#anyway. at least i know my copy of the game + journal are safe and waiting for me when i get back

[sonknuxadow]

im fully aware that i need to stop forcing myself to engage with every new sonic thing immediately and finish it as quickly as possible . im working on that. but why did my first time having to actively practice being okay with being a little late to a major new sonic thing end up being a game i was looking forward to way more than any of the other new or upcoming sonic projects from the past year or so . tragic

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

[supernova-variations]

10th Doctor, Coffee stains and paradoxes

(not my gif!)

10th Doctor x reader

warnings: none! word count: 1300 A/N: there was no request for this but it popped into my head as i was taking some creative writing classess on skillshare! hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

“Coffee stains and paradoxes”

Can one moment change the course of a person’s life? Make them see things that were once black as white, completely shifting their perspective? Y/N was about to find out that a fraction of eternity was all it took to alter the game of lights and shadows, also known as life. But as for now, she was just another stranger, an element not yet entangled in the complicated curves of space and time.

Y/N had no agenda for the day. Mindless wandering on the streets of her town was good enough. She knew every corner, recognized each face hidden from the restless summer sunlight with a pair of sunglasses. She could pinpoint the smell of the nearby bakery and knew which steps of the city-hall, leading up the tower, were crocked and in need of repairing.

She was nothing to the people around her – an unnoticed companion to their everyday life, a safe-keeper of secrets told underneath the sculpture of Nicholas Copernicus, the guard of lost crowds that tried to find their way. But they were her everything – stories she could experience on her own skin, another pages of the journal to be filled.

She sat in the nearby café, sipping on a black coffee that left a bitter-sweet taste on the tip of her tongue, eyes focused on the yellowish and ragged pages of a book, a pencil tucked behind her ear. Y/N could devour words and paragraphs while also noticing a couple quarrelling on the street, their backs turned to the window that gave her the view onto the city’s square. They wouldn’t disturb her, they became the part of the book themselves, the experience meant to be tied with the story. The unknown girl’s red dress trembled along with the soft summer breeze as Y/N turned the next page of the worn-out book. They run off after a couple of minutes, screaming at each other and laughing. What a peculiar place her town seemed at times.

Y/N saw everything and knew everyone. But she didn’t see him coming.

The time passed, making each minute blur into the next one, slowly turning into a lazy afternoon.

A sudden knock on the glass surface, cleaned with great precision, made the girl jump in her seat and drop the empty coffee cup on the table with a loud clatter, gathering an unpleasant gaze of the stressed-out waiter. His shoulders were even more knotted than before when she was placing her order. She sent him an apologetic smile and tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear before she turned her face towards the reason for all the disturbance.

A man dressed too warm for the weather outside, the brown coat hanging just below his ankles, waved at her with an impatient manner, giving her the purest, boyish grin she has ever laid her eyes upon. The hot air ruffled man’s light brown hair, making it even messier than it was before. As she froze in astonishment, he pressed his knuckles onto the window’s surface again and rolled his eyes.

“Me?” Y/N pointed the tip of her finger to her chest, cocking her head slightly to the side. She was sure that he has mistaken her with someone else. After all, she knew everyone in this town and tourist were a rarity, even if the weather was nice enough to bring them to this god-forgotten town.

“Yes, you!” Y/N could easily read his lips. He jumped vigorously on his converse-covered feet, gesticulating for her to come out. “Y/N, come on!” How the hell did he know her name? She felt a shiver rock her body and hugged her shoulders as if it was the fault of the AC humming softly in the background, not the strange encounter’s.

Y/N buried her nose in the book once again, unable to focus. Maybe if she ignored him long enough he would just give up and go away.

“I’m sorry… Y/N right?” the waiter knew her well enough as she was a constant guest in the café, “do you know this person?” He loomed over her hurled figure, hands resting on his hips, wet cloth in one hand. Not only him, but the guests enjoying their Saturday afternoon began to get annoyed with the non-stop knocking and wild gesticulation that the man outside the window was presenting. The stranger gave them quite a show, pulling weird faces and wielding something that looked like a pen in his hand.

“Y/N COME OUT KNOW, THE PARADOX CAN DESTROY THIS REALITY ANY MOMENT NOW!”

“I’m sorry, no, I will try to take care of him.” She mumbled, embarrassed. Y/N preferred to remain unnoticed but now every person in the coffee shop was staring at her as if she was to blame for all the fuss outside.

The girl left a couple of crumpled bills and shiny coins on the coffee-stained table and quickly showed the book into her bag, aiming towards the door. The warm air outside hit her face, palms already getting sweaty, red dress sticking to her thighs.

“What is your problem?” Well, that came out rather aggressive.

“What is my problem?” The man’s eyebrows rose in a surprised and almost hurt manner. He reached inside her bag, taking the book she has been previously reading into his hands and flipped a couple of pages. “You told me to meet you here and to take the book with me, remember?” The brown eyes carefully studied her face, almost as if he was taking a peek into her mind.

“Excuse me?!” Y/N shrieked, grabbing onto her copy of “ The Cather in the Rye”, while his hands still held it firmly. She couldn’t explain the electric sensation that snapped from the tips of her fingers as she unexpectedly brushed his warm skin. A blush crawled up her cheeks. “I’m sure we can explain this, amicably.” 

“Oh…” Realization washed over his face. “We haven’t met yet, right? Of course we haven’t.”

“What are you…” The girl pulled on the book, trying to retrieve it, but he easily slid it into the large pocket of his coat. The sudden lack of force made her bump her forehead against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You’ll understand soon, at least I hope so because I don’t understand it myself.” He smiled cheekily. “Exciting isn’t it? The wibbly-wobbly… Anyway,” he trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m the Doctor and I’m kind of in the middle of something. Well, we are in the middle of something. But not right now. I mean, not with the right-now-you. See you later though!” With the last words, he jumped onto his feet and sprinted towards the end of the street.

“Doctor?! But what does that mean?!” She screamed at the figure of the peculiar man, becoming smaller and smaller with each passing second.

“I’ll come back, I promise! But stay where you are for the moment, I cannot handle another paradox right now!” The Doctor looked over his shoulder, smiling at her.

She swore under her nose. Some maniac has just stolen her favourite book with margins full of her personal thoughts and feelings.

Y/N didn’t know this, but this moment would change everything: how she saw the passing of time or the sky above her head. The darkness would become light and vice versa. Furthermore, her current self would become her future self, quarrelling outside the coffee shop’s window, instructing the Doctor to snap the ragged book out of her bag. Summing it up: it would all become a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey…stuff.

[parischangedher]

fall into me, my love.

Summary: I rewrote the end of Housekeeping! In my world, Ray never calls, Ziva answers his question, they go to the bar and decide to stop wasting so much time. Closing one chapter and preparing to start anew.

AO3

Word Count: ~2.8K

Prompt: This is based on a post by the lovely @saraluvstiva! It’s a tad different from what you suggested (a little heavier than a casual convo), but it mostly aligns I think. Hope you enjoy!

@saraluvstiva imagined a scenario in which Ray never called, they went to the bar, reminisced about their growth and their relationship--“a sweet little time...both closing their previous chapters (or considering it) and looking to [possibly] the future chapter with each other.”

Hope was a dangerous thing.

There was a reason he never let himself think about her like that. Not seriously, anyway. And not in a very, very, very long time.

“I’m not talking about movies, Tony. I’m talking about you. She cares.”

He had reverted back to the standard old lines, then, and scoffed about how they were partners and teammates who had each other’s backs. Those lines were good. They protected him and their relationship. He told himself for years that anything else between them would be unthinkable. Inappropriate. Comical, even.

Yeah, right.

Her words, simple yet bold, took hold in his mind and wouldn’t let up.

They hit him when he was woefully unequipped to fend them off as he usually did. There was a crack in his armor, in the wall he built around himself to protect the both of them. It had been breaking slowly, really, ever since they brought her back from the dead in Somalia. It almost shattered completely after he was shot a few months ago and faced the prospect of dying without ever telling her. He was more fragile than ever these days, too, since falling out with EJ and painfully watching his partner hurt over another, undeserving man.

And so, when he heard EJ talk about her like that, the possibility of more seeped through the cracks and into his heart. It coaxed his feelings to the surface, fully awakening what he had known yet staunchly denied for years.

He loved her.

Admitting it to himself was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Give him a burning building, a terrorist, a raging gunman, or a bomb on a timer—fine—he could handle that. That was easy—relatively. But love? The old Anthony DiNozzo didn’t do love.

There was just something about her—the complex dichotomies of softness and strength, of love and hurt, of anger and loyalty—that fascinated him, pulling him to her like gravity. She was an enigma that only he seemed to truly understand; and damnit, he wanted to spend the rest of his life unlocking the key to her soul. She made him better, too—pushing him to open up and grow up, never taking his crap, molding him slowly into half the man she actually deserved.

Despite how hard she tried to hide it, he knew she had strong feelings for him too. He could see it in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—adoringly and longingly, as if imagining a world in which they could actually be something. He felt it in the way she stole soft and lingering touches, standing closer than necessary on an almost daily basis; and he heard it when she talked to him—sometimes concernedly, sometimes flirtatiously, sometimes even annoyedly, but always with love.

Denying how he felt about her was making less and less sense to him by the minute these days. He was filled with regret for wasted time and, still, fear of damaging their bond. But most of all, he was filled with a deep-seated ache for her. For all of her. And for the first time, the latter was starting to win.

Hearing EJ’s words was the final nail in the coffin, if he was honest with himself. They were validation that it wasn’t all in his head. They gave him hope—and with it, a touch of recklessness, encouraging him to ignore the fear for once and play with the fire that is Ziva David. It had been about seven years, after all. If not now, then when?

“Agent David. Do you really consider me to be…in your life?”

His eyes glistened with a mix of hope, boldness, and vulnerability. He watched her carefully as she processed his verbal challenge, seeing how she’d react—if she’d push them closer to the edge or rein him in.

She tilted her head ever so slightly, taken aback by his question. Instinctually, she opened her mouth to disarm the situation, as they usually did whenever the other got too close to the truth.

The look of adoration in his eyes made her pause, though. Ray’s communication and commitment issues served as a strong contrast to the man in front of her, who listened to and supported her whether or not she asked.

She was tired of waiting seven weeks for a man who claimed to love her, when the one she could not live without was standing right in front of her. She was tired of being treated like an afterthought. She was tired of it all. She was so tired, in fact, that she decided to cut the double entendres and answer him honestly. He deserved that, at the very least.

“I do.”

His smile grew brighter, then, and she couldn’t help but return it. He reached out and softly grazed her arm. It was fleeting, another test. A small thrill ran through her as she wondered what had gotten into him, and she raised her eyebrows in silent question.

“Let’s go get that drink.”

---

“Admit it. You never liked her,” Tony teased as he downed the last of his beer and gestured for another. They sat in a corner booth in a dimly lit bar that neither frequented. On some level, she hoped he chose it exactly for that reason—to make sure they weren’t interrupted by someone they knew, or to mark the beginning of…something. Of them. Maybe.

“Who?” she asked playfully.

“EJ,” he replied, calling her bluff by the look on his face.

“Oh. Her.”

“Yeah, her. You didn’t exactly welcome her with open arms. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Let’s just say that I am glad she is gone.”

“Why?”

She hesitated briefly, contemplating, before she responded.

“She is not good enough for you.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Maybe she was right after all.”

“Right about what?”

Tony smiled a bit nervously and took another sip of his drink as Ziva waited, watching him closely with that look. He could just tell her about the movie aspect of the conversation. It wouldn’t be a lie, really, and it would keep them safely within their bounds. But he was sick of the games, of the walls. Plus, he was a little bit tipsy.

He decided to go for it. Throw it out into the open. Play with the fire.

“When we were at the safe house, she said that you care. About me.”

"Wow, such an astute observation by a brilliant, brilliant woman,” she said, rolling her eyes. Tony chuckled at her brashness, reminiscent of how she was when they first met. But he said nothing, wanting to hear her real response.

“Of course I do, Tony,” she said eventually with a soft smile on her face. “You are my partner.”

“Right,” he said, deflated.

“And sometimes,” she continued breathily, finally feeling the effects of her third drink. “You are even my friend.”

“Wow,” he said, cracking a smile and accepting her amended answer—for now. “I’m honored.”

“You should be.”

He laughed, and she did too.

And, he was.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

“We have indeed. It is a miracle, really, given how intimidated you were when we first met.”

“I was not!” he exclaimed, knowing full well that she was right. Not that he’d ever admit it. “If anyone was intimidated, it was you.”

“Tony,” she said amusedly. “I know you.”

“Yeah,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “I suppose you do.”

She shot him a genuine smile; a happy and peaceful look graced her features.

“Seriously though, Tony. I think we’ve both grown quite a bit.”

“We most certainly have,” he laughed. “Remember when you secretly tried Air Guitar?”

Her mouth dropped. “How did you know about that?!”

“When you uploaded it later that night, my computer saved a copy.”

“Oh, sure it did. Just like it autonomously saved those bikini photos, yes?”

“Exactly,” he replied, winking at her.

“You also posted your ass on that stupid website.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, cringing at the memory. “But, you rated it.”

“A 2.”

“A 5, if I remember correctly.”

“Only if you shaved.”

They laughed, enjoying their banter. She took another swing of her drink, reflecting on how far they’d come over the years—how close they’d gotten. When she had first arrived at NCIS, she thought he was a womanizing goofball, a hormonal teenager in an adult’s body—albeit, an attractive body. As the years went on, though, he snuck by her well-built defenses and managed to take up residence inside her heart. She still wasn’t quite sure how he did so, as no other man had been able to break into her life like that.

And now? After everything they had been through together, she was tired of pretending. She knew she loved him, and that he knew too. They basically admitted as much back in Africa—him to her face, and her to the journals she kept in her office. They’d been dancing around each other for years, backing away whenever someone got too close. Part of it was, of course, not wanting to jeopardize their partnership.

But truthfully, she knew that was bullshit.

She was scared. She was scared of losing him. Everyone she had ever loved up to this point died, sometimes even in her arms. He was the most important person in the world to her, and the thought of something happening to him because of her was almost too much to bear.

But then, something did happen to him. He almost died. And it had nothing to do with her.

She wasn’t even there to protect him.

That night had shaken her to the core; it forced her to question all the reasons she had been keeping him at arm’s length, never letting him in for more than a few blissful moments. She still tried to distance herself and make it work with Ray; but, she was reminded of her losing battle whenever she saw him looking at her like she was the only thing on Earth that mattered.

The fear of him dying without ever telling him the truth had finally eclipsed her fear of losing him.

She wanted to stop pretending, finally. She suspected he did too, based on their interactions today.

They just couldn't waste any more time.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot,” he answered. “Figuratively, of course.”

She giggled. Actually giggled. God, how he loved that sound.

“Of all the ones we have worked on together, what has been your favorite case?”

“Oh, tough one David,” he grinned.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “We, uh…we make a good team. There have been a lot of good ones.”

“True,” she said, smiling softly.

“If you force my hand, though, I’d have to say Paris. It is a magical place,” he said with a flirtatious lilt in his voice and a knowing smirk.

“I should have guessed,” she replied. “I loved…Paris, too.”

He raised his eyebrows at her comment; she returned the gesture.

“And you?”

She bit her lip, debating whether she should tell him the truth. This was her chance. She was still scared, but she was also a little drunk by now, and hell, she honestly wanted him to know.

She wanted him to know everything.

“Well,” she began with a small smile on her face. “I liked them all. Or, most of them, like you. We make even the toughest cases enjoyable, when we work together.”

He smiled, opening his mouth to respond before she cut him off.

“But, to be perfectly honest with you,” she continued, boldly meeting his eyes. “My favorite was when we were under covers.”

"I think you mean undercover.”

She clucked her tongue playfully and softly touched his hand, drawing small circles and shaking her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

Tony’s eyes widened at her openly flirting with him as she smiled suggestively. He hadn’t seen this side of her, directed at him, in years. His mind was going a mile a minute trying to process it and what it meant for them. If it meant anything at all.

Taking one look at her eyes, though, he knew it meant something. It meant something big. Her eyes always spoke the truth—when it came to him, anyway.

She was pleased with herself. She managed to tell him while still giving him an out, if he wanted. She spoke their coded tongue.

Doing cartwheels in his head, he grinned back at her and boldly turned his hand over to take hold of hers, interlacing their fingers. He couldn’t even remember how long it had been since he wanted to do that.

He saw a flash of fear and surprise cross her eyes before being quickly replaced with something that could only be described as contentment.

“I wonder what it would be like if we did that again sometime. Went undercover, I mean,” he said, testing the waters with insinuations and metaphors just as she did. That was their language. If they were to even begin talking about the possibility of them, they both knew this was the easiest way to do it. At first, anyway.

She opened her mouth but said nothing at first, thinking of the best response. She felt the room’s temperature rise as he reciprocated her subtle advances and pushed her further.

She would not be outdone.

“I’d like that. We would be…good at it, too.”

He raised his eyebrows with a sly smile on his face.

“I don’t think your boyfriend would like that very much.”

“Ray? Oh, he is done. As soon as I talk to him, I am ending it.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She looked at him more seriously now, with a hint of curiosity.

"He isn’t good enough for you.”

She smiled, touched by his admission.

This was it.

The dance was ending.

---

“You didn’t have to walk me home, Tony. I am fine.”

“I know you are,” he replied. “But, I’m a DiNozzo. We are gentlemen.”

She laughed, sarcastic comment on the tip of her tongue. She held it, though, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He pulled her a little closer, then. Her arm was tucked into his as they walked down the cold sidewalk, street glistening with the light of the stars and the snow flurries that started to fall.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Me too,” he said honestly.

As they approached her apartment, his heart raced faster. With EJ gone, Ray practically a done deal, their earlier conversations and the buzz in their systems, it seemed the perfect time to ask, if he was ever going to do so.

Would it ruin everything?

Or…would it be everything?

What the hell. He loved her.

He wiped his clammy hands on his coat and took the shot.

“I would, uh, like to do it again sometime. If you want. For…for real.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him, a silent question in her eyes.

His own tried desperately to answer.

Yes.

“After you break up with him.”

Understanding flashed across her face, to be quickly replaced with a dash of fear. He could see her wheels turning.

He could feel his own fear rising as he watched her. She saw it, though, and immediately softened her gaze, comforting him.

Placing a hand on his chest, she felt his heart race.

She smiled softly, making her choice. It was time to stop the game.

“I’d like that too.”

“Well then,” he said, letting out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s a date.”

She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek, her other hand moving to his neck. His heart beat even faster as her touch lingered on his skin, leaving its mark. Claiming him.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

She held his gaze for a moment, delicately caressing his face before starting the ascent to her door.

“Ziva,” he said loudly.

She turned around to face him, at the top of the stairs now.

“Yes?”

“I’m happy you’re in my life, too.”

She nodded, smiling as she recalled their earlier conversation. It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Good night, Tony. Text me when you get home.”

“I will. Good night.”

She lingered a few moments more, staring into him before stepping inside.

In all of the years they spent working together, that was the first time she asked that of him. It wasn’t at all necessary—they both knew it—but it was loving. Another metaphor.

He could get used to this.

[euphoriacrossing]

Okay so, I see people working on their AC journals, and I want to work on mine, but I still need some things for it (since I am using discbound I need the covers I want and the right kind of paper... that may seem like the whole journal and it kind of is, but I have dividers and some of the paper and the discs themselves, so.. yeah...) and I don't feel comfortable starting drawing layouts or anything until I get my journal set up the way I want. But i see people working on their journals and they are so cool and i fear for mine because I'm not artsy, I'm not organized, I'm not that creative. I have stickers a few, anyway (I have the official sticker book and a few stickers from etsy... I'll honestly probably get more but I have to wait until I get next month's money to buy anything because I didn't spend responsibly this month and ended up with $17 in my bank account... honestly almost worth it because I have just about everything I need for my actual switch now, since I can't have the AC switch, it's fairly decked out, my favorite is the pink and green joy-cons, I think I like them as much as i would the ones from the AC switch anyway, so yeah)... uh, yeah that's about it. Stickers and some of the journal pieces, lol. I do have ideas for the journal and I jot them down in a note app on here, but executing them the way I want to is a different story so yeah I have concerns about my journal. Let's hope I can make it half of what I want to.

I also do think I have settled on an island name. "Euphoria". I am testing it out, anyway, it's subject to change since it's still a long way off and I had a dozen other names I was considering. But Euphoria seems to fit the bill for what I'm going for. So maybe.

But then I don't know because I also legitimately wanted to name my island "Spoons" as I am a spoonie, and the spoon theory is how i tell people what my life is like, and plus, it's a hella cute name. And it would match my blog title and all that. So... I don't know, maybe i haven't decided because that name is still definitely in the running.

So maybe it's best I haven't started my journal yet, as the best thing to start with is a name. I think anyway, I see a lot of people using their Island Name in layouts and such, but then I can be more generic to start, perhaps I don't have to copy everyone else. But it just feels like I am doing it wrong. Like out of order.

So I saw a post on a facebook group I joined out if excitement (really the only good Animal Crossing fb group is mine. 😉 and I would say I was kidding, but as far as I know, I'm not... I've seen some super toxic mindsets and ugly acting people on a lot of other AC fb groups, so if you want one that is non-toxic, kind, and fun check out "Spoonimal Crossing", we're not dicks there) that people don't realize that all this stuff we're seeing in trailers could take months to achieve.

I think this person is right, if it's anything like New Leaf or really if it is a GOOD game, it will take us a bit to unlock things. I hope it's kind of gradual, and at month two and three and maybe four there are STILL things to unlock and more to do. Maybe four months is pushing it. Don't want people to lose interest because it's taking so long to unlock something. And with a game you're almost destined to have to start over (because of the lack of cloud saves and transfers thing) you can only make things SO hard to unlock. I get that. I hope they found a nice balance somewhere. But I not only think it will take persistent work to get these kinds of Islands, but I do think people fail to realize it as in the trailer it all looks like it happens so suddenly. Remember how things took some time to unlock in New Leaf though, and I don't really see people complain about it. They can't give us everything right at the start or it wouldn't be fun.

I also see people say "oh I'll get there in a day, because I time travel" blah, blah, blah... I hope beyond all hope that time travel is much harder if not impossible in this game. Somehow I would like it to be taken out. Because one, I feel like it's cheating the game. And /I/ don't want to be tempted to cheat. I mean we have a 24hr. place to sell stuff, it seems like night time gameplay is encouraged, so you shouldn't have to time travel to sell something or because you got bored at night. I feel the only reason to tine travel would be to cheat the game and if it's easy and people are getting rewarded for doing it, it's easy to want to taint the game that way. I don't want any temptation to do that. Secondly, I don't want other people succeeding because of it, like oh they built the best town thr fastest because they time traveled and got all this for it. It just seems unfair.

And I know you could argue that time travel has been "part of the game" since the beginning but I mean, I think taking it out only improves the game, and they have made tons of improvements to the game since the first game.

I just don't think time traveling brings anything to the game. But I have been wrong before.

I mean, maybe it can be argued if you miss an event you could go back and experience it... but from the point of view of someone who misses out on LIFE because of illness, I mean, I can't time travel back if I miss it. One of the special things about AC is the events and they are more special if you are actually there at the proper time, I feel. I don't have a lot of sympathy for people missing things because then I feel like it gets to be something more special for those missing out on real of things because of either illness or lack of social life or whatever. It gets to be special at all if you can only experience it at that time or whatever. I feel in the past time traveling has taken away a lot of the "specialness" of holiday events. So I feel we could stand to lose time traveling.

Anyway, whenever I close my eyes these days I imagine being on an island. A real one, though, I think of it as my Happy Place (also kind of a name contender, Happy Place is sort of cute) my soon to be Animal Crossing island. I think of my best name ideas when I am falling asleep. I keep a note app open I case I think of something good for my Island when I am partially asleep. I imagine where I want my house to be and all that. This helps me get to sleep these days and helps me when I an having to endure something sucky, like the dentist. Animal Crossing is already becoming my Happy Place again, my safe haven for my dreams and my imagination. I feel grateful to have something like this in my life honestly.

Some people just can't be into AC in the same way and I hope for them, SOMETHING is to them like AC is for me. I hope they have somewhere to go when they feel crappy, something to turn to when they don't feel like pushing on for anything else.

But i can barely comprehend how they don't like AC. Like i have ONE friend (two if you count the friend i actually made on here) i know who likes AC and plans to play with me. Now i don't have many friends, but i have at least three that like AREN'T into the game specifically. Two aren't inti video games at all so whatever, but one is super into gaming and just not an AC fan and I don't get it. I feel like the game has something for everyone and things a lot of other games don't and yet somehow this person... who owns a switch even so is kind of into Nintendo... they aren't getting AC.

I find it more insane because they at least used to be into me, and they weren't even like, "oh yeah, I'll get it just to play with you". (And they have gotten and played other games I suggested if I remember correctly...) I mean, I don't want anyone to do that if they don't like the game, and I really don't mean to sound into myself, BUT it was something I half expected from them considering history, so I feel they must REALLY not like AC somehow to refrain from getting it to play with me.

Maybe that's better though because it means I will maybe be more active in the community on here, maybe I will have a chance to make more friends instead of just staying within my little circle, and branching out is never a bad thing so yeah.

But as I was saying, I hope the people who don't have AC, have something. Lately my mental health has been tough to deal with, but having AC to look forward to makes all the difference. It is a reason to continue trudging through the days because at the end there are New Horizons waiting.

Anyway, I'm gonna try to play some Pocket Camp before I have to leave for the doctor. So bye for now. ❤

[blackjack-15]

Secrets and Killing — Thoughts on: Secrets Can Kill/Secrets Can Kill Remastered (SCK/SCK2)

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be. 

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas. 

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: SCK, SCK2, episode 1X14 of The Mentalist.

The Intro:

We’re beginning with Secrets Can Kill/Remastered, not only because it’s first, but also because it’s one of the easier games to analyze. The plot isn’t anything especially complicated, the suspects are caricatures, the locations are pretty barren — and all of this is true in both versions. It’s a short, unsatisfying game, which spawned a short, unsatisfying remake that fixed some things and ruined others.

The Title:

The title itself sounds like the murder occurred because Jake was keeping secrets (not because he was blackmailing people with them) — and it’s also incredibly vague — so as a title, I wouldn’t say it’s incredibly effective. The word “kill” is evocative, to be sure, but I think that’s the strongest part of the title by leagues.

The Mystery:

Nancy’s Aunt Eloise is a school librarian whose school finds a student murdered — so her first instinct is to call her plucky 18-year-old niece to come solve it.

The murdered student, Jake Rogers, has left cryptic messages in the school and the nearby diner, pointing towards not only what caused his murder, but also how to solve the crime and catch his murderer. There’s actually a really chilling clue that Jake tells us “will seal [his] murderer’s fate” — meaning that in the course of leaving these clues, Jake knew he’d be murdered.

Perhaps that’s a justification for the actual mystery being so /easy/ — the game can be beaten in under 45 minutes without too much trouble, sadly enough (obviously discounting the time spent in the original version switching discs).

The identity of the murderer/bad guy(s) is…honestly pathetic in both versions as well, with the biggest difference being screen time rather than complexity or plausibility. The remastered version nerfs the ending where Nancy stands for Truth, Justice, and Guns, and instead employs a rather ridiculous ending that’s meant to test you on your recall from the beginning of the game…but fails, because the beginning of the game was under an hour ago.

The Suspects:

Hal Tanaka (whose name in Japanese I’m guessing is actually Tanaka Haru or something longer but similar, since “l” isn’t a phoneme in Japanese, and no word can end in any consonant other than “n”) is a student at Paseo Del Mar who focuses very hard on getting the best grades he can possibly get —through both honest and dishonest means. 

As a suspect, he’s pretty pathetic; there’s not a single minute where he’s even remotely plausible as Jake’s murderer, and he’s really just there to make sure that there’s “enough” suspects to seem more complex (and to pad out the run time of the game). 

He also never pays for his plagiarism? Like the kid is a senior going into college and he just straight up copies the Big Essay? And it’s not really well written — if you’re gonna cheat, cheat well, Hal. It really bothers me that Nancy’s like “and he got his scholarship! Huzzah!” when the dude is a Stone-Cold Cheater. 

Jake’s blackmailing him because of the aforementioned plagiarism, which…like, blackmailing is Not Right, but am I supposed to feel like Hal is the Victim here because he’s planning on taking a scholarship that he doesn’t deserve with his plagiarized paper away from another kid who does deserve it because they have the smarts and effort to write their own? Is that what this game is telling me to think? Because the game is wrong. 

If Hal has the smarts to do Jake’s homework for the rest of the year, dude has the smarts to write his own essay. He’s a lazy coward, and I’d blackmail him too.

Connie Watson is the official tattletale (sorry, “hall monitor”) of Paseo Del Mar, and spends the game in the “student lounge” (what kind of bougie high school is this?) doing…nothing at all, honestly. I get that it’s the end of the year, Connie, but…go home. There’s no way school is in session, a murder just happened there. 

She parades her Judo trophy-necklace around like she’s not being blackmailed for it and that, in 1998 or 2010, no one would recognize it? I mean we definitely know that Connie’s not getting a scholarship, girl is flat out dumb. She comes off better in the 1998 version where she at least gets to use those Mad Judo Skills, but she’s not an important character in either version, to be quite honest. 

Connie’s being blackmailed because she won a men’s Judo competition…by wearing…a ski mask…yeah, there’s no defense for this, not in ’98 and not in ’10. Anyway, Jake is blackmailing her into going to the dance with him because he saw her taking off her mask (which she definitely should have done in a more secret location if she wanted it to be a secret?) but like…girlfriend is Flaunting her little neck-trophy, so I honestly don’t see what sway he has over her. It’s Very Wrong of him to do so, yes, yes…but he’s got no power here, and Connie’s an idiot if she thinks so. 

She’s an idiot anyway, and once again is never even a consideration for Jake’s killer. What an interesting choice, to have two separate characters as the “dumb muscle” stereotype. And this one’s a girl! #feminism

Daryl Gray is the SBP of Paseo Del Mar, along with basically the manager (from what we see) of Maxine’s Diner, creepy escort, police contact…you name it, Daryl’s your bleach-blond guy. 

He’s also super shifty; in the original game, he’s involved in drug trafficking, and in the remastered version, he’s selling his father’s company’s secrets. He also hits on Nancy a lot, but since Nancy never tells him to knock it off, that’s a Mild offense at best. 

Daryl is being blackmailed in the original game because of the drug trafficking, and in the remastered version because of the whole leaking company secrets thing. Daryl 100% deserves to be blackmailed for that, as both of those things are Very Illegal, and he’s being Very Stupid about them. Yes, I understand that blackmail is illegal as well.

Hulk Sanchez is a character with as much subtlety as his name would imply, and is the star football player for Paseo Del Mar. Injured on the field and yet still looking to play college (and eventually pro) football, Hulk steals steroids and takes them, putting the “muscle” in “dumb muscle”. 

Hulk is, true to his one-note character, being blackmailed for the whole “stealing drugs” thing (which seems to be his only character trait), as Jake wants him to deliver messages for him. Hulk by far got off the easiest, and if I were him and could be busted for both theft and drug use, would be thrilled that I was getting off this easy. Having no sense of perspective, Hulk instead rants to everyone about how Jake Rogers was a “punk” and how it’s a good thing that he’s dead.

Mitch Dillon, the school’s janitor, is the original baddie in the 1998 game, and is Unseen throughout the ENTIRE game, appearing only at the end to wave a gun around and punch Connie before being apprehended. 

In the 1998 game, he’s buying drugs off of Daryl, whereas in the 2010 remake, he’s buying company/government secrets off of Daryl and selling them to Detective Beech. In both cases, Jake tries to blackmail him for his crimes, and he kills him. Both games see him arrested, but neither one actually treats him like a character, and he is, ultimately, a plot device that weakens the games.

Lastly, the remake introduces the character of “Detective Beech” (real name unknown), who also goes by “Uncle Steve” in his guise as Nancy’s police contact. 

He is, of course, nothing of the sort, and has lost his journal with Gray Enterprises’ dirty little secrets that Mitch sold to him, and “hires” Nancy to find it under the guise of searching for Jake’s killer. Cartoonish and so obviously the Bad Guy that you’ll lose your voice yelling at Nancy to stop telling him things, he tries to kill Nancy when she finds out the truth and ends up trapped in Aunt Eloise’s kinky sex cage intruder cage thanks to Nancy telling him (repeatedly) the wrong combination to the safe. Yeah. 

“Detective Beech” in-universe is a TV show mentioned in passing in STFD, VEN, and TOT, which makes the fact that Nancy fell for this disguise even sadder. That’d be like some criminal posing as an officer being like “call me Detective Columbo” and you being like “that sounds Plausible, yes”. Honestly.

It’s interesting that this game sets up a story where most of the suspects are “cheating” in some way or the other — Hal’s plagiarism, Connie’s joining of the competition, Hulk’s steroids, etc. I’m not sure this was purposeful, and I’m even less sure that it really means anything, but it’s interesting to note, regardless.

The Favorites:

There’s not much about this game that I like, to be quite honest. I enjoy Jake (more on him below), and Ned’s cheesiness as a phone contact, and the fact that it’s Mercifully Short. 

Also Hulk is SUCH an enormous douche that it’s almost funny. And Aunt Eloise’s kinky sex cage intruder cage. 

If I have to choose a favorite puzzle, it’s reading all of the signs Jake hid around the school/Maxine’s diner. 

Or the ladle for the sheer stupidity.

The Un-favorites:

Everything else about the game. 

The visuals are “blah” (except Remastered!Daryl, who is the stuff of effing nightmares), the characters are cardboard cutouts with a combined IQ of 7, and Nancy comes off weak and stupid as a result. 

The villain(s) are one-note and boring, and the attempt to improve the game by remastering it made it easier to play (no disc-switching, faster loading, etc.) and had some campy yet cute easter eggs, but on the whole introduced new problems to the plot and took away Nancy Using an Effing Gun. Boo. 

I have no favorite puzzles, as they’re all horrible or horribly easy. Nothing in this game stands out.

Well…maybe one thing stands out, but it’s not to the game’s credit.

The Fix:

The first (and biggest) thing I’d do to fix SCK is to set it in or near River Heights. 

Yeah, there’s a throwaway line about this not being Nancy’s first case, but it doesn’t have to be her first case to make more sense in River Heights. It could happen in an adjacent suburb to River Heights as well, I’m not picky – it just should be local. 

Now, that takes away Nancy being “undercover”, but honestly that’s not a big part of the game to lose, and setting it in a town next to River Heights pretty much solves the question of why would these kids talk to her if they knew who she was (though I don’t think that’s a problem; high schoolers, especially high school senior, are pretty apathetic about other peoples’ reputations and wouldn’t really care if a small-time amateur detective well-known in her own town but not nationally was there to ask them questions).

This fixes a few things, not the least of which being how Nancy is even allowed to be there in the first place. It’s ridiculous, no matter the time period, to think that Aunt Eloise would be notified of a student’s death, turn around to the police and the principal and be like “Hey, I have a niece! She sure has found some missing dogs!” and the authorities being like “Some lost dogs? A niece? Gee whiz! You got her number handy?”. 

It’s a nonsensical way to get Nancy into the game that sticks out because there were sensical ways to ensure she could investigate.

Have Eloise working in a school a town over (and having previously lived in New York, to set up STFD), encounter the murder, think of Nancy, get the River Heights police chief to put in a good word for her with the other town’s police, and you’ve got a logical process of getting Nancy involved. 

Make SCK Nancy’s first big case outside of River Heights (even if it’s just by a handful of miles) working with a different police force/school/etc., and suddenly there’s a justification for starting with this case.

The other big change I’d make is in the whole premise of the game. 

Nancy Drew doesn’t tackle another murder until DED, and honestly it’s a good thing they waited for a good concept and a competent writer, because the one thing that stands out in the game is the premise: a person is murdered, and no one cares.

It’s one thing to have some of the characters not care, or be actively hostile to Jake Rogers while he’s alive, etc. etc. After he’s dead, no one’s shaken; sure, Jake has been blackmailing all of them, but the characters either intensely don’t care, or (in the case of Hulk, for example) are glad he’s dead, and have no qualms about telling you so. 

Outside of your suspect pool, no one cares either; the most the teachers say is a line in an email noting that they’ll have to replace him for bulletin board duties. A student is murdered — a student that these teachers all knew, as he worked administratively for the bulletins at least — and they don’t care. Heck, Nancy doesn’t even care — she’s just there to poke her nose in and say some horrifically cheesy lines.

And honestly? I’m not okay with it.

Jake Rogers wasn’t a people person, and he was a jerk. His dream was to get enough money to go to an island and live a life of solitary luxury. He blackmailed people who broke the law (Connie is the weakest link here, but technically competing in the competition is Fraud because of the monetary prize, even if I don’t condemn her for it) for his own gain, but he was the definition of a temporary problem. 

And an adult saw this kid as a temporary problem and used a permanent solution to fix it.

There’s the great episode in the first season of The Mentalist, 1X14 “Crimson Casanova”, where a woman having an affair in a hotel with a pick-up artist is shot to death. 

At the end of the episode, it’s revealed that this woman, who cheated on and stole from her husband, was not the target at all — that a hotel employee who was in love with the pick-up artist’s ex-girlfriend tried to kill the pick-up artist in revenge for his treatment of the ex-girlfriend. 

The following dialogue takes place between Patrick Jane (the titular Mentalist) and the murderer:

Murderer: “I’m not sorry. He’s dirt. The way he carried on with those other women, rubbing Katie’s nose in it? …I wish I hadkilled him.”

Jane: “But you killed Claire Wolcott instead.”

M: “I never meant to do that…but she shouldn’t have been doing what she was doing, should she? I mean, it’s not like anybody cares. Her husband was going —”

J: “I care! I care about Claire Wolcott! She was a living person!...You took her life!”

When his detective partner tries to calm him down, Jane responds with a simple statement:

J: “I…I just…I think he should be sorry.”

And that’s how I feel about Jake Rogers’ death. 

Sure, he was a blackmailer. He, too, shouldn’t have been doing what he was doing. But he’s also a senior in high school involved in, let’s face it, petty crimes at most. He was a living person.

I don’t expect the murderer to be sorry, like in the above example. But a kid was alive, and now he’s dead, because someone murdered him in cold blood. 

And I think someone should be sorry.

So how would I fix SCK? 

Set it in or near River Heights, flesh out the characters, acknowledge the wrong that all of them do. 

Make the culprit an actual part of the case. 

Have actual puzzles in the game. 

Acknowledge how terrible it is that Jake Rogers was murdered and that no one seems to care.

Have someone on his side, even if it’s only Nancy — Nancy, who shares so many similarities with Jake, who spies on those around her, who gathers evidence of their wrongdoings and, yes, holds it over their heads to get them to tell her what she wants to know. 

Give Nancy sympathy for Jake, wanting justice for Jake, and you’ve won half the battle.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (8)

Here! Have a chapter entirely about Ford!

I estimate at the moment there will be fourteen chapters in total of this, but that may chang, as in the past my estimates have been very off XD.

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s, and the Addiford ship is @scipunk63‘s. 

She doesn’t have a direct appearance in this chapter, but @missinspi‘s OC Madeline McGucket is still part of the fic, so I’m going to mention her anyway.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford groaned as he straightened up. How long had he been hunched over this desk for?

Too long, he reflected, scanning through the work he had completed.

He made his way towards the elevator, intent on getting himself some food before proceeding to the next step. The doors opened before he could reach them, revealing Bill.

“Okay, smart guy, let’s see these plans,” he said, strolling out. Ford turned around and led the way back to the schematics he had been redrawing.

“We – uh – I altered the gun’s design in Russia, so there should be less chance of it malfunctioning during use now. I just finished making the final copy, so all that’s left is to start constructing it,”

Bill straightened up from pouring over the plans and clapped him on the back. “I knew you could do it, Sixer! A few problematic hangers-on aren’t enough to slow you down!”

“Right.” Ford said, deciding to move past that comment as quickly as possible.  “I think I should start putting together microcomputer first.”

Bill nodded, moving around the desk so he could scrutinise the plans more. “Use the precision instrument from China. Calibrate it to, oh, a working range of eight hundred nanometres to two centimetres. Lock it in position five for the circuit board, but position six should do for the rest.”

Ford was taken aback at the sudden rattling off of instructions. “You’ve used one before, then?”

Bill laughed. “Of course not Fordsy, I just know my stuff. Good thing I’m around, huh? Not to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, but, well . . .” he shrugged amiably.

“It’s good to pool knowledge,” Ford finished, choosing to think optimistically rather than be offended.

“Whenever you need me, pal! I’ve got things to do upstairs; you don’t mind if I take over the place for a bit while you’re not using it, right? Catch ya later,”

Ford did not like to criticise Bill: he had, after all, given him the opportunity to prove the full extent of his abilities to the world, if not in quite the way Ford had anticipated while growing up. For this reason, Bill was more like a friend than a boss, a sentiment that Bill had stated when Ford first met him, and which he had kept reinforcing through the years. However, it did irk him slightly that his residency was also morphing into Bill’s base of operations. On the other hand, it was also rather gratifying to see how much Bill trusted him. As far as he knew, no other agents were overseen as much as himself.

Monitored as much as myself.

. . . it was difficult to deny how freeing the weeks away had been. Perhaps he would like a little more breathing room.

That would no doubt occur once he finished the memory gun. Bill just wanted it complete, and then work would resume more like how scientists usually worked: in a less-than-imposing manner. Such as how he and Fiddleford had collaborated.

Speaking of Fiddleford, Ford was sure he would have loved this part.

He set up the machine on the desk, turned it on, and watched it knit together a circuit board with liquid fluidity.

∆

Bill swiped a squeezy toy from a couch as he passed. Making his way to the kitchen, he leaned back in a chair and put his feet on the tabletop. Then he took out his phone, tossing the toy up in the air.

“Ivan! I want an update. One that doesn’t ruin the good day I’m having,”

“McCorkle just had a meeting. I recall that Pines encountered two of Jheselbraum’s agents in Oklahoma . . .” The voice became more reluctant, as if the owner wished it wasn’t him that was bearing this news. “She was meeting one of them. You were right sir, Oracle Division is definitely involved.”

“Hmm. Well, good thing I was expecting that, or this would be really unpleasant for you.” Bill stood up and began walking around, tossing the toy from hand to hand, the phone jammed between his shoulder and ear.

“It’s time to shut Oracle Division down. Don’t blow your cover, Jhezzy’s pup’ll be outta your non-existent hair soon enough. Bigger problems to worry about, et cetera,”

“As you say, sir. I should also mention that Stanley Pines has reappeared,”

“Leave him. He’s out of the game now, or close enough. Besides, he just wouldn’t die. Four rounds of one-sided Russian poker and he’s still around – he’s like a roach! Whose underpants are stitched from luck! Maybe I’ll make him a job offer one day,” Bill mused, bouncing the toy off the wall.

“Yes sir. And what about the other Pines?”

“On track, finally. How long does it take to get some materials for cryin’ out loud? No need to come out here. But be on standby, just in case. Our resident genius is wising up.” The ball thudded into the wall again, but Bill didn’t catch it. He walked away, leaving it to ricochet behind him, where it cracked a glass frame and popped.

∆

Ford’s eyes were burning. He hadn’t blinked in a while. That was it.

Ow. Blinking hurt too.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his eyes closed. His fingers were trembling.

This was ridiculous. He had not even been working for that long! Granted, affixing the circuit boards to the hard drive of the microcomputer was slightly harder than he had anticipated, but he was getting there. And arranging the trigger mechanism had been frustrating. And positioning the internal reflective mirrors was an ordeal, to say the least. But all in all, he had about a third of the gun constructed (if he counted the tiny wires which he had laid out over the blueprints in preparation for their insertion), and it was only –

What time was it?

Ford opened his watery eyes and tried to make sense of the clock on the wall.

One o’clock? That can’t be right, I got home at one-thirty.

. . . I should really change that display to show twenty-four-hour time.

As he moved back towards the elevator room to find a chair, he realised that standing very still while bent over a table for six hours was not a great decision on his part. Every inch of him ached, even the parts that were not involved in keeping him upright. Sitting burned.

Midway through Ford’s groan, Bill came through the elevator, muttering.

“Those Oracle superiors better be awake . . .” He noticed Ford awkwardly slumped in a swivel chair. “Taking a break already, are we? It’s only been, what-”

“Eleven and a half hours,” Ford croaked.

“Come on, you’ve done longer than that at university!” Bill grinned, striding over to stand in front of him.

“Probably.” He yawned. “Just give me a minute.” A thought struck him. “Did you say Oracle? Like that Oracle Division you mentioned a couple weeks ago?”

Bill stiffened slightly, then shrugged.

“Yeah, they’re causing some trouble that I’ve gotta put a stop to. Banging on about the ‘Cipher Conspiracy’ again. Don’t ya just hate it when people won’t listen? Anyway, they won’t be a problem for much longer. That whole shebang is coming down pronto.” A momentary dark flicker crossed his expression. “I got a special gal who’ll be taking the fall, and when she does, so will the rest of those cage-rattling do-gooders.” He clapped his hands suddenly. “So! You gonna get back to work then, or do I have to find another genius?”

Ford chuckled and Bill laughed, but made no move to leave, and kept staring at Ford expectantly. The amusement fizzled out of the air. Ford suddenly wondered if it had ever been there.

“Well, I was thinking I could get back to it tomo- later this morning,”

“Come on, Sixer, we’re so close! Don’t tell me you traversed the globe for this, only to give up now?”

“I don’t think it would be giving up-”

“No? Sure looks like it,”

Ford stared at Bill, floored. Bill’s expression was the same as always: friendly, encouraging, betraying none of his thoughts.

Slowly, he stood up. He walked back to the desk where the almost one-third of a gun was.

“I knew I could rely on you, buddy!” Bill praised (or perhaps crowed) from behind him. “You’ve got some insane dedication, I think it’s safe to say, which means that device should be raring to go in no time! Got it? This is your ticket to the stars, and my ticket to the throne. It’s going to be great. You’re doing me a huge favour, you know that? You’re one of a kind, Fordsy, one of a kind. Don’t prove me wrong! That head of yours has to be good for something, haha, you know I’m joking. Catch ya later! I reckon you’ll be about half done by then, whaddaya think?”

∆

One third complete. Fully complete, not almost complete. Ford did not consider it a victory. He did not spend too long thinking about why. There was nothing to be gained from that, anyway. Nothing that could be considered important right now, per se. Nothing that, while worthwhile to consider, could probably just be attributed to the stresses of directing an agency. Nothing that could not be overlooked in favour of the . . . probably overall good that would come of the invention. Nothing that –

Ford sighed. He had been staring uselessly at the wall for five minutes now.

It would be better to throw himself into the work, he considered.

∆

God I’m tired.

I need to try harder.

Bill is right, we have waited far too long for this device’s construction, and I need to complete it, although he could be more helpful. He has already shown how adept he is with the machines. There’ll be plenty of time for rest afterwards. What is a few hours’ sleep deprivation in the face of an invention that could change the world? This is a personal challenge that I am entirely willing to accept.

have reluctantly allowed myself a five-minute break to write an entry in this journal. It is this, or fall face-down, unconscious, onto my desk. I am determined that, after two weeks of often having to share a room with Stanley S who cares? that the next time I sleep, it will be snorelessly. Is that a word? silently.

His snoring was strangely reassuring, however. It certainly made things seem less alone, cold, and dark. Or perhaps that’s just what the basement is like all the time.

I may need to head upstairs for a meal soon. I have not eaten since breakfast with Stan yesterday. Stan was a good cook. He made pancakes. Stan made pancakes. Stancakes. I think it may have been inadvisable to become so reliant on him for food.

∆

But what did he mean? Ford unwillingly wondered for the umpteenth time. It was happening every few minutes now, as he impatiently waited for the precision machine to complete another task.

Bill said odd things every now and then. It was just something Ford had learned to live with. Why was he noticing it now?

The answer was obvious.

But then again, no, it was not. Ford might occasionally become irritated with some of his boss’s mannerisms (arrogance), or his way of working (uncommonly close-at-hand), however he had never before felt as uneasy as he did now. He had always had the idea in his mind that while Bill might be his employer, he afforded Ford the same amount of respect he received. That idea was diminishing.

Simple answer.

But was it?

Yes.

I’m noticing it now because I’ve seen what it’s like to be without it.

∆

My mind keeps returning to our goodbye. Stan said to make sure that I did not get too caught up in my work. More occasions than the present one apply to this statement: for instance, once in primary school I became completely engrossed in a science project. It was a volcano with real lava, all contained on a miniature island. When I was unable to test it properly on the day it was due, I found myself having a panic attack. Now, the entire affair seems inconsequential, especially with the threats problems I face in the present. It mattered a significant amount at the time, though, and fortunately Stan knew me far better than I knew my project. He was able to calm me down, and the next thing I knew, the presentation went off without a hitch.

I miss him. And his Stancakes.

I meant what I said when I saw him off at the airport: I was going to come see him when I finished the project.

All the more reason to finish it soon, then.

∆

Ford took the clock off the wall. It was distracting, not to mention discouraging.

∆

The machine was obviously not accustomed to being handled manually: it had made the circuit boards on its own far easier than it let Ford use it to arrange the delicate piece of filament at the end of the gun.

He could feel Bill watching over his shoulder every step of the way. It was like at any moment he was going to snatch control for himself. The tremor had moved to Ford’s stomach now, leaving his hands feeling slow and heavy. Tiny pinpricks of sweat were forming on his forehead, nose, eyes. His glasses were about to give way and fall straight onto the gun, effectively smashing to pieces all his hard work. The microscope lens Ford’s face was glued to in order to see what he was doing would not stand a chance at stopping it. The glasses would fall, and everything was doomed. He might as well accept it now. No. That would be giving up. He did not give up. Bill was unmoving. The damn machine was not tilting properly. The filament would undoubtedly be lost forever in the ensuing chaos brought on by Ford’s crappy eyesight. He had not breathed in for a while. His stomach was lurching now.

In a fit of desperation and frustration, he jerked the controls roughly forward.

Miraculously, the filament slid exactly into place.

“HAH!” Ford shouted – or tried to. There was no air in his lungs for that to happen.

He heaved in a huge breath, straightening up as he did so. His glasses fell forwards and made a gentle tap on the lens of the microscope. Ford laughed hysterically. Bill made no comment. He just stood to the side, silent and watchful.

“Four fifths of the way done!” Ford said cheerfully, turning to him. To empty space.

Bill had left hours ago.

The elevator rumbled down, grating on Ford’s nerves, depriving him of a momentary relief.

Bill caught sight of him and laughed briefly. “Well I can tell you’ve been working! Never seen anyone so tired they put their glasses on the wrong seeing-hole.” He gestured to the machine, which Ford’s glasses were comically hanging off.

“Ah! Yes,” Ford said brightly, jamming them back on his face.

“Almost done I see.” Bill said, looking hungrily at the almost-complete gun. “Let’s get that last stretch over with, pal! I gotta tell you, I am longing for a chance to try it out. You know, you should be proud. It was you who brought all this into being.” Bill swirled an upright finger around to encompass the general vicinity.

“I appreciate it,” Ford said, banging a hand down onto the table to emphasise his statement. The gun jumped half a foot into the air, making a loud clunk as it fell. Ford laughed again when it did not break. The thing was invincible!

“Good to see you’re finally gaining a sense of humour,” grinned Bill.

“Who are you going to test this on? Not me, I hope,” said Ford grinning equally wide. Everything seemed very hearty at the moment. He remembered this feeling – first from university, and now every so often from the five years he had been working with Bill.

“Oh no, Fordsy, you’re my number one! There have been a few pains in the neck hanging around though. I’m sure I can think of someone,”

Ford nodded in agreement. Bill was good at thinking.

“Anyway, time to make that bulb! You’ve got some shimmern to melt down and some specific heat calculations to redo. You see that there? You forgot the indices.” He pointed casually at a sheet of working paper.

Ford managed an acknowledgement through tightly grit teeth and a strained smile. It was becoming painful, actually. How did Bill keep it up all the time?

∆

There had been stabbing pains in his stomach a few hours ago. He only remembered them when he reached precisely twenty-four hours without food.

Coffee counted as food, Ford decided, heating up the kettle.

The kitchen was really bright and his eyes did not want to adjust. He squinted into the –

He glanced at the clock.

-  eight AM light rebelliously.

Coffee in mouth.

HOT.

His legs felt really tired. He was fine, but his legs ached. So did his back. And arm muscles. And fingers. Taking a moment to sit down might be advisable.

Ooooohhh it was.

It was rather peaceful up here. Very quiet. Cool. The makeshift forge was making the basement incredibly hot, so until it was at the temperature it needed to be to melt shimmern, he would wait up here.

He should stretch out his neck more. A few cricks, but nothing too painful. It felt especially pleasant when he rolled his head forwards. Quite heavy, too. Maybe he would just lie on the table like this for a moment. Wait for the coffee to cool down. Wait for the forge to heat up . . .

Where are they?

There was blood everywhere, but no one in the chairs. No one in the room. A light was growing – a bright blue-white light. Not emanating from anywhere in particular. Just growing.

Someone shouted his name.

Fiddleford.

Was not with him. He must have found them. Ford turned to go.

There they were. All three of them. Standing just beyond the threshold of the door. They stared at him expressionlessly. Addi and Stan had bloodstains on their clothes. The ever-increasing light threw the colours into sharp relief. Everything trembled around the edges as though it was about to explode. Stan’s left hand was being held by someone he could not see. Fiddleford was looking at a photograph.

Where did you go?

"You were the one who left," said Addi.

A hum he had not noticed rose to a peak. He started forwards, needing to let her know he hadn’t, he was right here, he was going to see Stan so soon, he was going to ask Fiddleford to help on his next project, he was going to kiss her for real one day, he just needed some time, just a little –

A bulb exploded. Sparks. Silence. Dark.

Dark.

Dark.

Laughing next to his ear.

He jerked upright, lashing out beside him, eyes wide despite the glaring light, but he was alone.

Ford gasped for breath. How long had he been asleep for? Sleeping was – was not good. He scrubbed his face with his hands and downed the cold coffee with a shudder. Better than nothing.

Looking at the clock, he saw it had only been ten minutes. Plenty of time. He had plenty of time. He was not even on a time limit. That was how much time he had.

∆

When shimmern melted, it glowed a bright yellow-white and radiated incredible heat. Ford had to wear goggles and gloves just so he could stand to be near it, and even then he was sweltering.

The lovely tear-shaped pendant gave him one last sparkle before it liquified completely. A flash of a playful grin danced in front of him, the memory of an immense wind determined to drive him back briefly hijacking his senses.

“So much for returning it,” Ford muttered.

“Oops, might’ve forgotten to mention that we needed to use all of it,” shrugged Bill from the other side of the glowing material. “Ah, memories, memories.” Before he sauntered away, he gave Ford a look that was all too piercing.

Then again, a voice in his head weakly protested, everything looks hazy over here. You might be seeing things.

Ford snorted. “I really need to talk to someone that I actually want around,” he informed the blazing liquid.

He grabbed the last machine from China and started to shape molten shimmern, steadfastly ignoring an image in his mind’s eye of Adeline smiling as he had tried to dismantle the very same device he was using.

∆

“Y’know Ivan, he’s really come through,” said Bill, raiding the fridge. “I thought for a while he was going to pull some crazy stunt-” he waved his hands around wildly – “but it looks like he held out. Our genius is back on track!”

“So the device is complete, then?” asked Ivan on the other end of the line.

“It will be. VERY soon. Ol’ Six-Fingers can be amazing if he’s pushed. So anyway, just calling to let ya know I don’t need you to, ah, how to put this delicately,” he swiped a hand across his neck, miming a beheading, “murder him painfully. I mean, I haven’t exactly been keeping everything under wraps lately, but like I said, no crazy stunts, ‘You betrayed me!’, yadda yadda yadda.”

“Very convenient, sir. Is there any word on your solution for the situation over here?”

“Oh, yeah, our very own Agent Marks should be touching down right . . . about . . .” Bill checked his watch theatrically, “now. Once she’s blown off a head or two, you rush to her place having heroically tracked her down with your fantastic FBI training and arrest her. Events, cover-ups revealed, bing, bang, boom, Oracle Division topples like dominoes. And then I’m free to put that memory gun to some use.”

∆

“Sixer!” No answer. Bill frowned and walked back downstairs. “Weren't you . . . hey, Sixer!” Again, no answer.

Bill moved decisively towards the basement entrance.

“Well, well, well, well, well. My memory gun finished yet?” Silence. The entire basement was still. All the lights were off, like they were no longer needed.

“Pines . . .” Bill growled. Not taking his eyes off the dark space ahead, he took out his phone and pressed and selected a contact to call. No answering phone rang, apart from on the other end of the line.

∆

Ford fumbled one-handed with the phone, managing to answer while keeping a set of bloodshot eyes on the road.

“Bill! Yes, I’m here,”

“No, y’see Sixer, that’s the problem. You really AREN’T,”

“The memory gun’s finished. It’s on the worktable. Do you need something? I’m a little preoccupied right now.” Should he be talking to his employer so disrespectfully? Welp, too late now.

He careened around a bend in a move he felt his brother would have been proud of.

“You’re testing my patience, Fordsy. I’m sure I don’t have to phrase my question, since it should be OBVIOUS,”

“I didn’t tell you? I swore I did.” Ford said, genuinely surprised. After a second’s reflection, he reconsidered his position. “Oh. No, I only thought about telling you. That was probably when I got into the car,”

He revved the El Diablo’s engine enthusiastically.

“I’m going to visit Stan,” he informed Bill lightly, speeding past the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign so fast it was a blur.

“Why,” stated Bill coldly, in a way which was very emphatically not a question.

“Because I said I would!” Shrugged Ford happily. “I like being around him. I don’t like being cut-off and alone. I think the Cipher Wheel could benefit from a new point of view! Also, I need to return his car.”

He might regret saying most of those things later. He did not at the present moment, however, which was the important thing. It really was amazing what thirty-two hours without sleep could do for an individual’s self-confidence. In fact, this had been nothing; he felt like he could continue without sleep for days more.

“This is a little off-the-rails for you, you gotta admit. Pretty unexpected. A bit of a crazy stunt, you might say,”

“I suppose so. I think I’m overdue, to be honest. I will see you in a few days, sir!”

“Oh, you never know. Anything could happen. For instance, I bet you’re going to receive one heck of a welcome in Sacramento!”

“I’d settle for anything at this point!”

They both laughed. And kept laughing. And laughed some more. Ford ran out of breath first.

“I suppose you gotta make a stand at some point, Stanford! Might wanna scout out the turf beforehand, though. Seeya, kid!”

∆

“Ivan! You remember what I said about painfully murdering Pines? Yeah, let’s do that. He’s headed your way, and I wouldn’t miss him if I were you. In fact, same goes for anyone who gets in your way. We’ve got the means to deal with the fallout now,”

The memory gun glinted as Bill turned it over in his hand.

[melonoverlord]

📖 for Ravi, Val, and Tam

Ravi

Month 4, Day 12

Dear Journal,

I’m sorry I didn’t writein you yesterday or the day before. We were going after the bad man’s ship andwe found new friends! I think my favorite one was Miss Ciri; she was reallynice to me and Crumb and she even gave me a hug before she left for Therion!Well, I actually hugged her but she accepted it so that’s kind of the samething. I know that things haven’t been very good for anything, but I think usbeing nice to them is making them happier! They didn’t fight me when I conductedthe test and that’s always a good thing. When they come back from Therion, Iwant to try talking to them more. I didn’t get to speak to Mister Castor or Mx.Icio all that much but I think they’re really cool! I want to be like MisterCastor when I grow up and be the leader of a revolution. Also he and Miss Cirihave cool hair like Mister Tam and I can’t wait until I’m big enough that MissLuna lets me dye my hair.

Now that the new peopleand Miss Val left, the day’s been kinda lonely. Me and Crumb went to the GameFloor and played bowling for a little bit but I think Crumb’s not strong enoughto throw a bowling ball. I still have some trouble throwing it but I think I’mdoing better. Miss Luna came down and helped me throw the ball correctly and Ithink we finally got to have a long talk! I told her how I was doing witheverything and my problem about sometimes not remembering things. I think she wantsto keep an eye on me and make sure I’m okay but I really want to just be seenas an employee too and earn my keep. It doesn’t make things good that I’m onlyeight and a half and the next oldest person is over ten years older than me(though even then people still sometimes treat Miss Val like a kid) but I justwish people saw me more than just a kid.

Well, I won’t keep youtoo long, journal. I’m sure you have a lot of important journal-y things to dobeing a journal and all. I will write in you again next time somethinginteresting happens. Bye!

 Val

Month 4, Day 10, Hour 16

My attempts to recreateB3rT13’s hardware, at least on a smaller scale, have been somewhat successful.Physically the translation between B3rT13 and version 1.0 of the RedistributionProject, of whom I named Phoebe, is a perfect copy, just several feet smallerand built to resemble factory conditions. I still have yet to test whethercommands and movements will act the same once deployed, but I haven’t gottenaround to building a tiny B-Mark gun. The main differences between Phoebe andB3rT13 lie in their cognitive abilities. Granted, when I built B3rT13’s mentalprocessing systems I was simply building on an older model but now I ambuilding Phoebe’s processing systems from scratch, she doesn’t recognize voicesor faces like B3rT13 can, and has a lot more trouble speaking (where the otherhas the problem of not shutting up), and can only say a little bit more thanher name and my name. And “Ow fuck” because apparently I say that wheneversomething blows up in my face. Environment stress tests will be conducted tosee how Phoebe reacts against other creatures. Reactions against subjectsCastor Rafel and Ciri ???? have proven fruitful with no stressors ignited.

Now that at least thatpart’s done, I can do the personal part of the journal, or how Luna says it“I’m still technically in therapy so I should log my feelings”. It took me fiveyears, but I finally got to meet the famous Castor Rafel. After how highlyeveryone spoke of the Rafels and the fact that they’re war heroes, I expectedCastor to be taller? Like you look at Perseus Wright and I maybe be a hugelesbian, but that guy is hero material. Though I definitely see myself in himwhen I got here. I had my share of breaking shit too. God, I broke so muchshit. Good in a fight though.

Ciri is a fucking breathof fresh air. Not that I discredit any of the biologically minded peopleaboard, but finding someone who appreciates technology is a blessing. PoorNivviah tries to understand when I talk to her about my work but since she’s afish and Theuthida has that conservative backwater politics, she had no fuckingclue what I was talking about. Ciri though at I can have a conversation. Itfeels weird saying this since she’s like five years older than me, but shereminds me of how I used to be before I joined… back when I still had. Anyways,I’m glad she trusts me to keep her secret safe and I’ll do anything I can tohelp her. Tech ladies got to stick together, ya know?

I had pegged Icio as theloner type, but they are incredibly good in a fight. They fucked up my botspretty good and they all passed the “Ravi test” so that’s a plus in my book.When they… molted (?) scales, that was honestly one of the grossest shit I’veever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a lot of gross shit. I mean, they mean wellbut I was thoroughly disgusted. From a scientific standpoint, I will definitelyask Nivviah if that’s happened to her.

Besides our newcrewmates, I think that’s all the news. I still miss you guys a ton and I’mtrying to make you proud. I know I’d do a lot fucking better if you were withme. I love you both so much.

 Tam

Morning?

We finally got our firstnew set of recruits in four years and I couldn’t have asked for a better set.The girl with them is really pretty and she’s super sweet, but that’s not why Ilike them! I mean sure, Miss Ciri is the nicest girl I think I’ve ever met (Imean the only girls I’ve been around in the last ten years are Luna, Nivviah,Venus, and Valerie and although I love them all they’re not entirely known forbeing “nice”, except maybe Nivviah. Don’t get me wrong, Luna’s my best friendand she’s been incredibly kind to me, but I guess there’s something differentabout Ciri.

They left yesterday forTherion to help the Wings of Freedom, so I’ve just been lounging about. Lunaasked me to spar with her and for once I actually knocked her to the groundwith my staff. I think I’m finally getting comfortable with fighting but I knowI have a long ways to go before I’m actually on the ground. I think…. I thinkeventually I will have to ask Luna if I can go on a mission to practice. I’mdefinitely not going anywhere where humans are, but I think I’d be okay goingto one of the outer planets like Alternia or Scylla. I heard the Dryads arepretty nice too.

Also in the meantime,I’ve also started spending some more time with the resident children on theship. Ravi’s been teaching me some biology stuff and been poking around in thelab of various creatures we’ve found on different planets. It’s been reallycool getting to talk to the kid. I think sometimes he gets a bit antsy nothaving anyone to talk to despite how hard the rest of us try. Well, I think Val’strying to talk to him more about science seeing how that’s really where hispassion is, but a lot of that goes over my head. I mean, growing up all thatwas really expected of me was to play the violin. It’s been fun though. I’ll havesomething to show everyone when the group comes back from Therion. I’m tryingto establish more of a bond with everyone on the ship rather than just Luna. I’mtrying. Stars knows I’m trying. I guess that’s it for now. Goodbye for now.

[sunken-standard]

Hello to my favourite fic writer :) for your prompt challenge: AW and EM please. x

Boom, five prompts rolled into onegiant sitcom trope.  I combined two asks for this, since one justkind of flowed into the other for me.  Sorry I’m making you guysshare.  Also, could be vaguely Tom-verse.

“But, I said I love you.”/ “Be serious for two minutes, please.”/ “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?”/ “This is where you impress me, right?”/ “The floor is lava.”  

“Will you watch Rosie tonight? Kate had to cancel at the last minute and it’s Debbie’s engagementparty.  I love you,” Mary said, sticking out her lip and givingthe puppy dog eyes.  He’d only taken the video call because he’dthought it something important.

“No, busy, have Molly do it,”he said without glancing away from the other window as he typed hisresponse to a prospective client.

“But I said I love you.  We haveto leave before she can get here, it’s all the way in Croydon,”Mary said.

“Fine.  But phone Molly and tellher to come here straight after work.  Mrs. Hudson’s on a minibreakin Blackpool with Mr. Chatterjee.  Again.”

Mary beamed at him before ending thecall.

*

“Oh, what a cutie!  Is she yours?”

“No, just sitting for a friend,”he said, turning and pacing back toward the windows, patting Rosie onthe back in the vain hope of a burp that was only air this time. “Now, back to why you’re here…”

“Oh!  Yes, sorry.  Well, you see,I think my stepfather is trying to kill me.  I found this in my bed,”she said, opening the carrier bag she’d brought and producing anempty plastic box.  "Bugger.  It was still there when I was inthe cab…“

*

"Molly!  Shut the door and get upon a chair.  Quickly!”

“Wha—?  Why?” she said,pulling the door closed.

“Because the floor is lava,”he said sarcastically.  "There’s a venomous snake loose in theflat, probably Agkistrodonpiscivorus by the client’s description.  They’resemi-aquatic and not prone to climbing, so this should be relativelysafe.“

She gave him a flat look.  "Beserious for two minutes, please.  You don’t even have a client.”

“Because she ran when she figuredout the snake was loose in the flat and that it actually waspoisonous.  Now get. On. The. Chair,” he hissed, pressingRosie’s head against his shoulder and covering her ear just in casehe was louder than he thought he was being.

Finally, finally, she realized he wasbeing completely serious and clambered up on the chair next to thesofa.

He heard movement behind him, comingfrom the bookshelf; he thought it best to be on the other side of theflat just in case they could climb.  Probably safe to walk across thefloor, considering its position, but one could never be too careful. He pushed the side table a bit closer to the desk to make bridgingthe gap to the desk easier.

“What are you doing?”

“Fairly obvious,” he grunted,thinking he really needed to fix that wobble sometime, beforelevering himself onto the desk.

“Oh my God,” Molly said,throwing her hands in the air.

“Always knew you thought highly ofme, but that’s really a bit much,” he said, stepping down ontothe second desk chair before preparing for the leap to the coffeetable.  Rosie seemed to be enjoying herself at least, if all theshrieking baby-laughter in his ear was any indication.

“So this is where you impress me,right?  You hand me the baby and then you find the snake and wrestleit like Steve Irwin?”

“Noooo, I called a herpetologistfrom the London Zoo to come and collect it,” he said slowly. “Is it like a cartoon inside your head all the time, or is justwhen you’re with me?”

Molly scowled, then cocked her head asthey both heard the front door.  "Wow, your friend is reallyfast.  I mean the Zoo isn’t that far, but the traffic right now—"

“It’s not the herpetologist,though she’ll be delighted to find a second reptile in the flat,”he said.

“Wh—”

“Don’t come in!” Sherlockshouted, covering Rosie’s ear again.

Mycroft, idiotic and arrogant asalways, mistook that for an invitation to stroll right in as thoughhe were the guest of honour.  He surveyed the room, smiling in hisstupid condescending way.  

“Oh, the lava game.  And you lethim pull you into it, too.  Honestly Ms. Hooper, aren’t yousupposed to be the adult?”

“There’s actually a snake on thefloor, you should, ah, probably get on a chair,” Molly said,eyeing the distance between all the raised surfaces in the room.  Shewas going to give up her chair and try to make it to the sofa.

Mycroft rolled his eyes so hard hiseyelids fluttered, jaw going slack from the sheer tedium of his verycoexistence with mere mortals.  Molly hopped onto the coffee table.

“North American swamp adder, alsoknown as a water moccasin or cottonmo—” Sherlock clarified,holding out his hand to help Molly onto the sofa.

“Yes, I have taken biology, I’mfamiliar,” Mycroft said, hauling his bulk onto the chair Mollyhad vacated.

“Mm, I’m sure.  Wouldn’t besurprised to find copies of Snake Lover’s Digest shoved underyour mattress.”

“Says the man who has a stack ofGuns & Ammo next to his bed.”

“They’re not next to the bed,they’re next to the toil—” he cleared his throat and lookedaway.  "Nevermind.“  Really, he had nothing to be ashamedof, Molly kept the Journal of Clinical Pathology (and a fewothers) next to hers.

"Quite.  Mother always said you’dget haemorrhoids, but you never did listen.”

“You’re a haemorrhoid,”Sherlock retorted.

“And you’re both setting a shiningexample for Rosie,” Molly said, giving Sherlock a Look beforeturning one on Mycroft.  

“She’s only five months old,”Sherlock dismissed.  "Right.  Sorry,“ he said when Molly’slook went from ‘you’re on thin ice, mister,’ to 'I’m going to startcounting in minute, do you want me to get the spoon?’

*

"You’re not going to breathe aword of this to Mary and John,” Sherlock said after Dr. Lacertaleft the flat.  He’d phone Lestrade later to see about an attemptedmurder charge for the stepfather.

“As much as I would love to seethe look on their faces when I tell them their only progeny was putin mortal peril by her Godparents—”

“Hey!” Molly interrupted.

“You are an accessory,”Sherlock reminded her, sotto voce.

“Pfft, what else is new?”Molly said, throwing one hand in the air and walking back to thekitchen with Rosie.  "Mycroft, are you staying for dinner?“

"Seeing as I know the kinds ofthings my brother keeps in there, no, but I thank you for your kindoffer,” Mycroft smiled tightly.

“A little medical waste never hurtanyone,” Molly cooed at Rosie, leaning into the fridge.  "Well,maybe some people, but that’s only because they don’t follow properstorage and disposal procedures.“

Mycroft lifted his eyebrows.  "Atleast this one won’t be at the centre of an international incident orcausing a sex scandal, though one involving the trafficking of humanremains isn’t exactly a step up.  Really, brother mine, your taste inwo—”

“Don’t you have somewhere else tobe?” Sherlock snapped, looking nervously at Molly’s back.

“At the moment, no.”

“Fine.  Why are you here, anyway?”

“Mummy and Daddy will be in townagain at the weekend.  We have dinner reservations for seven onFriday.”

Molly came into the lounge with a platebalanced on one hand, keeping it well away from Rosie.  "Are yousure I couldn’t interest you in some finger food?“ she asked,serving Mycroft like a cocktail waitress.  

Sherlock bit his lip; the look onMycroft’s face was priceless.  She’d put the fingers from the saladdrawer on crackers and garnished each with a half of an olive.

"Do consider a vasectomy.  Ishudder to think of what the two of you would produce,” Mycroftsaid once he’d regained his composure.

“Actually…  Probably going towant to change that dinner reservation from party of four to party offive,” Sherlock said, looking meaningfully at Molly.  They’dhave to get it out of the way sooner or later.

[bookloversreviewer]

"A fantastically fun, HOT love story." - Kendall Ryan, New York Times bestselling author

Parental Guidance, an all-new, sexy and laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Avery Flynn, is available now!

All I want is to play hockey on the Ice Knights, instead, I’m in a viral video for all the wrong reasons and my mom—yes, my mom—has taken over my dating apps. Then, when I think it can’t get any worse, the fates deliver Zara Ambrose, a five-feet-nothing redhead with more freckles than inches and who’d rather be anywhere other than on a date with me.

Now a bet with her friends and my PR nightmare have us both stuck in this go-on-five-dates-with-the-same-person hell situation. But if we band together, we can get the whole thing over with and go on with our lives. It’s perfect! No feelings. No future. No fuc— *ahem* fun. No naked fun.

What could go wrong? Nothing—as long as I remember the rules. Don’t notice the way she looks in a dress. Don’t react when she does that little shivery sigh thing whenever we touch. Don’t think about the fact that she’s never had a toe-curling orgasm that wasn’t self-delivered and just how badly I want to change that.

Five dates—that’s it—and then we go our separate ways. At least, that was the plan.

Download your copy today!

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Excerpt:

“So why are you on Bramble?”

She took another small bite from her roll before answering. “My best friend is blackmailing me, and my dad wants a SAG card.”

That was definitely not the answer he’d been expecting. “And I thought my reasoning was twisted.”

“I’m sure it all makes sense in Gemma’s head,” Zara said. “She thinks I work too much and need to loosen up. She’ll let me be her plus-one to go meet a collector if I do the Bramble five dates thing. And my dad? Well, let’s just say he’s never met an unlikely plan he didn’t think he could pull off.”

All the possibilities this created sped around inside his head until one broke free like a perfect fast break late in the third period when the game was on the line. All he had to do was put the biscuit in the net.

“So neither of us really wants to be here,” he said. “We’re each other’s solution to getting back to our regular lives as soon as possible.”

It was fucking perfect. Petrov’s job with the team would be safe for another season—well, as safe as he could be, considering he didn’t have a no-trade deal in his contract.

Zara, though, didn’t seem to be seeing the genius of it, going by the suspicious look she gave him as she took another bite of her roll. Instead of giving him a straight-up no, though, she started eating. The words—okay, begging pleas—were bubbling up inside him but for once, he kept it in lockdown. He wasn’t about to rush this play, no matter how it had every nerve in his body jinglejangling.

Finally, she used her napkin to wipe the corners of her mouth, straightened her spine, and looked him dead in the eye. “We’d have to have ground rules.”

“Sure. Whatever you want.” Ice Knights season tickets? He’d make that happen. A photo op with her dad’s favorite player? Done. Whatever it took, he’d do it.

“This isn’t a real or fake relationship, it’s a temporary alliance,” she said without an ounce of humor in her tone. “I’m not pretending to be your girlfriend or the random chick you’re banging this week.”

“Agreed.” All of that sounded like it would cause more problems than it would solve anyway. “I’ve got a condition. Dressing up is not required. I’m not putting on a suit.”

The best thing about the off-season was not having to strangle himself with a tie multiple times a week just for a bus ride to the rink or a plane trip to another city. Coach Peppers was old-fashioned about doing things the original way.

“Fine.” Zara held up three fingers. “The third stipulation is that I’m not putting on a good attitude. If it’s been a crappy day, I don’t have to pretend to be a manic pixie dream girl.”

He snorted. “No one who’s met you would believe that. You’re a little salty.” That was putting it mildly based on her attitude when she showed up for their date.

“I have my reasons.” She added another finger, so she was holding up four. “Oh, and no making love. Sex?” She paused and looked him over quickly. “Maybe. Emotional, heartfelt, staring-each-other-in-the-eyes making love? Not gonna happen. No offense, but you’re not my type.”

What the hell? Not her type? He was a professional athlete making millions. He’d been led to believe he was everyone’s type.

“Not a problem, since I don’t think we could see eye to eye while having sex unless you magically grew a foot,” he said.

“You’re not into being creative?” Zara rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s expected for someone who has probably had women throwing themselves at him for years. You haven’t ever had to work for it.”

Caleb had no idea what to say to that. He’d been punched square in the face by the most feared goons in hockey and it hadn’t knocked him as senseless as this little five-foot-nothing of a snarky woman had done with a few choice words.

“I have one more rule,” she said, reaching for another roll. “Five dates and we’re done. Period. Do we have a deal?”

About Avery

USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staff knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

Connect with Avery

Instagram: @AveryFlynn https://www.instagram.com/averyflynn/

Website: http://averyflynn.com

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/avery-flynn

Mailing List: http://averyflynn.com/newsletter/

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Twitter: https://twitter.com/averyflynn

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Join the Flynnbots: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Flynnbots/

[theextraspoon]

Remember Pewdiepie? The Swedish Youtuber once had a slip of a racial slur cost him his YT Red Series, cost him hundreds of thousands of followers and changed the way we use Youtube and Google. Thanks to the media, we've moved from cancelling people, to getting them fired, and when that doesn't work, we call the papers because we know they're the types to give us that feel good by default narrative that sent my view into the spiral of media puppetry. It baffled me that Youtube would want to throw it's poster boy under the bus like said to the advertisers summit in 2015. Since then Youtube ran ad campaigns for some really sketchy places, like the data-mining of Candid to the exploitation of mental health through Betterhelp yet denied completely legal ads from hemp cultivation. That's where we step in.

Last night I was watching one of my favorite streamers, Hyphonix, when it suddenly became clear that he was one of the owners of the businesses stuck in the cross-hairs of the media wars attempting to contact me and he was upset with me for being upset with him, understandable. However, he didn't dox me and he didn't dox my dad. He just didn't. I've tested it. People tried to convince me he was poison and stealing from me.That he was  a "literal Hitler." He's not though. At least, I've not seen it. 

He's a dick, sure, but most of us are dicks too. I think he's funny. Next to another streamer whom I found humorous outside of gamer gate for his delivery was, Jim "Metokur," whom we've mentioned before here. I like the kid. He didn't dox me. So when I apologized for wrongfully judging him, it was then his chat gave me the name I needed. 

The real person who've been behind digging into my personal information, doxing me, doxing my biological and adoptive family and even stole their identity so they can't be held accountable for their actions. This person, PPP, Pepe, AP, Adonis Paul or whatever name he give himself today, decided to claim a gang affiliation with the hells angels (whom he's never met in real life or even spoken to) in an effort to threaten people into or out of working with select sponsors and other streamers. However, I DO know a few angels and they don't take kindly to this behavior and blamed me directly for it putting me in quite a bit of danger I had worked 2 years to get out of. However when I came to ask Adonis Paul to stop, he began to poorly gaslight me. I tried to tell him I could hear a girl by the name of Riley, roleplaying as my uncle Irish (by the same name even) in GTA. For years, my life story has been Riley's online persona and it began to catch up to me, but I had no idea what the hell was going on or why everyone was claiming I was crazy and gaslighting me with "schizophrenia" which wouldn't be the correct diagnosis anyways. It's been terrifying and cost me a lot of money just to feel safe. You see, Adonis Paul drove me away from sponsoring youtubers and twitch streamers due to the threats, alleged theft, sponsored parties pulling and haven't even made a streamlabs donation since 2019 because someone named "FT WORTH, TX HENDERSON" frauded our card for $400. Since my dad was doxed and my child threatened which, as a victim on protection order with a missing child, no youtube channel or stream herself, no public non-business socials it was a very real perceived threat. I went to police. I NEVER go to police, for obvious reasons. This person terrified me that "he and leaf had kidnapped my son to raise themselves" and not having seen him in a year, I was forced to go to police. Since this began, at least once a day, I've been followed into chats mocked for being raped in jail when wrongfully arrested and laughed at for my kid going missing and then mocked for going to the police for it.

Ironically the same guys were still there playing GTA, which you can only watch really if you want to get in on pixel. They suddenly knew I was there. Obviously. They'd been role playing with the online version of my identity, according to someone else, for YEARS. Before you ask, no, I have no idea who this person is. I know who they are now, but I've never met or spoken to this person and many don't even refer to them as Riley but as Lucy or Lara.

You know what was happening today? Live? 

We had just lost George Floyd, the entire country is in protest and getting looted after being shut down for months from Covid-19. The internet socialites were pulling everyone in all types of ways. From God, to Godzilla, Satan, to political parties. Everyone is hurting everyone and I've been watching it get worse and worse for months. 

The gamers were investigating in game after a year of my crying out to no one hearing me. By now, the Youngsliving organization was doing "movie reviews" in regards to... me? The lion tribe had copied and stolen my website. Aiden of Hemp City literally copied my site word for word. It was an attack. So I stopped and I let them start to get the back up and overwhelming stress that comes with my job and... because I would be at a halt, they get no more free work while they harass me. 

The pixel server was already familiar with who I was because it's where the identity was being used most and how everyone kept hearing my info to report me. The GTA cops were investigating for me. Like legitimately talking to real characters that also appeared in real life, because this was real crime being done... in game. It's the wildest thing I've seen. With the zoo, the review channels, the political channels, I honestly was surprised again, not by identity but to see police in a video game behaving better than the real police outside my home during the riots. They were investigating. Who took her? How did they know her? What's she look like? They speculated as much as I had. This was an insane situation and suddenly I realized all of us were placed into this by someone else like a chain reaction online. Hurt people, hurting people. I was taken back and many people told me they had no idea this was happening or they thought it was all in game. They forgot people were watching.

That's when I heard the chatter over the radio.

You can read chat. We can hear her now. Today's nature's law! It came from Metokur. He said it's Nature's birthday!

I heard a two game cops say and that's when I believed it was kind of over. 

That brings me back to the level guys, on the floor. They could hear me and you know. I was so hurt by these people that I didn't for one second think "why are they doing this to me?" I automatically assumed they did it to cause me harm, so I was hurting others in conversation with the ways I lashed out against it.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Everyone has shat on my favorite streamer. Everyone said things so vile against him, I wouldn't have looked twice at his stream if that came first. He was being hurt... right now. Today, in this moment, he was being hurt by not being given a fair shot at business like I had not gotten a fair shot before. I KNOW that feeling. 

So I've decided to be the one to stop the cycle. I know, I know. I'm such a lame, loser, boomer. Thing is when you act out as a real life identity you effect their life and the lives around them. You take more than sales you take away the persons security, safety in their own home, freedom to exist. You hurt everyone around you and if it's bad enough you'll do it to someone like me who will hunt you down and track you like the best GTA cop pixel. 

This is what happened with Pewdiepie. His fair chance was taken from him while people like Jake and Adonis Paul literally threaten SPONSORS, friends, family, jobs and eventually, the papers until they get what they want and all they want is submission and like Pewdiepie, I'm a stubborn Scandinavian who won't apologize if she doesn't mean it and won't say sorry if I'm not. These types of manipulators don't like that, so they attempt to control the narrative on your name. It should be illegal. Look at what the media does RIGHT NOW. Turn on the news and just listen for a few minutes. Isn't that insane?! The reason I bring up Pewdiepie is that he's in this game I'm somehow dragged into as well. You can catch it with the right bot or knowing what to look for with the out of context statements and the random, repetitive words.  It's those words that trigger the mind (or A.I.)  into the game. Point is, I had it done to me and I was about to turn around and do it AGAIN to Pewdiepie, the very man I quit the ad program for in the first place. The very one they threw under the bus. This woke me up.

I'm not going to say the words or things Pewdiepie says is okay or stand by his thoughts and ideas, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to make fair what was made wrong in the first place. It's the whole reason I went private sponsorship and here I am, angry that he's involved, blaming him and even Markiplier of doxing and threatening me simply because they're using the same words in the same game at the same time unbeknownst to one another. I was online, threatening the Wallstreet Journal to Pewdiepie and that is the most disgusted I've been with myself all year. I was hurt. I was going to hurt someone else because of it. 

So, all of these thoughts in my mind, I've been awaken. I've been humbled. I saw myself in the mirror becoming the very same monster I was hunting and collectively, in a way, the "game" these youtubers were playing actually made me a better person. It woke me up. I honestly feel if Adonis Paul had not doxxed me, my biological father, the man who took me in, my fathers motorcycle enthusiast group whom I finally had gotten away from and was now literally handed back to, threatening me, my youtubers and my son, I think the game would have ended much sooner. I had to come to the end myself though or I wouldn't learn.

No, what happened to me wasn't fair and no, it probably will never be made okay but in time maybe it will. All I know is I will NOT become one of them and I will NOT become the monster I hunted to hurt the people I protect. 

I've decided to let the streamer and his business in. I've decided to stop the cycle. I like the streamer and watched as a fan but right now, men are being censored and taken down, presented as nazis and literal Fuhrers. If I let him him sit and watch his friends and accomplices be accepted and moved out of the city it wouldn't be fair as he would have been first. It wouldn't be fair because as long as his labs are legit and not stolen, he deserves to go up like the rest of us or it will feel like he's singled out, attacked, and he will take it personally. It will hurt, he will hurt others, the cycle continues. 

I believe in checking for thorns in the paw before condemning the beast. I honestly see good in these streamers the media has labeled and thus, cost their jobs and finances. I've watched them struggle, yell out for help, have families in need, and now go through a pandemic with not so much as a squeak from the big dogs at Youtube. I almost missed an important video myself clearing a lot of this up by my dog/pig, or youtube friend in the game that guided me a bit, knowingly or not. That pig knows who he is and I don't want to risk his current position in the game by exposing him. I'm not the media, but thank you for exposing the bootlegging in the gulf of our brand lines as they think we own all 150. If you're reading this, you helped all the way to Pewdiepie. That's an impressive reach we can have, guys. 

So, I hope you all understand my stand on this. The cycle needs to stop. We can't leave people behind. This is a movement for all of us. Whether you believe in freedom or you believe in karma, green or light, our future will be grim if people are left behind. We can't build on cracked foundation. 

Please stop a cycle. 

We'll keep everyone updated as we reopen and upload products for our customers, our sponsored creators, our friends and families and as promised, are looking forward to working with unexpected our new friend and partner soon!

Not everyone is literal Hitler. Some are hurting from the thorns of the past. Pull them out and you tame the beast.

via Natural Healthy: Latest News

[theextraspoon]

Remember Pewdiepie? The Swedish Youtuber once had a slip of a racial slur cost him his YT Red Series, cost him hundreds of thousands of followers and changed the way we use Youtube and Google. Thanks to the media, we've moved from cancelling people, to getting them fired, and when that doesn't work, we call the papers because we know they're the types to give us that feel good by default narrative that sent my view into the spiral of media puppetry. It baffled me that Youtube would want to throw it's poster boy under the bus like said to the advertisers summit in 2015. Since then Youtube ran ad campaigns for some really sketchy places, like the data-mining of Candid to the exploitation of mental health through Betterhelp yet denied completely legal ads from hemp cultivation. That's where we step in.

Last night I was watching one of my favorite streamers, Hyphonix, when it suddenly became clear that he was one of the owners of the businesses stuck in the cross-hairs of the media wars attempting to contact me and he was upset with me for being upset with him, understandable. However, he didn't dox me and he didn't dox my dad. He just didn't. I've tested it. People tried to convince me he was poison and stealing from me.That he was  a "literal Hitler." He's not though. At least, I've not seen it. 

He's a dick, sure, but most of us are dicks too. I think he's funny. Next to another streamer whom I found humorous outside of gamer gate for his delivery was, Jim "Metokur," whom we've mentioned before here. I like the kid. He didn't dox me. So when I apologized for wrongfully judging him, it was then his chat gave me the name I needed. 

The real person who've been behind digging into my personal information, doxing me, doxing my biological and adoptive family and even stole their identity so they can't be held accountable for their actions. This person, PPP, Pepe, AP, Adonis Paul or whatever name he give himself today, decided to claim a gang affiliation with the hells angels (whom he's never met in real life or even spoken to) in an effort to threaten people into or out of working with select sponsors and other streamers. However, I DO know a few angels and they don't take kindly to this behavior and blamed me directly for it putting me in quite a bit of danger I had worked 2 years to get out of. However when I came to ask Adonis Paul to stop, he began to poorly gaslight me. I tried to tell him I could hear a girl by the name of Riley, roleplaying as my uncle Irish (by the same name even) in GTA. For years, my life story has been Riley's online persona and it began to catch up to me, but I had no idea what the hell was going on or why everyone was claiming I was crazy and gaslighting me with "schizophrenia" which wouldn't be the correct diagnosis anyways. It's been terrifying and cost me a lot of money just to feel safe. You see, Adonis Paul drove me away from sponsoring youtubers and twitch streamers due to the threats, alleged theft, sponsored parties pulling and haven't even made a streamlabs donation since 2019 because someone named "FT WORTH, TX HENDERSON" frauded our card for $400. Since my dad was doxed and my child threatened which, as a victim on protection order with a missing child, no youtube channel or stream herself, no public non-business socials it was a very real perceived threat. I went to police. I NEVER go to police, for obvious reasons. This person terrified me that "he and leaf had kidnapped my son to raise themselves" and not having seen him in a year, I was forced to go to police. Since this began, at least once a day, I've been followed into chats mocked for being raped in jail when wrongfully arrested and laughed at for my kid going missing and then mocked for going to the police for it.

Ironically the same guys were still there playing GTA, which you can only watch really if you want to get in on pixel. They suddenly knew I was there. Obviously. They'd been role playing with the online version of my identity, according to someone else, for YEARS. Before you ask, no, I have no idea who this person is. I know who they are now, but I've never met or spoken to this person and many don't even refer to them as Riley but as Lucy or Lara.

You know what was happening today? Live? 

We had just lost George Floyd, the entire country is in protest and getting looted after being shut down for months from Covid-19. The internet socialites were pulling everyone in all types of ways. From God, to Godzilla, Satan, to political parties. Everyone is hurting everyone and I've been watching it get worse and worse for months. 

The gamers were investigating in game after a year of my crying out to no one hearing me. By now, the Youngsliving organization was doing "movie reviews" in regards to... me? The lion tribe had copied and stolen my website. Aiden of Hemp City literally copied my site word for word. It was an attack. So I stopped and I let them start to get the back up and overwhelming stress that comes with my job and... because I would be at a halt, they get no more free work while they harass me. 

The pixel server was already familiar with who I was because it's where the identity was being used most and how everyone kept hearing my info to report me. The GTA cops were investigating for me. Like legitimately talking to real characters that also appeared in real life, because this was real crime being done... in game. It's the wildest thing I've seen. With the zoo, the review channels, the political channels, I honestly was surprised again, not by identity but to see police in a video game behaving better than the real police outside my home during the riots. They were investigating. Who took her? How did they know her? What's she look like? They speculated as much as I had. This was an insane situation and suddenly I realized all of us were placed into this by someone else like a chain reaction online. Hurt people, hurting people. I was taken back and many people told me they had no idea this was happening or they thought it was all in game. They forgot people were watching.

That's when I heard the chatter over the radio.

You can read chat. We can hear her now. Today's nature's law! It came from Metokur. He said it's Nature's birthday!

I heard a two game cops say and that's when I believed it was kind of over. 

That brings me back to the level guys, on the floor. They could hear me and you know. I was so hurt by these people that I didn't for one second think "why are they doing this to me?" I automatically assumed they did it to cause me harm, so I was hurting others in conversation with the ways I lashed out against it.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Everyone has shat on my favorite streamer. Everyone said things so vile against him, I wouldn't have looked twice at his stream if that came first. He was being hurt... right now. Today, in this moment, he was being hurt by not being given a fair shot at business like I had not gotten a fair shot before. I KNOW that feeling. 

So I've decided to be the one to stop the cycle. I know, I know. I'm such a lame, loser, boomer. Thing is when you act out as a real life identity you effect their life and the lives around them. You take more than sales you take away the persons security, safety in their own home, freedom to exist. You hurt everyone around you and if it's bad enough you'll do it to someone like me who will hunt you down and track you like the best GTA cop pixel. 

This is what happened with Pewdiepie. His fair chance was taken from him while people like Jake and Adonis Paul literally threaten SPONSORS, friends, family, jobs and eventually, the papers until they get what they want and all they want is submission and like Pewdiepie, I'm a stubborn Scandinavian who won't apologize if she doesn't mean it and won't say sorry if I'm not. These types of manipulators don't like that, so they attempt to control the narrative on your name. It should be illegal. Look at what the media does RIGHT NOW. Turn on the news and just listen for a few minutes. Isn't that insane?! The reason I bring up Pewdiepie is that he's in this game I'm somehow dragged into as well. You can catch it with the right bot or knowing what to look for with the out of context statements and the random, repetitive words.  It's those words that trigger the mind (or A.I.)  into the game. Point is, I had it done to me and I was about to turn around and do it AGAIN to Pewdiepie, the very man I quit the ad program for in the first place. The very one they threw under the bus. This woke me up.

I'm not going to say the words or things Pewdiepie says is okay or stand by his thoughts and ideas, that's not why I'm here. I'm here to make fair what was made wrong in the first place. It's the whole reason I went private sponsorship and here I am, angry that he's involved, blaming him and even Markiplier of doxing and threatening me simply because they're using the same words in the same game at the same time unbeknownst to one another. I was online, threatening the Wallstreet Journal to Pewdiepie and that is the most disgusted I've been with myself all year. I was hurt. I was going to hurt someone else because of it. 

So, all of these thoughts in my mind, I've been awaken. I've been humbled. I saw myself in the mirror becoming the very same monster I was hunting and collectively, in a way, the "game" these youtubers were playing actually made me a better person. It woke me up. I honestly feel if Adonis Paul had not doxxed me, my biological father, the man who took me in, my fathers motorcycle enthusiast group whom I finally had gotten away from and was now literally handed back to, threatening me, my youtubers and my son, I think the game would have ended much sooner. I had to come to the end myself though or I wouldn't learn.

No, what happened to me wasn't fair and no, it probably will never be made okay but in time maybe it will. All I know is I will NOT become one of them and I will NOT become the monster I hunted to hurt the people I protect. 

I've decided to let the streamer and his business in. I've decided to stop the cycle. I like the streamer and watched as a fan but right now, men are being censored and taken down, presented as nazis and literal Fuhrers. If I let him him sit and watch his friends and accomplices be accepted and moved out of the city it wouldn't be fair as he would have been first. It wouldn't be fair because as long as his labs are legit and not stolen, he deserves to go up like the rest of us or it will feel like he's singled out, attacked, and he will take it personally. It will hurt, he will hurt others, the cycle continues. 

I believe in checking for thorns in the paw before condemning the beast. I honestly see good in these streamers the media has labeled and thus, cost their jobs and finances. I've watched them struggle, yell out for help, have families in need, and now go through a pandemic with not so much as a squeak from the big dogs at Youtube. I almost missed an important video myself clearing a lot of this up by my dog/pig, or youtube friend in the game that guided me a bit, knowingly or not. That pig knows who he is and I don't want to risk his current position in the game by exposing him. I'm not the media, but thank you for exposing the bootlegging in the gulf of our brand lines as they think we own all 150. If you're reading this, you helped all the way to Pewdiepie. That's an impressive reach we can have, guys. 

So, I hope you all understand my stand on this. The cycle needs to stop. We can't leave people behind. This is a movement for all of us. Whether you believe in freedom or you believe in karma, green or light, our future will be grim if people are left behind. We can't build on cracked foundation. 

Please stop a cycle. 

We'll keep everyone updated as we reopen and upload products for our customers, our sponsored creators, our friends and families and as promised, are looking forward to working with unexpected our new friend and partner soon!

Not everyone is literal Hitler. Some are hurting from the thorns of the past. Pull them out and you tame the beast.

via Natural Healthy: Latest News