#a spes writing

[a-spes]

| PRETTY FACES, DARK SOULS - Chapter one (4,382 words).

| Summary - you rob the wrong person and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not.

| Tags & warnings - Minors DNI, Dark CEO!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, just fluff for the moment, slight angst (if you squint), mentions of sex.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

Your eyes meet their reflection in the mirror, looking for the slightest detail that isn’t right but, if you were seeking for imperfections, you are unable to find any.

Everything was perfect, and even you were struggling to recognize your face, you would have probably fallen into your own trap and that thought satisfies you. It took you several hours locked up in that dingy room to achieve this result, but you have no regrets as you are eventually able to look at your disguise.

No one would have guessed that you were the one hiding behind that mask that changed every feature of your face.

No one knows you enough to be able to notice the smallest details in your attitude that were giving hints about your true identity. You were sure that no one would notice the way you are moving your head when being disturbed by something or your hand constantly running in the skin of your hands. There are a lot of small habits you tried to suppress, but it was in vain, every of your persona inevitably ended up having a part of you in them.

Despite the dust covering the mirror, you can admire every feature of who you are going to be tonight: Lydia Golvorezova. She looks like an angel and it’s not only because her hair is so blonde that it looks white or because of her porcelain skin and innocent eyes that makes her look like a doll, but mainly because she is stunning. There is something unreal in her beauty that gives the impression that she couldn’t possibly be human. 

This name was never yours, but it fits perfectly the person you could see in the mirror right now. It was perfect to embody the innocence and naivety you were reading in her eyes, it was perfect to give the feeling of power and fragility at the same time. 

The way you have done your makeup only adds to the effect. In appearance, it is something really simple, but the truth is that it took you hours to get that result as you wanted to look as perfect and young as possible. 

It is not that you are old, only being an adult for a few years now, but you figured out that the younger you look, the easier things are. Most of the people you are going to meet tonight have a preference for girls that haven't been broken by life yet, for the ones that haven't harsh features accompanied by a cold gaze: they like what is easy to manipulate.

They are desperate to feel powerful and it’s becoming pitiful, even ridiculous. 

When you entered the toilets of the gas station, hours ago, nobody paid attention to you because you were blending in perfectly with your surroundings. It is that you are not as interesting as Lydia Golvorezova, nor as rich. No one ever notices the young girl with stained clothes, they even avoid her gaze at all cost, scared she would ask for money — if only they knew that she is the same person than the one they can’t take their eyes off now.

If you’ve arrived discreetly, you can’t say the same thing when you leave the room. You could feel the gaze of the few customers that were here on your back, but the worst is probably the cashier’s one. You have to clear your throat as a reminder that you are waiting so that her gaze would stop wandering for a little too long where it shouldn’t be, even for a brief moment. 

While she is scanning your articles with obvious embarrassment, you can’t help but smile. You love the way she avoids your gaze, the way her cheeks are flushed and how her voice is only a whisper when she tells you how much you owe. The poor thing probably fears that you would snap at her for such an offense, but honestly you were just enjoying the situation.

You love it when they fall that easily in the trap you set for them. 

Tonight, to match your makeup, you decided to wear a black dress that you bought just for the event. Your back is bare and it reveals enough of your chest to catch the attention without being vulgar: it’s right at the frontier between what’s elegant and what’s indecent, and that’s why it’s the perfect choice.

You wish you could keep it, but even the money you’re stealing isn’t enough for you to afford such things: you need it to buy things that are essential to your life, and no matter how pretty you're in that dress, you could survive without it.  

Again, the story between the luxurious dress you choose and you is going to be nothing more than a one night thing. It will be returned tomorrow, as soon as the store opens — you didn’t even take the price tag off. But you’re hopeful that, one day, you will be able to purchase that kind of clothes for real, that you will be one of those people that shop without looking at the prices before they pay.

It always takes you so much time to prepare yourself because everything needs to be perfect. When your life is at stake, paying attention to every detail is the key, you can’t take the risk to be recognized, no one should be able to see behind the mask you decide to wear. 

So, when you get the confirmation that you’ve made the right choices, it is always a deep relief. You tried to gather as much information as you can on tonight's event and the people that are supposed to come, but in the end there is always a lot left to chance. You can spend as much time as you want preparing yourself for what’s coming, it’s impossible to predict everything.

You are not from the same world as them, you’re just pretending to be, and it doesn’t matter how many times you did it with success, you'll always be an outsider. There are so many rules that you don’t know that something as insignificant as a word or a look could be enough to give your identity away.

Hopefully, for the moment everything seems to go fine, the dress you choose was perfect for this evening, at the frontier between elegant and indecent, and no one seems to notice the intruder.  

A driver left you in front of the expensive hotel that hosts the event, and you barely had time to unbuckle your belt that a butler was already opening the door for you, helping you to get out of the car. You have to fight the urge to refuse the hand he is holding out to you, and take it with a smile on your face instead. You constantly need to remind yourself about where your place is tonight: at the top of the pyramid, among the ones that do nothing by themselves.

For someone like you, someone that has been on their own for most of their life, it’s weird to be assisted to this extent, and you hate it as much as the first time. This man complies to every of your demands because he fears you, and not because he wants to, let alone because he's paid for it — his salary probably not being enough for the evening he’s going to have. 

If only he knew your reality is closer to his than it’s from theirs, you thought as he walked you toward the entrance, but you can't share it with him. You have to play along, to pretend that you’re Lydia Golvorezova perfectly if you don’t want to ruin your plans, even if it includes being rude with a man for whom you have compassion.

Tonight, the butler didn’t get anything from you except a ridiculous penny that you gave him as if he should be grateful for it, as if this action was a symbol of infinite kindness — which he is going to do, thanking you a lot of time for that. The whole time, not a word has been exchanged, you would rather keep your voice for the ones that are worth the effort.

Just like the man that caught your eyes the moment you entered the luxurious hall, Clint Barton. You read an article about him a few days ago, he works as a bodyguard for heads of major companies, despite what one might think, his position makes him an influential and wealthy man, everything you are looking for tonight, so you didn’t hesitate much before making your way toward him. 

“Excuse me?” you asked, clearing your throat to get his attention, and you felt the glance of every man he was previously talking with on you, the sudden attention made you feel uncomfortable. “May I?” you added, accompanying your words by a small gesture of the hand toward the glasses of champagne he was standing in front of, feigning being so interested by those. 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, immediately stepping aside so you could access the table. “I am sorry for that, miss .. ?” he added and you can’t help but grin at his attempt to learn your name - it was almost too easy.

You barely exchanged a few words, nothing out of the ordinary, but he was already crushing himself to fulfill your desires, already eager for more, and the way he is gazing at you leaves no doubts on the thoughts in his mind, something too indecent for a place like that one.

“Golvorezova, and you?” you replied, the false name slipping easily out of your mouth as you slip nimbly between him and the men he was previously talking to.

It is hard to not smile, to pretend that you didn't notice the way they are glancing at you, with anger and frustration, because you’ve just ruined their only chance to talk to him, too bad that you don’t care. Tonight, Barton is yours.

You don’t care more about the glasses of champagne than you do about these guys, it was just a way to get what you want. You’ve been fond of alcohol, you’ve seen how it changes people’s minds, taking control of their thoughts and bodies, and you would rather continue to use it to your advantage than becoming a victim of it. Even a sip of alcohol could be dangerous, and you would be stupid to drink while working, so you’re just pretending to enjoy the champagne.

“Barton,” he replied briefly, holding his hand out to you for you to shake - which you did with a faint smile on your lips.

“So, do you already know what you're going to bid on?” you asked, trying to pursue the conversation.

You both glance around for a few seconds, not a word is exchanged, just a shrug that underlines his boredom. Despite this party being marked as a charity event, most of the guests are here for other reasons: make an appearance, meet future associates, talk about business, show the world how rich and powerful they are, … there are many reasons for their presence, but none of them is disinterested. His answer is proof that he doesn't care about what’s for sale, maybe he doesn’t even know for whom the benefits are. He will drop an outrageous amount of money, just to pretend he did something good to help those people when he is the cause of their pain, people like you getting their lives destroyed by people like him. 

Tonight isn’t about charity, it's about power and influence. That’s why you’re always tense when attending those events, the stakes are bigger than they are for a private party, and so are the risks. Tonight, the whole world has its eyes on what’s happening in that hotel. If you make a mistake, everyone will know, because no one escapes the spotlight tonight, and you're no exception to the rule. 

“But, I think I’ve just found the most precious prize,” he said as his gaze came back to you, his smirk letting no doubt about the true meaning behind his words. Maybe if he was a bit more observant he would've noticed how your grip tightens on your glass.

You can’t help but smile, a sign he is going to misinterpret for sure, because behind it, it’s your disgust that’s hidden. He is probably something like twice your age, at least, and doesn’t seem to be interested in anything other than your body.

But the money is worth every sacrifice. 

You are about to give him the reply he probably waits to hear, but you are cut before you can even say one word. It is a feminine voice whose tone makes your blood run cold, and even though her words aren’t addressed to you, you feel like you’re the one that did something wrong.

“Does Laura know about your plans?” she asked, and from the way he glanced at her, you guess that she doesn’t.

You felt the woman’s hand on your shoulder before you could see her face. It is only when he left that she took his place, allowing you to meet her gaze. She is stunning, and contrary on you, she wasn’t just playing to be pretty, she truly was. 

“Men…,” she sighed as she looked at him walking away, but the truth is that he doesn’t really leave, you can still feel his gaze on you, even from the other side of the room. “I hope he didn't bother you? He can be a bit… inconsiderate sometimes, especially with the pretty girls,” she added, and you realize she is looking you up and down, her glance wandering a bit longer at the same places than the man’s one earlier. 

She is not better than him, you thought, maybe a few years younger than he is, but that’s all, they’re from the same world, you have to remind yourself when you realize you too were observing her for a bit too long.

On the outside, you’re still smiling, letting nothing appear on what’s disturbing your mind, but somehow having the feeling that she knows, and you only shake your head, letting her know that everything is fine.

“I don't think I’ve ever seen you …,” she added once she understood you wouldn't say anything, not letting you a chance to find an excuse to slip through her fingers.

Despite appearances, and how friendly the conversation seems to be, the atmosphere is tense between the two of you, it’s like a game has started ; which one is gonna find the other’s secret first? And she never loses a game. 

If she interrupted your conversation with Barton, it wasn’t to help you, but him. She doesn't care about his wife, Clint can cheat on her if he wants, it's none of her business as long as his problem doesn’t impact his work, and you look exactly like that kind of problem.

If there is something she cares about, it’s the raptors that get a little too close to her associates, especially the ones that would easily give off information about her business, and Clint may be good at his job, but he doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. 

She doesn't trust you, and one glance was enough for her to get to that statement. If it wasn’t for Clint, she wouldn’t even have talked to you, but she knows how naive he can be sometimes - and maybe this conversation will help her to point out the thing that bothers her about you, something she hasn’t figured out yet.

“It’s probably because it’s my first in the United States,” you replied, your voice dripping with false sympathy.

You don’t like the woman either, but at least you are hiding your thoughts, something she doesn’t even try to do. You are smiling at her, the expression on your face being so innocent that she questions her instincts, you don’t even seem to catch the threats behind her actions or the true meaning of her words — how someone that oblivious ended up attending such an event? Something she wouldn’t have thought if she was able to see the rage hidden behind your smile, the frustration, the hatred that is slowly growing, because every second spent with her reduces your chances of success.

She sent Barton away, but most importantly, she doesn’t seem to believe everything you say as he would have, and the way she hummed after your last answer gave you a feeling of danger, something is telling you to give up the mission, but you don’t. 

“I don’t think I know you either,” you replied, the words slipping from your mouth almost on their own. The conversation probably could have ended up here, if only you hadn't been so curious, if you didn’t genuinely want to learn more about the woman.

“Romanoff,” she eventually said, she seems about to add something else but hesitate for a few seconds before talking, deciding to keep the rough comment she was about to make for herself, “but you can call me Natasha, if you want,” she added, her tone softening to the surprise of you both. 

The last words fell from her lips on their own, and they felt like the right thing to say. Maybe it is the way you’re looking at her, with those innocent eyes and smile, that led her to let her guard down so easily. She is trying to find an explanation, but the only satisfying one that comes to her mind is that you are an angel, sent to charm her with that pretty face. 

An angel, that’s the word, the only one that’s strong enough to describe what she is seeing right now. From the way the dress follows your curves to the soft features of your face, everything is perfect in her eyes, and even if she tried to, she can’t find a single defect, any more than she is able to keep her suspicions.

She even feels guilty for the way she talked to you previously, her words had been so harsh when you seem to genuinely just want to talk with Barton, not even knowing her name, something unbelievable for someone from her world, someone used to always be a target for everyone, never a friend to anyone. 

But you are not from the same world as her, or Barton, she can tell just by looking into your eyes, and that’s the whole problem, because she has no idea how to evolve around someone of your kind, someone that doesn’t even know her name. Her reality is rough, a place where pity and kindness doesn’t exist, where everything is just about who’s the most powerful, it is a world without limits, without morals, and you are the complete opposite. 

You are looking like you are made of glass, and when she looks into your eyes, the only thing she sees is the innocence one can only find in the gaze of children. She can tell that you haven’t been broken by life yet, which is a miracle on this planet, and a part of her wants to protect you. She knows it is a selfish wish, because she wants to lock you in a golden cage, somewhere you would be safe and get everything you need, except your freedom. She would hate to see an angel being corrupted, not when they are so rare.  

“You can call me Lydia then,” you replied, surprised but satisfied by the turn the events took, maybe you still have a chance to complete the mission. You have no idea what changed her mind, and you don’t question it, but you notice that you somehow now have the woman wrapped around your little finger, and you barely did a thing.

“Lydia,” she repeated after you, as if she needed to say it to believe it, to be sure that you existed, and that you are not some sort of dream, “let me show you around then,” she added, coming back to reality, “the city has a lot of secrets, and I am sure you would appreciate at least some of them.”

Even if it sounds like a question, it is not. She is almost begging you to follow her, as if you would be the one doing a favor to her, when in reality it is the opposite. When you nod, a genuine smile appears on her face, she seems relieved, as if she feared that you could say no. You barely have time to say a word that her hand was already on your lower back, applying a light pressure to guide you outside.

Despite what you said earlier, you know exactly who Natasha Romanoff is, it would have been impossible to ignore her identity when her face is everywhere on the news and streets. However, apart from her name, you don’t know a lot about the woman. She is quite mysterious, always refusing interviews, never answering personal questions, and nothing can be found online, she is a ghost. 

All you know are the rumors that depict her as someone that gets everything she wants, and it’s no coincidence that she is now at the head of one of the richest companies on earth. She built her fortune from scratch, and some people say that if she was able to earn that much money so quickly, it’s because part of her business is illegal. However, there is no proof of that, and it’s probably just an idea her opponents are fueling in the hope that it will tarnish her reputation, and impact her business at the same time.

Perhaps you would have acted more prudently if you had those rumors in mind when talking to the woman, but those were forgotten the moment her hand found its way on your back, the way her thumb is brushing circles on your skin being so soft that you let your guard down. For once, maybe you’re going to enjoy the evening, and maybe you will come home feeling something that isn’t self-disgust.

Maybe she is a mean CEO, that would explain the rumors, but maybe life left her no choice, maybe she is a bit like you, a woman that tries her best to survive in this world. When you observe her face under the moonlight, it’s all you can think about.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧

It is later that day, in the secret of her hotel room, that everything happened. Just as usual, you convinced your victim to make the night last a bit longer, and she brought you to that luxurious room where she is staying. It has been only the two of you, and you actually enjoyed the feeling of her hands on your skin. The praises she whispered in your ears when you were begging her, desperate for the release she denied you, is all you can think about as you are leaving the building the next morning.

The thought of the dirty things she did and told to you are enough to make you blush again, and you are surprised to realize that you’re already missing her presence. You chase those thoughts away, far from your mind, by telling yourself that it was just a play, something that needed to be done, and she will probably be quick to forget about your existence.

She probably used you as much as you did anyway, you noticed the way she looked at you as if you were a porcelain doll, something to possess, something to break. It was a one night thing for the both of you, and it’s probably better that way.

However, this morning, when you woke up, you were reluctant. You wanted to stay in bed, in the warmth of the bed forever, you almost left without stealing anything, feeling guilty to do that to the woman — it was easier when you were hating your victim. You would’ve probably left without taking anything if you didn’t need the money so badly, and you’re sure she won’t miss a few dollars.

By the time she notices you are gone, you are already far away. She was getting out of the bathroom, asking you what you would like for breakfast, and the silence that met her question made her realize that the room was empty, you left. 

She was standing in the middle of the room, wrapped in a towel, and her eyes were scanning the room with desperation. The only proof that last night was real are the memories of you beneath her, and a piece of paper on the bedside table. She immediately reached for it, but the paper didn’t say much, and the few words you wrote left a feeling of disappointment in her chest: “Sorry, I have to go, but thanks, the night was cool.” 

She doesn’t know what she was hoping for, but for sure she was hoping for more than that, maybe your number, or a promise to come back. It made her feel so silly, and she crumpled the paper before throwing it away, erasing the only evidence of your visit in her room.

Natasha would have liked to share one last moment with you, she thought about getting breakfast at that fancy restaurant across the street. She is thinking about how you would have enjoyed watching the sun rise over the city, as she is sitting here alone. She wished she had a chance to say goodbye to you, because maybe then she would’ve been able to get your number, or anything that would have allowed you to stay in touch, or maybe you didn’t want to. Perhaps you learned about the rumors, and that’s why you left so quickly this morning.

She has been here for maybe one hour when a waitress brings her the note. She was lost in her thoughts the whole time, and barely ate the expensive breakfast she ordered, but she couldn’t care less, money is not a problem when you are one of the richests people on that planet. But to her surprise, when she looks into her wallet, she finds it empty — you only left a few coins.

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

| Tag list : no one atm, but if you're interested, let me know!

#a spes writing #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff fanfiction #dark natasha romanoff #reader insert #female reader #mcu au #mcu women #mcu fanfiction #pretty faces dark souls

[altered60]

Bradley had always loved pushing Maverick; always trying to get him to give a little more, to bend his resolve - wanting to see how far he could press.

But never in his wildest fantasies (and they were wild) did Bradley ever expect to push Maverick into his bed.

But now Maverick was there - how was Bradley supposed to give it up?

Or the five times Maverick said ‘just this once’ and the one time Bradley begged for it in return.

Title: once in a lifetime

Author: altered60

Rating: E

Tags: Alternate universe - canon divergence, pining, friends to lovers, light angst, explicit sexual content, Bradley pushes, Maverick gives in, 5+1, bottom Maverick, top Bradley, assumptions were made

Words: 3589

~*~*~

Here is my little contribution to the roosmav servers Same Prompt Event (SPE) 'just this once'. If you like the sound of it - click here and enjoy!!

#roosmav #roosmav SPE #my writing #five + one fic #rooster x maverick #pining #Bradley gets what he wants #and so does Maverick

[cheswirls]

looking @ old fic i started when i was 14/15 is so funny bc im realizing once again why i never mark fics as abandoned even if its been literal years since i've touched them. specifically i was checking docs for stuff i started and either did or didn't post to ffn.

and its like. nothing is bad??? like i can see where my outside-the-box ideal of fic writing comes from. not just fics but writing in general, i'm p sure. even if it's a total cliche plot setup, there are details on each that rly make it stand out like oh yeahhhhhh i did have this great idea once upon a time.

funny too bc was it executed well in prose??? no absolutely not i wrote like shit when i was 15. would i revive an idea one day and revise it to be less cliche or cringy while still keeping the stand-out elements??? yea maybe. i might. everything i'm currently working on that i started from 2021 up to now still holds my supreme interest, but like i'm not gonna say never.

esp since i write fic first and foremost for my own need and specifically what i like to read, it makes it impossible to consider an idea i've thought extensively about "not worth writing anymore". anyway not making this too long i jus found everything interesting to consider

#writing #this fic i pulled up from JUNE 2014 crazy was the old chosenshi au i was trying to write for a friend #i dont ship blue/silver and never will and thats prolly why i never finished it #but i do still like!! the idea of rocket!blue raised w silver and breaking free of tr while running the hoenn branch #no idea how i remembered bc it wasnt in the plot pts on the doc but she was gonna get sent to the battle frontier #to nab jirachi and have encounters w frontier brains and change her mind at the end of it all #hell i could go back and not make it ship fic at all - have silver be a little one-sided obsessed or #even jus like.. attached to blue as a rivalry like as a way to show her up at every turn #another fic around the same time was the old pokespe hs au where i changed all the dexholder's names for some reason #i have no idea where i was in reading spe bc i put lyra in for some reason and had the sinnoh trio even tho i never read past v2 of dp #idk if it was more gameverse or what but its so funny looking @ the ship list n seeing i had gold paired w black #bc i had manga!ss and manga!ferriswheel so was it rly speverse or was i projecting???? #actually i think black was supposed to die and gold was gonna go thru this whole thing abt grieving #looking at the ship list so funny bc i never shipped gold/crys or entourageshi #and clearly i did not know the superiority of pmshi if i threw lyra in jus for silver #god but i do love (most!) of the alt names i gave them #would absolutely fuck up the ship list if i ever redid it tho #also have perfectworld tho im sure i have the most recent rewrite on pen and paper somewhere #that one i also gave up bc the idea i had for flare!sycamore was cringe along with #every time i went back to work on it enough time passed that i thought my writing sucked #i rewrote that damn thing so many times but oooooooo i still love the idea #as long as i changed the cringe parts to smth better i could still rock w most of these #that fic rly had everything... psychic!korrina. leaf/serena. sycamore hacking the secret to mega evo. lys/syc that ends in failure #bc of the ending line i will never forget > only in a perfect world could you and i be together. destined and doomed from the start #im rambling n im boutta run outta tags gimme a sec

[blastingtowardsbluerskies]

Omg hiiii yellow!! What's your thoughts on the lance debacles

There’s a Lance debacle? I haven’t seen him since Cerise Island. Silver’s Sneasel was helped a little by Lance but… other than that, I’ve heard some things from everybody! Viridian Forest too! Though it hasn’t seen him either. Has he actually gone completely straight? Should I say hi if he has here???

#pkmn irl #pokemon irl #real pokemon #healerposting #//OOC: you don’t understand I NEED yellow to scare the shit out of Lance in person. #//OOC: whatever in person Rotomblr is. also first time writing yellow seriously hiii #//OOC: I need to read her chapter again #//OOC: (says that for every spe character)

[merryfortune]

Spectre the Friendly Ghost

Written for Respectfulshipping Week 2024

Prompt: Dragon | Ghost

Title: Spectre the Friendly Ghost

Ship: Respectfulshipping | Ryoken/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Vrains 

Word Count: 3,287

Rating: T

Tags: Alternate Universe - Casper the Friendly Ghost

   Exorcists, GhostBusters, and a construction crew.

   They all tried and… they all failed.

   All they had to do was get rid of a ghost or four. 

   Surely that had to be easy. After all, ghosts don’t exist. Or at least that’s what Ryoken believes - or believed. Right up until he moved into a certain house in a certain place with his Father who was vehement that he would do what those before him had failed to do: exorcise the ghosts of this mansion.

   He wasn’t an exorcist, however, so he didn’t speak in tongues or prayers. Nor did he have the kooky technology of a Ghostbuster and he wasn’t about to go all demolition crew on this mansion either. No. Dr. Kiyoshi Kogami was a psychotherapist to the undead. Completely and utterly one of a kind - and out of his mind if you asked Ryoken.

   Until six months ago, his Father was a normal, sane man with a normal, sane job in the world of science. Then, his wife and Ryoken’s mother, passed away in an accident and he became obsessed. He began to believe in ghosts, in life on the other side and he was going to prove it.

   So far, all he had done was tatter his reputation and his relationship with his son. They were constantly in flux, moving all over the place, a media circus typically following because they wanted to know what the crazy ex-scientist was doing next! 

   Kiyoshi claimed he’d had successful clients and helped CBT ghosts to the other side but Ryoken wasn’t convinced. He hadn’t seen anything until right now.

   “Hi, I’m Spectre, it’s good to meet you!”

   Ryoken screamed. Then fainted. Then screamed again when he came to the ghost of a child was still hovering over him. 

   The most recent client that his Father had taken on was a woman who went by the alias of Queen. She had recently inherited a mansion through some obscure relative she hadn’t even known existed until she was notified that she was in the will. The mansion was old and abandoned but she wanted it cleaned up and when conventional methods hadn’t worked because of reported poltergeist-like activity, she called in yet more guns: Dr. Kogami and his son. 

   And now, out of all the cases they had seen so far which had been more busts than not, they had finally found a house which was well and truly haunted.

  The mansion certainly looked the part. Tall and intimidating, filled with antique furniture and cobwebs, on the edge of a cliff. It looked straight out of a Stephen King novel but it wasn’t until they’d gone inside when they realised it was abandoned. It was still very much lived in. Just by no one alive.

   Ryoken encountered Spectre in his room. Well, it was Ryoken’s room now but it had been Spectre’s up until he died. Kind of, considering he was still haunting it. Then, in the foyer, Ryoken’s Father encountered Spectre’s relatives: his two uncles and an aunt.

   “It’s good to meet you.” 

   Spectre didn’t look anything like the ghosts on television. He wasn’t all that person shaped for a start, nor was he a boo ghost with a bedsheet over his head, either. He was translucent, though, and his colouration reminded Ryoken of the halo behind the moon: the silver, whites, and blues which were shifting and eerie. He had massive porcelain doll-like eyes, too, which were completely soul devouring.

   Compared to his aunt and uncles, Spectre was sweet as pie. A little kid who just wanted to make friends. 

   His aunt and uncles were raising Hell for Ryoken’s father downstairs, taunting him that they knew someone who knew his wife. He tried not to take the bait and stay on task but where was the fun in that? Not when Dr. Kogami made for such a good chew toy. So it was apparent that they weren’t going to be convinced that positive self-talk would be good for them, that they should let go of their unfinished business and cross over to the other side. Though, they did find Kiyoshi amusing for trying. Looks like he was going to be in for the long haul for these three clients.

   Ryoken didn’t know if he was terrified or thrilled. He was fully on board with ghosts now, living in a house full of them. But he could see that the actual drudgery of dealing with them was wearing his Father down, too. 

   Then there was Spectre and whatever his deal was.

   He struck Ryoken as being a little bit younger than him. Two or three years, give or take. And he was infatuated with Ryoken, too, now that he had a playmate about the same age as him - and didn’t boss him around like his aunt and uncles, either.

   They used him around the house more like a servant than a family member. Ryoken couldn’t believe that there was a personal connection between them. To him, it seemed more like a mishmash of people than not but hey. What did he know?

   The names of the aunt and uncles - Baira, Faust, and Genome - were carved into the heads of the western style beds, after all. Spectre didn’t even have that but he did seem like he had the rest of the house. He was free to float through it but he didn’t really, he preferred to keep to himself and his room.

   But he did have a special place.

   “Do you want to see it?”

   Spectre didn’t wait for an answer.

   Ryoken screamed as he was taken out through his window and up, up, and away. It was cold and windy but so beautiful, too. The ocean was a navy blue as it expanded endlessly out over the horizon and Ryoken could swear he could see over it from this turret in the corner of the mansion.

   They sat together on the edge, feet in the gutter, Ryoken’s bum on the tiling and got talking. About things, about life, and death, too.

   “Do you think she’s out there?” Ryoken asked. “My mother?”

   “Probably not… but that’s a good thing. It meant you and Dr. Kogami loved her so much, she didn’t need more time with you.”

   That was one way to look at grief. Spectre would know better than Ryoken, he was just a thirteen year old fleshie after all. Ryoken hugged his knees tighter.

   “So does that mean there was someone whom you didn’t get to love enough in life?” Ryoken asked. “Is that why you’re still here, as a ghost?”

   Spectre shrugged.

   Ryoken chewed his bottom lip. It felt gauche to ask yet appropriate at the same time. He glanced at Spectre.

   “Why are you a ghost? Like, um-”

   “How did I die?”

   Ryoken nodded.

   “I’m not sure either. I just remember that it was cold. Very cold… I don’t remember anything else aside from that. Not how old I was when I died, or if I had parents to miss me. Nothing…”

   “Oh… I’m sorry.” Ryoken replied.

   Seeing Spectre, the idea of Heaven, if that’s where his mother was at all, seemed a lot better than this post-death amnesia where he couldn’t stray too far from what tethered him materially. He couldn’t even remember why he was here. It was kind of a pity but he must have wanted to know too because the next day, Spectre invited Ryoken to explore more of the house.

  It was a big, big mansion - nigh labyrinthian - so there had to be a hint. A clue.  Somewhere he did not usually go and didn’t want to go which would elucidate more of why Spectre was a ghost at all.

   Ryoken agreed to help and it didn’t take them long to find something. They wanted to avoid Spectre’s relatives as well as Ryoken’s Father. They were all clumped together in the main rooms around the foyer for their so-called therapy sessions. So, Ryoken and Spectre went sneaking around upstairs and in the attic.

   Up there, they found a treasure trove. 

   No wonder Spectre didn’t typically hang out up there. It was full of precious memories and mementos from when she had been alive. Toys, clothes, and yes, even the newspaper article on how his untimely death drove his poor mother to madness and, allegedly, witchcraft. 

   Ryoken looked at Spectre as he absorbed what he could of the attic. The dust motes floated in the air, through musty windows with the battens hatched and boarded up. He had been dead for a long, long time and alive for just the blink of an eye really. It was a lot to take in, no wonder he had been subconsciously avoiding it.

   “I wanted to see my mother again…”

   Made sense.

   Except. She wasn’t here. Clearly, she was in that other place. Well away from the mansion and her son and their other relatives to had stayed.

   “She turned to witchcraft to… to… to find a way to bring me back to life.” 

   “But that’s impossible, right?” Ryoken asked but when Spectre turned around, he was grinning maniacally.

   Clearly, Ryoken ought to know better than to call something impossible. He changed his mind on the existence of ghosts pretty quickly upon arriving at this haunted mansion.

  “No, she found a way. I-In the basement, come with me. I remember now.”

   Just as quickly as the night before, Ryoken was taken for a ride. Spectre grabbed his hand and they raced through the house. They passed Ryoken’s Father and Spectre’s relatives on the way. Huh, weird, they were in a kind of good mood now, leaving the house, actually so they could do something together. Strange.

   Didn’t matter though. Especially since Spectre knew he was going to be up to no good, defying the conventions of life and death. With Ryoken in tow, of course. 

   Down in the basement, there were trap doors and other contraptions. It took them for a ride and then they arrived somewhere even further down than the basement.

   “Wow, what is this place?” Ryoken asked, his eyes wide as he took in the bizarre surroundings, deep in a cavern scented with salt water.

   “My mother’s laboratory.”

   Spectre raced off and Ryoken followed along. He looked over dusty tomes and cluttered desks. It was all left in such disarray, free to age over the decades, abandoned by all who had died over the years. 

   All except something at the heart of it. A set of potions embedded in wooden holders, just one and it glistened, shinier and redder than a ruby. Spectre pointed it out as though it wasn’t obvious from miles away.

   “This… This is the elixir of life my mother brewed.”

   Ryoken wolf-whistled, impressed.

   Spectre’s expression was frantic, excited, his eyes glittered then he spoke up again after hold this moment of relish which left Ryoken thunderstruck.

   “There’s enough for a one time go. One ghost to become human again. All you have to do is put it in the holder and I go into the chamber and then presto.” 

   It all sounded so simple when put like that but Ryoken glanced at the chamber that Spectre mentioned. It looked unsafe to say the least. A monstrosity of wood and metal, bolted and boarded up, like a zero gravity chamber before those were even conceived of as being a thing.

   “You can help me, right? I want to be human, again, just like you. We could go to school together and play games and-”

   Ryoken laughed. He smiled. Spectre sounded so excited, how could he possibly say no? His Mother designed it and it's not like he was going to get any deader. If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t? Spectre would be heartbroken but they could still hang out and play together, just like they had been before.

   “Alright, I’ll help.” Ryoken agreed.

   Spectre grinned and he dived into the chamber.

   Ryoken turned and he unlatched the glass potion from its wooden holder. His fingers grazed the surface and then he heard something. It made him jump out of his skin, it made him look up.

   “Father?” Ryoken exclaimed.

   His heart stopped.

   He knew it had been weird to see his Father in a good mood around his clients. They were so good at dragging him down, through the mud and draining the life out of him. Not to mention, he was nothing if not professional.

   “There was a little accident, kiddo.” 

   “It wasn’t our fault.” 

   “He did it to himself.”

   One by one, they all spoke up. Genome. Then Baira. And then Faust last.

   Ryoken watched. He stared in anguish as his Father joined them. No longer alive, no longer flesh and blood like he but a ghost. Like the others. Strange, spectral figures who twisted and contorted what it meant to be human-like, in eerie shades of green, pink, and brown.

   “We were going to do it quick.”

   “Harpoon through the heart.”

   “He chose to break every bone instead.”

  Again, that same choir going down the line: Genome, Baira, and then Faust last. Then, together, in unison.

   “He fell to his death in a pit!”

   Ryoken flinched.

   He didn’t even so much as wince when Spectre had revealed the snippets of his own death but this? This felt just like when he heard his Mother had been in an accident. 

   “And I have never felt more alive!”

   Ryoken watched as his Father floated, looped and swirled through the air.

   “What are you even doing down here?”

   “I didn’t even know we had a down here!”

   “Where’s Spectre?”

   Sure enough, at Faust and company’s beck and call, Spectre was prompted. He drew himself out of the chamber and was just as slack jawed to see the new ghost in the mansion’s fold.

  “Dr. Kogami!”

   Spectre joined Ryoken at his side. Ryoken’s lower lip quivered but he was in such denial, he couldn’t shed any of the tears in the corner of his eye.

   Ryoken couldn’t bring himself to ask. Spectre didn’t want to say it. But they were both thinking it.

   “Are you sure it works?” Ryoken asked, his voice cracking.

   He knew that Spectre wanted to be his friend in life and living again but.

   He needed his Father.

   Spectre swallowed thickly. A bluish colour swished through him.

   “I’ll help. Anything for you, Ryoken.”

   Spectre jetted off and glared at his aunt and uncles. They tried to stop him but this was the first time he had ever glared daggers at them. Not so much as a word as he ripped Dr. Kogami from their sides, grabbing him and dragging him down, down, down into the chamber.

   Dr. Kogami rambled drunkenly. Ryoken put his hands over his ears. He ignored the cries and demands that he was being a partypooper from Baira, Faust, and Genome. He grit his teeth together and hoped that Spectre was right. That the magic potion his mother had made all those years ago did work.

   “Ready?”

   Ryoken wasn’t much use though. Spectre did most of the hard work as he surrendered the elixir to Dr. Kogami. Ryoken pushed aimlessly at a ship captain’s wheel and the machine came to life. It whirred and roared and when it finished, it made a ding like a laundry machine.

   Steam poured out of it and the door to it opened.

   A ghost had gone in but a ghost did not come out.

   “Huh? Where am I?” Dr. Kogami asked. “Ryoken?”

   Ryoken ran to his Father’s side and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Spectre hovered like, well, a ghost and disappeared just as quickly. His relatives booed and heckled but it had worked.

   That’s all that mattered.

   Ryoken, with his Father, staggered back up into the main part of the house. Dr. Kogami rambled about how… how… he still didn’t see his wife again. Ryoken was just glad to have his father still but poor Spectre.

   There was only enough to save one and Ryoken had seen how that cherry red elixir evaporated into the mechanism of the machine. No recipe to be seen amongst the dusty tomes.

   For the rest of the day, Spectre made himself sparse. He ignored his aunt and uncles’ demands to be “fed” so they could enjoy the farce of dinner and he ignored Ryoken’s plea to see him again.

   Ryoken felt awful but it was the right thing. For that, Spectre ought to be proud of his selflessness. His Father certainly appreciated it after his maligned fall. He didn’t say much about it. The same could not be said for either Baira, Faust, nor Genome, however.

   “Where is the brat?”

   “He’s never late.”

   “Wait, what’s that?”

   The dining room was conjoined to the main foyer which ws, typically, the dimmest part of the house as it was covered by the storeys above, surrounded by doors rather windows which was why it was mighty peculiar that any light would come through it. Especially one as bright and angelic as this one.

   Everyone ran inside, only to stop in their tracks.

   “Sorry for being late…” Spectre said. “I, um, I’m out of practise putting clothes on.” He sheepishly admitted.

   Ryoken couldn’t believe his eyes.

   He had always imagined Spectre as being a dorky little kid but he actually looked older than expected, with silver-grey hair and of course those big blue eyes which looked dollike. Especially from afar and he was all dolled up in a flowy villager shirt and neat, black trousers. 

   He descended down the stairs slowly. He wasn’t used to walking, either. Too used to zipping and floating about as a ghost.

   “How the hell-?”

   “Uh-uh, not hell. Heaven.” an Angel interjected.

   The voice came from further afar the stairwell’s main flight and Dr. Kogami couldn’t believe his ears, nor his eyes. He would know that voice and that appearance from anywhere.

   “My love.” he gasped.

   He raced up as he let Ryoken and Spectre congregate in the foyer, in the middle of the aged orange and brain tiles. Spectre made the excess fabric on his shirt’s sleeves twirl as he stopped Ryoken from following hot on his Father’s footsteps.

   “Not yet.” Spectre said. “I… I want your attention first, please, Ryoken.”

   “Oh, um, right, sorry, but - but that’s my Mother…?” Ryoken said, looking over and past Spectre’s shoulder impatiently before returning his attention to the human boy in front of him.

   Spectre nodded, “It is. She, um, helped me out. Like a fairy godmother.” Spectre said. “Turns out my aunt and uncles do know someone who knows someone who, um, knows her and she wanted to thank me for preventing your Father from well. Becoming a full-time ghost.”

   “Wow, really?” Ryoken’s eyes went wide.

   “Mmhm.” Spectre mumbled. “But only for one day.”

   “Like Cinderella.” Ryoken said. “Well, we’re going to have to make it worth it then.”

   “Yeah.” Spectre smiled.

   Ryoken quietened down and realised he had something he wanted to ask of Spectre, “So, um, what about your mother?” He asked in a tiny voice.

   Spectre laughed, “In heaven. I asked your mother that too. It, um, turns out they’re friends.”

   “No way.” Ryoken couldn’t believe the odds.

   “So, let’s enjoy our time together though? Please? I’m so… so…” Spectre’s eyes began to fill up with tears of gratitude, his whole body trembled. “I’m so excited to have any time at all with you because um… I have a crush on you!”

   Ryoken blushed. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the confession but he nodded. He wasn’t sure how, if it could work, but for now. Ryoken took Spectre’s hand and that was enough to feel like they were flying on cloud nine.

#respectfulshippingweek2024 #yugioh vrains #vrains #yugioh #spectre (vrains) #ryoken kogami #writing tag #spectre the friendly ghost #originally i was gonna go a bit darker so spekky's a bit ooc but puppydog with a crush spe is so cute #so i don't mind

[rivalsilveryuri]

how do we (pokespe yuri fans) feel about green/crys is there a general consensus about this

Heehee the name for this is lazurite ... ive seen likr. SOME posts out there, but not a lot... since yellow pairigns are more popular.. tbh i think they could actually have a very fun dynamic, but they interact likr. Under five times and its SO sad. Canonically, they seemingly have a good relationship by the time of... emerald-ish? since Crys seems to respect her a lot, and Blue's helped her with the pokedex, but theres not really a. Regular Conversation between them. (Which is kinda a bummer tbh i wish there was more on crys' dynamics with gen 1 dexholders aside from yellow, because i think theres a lot of potential but WHATEVER..)

Since Crys kind of has a very strict black n white view of the rules and authority and. What she perceives as . Wrongdoing, for a while, i think there'd probably be a bit of headbutting at first tbh. Especially since Blue would absolutely not give a shit. So i doubt Blue would take her seriously at first. But I do think their personalities clash in a way thats very fun? Beyond the whole, goodytwoshoes and a con artist thing.

I think they would get along after getting over the initial problems though. But I'm kind of ass at describing HOW.... Likr, Blue isn't the Most open person and imo i don't think she's been in a relationship before either, due to having a LOT of shit going on..... But Crys is pretty honest about her care for people close to her, and i think she'd be understanding of the act she sometimes puts on. While Blue would push her to stick up for herself more, and to take more time for herself. I DO think they could work, they'd just have a couple problems to work through........ also blue would find her loser fail nerd tendencies endearign i think.

I think it's cute! Some other people seem to think similiarly, since there's some art of it out there but it's like. Really rare

#(Also its not really related but Man . Both of Silver's friends want his sister . Poor guy) #VOICEMAIL #SORRY 4 THE ESSAY. i think they actually have a lot of interesting stuff going on #and have some shared sort of trauma #in a similar way to specialjewel does. with the whole being raised to be a Specific Thing. though I'm.. honestly not sure on how Blue feels #about her title and the . specific purpose she was raised for. #IDK if any of this makrs sense or if I've just lost it #sniffles into my hands really loudly. also yeah i like collecting the weird names pokemon gives shipping. specifically spe ones #theres so many of them man #most of them have fun names though. ......except for one of blues #should i make a tag for pokespe rambles. i feel likr im startinf to just write essays on here about pokespe shit....

[hekate-brimo2]

Spes Novum (Aka my Supervillain Story based on the Synoverse by @wingedcat13) Chapter Two is up on AO3 here, but I’m making sure to put it here on Tumblr as well

Several hours passed before I saw Kayla again. I had destroyed several heavy-bags in the gym, and sent more than one set of throwing knives through my target. Eventually I ended up behind my desk, keeping an eye on newsfeeds for any updates about The Patriot and American Girls’ locations. Carson sauntered into my office around nine pm, putting down a plate of food I neither asked for nor wanted.

“Cook insisted I bring you this, said you’d be hungry. I said you’d be too upset to eat.” They said, plopping into the chair across from me

“I know what you’re doing.” I answered, picking up the fork and tearing into the food out of spite

“It’s working though, isn’t it?”

“Cook knows Bangers and Mash reminds me of home.”

“Hmm.”

“You didn’t come in here just to bring me dinner, Cook would’ve done that herself.”

“She wants to talk to you. Kayla.”

I hummed in response, chewing thoughtfully on my sausage

“You don’t have to do it.” Carson murmured, knowing I’d know how they felt

“She is my guest. Thank Cook for me, I’ll finish this when I return.”

I tread through the hallways carefully, lowering the gravity beneath my feet to keep them from tapping too hard on the tile floor. I reached the infirmary quickly, it was a small room, with only three available beds, but was well stocked for all it needed to do. I looked in a nearby mirror and studied myself. I was wearing my costume: a light purple jumpsuit, tight against my skin. My arms were bare, exposing the silver fractal scars I’d received from the Space Between Space. Around my throat and ankles were silver magnetite cuffs that would cancel out my power in the event I lost consciousness, or lost control. Finally, over my mouth and extending below my neck, was a breathing mask, which automatically activated in zero-oxygen environments. I hoped I didn’t look scary showing up like this.

“Kayla.” I said in greeting to the teenager, who was sitting upright in the bed-that-was-also-a-gurney. She had a bandage extending down her left cheek, which meant Doniphon had operated already, and was satisfied with the restructuring of her bone.

“Maestrum Gravis.” She replied in kind, turning over the book she’d been reading

“Pale Blue Dot by Carl Sagan, an interesting choice. I imagine Doniphon talked you into it? He makes every new person he meets read at least the first page. I was told that you wanted to speak with me.”

“I… wanted to thank you.”

“Really? For what, young one?”

“You… you didn’t have to react the way you did. D…Doniphon says you were practically steaming when you saw my black eye, and… uh, Carson? I think was their name, said they were surprised that you didn’t kill my parents, even after I asked you not to.”

“I keep my promises. Did Doniphon mention that your cheek will scar?”

“He did, but that’s fine. Scars are cool.” Kayla said, smirking

“Indeed.” I responded, flexing my arms and making the lichtenberg figures ripple

“Um… I guess I should ask… am I your prisoner now?”

“Why would you think that? No. You were granted sanctuary, originally by my Aide de Camp, but by granting you a bed in my infirmary I continued that offer, and will continue it for as long as you wish.”

“Oh! So… what does that mean?”

“It means you are under my protection for as long as you are within my territory. Granted that territory is not large, there are larger fish in this pond than I, that Shadowmancer claims most of the Western Seaboard, but I have my humble little territory here in Humboldt Bay, and some of Northern California. The Redwoods are home to a Native Hero, the last remaining Whilkut Warrior, who calls himself Blue Lake Rider, but anything North and West of here is mine.”

“Oh… thanks. Why, uh… why did you do that for me?”

“Well… let me answer that question with a question. Why did you come here?”

“I… I needed to get away from my parents, this was… the best option I had.”

“Your best option was a Supervillain?”

Kayla was silent at that, and we sat in it for a moment.

“Your life is your own, Kayla Moore. From here on out, you know that you are welcome in my home whenever you like, if you wish to stay, then stay. I will do whatever is necessary to keep you safe. Sleep on it, and tomorrow we will make plans, if that is what you wish.”

“Thank you, Maestrum.”

“While you’re here, call me Beren.”

I left then, not returning to my office, but instead to my quarters. I shed my costume and showered, leaning against the tile wall and considering the situation. There was so much to do to secure Kayla’s future, I would have to contact one of the I.L.L.E.G.A.L. Lawyers in the morning, they were the best. Emancipation papers would have to be drafted, and living arrangements made. Hell, we’d have to find the girl some clothes first.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a tank top hitting the floor. I shook myself out of my stupor just as Carson stepped into my shower.

“You’re thinking too hard.” They said, joining me under the stream of water, and snaking an arm over my shoulder.

Carson was smaller than me in a lot of ways, shorter, thinner, but somehow they managed to hold me in ways that made me feel small. We’d both transitioned upon discovering the inconsequence of the gender binary, but Carson’s transition was more emotional than physical. Mine was physical as well, which they knew perfectly, demonstrating that knowledge as their hand dipped between my legs and caressed the surgically crafted folds of my vulva. I hummed, pleased, and leaned back against Carson as they continued their ministrations, working me ever closer to an orgasm as they attempted to drive away my thoughts. Soon enough, my own wetness joined the shower’s stream, and Carson removed their thin fingers, wrapping arms around my torso. I held them there as well, as we let the water fall.

“Beren,” they called, later as we lay in bed. “What can we do for her?”

“We can protect her,” I began, voice growing hard, “We can give her time. We can present options. She can have whatever life she wishes, and we will provide it as best we can.”

“That sounds like something parents should do.”

“Then we shall be her parents, in all but name. Well, we shall be better than her parents.”

I felt Carson’s tears against my chest as they said the next four words.

“I always wanted kids.”

I woke early the next morning, extricating myself from Carson’s long limbs just as the sun peeked over the horizon, lighting Humboldt Bay on fire. The view was one of my favorites, and one of the reasons I’d bult my lair here. I watched for a moment, and then stepped into my closet to change.

I did not wear my costume to breakfast, it was a concession I’d made to Cook as soon as she’d joined my retinue. Instead, I pulled on a pair of jeans, and one of the tank tops Carson swore I looked good in. I pulled a flannel over top of it, knowing the air would be cool this early, and went to join Cook and Doniphon for breakfast. This was our ritual: Cook was awake before all of us, as she was the one to provide the food, and the coffee, we would all eat as we watched the sun rise, quiet mostly, but eventually conversation would erupt, about news, or about plans. Afterwards, Tom and I would go to the kitchen and clean our plates, and any mess Cook still had, which was always minimal, and Cook would retire to her quarters to nap. That morning we were joined by an extra face.

“Kayla, Cook, Tom. A pleasure to see you this morning.” I said politely, stepping onto the balcony we traditionally used

“Mornin’ Boss.” Tom answered, raising his coffee cup

“Good Morning, Gravis.” Cook said, cutting into her eggs

“Good Morning, Beren.” Kayla grumbled, holding her coffee with both hands.

Tom and Cook both raised an eyebrow at me, which I shrugged off. I sat down across from Kayla, and began eating my own breakfast. Cook had gone for simple, with eggs and toast, three slices of turkey bacon for me, a sausage patty for herself, and real bacon for both Kayla and Tom. Once the sun was halfway above the horizon, I met Kayla’s eyes and said “Kayla, I was considering your situation last night, and realized that you are probably wanting a new wardrobe, or at least your old clothes. If you are willing, I will happily escort you to buy some, or I will make the effort to retrieve yours, if you’ll give me your old address.”

“I… uh, I can just go get my stuff. It’s no big deal.” She answered, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of me going to her old house.

“I would rather not risk you encountering your parents again. They have harmed you once, enough that my medic had to reattach a bone to your skull.”

“No violence at my breakfast table.” Cook said, glaring at me

“Apologies, dear Cook.”

“Um… is there… I don’t really want to run into them either. There is some stuff I want to get from home though.”

“I’ll make a call, once we’re finished here, and see if there’s anyone who can distract your parents for a few hours, while you retrieve your things. How did you get from your home to here?”

“Oh! I can fly. Not sure where it comes from, neither of my parents can.”

“Powers are rarely that simple, young one. I’m sure Doniphon can tell you all about the genetic mutations that cause them, but that is for later. Once you’ve flown back, join me on the beach, there are other things we need to discuss.”

“Yes… uh, Beren?”

“Yes dear?”

“I don’t… I know you don’t… use masculine or feminine pronouns, so I don’t want to call you Sir or Ma’am, but… what do I use in place?”

“If you feel the honorific is necessary, then… Doctor or Professor would be fine, I’ve been both, though I’m sure Duke revoked my Doctorate when I was branded a Villain, and I’m certainly no longer tenured at U.C. Berkeley. I would prefer you only use Maestrum around other Supers. If none of those suit you, Mx is always acceptable.”

“Okay.”

“Very well. Tom! Shall we collect these ladies plates and wash whatever mess Cook has left us with?”

“Will do, Boss.”

#original writing #superhero #supervillain #superheroes #Spes Novum #HB’s Superpowered Universe #transgender #nonbinary #nonbinary supers #Maestrum Gravis #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

I Know You

- Synopsis: Just before she departs, and travels to Hoenn, Jaide expresses a concern to her brother. - A/N: These are my immediate thoughts about how Jaide knows his true personality, just moments before Gold sets off his little mission which follows the starting events of the H.G.S.S Arc, but with Jaide just inserted. - Word Count: 2,450 (NOT A DRABBLE I GOT CARRIED AWAY LOL)

The lone Apricorn sits at the clean surface of the kitchen counter - it's spherical in shape, and brightly colored to attract the eye of a hungry individual. It's still fresh, and in good shape.

A curious Jumpluff floats around the pretty fruit, and gives it a small nudge with its small forehead. It has a hard exterior, but it rolled away by an inch at the contact started by the cotton Pokémon. Faint chuckles could be heard as Jumpluff stares back at to where the voice came from, and was immediately comforted the moment it looked at its trainer - or companion, as the owner would prefer to see her Pokémon as.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" The owner asked, the sides of her cheeks rose higher as she observes her little friend's adorable act, it made her happy.

The cottonweed creature twirled around in affirmation, it seemed excited to have this fruit turned into a drink to savor. It floated away from the Apricorn and landed on the shoulder of its owner, nestling on her black locks of hair. It's messy by nature, but it felt like home to it. She chuckled at this sweet gesture, and held her Pokémon on her palm.

"We'll get to work soon. Gold still has yet to arrive - he has the rest of the goods, y'know?" She reminded her little friend, poking the little blue cheeks. It looks somewhat irritated at first, probably just over the fact it'd have to wait a little longer - but in the end, it's just a drink it's been dying to take.

Silence covered the room for a bit, letting the dead air fill the ambience for a few moments as the owner sat around to wait for the goods to arrive. Though it wasn't very long until she could register the sounds of loud banter that got increasingly louder when footsteps started to emerge along with faint vibrations that she could feel on her foot - like that of giant stomping from a huge Pokémon. She was sure she heard some muffled conversations and what sounded like faint roaring, but it was all familiar to her anyways.

With a swing of the door, the voice became clear.

"I'm home, Jaide!" a young lad stands from where he pushed the door, he walks forward and proudly greets himself.

The lady, Jaide - turns around to see that it's indeed Gold. He looked a bit messy, little patches of dirt painted his face dark, twigs and leaves got stuck on his shirt but it that didn't matter to her, what did however was his toothy grin that darted at her, reminding her of how lucky she is to have a sweet younger brother.

He was holding a basket full of Apricorns. Just as she requested.

What followed after Gold were his Pokémon as well, Aipom and Typhlosion to be exact. Perhaps he decided to let them tag along to aid him while he was on the job, they looked a little dirty too.

"There you are, Gold!" Jaide beamed excitedly, she could tell he really did his best harvesting the Apricorns that laid around the area and she appreciated his efforts. She walks up to him and takes his cheeks on her palms, rubbing the dirt off his face as he stood there all proud and cocky. "Thank you" she uttered in delight. He shrugged it off, like it was no big deal.

"Of course! It's nothin' much. Besides - I got to hang around with your cool Ursaring! He's really good at locating the Apricorns..."

As he mentioned about her Ursaring - the big bear walks in as well, slowly growling in comfort as it sees Jaide again. The heavy footsteps pounded against the floor as it walks to Jaide, practically asking to be hugged by her, to which she responds by embracing it by the stomach.

"I told you, Usarings have a great sense of smell. Finding berries is probably a walk in a park for these guys." She replies, rubbing her hand against its fur, making the hibernator Pokémon feel all drowsy. "We've been doing this for years. He's got the whole place memorized if his sense of smell fails him ... but I doubt it'll ever fail him." Jaide chuckled as she boasts about her big guy. Jumpluff who still laid on her shoulder mewled in agreement.

Gold looked at Ursaring one more time, before nodding back at Jaide. He recalls the bear being quite fierce and serious when they were outside, but the moment it could be under his sister's warmth, it's like a flick of a switch in the personality - he's all cuddly and wholesome. He smiled at the thought.

"Anyways..." Jaide started. She dusted her hands before picking up the basket of colorful, fresh fruits.

"... Do you want to help me out with the Apricorns?" She asked, though she appeared a little hesitant, her eyes didn't focus entirely on him, and made it look like she was just occupied trying to carry the basket. "I mean, you don't have to ... it's just nice to have company."

She felt that she was being a little pushy with her favors, he did just arrive back after an hour of walking outside. The first request was a genuine favor - although the second one... it's not a need for assistance, but rather - she was seeking an opening to talk about something

No, that was a bad time to ask, She told herself, mentally feeling a twinge of regret as she started to obsess over the mistake. She hid her face by turning her back on him, walking towards the kitchen desk.

It went silent for a bit. Did he really hesitate?

"..."

"Sure!"

Oh, that's a relief. She felt her chin perk up as she feels a sense of relief - though, she couldn't help but wonder why did it take him a bit to respond. Maybe he's just catching his breath.

She turns back to him, and smiles. "Aha, that's wonderful to hear."

"Well, could you wipe the fruits dry as I give them a rinse?"

Gold nods, and follows her behind.

The rest of the hour went well, Gold and Jaide's Pokémon laid in the living room to rest for awhile. Even while the two siblings were trying to help each other, it didn't excuse them from trying to be silly together. Jaide would try to catch his attention, and splash water on his face, earning a hearty laughter from her as Gold immediately recoils back and makes spitting noises, worrying if she happened to splash dirty water or anything alike in his mouth. He stares back at her in disbelief, but recovered immediately as he hears her warm laughter. In the end, they were like best friends, and it felt just right.

The Apricorns were all clean and dry now, and the last thing to do was to create the juice itself. To create the Aprijuice, one must fill the blender with the fruit, with consideration to the taste of course, and it has to brought outside to walk with it, so that it would be mixed altogether to create a delicious drink. Jaide knew this all too well, but it still made Gold tilt his head in confusion - at least he understood the last part.

She giggled at his perplexed look as he watches her do the next sequence, which is choosing fruits that could go in the blender. There's not much for him to do now, so he just observed her.

Perhaps now's the time to bring it up. Jaide had a determined look on her face now, surely they're comfortable enough to discuss something without making it feel rushed.

Taking a deep breath and shutting her view, she gives herself a little cheer and turns back to her brother.

"So, Gold..." she attempts to initiate the topic, while segregating the Apricorns that can enter the blender.

Not really the most confident start, but perhaps it's best to let it start slow.

"There's something I want to talk about."

"Hm?" Gold perked an eyebrow up. "Yeah?"

She hesitated for a bit, her palms began to shake a bit.

"...You know that ... I'll be away from here for, a long time right?"

"..."

He stayed silent, whether he was a speechless at this sudden shift in mood, or he was still letting her finish - she pressed on with her topic at hand. She finished a few bottles of fruits, and paused to speak.

"Gold, I'll be... going to Hoenn, and, y'know - In Mossdeep City, and well, I'll be starting something new there."

Jaide started to rub her ring finger, feeling something cold, and metal hug around it. That something means a lot to her now, but she doesn't know how he'll take this.

She felt partially embarrassed, she didn't want to be too obvious with her point, but enough to make him understand the context, though beating around the bush is ticking her off as she struggled to come up with more lighter words to tone down the central message. She decides to rephrase herself, no sugarcoating.

"I won't be with you as much anymore."

"I'm sure you know that." Jaide felt her heart sank as she finally got her words out, it was easy to read - but never easy to say.

Gold simply stared blankly at her. It was hard to read his emotions, but she knew that he's beginning to harbor some emotions over this.

"So... I just wanted to ask, while we still have time." her eyes lowered to her hands, fidgeting with her fingers - they were interlocked and rubbing against each other, she was trying her best to steer clear into this topic without breaking.

"... if you have any worries, or feelings... or anything that makes you afraid." she continues.

"We can talk- no, I want to talk about it. I want to know that you will be okay when I'm away."

Her eyebrows furrowed in determination, her voice was soft, but there's a sense of force and seriousness to her tone, and she's not going to play hide and seek anymore.

"Gold, do you have any bad feelings recently?"

She scooted closer to him, though she only realized now that his gaze was away from her, and only staring at the kitchen counter's shiny, reflective surface.

She didn't want to talk further, and allowed him to take his time to respond, or at least come up with something to her hefty line of conversation.

Negative thoughts starts to kick in overdrive as she stares at Gold's turned face, she can only look at his messy hair and goggles that fitted on to his backwards cap nicely.

Was she too harsh now?

Am I a bad sister for wanting something new? Mom will still be there to watch over you, Gold - you're not entirely alone...

"Haha, what got you thinking all of that, sis?"

Huh?

"I'm no baby, Jaide! I'm totally okay! I can handle it"

Gold finally responded, with his signature cocky grin, casually rubbing his index under his nose as he poked a joke at her. He pulled his hands to the back of his neck, and rested his head on his palms - pointing his elbows on the air without a care - he seems so blissfully ignorant over how emotionally heavy this is for Jaide, supposedly and especially for him, too.

It was her turn to stand there in silence. Her throat is clogged as she was unsure how to take in that reaction he pulled just now. Should she be mad?

"C'mon Jaide, you sound so scared! I'll be okaaaay, all good! I got Emoboy and Hall Monitor girlie with me, I don't sound so lonely, now do I?" he was strangely happy. She knows he's not trying to offend her, but it hurt her deep inside when she's here, struggling to talk about it but he responds so casually, almost as if this is just a normal conversation to talk about. It feels, so off.

Gold looks back at her Apriblenders filled with Apricorns, and snickers. "Yo, I think you're the one tired. Let me go juice these bad boys while you go rest!" He grabs the containers, seals then and slides them in his messenger bag without a single comment from his sister - it's almost as if he was trying to shift the topic.

He must be hiding something.

"W-wait, Gold, but-"

"Nuh-uh! You go sit down there with Ataro, and your big teddy bear guy with the fluffy cotton girl!" he pushes her to the living room, where the mentioned Pokémon slept peacefully. He sits her down on the couch and tries to let her relax.

"I'll be out to go jog! Nothing wrong with breaking another bucket of sweat, no problem. This is how I can impress the pretty kimono girls out there too!"

He just kept talking, and talking - Jaide had no entry to even interrupt him.

"I'll be back with yummy drinks that you can sell! I know you're way better with money than me, right? I'm doing this for you!"

And then it clicked to her.

Ah, so this is how you're playing, dear brother?

She chuckles, she won't pry him further to answer her question. He already answered it.

"Ahah, sure... Gold. You go impress those kimono girls." she smiled back at him, resting her palm on her rosy cheeks. "Be safe, okay?"

"Yup. Will do."

He nods enthusiastically. Gold skips backwards to the door, still grinning back at her. He places two fingers in mouth and whistles for his Typhlosion to wake up. The fiery companion immediately responds to his command, and runs to him - waiting for his next signal.

He salutes her and gets on his Typhlosion's back, ready to leave the house.

"See ya in a bit Jaide!"

He waves at her, and commands his partner to walk. They both leave the house, kicking the door open on the way out.

Jaide kept her face bright until he left the house, her smile fades into that of a sad realization. Getting up from the couch, she walks over to the open door, and watches her brother speed away - her vision of him eventually becomes smaller and smaller, until he's nowhere on sight to be seen. She lets out a disappointed sigh.

You weren't being honest with me, were you?

Gold, you're afraid,

You're afraid to open up your feelings and worries.

You're afraid to tell me you'll miss me.

You're lying to yourself, Gold.

#and that's it #this is semi-canon to the spe!jaide story because there are a few conflicting key points but in terms of characterization- #-this is very accurate to me #dont feel obliged to reblog especially for those who dont know much of whats going on ehe im just here to dump my brain out #buuut yeah! #pokespe hours #🍀 s/i: jaide (mangaverse) #gold.fam #🍀 my writing #jaide (mangaverse).insert

[kuroshirosb]

Cryophobia | Drabble

Cheren does not like the cold. It’s uncomfortable, it’s annoying, it causes every bone in your body to shake, it numbs you until it hurts, and makes no discretion between who deserves to live and die.

If there’s one thing he’s known from stories: you cannot show weakness to the cold, or else it will exploit you until your last chilled breath. Whether it take away your food, your movement, your power, it will find the one weakness in your defense and make you regret defying it. And every time Cheren wakes up to snow outside his house, shoveling it, watching Black and Bianca play among it, feeling it nip at his nose, he can only recall the stories that haunt his brain. Stories of people slowly falling victim to the unfeeling, wrathful claws of the cold no matter how hard they fight.

So when he and Black approach the cold storage, he can only shiver (in the warmth of summer), at the thought of even setting foot in there. He wouldn’t be stranded, the exit was there, but what if he got locked in alone, no one to help, and forced to fend for his measily life against Kyurem, who breathes down his neck at least three months a year already.

He hates that he can liken his pokemon journey to it too. Around half of it, at the very least, with no memory of it, just a singular feeling. Uncomfortable, desolate, numb, cold. With ice burning at his mind, his blood hunting for warmth and evading his brain. Like a tree in a blizzard with no leaves nor pine on its branches. Not a singular memory outside of this emotion. In fact, one of the few things he last recalls is the literal, death calling, chill.

He felt nothing but an empty snow storm in his body for so long, knowing nothing else but it. Only for it to clear, and for him to see the forest he was a part of was missing one less tree. A tree who seemed to have leaves no matter how much the storm raged.

Apparently people thought he was cold too. Unfeeling to those around him, acting horrible to his partners who were meant to support him. He surely wishes he could remember it, but for now he can only sit at his bed side and weakly ask Snivy once again for forgiveness. Only to get a reassuring pat and cry of affirmation. He wonders what he did to deserve such wonderful partners.

Ice types are strong against grass types, after all.

Maybe he had a weakness, he got exploited, just as the literal thing he hates exploits all. One that took his power, his agency. A cold so freezing it was what spread the type he knows the longest. One that frostbit his fingers, his legs, his mind, until he couldn’t move at all.

The cold that, while doesn’t take everyone, was the one that took him.

He doesn’t know what he fears more now. The one that looks over everything, the one he knows best of all, or the one killed only him.

It bothers Cheren.

#i listened to Jacob Geller’s essay on fear of the cold and wow that sure sucks #cheren… #rival cheren #trainer cheren #pokemon #i was gonna make like a ramble on how scary the cold is and like the feeling of being cold #and relate it back to cheren #but I’m not good at writing analyses #so I just wrote it instead #pokemon black and white #bw #god I love overanalyzing my favorite characters #Ashe’s fics #pokespe #pokemon special #pokemon adventures #this was originally supposed to be game bw related because I remember more of that but I think what the cold can represent i #is more aligned with his spe counterpart. even if it’s been a HOT minute since I’ve read spe #but it’s still very bw aligned. something something cheren wanting to feel truly alive line. something

[lycankeyy]

Sorry for everyone who follows my projects having to deal with my unmedicated adhd ass jumping from project to project every five seconds with no guarantee on when anything will actually get finished if ever

#ive gone from planning on working in spe aus to writing the next glitchdex fic to starting the jonagold story to #starting an art twitter to working on p/kepasta projects to wanting to make an ask blog to starting writinf a fic instead #and now i want to start a dedciated platinum playthrough unrelated to anything im supposed to be doing and finish the game by pkmn day #all within the span of like. a week and a half i thinkINJDNJISINUDINJ #💛 #i will do some more work on my au carrd and then play pkmn maybe #maybe platinum will be my non-work thing because my hgss au tehcnically Is work as im planning out a fic for it as i go NJIDNJISJIND

[spaceroadtrip]

Finished my first draft of Spes Super Sydera today! 114000 words and absolutely no notes for it whatsover! I'm proud of myself for managing but now I've to figure out how to unravel the mystery part of those plot because I only discovered what it was while writing it.

But that's for later!me to worry about. Current!me gets to celebrate finishing the first draft!!!

#writing #am writing #my writing #spes super sydera #draft 1 #think editing about half while be my camp nano project this year #gives me about a week to step away from it #definitely need that

[a-spes]

| PRETTY FACES, DARK SOULS - part two (4.070 words).

| Summary - you rob the wrong person, and she makes sure that you pay your debts, willingly or not.

| Tags & warnings - Men & minors DNI, Dark CEO!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, nothing else for the moment (I think?)

| MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

When Natasha realised that you left nothing to her, taking even her cheque book, she had to call her sister, asking her to come and pay for her. Even if she tried to be as nice as she could in such a situation, she couldn’t keep her words from being harsh.

She couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt so humiliated. Natasha Romanoff, known as one of the most successful entrepreneurs of her generation, having to explain to the waiter that she can’t pay, having to ask her sister for money. It is something that shouldn’t have happened, something that needed to be repaired. 

If one thing was sure, it’s that Yelena has not been happy to be woken up by her sister’s bad mood, but she complied with her request without questioning it, knowing better than to argue with her eldest. 

“Don’t you dare to say a word", she warned when she eventually saw the blonde approaching the table.

She had been sitting here for almost an hour, waiting for her sister who decided to take her time. It was a childish way of avenging the brutal awakening she underwent, and the redhead would certainly have laughed if she wasn’t already irritated, and the youngest’s attitude only made it worse.

On the contrary, when Yelena saw her sister sitting at the table, she forgot about her bitterness, realizing how funny the situation was. She never could’ve imagined her sister calling her because she needed money. She is one of the richest people that exist on earth, and one of the most far-sighted at the same time. She always has her phone, at least two cards, her cheque book, and an absurd amount of cash, just in case.

The smile that grows on her face as she realizes how improbable the situation is earns her a slap on the back of the head, and Natasha never holds back her strength.

“Ouch!" She said, rubbing where she was hit, “it hurts!” She complained, but her sister doesn’t seem to care. In a second, the smile disappeared, giving way to a dark look.

“Shut up", the redhead said, rolling her eyes. She knows her sister as the back of her hand, and she also knows that the strength she put in that slap wasn’t enough to hurt her. She probably barely felt it, and is just too much of a cry baby sometimes. Something that’s pissing off the redhead that is in no mood for that kind of game. “Shut up, or you’ll learn what real pain is", she added, not even trying to hide the threat behind her words.

“You’ve no right to snap at me when I came all the way just to help you", she protested, and if they both knew she was right, her words were greeted by a simple sigh from the redhead who ran her hand over her face. No apologies, just silence. 

She couldn’t even remember the last time she witnessed her sister in such a state of distress, but she knows that nothing good came out of it. If she enjoys it when the oldest terrifies her men, she fears the incensed decisions she will inevitably make.

She could burn the whole city if she wanted to.

And Natasha has to admit that the thought crossed her mind a few times while she was waiting for the blonde to show up. She was barely able to control her anger, and couldn’t help but bounce her right leg under the table while her fingers were tapping on the table. But none of these actions helped to calm her nerves.

“I abandoned really important things, you know”, she added, as she took her wallet out of her pocket to put it in her sister’s hand. She had outstretched it toward her, and Yelena didn’t need words to understand what the redhead wanted. “All of that because you forgot your wallet …", she mumbled under her breath, but obviously the other heard it.

“I didn’t forget my wallet, it has been stolen”, she muttered, as if it could make the situation less embarrassing, as if she hoped her sister wouldn’t hear, but none of these statements turned out to be true. 

“You’re joking, right?” she asked back, not believing the oldest. “You can tell me, I won’t tell anyone if that’s the case”, she added, sure that her sister was lying to her in an attempt to hide what she probably considered as a weakness.

That’s what her sister always does. Most of the time, she is perfect, but when she inevitably makes mistakes, she always finds excuses. She blames her men, runs away, or pretends it has never happened, and Yelena feels like it’s exactly what’s happening right now. She is thinking that her sister has forgotten her wallet, but doesn't want to admit it. 

Maybe because the idea of Natasha being robbed sounds unbelievable.

“I am not lying, someone stole me”, she said again, and her sister better not make her repeat it a third time because she will really lose her temper this time. Everytime she said it out loud, it only made it a bit more real, as if she couldn’t quite believe it before. But the realization is now sinking in, and she feels like she is becoming crazy with all the thoughts that are crossing her mind at the moment. “They took everything", she angrily added, throwing the empty wallet on the table, only for the youngest to check.

And her sister was right. They took everything, not leaving a single penny. The blonde was so shocked that she didn’t even know how to react.

“But … who’s stupid enough to steal things from The Natasha Romanoff?” She managed to ask, once the initial surprise had worn off, “and how did that even happen?” she added, looking at her sister who was now pacing up and down the terrace.

But she knew she wouldn’t get an answer, at least no today. Her sister was ignoring her voice, too busy mumbling things to herself, and she would probably be thrown over the edge if she interrupts, so she waited for them to be in the car to talk again.

She didn’t even complain when the oldest stole her keys, deciding that she will be the one to drive without even asking first. The blonde slipped in the passenger seat, muttering a few insults that Natasha pretends not to hear.

“So, what do you want us to do?” she eventually asked after they’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes. She was looking at the redhead, the one who was staring at the road, lost in her thoughts. 

“Nothing,” she replied, and brought back to reality by the question, she started the car, trying to ignore the look of surprise on her sister’s face. 

“Nothing?” she repeated, “so you’re just going to let them go away when they robbed you?” she continued, and the lack of reaction from her sister made her want to shake her sister to get her thinking straight.

“Nothing yet” she corrected her, putting an end to Yelena’s protests. Despite what the other may think, she doesn’t intend to let the culprit be forgiven. It has never been her intention, and she knows exactly what to do to get every penny back.

When she notices the determination in the eyes of the oldest, she knew the next months were going to be interesting. She smirks at the thought.

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧

This time was the last. 

That’s what you said to yourself after every theft, and it has never been true, because you never earned enough to get out of this situation. What you were stealing was usually just enough for you to survive a few weeks, and even if you kept telling that to yourself, you stopped believing that it could become a reality. 

It was nothing more than a dream, you head knew it, even if your heart never stopped dreaming about a future brighter than your present. Every night, the day you would eventually be out of misery was the last thing you were thinking about, and you spent hours imagining how it would look like. 

You wanted an apartment that would be big enough to welcome the friends you would have made, and a job that you appreciate, but about which you would still complain. 

At first, it was only about stealing the essentials, a jumper or an apple for which you would feel guilty for days. It’s when you stopped fearing that someone would catch you that you’ve started to think bigger. The few people who witnessed your theft generally decided that they weren’t paid enough to come after you, a little girl isn't worth their energy.

The years have gone by, and if the number of your victims increased, your wealth hasn’t. That’s when you realized that stealing money from the tourists in the street was not what would give you a better life, and decided to go after the richest people on the earth, the ones that probably wouldn’t even notice if you’d taken a few hundred dollars from their wallet.

One day, you’ll be making so much money that you will be able to pay for your debts.

Slowly, this need to survive has turned into a need for a life where you would have something to call yours. You didn’t want something to eat, you wanted an apartment. You didn’t want stolen clothes, you wanted something bought with your own money. Even a cup or a pen would be enough, as long as you could claim it as yours. 

One day, you’ll deserve everything you have.

You stopped stealing almost two years ago, when you eventually raised enough money to start a new life, and the dream became a reality. It took you a lot of time and effort, but you eventually got exactly where you’ve been dreaming of being since your teenage years.

It was thanks to the inattention of this woman who hadn’t blocked her card when it was stolen, neither she declared her cheque book stolen, allowing you to use it as you wished for months. Usually, your victims are quick to solve the problem, leaving you only with the few notes you stole from their wallets.

But this time, you were left with more money than you ever had, more than enough to buy a ticket to another city, and still being able to buy essential supplies after. You could leave, rent a room for a few weeks, just until you find a job and get your first pay, you could even buy some new clothes, and you would still have enough money.

At first, you thought there was a catch, but the days have gone by, they became weeks, months, then years, and if the card and the cheque book never stopped working, nothing bad happened. No one ever knocked at your door, no letter got sent, and the feeling of dread you felt every time you paid has finally disappeared.

Maybe she forgot. Maybe she didn’t even notice. Maybe there was a problem that never got fixed. Maybe it’s just taking a lot of time. You have no idea, but you can’t help but wonder why, thinking about all the reasons that must have led to that situation.

It is fate. 

That’s what a part of your mind is whispering to you, and you ask nothing more than being able to believe it, the other part trying to understand the situation without being able to make sense of it. Even after two years, the question was still in the back of your mind, and you’re almost sure that you could still use the card if you wanted to.

But you don’t, because you made a promise to yourself. You swore that, the moment you would earn enough money to support yourself, you would stop using hers. It has been a bit more than a year since you found your job, and this part of your life feels so foreign now. The only reminder of your past is that box, where you’re keeping all the cards, cheque books, and wallets you once stole. The one that’s hidden in your closet, where no one could see it, not even yourself. The one that contains a past you want to forget about. 

You now have a job, an apartment, and you even made some friends on the way. They’re good people, hanging out with them makes you feel like you are too. They never asked questions about where you’re coming from, because they don’t need to know, they’re just appreciating you as you are. The grown-up version of who you were once.

When late at night guilt gnaws at your mind, you’re thinking about their compliments. When the sadness at the thought of your younger self never being loved that way, your memories with them remind you that you succeed to become someone that can be loved.

Someone that deserves everything she has.

There is only one person that had glimpses of who you were, and it’s Kate Bishop. Even if you’ve tried to keep your secrets away from her, it’s hard to do so when you’re spending all your days and nights with someone so curious.

Kate is a coworker, a roommate, but mostly your closest friend. It’s not because she understands you more than anyone else. It’s because she never makes a big deal of anything, and you know nothing you could tell her about you would change the way she acts around you. This girl is everything you want to be: free and happy.

Someone that doesn’t care about social norms. 

She would sneak into your room in the middle of the night just because she heard you cry. She wouldn’t even ask questions about the reasons behind the tears, only complaining about how thin the walls are, and how she can’t sleep because of that. 

She would go through your belongings when she needs something but she can’t ask you because you’re not home, only telling you when she gives the objects back.

She would answer your phone when it’s ringing while you’re in another room or your hands busy, holding the conversation as if the calls were intended for her. 

That’s how she discovered you were looking for a new place to stay. You’ve only been coworkers for a few months when she answered your phone. It was the social worker who called to tell you that you’ll have to move out of your flat within the next weeks because you no longer meet the criterias.

Your first reaction was to yell at Kate. It has been the first and only time you’ve done it, usually not minding when she does it. 

But this time it was different: you were scared. You didn’t know her a lot at that time, and you were fearing that this call would destroy the relationship you had started to build. You put so much effort into pretending that everything was fine, and had always been that way, that you thought the truth coming out would ruin everything.

She was the first relationship that you didn’t build on lies, at least not on the big ones. She also has been the first to be able to hold a conversation with you for a while. Not Lydia, or any name you might have borrowed by the past, but just y/n.

When you’ve spent your whole life lying, it’s not easy to know who you are.

It was a bad habit that you had a hard time quitting, still having the urge to lie about some details. Maybe to appear as a more interesting person, maybe because you are afraid to disappoint them. 

No, it’s because it’s comforting.

It’s what gave you a bit of hope, what gave you the impression that you had a normal life. You’ve never been interested in living the marvelous lives of your alias, you just wanted a normal one for you. Maybe if you tell these stories a lot of time, your mind will accept them as reality. 

Over the years, lying became more than a habit: it was an addiction. You felt bad every time you lied to the black-haired, even if it was only about small and insignificant things, like your favourite colour, but you couldn’t just stop. It’s only that day that you realised that it might ruin everything between the two of you.

Everything has been so easy since you met Kate. You never felt like you were too much, or in the wrong place, because she always made sure to integrate you into the team, and you’re still regretting the words that fell from your lips that day. 

She was the first genuine friend you’ve made, and that’s how you thanked her kindness, with snide remarks that she didn’t deserve.

For a minute, you saw yourself back there. In that lonely and miserable place.

But she didn’t get angry. Nor for the lies, nor for the horrible things you said. She didn’t look at you with pity, but with something that was closer to surprise, as if she couldn’t quite understand your reaction, but knew enough to not judge. That’s when she asked you to be her flatmate.

Kate was the first one to learn about your favourite colour, the real one, and all your daily habits. From your favourite thing to eat for breakfast to the time you get up, she knows things you never thought you would share with someone one day. Kate has been the first one to see y/n. The one that doesn’t wear any mask, the one that does not need to pretend she is someone else.

Then, it was your turn.

Tonight, when you’re looking in the mirror, the only thing you can see is your smile. A bright, and big one. Even with makeup on, you are not looking or feeling as anyone else than yourself. Every choice has been made by you to suit your taste. 

“Are you done yet?” She asked, and you could hear Kate’s muffled voice through the bathroom’s door, “we’re going to be late!” She complained for what’s probably the tenth time in the last quarter, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she was stamping her foot on the other side of the door, throwing a tantrum like a child.

“Isn’t it what celebrities are supposed to do?” you replied, a smug smile on your face as you eventually opened the door after spending more than an hour in the room. 

Everything needs to be perfect, and perfection demands time, something your impatient roommate doesn’t seem to agree with. The second you stepped out of the bathroom, she grabbed your arm.

“That’s not funny!” she exclaimed as she started dragging you toward the entrance. You couldn’t help, but roll your eyes at her attitude.

You know that the real reason behind her actions isn’t a concern for punctuality, Kate always being late, but just a result of her excitement for the evening that’s coming: some friends of hers are going to play music in a bar, and she doesn’t want to miss even a second of the show. A simple glance at the clock confirms what you were thinking: you’re not late. 

But you also know it’s useless to argue with the black haired woman when she is in that state of mind, so you just go along with it, letting your friend drag you toward the entrance. You have just enough time to grab your bag before you leave the apartment.

You are too focused on your footsteps to be listening to her rambling about the coming party, trying to not trip on your own feet. But she isn’t listening to you either, deaf to your pleas for her to slow down, or to let go of your arm, and it’s only when you arrive at the said bar that you get your freedom back. 

✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧ • ✧

She never forgot.

She has been thinking about what happened that night every day since. The years have gone by, but it never left her mind, and picturing all the ways in which she could get back what you owe her was soothing her to sleep every night.

Despite her impatience, she took her time, waiting for the moment you would’ve forgotten about her, when you would let your guard down, thinking that your past mistakes had been forgotten, and forgiven. Maybe your previous victims did, but she has nothing in common with these guys, and chasing you wasn’t about the money. It was about dignity.

She needed to make you feel the same shame that she had that morning. 

Some of her associates don’t understand her obsession, even her sister sometimes suggested that she let it go, fearing that it would jeopardize the company. But she stayed firm; you started a game that night, and she is not the kind that appreciates losing.

She is determined to show you that two can play that game.

It wasn’t difficult to track you down. The only obstacle had been the false identity you built for yourself, but it had only been a matter of months before she found you, there was no way she couldn’t recognize your face on the security tape. It was in the middle of the night, one of those where she couldn’t sleep, and eventually decided that she would rather look for you instead of tossing and turning in her bed, consumed by her thoughts.

That’s when she found it, a footage from a shop’s security camera where your face appeared. You were nothing like the woman she met at the party, from your hair to the way you were moving, you definitely had none of Lydia’s elegance, and she couldn’t even understand how you’ve been able to pretend to be her, and how you’ve possibly been good enough to fool her, The Natasha Romanoff.

But despite the numerous differences, she was sure it was you on that video. There were details you couldn’t change, and the shape of your jaw was one of them. She could still see your face as she had you pinned beneath her that night, her fingers running along your cheeks, wishing that moment would last forever. 

Since then, she kept collecting these videos as a kid would collect cards, watching them regularly. The footage made everything make sense, and you seemed closer than ever as she kept hitting the replay button.

She had to admit that you are smart, but not smart enough, and everytime you used the card was one more clue guiding her in the right direction. At first, she was able to track your movements, it only took her a few more weeks before she discovered your identity, and more importantly, learned about your past.

A few weeks, that’s all it took, yet she had waited several years before going after you, deciding it was the right time only when you started building a new life for yourself. You moved to a city where no one knew your name, you got a normal job, and haven’t stolen since. You even made some friends. You got the life you have probably dreamed about since your teenage years, and she knew that perfectly. 

She also knew that the moment she would break your illusion of peace, and steal your hope of a better life, you’ll be heartbroken. Hopeless.

She saw how, as the years went by, you started to be less cautious, thinking that your past mistakes were nothing more than faded memories in your mind. She saw how you eventually stopped looking around every time you were going out, how you started opening up to your friends, seeming to forget about what you have done. 

But she didn’t forget, and she promised herself that you wouldn’t either. It’s only fair that you pay for your mistakes, isn’t it? 

She started the car when she saw you, and Kate, disappear round the corner. You were obviously out for the night, and it was the perfect opportunity. No one would pay attention to the disappearance of a girl, not in a crowded, dark place that reeked of alcohol and illegal substances.

| MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| part one. part two.

| tag list - @thalia-is-not-ok / @tobiaslut

#a spes writing #pretty faces dark souls #marvel fanfiction #marvel cinematic universe #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #black widow fanfiction #dark natasha romanoff #black widow x reader #reader insert #female reader

[spesphire]

I don't know the fuck has gotten to my algorithm but I sure can't stress enough to see another relationship meme istg. Also BABIES?? fuken babies??

ohh fuck off george, i hate you and your balls that's what it is

I can tolerate fictional fantasy relationships or the gay ones but A STRAIGHT ONE?? it's pure torture i'm telling you.

Don't have a single penny in my pocket, can't leave my house, don't have my own place, can't eat what i like, don't have friends, no skincare routine and my cells are dying, if this isn't normal for teens like me then you might as well consider me dead.

so my thing is, i WILL look for my one and only but just not now, I can barely take care of myself or can even love myself. So if the stupid INSTAGRAM DARESS to show me that STUPID couple thing EVER in my face, I will curse you for your eternal doom so MIND YOU!

#sorry um yeah just wanted to vent #well this is my vent blog soo yeah you get it i guess #if i write only suicidal thots come to my brain so fuck it you know #me sometimes wanna be tumblr famous but like mehh ig #okk byee #spes does the diary thing

[75-spectrekestis]

Trying to write the sequel to spes has mostly consisted of:

*where are the trouble twins?*

*Can you survive being blown up?*

*which twins was I writing about this time?*

*There are the trouble twins!*

*why are kanan and Ahsoka bickering this time???*

#sometimes I wish they would listen to me #lol #fic: iam tota spes #cass writes #kanan jarrus #ahsoka tano #sw

[sundrop-writes]

Careful - Chapter One

(Dad)Spencer Reid x (Mom)Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Over Yet

We can go farther, beyond the end.

Summary:

You and Spencer broke up more than four years ago. Since then, he has tried his best to forget about you. He has pushed all of his feelings down - locked them away into a little box that he never touches.

That is, until he sees your name on a list of potential victims being stalked and killed by a man who kills single mothers. (And he quickly realizes that your son could be his.)

Dad!Spencer Reid x Mom!Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Angst.

Word Count: 5,900

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

Please keep in mind - I am not doing a taglist for this series, so please do not ask to be tagged in future parts. I do not do taglists. If you want to be notified when future parts of this fic are posted, you can follow this blog and turn on notifications here - I don't make personal posts on this blog, it is just pure posts of my fanfiction. Or you can subcribe on AO3 to get email notifications when this series is posted. You can also view the posting schedule on the series materlist and check @tenpintsof-sundrop for any information about possible changes to that schedule.

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general warnings for a Criminal Minds episode - mentions of murder/killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of killing, somewhat graphic descriptions of dead bodies, the underlying misogyny that comes with a man killing women, mentions of children being orphaned due to their mothers being killed (though there is no mentions of other living family members taking care of those children - you can imaging that they still have nice families to take care of them if you want, I didn’t fill in that detail), mentions of children being in proximity of a serial killer; exes to lovers - the reader and Spencer broke up and the reason why will be revealed later; mentions of pregnancy/mentions of the reader having a child; mentions of sex that resulted in a child/pregnancy (there is no detailed sex scenes/detailed smut in this chapter, but there will be in other chapters); mentions of JJ x Will; the reader’s looks are described as vaguely as possible; passing mention of incest (in the context of a historical figure); all statements that Spencer makes toward the end of this chapter were heavily researched and are factual; I think that’s about it?

A/N: The reader and Spencer originally dated around Season 1/Season 2 - I state at some point during the fic that they dated for 3 years before breaking up, so they started dating when he was very early Season 1 baby Spence (or even before Season 1) and they broke up around Season 2. So technically this fic takes place around Season 6 - but because I didn't want to distract from the plot, I didn't mention any of the stuff going on with Emily or any of those major canon plot points, and I am using pictures of later versions of Spencer just because that's who I was picturing in my head while writing this. But that's how the math works out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the fic!! This chapter is more of an introduction before we really get into the meat of things, but I still hope that you guys like it.

...

The team had been in Portland for three days.

No leads, a confusing, inconsistent profile - huge pieces missing that would likely give them the real answers. 

A patient killer with an extended timeline who likely wouldn’t kill again for months - leaving them chasing their tails, looking for answers. 

“Okay, so, let’s take a step back.” Hotch sighed. “What do we know so far?” 

He leaned against a nearby table, looking at everyone with the hope of reassessing the case from a different angle. The hope of talking it out to get some answers. 

Another woman’s body had been found just before they arrived, and that would mean that the UnSub would be out hunting again soon. This was both good and bad. 

Good, because the UnSub clearly had to spend a lot of time stalking his victims - he knew a lot of details of their lives, and he had spent a lot of time developing an intimate fantasy of being a part of their family in his mind. So he wouldn’t be killing again the next day. No woman was in immediate danger. It gave the team more time to find viable suspects. 

Bad because they had no physical evidence, no good leads. And thus far, the profile was leading them nowhere. It felt incomplete. 

They could find no real connections between the victims - their gyms, their banks, their childcare, their grocery stores. Somehow, the victims didn’t seem to have any crossover in their lives. There was no real way to say how the UnSub had met them. And someone like this - he would have interacted with them at least once in order to become obsessed and stalk them to this degree. 

“Five women dead within the last three years.” Prentiss announced, starting to round up the facts that the team knew for certain. “All of them mothers, all with children under the age of five. All within the same ten square mile radius of Oregon, around Portland’s suburban neighborhoods.” 

She slumped back into her chair with a tired huff, and then continued. 

“The UnSub breaks into their homes through a backdoor or a back window, and somehow goes undetected in such an upscale neighborhood.” She sighed. “He kills the mothers, but he leaves their children alive. And then he calls 9-1-1 to report the death as a case of child neglect.” 

“So he was likely neglected by his own mother in his childhood.” Morgan easily theorized. 

“All of the victims upper-middle class, single mothers to one child with good jobs. All of them are of the same physical type.” Rossi added on. “They’re the same race, they have the hair color, they’re the same body type - all in their late twenties to early thirties. So the UnSub definitely has a type. He’s most definitely recreating a fantasy of some kind - perhaps taking out revenge on his own mother, but protecting himself. Which is why he never hurts the children.” 

“Yeah, but the children are different.” Morgan replied. “Sometimes boys, sometimes girls. Some of them are biracial - he doesn’t look for a specific type in the father. He doesn’t necessarily need to see himself in the children.” 

Then, as another thought occurred to him, Morgan continued on: 

“Plus, the children’s ages vary from barely a year old all the way up to five - if he was looking to seek revenge on his mother, looking to protect a younger version of himself, then he would have locked in on a critical event that he needs to protect himself from. The age of the children would be more consistent, at least, because he would be looking to protect himself as he hits the age that he was most traumatized by a specific event.” 

“That’s good.” Hotch nodded. “Then we know that it’s more about the mothers. He hates women at his core. Protecting the children is just a byproduct of his obsession over these women.” 

“But we still have no clue how these women could be connected or how they met the UnSub.” Morgan replied, jaw stiff with frustration. 

“Focus on what we do know.” Hotch reminded him. 

“All of the women were killed via stabbing. They all had over a dozen stab wounds to their stomachs and genital areas.” Rossi replied. “So, he is an aggressive sexual sadist.” 

“But if he hates women so much, why spend so much time in the house?” Morgan argued gently. “Every single one of these scenes has evidence that the UnSub spent hours - possibly up to a day in the house before he killed them. He cooked dinner, set the table, and made the women eat it before he killed them. Including a second place setting for a child. Some of the kids even said that ‘the scary man’ tucked them into bed and read them a story.” 

He held up one of the crime scene photos that depicted the scene of the family’s place settings - a haunting scene of plates not cleaned up from dinner, with a flower vase sitting in the middle of the table with a few white flowers wilting inside of it. 

“He’s right - why bother to show them the kindness of a last meal if he shows so much aggression toward them during the killing?” Prentiss added on. 

“It’s a routine.” Hotch said, the thought suddenly occurring to him. “It’s likely that he chooses single mothers because he gets to play the role of the father. With the real father figure absent from the picture, it makes it easier for him to impose himself into that role. At least for a temporary amount of time.” 

“It is strange.” Reid added on, clearly swimming in thought. “It’s almost like he’s courting them? Sending them gifts, showing what a good father he could be. Each of the women were sent white carnations sometime in the days before they were killed, and after the killing, he lays the flowers around their head in a halo-like fashion. It is said that carnations represent motherhood, and the white shade could depict an angelic innocence that he’s projecting onto these women.” 

“So he views these women as angelic figures, yet he kills them so brutally?” Prentiss scoffed. “It just doesn’t add up.” 

“Maybe he views the killing itself as a type of purification.” Reid theorized. “It’s not uncommon for killers to emotionally fetishize dead bodies and consider them more ‘pure’ than their living counterparts.” 

Prentiss visibly cringed at this. 

“Wait.” JJ said, looking at one of the crime scene photos with a sharp line pulling her brows together. 

Everyone looked to her, waiting for her to finish this thought. 

“I don’t think that the mothers were the only ones sent gifts.” 

She held up the photo, showing a picture of a colorful child’s play mat in the living room. Everyone stared at the photo in confusion, and JJ sighed and began to explain. 

“Look at this toy truck in the middle.” She said, pointing at something that almost blended into the background of the photo. The true focus was a large handprint - one that belonged to the killer, but he had worn gloves. “It’s wooden, it’s hand-carved, it’s old fashioned. All the other toys are plastic, brightly coloured. Remember what the UnSub said in the second 9-1-1 call?” 

“‘She pretends to have her son’s best interests at heart, but she was going to let him get cancer from sucking on those cheap plastic toys.’” Reid said, repeating it word-for-word, using his impeccable memory. 

“Exactly.” JJ confirmed with a nod. “Clearly the UnSub believes that he would be a good father because he can gift his child something hand-made instead of something mass produced.” 

“Alright, get the crime scene techs back over there to pick up the truck, maybe he wasn’t wearing gloves when he made it and there is some slim chance he left a print on it.” Hotch said, and JJ left to call the crime scene unit. 

This left the team sitting in silence for a few more moments until Reid spoke up again. 

“What about preschools?” He said, suddenly coming out of a wave of thought to announce this to the room. 

“What?” Prentiss prompted, wondering what on earth he was talking about. 

“Preschools.” Spencer confirmed, looking across the table at her. 

“We checked already, none of the victims’ children went to the same preschool.” Morgan reminded him. “Two of the kids didn’t even go to preschool.” 

“Yeah, but preschools typically have large waitlists.” Spencer argued. 

Naturally, all eyes in the room fell on him, waiting for him to explain. 

“In the first 9-1-1 call, the UnSub said that the victim ‘shipped her son off to be cared for by strangers half the time’.” He explained, once again perfectly reciting this from memory. “What if the UnSub resents preschools and the schooling system for taking these children away from their mothers, so he’s choosing his victims off of a preschool waitlist? What if that’s where his obsession stems from because that’s where his rage stems from?” 

Reid jumped up, pointing to the map he had been using to make a geographical profile. 

“All of the victims live within the same school district.” He added on. “So they would be applying to the same group of preschools.” 

“I’ll call Garcia.” Morgan announced. 

A few minutes later, Morgan connected Garcia’s call to the comm on the center of the conference table they were working from. 

“Hey, pumpkin pies.” She greeted them sweetly, as usual. “So it turns out, the preschool that Tommy Laird, and Emily Ashton, the third and the fourth victim had in common, does have a waitlist. But none of the other victims’ names were on it.” 

“Come on, babygirl. I know you’re holding out on me.” Morgan said, giving a small smirk. 

“Oh, my Adonis, if I don’t have your trembling anticipation, I have nothing.” Garcia giggled. “The school’s waitlist, and their applications, are handled by a firm called Gordon & Stanheight. And it turns out, they handle the applications and waitlisting for five other preschools in the area.” 

“Which gives the UnSub a perfect way to pick his victims.” Morgan sighed. “The first interaction that gets him hooked might not even be in person-” 

“Unless he’s picking them out of the line-up on paper and then waiting to meet them in person?” Prentiss replied. “With this type of guy, the smallest smile, a nod in his direction - that could be consent in his mind to play father to a household that’s missing one.” 

“You said they handle forms for five different schools? That just widened the victim pool.” Rossi groaned. 

“And the suspect pool.” Garcia added on. “The firm has thirty male employees. And I did a bit more digging - the preschool applications have ten ‘optional’ questions on the bottom that are definitely not marked as such. Questions directed at the parent filling out the form, rather than vital information about the child. Things such as: ‘what’s your favorite food?’, ‘when is your birthday?’, ‘what’s your favorite color?’, ‘do you plan on having more children?’ - typical survey schlock,” 

“That would explain why the UnSub served Lisa Laird a birthday cake.” Reid sighed. “He knew it was her birthday two days before he killed her.”

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like where this is going.” Emily sighed. 

“Oh, sugar. You probably won’t.” Penelope easily agreed. “The ‘optional’ part of the forms is sold off to other companies as survey data. And those forms are seen and handled by over a thousand male employees of Gordon & Stanheight’s larger ‘data processing’ sector.” 

“Well the UnSub has to be local to Portland. So narrow down the suspect list based on his last known address and go from there.” Hotch said. “Also, it would be someone who has a criminal record. Someone committing this level of violence wouldn’t be a first time offender.” 

“Gotcha.” Penelope said. “Penny G, out.” 

… 

The team ended up raiding Gordon & Stanheight’s Portland based office. 

After some pointless conversation, some threats of lawsuits, and some even larger threats of being detained for impeding an FBI investigation, the team was able to get their hands on the preschool applications. Over two-dozen boxes worth, that they would have to sort through. 

So this left JJ, Reid, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss knee deep in paper, looking for anyone who fit the UnSub’s victimology - praying that they would be able to pick out the next victim and get to her before the UnSub did. 

“We’re never gonna get through these fast enough, are we?” Prentiss sighed, continuing to sift through the papers. 

“We just have to go as fast as we can, and hope the UnSub sticks to his schedule.” Morgan replied. “He has to spend time stalking them, learning their routine. Even if he has chosen his victim by now, he won’t break into the house until he’s fully confident that he won’t be disrupted.” 

“And the stalking helps build up the fantasy.” Reid added on. “He romanticizes them from afar, sends them gifts. It adds to his delusions of grandeur and forbidden love. The idea that he’s swooping in to become the perfect father figure for these ‘broken’ families.” 

“So we’re hanging all our hopes on the idea that this psychopath needs time to ‘fall in love’ with his next victim before he kills her?” Prentiss groaned. 

“Sadly, yes.” Rossi confirmed. 

“It helps that most of these applications are from two-parent households.” JJ pointed out. “We can throw out anything with a second applicant on the form, because he’s only targeting single mothers.” 

The rest of the conversation easily became quiet in Spencer’s ears when he saw it. 

It should have been just another page among the sea of paper in his hands, but when he saw those words on the page - that name - it was like a punch to the gut. It pushed all the air out of him in seconds, it made him dizzy, made him struggle to breathe. Like a reel flashing through his mind, it brought back a flood of memories he thought he had locked away forever. 

It was you. 

What the hell were you doing applying for preschools? 

Spencer rushed to tear this paper away from the others in order to read it more carefully. 

Surely enough, the application was filled out in your handwriting. Something that had barely changed over the years. And it was all right there, laid out in front of his eyes, clear as day - 

You had a son. 

A son named Sebastian, who was three years old. Spencer checked the date on the form, eagerly looking for a birth date for your son. His birthday had just recently passed, actually, so he was four years old now. 

And his birth date was… fuck. 

He had been born eight and a half months, almost nine months exactly after the two of you had broken up. Your son had been born eight and a half months after the day you had left and Spencer had never seen you again. 

One thousand, seven hundred and two days. 

Four years, eight months, and two days. 

It wasn’t difficult math. 

Your son was the perfect age to be Spencer’s child. Was this Spencer’s child? 

His hands began to shake at the very thought of it.  

Is that why you had disappeared from his life with such haste? Because you knew that you were pregnant and you didn’t want Spencer to be a part of your child’s life? 

Had you been keeping this from him intentionally? 

He hadn’t thought about you in four long years, he had tried so hard not to. He had spent so long forcing himself not to miss you, and now he was struck with the realization that he might have a child out there with the woman he considered to be his regrettable lost love. A child he didn’t know - a child who he had missed four whole years with. 

What the fuck was going on? 

There were no pictures included with the application, and suddenly, Spencer found himself dying to see the boy. He wanted to know if there was any physical resemblance to himself, or if he was jumping to conclusions. 

Maybe you had cheated on him. Maybe that was why you had left town and never contacted him again. Maybe the kid wasn’t his at all, maybe- 

“Reid.” JJ called out gently, getting his attention. 

Spencer suddenly realized that he was hyperventilating, staring down at the application with your name on it in his hand, wrinkling the paper as he squeezed it more frantically. 

“Did you find something?” 

… 

All in all, the team found four different women who fit the victim pattern in the files - you being one of them. 

So the team split up, ready to knock on each of the womens’ doors, preparing to warn them that if they received any gifts or saw any suspicious men lingering around them in the next few days, they should call. They had to hope that the UnSub wouldn’t move on from this victim pool if he saw the FBI around. But he was overly confident, he had contacted police before. 

It could definitely work. 

When Hotch found out that Spencer had known you, he said that Spencer should be the one to knock on your door. That you might find it comforting to hear that you and your child could possibly be in danger if it were coming from ‘an old friend’. Spencer stuttered over himself and didn’t have the words to explain that you weren’t just a good friend to him, but a romantic flame. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of the team by telling everyone that the break-up had been messy, and sudden, and Spencer still wasn’t even completely sure what had caused it. He didn’t want to rip open his old wounds in front of everyone. 

So he simply shut his mouth and got in the car with JJ, and they made their way toward your house. 

…

“So…” JJ’s voice broke through the undulating silence of the car ride - filled by nothing but the sound of the car’s motor running and gears grinding inside Spencer’s mind as he tried to figure all of this out. “I do have to ask the obvious question,” 

“What is that?” Spencer probed, slightly glad to be relieved of his own thoughts. 

He wasn’t so glad when JJ pried those thoughts out of his mind and spilled them to the open air. 

“Is the kid yours?” She wondered aloud. “I mean - when did you and Y/N break up?” 

JJ had known you as Spencer’s girlfriend. 

Come to think of it, she was probably the only person on the current field team who had some kind of a relationship with you back when you and Spencer dated. 

Initially, it had been by accident. JJ had driven him home one night after a particularly long and sleepless case, and you had been coming to his apartment to drop off some books he had asked for (shortly after he had given you a key). When JJ saw you, her natural curiosity got the better of her - even more so when you stuck out your hand and introduced yourself as ‘Spencer’s girlfriend’ without hesitation. 

The two of you got to talking, and JJ invited you to ‘girls night’. You met Elle and Penelope shortly after. You had become pretty good friends with the three of them before the break-up. 

But Spencer had always felt secretive…. well, protective of you. He didn’t want Morgan teasing him about you, or him wanting to have ‘guy talk’ about things that occurred in the bedroom. Not when it might mean talking about intimate moments with you. Spencer had only introduced you to Gideon over coffee about three weeks before the break-up, and that felt like a lifetime ago. 

Back then, having you, Elle, and Gideon leave his life all in a matter of a few months felt like hell on earth. It felt like being grabbed by his ankles and shaken for all he was worth. He really wasn’t sure that he was ready to see you again. 

It had been four years. 

JJ was someone he could lean on right now. 

“Four years ago.” He told her, completely honest. 

“And how old is the kid?” JJ asked. 

“Four - four years old.” Spencer stuttered out, realizing that now as he was speaking about this very real possibility, he might be breathing more life into it. 

“Oh my god.” JJ sighed. “Well… could it-? I mean…? Did the two of you?” 

It took Spencer a moment to clue into what JJ was talking about. He gave her a sideways glance and she took her eyes off the road for a moment, raising her brows and giving him a pointed look. 

“Please tell me you know what does and what doesn’t make a baby,” JJ groaned. 

“Oh!” Spencer huffed, a small wave of embarrassment flooding him. “Yes! God, yes. I know.” 

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Spencer felt the need to clarify his answer. 

“We - I mean. We…” He trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat. “We didn’t always use… protection. We were together for three years, at the time, it was on the table.” 

“Kids were on the table for you back then?” JJ asked, clearly shocked by this. “I could not imagine little twenty-four year old Spence with a baby.” 

“Well… it’s something I’ve always wanted.” He mumbled quietly in reply. 

It was true. At the time, Spencer easily imagined himself getting married to you, having multiple kids with you. These days, seeing JJ with Henry and Will brought him the occasional underlying pang of jealousy - but since breaking up with you, there hadn’t been anyone else in Spencer’s life that he could have imagined having kids with. He thought that he was going to be alone and childless for the rest of his life. That the dream was long dead for him. 

“Hey - then, maybe this is a blessing in disguise?” JJ posed. “If we hadn’t been looking through those forms because of this UnSub, you never would have found Y/N again. You wouldn’t even know this baby exists.” 

There was another thing that JJ was dying to ask - something she held back because she felt like it was a touch too personal. (Even if ‘too personal’ was basically how the BAU team lived - knee deep in each other’s business, all the time). 

She wanted to know why you had a baby, a baby that Spencer had very likely fathered, and you hadn’t contacted him about it. Spencer seemed entirely clueless about the child’s existence before now, and JJ knew that because of what his own father had been like, he wouldn’t just blow off a kid that was his if he knew that one was out there in the world. 

So why hadn’t you told Spencer about the baby? 

“What if the kid isn’t yours?” JJ wondered aloud. 

Maybe that would unburden him. She knew that either way, Spencer would fight to protect you from the UnSub. But if the kid wasn’t his - he would walk away again, and he wouldn’t have to be hung up on the heartbreak of dealing with his ex just to parent a child together. 

“Honestly… I think I’ll be more heartbroken if I find out that he’s not even mine.” Spencer told her, his voice quiet and already lulling with that disappointment. 

That was not something JJ had considered. She frowned as she saw the sadness paint across Spencer’s face. 

“One thing at a time, alright?” 

…

When they pulled into your driveway, Spencer’s mind immediately began churning. 

It was a nice house. It was a beautiful, quiet neighborhood. The front yard was clean and trimmed and there was a silver SUV in the driveway with a ‘baby on board’ sticker in the rear window. There was a rocking chair on the porch, but he didn’t see many children’s toys out front on the lawn. He guessed that was a good thing. Letting children play in the front where they could run into the street and potentially get hit by a car was too dangerous. He was glad to already see signs that you were a good mother. 

Spencer felt like he was opening up a book halfway, desperately wanting to be filled in on the previous chapters while having missed so much. Still wanting to read ahead and see more. 

He had already missed so much of your son’s life. He had missed you. That was something forming the biggest knot in his gut. He had truly missed you. The times he had allowed himself to think of you over these past few years - he had missed you so dearly. 

And now the two of you likely had a child together. 

Craning his neck to get a better look, desperately trying to take in more information, Spencer’s eyes were wide and hungry as JJ put the car in park by the curb in front of your house. As Spencer reached for the passenger side door handle, JJ’s phone rang. 

“I have to take this.” She sighed. “You go ahead.” 

She gave Spencer a distinct look that said ‘I know you need a minute alone with Y/N’, and he nodded, stepping out of the vehicle while she greeted whoever was on the other line. He smoothed down his tie - for once in his whole life, he was actually worried about how he looked. Only because he knew that he was going to see you. Perhaps he had only ever felt like this before going on his first date with you. 

He had such a strange lashing of emotions going through him as he approached the door. Fear, anxiety, anticipation. Longing. 

He truly had tried so hard to lock away his feelings for you when you had left. He had tried to move on. He had considered, briefly, in passing, dating other women. There had been times when someone else caught his eye, and he considered asking her out on a date. Morgan had offered to ‘set him up’. Penelope had offered too, telling him that he deserved to ‘get back out there’. 

Whenever she asked about you, his heart freshly cracked open. 

At one point, she had advised him to write a long, Shakespearian letter, pouring out his heart to you in an effort to get you back - one which she would mail. (Because of course, she could get your new address in a heartbeat.) But he didn’t want to experience the heartbreak all over again if you ignored him. He didn’t want to sit, waiting by the mailbox every single day like a lost dog, waiting for you to write him back in return. 

You had disappeared from his life for a reason. Just like everyone else had. For a long time, Spencer convinced himself that he was simply meant to end up alone. 

Perhaps if he had known about your son - a child that could very well be his - then he might have felt differently about getting Penelope to contact you. 

But now he was standing at your front door, his fist shaking as he raised his hand to knock. 

He let out a sharp breath and steadied himself, giving three swift, firm knocks against the door and then trying to wait patiently. His heart thumped inside of his throat, and it felt like forever. 

“Sorry!” Your voice called out from behind the door, muffled. “Sorry, I almost didn’t hear you. I was-” 

You cut off your own words as you opened the door - the moment you caught Spencer’s eye and recognized it was him, pure shock fell across your features, and you froze on the spot. 

You were just as stunning as ever. You had barely aged at all - your hair was different than the last time he had seen you, of course. And you were dressed casually - wearing a simple hooded sweatshirt with a drawstring and a pair of jeans with some fuzzy slipper boots on. But pale blue looked so good on you.

So much like the pale blue dress you had worn on your first date with him. 

You were breath-taking. 

“Y/N.” He greeted you, his throat dry already. 

You didn’t say anything, simply continuing to stare him down with wide-eyed shock. 

Seeing you again, Spencer couldn’t help but to think back to that first date. 

The first night that he knew he was in love with you. 

… 

He had taken you to see the Virginia Symphony Orchestra. 

It was Spencer’s idea of a good time - and it ended up being one of the most beautiful, most romantic, most unique first dates that you had ever been on. 

It was difficult not to fall for him with the beautiful music in the air and his glossy eyes, so sickeningly thick with affection, staring you down all night. 

Afterwards, the two of you stopped to get ice cream at a small shop that was a short walk down from the orchestra. And now you were both enjoying your ice cream as you walked along in the cool night air - enjoying the peace and quiet and the gentle breeze in the darkness. 

It was a perfect night. 

Spencer could think of no better way to spend it than with you. The yellow bulbs of the street lights practically cast a glow onto your skin, the mulberry lipstick now worn off your lips as you brought the pink spoon to your mouth and licked up your sweet treat. 

His stomach was churning with nerves. Joyous nerves. 

And as per usual, when he was nervous - he rambled. 

“You know, Bach actually married his cousin.” He said, spouting off the first thing that came to mind. 

You told him that Bach was one of your favorite composers - it’s why he had thought to bring you to the orchestra on a date in the first place. 

“I did not know that.” You giggled. “So what? Was it like a ‘third cousin twice removed’ type situation?” 

Spencer found himself grinning at the fact that you actually engaged him in the conversation, rather than staring at him with an odd look for bringing up such a strange topic. 

“Not quite.” He replied. “They had the same surname before marriage.” 

“Oh, ew.” You chuckled again, giving a shudder at the thought of this. 

Spencer knew it was an odd topic to discuss on a date, and if he rambled on too much, it might freak you out - but he couldn’t stop himself. His mouth ran away with him, and he continued. 

“He married Maria Barbara Bach, and they had seven children together.” He told you. “His sons, Wilhelm Friedemann and Carl Philipp Emanuel became composers and musicians much like their father, which was actually carrying on a legacy started by Bach’s father himself - who was a seventh generation musician. He was the one who taught Bach the organ from a very young age.” 

“Why don’t people play the organ anymore?” You wondered aloud. “Except in churches, I guess. The organ rocks.” 

Spencer’s brain began rocketing off at the fact that you had asked him a question. A question he could answer. 

“The organ has actually long been associated with divinity.” He replied. “The instrument rose in popularity alongside Catholicism throughout the eighteenth century, and in a sense, that was part of what made Bach a sort of ‘rockstar’ of his time. The religious references in his work, and his mastery of the organ - all of it made him incredibly popular at the time because it caused him to be favored by the church and by royal figures associated with the church.” 

Spencer gleamed a large smile, heavily enjoying that he could share these facts with you. He thought for certain that any moment, you would change the subject or imply that he should stop talking. But instead, you engaged the conversation more. 

“Religious references?” You questioned, wondering what he meant by this. 

“Yes!” Spencer grinned, suddenly very excited by the explanation behind this. “Even in his secular music, Bach would often incorporate the acronym ‘INJ’, a Latin abbreviation that means ‘In Nomine Jesu’, or ‘in the name of Jesus’. It was something he put on all of his manuscripts.” 

You grinned back. You found it fascinating that being around Spencer for such short periods of time caused you to learn so many things. It easily made you want to be around him more. 

“Interesting.” You replied. 

“And his talent on the organ was seen as something that made him ‘divine’ at the time. Divine enough to be worthy of performing for royalty.” Spencer added on. “In 1708, Bach got a position as the court organist in Weimer for Duke Wilhelm. And later when he requested early release from this position, desiring to go work for Prince Leopold of Koethen, the Duke actually had him arrested and put in jail for several weeks in 1716.” 

Spencer laughed at this mental image - the composer being put in jail. 

“Ooh, harsh.” You sighed. “But I guess Dukes have too much power.” 

Spencer let out another bright laugh at this. 

“And see, the interesting thing is, Bach later became the conductor of the court orchestra, in which Prince Leopold played.” 

“So he got his wish,” You replied with a smile. 

“And see-” 

Spencer set off on another rant again, and you couldn’t help yourself. You put your spoon into the cup of ice cream and then you used your now free hand to reach out and grab Spencer by his tie - you pulled him toward you before he could get anymore words out, and he let out a shocked, choked-off sound when you pressed your mouth into his. 

He sighed gently against your lips, and unconsciously dropped his own melting chocolate cone on the ground by his feet as his limp hands drifted toward your waist. He was dizzy, and now every single fact he had ever known about any composer had vanished from his head. In that moment, standing under a random street lamp on a random sidewalk somewhere - all he knew was the soft, pillowy feeling of your lips and the cool night breeze against his skin. 

It was perfect. You were perfect. 

You found his intelligence and the enthusiasm with which he spoke to be so utterly irresistible. You had been on so many dates with men before where they had acted like talking about their interests was a chore. Where they had made it seem like the whole thing was simply a routine, waiting for the end of the night so they could get into your pants. And for them, that’s what it probably was. 

But Spencer was nothing like that. 

He spoke about everything with such intense passion - and you couldn’t resist the urge to try and suck that very passion off his lips. 

When you were forced to pull back slightly, your lungs crying out for oxygen, Spencer let out a gentle moan and began puffing out sweet little pants across your chin as he tried to catch his breath. You kept a hold of his tie, wanting to keep him close, and he stayed there, gently pressing his forehead against yours. 

“That was… wow.” He sighed. 

“I didn’t think I would ever find you at a loss for words, Doctor Reid.” You replied with a giggle. 

“Well, I - you - wow.” 

It was all he could muster, causing you both to break down into laughter. 

Back then - everything had been perfect. 

He had no clue where it all went so wrong.

...

Continue reading: Chapter Two - Liar

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dad!spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic

[jgracie]

LOVER’S ROCK — PERCY + DAUGHTER OF PERSEPHONE

masterlist | rules

❝ could you write headcanons of percy x daughter of hades (or persephone) reader? ❞ — anon

in which percy dates a daughter of persephone

pairing percy jackson x persephone!reader

warnings none !

on the radio . . . lover's rock (tv girl)

an au where technology doesn't attract monsters! also i like to think that the cabins are magical and can alter depending on how many kids are in there so you have a big bed instead of a bunk

If there’s one thing Percy’s sick and tired of, it’s quests. For some reason, he seemed to be a quest magnet, never failing to end up on one at least once a year

After defeating Gaia, he thought this’d be it. No more quests. He could finally relax and focus on normal teenage boy things, like stressing over exams and skateboarding

He was, of course, wrong. As the summer flowers withered and turned into autumn leaves, Percy was ready to take on his senior year of high school. He packed all his belongings into his suitcase, excited to leave camp and head home to his mother, step-father and half-sister, when a certain someone stopped him

Nico Di Angelo, son of Hades. He didn’t come up to the mortal world often, opting to stay in his father’s domain, so seeing him was a shock. Still, Percy waved at him. Nico was a good guy and his friend, so he was always happy during the rare occasions the boy visited

When Nico explained the situation he was in, Percy couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. He was so close to experiencing a normal life! Apparently, Hades himself had requested his presence at the Underworld, having an important task for him

Percy didn’t care for Hades, but the look on Nico’s face told him this was something really important. Nico rarely asked for favours unless he seriously needed them, so he decided to do this for him, not Hades or the Fates or anyone else

Holding back a sigh, Percy put his hand on Nico’s shoulder, ready to shadow-travel to the Underworld

“Perseus Jackson!” He heard a voice boom as soon as they arrived. Looking up, Percy found himself face-to-face with the God of the dead himself. Next to him sat his wife, Persephone, who gave Percy a kind smile

“I have a very important job for you, boy,” Hades began, “don’t worry, I won’t be too long. You see, my dear wife here would like you to escort her daughter to the mortal world and train her. I think she’s around your age. Actually, where is she?” Hades said. Percy rolled his eyes. Great, he was stuck doing guard duty for some random immortal

He immediately took back all his complaints the moment he laid eyes on you. From the way you seemed to bring the land of the dead back to life, Percy could tell you were your mother’s daughter. He could also tell that you were a demigod, as your eyes seemed to lack the boredom most immortal beings’ had

Making your way over to him, you held out a hand, which he gladly shook, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Perseus.” Percy hated it when people called him by his full name, deeming it too formal for him, but he’d let you call him Perseus for as long as you wanted

After that, it was settled. Turns out, you’d actually spent time in the mortal world before, only occasionally visiting your mother whenever she got lonely in the Underworld

However, your mortal parent didn’t want you engaging with your Godly heritage in fear of all the dangers that came with it, hence why you weren’t at Camp Half-Blood, and why Persephone took matters into her own hands

As you told Percy all of this, he couldn’t help but feel uncharacteristically shy. You radiated regality, but not in a scary way like a child of the big three. Your voice held power, but at the same time seemed to seep out of your lips like honey, coating him and rendering him helpless

Despite being in one of the busiest cities in the world, Percy was only able to hear you. When you finally got to your mortal parent’s apartment, he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, wanting to spend more time with you

Sure, you were going to be going to his house the next day to begin your training, but Percy couldn’t wait a whole 24 hours

After dropping you off, Percy walked home alone, already daydreaming about what the following day held

The next day, you got ready and headed for Percy’s home (please don’t ask me how you know where to go you just Do), your nerves skyrocketing. You see, this was your first time hanging out with a fellow demigod, and so you really didn’t want to make a fool out of yourself

Since your mom did teach you whenever the two of you saw each other, you were pretty good at using your powers. However, you weren’t on the level of a demigod who’d spent their whole life fighting real monsters

“Okay, first, we have to work on your posture,” Percy said. The night before, he’d turned the living room into a training arena of sorts, moving all the couches, tables and any other furniture to the side. It wasn’t ideal, but it’d work until you found some other place to train or went to Camp Half-Blood during the holidays

You held the sword - a gift from Persephone a couple years back, one you had no use for until now - in front of you, unsure what to do, “like this?” Percy smiled fondly at you, remembering what it was like for him as a beginner

Stepping behind you, Percy guided your arms to the right starting position. He was really close to you. From this (minimal) distance, you could hear his breaths and smell the salty scent of the ocean that seemed to linger on him no matter what he did

The two of you stayed in this stance for a little bit, neither one of you wanting to pull away, before you cleared your throat and said, “okay, what now?”

Nothing much happened after that. You sparred a little, not stopping your training until you managed to land a hit on Percy, which you proudly celebrated. The moment he saw the look of triumph on your face, Percy knew he’d made the right decision by loosening up a little. You’d learn some other day

You were meant to go home afterwards, but his mother had insisted you have some refreshments, so you stayed to drink some lemonade and eat some of her freshly baked cookies. After that, Percy wanted to show you his room, so you stayed to see it. Then, he wanted to play Mario Kart, which needed a second player and you happened to be there so…?

Soon enough, it was nighttime and you actually needed to go. Your mortal parent had begrudgingly agreed to this and you really didn’t want them to change their mind

Since it was late, Percy did the chivalrous thing to do - he walked you home

Once you were there, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of deja vu. This was the second day in a row he was in this exact situation

This time, though, before you entered the apartment, you gave him a kiss on the cheek

After that day, you quickly became inseparable. You’d go over to each other’s places a lot, but not just to train - a lot of the time, it’d just be to hang out, maybe work on some exam prep together or beat him in Mario Kart (again)

With Percy, the school year flew by, and soon enough you’d graduated. Usually, during the summer, you’d just stay with your mortal parent, since Persephone wasn’t in the Underworld. However, this summer would be your first at Camp Half-Blood

Mrs Jackson dropped the two of you off at camp borders and to say you were excited would be an understatement. Percy spoke very highly of this place, and you couldn’t wait to experience it all

At your arrival, you were greeted by Chiron and Mr D, who gave you a basic summary of how things work at camp, relieved they didn’t have to break the existence of Greek Gods to another young camper. After that, Percy gave you a tour of the place

“This is my cabin, feel free to pass by if you need anything. I’m usually the only one here, but my brother Tyson comes to visit occasionally,” Percy said, presenting the cabin to you. It was gorgeous, just like him

Marvelling at it, you said, “yours is really cool, Perce, is mine that nice too?”

Noticing his silence, you turned to look at Percy, who was deep in thought, “now that you’ve mentioned it, I don’t think I’ve seen yours, not clearly at least. It gets busy really quickly here. I’m sure it’s awesome though, let’s go find out!”

The cabins looked close together from afar, but they were pretty widely spaced, and the walk from Percy’s to yours felt like an eternity. Getting there was all worth it though

As you stared up at your cabin, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through your body. Your whole life, you’d been in a limbo, stuck between two homes but somehow feeling homesick in both. From the moment you saw this cabin, you knew it was where you belonged

Percy walked you up the steps, and you couldn’t help but feel nostalgic, “we always end up like this, don’t we, Percy?”

The boy smiled, shyly running his fingers through his hair, “we sure do! Look, I’ll come over later and we can go swimming, the beach here’s beautiful. I’ll introduce you to all my friends, too!”

You unpacked your suitcases and put all your clothes in the closet that was provided. The cabin was clearly uninhabited as dust coated the tops of all the cabinets, but that’s nothing a little spring cleaning wouldn’t fix

Picking out a vinyl record from your large collection, you put one on and began cleaning

It was hard work, but you loved it. Your mother was the Goddess of springtime, after all. The act of decluttering and freshening up a space was named after her domain

Besides, you had a lot of fun discovering the things your mother left behind for you - a basket of fresh fruits, a lovely handwritten letter and a cute dress, which you gladly wore after washing all the grime from cleaning off of yourself

In fact, you had so much fun, you completely forgot about the plans you made with Percy. So, when he showed up at your front door, clad in fish patterned swimming trunks with a surfboard in hand, he caught you off guard for a second

You caught him off guard too. You looked ethereal in that dress. Something about it made your skin glow and your eyes glitter, as if it were woven by Athena herself

“Oh Gods, Percy, I’m so sorry. I got so busy with cleaning this place I completely forgot you said we were gonna go swimming. I’ll go change right now, don’t worry–”

Percy interrupted you, “it’s alright, I get it. I had to deep clean my cabin when I first got here too.”

Seeing as he was already there, you invited Percy in, excited to show him your new home. He wasn’t paying that much attention to your impromptu tour though, too busy admiring you to care about the designs on the wood of your closet

Your tour ended with your bedroom. You took Percy by the hand and led him to your bed, pulling him to you as you landed on the pomegranate patterned bedsheets

In the background, your vinyl continued to play. Of course, the song playing happened to be a love song. As you stared into the cerulean of Percy’s eyes, you couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming love swell in your chest for him. This boy had changed your life in a way you’d be eternally grateful for

The song progressed, and your faces got closer and closer. As it reached your favourite part, a part Percy knew all too well after the many days you spent making him listen to this song, your lips locked

They were a perfect fit

Dating hcs time hurray!!! (cynthia try not to write 5 pages of backstory challenge)

Percy always gets you fresh fruits. He plants a whole garden of fruits outside his cabin with the help of the Demeter kids and every once in a while he’ll show up with a fresh orange or pear or something

Honestly Percy wasn’t that much of a fruit guy before dating you but now he vows to try every fruit he can get his hands on!!! He rates them all for you too and gives little reviews

Sometimes you’ll wake up in the morning to 10 texts from Percy detailing how much he hated a particular fruit, all sent at 4AM

This resulted in the two of you trying the fruits out together since you had major FOMO, which then resulted in picnics becoming your thing. They’re not super traditional picnics most of the time but you call them that so that’s what they are

Your mom found out you guys were dating a week into your relationship and she couldn’t be happier. She left a cute little fruit basket on Percy’s bed the day she found out <3 he shared them all with you of course

He calls you his blossom!! This one’s kind of random I don’t usually do pet name headcanons but I had to just put that there

One of my personal headcanons for kids of Persephone is you become more closed off during the autumn/winter. You feel really bad whenever it happens but Percy’s always there for you, patiently guiding you through your mixed emotions as your mother transitions from the normal world to the Underworld

I also saw this headcanon that children of Persephone all smell like flowers so I’m including it in this. Percy thinks you smell SO good. At first he thinks its perfume so he asks you what it is and you show him all your perfumes and he’s like “nope it’s none of these,” so you guys are super stumped

Until he passes by the Demeter kids’ garden one day and smells the exact same thing. So he spent the entire day scouring it for the specific flower that smells just like you

They got really mad at him because once he found it he picked a ton of them so he could keep them in his cabin and use them as a reference point for florists in the mortal world for when he inevitably goes to buy more, but he didn’t care

You got mad at him too though, since you cannot justify the picking of flowers

“Look, Perce, this is really cute, but you shouldn’t have picked the flowers like that!” You said as you moved the flowers Percy stole from the gardens to pots, trying to salvage them as much as you possibly could

The boy in question sat on your bed, his head hung in shame. Not picking plants is the number one rule of dating a Persephone kid, and he forgot

A guilt washed over you as you took him in. He didn’t know any better, he was just excited because he finally found what was apparently ‘your scent’

After the flowers were all safely in their pots, you sat next to him, tenderly placing your hand on his face and turning it to look at yours, “it’s okay. The flowers are alive and healthy. I’ll help you grow more of them, ‘kay?” You stroked his cheek with your thumb before planting a kiss on his lips

With a goofy smile now plastered on his face, Percy mumbled, “okay, blossom.”

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy jackson x fem reader #pjo #pjo x reader #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson headcannons #percy jackson x persephone reader #percy jackson x daughter of persephone #persephone pjo #children of persephone #daughter of persephone #cynwrites