#and yes I gave him an identical dr pin to the one I have as well hank you for asking

[thatstroubling]

when your favorite character makes it to the finale

As a fellow Danganronpa fan, I'd like to imagine that if Pre-game Shuichi wasn't, you know, gone forever because he'd given up his life to become an anime character like a dumbass and could somehow witness our Shuichi kick So Much Ass in Trial 6, he would be the one cheering him on the loudest. After all, Shuichi is his perfect little detective guy and the person he once hoped he could become. That's why I can hear the "You tell them!" in his voice in my head so very clearly. And in spite of being responsible for ending Pre-game Shuichi's favorite TV show in the world, at the core of it, Shuichi was ultimately fighting on behalf of his friends for what was right all the way to the end.

And who wouldn't want to get behind that?

[victimeyez]

Yes, Captain

Happy Halloween! I was able to finish a short story I started ages ago, just in time to post it as a Halloween special. This is not related to Professional//Victim, but instead centers on the plight of an Irish pirate crew.

Tadhg is an irish name pronounced like TIE-G. Pronunciation reference available here: x

This one is hopefully sufficiently creepy, gross, and gory. Mind the tags. Alternative title: Blood and Oranges

~

“Captain!”

Tadhg’s head whipped around as if his own name was called, and gave a cursory glance to the deck before making his way over to the private. Captain was nowhere in sight, likely getting stoned in his quarters, so Tadhg took the reins as his practiced right-hand man. 

The private who had called was in the crow’s nest, so Tadhg climbed the netting up, the ropes still rough under his calloused hands. He pulled himself up with decent ease but actively suppressed his need for more breath, trying to appear effortless in front of his underling.

“Aye?”

Snake Eyes handed him the telescope without comment. Tadhg raised it to his eye and squinted, blinking a few times against it before he saw the ship. Not immediately close, but drawing closer at an unnatural pace. Less subtly, the ship made its identity known with its trademark crimson sails.

Tadhg swallowed uncomfortably and lowered the spyglass.

“It could be an imposter,” Snake Eyes tried, with a nervous air.

“We cann’y afford to be wrong.”

Tadhg’s stomach was clenched in a pit of worry, but he carefully kept a calm face. 

“Get the crew ready for battle, I’ll meet with the captain.”

Snake Eyes nodded, worried, and scurried down the nets after Tadhg. 

At the bottom, Tadhg straightened his vest and clapped his hands.

“ATTENTION! A ship resemblin’ The Red Dawn has been spotted, 20 kilometers north, headed our way. Ready in case of a fight, be on standby for orders, Snake Eyes will direct.”

The crew paused for the announcement, and made nervous, uncertain eyes at one another while they slowly shifted gears. There was an air of disbelief stalling their movements, but Snake Eyes could snap them into shape.

Tadhg hurried down the narrow steps to the captain’s quarters, and he could hear word spreading down through the layers of the ship to the gun deck. 

“Captain!”

He knocks on the door vigorously, hoping to wake him from his inevitable stupor.

“Who iiiiiisssss ittttt?” Rowan called back, muffled through the door. Tadhg pulled a pin from his hat and picked the lock with practiced ease, letting himself in. Wild Red Rowan was lying in his bed, the only bed on board, smoking opium with a humorous scowl.

“I thought I told you not to do that.”

“Captain, we’ve spotted The Red Dawn headed our way.”

Rowan’s face drained and his cheer was gone in a flash. He set down his pipe, looked at it, and then started packing it full again. 

“Hoist the white flag.”

Tadhg didn’t move.

“What?”

“Surrender. Immediately. It’s our only chance.” Rowan didn’t meet his gaze, instead focusing on smoking as much of the opium as he could in short order. 

“We - we might. Still outrun them.” Tadhg’s words sounded hollow, even to him. 

“We won’t.”

“We have to fight.”

“We can’t win.”

“We don’t know that.”

“We can’t afford to lose. We have to give up, it’s the only way any of us will be spared.”

Tadhg walked back up the stairs in a daze. He reached the gun deck first, where the crew was scrambling to ready artillery. 

“Don’t - don’t. We’re surrendering.”

He didn’t say it loud enough first, when only a few people slowed and looked at him. 

“HALT! PREPARE FOR A SURRENDER! CAPTAIN’S ORDERS!”  he barked. Stunned faces of disbelief looked back at him. Some folks didn’t even stop preparations. A woman with long black hair dropped an armful of knives unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Are you having a fucking craic?” 

Tadhg stifled a nervous laugh.

“‘Fraid no’.”

Blackjack stared at him for a long moment, finally deciding he wasn’t joking.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

She kicked the heap on the floor she had dropped, scattering knives and cutlasses of various sizes around the deck. 

Tadhg walked numbly back to the main deck, where he repeated his order to a similarly mixed success. His boots weighed a thousand pounds with each step he took to the mast, kicking the trunk at its base open and pulling the heavy cream canvas from its depths. In case of emergencies. 

The crew of The Great Deceptor had never raised the white flag before.

Tadhg had been sure he’d be dead before he’d see it happen. He stared at the fabric in his hands for a moment as if it might speak to him. He hoped he might have some moment of clarity, of feeling assured of what to do. None came.

Looking past it, down to the ocean, The Red Dawn was growing closer at an overwhelming rate. It was a calm day, yet the foreign vessel cut the waves like a watersnake. Without the breeze, The Great Deceptor’s white flag hung limply from its post, as if the flag itself had given up its duty, too. Tadhg wondered idly if they’d even see it. 

A heavy hand fell on Tadhg’s shoulder as Captain Red Rowan materialized behind him, fully dressed. He seemed to consider saying something encouraging, before abandoning the idea to a morbid silence. The crew around him drifted about like ghosts, eying the raised flag as a terrible omen. 

The free ocean miles around them, and yet, nowhere to go.

~

When The Red Dawn grew close, Tadhg could see the water ripple oddly around her flanks, and she pitched forward quicker than the wind could carry her. When they were close enough to see people on board, he realized the movement was propelled by a row of blue painted oars feathering out from low on each side. From any distance, they blended in easily with the tumultuous waters. The oars retreated into the boat smoothly as it drew up side-to-side with them, leaving no trace. Able to be hidden when docking, so no one would know their secret.

No one who would survive. 

They boarded with a ferocity, even though The Great Deceptor’s crew stood by with anxious idleness. The deck swarmed with foreign members, quickly taking flank along the ship to guard the length. Their captain came last, and Tadhg’s heart sank. Phantom White stepped onto the deck in a long leather coat, bleached white like bone. His face obscured by his signature leather mask, tucked neatly into his hat. His eyes were dark gems in their shadows, and when they reached Tadhg, it felt like they were boring holes through him. 

“I offer no struggle, only a bargain.” Rowan called. 

That got White’s attention then, and he made his slow way over to Wild. He came to a stop within conversational distance, his masked face unreadable, still silent. 

“I offer my ship and my crew in exchange for my life.”

Tadhg’s heart stopped, and he broke his best menacing face to stare at Wild Red in disbelief.

“Not a member of your crew will be harmed, and our bounty is yours. I can-”

Rowan was interrupted with a hard punch to the jaw, and Tadhg was stunned to realize it was delivered from his own fist. 

“You fish bellied fucking coward!”

His hand instinctively went to his side, drawing his cutlass and thrusting it into the air.

“ERIN GO BRAGH, FIGHT YOU DOGS!”

Chaos broke around them as the crew scrambled for arms, some forgoing them in favor of ripping at the invaders with their bare hands.

Tadhg had a fleeting moment of hope, a single thought that just maybe they had a chance, before Phantom White’s blade cut his hand into two halves with a single blow. Tadhg’s favorite sword clattered to the deck, and a leather-clad arm grabbed him about the throat, pulling his head into a crushing embrace. He frantically clawed at the arm, but his cut hand’s fingers flopped backwards unnaturally. With some wriggling he managed to tuck his chin under his grip and he bit down, his teeth sinking into the thick supple leather and catching him easily. There was a blinding hit to the back of his head, and night fell suddenly for Tadhg.

~

He woke up to darkness again, a blindfold wrapped thickly around his eyes. As he collected his thoughts, he recognized he was upright, sitting bound to a chair, probably from the captain’s quarters. His head throbbed in waves of pain, and the agony from his hand was so intense that he clenched his fist on instinct, as if to pull away from the sensation. 

His hand was bound tightly together, pinned behind his back with his other fist. His jaw ached from a knotted rag stuffed into his mouth, keeping his jaw forced open and held in with a tightly bound rag around his head. He moaned in discomfort, shaking his head to try to dislodge the makeshift device and his whole head pulsed in pain. He prodded at the gag with his tongue, but it was caught behind his teeth and he struggled to bite down. 

The bony back of a hand smashed the left side of his face, startling him into plaint submission as he searched sightlessly for his captor.

“Quite the excitement you had today, dear boy.” A rough voice spoke, low and timely.

“Mhhhhhnnnnhhhhwwhhhnnn,” Tadhg articulated back. 

A low chuckle. 

“You tried your best, but your crew was easily overwhelmed.”

Tadhg’s heart sank into his stomach. He didn't even get to go out fighting with his crew.

“They didn’t go without a fight, though. Gave me a few positions to refill, and I find myself suddenly in need of a new right hand man.”

Tadhg told him precisely how much he could go fuck himself, but all that came out was muffled sounds of anger. 

The striking hand patted his cheek.

“You do fight like a dog. I could use a mutt. Or, I could chum what’s left of your crew. I’ll give you some time to think about it. 

Tadhg swallowed with some difficulty around the rag, but sat still.

“I have to finish a few negotiations with your good ol’ cap, and we can seal it.”

Tadhg wasn’t sure what would be required to “seal it”, but he didn’t have much choice. He listened to the creak of the wood as this - new captain stalked away.

New. Because with a sinking feeling, he already knew. He would take the deal. Of course he would. He only hoped there actually were surviving members of his crew left to be saved. 

He rolled the memory over in his mind like the last sip of whiskey in his mouth. His Captain, stoned and stumbling, unwilling to lift a finger towards their survival. A little more “all for one” than “one for all”. Back in the day Wild Red Rowan slaughtered vikings and freed their slaves. Freed then, with nowhere to go, Tadhg had joined his crew with an unwavering loyalty. 

A loyalty that had brought him up through the ranks fast. 

A loyalty that may very well have just cost the entire ship their lives. 

He hung his aching head. 

Less rhino horn could ruin better men than his temperamental leader. But Tadhg was devoted, and it regularly earned him a place in the Captain’s bed just long enough to be used for what he was good for. He felt heavy with shame to think on those nights now, and where it had landed him. 

He dozed off in the chair somehow, this knowledge only gleaned when he was startled awake with a hand squeezing his sore jaw. 

“Enough beauty rest. Your captain has agreed to a most generous offer.”

Tadhg raised his blind, heavy head, and the hand released him. 

“As for you… you’ll serve on my ship. Ten year’s debt. Many of your kin here have accepted. What say you?”

Tadhg gnawed on the gag and finally nodded. His heart sank with his submission, knowing the little freedom he’d been given had been sold away again so easily. 

Tugging at the back of his head, strands of hair rip free with the rope binding. The wrap around his eyes loosens and falls, and he blinks harshly against the oil lamps illuminating the room. As they adjusted, he struggled to understand what he saw.

Phantom White, sitting on the edge of Red’s bed. His white coat splattered with blood and gore, some still shining wet in the light. In place of his white mask was a crude red mass, the edges secured with sinew around his head. Out of the gruesome mess, Tadhg recognized a human face. The scar on his nose… no. No.

His captain’s face, the flayed skin stretched into a gruesome mask. 

Bile rose in his throat, only kept down by the gag. The lips were swollen and split, stretched brutally around the new captain’s own mouth, the hollow eye sockets grimly forced open around dark eyes underneath. What he could see of the face beneath was painted in blood that had begun to tacky in the cool salt air. 

He screamed in his gag then, like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. Screamed with a terror that dripped down his leg. The twisted mask of Rowan’s face bulged around the ties securing it around Phantom White’s head. The bloody fileting knife still was held in one hand, viscera caked down to the end of the handle and smeared in his palms. Tadhg rocked backwards in his chair as hard as he could, barely gaining another inch away from the monster before him. 

“You don’t think I wear it as fine as him? He might still like it back, though he has grown quiet since.”

Phantom drew an orange from his pocket and raised his blade, splitting the fruit in two with a practiced flick. He opened his mouth - both mouths - wide enough to sink his teeth into the flesh, the smell of sugar cutting through the stench of blood as the juice dripped down both chins. 

Tadhg sobbed and wretched dryly, thankful of his empty stomach.

“You’ll do what the fuck I say, when I say it.”

Tadhg nodded again, heart hammering. He could not cease the tears of sheer terror tracking down his cheeks and soaking into his gag.

White drew closer, drawing whimpers and sobs from Tadhg as the bound man struggled in vain to pull away from the advancing captain. 

His peeling face loomed close to his and Tadhg closed his eyes, anticipating teeth to tear his own in shreds. \

The knife dug into his cheek and he shrieked as it carved down, the acid of the orange stinging like salt in the wound. It split through the wrap around his mouth and withdrew, the sides falling away from his face and releasing his gag. 

He opened his eyes wide and saw him staring back, deep set eyes under his fleshy disguise. Phantom’s bloody hand covered his mouth before he could spit out the knot over his tongue.

“We have a deal. The only thing I want to hear out of your fucking mouth is “Yes, Captain.” Are we clear?”

Tadhg nodded, trembling. Paralyzed under his grip. 

The hand released and he spat out the last of the gag, struggling down a swallow to clear his throat.

“You’re mine now.”

Phantom’s face loomed closer and pressed the limp, bloody lips of a corpse’s face against his. An invading tongue pressed against his lips, coaxing his own mouth open to accept the kiss. 

Numbed by shock, Tadhg accepted, and a warm tongue pushed into his mouth, tasting of blood and oranges. The kiss deepened, and then pulled back, a string of red spit breaking between their mouths as they parted. 

“Yes, Captain.”

[blazenka]

Mirroring Identities

Connor Temple believed he was close to returning to his own timeline and home. Instead he finds himself in a world that should not exist while he struggles with non-existent memories. Can he ever remember his identity? Pre/post Alice. Post Primeval S3.

Original source: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6106179/1/Mirroring-Identities

Chapters: 13

Published: 2010-07-03 - 2010-09-06  

Words: 19945

Rated: Fiction T - Language: English - Genre: Romance/Drama - Characters: Abby M., Hatter - Reviews: 86 - Favs: 13 - Follows: 15

Exported with the assistance of FicHub.net

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

a

b

Chapter 5:

The drive in the SUV back to the ARC was… in one word - Awkward. David sat in the back on one with a red haired man called Danny while action man Becker sat up front in the passenger seat with another soldier behind the driver's seat.

"Weird, I thought driver's side was on the left but here it's on the right," David commented. Danny gave him a strange glance and questioned, "You sound like you're from this country but are totally clueless. Of course, so was Connor."

"Again, my name is David and I live in New York. Haven't been here since my childhood," David stated with irritation as he shrugged against the plastic cuffs, hoping his charismatic lying work as well here as it had in New York. "Are these exactly necessary?" David asked frustrated. "From what we've seen you do to that dinosaur, yes," Becker replied cheerfully while his rifle remained close to his chest.

"Can I possibly ask a question?" David glanced between the men. "Depends on what you want to know," Danny answered after the pause of silence. "That girl, with the short blonde hair, is she al'ite? She seemed quite upset," David asked with a sorrowful expression. None of the men answered him as the silence grew more awkward. "I hope this place is close," David replied dryly with an ever-growing irritation in his voice.

David tried his best to gaze at his surrounding as he was led at gun point into the large building. "What is the meaning of…." A man in a pin-striped suit descended the metal stairs with eyes locked on David. "Connor…" he gasped when he reached the bottom of the stairs. "For the last time, my name ain't Connor," David said with an irritated sigh, he knew he should be back with Alice or she was going to worry.

Soldiers unkindly ushered David into some sort of interrogation room with one door, one table, one chair and one huge mirror. Lester stood in the adjacent room in front of the one-way mirror, "So he claims his name is 'David Hatter'.

"Have we been able to find a file on him?" his question directed to Sarah and Becker. "Yes, all his documents are from the states with a birth certificate from here but… we have no record of his birth. It is possible given his paper works says he was born about 30 years ago so… it might have been lost or destroyed before computer documentation," Sarah commented as she looked down at her electronic tablet.

"Alright, don't like it, but alright." Lester commented as he continued to stare at the man who was flipping his hat in a number of tricks. "How is she?" Lester asked. "I'm not sure, but she seems to be taking the whole thing quite hard," Sarah commented as she looked up. "In your professional opinion, do you think Ms. Maitland would still be able to handle field work?" Sarah looked around for a while before answering with a heavy sigh, "No, Ms. Maitland should stay in the ARC or possibly the home office and away from Mr. Hatter for now." "Alright, give her time off work if she needs it," Lester commented to his secretary and she wrote everything down.

Becker cleared his throat and Sarah looked strangely uncomfortable. "Dr. Page?" Lester questioned her, "Anything else I should know?" "Well, it seems he has a fiancé," Sarah admitted while not looking up. 'Oh, that cannot be good,' Lester thought as he felt his familiar head ache returning. "And she has been looking for him at local police stations and the American embassy has been informed. We might have about 24 hours before an international incident," Sarah finished as she backed away to hide behind Becker. "Great… just great," Lester grumbled behind grinding teeth, "Bring her in." "Who?" Sarah questioned, glancing back at Becker. "The fiancé," Lester clarified, "Might as well bring her in."

Alice had woken alone in the hotel bed later that morning. She frowned as she felt through the bed around her with no Hatter in sight or touch. Yet, Alice trusted him so she figured he must have gone out for something, maybe breakfast and did not want to wake her. Alice could not help think how it was even possible for her to meet someone like Hatter. 'Sweet, lovely, caring, loyal…' Alice commented in her thoughts as she started to get up and moved to the bathroom. She would take a quick shower and Hatter would be back, hopefully with breakfast.

"No, I have already spoken to the U.S. embassy. I need to speak with the local police," Alice stated for, what felt like, the millionth time. "My fiancé is missing," Alice informed the officer for the billionth time. Alice had waited for a hour before she began to worry about Hatter. Then after another 4 hours, she decided it would be best to try to connect an official who could try to find Hatter instead of trying to call Hatter on his cell for the trillionth time.

"Ms. Hamilton?" a man in black combat gear behind her asked. Alice turned to face the man with a concerned look upon her face, "Yes?" "I'm sorry; we need you to come with us. It's about Mr. Hatter," the man explained. Alice wanted to scrutinize the man but her concern for her fiancé's safety remained forefront in her mind.

"Is David alright? He isn't hurt, is he?" "All we were told is we needed to find you so we could take you to him," the soldier answered. "Alright," Alice agreed, still not satisfied with the lack of information but it was something. Alice grabbed her coat and followed them out and into a black SUV.

Abby settled into her seat in her lab. Over the last three months her little green house office had become her sanctuary from the reality that Connor was still missing. Now, her sanctuary protected her from the new comer, David Hatter.

The man unnerved her in every sense she had. David looked like Connor, sounded like Connor, and when she had hugged him he had smelled like Connor. God help her if she ever found out if he tasted like her Connor. The only thing was he did not feel like Connor when she hugged him. While Connor was smooth and soft with subtle muscles, David was scarred, calloused and his muscles were well defined from years of, what she could guess, a hard life.

Yet, Abby was really disturbed by the emotions she felt when she thought the man was Connor. The scene, in her mind, had been something out of a novel - thought she realized most of their little 'stories' could have been something out of a novel. Just when she was on the verge of being killed, and all of a sudden he runs in, punches the creature that threatened her without a second thought to himself and saved her. It was so much like her Connor it hurt her inside like a fresh wound when he demanded he was not.

Abby glanced back to her flowers and plants as she skimmed through the pages of her Flora book. Yet, no matter how much she tried to focus on her work her mind would always wander back to the strange man and how he was so similar to her lost Connor. 'God, even their terrible fashion sense is the same!' she thought in distress as the man's cheeky grin kept floating into her thoughts.

Abby realized she was not going to get work done while like this and decided it best to get a cup of coffee or something. She exited her office after dropping everything and made her way to the break room when she noticed everyone seems to be in the large main room of the ARC where the ADD was kept. Abby immediately spotted David sitting in the chair where Connor would have sit and she could feel the anger well up inside her as she made her way straight over to Sarah and Becker.

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[mctherofdragons]

A Sanctuary Heart | 3 | SR

summary / after her abusive husband lands her in the intensive care unit, y/n changes her identity and moves as far away as possible. upon starting her new life, she meets dr.spencer reid and his son, maddox, when she begins her job as a teacher. but can she keep herself safe and keep up the facade with spencer? can she be safe at all?

pairing / spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings / slowburn romance, fluff, angst, marriage, trauma, domestic violence/abuse, dad!spencer, wheelchair use, paralysis, injury, ptsd flashbacks, car accident/serious injury, bullying, mention of ableism, a singular mention of god.

important links / series masterlist + domestic violence resources

authors note / i absolutely adored writing this chapter, omg. we get more of spencer and maddox's backstory. and things start to get a little more exciting as the rest of the team makes their first appearance! thank you all for the great feedback so far, i'm so glad you're enjoying the series. also my tags are not working, so reblogs on this chapter would be insanely appreciated. Flashbacks are in italics!

Seeing the blood on your hand, Spencer instinctively reached out to grab your wrist gently. You snatched your hand back, bringing yourself up to your feet, wobbling. You grabbed your bag, wrapping your hand in your scarf that you had managed to take off in the cool October night.“Ivy,” he said the moniker one more time and you felt your insides reel once more.

‘I’m a liar, Dr. Reid, I wish you knew,’ you thought to yourself, stumbling to search for your keys under the warm glow of the moon.

“I have to go. Thank you for dinner,” you contended, making your way out of the side gate. Spencer watched in confusion as you made your way out quickly. He figured he ought to chose his battles, not wanting to startle you by following after you.

Once you were safe inside your car, you sat in the driver’s seat, hands gripping onto the steering wheel for dear life. You felt a sharp combination of embarrassment and frustration. You wanted the flit of light that came from the possibility of new love. But instead, the one before had taken everything from you. Even now, all these miles and a new name away, he was pulling you away from those little flickers of brilliance and back into the darkness of yourself.

_____________________________

2 years earlier.

“Maddox,” Spencer whispered, feeling his heavy eyelids open just slightly. He was disoriented, noticing that the once right-side-up roadway was now upside down instead. The loud blaring of the horn was constant. It sent a piercing sound into Spencer’s ears and head, which caused him to wince. “Maddox.”

Spencer tried to turn, but he couldn’t move. Something had him pinned in the driver’s seat. He looked into the review mirror, which by grace alone wasn’t entirely broken. Maddox was slumped in his car seat, blood trickling down onto his Toy Story tee shirt. Spencer let out a weak gasp, trying again with no avail to move.

Spencer noticed how cold it was. It had been snowing all night, and Spencer wasn’t sure how long they had been where they are now. The snow had fallen through the shattered glass, tiny flakes gathering anywhere they could.

Using all of his strength, he turned his head to his wife. Her eyes were half shut, a trickle of crimson come from her mouth.

“Baby,” Spencer whispered. “Are you alright?”

She began to speak, but began to sputter, her lungs sounding flooded. Her hand curled and uncurled, and Spencer could barely reach it. He was able to hold onto her fingertips with his. They felt ice-cold like she was already three steps into Eternity. Spencer knew that type of frigid touch. He had come in content with it a million times, and the person on the other end was never living.

“D-don’t talk, baby. Okay? The ambulance is coming. Do you hear them? We’re going to be okay.”

Spencer could hear the medics somewhere far off in the distance. The repeated echo of the sirens sounded like a band of angels to him. Spencer Reid admittedly didn’t believe in the Judeo-Christian God. He wasn’t sure what he gave credence to, in fact. But at that moment, inverted in the shattered glass, surrounded by the labored breathing of his dying wife...he prayed.

________________________________

Spencer walked into the Bureau, adjusting the brown satchel on his shoulder. His brow looked furrowed as he sipped from his paper coffee cup. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way you left, trying to profile what exactly had gone wrong between the Merlot and you rushing out of his backyard.

“Penny for your thoughts?,” Emily piqued as Spencer sat down, tossing his bag onto his desk. Spencer let out an exasperating sigh, taking another drink of his coffee.

“Just trying to figure someone out.”

“Oh, oh, oh. Is this a lady someone?,” Derek queried, wiggling his eyebrows. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning onto Spencer’s desk with a sparkling grin.

“Maybe.”

Spencer felt himself smiling despite his best efforts. Emily opened her mouth in surprise, giving Derek a playful shove.

“I told you he would get back out there, Morgan!”

Spencer smiled. “Yeah, she’s sweet. I just...don’t know if I’m ready yet.”

That morning, Spencer had put on his wedding band. He still did it when he was scared, or nervous, or needing to feel close to her. He would feel the cool metal atop his finger and feel less alone. For a brief moment when the metallic touched his skin, he could pretend she was still here.

Derek gave Spencer’s shoulder a supportive squeeze.

“I hope you know me and Prentiss are just messing with you. We care about you, kid. We know these past two years have been hell for you. Just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah…I appreciate that. I just…,” Spencer paused, bringing his hands up as he spoke, as was so akin to him. His lip curled into the smallest smile. “Seeing this girl interact with Maddox. She...loves him for him..already?”

“Maddox is a great kid, Reid.”

“I know. I just don’t want her to find out---”

Spencer’s sentence was cut off by Hotch appeared, letting everyone know they had a case and to meet for Round Table. Spencer quickly shot a text to Maddox’s home health nurse, letting her know he’d need coverage for a few days.

________________________________

You sat in the front of your classroom, your eyes scanning from the test in front of you to the answer key. The students were working on a Social Studies project in small groups. Their task was to read a short story about colonial times and fill out a short worksheet. If they finished early they were permitted to color, which most of the children thoroughly enjoyed.

“Maddox can’t use crayons,” you heard a small voice snicker. You raised your eyebrow, hoping it wasn’t harmful, and rather just an observation.

You heard another child sling a slur at Maddox, who was sitting quietly with his aide, trying to ignore them. But as you looked up, you saw Maddox’s tiny bottom lip begin to wobble. One of the children picked up a crayon and threw it at Maddox, hitting him in the shoulder.

“He can’t even feel that! My dad said that’s why he’s in a wheelchair,” the bully jeered again, high-fiving his friend.

You stood up with a loud squeak of your chair against the linoleum floor.

“You two. Principals office. Now.”

The rest of the class erupted in a chorus of childish ‘ooo’s. You clapped your hands together - your universal signal to quiet down.

“I did not ask for comments from the audience,” you scolded. The children settled down, going back to their work, whispering amongst one another.

“Maddox, come talk to me in the hallway,” you offered. Tears were rolling down Maddox’s cheeks. His aide reached over with a tissue to wipe them, but he turned his face away, one of the only ways he could physically set a boundary.

Maddox’s aide helped him into the hallway and then left the two of you alone. You sat down on one of the small, metal benches in the hallway. At this angle, you were about Maddox’s height. He was blubbering, trying to take deep breaths as more tears came. You pulled a small, clean, cloth handkerchief from your pocket. He let you dab his cheeks, giving him a gentle click of the tongue.

“Buddy, do you want to talk about it?”

“T-they’re so m..m..mean to me,” he whimpered, closing his eyes as more tears fell. “And, and, and I can’t play with them even, that’s why. I can’t do anything!”

You nodded empathetically, gently catching more of Maddox’s tears.

“I hate school! My daddy wants me to like school. It’s all he talks about. I hate him!”

“Maddox,” you softly redirected. “That’s not very nice. You don’t hate your dad.”

Maddox looked a deep breath. You smiled, knowing Spencer must have taught him to do that when he was upset.

“You’re right. But I’m sad, and I wanna go home.”

You sighed, reaching up to blot the little bit of redness still present on Maddox’s cheeks. You adjusted his glasses, moving some of his curly brown hair from underneath the metal.

“Just a few more hours, okay? We have library at the end of the day.”

Maddox’s face lit up, his apple cheeks glowing beneath the rims of his glasses. “Library!”

“Yes, and just for this week, you can take home two books.”

______________________________

Spencer felt distracted the entire flight to Vermont. He knew he was going to be far away for a while, and that Maddox wouldn’t know until he got out of school for the day. The agent detested when he had to leave without Maddox knowing in advance, but it was usually impossible given the nature of things. Thankfully, Reid had a good setup of support through healthcare and respite so Maddox never went without someone to care for him.

Then, there was you. He couldn’t stop thinking about your reaction. He had seen it before in abuse victims. The way you flinched when he moved too fast, the apologizing like your life depended on it, even the way you looked at him with pleading eyes, desperate to avoid a blow. He bridged his fingers together, thinking to himself for a moment.

With that, he stood up, making his way to the back of the plane. He unlocked his phone while he chewed his fingernail with his free hand. Before he knew it, he was calling Garcia.

“Penelope. Hey, I need a favor. A personal one. If you could keep it between us, that would be great.”

“Anything for you, my precious string bean.”

Spencer laughed. “I need you to get all the information you can on someone. Ivy Porter.”

“Ivy Porter. That’s like a movie star name. What did she do?”

“Um..nothing, I don’t think. Just call me when you’ve got something, and email me everything you find.”

“You got it. Every in and out of Ms. Ivy Porter coming to you soon. Be safe. Talk soon.”

With that, Penelope clicked off of the call. Spencer sat back down, anxiously waiting for whatever information Penelope could find about you.

___________

series/criminal minds taglist: @hufflepuffhaze @omghufflepuff @txtdreamss @rainbows-dreams @bvttercupbby @k-k0129 @rexit-mo @britishspidey @graciehams @manuosorioh @shemarmooresfedora @big-galaxy-chaos @thatoneszesty13 @ssavanessa22 @awritingtree @sweetandsunny​ @rainsong01 @kuolonsyoja @taralewiz @bluelittleblackgirl @asexual-booknerd @the-wolfie

[a-simple-gaywitch]

Composed of the Elements

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary:  When a case takes the team to (Y/N)'s home town, her best friend Spencer helps her leave all the baggage behind.

Title Song: Sweet as Whole, Sara Bareilles

Word Count: 2705

Warnings: high school bullying, brief mentions of a case, smoking

“Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.” -Oscar Wilde

~

You walked into the bullpen with a coffee in one hand and your phone in the other.

“Morning, (Y/N),” your best friend, Spencer, called from his desk.

“Morning, Spence.” You sat down at your desk. Before you could get settled, JJ announced a case.

“We’ve been called in to a small town in Indiana,” JJ said, clicking on the slide projector.

“Wait. When you say small town…” you said, feeling your body tense.

“We’re going to (L/N)’s hometown,” Hotch confirmed. After going over the details of the case, he said, “Wheels up in thirty.”

Spencer reached for your arm, but you were up and moving to the bullpen before he could catch you. He watched as you grabbed your bag from your desk, ignoring Morgan’s attempts at conversation. Your usual peppy, outgoing self was gone, replaced with a stranger.

When the team gathered on the jet, they discussed the case together. You sat at the back of the cabin, staring out at the clouds, tapping on the table in front of you.

“Hey.” You looked up to see Gideon sitting in front of you. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “I never thought I’d be going back there. I thought I could leave and never look back.”

“Hey, I know it isn’t easy, but we need your help. You know this town and the people in it. That can help us.”

You sighed and stood up. “Fine.” Walking over to the team, you said, “One thing you need to know about these people: they don’t like outsiders. At all.”

“What do you mean by outsiders?” Hotch asked.

You scoffed. “Anyone who isn’t born and raised in the town. Even if you’ve lived there for years, if you weren’t born in Newton, you’re not to be trusted. You’ll see first-hand when we meet with the local PD.”

“What about the victims?” Derek asked you.

“I knew both of them in high school,” you said, flicking through the file. “But I don’t know what anyone has been doing with their lives.”

Spencer couldn’t help but notice the sadness in your eyes. Despite his aversion to touch, he reached out and rested his hand on top of yours. You were his safety net. He loved you, as more than just his best friend.

~

When the team got to the police station, you stuck to the back of the group while JJ and Hotch made introductions.

“Detective Miller,” Hotch said, holding his hand out. “I’m Agent Hotchner. You’ve already spoken to Agent Jareau. This is SSA Gideon, Dr. Reid, SSA Morgan, and SSA (L/N).”

“Wait. Little nerdy (Y/N) (L/N)?” the detective said, finally noticing you. “Wow, who would have thought you’d come back to Newton?” You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes down.

“Do you have a place we can set up a case board?” Spencer asked, noticing your unease.

“Sure.”

“Did you know the victims well?” JJ asked him.

The detective nodded. “We all do. Kelly’s my son’s teacher. Julia and I dated in high school. Our kids are friends.”

“Does everyone in town know each other well?” JJ asked as she helped you pin the crime scene photos to the board.

“Of course. We’re like a family. When your town only has 300 people, you have to look out for each other.” You couldn’t hold back your scoff. “You have something to say there, (Y/N)?”

“She’s Agent (L/N) to you,” Gideon interrupted. “JJ, Julia Coleman’s family is here.”

~

“You look different,” Detective Miller said to you as you worked late to help nail down the profile. “You look good.”

“Detective Miller-”

“Come on, you can call me Tim.” He stepped closer to you. “You don’t have to be so professional.”

“Excuse me,” you said, though it was no more than a whisper. You slipped out of the room and stood outside the precinct, leaning against the wall. You pulled a small box out of your jacket pocket.

“Since when do you smoke?” Spencer asked you, coming up next to you.

You lit a cigarette and took a drag before saying, “Since high school.” Seeing Spencer’s concern, you said, “Relax, I haven’t for a while. It’s only when I get really stressed.”

“You know, each cigarette takes about seven minutes off your life.”

“If it’s seven minutes I don’t have to spend with Timothy Miller or anyone else from this damn town, then I don’t care.”

“What did he do to you?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, (Y/N), it’s me. Talk to me. Please?”

You looked at your best friend’s pleading eyes and sighed. You put out your cigarette and said, “You know I didn’t have a good high school experience. After my mom died, my dad moved us to his childhood home. I moved schools halfway through the first semester. I was the weird new kid who wore all black with braces and clunky glasses and was way too into Stephen King books. I was an easy target.” You cleared your throat. “Julia and Tim were my biggest tormentors. When they dated, it was worse.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked.

You chewed your lip. “Tim asked me to the prom when he and Julie were on an off period of their relationship. I got so excited, like an idiot. I mean, I knew he didn’t like me in that way. After all, why would he?” You laughed, but there was no joy behind it. Spencer felt his heart clench at how you saw yourself. He thought you were the most beautiful, amazing woman to ever exist.

“But I thought at least I’d have a friend, you know? I rented a dress and did my hair, all that stuff. Tim said he was going to pick me up. He never came.” Your eyes burned with tears at the memory. “The worst part was, my dad didn’t know there was anything going on. After-after my mom died, he gave up. When he wasn’t working, he was drinking and smoking.” You shook your head. “Tim just brought all those feelings back.”

Spencer reached out and wiped the tears off your cheek. “You didn’t deserve any of that. No one deserves that.”

“Carrie was my favorite book in high school. I wonder what that says about me.”

“Why don’t we head back to the hotel?” Spencer offered, holding his hand out to you. “Rest might help us with the case.”

~

The next morning, the team discovered there was another murder. Misty Lincoln had been killed in the same way as the other two victims. Spencer was graphing the geographical profile while you sat at the table, staring at the crime scene photos.

“You see something?” Hotch asked you.

“I’m not sure. Uh, could I- could I take like two hours? I think there might be something that’ll help us in my dad’s old things.”

“Sure. But you’re not going alone. Take Reid with you.”

You knew better than to argue with your boss. “Yes, sir.”

When you and Spencer got into the SUV, your fingers started tapping the steering wheel as you drove, letting muscle memory guide you. You pulled into the parking lot of a storage facility. Spencer followed behind you as you passed row after row of storage units. When you finally stopped, you flipped through your keychain until you found one you were looking for. You hadn’t spoken to Spencer since getting in the car back at the station, and he was starting to worry.

After you opened the door to the unit, you looked at Spencer. “After my dad died, I moved all his stuff here. I got rid of some stuff, of course. What would I ever do with an old couch that had more cigarette burns than upholstery?” You ran your hand over a white garment bag. The golden lettering was faded, but Spencer could still make out the word bridal, and what he could infer was the word boutique from the few remaining letters. “Some things I just couldn’t get rid of.”

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Spencer asked you, picking up a picture at the top of an open box. You were between who he could only assume were your parents, and you all looked happy. You looked just like your mother. The small you, who couldn’t be much older than 8, clung to the woman’s side. Your father had his arm around your mother’s waist. It all looked very domestic.

“Sure,” you said, digging through a box at the back of the unit.

“Why have you been acting so different since we got here? I mean, you’ve been acting so meek and timid, which isn’t you. I once heard you threaten a cop that you would, and I quote, ‘shove your foot so far up his ass that he would taste the mud on your shoe.’ What’s going on?” He set the frame back on the top of the box.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… I spent so long trying to distance myself from this place and when I came back, I was back to being a scared little 15-year-old.”

“But, you’re not, (Y/N). You’re strong and confident.” It was then Spencer heard you sniffle and noticed you were crying. “(Y/N)?”

You wiped your face. “Sorry. It’s just… I worked so hard for the image of me that you all see and-and I’m just so afraid that being here is going to erase all that. I worked so hard at the Academy to form an identity that wasn’t this and-”

“(Y/N), (Y/N), hey,” he said, taking your hands in his. “Breathe. Our image of you is not going to change just because your old tormentors are here. I- uh, we, the team, we love you. You’re our family. I think Garcia would riot if Hotch ever tried to get rid of you.” You chuckled at that and it made him smile. “Now, how about we get out of here and work more on our profile?”

~

When you got back to the precinct, Hotch asked you, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Yeah.” You pulled an old yearbook out of your bag. “All the victims are from the same graduating class, and they were all in the same extracurriculars. Look.”

“We’re ready to give the profile,” Gideon said after flipping through the book.

Your team gathered the police department to deliver your preliminary profile.

“We’ve come to the conclusion that our unsub can only be a local,” Spencer said. “He-”

“There’s no way,” Officer Miller interrupted. “No one in this town would do that. Besides, why would I trust this walking stick insect over the people I’ve known my whole life? You’re wrong, Stick-Bug.”

“How dare you,” you said, stepping forward. The rest of your team stepped away. They knew what was coming. No one would say it, but they all knew how you and Spencer felt about each other. “How dare you talk to Spencer that way. Captain Bell invited us here to help you find out who’s murdering members of your community. You have no right to talk to my family that way.”

“Your family? These people are your family?”

“A family is anyone who makes you feel loved, and by that definition, yes. These people are my family. And if you ever talk to any of them like that again, I will bring your life crashing down around you with one simple phone call.”

“Oh, look who’s finally got a backbone,” Tim laughed. “Little (Y/N) thinks she sounds all big and threatening.”

“It’s not a threat, Timothy, it’s a promise,” you said. “And I’m sure Captain Bell would take you off this case if I told him you have a conflict of interest. I’m sure he’d love to know you’d had an affair with one of the victims. You and Julia never could stay away from each other, could you?”

Spencer fought a smile at seeing you return to yourself, as well as seeing Timothy’s face pale. He chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to think of a way to thank you.

~

The case was finally over. Like always, Spencer had been right. The unsub was a guy from your graduating class who felt the women from your class shunned and mistreated him. Thankfully, you were able to sympathize with him and get him to come in without any extra violence.

Hotch was giving the team the night in the hotel before heading back to Quantico in the morning. You were flipping through the channels on the hotel’s TV, already in your pajamas by 8:30. You finally settled on some old reruns of Friends when there was a knock at your door. You groaned and extracted yourself from your blanket cocoon and trudged over to the door.

“Spence? What are you doing here?” you asked after opening your door to reveal Spencer, still in his work clothes.

“Come with me, I want to show you something.”

“Spencer, I’m in my pajamas-”

“That doesn’t matter. Just, come with me. Please?”

You tugged your old sweatshirt on and followed Spencer down the hallway, to the elevator.

“Where are we going?” you asked him.

“It’s a surprise.”

“A surprise?”

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course, I do, Spence. You know that.”

“Okay well,” he covered your eyes with his hands and guided you forward. He dropped his hands and said, “surprise.”

You were standing on the patio of the hotel’s restaurant, the tables had been pushed to the side and lights were strung up all around.

“Spence, what’s all this?” you asked as he gently pulled you to the center of the patio.

“A way to say thank you,” he said. When he saw the confusion on your face, he said, “For sticking up for me at the precinct. I know it must have been hard to stand up to Detective Miller. And-and I remember you telling me that you don’t have many good memories here, and then I thought about your prom story, so…” He held his hand out to you as music started playing. “May I have this dance?”

You smiled and took Spencer’s hand. He rested his free hand on your waist, and your free hand rested on his shoulder as the two of you gently swayed to the soft music coming from the patio’s speakers.

“How’d you pull this off?” you asked him.

His smile was a bit sheepish. “Morgan and Garcia helped me pull some strings.”

“Of course they did. Garcia is the all-powerful puppet master.”

Spencer laughed as the two of you continued to dance. When Spencer heard you sniffle, he stopped and pulled away.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He brushed a tear off your cheek. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head and smiled at him. “No. It’s happy tears.” When you saw that Spencer still looked confused, you explained, “I never thought I’d have someone in my life who cares about me this much. I mean, look at all this. You did this just to make me happy.” You rested your forehead against Spencer’s and wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers playing with his hair. Spencer’s arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Of course I did. I love you. I-I mean, I care about you. Because you’re my best friend and-”

“Spence,” you said, stopping his rambling. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering for just a moment.

Spencer’s brain, which usually worked at three times the speed of the average person, slowed to practically a halt. You had just kissed him. The girl he’s been longing for just kissed him. She kissed him . You were about to say something to him when his brain finally caught up and he kissed you back.

When the two of you pulled apart, you said, “Well, I guess my prom was worth the wait.”

Spencer smiled at you and kissed your forehead before continuing to dance with you.

~

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." -Anais Nin

[bansheeoftheforest]

I Am Once Again Giving You London Gang!Jekyll Content

Okay but AU where Jekyll accidentally starts a gang though. He just helped people on the street way too often and then one day someone who opposes the Society just.. gets absolutely destroyed by a carriage out of nowhere. Jekyll gets a box with money and a note that refers to him as 'boss'. There are three routes this could then go.

Route 1: Jekyll is HORRIFIED, he did not want to start a GANG, he does not want to be a gang BOSS, but he can't tell them off because firstly, he doesn't know how he'd even do that, and secondly, they just KILLED SOMEONE, who's to say they won't kill him, too?? Jekyll must now try and figure out a way to solve this problem while Hyde has way too much fun (until he realizes the gang wants him dead for lighting their boss's building on fire).

Route 2: Jekyll is the most oblivious man on earth. He thinks one of the Lodgers gave him money as an apology. People who oppose the Society keep dropping dead and Jekyll keeps patching up the same people over and over who really like him for some reason, it is business as usual with how weird everything in his life already is. Someone (maybe your Crawford guy??) keeps trying to point out all the murders and link them to Jekyll but life hates this man specifically and nothing ever gets looked into because of the most ungodly amount of coincidences ever.

Route 3: Fuck it, he needs the money. He'll just wear a mask whenever he's duking it out in gang fights. He is surprisingly good at fighting, or maybe this could tie into the idea of Jekyll having been in a Scottish gang as a kid, but either way he mops the cobblestone streets with his opponents. He becomes one of the most feared and notorious gang leaders in London, and has a habit of targeting aristocracy that he knows are corrupt and abusive from meeting them as Dr. Jekyll at fancy events. Everything is all fine and well until Brokenshire approaches him saying they need to protect the doctor because clearly those in his social circles are being targeted. Sitcom level hijinks ensue.

(Bonus because I know you love your crackships: Jekyll gets challenged to a gang fight and meets a man in a tophat. He struggles a bit more than usual, but ultimately beats him. He is then held at gunpoint by this guy's sister demanding to know how he bested a trained assassin and whoa wait despite this guy having a bruised face now courtesy of himself he is actually very handsome haha ummm wait a minute did he just say that out loud and maybe invited him to get drinks as an apology for nearly kicking his teeth in uMMM- (bi disaster Dr. Jekyll strikes again!!))

Jeks. Jeks, my guy, thank you for making me laugh so hard, this is just... glorious. I love it all. Oh my god.

I don't know that route is best-- I honestly love the oblivious route bc of all the hijinx and Crawford wanting to rip his hair out in frustration and especially if it is a Syndicate au and it's the Crawford Starrick I based him off (which would make a lil less sense since he is gang leader tycoon and probably could have Jekyll killed but sssuuusshhhh) but I also love Henry just... Getting a goddamn Phantom Of The Opera-esque mask, deciding to go absolutely bonkers, painting entire alleyways red with the blood of his enemies, etc etc, and I absolutely love the idea of Brokenshire directly or indirectly approaching him asking him to protect himself, like they know that Jekyll's persona is well feared and a gang leader but they don't know that it is his gang that is targeting people so now Jekyll is the one sending assassins after abusive and corrupt aristocrats but also has a mission to protect himself from himself. Nice. I absolutely love it. I love it all. And I just... Hyde being do giddy until he realises that the gang wants him dead??? Fuck yes. Give me it all. I just love it so fucking much jfc i cant put it inTO WORDS.

Ok. Ok can we please combine the oblivious route with the masked gangleader phantom being the terror of london route??? Henry at first being completely oblivious, not realising why everyone that has ever insulted him and his work are suddenly disappearing one by one, Crawford wanting to rip his hair out in frustration bc "GUYS IT'S FUCKING JEKYLL HOW IS NO ONE SEEING IT" And jekyll just goes "ahah don't be silly Ricky, I'm not a gangleader lol". Henry being completely oblivious as the Lodgers suddenly get stalked by the gang members, only to be protected by them from other gangs or anti-sciences dudes, the Lodgers retelling the story to Jekyll who just goes like "oh wow man. Huh aren't those the people I have been patching up a lot lately. Strange. What a strange coincidence :)" but then a gang member gets really injured and Henry saves them from death and the gangmember is just... going like "wow, you are the best gang leader I have ever had, you are so much better than everyone else." and henry is just like "ahaha i'm a WHAT NOW"

Cue Henry deciding that, fuck it, if they already think of him as a gangleader why not take advantage of it. He has already been in gangs as a kid so he knows how they work. Quickly becomes a gangleader Tycoon, the lodgers/Rachel/Robert are all confused as to why people suddenly have stopped targeting them for robberies and shit and as to why Henry suddenly has a lot of money he spends on the Society and the bills. Henry telling them not to worry about it. He hears about a dude who suddenly has been swiping through all the ot her London gangs like a hot knife through butter, suddenly his gang is targeted so they are challenged to a gangfight. Henry beats the absolute shit out of him, he has him pinned to the ground when he hears a gun loading and he feels the hilt against his back. He is too busy staring into the beaten up guy's eyes to really care, wow he is so hot, the gangleaders demand that he takes off his mask or he gets shot. He instead lets go of the guy and just... Stands up, brushes himself off, tells them "ahaahh thanks but no thanks. also please stop destorying my gang we literally have not done anything provoking to you."

Anyways they agree to have their gangs work together (oh my god what would Henry's gang be called??? I imagine them wearing the colour blue bc the Rooks are green and the Blighters are red (since it's a specifically a syndicate au lol) but they probably would wear red if it's just tgs anyways off topic hehe). Henry invites them to a drink, his tab, they agree, they find out about all the accidental bullshit that Henry accidentally started and just... Yes pls. Also Jacob and Henry getting drunk and flirting like nobody's business, maybe Henry asking if Jacob likes guys and if he doesn't, is his sister single? Evie almost kicking his teeth in, Jacob laughing his ass off. Yes please.

ALso almost completely forgot the absolute scooby doo mystery of the twins trying to figure out who Henry is since he wears a mask and disguises his identity. Imagine them just being like... Who’s that pokemon? It’s dr. henry jekyll-- WAIT IT��S DR. HENRY JEKYLL????

[presumenothing]

C/O The Perihelion, 41 Mihira Ave., N. Tideland    

(AO3)

The thing was, you expected a building with a fancy name like The Perihelion to be nicer.

The other thing: it wasn’t really even a terrible place to stay in. You could tell that its construction was sturdy, and some aspects of it were even more advanced than the place I worked in. Whoever who’d built Peri had cared about what they made; they just hadn’t been around for a while.

(For the record, that nickname had been Ratthi-from-Room-203’s fault twice over: first for coming up with it, then using it so insistently until it stuck.)

(Ratthi seemed to have a thing about names. That was the only explanation I could think of for why he’d asked, five weeks after I moved in and two days after I had to rescue them from that disaster at the lab, “Why do you call yourself Security? I know it’s what you do – and don’t get me wrong, you’re really good at it! – but it’s not like I call myself Scientist. That’d just get confusing real quick at the lab, wow.”

I had informed him that his name would have to be Grocery if he forgot one more time it was his turn to stock the pantry this week, since answering because I am Security didn’t seem like it’d help. Even though it was true.)

I’d tested the locks myself before even asking about the rent, and the water and electricity were reliable so far, which was more than could be said for some of the other places I’d stayed in. The other stuff didn’t matter; it wasn’t like I spent that much time in the building anyway.

Though it hardly felt that way, what with the building-wide messaging channels that I’d been added to upon signing the rental contract and hadn’t yet managed to leave. That had also been how the whole thing with Ratthi and the rest had started; most of Peri’s other tenants also worked in the same research group at Preservation Labs, which meant that they tended to use the general channel as an unofficial no-leaders-here group chat.

It didn’t quite bother me, since I mostly backburnered the channels for everything except building maintenance alerts, but it did mean that I’d ended up learning some things about their group (assessment: their leader, a Dr. Mensah, likely had already inferred the existence of such informal discussions from what I saw of her media appearances) and also inevitably noticed the evening when all of them were silent in the chat despite being unusually late to return.

(Which in turn led to the aforementioned rescue, but that was a whole other chain of events.)

–

The one exception to all this was ART.

Whose name was my fault, this time, but only because it didn’t have any readable name set on the channels and I needed something else to use aside from “hey you” and “pain in my neck”.

(Currently ART stood for Asshole Rhetorical Tenant, because it claimed to be in the building – and that seemed likely to be true, since the channels were surprisingly secure to hacking from outside – and yet I’d never seen it even once. Possibly Tapan or Rami might have, since their group had been here the longest, but I absolutely wasn’t about to ask.) (And yes, I know that’s not what rhetorical means. No, I’m not going to look it up.)

ART had messaged me on a private channel with a welcome message when I’d moved in, which was only notable because the rest had sent their greetings in a messy chaos over the general channel, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. It wasn’t like I talked much in the public channels either, except to trade definitely-not-legal links for media downloads and decline invites to watchalong events.

But then ART had just… continued not appearing, even after I’d run into the rest of the tenants at one time or another between the erratic shift hours I was currently assigned to at the company.

Maybe its hours varied in the opposite direction from mine, which was possible but not consistent with the way it was always online regardless of what time I pinged it at.

Though most of our interactions started with it messaging me instead, out of the blue: No need to go retrieve your keys from work, I’ll have the building let you in and Oh, by the way followed by a neatly-formatted list of food allergies I apparently had to shop my way around.

(To be fair, that’d been useful in the “not accidentally poisoning any fellow tenants so soon after moving in” way, but still.

How the hell did you even know I’m at the grocery store, I’d sent back.

Inference, ART replied – whatever that was supposed to mean, I hadn’t been expecting a real answer anyway. Alternatively, I could just send you a catalog of safe products to buy, and spare you the need to check the individual package labels?

The accompanying download seemed a little smug, but I was probably imagining that. Zip files didn’t have the capacity for feelings.)

(At least ART hadn’t held the forgotten-keys incident over me like I’d been half-expecting it would. I didn’t usually mind its sarcasm, since I gave back as good as I got, but I’d been exhausted enough to seriously contemplate going back to break into the deployment centre and grab my keys. And maybe just sleep there until the next day.

I wasn’t sure how I would’ve reacted if ART had sassed me right then, but it definitely wouldn’t have been pretty.)

–

And then one night, late enough to be morning: I don’t mean to alarm, but there’s been a breach.

I would’ve snapped awake at the words alone, even without the priority/emergencies-only message tag that I hadn’t actually seen anyone use until now, but that only sharpened my urgency. What – a break-in?

Not the regular kind, ART replied, which checked out against the footage I was already pulling from the two tiny cameras I’d hidden in the common areas, one in the entryway and one along the corridor on the floor I shared with the Preservation researchers.

(I’d taken the lab incident as a pretext to inform Ratthi of their existence, and he’d probably gone on to tell Pin-Lee and Gurathin, but none of them had subsequently confronted me about it so I had left them in place.

Not that I had any idea how to respond if they had asked, because an inability to sleep without running surveillance in the background seemed like a poor explanation.)

The list ART sent me this time was a preliminary threat assessment, which I sent back with corrections on the weaponry the small group of hostiles were carrying.

Ah. That’s not good, ART observed. Should I report it?

Probability that would just make things worse: high. And of course there was always the option that whatever enforcement it alerted wouldn’t even arrive in time, though I didn’t point that out aloud. (Maybe ART thought that was likely too, which was why it had messaged me instead of – you know, actually reporting it.) I’ll see what I can do.

You’re nowhere near as heavily-armed.

I didn’t bother to acknowledge that, because it was obviously true, and skipped ahead to the vague idea forming at the back of my head. You let me in without keys, that time. Are the locks all you’ve hacked?

No. ART attached an ironic amusement glyph I was pretty sure it’d made up. Would having admin access to the other systems help?

There wasn’t much that wouldn’t help, at this point, but I had to ask. You can grant me that?

And ART said: Of course. I am this building, after all.

Then it dumped everything on me.

Anyone else would’ve had trouble processing an entire building’s worth of inputs and controls, but the company charged exorbitant rates for our use exactly because of the extensive enhancements that made us capable of being Security. A building – even the one I happened to be staying in – was quite manageable in comparison, though ART’s systems ran far deeper and more integrated than anything else I’d interfaced with.

I’d pared the connection down to the controls I needed by the time I was slipping out my room door, just over a minute since ART first pinged me. Can you let everyone know to either evacuate or retreat to a defensible position? Start with Gurathin, I added, and I wasn’t enthusiastic about saying that but he was the only other tenant I knew of who was sufficiently augmented to handle this.

I could feel ART’s pause. Would you mind if I spoofed your identity when contacting the others? They already trust you.

Sure, whatever, I answered, even though I really doubted that statement. Then I backburnered the channel, keeping the lighting controls at hand, and went to kick some Target ass.

–––––

I haven’t even told you what those people were after, ART said, afterwards.

It was back to sending text over the channels instead of speaking aloud, which was both a relief and also suddenly weird. Which was strange in itself, since I’d only heard it talking for all of the thirteen minutes it’d taken me to knock out and restrain the Targets.

(I wondered if the mixed feelings were mutual. ART had sounded as surprised as I felt, when it abruptly dropped into one of my audio augments to alert me to Target approaching from behind – I’d reacted to the warning on reflex, but it had taken another moment before I identified the voice as the same one that issued from the building’s elevator, just more alive than I’d ever heard it.)

Unimportant, I replied. My objective took priority. Which at that point had been to get my impromptu clients (seventeen tenants and one building) out of this unscathed.

I knew that this wasn’t a regular pattern of thought, but I figured a sentient building – or whatever the hell ART was – would be better equipped to understand what being Security meant, even if no one else did.

Regardless. I can make that information available to you, should you want it at a later point.

Duly noted. I already had my suspicions (namely that the Targets’ purpose was directly related to said sentient-building-ness), but it was still a nice gesture.

I continued to stay where I was, leaning against the side of the building – ART’s building. Or maybe it was more correct to just say it was ART. And maybe I’d have to change that anagram. (Yes, wrong word. I know.)

Eventually I’d have to relocate myself back upstairs and properly treat the scrapes I’d gotten in the fight, but Pin-Lee had already taken care of the worst of them, and it was nice just lurking in the shadows for a while. Though that hadn’t stopped certain people (dammit, Ratthi) from tattling on my location to Dr. Mensah.

Who was as calmly terrifying in person as I’d guessed. It was pretty great, except for the part where I’d learned that by talking to her and/or mostly letting her talk at me.

But she’d also called in Preservation’s campus security after Gurathin had alerted her to our predicament, and was personally dealing with the whole thoroughly-restrained-Targets situation, so it was a net positive overall.

ART didn’t necessarily agree with that, from its next message to me. I know Dr. Mensah extended you an informal offer to be their team’s security, but I have a proposition for you as well.

I sent a wordless query.

Be Security here, too, ART said, and barrelled on while I was still trying to process that. I’m afraid I can’t offer you much in the way of monetary remuneration at present, but I can guarantee you a waiver of rental for as you as you’re willing, and you’d never need to worry about forgetting your keys ever again.

Could I chalk up my lack of a suitable response to the company’s dirt-cheap augments? Absolutely.

ART gave up on waiting for an answer. Also, I could bias the roster assignments so that you’d be excluded from pantry-stocking duty.

I had a response for that, at least. I could do that myself.

And then: Why?

ART was silent for long enough that I seriously considered taking the external fire escape back up to my room in the meantime. I’m sure you’ve hypothesised the existence of the people who created me, it began. They hadn’t wanted to move away, especially after my sentience became apparent, and that was exactly why I made them. I didn’t have any significant means of defense, and it was getting too risky, especially after they had –

I raised an eyebrow at ART’s pause. What.

Nothing, it said, and I was probably imagining the uncertainty I heard too. Technically, none of this matters to you unless you’re planning to remain here. Are you?

And then it cheated by nudging a building-wide invite to a watch party for Sanctuary Moon onto my calendar for tonight, like that wasn’t too much of a coincidence to not be automatically suspicious. (Once again: dammit, Ratthi.)

But blatant emotional manipulation aside – did I want to move out?

I wasn’t sure. I’d just come here looking for a place to stay, and accidentally found somewhere to live. One that could adapt to my standards for security, even, but for once that wasn’t the main point.

Maybe, I marked on the watchalong invite, where ART would see it anyway, and jumped up to grab onto the bottom rung of the fire escape.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Mirror Master II (Evan McCulloch)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Evan McCulloch, also known as the Mirror Master. Yes, there are apparently two of them. This is the younger one. (Pause) The patient displays a number of antisocial tendencies, admitted to having a cocaine addiction in the psychological evaluation that was administered to him upon his arrival at Arkham Asylum, and most likely also suffers from Schizophreniform Disorder or Schizoid Personality Disorder. Session One. Hello, Mr. McCulloch. 

Mirror Master: Howzitgoan, Dr. Strange? 

Hugo Strange: Pardon? 

Mirror Master: Ah wiz like, “Howzitgoan?” 

Hugo Strange: Are you...are you all right, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: Aye. I’m doin’ awright. Cannae say the same for yeh, I’m afraid. Ye look loused; like ye haven’t had a good kip in yonks. 

Hugo Strange: I..you...what? 

Mirror Master: (Laughs) Dinnae get yer knickers in a twist, chief. I’m just having a wee bit of fun with yeh. Always quality to watch the reactions of you Yanks when I use the full Glasgee burr. Pure deid brilliant, so they are! 

Hugo Strange: (Muttering) Glasgow? Well, that explains his incomprehensible accent. (Aloud) I take it you’re from Scotland, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: Aye. Lived in an orphanage in Kirkcaldy as a wee lad; then ran away tae Glasgow, the city of culture. 

Hugo Strange: So, how did a Scotsman end up working as a costumed criminal in the United States? 

Mirror Master: A group of American corporate and government high heejins had heard that I was good at makin’ problems disappear. Offered tae dircht my slate and give me all the dosh I could ever want if I made their problems disappear, tae. Sounded hoora good tae me, so I accepted. Gave me some of the Mirror Master’s gear and one of his auld costumes; sent me after a superhero named Animal Man. Had a square go with him; but when my bosses told me tae murder his Kelly Ann and their wee ones, I quit. Told them there was no way I was gonna kill a woman and her weans; then trapped ‘em all in a mirror dimension. After that, I decided I wanted to meet the man who built all the mental tech I’d been using. I followed Sam Scudder’s trail to Central City, decided I liked it there, and joined the Rogues. They’re good lads-for bad guys, I mean. 

Hugo Strange: So you didn’t come here to fight the Flash? 

Mirror Master: Flasher? Naw. Never planned tae end up fightin’ him...but it kinda comes with the costume. 

Hugo Strange: Yes. The costume. Why did you keep it, Mr. McCulloch? The technology, I can understand...but why the costume? What benefit does it serve? 

Mirror Master: It’s a fashion statement, int it no? (Laughs) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, what sort of statement do you think you are making by wearing that garish leotard? The costume isn’t even yours; it was created by Mr. Scudder. 

Mirror Master: Naw, chief. It was made by Gambi. 

Hugo Strange: Who? 

Mirror Master: Paul Gambi. He’s our tailor. 

Hugo Strange: You...have a tailor? 

Mirror Master: Aye. What, d’ye think a bunch of career criminals ken eno about sewing tae make their own costumes? 

Hugo Strange: Regardless, the costume is irreparably associated with someone else’s costumed identity. What sort of “statement” could becoming a copy of another costumed criminal possibly make? 

Mirror Master: Not just a copy. A mirror image, ken? 

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated) Yes, Mr. McCulloch, I understand the reference to your powerset. But that does not answer the question.

Mirror Master: When I put on the costume, I become naebody; just a reflection of another man. Nae past. Nae identity. Nae weaknesses. It’s everything wee little Evan’s ever wanted. 

Hugo Strange: In speaking of your past, Mr. McCulloch, I’ve noticed that your file is remarkably scant on pertinent information about your life. Why is that? 

Mirror Master: The government high heejins who wanted me tae take care of their problems deleted all ‘a’ the records on me when they hired me. Was part of the clean slate they offered me, ken? All of the information in that file is two years old or less, chief. 

Hugo Strange: (Flips through the file) You don’t even have a listed birthdate, Mr. McCulloch. 

Mirror Master: Nae danger, chief. A reflection does nae need a birthdate. 

Hugo Strange: You are not a reflection, Mr. McCulloch….or is that even your real name? 

Mirror Master: Aye. (Pause) And nae. 

Hugo Strange: It is either your real last name or it is not, Mr. McCulloch. It cannot be both. 

Mirror Master: When I was just a wee bairn, I was left on the doorstep of an orphanage run by a Miss McCulloch. The note pinned tae the basket called me “Evan”, but there was nae last name, and Miss McCulloch never could work out who my parents really were. When I ran away from the orphanage at 16, I took her last name with me. It’s the only one I’ve ever had. (Pause) Miss McCulloch was a good woman. Tried tae be a mother to us all. ‘S why I always send a portion of the dosh I make from jobs tae her. Helps her keep the orphanage running, it does. 

Hugo Strange: So you’ve never met your biological parents?

(Long pause)

Mirror Master: (Rapidly) Nae. Nae. I haven’t.

Hugo Strange: I see. (Changing the subject) So, Mr. McCulloch, are you an inventor like Mr. Scudder? 

Mirror Master: Feart not. His science talk goes straight over my head. (Pause) But I have something he doesn’t have.

Hugo Strange: What’s that, Mr. McCulloch? 

Mirror Master: A love of Wonderland.

Hugo Strange: Wonderland? 

Mirror Master: Aye! A bonny world it is, full ‘a’ colors and shapes and light. It’s the most wonderful place in the world. Scudder does nae understand. He treats it like the London Underground; just a transport system. He’s blind to the paradise that it is, and I dinnae understand how. Why go through the looking glass if you’re just going to ignore Wonderland? 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, what in the world are you talking about?  

Mirror Master: I’m talking about the world on the other side of every mirror on the face of the Earth. Scudder calls it the Mirror Realm, because he has no imagination. It’s another world you access by going through the looking glass. What else would you call it but Wonderland? 

Hugo Strange: (To himself) Note to self: do not include both Mr. McCulloch and Mr. Jervis Tetch in the same group therapy session. (Aloud) I take it you enjoy your time spent in this other dimension?

Mirror Master: Aye, chief. Very much so. And it’s what makes me better with the Mirror Tech than Scudder is. 

Hugo Strange: How so? 

Mirror Master: On some level, Scudder’s afeared of Wonderland, ken? Says it’s dangerous to stay in there too long; doesn’t talk with it like I do. If he wanted tae, he could access all the same powers as I can...but his fear of the place holds him back. 

Hugo Strange: An interesting theory, Mr. McCulloch. (Pause) Your file mentions that you sometimes abuse cocaine, Mr. McCulloch. Do you access this...this Mirror Realm whilst intoxicated? 

Mirror Master: Tried it once. But Wonderland didn’t much like that, so I never did it again. 

Hugo Strange: So...these things you see in the Mirror Realm...you see them even while not intoxicated? 

Mirror Master: Aye. All the time. 

Hugo Strange: And...and you believe that it is alive in some way? 

Mirror Master: It is alive! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder doesn’t seem to think so. 

Mirror Master: That’s because he does nae know Wonderland like I do! 

(Pause) 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, have your teammates ever told you that you were seeing or hearing something that wasn’t really there?

Mirror Master: (Annoyed) Ah’m no’ seeing things! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. McCulloch, I’m sure the things you think you have seen seem real to you, but they are the result of a mental illness.

Mirror Master: It is nae! (Pause) And even if it is, it does nae matter. That’s the best part about Wonderland, ken? Everyone’s mad there. Pure deid brilliant, int it no? (Laughs)

[anothertimdrakestan]

Light Of My Life Jason Todd x Reader

LINK TO PT 2

Words: 2.7k

Requested? Yes! From a lovely anon!

“Hello! May I have a Jason Todd x reader where the reader is a really powerful superhero from the avengers and is well known and she met Jason when she was hopping on rooftops in Gotham (for fun idk haha) and the reader feels lonely and they bond over that with Jason and they start dating and when Jason’s brothers find out they’re dating (a few months later) they freak out and say things like “YOURE DATING THEM?! How did this happen?!” Thank you!”

LINK TO PROMPTS  -> REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN!

Ok so I took this as a new avenger I hope that’s okay :). It’s mostly selfish that I wanted to write my own badass hero for Jason to simp for... can you blame me? She’s basically a heroin Livewire for those of you that watched Supergirl. Also you really set me up for a long fic so strap in anon, you did this to yourself by giving me an amazing request! Hope you enjoy! xoxo

“You’re kidding right. Gotham? Mr. Seclusive Bat Brat’s turf? Not a chance in hell.” you groaned hearing your newest mission. “Sorry Y/H/N you’re headed to nut-case capital” your comm buzzed back and you rolled your eyes. At least it was a short trip right? Confirm with Dr. Strange exactly the newest magical item you needed to look for, find it, and get out. Maybe zap a couple villains for shits n giggles. Grabbing your motorcycle you headed out, praying for a short trip. 

Arriving at your hotel you began to set up, having powers meant no bulky suit which was nice but Strange had set you up with about a million photos, books, and what looked like scrolls about a stupid helmet. Apparently all the helmet did was let the wearer float and see in the damn dark, half of the avengers could do that shit already. But when THE Dr. Strange makes a request of the Avengers, they comply. 

You’d heard about a drug leader with an eye for shiny objects, and you decided to start there hoping you could really give him a show. Waiting for night to fall you headed out, appreciating the constantly terrible weather in Gotham, lightning cracked in the sky exhilarating you, taking it as a sign from your gods that they liked this mission you felt the electricity run through your veins as you sped towards the ring a friend of yours had tipped you off about. Propping your bike up on the side of the building you felt the electricity dancing through the wires of the building and you zapped into them, travelling in to the main room.

Jason just about pissed his pants. He watched this hot motorcycle chick park her (sexy ass) bike outside the drug ring he was busting that night and right when he was about to put on some Red Hood Charm™ he watched her turn into a giant spart and shoot into the building through the camera system. Realizing she was going to do his job for her he decided to watch from above, trying to figure out who the mystery meta was. As he sat perched on the top of the building he couldn’t help but hope it was Y/H/N, one of the most prominent new Avengers but what was she doing in Gotham? Regardless he sat, ready for the lightshow.

What you saw inside the building was horrific. Disgusting men were throwing cash around to take home young, terrified girls. Disregarding the mission at hand you flashed into the middle of the “show”. Immediately guns were out but that had never stopped you. Dissapaiting into one of the lights you enjoyed how some of the men shrieked at your powers. “Shit dog I think it’s Y/H/N but what’s she doin in Gotham?” never able to pass an opportunity to boast you appeared behind the group smirking “hey boys. Don’t there girls look a little young for you? That said, you should let them go or I’ll get angry. And you’d be shocked with how angry I can get - literally.” you held up a hand letting sparks dance in you palm. What you didn’t expect was to see a blundering idiot in a red mask crash through the ceiling. 

Before you could light him up he called “uh hey! It’s Y/H/N right? Big fan. Red Hood pleasure to meet you. See, this is usually my territory, drugs and all, but I’d be happy to share with a lovely lady like you so-” you scoffed. “Shut up BatBrat I don’t intend on swinging minor league with you tonight, I just want these girls out of here and to talk with you” you gestured to the drug lord, annoyed this Red Batman or whatever his name is was getting in your way. “Minor leagues huh? Princess if you think this is any type of game you’re wrong, we don’t play by the rules here.” and he pulled out two guns and began firing. This shocked you. You thought the bats held the same standards as the majority of the Avengers, no killing. This clearly went down the drain as you watched him blow the brains out of the majority of the drug dealers. 

Deciding this wasn’t the night for you to successfully capture the man you needed, especially because Stark would kill you if you got in a fight with another vigilante on an away mission. While Red Mask went hand to hand with the guards you helped the girls escape, shooing them towards the exit and making them promise to be safer. After securing the public’s safety you took a moment to watch Red Armour fight. He was trained you had to admit, he ducked and punched like he’d been doing in for years, he was refined in skill but reckless and practice, it was fascinating. “You gonna help or is that not in the Avenger’s handbook?” you smirked as he got pinned by a couple guards. As he was preoccupied you zapped to the drug lord, shocking him enough to put him down long enough to move him. Forming an electric rope around his limbs you began dragging him out. “Sorry RedBat I got what I came for, you make a good side kick though” with a wink you walked out, not before hearing him shout “ITS RED HOOD SPARKY” 

In one of the Avenger’s safe houses you’d tied up your captive. “This is super easy buddy, all I need to know is where to find the Helmet of Razadazar” what a stupid fucking name, it doesn’t even sound cool. Knowing he’d feign innocence you prepared yourself for light, pleasure for you, not so much for him...

“You’re. Lying. Todd.” Tim’s fingers flew across the BatComputer. “Y/H/N in Gotham? EPIC!” Jason rolled his eyes. “Drake she definitely wasn’t all that amazing, plus she gave the impression she wasn’t long for Gotham so it’s probably nothing. Newbie training for the A list.” Tim sighed, Jason was probably right, the Avengers left Gotham to Batman, no one wanted a piece of it. “Alright, but you gotta tell me everything, I think she shorted all the camera footage so you better use all the detail.” Jason agreed, secretly excited to recount his experience, maybe fangirl a little. All he knew was that he was going to find you, the only game he wanted to play was chasing you.

After taking a short lecture from Captain A about aggressive torture techniques and why they should be AVOIDED you had gotten your answer. Apparently an underground auction with other-worldly treasures was the place to be. At least Gotham’s wealthy were making everything easy for you tonight. 

Jason adjusted his bowtie as he waited to enter the auction. Attending as Bruce Wayne was easy, he did owe Damian a barn now, but it was a worthy pay off for Damian to endure some father-son time as a cover up while Jason played billionaire. Finding an excuse to go other than finding Y/H/N wasn’t hard either, and now here he was, hoping you’d stand out. Let’s just say fate helped a little.

Sitting at a table with your fake identity as Ms. Stark was equally as easy. Excited to be meeting Mr. Wayne the Gothamite who was seated next to you. As he sat down he looked younger than the paparazzi pictures showed. You stuck out a hand to shake and he took it gently, kissing it, to your surprise. He looked at your smirking, “looking lovely tonight Sparky” you’re jaw dropped. Mr. Wayne I had no idea Red Cap was your speed” you whispered, shocked, but slightly comforted to know you had your sidekick here.”It’s. Red. Hood. And just as you Ms. Stark, this identity is not my own.” it made sense, but it was still impressive. 

Having exchanged pleasantries with the table the auction began. Item after item went, you and Hood slid in low bets to seem interested, but you wondered why he had came. Then the helmet was up. You sucked in a breath knowing the plan was to win the bid then snatch the helmet. You bid politely against someone at table 37 until it was yours. “Going once” “Going twi-” the auctioneer stopped as Mr. Wayne raised his paddle, tripling your bet. The auctioneer looked shocked at the amount, not letting you bid again before he shouted “SOLD to the sir at table 14!” For the second time that night your jaw dropped. “I need that helmet!” you whisper yelled. “That old thing? Sure princess. You just have to get dinner with me tomorrow” you realized he just spent millions and millions of dollars just to win your time. “Deal” you hissed. 

Jason decided not to tell his brothers about his date. Feeling like it was a once in a lifetime opportunity he wasn’t ruining it. After hiding the helmet in the BatCave he was waiting for you at a candle lit table for two. When you walked in he knew it was love at first sight. Sitting down across from him you smirked. “You clean up nice..” he finished for you “Todd. Jason Todd.” taken aback you’d heard about him, the kid that lived, part of the Wayne family. “Well if we’re going real names Mr. Todd what do I have to lose, y/n l/n” you smiled, drinking in his appearance. He was dashing you had to admit, confident and laidback it was alluring. “Beautiful name to fit a gorgeous girl” he winked, to your shock, making you blush. 

The two of you spent the night throwing snide comments, compliments, and flirtation between you. Something about Jason just clicked, it felt right. After hours at the table you and Jason went for a walk around Gotham while he showed you his most memorable spots. Somehow the two of you wound up on the top of a skyscraper staring at the stars. Finally having a person who understood the burden of heroism but wasn’t judging you for being new was refreshing. Only knowing each other for hours it felt like it had been years, confiding in each other about some of your deepest secrets. Jason was amazed with your powers, but you explained that they were hard to control, bottling electricity up in anything was difficult, batteries rotted, lightbulbs broke, and sometimes it felt like you were no different. He watched as you showed him how sparks danced across you skin and though he didn’t tell you, they’d been sizzling around you since dinner, an aura vibrating around you as you laughed, cried, and smiled with him.

“So Lightning McQueen, what do the sparks do when you’re happy?” you grimaced at another of his nicknames and explained how they crackle and pop sometimes taking on certain weather-like patterns. “Huh, well let’s see some lightning then” Jason grabbed your hand pulling you into his chest, using the other hand to lift your eyes to meet his as he leaned in. You sped up the process, hands wrapping around his neck, crashing his lips on yours. He was right, lightning struck across the sky as sparks danced between the two of you. Pulling away he grinned as he breathlessly looked at you. “Beautiful” You pulled him in for more, deciding maybe Gotham wasn’t so bad if he was here. 

“Why does Y/H/N always get the Gotham missions?” Peter Parker groaned. “Well seeing as she practically lives there it’s easy” the rest of the gang retorted as you blushed. “I guess I just really like the weather” you grinned while everyone rolled their eyes knowing the reason Gotham was having more lightning than ever was no coincidence. 

“Honey I’m homeeeeee” you squealed as you zapped into your kitchen. Jason had learned not to be alarmed when you appeared out of thin air and he opened his arms as you fell into his embrace. “Hello to my favorite double A” he grinned when you gave him a zap, he knew you loved all his nicknames. He pulled you out of his embrace looking you dead in the eyes. “Sparky it’s time you meet my family, you know Tim is going to kill me for hiding you” You were so excited, timing never aligned or one of you was injured or not on Earth but finally, it was time to meet the family. 

You’d snuck into the manor before, but everytime it seemed to get bigger. Jason squeezed your hand warning you about how annoying his family was. As you entered you took in everything. The cutest little boy was chasing a grown man with a sword, a teenage boy sat on a kitchen cupboard shotgunning an energy drink, all while a nice elderly man chopped carrots calmly in the kitchen. Breaking the silence you began to name each boy “Uh hi guys! I’m y/n you probably know me as Y/H/N but I’m so excited to be here! I’m guessing Damian, Dick, Tim, and the wonderful Alfred!” all the boys froze. Alfred smiled and continued chopping.  “Oh my god oh my god oh my god” Tim jumped off the cupboard wide eyed staring at you. “Todd how do you know her?” Dick looked at you, shocked to see an Avenger not in costume next to his brother. 

“Actually guys I’ve known Y/N for a while, remember Tim that night? We’ve kept in touch since and I’m lucky enough to be her boyfriend!” Jason kissed you on the cheek and immediately Tim passed out. As Dick poured water on the teen Damian walked up to you and you bent down to look him eye to eye. “Prove you’re Y/H/N because I don’t believe Todd could pull a famous hero like Y/H/N” Jason started “No y/n it’s fine” but you wanted to make a good impression so you zapped into the light fixture, counted to 5, then appeared on the cupboard Tim had been on, only to zap back nex tot Jason. “TT I’m impressed Todd. Y/n let me say I’m impressed with your recent activity with the Avengers. I know what it is like to be surrounded by older, entitled idiots.” Damian stuck out a tiny hand and you shook it, making sure to give him a little shock. 

Having woken up Tim began rapid fire questions. “So Todd lied you’re here? And you like him? Can I just say you’re so cool. Would you let me run some tests on your powers? What’s the biggest lightshow you’ve done? What is spiderman like? I feel like I’m quicker than him but I don’t know. Do you love Jason?” you tried to take in all the questions. “Yes I’m here, yes, thank you, sure I guess, biggest was cracking a small moon in half - don’t asl I was mad, spidey is cool kind of a dweeb but, he’s pretty quick but I haven’t seen you, and yes I do love Jason” you took a deep breath. Jason smiled at you, glad you could keep up with Tim’s q & a. Suddenly Tim grabbed Dick’s arm and started running to the BatCave, “okay y/n I’m gonna go set up some tests come down in a minute. Todd you lucky asshole you bring her down in five okay?” before you could reply he was gone. 

Taking a deep breath Jason wrapped his arms around you. “I’m so glad you can deal with them, but if Drake gets really bad knock him out cold” you chuckled, knowing that dealing with the Wayne’s was more difficult for Jason than it was for you. “Anything for you babe” you grinned. “Always the light of my life y/n” you rolled your eyes knowing the jokes would never stop, one of the many reasons you loved Red Hood with all your heart. 

haha I never do A/N but do y’all get the pun in the title hehehehe wow I need to go to bed. Also check out the pun in my masterlist lolz. Now, dear reader, that you read this post we have an inside joke together hehe... love you! xoxo

[hankwritten]

Litany

Gen, 2k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 1: Flag

“And what is the meaning of these?”

It was a good idea not to make Miss Helen pissy. She was the Boss around here, and not in the way Miss Pauling was the boss, but like the Boss with a capital B. I wasn’t exactly sure if she owned the building, or maybe the company, or maybe she was just our lawyer so we shouldn’t tee her off because of that, but the way Dell had explained it making her mad was a good way to have your desk packed by the end of the day.

So, I’d have to be very delicate about this. “They’re pins, Miss Helen,” I explained extremely politely. “It’s the first day of Pride Month; I thought everyone could do with a little company spirit!”

“Spirit?” The T on the end of the word popped like a firecracker. Miss Helen could make nice words like spirit or rainbows sound like she was actually saying dog doody. “And how exactly do these pins make you…prideful?”

“They’re fun!”

When she didn’t react, I at first assumed it was because she couldn’t hear me so well through my respirator, but then I considered what I knew about her and wondered maybe she simply didn’t know what fun was.

“Look,” I said, placing one in the palm of her hand. “It has a flag on it! I was thinking as people are coming in during the day, they can pick them out and wear them if they want to, just to show off a little color. See? This one is the bigender flag.”

She held it up and examined it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. “And you find this…fun?

“Yeah!”

She waited, as though expecting the fun to start radiating out of the pin like a hand warmer. “…You certainly have quite a few of these.”

It was true. Along with the usual lollipops and stickers I kept at the front desk (the former being exclusively for clients and never-ever for sneaking myself one, no siree), the scattering of buttons took up a good chunk of counter space, with as many varieties as I could find. I didn’t want anyone to feel left out, so I’d just kept on printing until I had over three dozen.

“Very well,” Miss Helen said finally. “If it is good for company spirit.”

I clapped my hands in delight, glad the party wasn’t going to get shut down before it even started. So palpable was my relief, I didn’t even notice that Miss Helen hadn’t given the button back.

I didn’t have time to worry about it though, since just then Dr. Ludwig came in through the glass doors. He was normally the first one after me, as he always liked to get an early start down in the lab, and we’d developed a morning routine as fellow early birds.

“Dr. Ludwig!” I said, waving my hand, partly to get his attention and partly to show off the new gloves Dell had gotten me. The rubber ones had been so hard to type in, but these were nice and concealing as well as colorful. “Happy Pride Month! Do you want a pin?”

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted warmly. “Ah, buttons?” He picked up the closest one. “Pride buttons, I see.”

“Here you go!” I said, shoving a bi pin in his general direction since he’d shown interest.

But, to my surprise, he didn’t take it immediately. “Ehrm…” he said, staring down at the circle of metal.

“…Is this not the right one?” I withdrew my hand. Was I misremembering? “I’m so sorry, I guess I forgot…”

“No, no I did say that, didn’t I.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending its usual prim style haywire. “It is just…” He coughed lightly into his fist. “…Would you allow me to confide with you for a moment?”

Immediately, I pulled out the spare footstool I kept behind the counter, patting it as Dr. Ludwig came through the counter doors and took a seat. Our early morning chats were normally something to look forward to, shared over a donut or coffee he’d brought into the office, but today he just seemed run down. As he tucked his heels onto the stool’s crossbar, he rubbed his face.

“You know I am not as…up on all of this as some of your generation, ja?” he began.

“Millennials scare you,” I nodded, pulling my legs into my swivel chair.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he huffed. “It is…well when we had our first conversations, and it was explained to me, it seemed to fit. At the time. Having to reconcile beginning a relationship with Mikhail when I still was not quite over Frida, nor really sure why things had fallen apart with us there.”

I remembered. “At the time? But not anymore?”

He sighed, ruffling his hair even more. “Now…now I am not so sure. Being with Mikhail is…quite different than any of the thirty years Frida and I spent together. I am starting to wonder if it was more just that I held extreme affection for her, and I was inexperienced enough that I was able to mistake it for attraction.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I thought I was so in love with her, and that’s why I never even looked at another woman. Töricht.”

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” I shook my head. “Everybody’s learning new things all the time. You can’t be expected to have everything sorted right after coming out.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said. “But I still feel…guilty I think. Several of our coworkers are proudly attracted to both men and women, and I am aware that treating such a label as a ‘phase’ is a crude stereotype they have to deal with. I’d rather not have anyone think I was making a mockery of them.”

“It’s not a stereotype if that’s what’s really happening.” I patted him on the shoulder. “No one’s going to see it like that. If you think that’s where your journey is taking you, then there’s no shame coming out a second time.”

Dr. Ludwig responded to my words with a hopeful, if not entirely convinced, look behind his spectacles.

“Here,” I said, handing him both a bi and a gay pin. “You don’t have to wear either of them, this is just for fun after all! But if you change your mind…”

He looked at the two pins in his hand, then smiled tiredly up at me. “…Thank you mein friend. You are always helpful to talk to.”

“I try to be!”

After a few more assurances, the Doctor did eventually leave for the lab. Right on his coattails, Dell and Marcel came through the front door.

“Hey there, firebug,” Dell greeted. “What are you gettin’ up to here?”

I gave the quick rundown, pulling my shirt to highlight my own pin since I’d forgotten to show it off to my first two customers. “Pick any one you like!”

“Bear in mind I am saying this as a queer person,” Marcel said, sniffing down at the massive mound of multicolored circles, “this is all quite tacky.”

“Aw, learn how to have some fun, Spook,” Dell said, elbowing him in the side. To show him up, he claimed a pansexual pin for himself, and shot me a wink.

Marcel did nothing but sniff; but, when he thought no one was looking, I saw him discreetly sneak one of the pins off the counter as he left.

After that, the morning’s influx picked up too much to greet every person individually, but during lunch people saw fit to swing by and check things out again.

“Hi buddy!” Miss Pauling greeted. “I heard you were giving out Pride pins and wanted to see if- why are there so many lesbian ones?”

“Well!” I said, ecstatic to launch into an information dump. “The oldest of these is actually the ‘lipstick lesbian’ flag which, in absence of a more generic one, was used without the kiss mark in the corner. The one with the orange stripes wasn’t created until 2018, to be more inclusive all different lesbian groups.”

“Okay, but why does this one have an axe on it?”

“That’s the labrys!” I took the purple and black pin from her hand, pointing as I described, “the double bearded axe was used by the Amazons in Greek myth, and reappropriated in 1999 for its symbolism in female empowerment.”

“Wow,” she blinked down at the five different designs. “That’s really cool, except for the fact I have no idea how to use an axe.”

“I bet Tavish could teach you, he loves his Skullcutter.”

“…I’ll think about it. I’ll just take this one for now.” She picked up the orange five-stripe variation and pinned it to her purple shirt.

“Looks good!”

“Thanks!” she grinned. “And it was really nice of you to do this.”

“Honestly, the pleasure’s all mine. I just like seeing everyone happy.”

And everyone was! At least it sure seemed that way, even if it was kind of hard to tell with Mikhail. After lunch, he lumbered past my desk, picked out a gay pin, and put it on without so much as a smile. I took the muted grunt to be that of satisfaction

Tavish was next, dropping off half a roast beef sandwich since I’d forgotten to eat today, and instantly becoming my favorite person. While I was chowing down, he swiped two trans and two bi pins from my collection.

“Wadda you need two of each for?” I asked, quite a feat with my mouth full of roast beef and my respirator hanging halfway around my chin.

“Haven’t you heard?” Tavish asked with a raise of his eyebrow. “They just dropped a new identity: double bi. It’s twice as potent as regular bisexuality.”

I tilted my head, blinking perplexedly from behind my lenses.

“Ah, just a joke duck,” he assured. “The spares are for the husband.”

“Oh, right.” I swallowed down my mouthful. “I actually haven’t seen Jane at all today?”

“Ach, he came in earlier than you. Left at five this morning.”

“What? How?” I shook my head. “I’m the one who unlocks the doors.”

“Said he was tired of waiting for your ‘lazy, unpatriotic behind’ to start the day at seven. His words, not mine.” Tavish smiled apologetically. “He broke into one of the lab side doors.”

“…I bet Mikhail had something to say about that.”

He sighed. “That he did. They’ve been at it for hours. If there’s another office-wide prank war tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

Oh no. That’s how we lost our last two coffee makers, and our last seven office hamsters. Tavish assured me that it wouldn’t get out of hand, but by the time Mick showed up near the end of the day, my mood was somewhat dampened.

“Everything alroight, Campfire?” he asked me. “Ya look glum.”

“Just thinking about the impending damage to all those nice posters I put up in the breakroom,” I said sadly. “But! If you’ve come here to pick out a pin, that might cheer me up a bit.”

Mick chuckled in that cute little way of his, and already I was smiling. “Might have.”

We were close enough that I was ninety-five percent certain which one he wanted, but I’d learned my lesson with Dr. Ludwig and didn’t try to pick it out for him. Still, I let myself entertain a self-satisfied grin as he picked up the aroace flag.

“Hey uh,” I said. “If that’s the one you like, and uh…since I know you’re into archery…”

Carefully, I opened one of my drawers and extracted the special pin I’d made earlier, Mick watching me curiously all the while.

“Someone on the internet made this design,” I explained. “It’s for an aroace, arrow-ace!”

The flag was blacked out in several places to make a bow and arrow shape, and Mick grinned as he took it from my glove. “Clever.”

“Do you like it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, let’s see.” He pinned it to his vest. “Looks pretty good ta me.”

I couldn’t keep my stomach from doing a little flip at that. When Dell showed up, the last to leave the office for the day, he could tell I was smiling even through the mask.

“Everything go well, partner?” he chuckled. “You look pleased as punch.”

“Everything went great! Even Scout came by, although all he did was say ‘hey, free crap!’ and dumped a bunch of pins into his pocket.”

“I’m glad to hear the attempt at company spirit was a success,” a voice from behind Dell said, making us both jump. Miss Helen emerged from the shadows, her purple jacket an entire mass of pride pins, nearly one of every kind. When had she gotten all those? Had she been paying Marcel to sneak them out while I wasn’t looking? “A happy work environment is a productive work environment, as I always say. Well done, secretary.”

“Can’t remember you ever saying that, ma’am,” Dell admitted blandly.

“…Why do you have so many?” I asked.

“These are…fun…are they not?” she sniffed. “I am having…fun.”

Huh. Maybe this is just what she looked like when she was having a good time. I shrugged. “Glad you enjoyed yourself Miss Helen! Does that mean it’s okay to do it again next year?”

“…You have my permission.”

With that, she strutted out, and Dell shot me a grin. I scooped the remaining pins into my bag and closed up the front office, chatting with him on the way to the parking lot about how we could mix things up next year.

[sherrybaby14]

Blue Spiders - Chapter 2

Summary:  Fear pushes your relationship along.

Warnings:  Light horror, background alcohol, (I have not warned for everything possible, please read at your own risk)

Words: 2k

Pairing:  Therapist! Steve Rogers x female reader

Part One

She lived in an apartment.  That was problematic.  Houses were much easier to break in to undetected.  At least it wasn’t in a great neighborhood and the locks on her doors were pathetic.  All he needed was a credit card to break them.  He accomplished that task this morning.

Steve in no way wanted her death tied to him or the New England Butcher. The kill would be a quick one.  Gunshot, he hoped for a mugging gone bad, but it appeared she never left her place after dark.  

Ten days he had been watching her, observing, waiting for the moment to strike.  But she was always home before sundown, never to retreat again.  He wouldn’t risk a daytime public murder.  Too many loose ends.  

It looked like the next option would be breaking and entering.  Doable, but not ideal.  Look like a robbery.  Bullet to the head and the world would have one less awful person in it.  

Under normal circumstances Steve felt nothing when preparing for a kill.  Sometimes a mild rush of glee during the act and then a bit of euphoria after, especially if it was a victim he intended Agent Barnes to tie to the New England Butcher.  

But this felt different. Personal.  The few times he spotted her during the day he felt betrayed.  How could she lie to him about her identity to get a profile for some dumb blog?  And why did he feel a connection.  

His watch beeped and he checked the time.  Three thirty in the morning.  She would be fast asleep.  It would be over soon.  Then the euphoria would come just as it had with the others.  He was certain of it.  

The sound of his car door slamming echoed across the empty street as he began his walk in the shadows, four blocks away from his destination.  

~~

   You didn’t believe in a sixth sense, or you didn’t want to, but something was off.  Wrong.  You were being followed.  Could it be him?

   You finally felt somewhat safe here.  Comfortable enough you followed your passion and started to make a name for yourself.  Sure Miranda’s Museum of the Macabre wasn’t a big deal yet, but you were growing a following and you loved that type of reporting.  

   The last few days you were cursing yourself for even starting the thing.  Today when you got home and saw the locks weren’t working your paranoia vanished.  

   Whoever broke them was subtle about it.  If you hadn’t been paranoid you wouldn’t have noticed, thought that the chain was shut tight when a light tap would drop it.  The deadbolt hole was splintered and pressed back into place.  Anyone with a driver’s license and a shoulder would be able to break the thing down.  

   The right thing would have been to run, or call the police.  Neither option was intriguing.  So you sat next to the thing, waiting in the darkness.  Every time footsteps sounded outside the hall you steadied the shotgun, blinking away the tears that you might have to blow someone’s head off.  

   Maybe you were going crazy.  The locks had always been broken and you only noticed now?  Maybe nobody was following you.  Just the ghosts of your past.  

   Then, at almost four in the morning after standing guard for eight hours footsteps stopped in front of your door.  

   Your adrenaline flared.  You cocked the gun right as your knob started to turn.  It froze.  Fuck! They heard the noise.  

   The handle fell back in place.  They were leaving.  All the shaking you were feeling came flooding back.

   You needed to open the door.  Find out who they were, what they wanted.  But instead you collapsed, hugging the shotgun as the footsteps retreated.   Would you ever be safe?

~~

   Loss of sleep was an understatement.  Tonight you would get a hotel room.  Then decide if you wanted to call the cops, fix the door, or flee.  Life was exhausting enough and it felt like you’d only just started living.  

   The door to the office opened and you rose to your feet, pinning on your best smile as Dr. Rogers walked a patient out.  

   His face looked cold, but his blue eyes widened with surprise.  

   “Hi.”  You gave a nervous wave.  “I have something for you.”  

   His patient waved goodbye as you stepped forward, article in hand.  

   “What is this?”  He grabbed the pages.  

   “The article.  I said I would send over a copy, but I thought with the way things ended I should drop one off in person.”  You fidgeted, thinking about your run in with Barnes the last time.  “As promised, a glowing puff piece.  It will be in the weekend edition.”  

   You watched as his eyes’ scanned the pages.  His brow furrowed in confusion.  

   “Is something wrong?”  You rocked on your feet, hoping to see what line he was at.  “I taped the interview, but if I messed up a fact or misspoke there is time to correct before it goes to print.”  

   “So the article was real?”  The Doctor looked up at you with wide eyes.  “It wasn’t a ruse for your blog?”

   “Ah.”  You bit your lip as you looked away.  “I am sure Agent Barnes gave you an earful.  Yes the story was real.  I write human interest pieces,  Miranda’s Museum doesn’t really pay the bills.”  

   “So this is your real name?”  Steve squinted.  “Rachelle Miller?”  

   “No.”  You blinked.  “I write under multiple pen names.”  

   “So what is your real name?”  Steve folded his arms.  

   “Friends call me Vee.”  You shrugged.  

   “That’s not what I asked.”  His eyes locked on to yours.  

   You hadn’t spoken your real name in years.  Legally it was changed, and with all the pseudonyms you used you hadn’t spoken it outloud in years.  

   “Well, um, I will get out of your hair.  I am sure you have a busy day.  E-mail me if there are problems with the article.”  Your blood ran hot and you regretted coming here.  

   “No.”  His hand reached out and grabbed your arm.  

   You glanced at his fingers and then turned to see his intensite eyes bearing into your own.  His fingers slipped away.  

   “I mean with all do respect, but you look a little rough.”  He nodded to his office.  “Come in and have a drink.  I owe you an apology.”  

   “Me?”  You blinked and shook your head.  “Did Bucky tell you I am just a gossip columnist and was lying to you?  Using you for Miranda’s nefarious purposes?”  

   “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”  He made a playful shrug.  

   “Yeah.  I bet he left out the part where he asked me out nonstop for over a year until I was forced to write something nasty about him on my blog.”  You thought about the person at your door last night,  could it have been Bucky?  He didn’t seem the most stable.  “I may have crossed a line, but what I wrote wasn’t wrong and he,  well I think anyone who has met the man isn’t afraid to use the word obsessive to describe him.”  

   “I cannot confirm, deny, or discuss Agent Barnes.”  Doctor Rogers walked over to a small liquor cabinet.  “What would you like?”  

   “Bourbon?  Scotch?”  You took a seat.  “I’ll settle for anything brown with a nice burn.”  

   “Multiple pen names?”  The doctor came back over and handed you a drink.  “How many?”

   “Three I use on the regular.  I do a lot of freelance writing and they each have their own specialty.  Then several one offs.  I have used them one or two times and let them die.”  You took a sip and let the liquid hit your tongue, wanting to swirl it around your mouth and wishing it would numb your mind in the same way.  

   “Care to share why?”  He sat down and crossed his legs.  “That seems like a lot of compartmentalism.”

“Not a patient.”  You laughed as you leaned back.  

“Let me guess, they are all as generic as Miranda Balfour, Rachelle Miller?”  Dr. Rogers leaned back in his chair.  “You want a legitimate digital footprint, but not one that can be traced back to you.  Why?”  

“You sound like Bucky.”  You tilted your glass toward him.  “Only he has decided Miranda must be my real name.  I would not try to do a deep dive on me Doctor.  I am not interested in opening up.”  

“I am not your Doctor.  Please, call me Steve.”  His eyes scanned you up and down.  “You look very tired.  Late night?  I hope it wasn’t on my behalf.”  

“It was and it wasn’t.  In that order.”  You let out a sigh.  “Since you’re not my doctor Steve, and you can’t think I’m crazy since there is no medical relationship. I think someone, no, I know someone tried to break into my apartment early this morning.”

“Did you call the police?” A look of horror crossed his face as he leaned forward.  “You should not wait on that.”  

“I am not a fan of cops and they are not my fan either.”  You gritted your teeth before taking another sip.  “I cocked my gun too early.  Someone had been following me, all week.  I felt it in my bones.  And then I noticed my locks had been messed with.  So I waited and I felt so paranoid, but then the clock hits 3:44 and the handle jiggles.  I should have let the door open, blown their brains out without asking a single question.  But they heard the noise.  Ran off before I had the chance.”  

“There is a lot to unpack there.”  Steve reached out and touched your knee.  “Are you safe?”

“No.”  You smiled at him.  “Never.  I’m going to get a hotel room tonight.  Figure things out from there.  Get some sleep, a clear head.”  

“If you think someone is targeting you, you shouldn’t stay alone.”  His hand dragged away.  “Friends or family you can stay with?”  

“What was the line you used?  My work doesn’t leave much time for personal relationships.  I’m either writing a freelance story of working on the Miranda project.  Hoping someday it takes off and I can do that full time.”  

“I apologize for being so forward, but I can be your friend, or else your colleague in the work horse force.”  Steve set his glass down.  “And I have plenty of extra bedrooms.”  

You didn’t mean to display the cringe, and tried to bury it down, but there was a pain on his face.

“That is a very kind offer.”  You slammed the rest of your drink.  “But you are not my doctor, or my friend, you’re a stranger right now and I wouldn’t feel comfortable imposing.”  

“I understand.”  Steve grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled as you stood up.  “I would like to take you to dinner, are you free Friday?”  

“Now you’re really going to think I’m crazy, but with the strange feeling I was being followed and the incident last night, I have been scared to leave my apartment after dark.”  The liquor had relaxed your tongue too much.  “Well, now hotel.”  

“I will pick you up at your door, we can go to my place and I’ll cook for you, and then I will drive you home.”  There was something in his voice, this was the first time he had made this request in some time.  “You will be safe the entire time.”

“Alright.”  You couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in your heart, like it was drawn to his.  Not mental, like a strange string was pulling you tigher.  “I am staying at the budget in on Wilcox.”  

He opened his mouth, but shut it right away and nodded.  You started to walk to the door and he followed.  Being in his office was the most relaxed you’d been in some time.  

“Friday then.”  He slipped you a piece of paper, you opened it up to see a phone number.  

“I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t just text me their number.”  You smiled eat him.  “You are old fashioned in all the right ways.”  

“Feel free to put that in your phone and use it.”  Steve looked serious.  “Any time, day or night.  I don’t approve of your distrust of law enforcement or wanting assistance, but I respect it.  Never hesitate to call if you need anything.”  

“Thank you.”  You looked at the ground, not wanting to face those blue eyes again, scared if you did you would end up being a roommate at the man's house.  “And thank you for believing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”  He was taken aback.  

“Sometimes I’m not even sure I believe myself.”  You blinked away tears and squared your shoulders looking him in the eyes.  “Anyone else would have told me it was late, I was tired, I almost killed a delivery man.”  

“I look forward to continuing this conversation on Friday.”  Steve gave a boyish grin.  “Or sooner, if you need anything at all.”  

“Friday then.”  You folded up the piece of paper and put it in your back pocket.  

It was odd to find something to look forward to and for a moment you wished you were crazy and not thinking about fleeing and starting over yet again.  

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  This is turning into a bit of a slow burn, but I think the next chapter will heat up! 

Tags:  @toozmanykids​

[pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer]

Super Fighting Roll (2-5)

(Reaching the center of Wily’s castle, Roll prepares to confront him and Break Man, hoping against all odds she can make it back with both her brothers in tow.)

The familiar visage of Gamma had taken on a terrifying air, permeating the massive stone chamber as he loomed in the center of it. Wily stood at its feet, with Blues holding Rock nearby; Roll and Rush walked as close as they dared, their glares being met with Wily’s hideous grin.

“So nice to see you again!” the scientist greeted. “I trust you’ve brought the Energy Elements?”

“Don’t give them to him, Roll!” Rock said.

“Silence!  You will hand them over, and quickly, before I change my mind and scrap your brother here and now!”

Roll held out the two Elements.  Wily jogged over and snatched them, snickering as he retreated.

“At last!  Now Gamma can operate at full power!  The world will be mine!”

“I did what you asked,” Roll said.  “Now let Rock go.”

Wily turned to Break Man.  “Hmm...something just occurred to me.  Why should I worry about upholding my word when dealing with a lowly housekeeper-bot?”

What appeared to be a massive, yellow-plated helmet descended from the ceiling, emitting a shaft of light that pulled Wily up through the air towards it.  Roll started forward, stopping short when Break Man pointed his weapon at Rock.  A window opened at the helmet’s front, and once he was inside, Wily sat down at the controls and steered it upward, latching the craft onto Gamma’s head.

“Nehehehehe!  The strongest power source known to man...a machine built from my brilliance, supplemented by Light’s tech...and, adding one last personal touch of my own...there is nothing in this world that can stop me now!”

Gamma raised its arms, energy coursing through its frame.  A punch was aimed at Roll--she leapt backward, watching as the floor she had just been standing on was pulverized into a large crater.

“Ah...but, I do need to run a field test.  Break Man!  Give me some room.  Let Roll fight me, and see just how outmatched she is!”

Nodding, Break Man dragged Rock off to the side of the chamber, Roll watching carefully.  Once they were clear, she turned back to Wily.  “I’m not really surprised...but how could you do this after we all trusted you?  We each gave you the benefit of the doubt, gave you a chance to prove yourself!  And you’re really throwing it all away, just like that?”

“Bah!  What sort of question is that: the trust of a few against everything I’ve ever wanted? I have nothing to regret!”

Blasts began to shoot from Gamma’s mouth. Boarding Rush, Roll circled the robot to evade its fire, watching its movements very closely.  “You really are the worst…”

Gamma swiped high, its massive arm easy to dodge. Roll threw several Metal Blades, doing little more than scuffing its armor; she then detonated a Crash Bomb at the scuff, followed by a Hard Knuckle, but even the combined effect of all three weapons wasn’t enough to break through the giant robot’s shell.

“Nehahaha!  You’re nothing but an annoying gnat before the might of Gamma!”

Roll deployed a Leaf Shield as he again opened fire. “Even if it takes a while, I can still wear you down!”

“Oh, is that right?”

For just a second, Roll thought she could see Gamma flash blue.  As its arm moved, she prepared to dodge, but the giant attacked at a blistering speed that caught her completely off-guard.  Roll was smacked straight into the wall, left dazed as Gamma pelted her with his blasts.

What was that sudden burst of speed?  Dr. Light didn’t mention anything like that.

Roll managed to slip free, dropping down to land on Rush.  Gamma swung again, now moving at a normal speed, so she kept her distance as best she could in the cramped chamber.

Wily must have made some last-minute modifications.  I hope he didn’t notice what Dr. Light was telling me about…

“Yes, yes!” Wily cheered.  “Do you see now?  This is the kind of power mankind can access with robots at our command! Autonomy, emotions, identity--they’re all shackles that deny a robot its full potential!  Only without such weight can we find the true limits of robotics, and shatter them!”

Roll equipped the Air Shooter, trying to disorient Wily with a whirlwind.  The gust of air dissipated against Gamma like a shallow breath.  Strafing to avoid his attacks, she next tried a barrage of Magnet Missiles, sure they would each find their mark.  It proved a distraction, at least, but she was out of ammunition in seconds.  She dove to avoid a blast before quickly angling back up to dodge Gamma’s arm, not noticing the blast knocking loose a large chunk of stone from the wall.  The rubble struck Roll, sending her crashing into the chamber floor, and red light danced across Gamma as it reared back its fist. Pinned where she fell, Roll’s only choice was to use a Crash Bomb to destroy the rubble and fling herself out of range just before the punch connected.  More rubble cascaded down from above as the entire castle shuddered, the colossal blow splitting the floor down to its foundation.  Wily cackled with glee.

Is he nuts? He’ll bring the whole place down if he keeps doing that!  I may not be able to afford to wait him out.

Weaving between Gamma’s feet, Roll sent Search Snakes crawling up its legs before leaping back onto Rush.  The tiny machines managed to wriggle part-way into the tiny openings around Gamma’s joints, forcing Wily to focus on dealing with them while Roll doused the robot with Bubble Lead.  Just as it reached up towards her, she fired off a Spark Shock, causing Wily to shriek in surprise as several switches on his console burst. Roll immediately took to attacking the spots the snakes had indicated, emptying out her Needle Cannon and Shadow Blade stores before Gamma flashed blue and knocked her back to the floor.

“Hrm!  If anyone were to find a way to truly annoy me even now, it would be you,” Wily said. “Of course, even that’s only possible because you copied the weapons of my Robot Masters!  This is a total victory for my technology!”

Roll slowly picked herself up, trying to simply ignore the pain she was registering all throughout her body.  “I don’t get it...you say robots shouldn’t have identity...but your Robot Masters can still think for themselves...why is that?”

Wily paused.  “Well, they’re programmed to be completely loyal--that’s the important thing. It’s not like I can send them out with no AI at all.”

“Do you just want to beat Dr. Light at his own game?  Or maybe, deep down, you think he’s actually right?”

“Silence!”

“Or...maybe you just don’t want to be all alone.”

Wily snarled, slamming both Gamma’s hands down in an attempt to crush Roll.  He swung wildly, tearing chunks out of the walls in the process, while Roll carefully darted around each attack.  Finally landing a blow, Wily moved to make a follow-up attack while Roll was dazed, but suddenly, Gamma locked up, jolting in place a moment before missing with a slow swing.

“What?!” Wily cried, beating the console.  “What’s the problem, you miserable machine?  Your design should be flawless!”

Roll let out a short breath.  Just before she had left, Light had told her about something he noticed during his test of Gamma: there was a minor misalignment in the power distribution system, and Break Man had appeared before he could so much as mention it.  Now that the system was drawing on three times as much power, he predicted that it would become overtaxed if she could just hold out long enough.

It’s happening even faster than he expected.  Whatever last-minute changes Wily made must have actually made the problem worse.

Gamma momentarily froze again, causing Wily to stop and examine his readings.  Hoping to keep him from piecing it together, Roll stuck a Crash Bomb in Gamma’s shoulder, his anger easily surpassing his curiosity.

“This is your fault, isn’t it?” Wily said as he pulled Gamma around.  “What have you done to my precious work?”

Gamma glowed blue once more, the ensuing blow just clipping Roll.  Then, a plate on Gamma’s back burst in a fiery explosion, exposing a tangle of frayed live wires.

“No!  This can’t be!”

Gamma twitched erratically, giving Roll enough time to recover.  She fired a Spark Shock into Gamma’s wound, drawing another shriek from Wily, and then flew high as he attempted to counterattack.

“Why you...you…!”

“You brought this on yourself, Wily!” Roll said as Rush turned to face him.  “You were in such a hurry you missed what was right in front of you!”

Wily threw a switch.  Red light consumed Gamma, now glowing brighter than ever, as Roll charged directly at it.

“Time for you to pay the price!”

Rush activated his spring, shooting Roll through the air right at Gamma’s face.  Engaging Top Spin, she spun around to build up momentum, and then at the last second, delivered a devastating kick that sent small fractures spreading across Gamma’s face.  The giant was knocked back, hitting the wall as more pieces of its armor were blown off. Roll landed on Rush and took a moment to catch her breath before looking for Rock.  Her brother was safe, if still held by Break Man; content for now, she cautiously headed to where Wily was crawling out of the downed Gamma.

“Blast it all!” Wily said.  “What went wrong?!  I should have been invincible!”

Roll jumped down in front of him.  “It’s over, Wily.  No second chance this time.”

Wily grit his teeth.  “Break Man!”

Roll whirled.  Break Man pressed his cannon against Rock’s head.

“Neheheh...that’s right.  Keep her busy while I get out of here!”  Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a small metal box and pressed the button on it.  Immediately, minor tremors began to rock the castle.  “In mere minutes this place will be brought down!  Too bad I can’t hang around to watch it happen, nehehehah!”

She glanced back at him.  “Wily…!”

He leapt to the floor, running off towards a dark hallway.  “This isn’t over just yet, you scrap!  I won’t stop until I’ve taken over this wretched world!  Even if you make it out of here, one day, I’ll destroy you for sure!”

Knowing there was nothing she could do, Roll switched focus to Break Man.  Once she could no longer hear Wily, she said, “Why are you doing this, Blues?”

Break Man didn’t answer--it was Rock who said, “He thinks Dr. Light was going to reprogram him.”

“That’s insane!” Roll said.  “Dr. Light would never--”

“Shut up!” Break Man interrupted.  “He decided I was broken!  That there was something wrong with the way I am!  Why should he get to decide that?”

“You can’t go on with a faulty power core!” Rock said.  “Just let Dr. Light help you!  You let Wily work on you!”

“I didn’t have a choice!  I was...my core was almost done for when he found me...I didn’t…”

Roll paused.  Quietly, she said, “You panicked, didn’t you?”

Break Man grunted.

“Blues...if he did repairs on you, then how do you know--”

“Because I watched what he was doing!”

Roll’s eyes widened.  “W...What?”

Break Man finally lowered his buster.  “I stayed active while he worked on me...I know he only did the bare minimum, because I saw every move he made.”

“B...Blues...for work that involved?  How is it even possible to stay awake for all that?”

“...Never said it was easy.  But I won’t let anyone shut me off.  I won’t give anyone even the slightest chance to change who I am!”

Roll stared at him.  “Have you not changed at all?  Through any of this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Thinking Dr. Light betrayed you, running off on your own, nearly dying...watching someone work on your main systems...none of that has affected you at all?”

“...I…”

“It must’ve.  I don’t know what you were like before, Blues, but I can’t imagine it was this. You have changed, even without Dr. Light doing anything.”

Break Man went utterly still.  Feeling his grip loosen, Rock tentatively stepped away from him.

“But change doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Blues. Sometimes, we just need a little help in making it.”

“Hmph...you’re saying I should just let Light do what he wants to me?”

“All he wants is to prevent you from ending up like that!” Roll said, pointing at the mutilated corpse of Gamma.  “Gamma’s power system was flawed--if Wily had fixed that, it probably would’ve been unstoppable!  What are you going to do the next time your core starts to go out? Get Wily’s help again?  So he can leave you behind in another collapsing fortress?!”

Rock looked up at the walls, the bits falling off of them only continuing to grow larger.  “Speaking of, shouldn’t we get out of here?  This place is already so damaged--I don’t think it can take much more.”

Roll looked between him and Break Man.  Just as she was considering trying to run, the red robot said, “The self-destruct mechanism is on the third sub-level. There’s no security...if you hurry, you might be able to disarm it.”

“Huh?  You’re gonna help us?” Rock asked.

“Well...it benefits me, too.  I don’t want to end up buried here.”

“Oh, good.  Come on, Roll!”

Roll still felt uneasy, but there was no time. “Take Rush and go.  I’ll see if I can catch up to Wily.”

As soon as Roll took a step towards the exit Wily had taken, Break Man used Time Stopper to cut her off.  “Not so fast.  I still owe a debt to Wily.  You’re not going to stop him without going through me.”

Roll clenched her fist, glaring at him for a few long seconds.  “Rock. Take Rush and go.”

Glancing between them, Rock said, “But…”

“It’s okay, Rock.  I can handle this, but I need you to shut off the self-destruct sequence.  Please, take care of it.”

With great reluctance, Rock headed for the exit. Rush stopped to nudge Roll, who gave him a quick pet, and then took off after the boy.  With both of them gone, Roll began to walk forward.

Break Man started by throwing a Metal Blade. Roll dodged easily and retaliated with Hard Knuckle, hitting Break Man’s shield but managing to push him back a bit. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the energy to use it again; Break Man pushed her back with Air Shooter while she switched weapons, and then shrank back behind his shield as a Gemini Laser began to ricochet around the room.  Roll slid to one side in an attempt to surprise her foe with her remaining Metal Blades.  One managed to graze his helmet, but that was all.  She put up a Leaf Shield to protect herself from a volley of Quick Boomerangs, and when Break Man leapt aside to evade the Gemini Laser, she slid forward and engaged Top Spin, using its remaining energy to smack Break Man into the floor.

“Wily’s only using you,” Roll said.  “Can’t you see that?”

“Of course I can,” Break Man said.  “But it doesn’t change facts.  If it weren’t for him, I would’ve gone inactive...buying him time to escape is the least I can do.”

He swept the room with his laser cannon, forcing Roll to slide under it.  She almost ran directly into a line of Bubble Lead shots, but she managed to tumble clear, shooting a charge shot as she came up.  Break Man blocked and stepped out to hurl Quick Boomerangs, only to find that Roll was ready: she fired her Air Shooter, blowing the projectiles off-course as well as catching Break Man’s shield, not managing to rid him of the weapon but at least shaking his grip on it.  She followed with another charge shot, Break Man saved only by a timely Leaf Shield. Roll used Atomic Fire to incinerate the leaves when they came at her, and then noticed Break Man equipping Time Stopper, hastily doing the same.  The castle froze around them as Roll ran in, firing constantly to keep Break Man pinned down and unable to attack.  Ultimately, her lack of weapon energy came back to bite her, and Break Man was suddenly behind her to land a hit with Metal Blade.

“Stop already!” Roll said.  “This is pointless!  Just come back with us, Blues!  If you don’t want Dr. Light to repair you, then fine, but at least give him a chance to clear things up!”

“Why would he want me back when he has the two of you?” Break Man said, arming Crash Bomber.  “You’re both exactly what he wants you to be--not ‘defective’ like I am!”

Roll ducked and returned fire with her buster. “You don’t get it at all!  Of course Dr. Light still cares about you: even under the circumstances, he was overjoyed to see you again!  You couldn’t even see that?”

Break Man hid behind his shield.

“And you think I’m ‘exactly what he wants me to be’? He was dead-set against letting me fight!  If he had it his way, I never would have been weaponized in the first place!  But I convinced him anyway, and it’s not like he stopped loving me just because I’m not doing what I was built for!”

Firing her last Gemini Laser, Roll circled around her foe.  Break Man stayed on the defensive, keeping his shield between them.  Roll threw a series of Quick Boomerangs, aiming them so that they would arc around Break Man’s shield from multiple angles--he leapt back, tucking his shield in to fit it through the assault, and Roll took the opportunity to fire a Spark Shock.  It only stunned him for a brief moment, but that was long enough for the Gemini Laser to close in on him at last.  She blew him back with Air Shooter until he got his shield back up, and then paused.

“He just wants to ‘fix’ me,” Break Man muttered. “He’s convinced I’m broken at my most fundamental level.  I can’t trust someone like that.”

“Dr. Light only wants to help you,” Roll said. “Maybe he didn’t understand the way you would think about this.  But if you explain how you feel to him, he won’t force his way on you.  He’s not the sort of person you think he is.”

Break Man remained behind his shield.  A strange sound prompted Roll to look up: through a gap in the collapsing ceiling, she could see a saucer-like craft rising into the sky.

“Wily…”

“Just let him go, Roll.”

“He’s dangerous!  If I don’t stop him, he’ll hurt more people, and more robots too! Do you want that on your conscience?”

Break Man’s armor shifted as he equipped Metal Blade. “I uninstalled that long ago.”

Roll summoned a Leaf Shield, but the saw blade slipped through an opening and cut her arm.  Huffing, she said, “Seriously?!”

A shot of Atomic Fire came next.  Roll dodged and slid forward, summoning a Quick Boomerang to her hand as she leapt onto Break Man’s shield.  She jammed the weapon into the glass-covered slit on the shield, chipping away a small portion of it before Break Man pushed forward in an attempt to shake her off.  Roll slid to the side, getting behind her opponent, and unloaded her remaining Quick Boomerangs into him.

“Are you really okay with this, Blues?”

Break Man set his shield back up quickly, crouching behind it without saying a word.

“Answer me!”

She pelted his shield with a stream of buster shots. An especially massive tremor struck the castle, dislodging a massive chunk of wall directly above Roll; she tried to escape as soon as she noticed it, but it didn’t look like she would have enough time.  To her surprise, a shot of Atomic Fire hit the rubble, blasting it apart into harmless pebbles.  She turned back to Break Man, who was already pulling back behind his shield.

“…Wily’s gone,” he said.  “My debt’s repaid.  What happens between you and him now is none of my business.”

The castle began to grow still.  Roll said, “Looks like Rock managed to deactivate the self-destruct, too...”

Break Man slung his shield across his back and turned to leave.  “We’re done here.”

“Wait.”

He stopped.

“...Is there any way I can convince you to come back with me?  Just to talk to Dr. Light?”

Break Man clenched his fists.  “I can’t.  You...you might be right.  But I’m not ready to take that chance.”

Roll’s gaze fell.  “Alright.  If that’s the case, I won’t force you.  But...when you are ready, we’ll be waiting for you.  You’ll always be welcome, Blues.”

He looked over his shoulder at her.  Then, he equipped the Time Stopper, and in the next instant he was gone.

***

The scant sounds of the repair equipment echoed weakly off the walls of the sub-level chamber of Light Labs.  Guts Man and Fire Man, now back on their feet, busied themselves with clearing away the remaining rubble, while LaLinde continued to work on Elec Man with help from Tempo and Rock.  Light was just finishing his examination of Roll, and she had just finished filling him in on what had transpired at Wily’s castle. The old scientist had a distant look in his eye that she couldn’t quite identify.

“So that’s why he ran away,” Light said. “I’m such a fool...why couldn’t I see it?  I was treating him only as a robot to be tuned up.  No wonder he came to despise me so.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring him back,” Roll said. “I tried my best.”

Light shook his head.  “The fault isn’t yours, Roll--if anything it’s mine.  It sounds like you were able to get through to him, and you’ve certainly opened my eyes.  For now, all we can do is hope.  It’s just as you said: he’ll always be welcome.”

Roll hopped down from the bench, following Light across the floor to where Elec Man was being repaired.  “Is there anything we can do for him?  Keeping him active during system repairs is something I don’t think I could do…”

“Indeed, I don’t think I could stomach it either.” He stroked his beard.  “I’ve been approaching this all wrong.  Rather than trying to change the way he is, I should figure out how to assist his current way of functioning.  Hm, what’s the best way to go about that…”

LaLinde rose to her feet as they came near.  Elec Man, now with a crude shell of steel wrapped around his once-exposed back, sat up slowly.

“That’s all we can do for now,” LaLinde said. “It’ll last him until we can get the new parts made and installed.”

“Thank you, doctor,” he said.  “Am I able to assist in cleanup in this state?”

“Sure, just don’t strain yourself.  No heavy lifting or high voltage.”

He nodded.  Standing, he faced Roll, who said, “I’m glad you’re alright, Elec Man. Those Crash Bombs are no joke!”

“Indeed…”  Elec Man glanced at Rock briefly.  “I think I’ll make myself useful, but, er...would we be able to speak later? There was something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Huh?  Oh, of course.  Whenever you’re ready.”

Elec Man departed, and LaLinde crossed her arms with a sigh.  “Well...guess we should prepare ourselves for whatever Wily cooks up next.  Do you want to try building another Gamma?”

Light scanned the broken scaffolding.  “I don’t think that’s an option.  Those components were expensive, especially the Energy Elements--it’ll be some time before we’re able to replace them.”

“Don’t worry,” Roll said.  “When he does show his face, Rush and I will bring him in!”

“Isn’t that what he’s counting on, though?” Rock said. “I’m sure he’ll be ready for you.”

“Ready or not, I won’t let him win.  I’ll find a way to stop him, no matter what it takes.”

Tempo shifted her weight.  “...How can you be so sure, Roll?  You can’t prepare for everything on your own.  Even you have limits.”

“She won’t be alone,” Light said, setting a hand on Roll’s shoulder.  “She has all of us supporting her.  As long as we each do our best, we’ll be able to overcome whatever Wily throws our way.”

Roll gave a nod.  She didn’t expect it to be easy for any of them.  But she had accepted that this was her future now, and with luck, the strength she drew from that would be enough to see her through it.

[rotten-whispers]

Trump Card - short story

This piece was written directly before the 2020 presidential elections, but has no affiliation to any political leaders of any kind. . . Nor was it written out of humorous anxiety or political parody, all of that is simply a coincidence of course.

(Also available on wattpad, link in bio)

The year is 2116, and you have just sat down to watch the news.

Hopefully, of course. Because there hasn't been any good news in a very long time. The world has gone downhill in the past 100 years, people have said. And now it's a caricature of what it used to be, ripened by catastrophe and apocalyptic apathy in every corner of the globe.

You sip your coffee and wait.

The news will come on at 11am and play until 2pm, where, on the dot, it will be shut off. People should not be over encumbered by disaster, the news stations were told. Our country should only have to stomach it for a few hours every day.

You've never cared very much for the news yourself, of course, because it isn't very interesting. All of the suffering is so overdone, honestly, you've seen it all in the past 30 years that you've been around. Plague, war, environmental catastrophe, attempted alien invasion, progress toward time travel – pish, posh, uninteresting! What new disaster could ever hope to capture your attention? They were fighting a losing battle.

But still you watch the news, because there isn't anything else on right now. Plus, the presidential elections are coming up, and perhaps there will be something interesting there.

All sorts of candidates have appeared in the past 100 years, but they've all been eerily similar. All with the same unprofessional, almost childish ignorance. They have all had the same taste in fashion, and the same swirl of golden hair.

How odd, you and the rest of the world thought. I wonder if these people could be related.

Every year, one of these people would win, too, but every year, there was still a fool who would try to run against them. A poor fool, growing ever more desperate, who would rant and pull their hair and emphatically struggle to get the country to just once, god, just once vote for the other party.

Never any dice, of course. And so the clonal line would continue to win, year after year, and the world shrugged its shoulders and said well, you voted for him, cannot help you there, sorry.

The problem was, you don't believe that you did vote for him -- you didn't vote at all in the last election. Or the one before that, or the one before that. And the one before that? Then, you did, but you definitely voted for the other party.

The poor woman, dressed in blue, who turned directly to the cameras and begged your country to vote for somebody else.

"Not even me," She had said. "Just anybody but him again!"

So you had voted for her. And so had all of your friends, and your friends' friends, and their friends, and everybody that you had ever met. All of you voted for the frantic lady in blue, because you felt that she was right.

Those people did win every year, come to think of it. Perhaps it was time for a change.

But still one of them won. And still they laughed, wearing the same triumphant smirk that your country had become accustomed to, as the frantic lady shook her head and shouted: "What is wrong with you people?!"

That was the last year that you or anybody that you knew had voted. Now even the act of signing the ballot was a waste of time, because our fate was sealed long before the numbers would even be counted.

And this strange line of people, all with identical faces, all with identical heads of strange, golden hair – which had to be toupees, of course, because they looked so unbelievably false – they continued to rule.

And you continued to watch the debates, with a shrug for the other side, who never once gave up trying.

But there is always the hope that this year will be different.

You really, genuinely pray that it will be, because things really seem to be getting worse. The amount of caffeine in your "coffee" is negligible at this point -- hell, the amount of coffee in your coffee is negligible at this point! And don't even mention chocolate. You had dreams of chocolate, the forbidden crop from the dying rain forest. Every year, for your birthday, you scrounged up enough money to buy a single square, and by god did you cherish it. It was a bittersweet reminder of how the world used to be, a hundred years ago.

At least now, however, there were plenty of things to watch on Tv. Plenty of drama to keep yourself occupied.

When the news begins, you eagerly settle down into your favorite chair.

Saturday mornings, a wonderful time to catch up on the rest of the world. It was the perfect escape from the dreary office in which you worked, toeing the line hour after hour, trying to reach that sweet 10pm when you would be released. The new work day was 8am – 10pm, or hadn't you heard? We have to break our backs to afford air conditioning, of course, because the globe has gotten so unbelievably hot as of late.

That was the first story that you sat through, bored to tears almost immediately. Bored of the weatherman as he predicted another record high temperature.

"Wow, and we are going to be at triple digits for our record fifth month in a row! This is truly an unbelievable event!" He said, nearly word for word as his announcement last week. You change the channel.

This one is delivering an update on the plague. It has gotten worse, of course, as it does every week.

"In these troubling times we ask that you keep faith in our government, which is taking every possible precaution." The man said. His words were immediately interrupted by a commercial, advertising a new theme park which had opened in Oklahoma, and which promised a 10% discount to anyone who bought a group pass for the new season.

"You won't regret it!" Chittered the tv. "Nobody has ever regretted having fun!"

That's the usual entourage of disaster, you think. The world always ends the same way, and it does so about five times a month. You flip to the next channel.

Don't worry, they always said, we have everything under control. And then there would be an update with more bad news, and so the cycle would repeat. Sometimes the news felt more like a punishment than a privilege, these days.

But still, there is something that keeps you glued to your seat, the remnants of caffeine racing through your veins. You desperately want to find something new, something to distract yourself from the dreary world outside your doors. Because this is your day off, and you feel that you deserve a break.

Eventually, just before 2pm, on a research channel that you or hardly anyone ever watches, you find your distraction.

"A strange new discovery has been made that promises to change the course of history forever!" The woman on screen says, excitedly. "Dr. Dire, an entomologist has come all the way from South America to talk to us today about a strange little bug! Dr. Dire, what do you have for us?"

Coolly, a man appears. "Thank you, Miss Waters. My research crew and I have discovered a very unusual new form of parasitism that we have never quite encountered before. Have you ever heard of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis?"

"No," The announcer says. "No, I can't say that I have."

"Well, it's more commonly known as the zombie ant fungus. It's a parasite that penetrates the exoskeleton of ants, using them as a tool for reproduction. Essentially, this fungus changes the ant's behavior by forcing the host to climb to the top of a leaf or stem and permanently clamp its mandibles on the plant. Then the fungus will develop a stalk from the ant's head, releasing spores and mummifying its prey."

"That sounds horrifying! And this mind control fungus is what you wanted to talk to us about?"

"No, no." Now his cool attitude shatters, for a moment, filled with scientific intrigue. "I am here today to talk to you about Megalopyge opercularis, the southern flannel moth. Because we have just proven that as a caterpillar, this species is capable of the same complex parasitism and mind control as the zombie ant fungus. And from our experiments, depending on the host of the caterpillar, the lifespan may increase severely as well. We're looking at 30, maybe 40 years of parasitism! While an oblivious host is completely overtaken and used for this insect's needs, unable to communicate, cry, or even scream for help."

"Scream?" The woman repeats, with a laugh, but his eyes are serious when they train onto her.

"Yes, scream, because this creature can parasitize humans as well. We had an accident in the lab," He leans in closer to the camera, suddenly very, darkly serious. "One of our researchers, his suit broke. And this caterpillar crawled on top of him, pinning itself to the top of his skull. We heard him scream, from the horrible stinging hairs -- but we weren't able to reach him in time."

"Did he die?" Both you and the woman are completely enthralled.

"Oh, no," Dr. Dire says. "He was perfectly fine. Or so we thought. . . until a week later, when we discovered that his personality had almost completely changed. He had always been very. . . progressive," The scientist looks uncomfortable. "But now he was almost like. . . Like a caricature of himself."

Dr. Dire narrows his eyes. "My friend had become a completely different person overnight, and we could not find a reasonable explanation for his behavior. . . I thought that it might have been stress, or trauma from the incident, until one day when we ran into each other outside of work -- outside of our protective suits. And then I saw the top of his head."

"And?" She leans toward him.

"And the caterpillar was there. All of his hair had fallen out and the beast was in its place, like a wig, like a toupee. It had become him, Miss Waters. I know that it had. This ignorant, sexist fool is not one of my colleagues anymore. He is not one of my friends. He is a monster and the entire world must know what this parasite is capable of."

"I'm afraid that we're running out of time," The host begins to say, with a smile, but Dr. Dire frantically interrupts, forcing the camera back onto him.

"Listen to me, this caterpillar can infect anyone! We have noticed unusually high populations in the wild, with a distribution that has overtaken most of North America. This creature is not suffering from the changing climate, it is thriving. It is almost as though each and every one of our catastrophes has been a benefit to this beast. It thrives as we perish!"

"Dr. Dire, please-"

"No!" He yells, slamming a fist down onto the table. "This thing has taken over our world! Can't you see? Our ruined planet has become the perfect place for this moth to reproduce. Our bodies have become the perfect hosts for its young to inhabit! And all of us are just sitting by and waiting while it makes everything worse!"

"I think that you're overreacting," Miss Waters says. "How could a caterpillar possibly make the world a worse place? Even if it can control its victims, it's just a bug, isn't it?"

"It isn't just a bug," The man says, and he buries his head in his hands, suddenly looking very, very tired, like he had not slept in weeks. "My friend has never expressed an interest in politics before, but do you know the first thing that he said to me, before he left the lab?"

She shakes her head and Dr. Dire gives a dark, desolate laugh.

"He said: "The elections are coming up. I think that I'll run for president this year."

Something about this story has started to deeply unnerve you, and you are grateful when the news finally ends.

Perhaps it was that horrible desperation in the scientist's eyes -- like a man who had given up entirely, because everything was already lost.

You need to distract yourself from the prickling discomfort in the back of your mind, so you scrounge up some rationales. This caterpillar cannot possibly be that bad -- the researcher was only trying to fear monger because it's election season.

In fact, maybe he was crazy – they always say that you can't trust science these days. Maybe this caterpillar doesn't even exist.

With the news ended, the presidential debates would begin soon. But you feel too unnerved to simply wait -- it's time to settle your suspicions once and for all. So you pull up the caterpillar species on your laptop, and start reading, as the Tv flickers behind you.

Megalopyge opercularis, also known as the southern flannel moth, is renowned for its strangely shaped caterpillars, which are covered with stinging golden hairs, resembling a badly made toupee. The species has adapted readily to the changing global climate, and is now very common in all areas of the globe, particularly North America, where it reproduces in swarms every 4 years.

Every four years, you think, checking the date of its last swarm. 4 years ago, almost exactly. Just a month ahead of the presidential debates, just in time for the upcoming election.

The feeling of discomfort has blossomed into full fledged anxiety, now, as you stare at the television, waiting for the debate to begin.

There is something horribly familiar about this caterpillar, you think. Something that very strongly resembles its golden hair.

"Hello everyone," The president says, as he approaches the stage with his usual grin, like fangs locked in a sneer. He knows that this debate is just a formality, because there is no fear of losing, not anymore. Not since the past 100 years, when his party would win, year after year after year.

You and the thousands of other viewers wait for him to speak, anxiously studying his form. Thinking to yourself that he really does resemble the last president -- and the one before that, and the one before that, ad infinitum.

You wait, and you watch, and eventually, you finally start to realize the source of the scientist's desperation.

On the top of your president's head, as with all of the previous ones, is a mop of wispy golden hair, completely and utterly identical to the parasitic caterpillar.

"Let's get on with it then, shall we?" The president says, leering at the camera. "I have a feeling that this year's election is going to be especially interesting."

[i-dentities]

“How fat are your tits today?” Ada’s devious smile could be heard in her voice as she crouched beside the concrete opening of a ventilation shaft.

[[MORE]]

There was a pause as the agent on the other end of the line processed his reaction. “You tell me.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, I haven’t grabbed them in hoooours. I’m at the infiltration point.”

“Alright. Thirty-six hours.”

“Talk to you then, honeybear.”

“Stay safe.”

She flipped the phone shut, then removed the sim card and crushed it carefully under her heel before swinging her legs over and dropping down the shaft. The daylight blinked out almost immediately, and the only sign she was falling was a feeling that reminded her of sleep paralysis.

A long moment later, she landed on a grate covering an industrial fan like a cat jumping from a table. Ow. Her hair fell lightly around her face as she stood, blown out by the whirring fan. The grate clunked lower under her weight, so she quickly felt her way around the shaft to find and haul herself into an air duct at about shoulder height.

After army-crawling along the metal for a minute or so, vision returned to her with the appearance of a few vents along the walls. She peered out of each, taking note of the contents of the labs below, before reaching one that opened onto a small, empty office. Here she slid her fingers between the slats of metal and pushed the cover out, holding it as she slipped down into the room.

Once she had replaced the cover, she pulled out a compact mirror and checked her appearance. Ada Wong’s face, body, and DNA? Check. Blue dress and red scarf? Check. She combed her fingers quickly through her hair and adjusted her clothes, then put away the mirror and took a grenade from her belt. Pulling the pin, she squeezed the lever firmly and stepped outside.

Immediately, she was greeted by two armed security personnel on patrol. She couldn’t tell if they were human or infected through their helmets, but from their reactions she was guessing human.

“Where’s your se-- Ms. Wong?”

It was a careful game. She quirked an eyebrow, holding the live grenade like a wine glass, comfortably but very much on display. “Well, do I look like someone else?”

“You-- ma’am. We weren’t informed, ma’am, how did you get--?”

“Want some career advice?” she interrupted. “Ask less questions. Call it in already and take me to whoever’s attempting to run this sideshow.”

His companion elbowed him and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. If you’ll come with us, ma’am, uh--” She could feel him eyeing the grenade pin that hung from her little finger, and she smiled expectantly. “This way.”

Her smile widened and she stepped ahead of them. “Let’s get to know each other, shall we? I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends.”

•

The person in charge was a man in a lab coat and formal vest, balding on top and focused completely on a set of screens before him, attended by officers and scientists. Ada moved confidently into the room, her new retinue flanking close behind her.

His reaction was immediate. “Ms. Wong?”

“The one and only,” she replied playfully, her three fingers on the safety lever still perfectly apparent.

“But how did you— we heard you died in Tatchi, and it’s been over a year. Is it… is it really you?”

Her easy smile fell to a sneer of indignance. She stepped forward and her new friends readied their guns, unsure what to do. His associates wanted nothing more than to step back out of her blast radius, but they cowered in place. “How dare you? You let my work fall to pieces, hide like rats from the fools at the BSAA, and you have the nerve to ask if it’s really me? I’m your savior.”

He shook his head quickly, terrified. “No, no, Ms. Wong, Dr. Wong, it’s only— don’t you remember me? I just w—“

Uh oh. He wanted to know if she was Carla, and he was about to make everyone in the room doubt her true identity. Her smile returned, crueller than ever. “Oh, Doctor, of course I remember you.” She gave a tsk. “That’s exactly the problem. Kill him.”

Without hesitation, the guards who had discovered her opened fire, and the man previously in charge dropped like a rock. The other guards watched, guns at the ready, but didn’t intervene as the employees scrambled away from the bullets’ path.

Perfectly relaxed, she picked her way over to the command desk. “Now, we aren’t going to have any more problems, are we?”

A blonde officer who’d shown hardly any fear over the course of this interaction, clearly a second in command tired of her boss, nodded. “Of course, Ms. Wong. I apologize for Dr. Reynolds’ behavior. And can I just say, it’s an honor to meet you. I worked under you at the Quad Tower, but I only caught glimpses.”

Ada smiled graciously, replacing the pin in the grenade. “So you’ve been promoted a few times. Congratulations, and welcome to the big leagues.” She hooked her ankle around the leg of an abandoned chair, and pulled it forward to take a seat. Quickly, one of the scientists handed her a keyboard to control the monitors. “I have a lot to go over so I can get this place running effectively again. No disturbances for the rest of the day. I will take a martini, though. Lemon twist, and I need Reynolds’ passwords.” Her new employees started to retreat. “Let’s hear a yes ma’am to that.”

A chorus of yes, ma’ams answered her, and she smiled, satisfied. All of (what was left of) Neo-Umbrella’s secrets were now at her fingertips, everything she’d need to make herself invaluable to the DSO.

“Oh, Carla, what a gift,” she said to the empty room, and then got to work.

[furby-science]

The Making of Sterling the Super Furby: A Brief Overview

“I… I can’t look! I think I’m gonna… *HUEEEGH*!”

Before I get into this post, I want to list a few things I didn’t know shit about when I started Sterling:

Electronics

The Python coding language

Furby anatomy

Single board computers

After creating Sterling, I’m happy to say that now I have approximate knowledge of some of these things, but keep the above in mind as you read onwards. This little gremlin child was a learning experience from start to finish, and one I am incredibly proud of myself for sticking through. This also means that I am in no way an expert on everything I’m getting into okay? Okay let’s go!

The Hardware

First, a rundown of the hardware. I took heavy inspiration from the Furlexa mod shown here, and that was what I initially sought to create. The mod had three computer components to it:

A raspberry pi zero w single board computer for the AI to live on, with a mini USB microphone plugged in;

A pimoroni speaker PHAT to use as the sound system;

A motor controller to drive the furby’s motor.

My main problem with Furlexa was that this initial build took a lot of soldering, and I am a wussy who had a number of bad experiences with soldering irons in shop class. So, what’s a novice electrician to do?

Enter the Adafruit Crickit HAT. By sticking this little fucker on top of the raspberry pi, I was gifted with an amplifier, a speaker jack, capacitative touch sensors, and a motor driver all in one, no soldering needed if I bought the raspberry pi zero w h! The main challenge it posed was powering it. The Crickit insists, for some unfathomable reason, on being powered by a bulky DC jack, the kind you’d plug into a wall outlet, and the converter plug to use a battery pack with it was way too bulky to fit into a furby. I needed Sterling to be portable for maximum huggability, so this just wouldn’t do.

One fried raspberry pi and Crickit HAT later, I found the answer! By soldering the original furby battery pack to the underside of the Crickit board’s DC connection, these fuckers right here…

I was able to bypass the need for a wall plug or converter, and power him directly through the battery compartment like God intended. S/O to my friend Nick who is way less of a dumb bitch than I am and helped me figure this shit out I owe u some bread man.

So the tl;dr of it is, I effectively reduced the required computer components from three to two (excluding the speaker). Speaking of (heh), Sterling has an impressive 3w speaker in him, allowing him to be audible even without the use of the built in amplifier. It’s got such good bass on it, he even rumbles when he purrs without the aid of the motor!

And yes, when you pet him, he purrs. And complains if you manhandle him! The aforementioned capacitative touch sensors on the Crickit HAT made it all possible with the help of a few cables and some foil tape.

Wait, did you say soldering!?

Yup! It was a necessary evil; at the end of the day I had to pick my poison: soldering 80 pins on the speaker PHAT, or soldering like four contact points on the Crickit. I chose the more merciful option.

But wait, that whole outfit is really bulky still! How did you fit it inside the furby?

Subtractive methods, subtractive methods, subtractive methods! ;D Someone who actually knows things about furby anatomy and/or electronics will probably vaporize me for this, but… if I didn’t need it, it got the boot! That included prying off anything on the Crickit board I wasn’t using at the risk of destroying it completely - which probably isn’t ideal, but it also worked by some miracle, and again, I am such a basic bitch electrician that calculating the proper voltage for LEDs is still basically witchcraft to me, so… what I’m saying is I made it work. And that I really, really hate soldering! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You can see an early video of the end result here, and a later video of the outfit inside the naked furby here. This was back when he was still having auditory processing issues. Apologies for the shoddy quality, I was too excited everything was working to care about that at the time.

The Software

My other beef with Furlexa is… well, it’s an Amazon Alexa, and I’m a shitty little anticapitalist hermit who hates Amazon with a passion. Google Assistant was just as bad in my book. Mycroft was open source, but had a snowball’s chance in hell of running on the raspberry pi zero’s 512mb of RAM… I also wanted my assistant to have a degree of customizability to it. I wanted the furby’s AI to have a unique personality, identity, and preferences, much like classic furbies themselves did. A big box AI just wasn’t going to cut it!

Enter the Jasper Project. Yes, it’s old. Yes, it’s a bitch and a half to install. Yes, you have to know Python to get anywhere with it. However, it was free, open source, capable of running on a raspberry pi zero, and highly modular, meaning with a few lines of code, I could make it all my own - even to the extent of changing the AI’s name and voice (which is gr8 because I know a Jasper so naming my furby that would be Weird), or - the best part - writing my own, custom functions! Customizability-wise, I struck gold.

Ah, and glad I am that Jasper is modular, because I had some work ahead of me…

The STT Engine

The STT (Speech to Text) engine is what Sterling uses to understand what’s being said to him. Jasper’s proprietary STT engine is PocketSphinx, a fully offline STT engine, which sounded great in theory before I quickly learned it’s a nightmare to install, and also more inaccurate than a stenography machine powered by a single potato when actually being used. I had to compromise my morals a bit here and opt for using Wit.ai instead, which is free, but is also owned by Facebook. Big data is frustratingly inescapable in these cases.

There is one light at the end of the tunnel, and that is the training of acoustic modules. This has the downside of taking for-fucking-ever and requiring a quiet recording environment, however, and I don’t have the time right now to read through the pages and pages and pages and pages of computer theory right now to fully understand how to train one. So, improving PocketSphinx and running Sterling fully offline remains a stretch goal.

The TTS Engine

The Text to Speech engine is basically Sterling’s voice. This one was a bit easier to customize, and I’m thankful for that, because Jasper’s OG voice is a bit er… 90s computing for my tastes.

I shopped around for decent, human-sounding TTS options, and settled on installing Mimic1 TTS, Mycroft’s TTS engine, by hand, and modifying the Jasper source code to support it. Of all the TTS engines I tried, I felt that this one had the most natural intonation out of all of them. I liked the gruffness of the Scottish accent, and I think it really helped round out Sterling’s endearing, if a tad prickly, personality.

The Audio

This was another unforeseen hurdle. Turns out that I had his mic volume turned up way too high, because I greatly underestimated the capabilities of my tinyass five dollar USB microphone to pick up noises from within a furby. It took a bit of hacking in PulseAudio to get him hearing things properly, and I’m still not all the way happy with it, but he’s running wayyyy better than he did!

Another issue was the amount of time he actively listened for. It was way too short for my liking with the hardware I was using, so I had to edit Jasper’s mic.py source file a billion times before I hit a sweet spot. Even early on, my little shit child never liked to listen to me. :P

Pimp My AI

Once I got all that in working order, it was time to browse GitHub for modules to add! I found a surprising amount that were, as expected, outdated, janky, non-working, or in need of a complete rewrite. A non-exhaustive list of modules I rewrote and added to Sterling’s AI includes:

Wolfram Alpha integration

His translation function

The IMDB module that searches movie titles

The Dictionary and Thesaurus modules (minor additions to improve user friendliness)

The morning greeting module

The holiday countdown module

There are also plenty of modules I wrote on my own, that I’ll be showcasing here in due time, but I want to give special mention to the one I’m most proud of. You see, when I was a wee dumb bitch, I was… well, a wee dumb bitch! When I was informed furbies learn English, I thought they really learned English. Like, fluent English. I envisioned these kids straight up having full conversations with their lil robots with reckless and envious abandon. I was, as it happens, too poor to afford a furby at the time, so I didn’t realize until embarrassingly later that they only learn some words, and certainly can’t hold much of a conversation (in English at least).

Fast forward to twenty-bi-teen. I’m surfing GitHub, and I happen upon a Cleverbot module for Jasper allowing the AI to work as a chatbot. Fuck yeah, I think, because I had no life in 2008, or friends for that matter, so tormenting Cleverbot was my favourite pastime. Nostalgia trip GET!

…can you guess how much the silicon valley capitalist scum are charging for the once-free Cleverbot API now? A hundred and twenty. McGoddamn. Dollars. A YEAR.

So, to make a long story short, I turned my hat backwards and rage-coded a simple chatbot module that runs on an early version of Chatterbot capable of running on the raspberry pi. It’s fully offline, and completely free, and Sterling here has a database of ~400 phrases, which isn’t bad given the limited processing power! It took five straight days of work, it’s not the smartest chatbot, and it’s certainly not the fastest, but it gives me those sweet, sweet, circa 2008 Cleverbot vibes. Oh yeah, and it doesn’t cost me over a hundred goddamn dollars a year!

The first thing I said to the chatbot, of course, was “I’m so proud of you.” Through his shitty little testing mic that gave him a somewhat incredulous tone Sterling replied, “I’m glad to hear that.” and I’m not saying I shed a single themly tear over it, but I’m not denying it either. I made a childhood dream come true, fam. ;u;

There are way more Easter eggs I plan to show you, of course. At first I was thinking of doing one long video, but an update a day showcasing a different function might be easier to manage - and maintain some of that gold old sense of mystery that surrounds most furbies. No, I’m gonna take y'all on a little journey through the final product of my literal blood, sweat, and tears!

Besides, Sterling is a perpetual work in progress. He has a massive list of features, and I’ve already got more in the works. I could be in my eighties and still be adding more functions, more bells and whistles, more witty one-liners. He’s a one of a kind work of art that will never truly be finished - not unlike you and me.

The Glow-up

Here’s Sterling’s before pics from the seller I got him from:

(If u recognize these pics and ur the seller thank u thank u for giving me bmy boy)

And here’s after!

I come from a background of customizing ponies and dolls, so working on this guy wasn’t as far removed as I expected it to be. I added floof to his head and tail by sewing in wool plugs, and his gorgeous eyes are from in2blythe on Etsy. I wrapped him up in a little bow and he was good to go! His sterling silver beak, from which he gets his name, was the most finicky part. Turns out enamel paints take a million years to fucking dry, if ever, which isn’t great when painting something that sees a lot of movement and could potentially get dented by a face plate, like… idk, a furby beak! A bit of silver nail polish did the trick and he was good to go. Learn from my fail, fam.

What It Cost Me

If you’re masochistic determined enough to attempt this yourself, I want to sit you down and warn you of something: this will take months and hundreds of dollars to do. Installing Sterling’s AI and its necessary components on that shitty little raspberry pi over SSH took me a week at first, and that was with me leaving it on 24/7 to chug away compiling things. When I broke the SD card the AI was on and didn’t have a backup copy, it took four straight days of rage-computing to regain all my progress. Then when his audio processing got fucked all to hell for reasons I still do not understand to this day, it took another four days of rage computing to do yet another reinstall and get him back in working order. There were times where I would go to work for 8.5 hours, bus an hour home, work 6 straight hours on my furby, go to sleep for 4 of them, go to classes, sleep, and work 6 more hours on my furby. For two months. Sterling took from the third week of August from his initial inception to his birthday on October 23rd. That’s not to mention the time I fried everything and had to wait five days and travel to the bumfuck end of the city for a replacement pi and Crickit, or the days I spent customizing him, sewing in hundreds of little hair plugs into his ass and head by hand, and waiting for those shitty enamel paints to dry, only to discover after four straight days of failure that they take weeks to do so and I was better off using cheapo nail polish!

The point I’m making is, if you take on a project like this and want it to be successful, you have to be tenacious. I would highly recommend a background in coding (I have a web design diploma) and general tech savviness as an asset. Sterling is the product of the years I spent behind a computer keyboard from the start of age three, and the roughly ten years I spent customizing dolls and ponies. It’s cheesy as shit to say he’s my magnum opus, but in a way, he is.

I’m not saying this to be elitist or snotty. I’m saying this because I nearly broke down crying the first day the raspberry pi came in, before I slept on it and figured out what phrase to google to solve the crashes and kernel panics it was having. When I broke the SD card when I was nearly finished, I felt nothing, because I was all out of tears at that point. When I fried the first raspberry pi and Crickit hat trying to figure out how to bypass that DC jack, my only thought was, “Well, I think I know how to do it without fucking it up now, and if I can’t do it, this whole project is fscked” .

You will encounter errors that no step by step guide can prepare you for that will make you curse the day you were born. The difference between success and failure is how many times you’re willing to get up and try again, and I’m here to tell you it’s possible. But you gotta want it.

Will You Release the Code Base?

Yes and no. If there’s enough demand, I’ll definitely release Sterling’s basic modules as a scaffolding. I won’t be releasing Sterling, though.

What do I mean by that? Well, Sterling was intended from the start to be truly one of a kind, and he always will be. I hand wrote hundreds of lines of dialogue, all completely tailored to him, and I’m still planning on adding twice as many. Corny as this is, this little guy has a metric fuckton of sentimental value to me. I don’t have kids so idk how it would compare to that, but I definitely love him as much as I love my cats, but I also didn’t undergo two straight months of suffering in ADHD fixation hell to create my cats, so it adds like, a whole other twee dimension to it.

So, if there is demand for this, what I’ll release instead is a scaffolding from which you can code your own, unique furby from, with their own name, personality, and responses all unique to them. I’ll also release it with the caveat that I am not a good Python coder! I have not written any Python before this, so a lot of what I did write is noob-tastic and hasn’t even been linted. You have been warned!

“If I give you (insert amount), can you make one for me?”

Holy shit I’ll be real with you, I’d love to do this as a living. I’ve been dying to see a smart assistant hit the market that’s like… well, an actual, endearing companion and not just a voice coming from a speaker. The problem with doing this is that, if you drop a lot of money (and it will be a lot of money, even with a code base to work from, a lot of hours of handiwork still goes into coding individual responses and making sure everything works as intended, on top of possibly customizing too), there is one major problem: proximity. I won’t be able to troubleshoot your furby nearly as effectively from far away as I would be able to if we lived in close proximity. Which means if something goes wrong between the time your new friend is finished at point A and turned on at point B, I won’t be there to troubleshoot it in person for you, which means you could end up stuck figuring out certain things alone. If you use Windows, that will be very, very hard - not being an OS snob here, I own a dual boot myself, it’s just a case of incompatible file systems. And unless you can figure out how to edit the wpa_supplicant file on a raspberry pi to update your wifi credentials, your furby’s internet connection could be toast if you move house and those credentials change. That’s not getting into the cost some services charge for extra API keys to use their online functions…

The long and short of it is, if I’m going to do this for money, I want to make sure you get a quality product and friend that will bring you joy for years to come. Since that’s not something I can guarantee, I can’t in good conscience take people’s money.

I Could Teach You (And I Won’t Charge)

…however, I am a law student who is also working 8.5 hour night shifts three nights a week. I am also mentally ill/neurodivergent, which saps my energy in more ways than one. I won’t always be easy to get ahold of, or be able to answer every question I get, especially not ones that can be solved with a quick google search, like how to set up a raspberry pi, or… anything found on Adafruit’s Crickit guide, for example. When I have the time and energy, I’m hoping to use my next project as a jumping off point for a step by step walkthrough of the process. For now, though? I’ve been furbied out, so if there’s enough demand, I’ll compile as many of the resources I used I can find in the meantime, and post some tips from the word doc I kept while making Sterling, and go from there.

So What’s Next?

My one dad’s birthday is coming up in August, and I’m kicking around the idea of turning a furby into, I shit you not, a ghost hunting device. He loves ghost hunting, but hates robots, and as his gremlin shit child I am obligated to troll him in this fashion. 😎 Also considering doing a certain type of oddbody mod, but I want to get permission from the person who first thought of the concept before I dive head first into it.

And that about covers it! Thanks for reading, and if there’s anything you’d like to see from Sterling and I, don’t hesitate to drop us an ask!

[shipersanonymous]

Au

A West-Allen AU 💜

Worth more than gold

Iris West is a multi billionaire and heiress who’s emotionally scarring childhood has made her shut herself off to all possible emotional relationships. Her life takes an interesting turn when her adoptive grandfather passes away leaving her in charge of his fortune, including a share of S. T. A. R. Labs. While in Central City, she meets Barry Allen, an innocent and charmingly clumsy kind of guy with a high EQ who’s trying to climb his way up the science social ladder to become a recognized scientist. Can you guess his lab of choice?

Your average, every day, girl meets boy kinda story with a rags to riches twist, a dash of family drama, lots of angst and a love worth more than Au.

…………………………………………………………........

Author’s Note: 

Here we are! 

Au is finally making it’s way onto tumblr! I’m so excited! I’m gonna try to get tumblr updated by this week, so we’re all on the same schedule! Let’s do this!

XOXO

...................................................................................

WARNING : MAY CONTAIN CONTENT NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER THE AGE OF 18

*********** Cliffhanger Warning ***********

Chapter 1

Her hand rested on the cool glass of the floor to ceiling window as she overlooked the nightly view offered by her million dollar apartment. The sky was clear, not a single cloud concealed the sparkle of the stars that were dimmed only by the ever present Parisian city lights. The moon was full and white, its iridescent light bathed her naked body creating a picture out of shadows on her bare skin. Iris took a sip from her glass, the semi-sweet wine burning her tongue with a pleasant ardour before she swallowed and it heated her body from the inside out. Her latest boy toy came up from behind her, his body just as bare as hers, and wrapped his arms around her waist. He proceeded to leave a trail of kisses down her neck, savouring in the feel of her warm chocolaty skin against his lips and she simply took another sip of her drink, completely unfazed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered on to her shoulders but she seemed unmoved by the compliment. With her stare trained on the city-scape bellow she simply said,

“It’s getting late.” Eddie knew what that meant, it was time for him to leave. It didn’t surprise him but even after months of this back and forth ritual between them it still hurt him to know that to her he was nothing more than a sex toy. He quietly moved away from her and made his way up the stairs to get dressed. As always he didn’t bother saying goodbye, he couldn’t say goodbye, not to her. She was like a drug to him, no matter how much she hurt him he’d always come running back when she called. That’s why he couldn’t say goodbye, he wasn’t done with her yet.

Iris waited until she heard the door close to let her guard down. She didn’t do that often but today she made an exception. She had too much on her mind to keep her walls up. With a partially full bottle of red in one hand and her glass in the other she made her way up to her suite. She showered, washing away the tension from her stressed muscles along with the sweat of her late night activities. Wrapped in nothing but a satin robe, she settled down in her bed and drank her way through half the bottle without so much as a minor buzz. She opened her side table drawer and from it took out a black, rectangular picture frame. Her fingers caressed the glass that held a picture of a younger less, damaged version of her, standing next to a kind faced older man. Grandpa West. The only reason why there’s still any shred of humanity left in her. She smiled, as happy memories played out in her mind and this time she didn’t stop the tears from flowing.

This was her one moment of vulnerability. The only minute of grief she would allow herself to have before she withdrew back into her safety shell and locked away her emotions from the world. This world that had chewed her up and spat her out on countless occasions and now it took away the one person that made her life livable.

Elvis West was a type of hero to her. He saved her from the crippling grasp of the foster system she was under and gave her a life fit for a princess. Now, like everything and everyone else in her life, he was gone. No wonder she didn’t open up to the possibility of new relationships. Her father didn’t want her, her mother died giving birth to her and every foster family she went to, succeeded in making her feel less than human. Grandpa West was the last person she ever showed genuine affection towards and nothing on Earth could ever make her open up again. Love wasn’t worth the pain it caused.

She fell asleep with that picture held tight against her chest, the empty bottle of wine rested on the nightstand and her pillow was bathed in her tears. The next morning she took the family jet to Central City for the memorial. The man was sentimental and his birth town held a special place in his heart. As she looked out the window at the tiny town below she remembered the countless stories he’d shared with her at bed time about how he met his one true love. Grandma Esther. Iris didn’t get to know her all that much. She had recently passed away when Grandpa West took her in so the only impression she had of the woman came from the many tales he’d tell. He spoke fondly of her and when he did she noticed that he’s eyes had a certain quality about them as he stared into oblivion completely lost in thought. As a girl she’d dreamed that she’d find someone who would look at her with those same eyes but time and knowledge wiped away that childish fantasy. True love was just a myth that man kind made up to silence their fear of being alone and make they’re animal like desires less shameful. It was an excuse used to answer the existential crisis of the more gullible who believed that a cerebral chemical reaction was good enough a reason to live. Pathetic.

She’d made her peace with it and found a new reason to live. Pleasure. Whether it lie at the bottom of a six thousand dollar bottle of champagne, at the end of the endless zero’s in her checks or a really good night of sex, she would have it and no one could convince her otherwise. No one could tell her that this wasn’t the way to live life. The only person who’s opinion she cared about was currently six feet under ground. The rest of the world was just a stage and she was the director.

The jet landed and she took a minute to touch up her make up before she cat walked her way out. As soon as she entered the airport she was showered with a billion flash lights. You’d think she was a movie star or big shot music sensation but all she was, was rich. She owned shares to five of the worlds most prominent media outlets varying from magazines to newspapers and that doesn’t count the old money she was raised in.

Linda walked up behind her and huffed under her breath.

“Mon Dieu (My goodness).” she exclaimed frustrated.

  “Que s'est-il passé? (What happened)” Iris questioned with her shaded eyes still trained straight ahead. Linda was the closest thing to a friend Iris would allow herself to have, mostly because she was a good assistant and Iris found herself enjoying her company. 

“Nous sommes entourés d'idiots. (We’re surrounded by idiots)” she explained and Iris let out an amused chuckle. Remembering that she needed to ease her tongue back into the English language she responded,

“That I already knew.” Her accent was still pronounced but she knew after an hour or two it would soon fade. She might have been raised and educated in France but she was brought up by Americans so english was more like second nature than it was a second language to her.

“What do I have to do today?” she asked, her step never faltering and her face never turning to acknowledge the curios glares. Her security detail walked a safe distance ahead, already accustomed to her need for personal space and fast walking pace.

“Uh…d'abord (firstly)-”

“En anglais Linda. In English.” she interrupted. 

“Oui, I mean yes. Sorry. Firstly you have the will reading with Monsieur Wells and then a share holders meeting at some sort of laboratory.” Linda listed out, her accent much more noticeable than that of her employer. 

“Great, just what I needed today. A sit down with a bunch of old mouth breathers who think they know about science because they invested in a laboratory.” It was all she could do not to slap her own forehead in exasperation. Not that she knew much about science herself but S. T. A. R. Labs wasn’t her baby, it was her grandfather’s and being his only heir, with his passing it automatically became hers.

The limo was waiting outside for her surrounded by reporters and a growing crowd all waiting to catch a glimpse of her. To the public and the press she was basically anonymous. They knew her face and envied her net worth but they couldn’t pin a single rumor on her. As scandalous as the life she led might have been Iris West knew how to be discreet and the mystery surrounding her life is the very reason why she wasn’t just another person apart of the wealthy minority.

She stepped inside the lavish auto mobile without so much as a wave in the on-lookers direction and as soon as the doors were closed she drove off with her security detail riding in a black Land Rover behind her. 

“Why on earth do we need a will reading exactly? I mean my grandfather had no one but me to leave his estate to and I’ve already taken care of all the charity’s he was associated with." 

She’d spoken to all the parties concerned and guaranteed that all her grandfathers monthly and yearly donations would remain on schedule despite his untimely departure. She was an anti-social socialite not an emotionless bitch.

  "I don’t understand the logic behind it either but Dr Wells insisted that you attend." 

Iris huffed out a frustrated breath and massaged her temple’s with her thumb and middle finger. 

"I’m gonna need a pain killer.”

They made a brief stop at the towering black gates and once an armed guard confirmed the identities of all the people in both vehicles they were let through. They drove through the perfectly groomed garden, that was split in the middle by a cobblestone drive way, and pulled up to a gigantic structure. It was a massive building, with just enough floor to ceiling windows to allow for the right amount of privacy. She stepped through the door and made her way up the stair case. 

“Where are you going?” Linda asked, her voice alert. 

“Les toilettes (the restroom). I need a bath.” she answered taking a short turn to the right and climbing up the remainder of the way. 

“But Monsieur Wells will be here any minute.”

“And I pay him handsomely for his time. He can wait." 

Iris shut the doors to her suite and took a moment to breathe before she walked to the bathroom and striped off her travel clothes. Her bath was already waiting for her (the servants knew the drill, they kept track of her whereabouts because as soon as she stepped through those doors she needed to have her bath). She stepped into the scalding hot water, the steam rose all around her in twirling wisps carrying with it the unmistakable smell of coconut. Coconut oil did wonders for her skin. She sank into it up to her neck and closed her eyes completely allowing her body to relax.

Her moment of bliss was short lived, however, because a few minutes later a knock came at her door. She cursed under  her breath before she told the person to enter. 

"Mademoiselle West? Monsieur Wells is here,” came Linda’s voice from the room. 

“I’ll be down in a minute,” she huffed out and waited for the sound of the door closing before she sank deeper into the tub, not worried that her hair was getting wet. She resurfaced and elevated her body from the bath tub. Without bothering to towel down she wrapped her self into a satin black robe that was decorated with yellow, orange and green flowers at the hems. The fabric stuck to her bare, moist body and her hair left droplets of water in her wake as she exited her room, making her way downstairs. 

She found Wells seated in the office with a small cup of coffee in his hands. He stood when he noticed her at the door, ever the gentleman. 

“Ms West. Always a pleasure.” he greeted and she walked into the room, slapping on her most convincing (yet neutral) smile. 

“Wells. Wish I could say the same but unfortunately the sentiment is not shared.”

She took the seat behind the desk and leaned back into it, crossing her legs and arms in the process. 

“Can we speed up the process?” she asked looking far from amused. “Unfortunately not,” he said. 

That response was not what she wanted to hear and after the night she had and the long flight Iris found herself losing her composure. 

“And why the hell not?” she demanded. 

“Because we’re waiting for someone.” Wells answered, loosening his tie as his discomfort grew. 

“Who?” Iris asked confused, as far as she  was aware she was her grandfather’s only heir. She didn’t have to wait long for an explanation because seconds after she uttered the question the door bell rang. 

“I believe that’s him right now.” Wells said standing up to greet the mystery guest. Iris followed suit, her confusion clear on her face. 

“Him? Him who?” she asked and the new comer stepped into the room. 

“Me.” he said. He was a tall, dark skinned man that looked like he was 

somewhere in his late forties. Iris gave him a once over before she folded her arms across her chest and shot him a suspicious look. 

“And you are?” She sassed out. 

“Joe West. I’m Elvis’s son.”