.

Letting SWAT lead the way, Spencer, Emily, and Morgan all made their way up yet another flight of stairs, hoping to be able to find you on the third floor. The SWAT commander signaled with his fingers to direct everyone in their respective directions.

There was a clang from across the floor and everyone froze in place, “Fuck you!” Your voice rang out, reverberating through the mostly empty office space. The yelp that followed would have sent Spencer clambering in your direction if it weren’t for Morgan grabbing his arm in warning. “I didn’t know,” you spoke again, your tone less obstinate as the misery you felt crept in.

Drawing their weapons, the team clung to the wall as SWAT gave orders over comms until the team came into view, lifting their firearms.

In retaliation, Ezra pulled you up, keeping a deadly tight grip on your upper arm as he kept you compliant by pressing the barrel of his gun to your temple. “She told me you’d come,” he said, nearly seething with rage like a rabid animal.

It seemed like a ridiculous moment to feel relief, but the fact that you knew the BAU would come for you ever so slightly lightened the weight on Spencer’s shoulders. However, whatever relief he felt was quickly banished from existence when his eyes met yours, you were covered in blood. It leaked in a steady stream from your nose and down your sleep shirt, he hoped that was the extent of the damage that had been done but based on the evidence of a struggle in the hotel room, he doubted it.

“Y/N, don’t look at him, look at us, look at Spencer,” Emily reasoned, noting the way you looked over at your captor, eyeing the gun in his hand.

You didn’t look scared, not to Spencer, though Emily had reasonably assumed that you would be in this situation. “Y/N, don’t,” Spencer said in a warning.

But his warning came too late, you had already swung your bound hands up, grabbing the weapon from Ezra as you kicked his legs out from under him. If Spencer hadn’t been so worried, he would’ve been impressed, but now he found himself in an entirely different situation.

“The safety’s still on,” you chastised as your now shaking hands undid the small latch, settling your pointer finger on the trigger as you stared him down.

SWAT seemed entirely dumbfounded, not sure how to go about the admittedly unique situation, so, it fell upon your husband to talk you down. Slowly, he holstered his weapon and stepped toward you, “Baby, put the gun down.”

You sucked in a harsh breath, “He set me up, Spence”

“I know, darling, I know,” Spencer said breathlessly, holding his hands out to stop any and all movement in the warehouse. “This isn’t the answer though, okay? You know this isn’t the answer.”

Your hands didn’t stop shaking, still bound together by the flex cuffs on your wrists as you narrowed your eyes at Ezra. “He set me up,” your voice broke at the sheer memory of the betrayal.

Distantly, you heard Derek tell people to lower their weapons, convincing the field agents that you weren’t a threat. “This isn’t you,” Spencer insisted.

Blinking as tears fell from your eyes, you gripped the handle of the gun, leaving your pointer finger hovering precariously on the trigger. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer. This isn’t you. This isn’t the answer.

Swallowing thickly, you looked down at Ezra, who was taunting you, trying to get you to pull the trigger. You fought against yourself, trying not to stare at Spencer because you knew as soon as you met his brown eyes, the choice would be made for you.

“Pull the damn trigger,” Ezra jeered, baring his teeth at you. This was it; this was the end. The FBI had the whole building surrounded. Even if he tried to run, the BAU would follow him, they’d chase him down, and they’d kill him themselves if it came down to it.

Slowly, you moved your thumb, re-engaging the safety before you lowered your arms, handing the gun off to Spencer. As he grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand, he pulled you in with the other, passing the gun off to Emily so he could hug you tightly.

He pulled away for a moment, retrieving a pocketknife and using it to cut the flex cuffs from your wrists, letting the stiff plastic fall to the ground, and catching you when you practically threw your arms around him.

Your legs gave out from under you, and Spencer wondered how long you had been in this sweltering building without water, likely having used the last of your strength to stop Ezra. “Shh,” he hushed gently, “Let’s sit down,” he spoke to only you as he guided you to the ground.

Closer to you now, he saw more of the damage that had been done, the glazed look over your eyes, your chapped lips, and a bruise on the side of your head. “I knew you’d come,” you murmured dazedly, swaying ever so slightly, “I told him you’d come.”

“I know, I know,” Spencer reassured you, listening to the buzzing of people, hopefully EMTs, around you.

A hiccupping sob almost broke his heart, but he just kept his hold on you, keeping you upright and wishing your nosebleed would clot. “I almost killed him,” you mumbled.

But you didn’t, he wanted to respond. Part of him felt like it would’ve been fine if you had. You’d have gotten away with it, even, but he knew firsthand what it felt like to take another life. He wanted to believe that he had played a part in you turning the safety back on, but even he wasn’t sure.

“How are you feeling? Better?” Spencer asked, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed and taking your hand in his.

He squeezed your hand gently, allowing you to admire the way your wedding ring looked now that it had been returned to its rightful home. “Much,” you assured him, keeping your head resting on the mountain of pillows behind you. You had been cleaned up, stitches on your forehead, and a bandaged cut on your thigh, but the main concern was your dehydration. An IV delivered fluids to you while you sipped on a cup of water, waiting for your stomach to settle enough for you to eat something.

Spencer raised his eyebrows, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “Good enough to try something for dinner?”

You nodded apprehensively, “Something light?”

The smile that sprouted on his face was enough to convince you to eat. He offered to go talk to your nurse, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before he left the room, leaving the door open so you could see him in the hallway.

A small chime got your attention, looking around for the source of the noise, you found yourself digging through Spencer’s bag, retrieving your cell phone from the leather satchel.

There was a scratch over the screen, but it still worked just fine following your skirmish in the hotel, you opened the phone to find that you had a voicemail. You tapped the message before bringing the phone to your ear.

Tuesday, 10:23 p.m.

“Hey love, I’m just leaving the office now. I’m sure they’ll be more receptive to you as you talk more, you can be very convincing. The weather is very dry in Texas, make sure you keep hydrated, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of your calls, we’ve been trying to prepare all of this paperwork for Strauss and time just got away from us. I miss you, maybe when you get home, we could talk about taking a trip. We could go see my mom. It’s been a while. Hm… I have to admit, I’m a little bummed you didn’t answer the phone, but I’m glad you’re getting sleep. I love you so much, sleep well.”

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homerstroystory · 10 months ago

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Folding fan depicting scenes from the history of ballooning

French; c. 1785; reformed [horn] protein sticks and skin leaf painted with gouache, diamond paste studs in rivet, brass ring; maximum open of 50.5cm.

Currently in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, accession no. 43.2078

#archaeology #art #textiles #isaac.txt #museum of fine arts #mfa boston #modern history #baroque #fashion history

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brassfastenersmanufacturers · 1 year ago

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Know About Reliable Brass Fasteners Manufacturers in Jamnagar

GK Metals is the leading brass fasteners manufacturers in Jamnagar India. It provides DIN standard brass fasteners like brass nuts, bolts, screws, hex bolts, rivets, washers, brass anchors and more that is suitable for various industrial applications.

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ushaprecision123 · 1 year ago

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#Brass Rivets #Hollow Rivets #Semi Tubular Rivets #Achse #Micro Rivets #Micro Screws #Steel Rivets #Stainless Steel Rivets #Metal Rivets #ss rivet #machined parts #stainless steel #metal parts manufacturing #stainless steel suppliers #metal manufacturing #stainless steel fabricators near me #stainless steel manufacturers

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uwmspeccoll · 30 days ago

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Typography Tuesday

Here are some images and a letterpress specimen sheet from the article "Casting Five-Line Pica from Sanspareil Matrices" by Stan Nelson, Jim Walczak, and Ellen McKee of the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History, published in Matrix 23 (Winter 2003), pp. 121-129, and printed at John and Rosalind Randle’s Whittington Press in Risbury, Herefordshire, England in an edition of 800 copies.

Five-line pica is equivalent to 60-point type, which is quite sizable. The larger the type, the more difficult it is to make matrices for it by striking them in copper with steel punches. One way to make large fonts is to cast them in sand, which is labor intensive because the sand mold is broken with every casting. In the early 19th century, a new method was devised by casting large fonts in sanspariel matrices, where the shape of the letter is cut as a stencil in a plate of copper or brass and another plate is attached to the back of the stenciled plate with rivets. This creates the matrix that can be fitted into a mould. Shown above are:

A letterpress-printed specimen sheet of type cast by the authors.

A photograph of the sanspariel matrices used for casting.

A picture of the mould within which the matrix is held.

A matrix for the numbers 9 and 6.

Stan Nelson's "jet-breaking" device, used to crack off the flange produced in the casting process before dressing the type.

The type as cast, one with the "jet" still attached.

A 1829 specimen page from the New England Type Foundry.

The National Museum of American History holds three sets of sanspariel matrices in a slab-serif typeface known as Antique (also called Egyptian). Stan Nelson, typecaster, typographer, and long-time Museum Specialist in the Graphic Arts Collection at the Smithsonian, wrote the introduction to the experience of casting type from sanspariel matrices. Jim Walczak, proprietor of Sycamore Press & Typefoundry in Williamstown, Massachusetts discusses the casting process. Ellen McKee, letterpress printer and long-time volunteer at the Smithsonian, describes the type-dressing process.

Our copies of Matrix are another donation from our late friend Jerry Buff (1931-2025).

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

#Typography Tuesday #typetuesday #type casting #sanspariel matrices #slab-serif #Antique type #Egyptian type #Five-Line Pica #Casting Five-Line Pica from Sanspareil Matrices #Stan Nelson #Jim Walczak #Ellen McKee #Matrix 23 #Matrix #John and Rosalind Randle #Whittington Press #type specimens #Jerry Buff

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beansprean · 1 year ago

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A mini comic for "Your Biggest Fan" by @phasmama (part 1 of ?)

I just love comic-fying fics idk!! why dont u commission me about it

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Knees up of Guillermo, wearing brown chinos and a short sleeved peach shirt unbuttoned to his chest, sitting down heavily at the edge of his cot beneath the stairs. He looks flushed, sweaty, and tired, elbows planted on his knees as he slumps forward with a heavy sigh, holding something in his dangling hands. His phone is laying face up on the bed nearby. A small icon in the top left corner reads '82 degrees Fahrenheit', which is about 28 degrees Celsius. 1b. Close up of Guillermo's hands as they shift to reveal what he's holding: a vintage folding fan with a brassy silver-tipped guard inlaid with pink rose patterns. He holds it closed, one hand on either end, a riot of colors on the folded leaf suggesting an intricate pattern within. 1c. Repeat. Guillermo flips the fan open with the rivet in his right hand to reveal the design within: an intricate painting of people in robes and dresses standing in front of a series of columns and statues. 1c. Zoom out to wide shot; waist up. Guillermo tips his head back, eyes closed, and smiles in bliss as he fans himself, little swirls of blue snowflakes indicating the cooling effect. 1d. Repeat. The phone sitting on the bed beside him suddenly lights up, a red alarm-clock-shaped icon springing up with a loud ring, reading 'back to work!' Guillermo opens his eyes and frowns, irritated. In a swift motion, he snaps the fan closed and swings it around to tap at the screen, turning the alarm off without looking.

2a. Chest up of Guillermo at 3/4 angle as he slumps over with another heavy sigh, eyes closing as he begins to sweat and flush again from the heat. His right hand holds the closed fan up idly near his face. 2b. Extreme close up of Guillermo's mouth as he absently touches the tip of the fan to his lower lip, pressing into the pink flesh. 2c. Reverse shot, wide, Guillermo in profile in the foreground and the curtain to his room beyond. It is yanked open suddenly to reveal Nandor standing beyond, wearing a brass colored tunic and sleeveless fur overcoat and posed with one hand on his hip. He shouts imperiously, "Guillermo!" and prepares to give orders. Guillermo doesn't even flinch at the intrusion, just blearily opens his eyes halfway with the fan still pressed to his mouth.

3a. Waist up of Guillermo at 3/4 angle as he rolls his head up to look at Nandor with an expectant frown, closed fan held up in his right hand. 3b. Waist up of Nandor at a diagonal angle, background all black with a white starburst of shock as Nandor stares down at Guillermo, frozen and gray, with wide eyes and a slack jaw. 3c. Wide shot, shoulders up of Guillermo in profile in the foreground, Nandor knees up in the background. Guillermo looks at him with half-open eyes, closed fan poised in front of his face and a question mark drifting around his head. Nandor continues to stare with the largest eyes possible, frozen in place with one arm still outstretched to hold the curtain aside. 3d. Repeat. Nandor finally snaps out of it and swings his free arm up to point accusingly at Guillermo, shouting angrily, "What are you doing with that, Guillermo? That is not a toy for naughty familiars to be playing with!" Guillermo opens his eyes fully and looks down at the fan in surprise.

4a. Shoulders up of Guillermo staring in surprise at his open hand as Nandor quickly snatches the fan from him. 4b. Waist up of Nandor from Guillermo's POV as he leans away, holding the closed fan in his right hand and hiding it protectively behind his left cheek. He stares wide eyed and flustered down at Guillermo and whines, "This is very special, given to me by the Queen of Laszlo's homeland! 4c. Waist up of them both in profile as Guillermo stands from his bed, rubbing sweat from his cheek with a forearm. Nandor takes a step back in alarm, still holding the fan protectively out of reach. Guillermo says, "I'm sorry, Master. I shouldn't have touched it. What did you need my help with?" 4d. Repeat. Nandor calms and straightens up, looking away nervously as he replies, "Oh! Yes. I would like to have a cooling bath. Come attend me. Guillermo slumps again and sighs, obediently responding "Of course, Master." 4e. Later; full body of Nandor lounging in an old fashioned brass tub filled with ice water on a hazy green background. The tub seems much too small for him; he is sitting up with his elbows perched on the far end and his left leg bunched up in front of him, knee poking out from the water. His right leg is fully extended and hanging over the edge of the tub. Nandor's hair is gathered up in a messy bun and he is holding the fan in his right hand, staring at it thoughtfully as he opens and closes it with a thumb. /end ID

#wwdits #nandermo #your biggest fan #fic rec #guillermo de la cruz #nandor the relentless #mlm #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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