#I would be totally charmed though if a robot friend gave me a serial number like a friendship bracelet

[fionnemrys]

I just realized that Poe Dameron totally did this to FN2187 when he decided to call him Finn. I mean Finn said he liked it, but still, thats pretty fucking ballsy to just rename someone for your own comfort and convenience.

Robot characters who are given names like SL-308-62 but instead of their human friend going Well let's call you Sally for short, they instead ask the other if they Like their current name.

"Do you like your serial number?" they ask. "Yes, quite. It reminds me of who I am" the robot replies. "I have heard others like me go by different names after some time, and maybe one day I'll choose one for myself, too. But right now that is my full name, yes" they continue.

Because it's not your decision to make whether or not the robot will receive a new name. It should be theirs only. What's the difference? One is more complex and the other is simplified. They were both given by strangers instead of themselves.

"62 will do," they conclude. "It's my model number - there will be no other 62 after me."

[rebaobsessivelywrites]

The Son of Wisdom (ch 1)

You can find this entire fic here on AO3.

Fandom: Supernatural (TV)

Entire Fic Description:

Spencer is many things. He's a profiler, an agent, an intellectual. He's a loyal friend, and a loving son. However he's so much more, as well. He's a warrior, a mage, and a brother. Needless to say, his lives are not meant to mix; he does things no FBI agent should and distances himself the politics of Olympus.

This is a compilation of Spencer Reid's lives as a genius FBI agent and a son of Athena.

Entire Fic Warnings: cannon-typical violence, serial killers (probably), uh... I’ll add as I go...

Chapter word count: 1,605

Chapter warnings: none, I believe. Let me know if I’m wrong.

Summary: Spencer’s no good awful day.

Please read the fic! Next chapter, master list. And let me know if you want to be tagged.

Spencer was not having a very good day. First of all, the team didn’t land back in Virginia until nearly midnight, and he didn’t get back to his apartment until after one in the morning. The case had been a hard one, but Spencer managed to crash after only half an hour of reading. But then he was woken up at six by a poorly timed Iris message from a bunch of his concerned siblings. Why did they wake him up? Well, for one, they had somehow failed to learn that he travels a lot for his job and is frequently around very, very, very ordinary people, so if he can’t receive an Iris message, he is NOT dead. For another, they’re absolutely insane and wake up at the crack of dawn. That’d be fine, but they expect him to wake up that early too!

Honestly, he couldn’t understand their incessant concern. He was 25 years old! It wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of himself; his mother—Athena herself!�� taught him how to manipulate the Mist in order to stay at least mostly hidden. He was pretty sure she had done it in deference to his mom, the woman she had loved, who had once been brilliant in many respects (including Mist manipulation), but was no longer sound of mind. And his siblings knew this. Buuut… they ignored it. He supposed it showed how much they cared.

But it was still really annoying.

Spencer wasn’t complaining—not really. He loved having a family. His ‘father’ had abandoned him and his mom when he was quite small, and he had believed for years (exactly four years, three months, and six days) that they were alone. However, following his graduation from high school at the age of 12, he started to spend his summers at a camp. A camp in New York.

No one knew; there was no record of it. As far as his universities knew, and as far as the Bureau knows, he spent his summers at home with his mom— supporting her and taking online or take-home courses.

But really, that’s another story.

Anyway, Spencer had decided it wasn’t worth it to attempt an extra hour of rest following the conversation with his concerned siblings, and read until his normal wake-up time. Regardless, he found himself headed out for work on a total of four and a half hours of sleep. As such, he stopped to arm himself with a large coffee, even though he had to buy twice (he spilled the first one all over another coffee shop customer).

The bus ride to the shop was crowded, and he was certain the subway ride to work would be worse, but he was still looking forward to a slow day in the office. Spencer was determined to bury himself in files. As he strolled down the street, he pictured Derek’s reaction if he were to say he was looking forward to paperwork and chuckled to himself. It’d be good to see his best friend and have a few laughs after the case they’d just finished.

But, of course, it didn’t work out like that.

When Spencer turned the corner from the little coffee shop, he was confronted with the unpleasant sight of three empousai.  For a moment he held his breath and attempted to continue on his way, but it was in vain; their eyes quickly became locked upon him. This was the last thing he needed today. But, regardless, he knew they wouldn’t leave him alone. As such, he settled for huffing a sigh and ducking into the next alley. As he went, he twisted the Mist to ensure their privacy.

The three lop-sided monsters were right behind him, practically drooling. The two closest to him appeared to be seeing red, however the third—who was hanging back—frowned and looked him over. She seemed to be making note of his age and having second thoughts.

“You smell delicious, wisdom-boy,” one of them hissed.

The one standing next to her grinned, “We ate —I mean, met— a guy just like you only a week ago! Didn’t we, Shannon?”

The first one nodded vigorously, “He was so… sweet.”

Spencer wasn’t impressed. It was the same dance, over and over.

“I would really appreciate it if you’d avoid spilling my coffee,” Spencer commented, “I already did that today.”

This is why he hated monsters.

“Of course, sweetheart, we wouldn’t dream of it!” the one who had slipped up and said ‘ate’ reassured him.

It wasn’t because they were slimy, bloodthirsty, no-good killers, who hunted people like him.

“Right!” the one called Shannon jumped in, “Aly here will totally hold it for you.”

No. That was why they were the scum of the earth (as only Tartarus-spawn could be), but it wasn’t why he hated them.

He raised his eyebrows at them and pointedly set his coffee down on a nearby dumpster.

“Hey, guys?” The third posited hesitantly, “Maybe we should let him go. I mean—”

Aly whipped around and hissed at her, “Are you crazy?”

The third shifted uncomfortably, “He’s just older than… And I mean, that means he’s more experienced. Right?”

Shannon snarled, her face contorting unnaturally for a human, “Shut up.”

Aly, meanwhile, redirected her attention to Spencer, “So what do you say, wisdom-boy?”

Shannon mirrored her smile, “Up for a little fun?”

Spencer couldn’t help rolling his eyes. How stupid did they think he was? Did they think he had lived under a rock for his entire life? Their charm was clearly not working, and he could definitely see them for what they were—ugly and mismatched with human, animal, and robot characteristics.

Seemingly satisfied with... whatever they were trying to do, they began to surround him, corner him. The third, as yet unnamed, empousa hung back, however, still eyeing him suspiciously. Shannon entered arms reach, and Aly smiled… and Spencer decided he had enough data.

“You know,” he started suddenly, shocking the monsters into pausing their advance, “based on the sixty-eight empousa encounters I’ve had—including this one, which takes the total number of empousai I’ve met to 149, with an average of 2.2 empousai per encounter—I have yet to experience more than three conversations with an empousa?”

As expected, the trio stared back blankly at him, their stances becoming lax in their confusion.

“And by that I don’t mean I’ve only spoken to three empousai, because I’ve actually spoken to all but one group of empousai I’ve ever met. What I mean is that out of all of those sixty-six—or, including this one, sixty-seven— conversations, there have only been three basic variations.”

Aly’s mouth crept open, giving her a slack-jawed look, while Shannon stared at him like he was speaking in Latin. The one in the back looked like she was about to bolt at any moment.

“The first variation is a clean, and sometimes elaborate, deception, mildly convincing with a back-story of some sort, meant to coerce me into a favorable situation for feeding. The second is a slightly messier deception, with clear references to my… impending death. The third, which is the most rare, happens when an empousa notices how old I am and recognizes the fact that I have likely done all of this many times before.”

By this point, all three of them were looking skittish, and the third was backing away slowly. With a twist of the Mist, she found herself stuck in place. She let out a brief squeak before falling silent, eyes wide.

Spencer smiled and reached into his ever-present satchel, withdrawing his celestial bronze blade, “At this point in the conversation, 69% of empousai in the groups I have done this with attempt to flee—”

Aly took a step back, eyes just as wide as the third’s, but Shannon leapt forward with a furious hiss. Anticipating something of the sort, Spencer ducked easily out of the way before coming around with his sword and effortlessly turning her to dust.

Spencer gave a weak cough and waved the fine, sticky, monster debris away from his face. He then turned to the remaining two, smiled, and continued what he had been saying, as though nothing had happened, “Of the remaining 31%, 21% fly into a rage and attack, 9% attack in a more orderly fashion, and 1% attempt to continue their deception anyway.”

Aly turned to flee and found the third empousa stuck in place just behind her. Spencer stepped forward and took his opening. They both joined their friend within a few seconds.

Sometimes he felt bad about killing monsters, but then he reminded himself that they were simply back in Tartarus and would get a chance at life again soon enough. Demigods didn’t get that chance, so how could he let a monster go with a clear conscience? Better to kill each one you meet than find out later that a friend or sibling was killed by a monster you let go.

Spencer huffed a sigh and brushed his clothes off as best he could, still holding his compacted sword.

See, he hated monsters because they were utterly predictable. They repeated the same scenarios over and over again, never seeming to learn or show any sort of spontaneity. And worst of all, death was never permanent for them. They got a “get out of hell free card” every time they got plopped back in Tartarus.

It wasn’t fair. But, if there was one thing life had taught Spencer Reid, son of Diana Reid and the Greek goddess of wisdom and war, it was that nothing was fair.