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torawro · 9 months ago

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I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡 ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

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mswyrr · 5 months ago

Text

Qimir consistently aches to see the pain the dark side causes Osha and I believe this will lead him to resist Plagueis' plans in s2.

His first moment of regret and resistance is, in fact, at the very completion of his seduction! He gets Osha to put the helmet on - and it hurts her. It's causing her pain, so he fights to rescue her from that. Even though, presumably, this was (with Plagueis, whether knowingly or unknowingly) the goal.

Let's backtrack a second and reflect on the seduction itself. The show creator/lead writer, Leslye Headland, has said that it wasn't manipulation on Qimir's part, that he meant everything he said. Two relevant quotes from the same interview with her on this point:

"So, in my opinion, Osha is extremely in denial about her own anger at the Jedi and at her father, i.e. Sol. She's in extreme denial about that because she feels like she's not allowed to be angry, and she's in an enormous amount of pain over her sister and their history, and she also feels like she's not allowed to feel that. So, someone coming in and saying, “Actually, feeling all those things is not only okay but actually could restore your spiritual foundation,” is almost too much. I don't think that's manipulation. I think he's telling her the truth."

"[T]he relationship between Lo and Jen in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was an influence in the writer's room. We referenced that relationship over and over again. The intentional parallel is that they are equals and their relationship is earned through mutual vulnerability, not intimidation or manipulation."

However, someone can be themselves misled and so mislead you too, from a place of sincerity! That is, perhaps, the most heartbreaking way of all to mislead someone. Qimir is lost - the Jedi path damaged him and he (like so many Jedi before him) snapped to the Sith path. It's not working for him, it's causing him pain likely, but he believes it and shares from that place. But the moment Qimir sees this path is causing Osha pain, he feels compelled to do something to help her.

Once he gets the helmet off Osha, Qimir seems relieved when he learns the vision Osha *thinks* she saw, of Mae "killing a Jedi without a weapon." (Which Qimir somehow knows is the goal here - to get Mae or Osha to fall - presumably because Plagueis either gave him the vision or told him directly to try to get that to happen?)

He's content with the idea that Mae will be the one to do it, fulfilling the vision/directive, and actively seeks to make it happen from this point on. He tries to talk her up into doing it at the pivotal moment, but that's not what she's about, her feelings about Sol are not so out of balance for her to "fall" as the Jedi and Sith understand it. She feels anger but also wants justice most, not revenge.

I read disappointment in how Manny plays his reaction to Mae's "No" - disappointment at "failing" sure but also I think it's related to the fact that he wanted it to be Mae, not Osha.

This was cemented for me by the way he played Qimir's reaction to Osha's fall. He's not celebratory, though he's just accomplished what he had been trying to since he began teaching Mae! He seems stricken, actually. There's no pleasure or satisfaction in his "success"! Witnessing Osha's pain only makes him feel compassion and bow his head in sorrow. This "success" is ashes in his mouth.

As a mutual on Twitter pointed out to me (♥️_LokiDokie!), Leslye's commentary in this interview supports this reading of Qimir as grief-stricken by what he's seen:

"Then it's like this passing through, stepping over the threshold, that actually will bring them closer together, which is so interesting. But the motivation I gave to Manny in that moment — in theater, we would call it dramaturgically — for, “Why is he stepping over to do that,” because it said it in the script, was, “You have been in this position. If you have a red lightsaber, you have felt this level of despair, rage, and dejection. So go over there and let her know that you have had that experience.” And he just did that beautiful thing. I was like, “Jesus Christ.”"

His reaction is a stark contrast to Mae, who never fell to the dark side, and doesn't understand what she's seeing - she mistakes this for Osha being liberated from Jedi mindwashing. THIS is what Qimir's face would look like if he thought this was a good thing and was happy about it:

The contrast is quite stark.

Qimir's sorrow for Osha continues as he attempts to comfort her and then sees she's bled the saber.

Intriguingly, Qimir has the helmet on and is "hiding" emotionally when he wipes Mae's memory. We don't get to see how that pain effects him. But the pattern throughout the episode is that when Osha hurts he aches too.

In the final scene, Qimir approaches Osha, again, without triumph at any of this. He's gotten everything he thought he wanted, but he looks at her and I read concern, sorrow, wariness.

He steps closer to her and takes her hand supportively, continuing his pattern (3 times in this episode!) of physically coming close to help/comfort her when she's hurting.

Then he raises his chin with resolve, but no happiness. They are facing the future, but they are "doomed" on the Sith path. Romantic love cannot live there anymore than it can thrive on the arid, repressed Jedi path. I think he suspects that - whether or not he's knowingly in league with Plagueis. Whatever is coming, the Sith path can only cause Osha more and more pain...

He cannot help but ache with her when he sees Osha in pain and want to help her. I cannot imagine an s2 where they continue down the Sith path without him breaking under the strain of watching the pain it causes her - he could endure it himself but seeing her do it? He'll snap. And that romantic love--something BOTH the Jedi and Sith reject and denigrate--that will help them escape imo. Here's a quote from Leslye I interpret as supportive of this reading. She references how the Sith path is inimical to romantic love and then alludes to the tantalizing possibility of escape:

HEADLAND: Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.” I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.

I feel pretty confident that the love he feels for her is pivotal to their journey away from the Sith path and what Plagueis wants for Osha - both because Leslye knows this is not a good path and because of the deep sense of care and connection Qimir already feels for Osha.

Combine this with Leslye's comments and imo it being unlikely that they'll repeat the same pattern with Qimir & Vernestra that they did with Sol & Osha and just the overall "sameness" that would come of hammering the endless cycle in more and I just don't buy that as the direction we're headed.

It is possible to tell it as a relentless tragedy and keep hammering the endless, inescapable cycles but, while tragedies are valid (I enjoy hotd!), even they have a narrative form more varied than that usually. And this IS a "coming of age" psychological/mythic Star Wars story at the end of the day. And one Leslye (happily gay married with a child!) drew on her own experiences (with religious trauma) to write... she didn't end up trapped in darkness why would a young protagonist like Osha have to?

Here's the full Leslye quote about religious trauma, since I believe it's vital to understanding where she and the writing team are going to take Osha, Mae, and Qimir:

You have a play, Cult of Love, coming to Broadway this fall. It’s about a Christian family gathering for the holidays. It’s inspired by your own experiences with your family. You were working on it at the same time as The Acolyte, from what I can tell. Did they influence each other? Our director, Trip Cullman, and I were talking about how it’s called Cult of Love because all cults have a dream, and the dream is really beautiful. Even Jim Jones started out trying to desegregate Indianapolis. This family in the play has this dream that they follow to the logical conclusion, which is that they never achieve it. I was raised Christian. Christianity is the ultimate dream. It’s a beautiful concept that God becomes human in order to love you more. Then you look at what Christianity has done to the world: colonization, genocide. It was a beautiful dream that doesn’t justify the human action that comes along. The Jedi also live in a dream, a dream they believe everybody has. In The Acolyte, the pilot ends with the line “An acolyte kills the dream.” The drama is to wake up to the fact that the dream doesn’t exist.

I think the point is for Osha and Qimir to wake up to the fact that both the Jedi and Sith "dreams" do not exist. They are toxic mirrors of each other - and Osha and Mae were born into a culture (the culture of the Coven and their mothers) that didn't see the force in the binary way the Jedi&Sith both do. Mae, who remembered and kept to the pov of the Coven, never fell to the dark side in a Sith way --she felt anger but balanced with a desire for justice, even when she killed-- it was only her sister, taught repression and self-denial by the Jedi, who did. Qimir and Osha have a conceptual/spiritual escape route open to them if they wish to use it.

Finally, Leslye has said that she's written Qimir as her "shadow" (in the Jungian sense) and that she feels close to him - and what does he want? "I want freedom." I don't think someone driven by that desire is going to just surrender himself AND the woman he loves to Plagueis the Creeper.

My wife was like, “What do you want to say?” I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.” By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When he says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody. That's why I feel so close to him.

#oshamir #the acolyte #the acolyte meta #qimir the acolyte #osha aniseya #my meta #long post

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ssa-dado · 2 months ago

Text

18 - I'm Always Running To You

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: slow burn, fluff, whump (?) Summary: Back at the BAU, nostalgia and familiar faces reignited memories and emotions you thought you’d left behind. As you navigated the team’s playful camaraderie and handled a skeptical detective, you couldn't ignore the weight of Hotch's absence and the unique bond you shared. Though you left for Peter and a life of stability, two weeks back may reveal whether you truly want the life you’ve chosen - or the one you left. Warnings: CM case, P***r gets mentioned... also... I did a thing. Word Count: 11.6k Dado's Corner: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

masterlist

“... I could tell you about my very first day, the momentous occasion of ‘Teach’s debut’.”

“Oh, please do,” he replied, clearly amused. “And tell me, is my office still intact? Or have you scattered it with sticky notes and red string?”

“Don’t tempt me, but no, I’ve preserved your precious workspace.” you replied with a chuckle, picturing his face as he visualized the mess you could create. “It all started when…”

---

It felt strange, almost surreal, to be sitting in Hotch’s office - your office, at least temporarily. The air was still thick with his presence, his signature cologne lingering like an old friend. Most of his things were still exactly where he’d left them; you had no doubt he’d done it intentionally, a silent stand against Strauss. It was his way of asserting that this space was his, and it always would be.

The most noticeable difference was the absence of his personal photos. The frames that had once held Haley’s warm smile and Jack’s bright eyes were missing, and that small detail made the room feel emptier. Still, he had gone out of his way to replace the pens on the desk with the ones you preferred.

“Although, for the record, I’ve switched to the 0.7mm tip now. Same brand, just… a thicker line. So, you know, if we’re going for accuracy here,” you teased, stretching out on the hotel bed with a grin.

There was a pause on the other end before Aaron replied, his tone more serious than you’d expected. “I noticed, actually. In the files you handed me last time - you used the 0.7mm. I wasn’t sure if it was a permanent change or just a one-off. But, in case you didn’t see them, they’re in the top right drawer.”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by how closely he’d paid attention. “Wait, are you serious? You noticed that?”

“Of course,” he replied, as though keeping track of something so small was the most natural thing in the world. You could almost hear the shrug in his voice. “Figured you’d want them there.”

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Aaron, I swear, sometimes this nerdy side of you is a little unnerving. Also - you could’ve told me about the drawer thing before I dug around like an idiot.”

“I’m the nerd?” he chuckled, and you could hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “You’re the one who’s willing to switch back to the 0.5mm just to keep the ‘continuity’ in your files consistent.”

“Of course I am,” you retorted, grinning at the sheer ridiculousness of it. “I can’t just start with one pen and finish with another. You know as well as I do that consistency is key. I mean, you’re the one who keeps a back-up tie in his desk in case your tie gets stained. And besides,” you added, leaning into the playful banter, “this is all your fault for messing with my routine in the first place.”

“You could say thank you, you know,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. “Here I am, making sure you have exactly what you need, and all I get is passive-aggressive commentary, not quite the gratitude I was hoping for...”

“Oh, of course!” you replied with over-the-top sweetness. “Thank you, my most esteemed noble prosecutor against the crimes of chaos,” you cooed, letting each word drip with playful charm. You could practically feel his discomfort rising on the other end of the line - perfect, just as planned. “And thank you ever so much for keeping such an impeccable archive of my pen preferences.”

He let out a dry sigh. “…Always happy to help,” he replied, his tone barely masking his exasperation. You grinned, knowing you’d hit the mark.

And then there was the nameplate, covered with sticky notes. He’d written your name over his in his distinct, bold handwriting. It made you smile, remembering the early days when you’d shared a desk, continuously passing notes scribbled on Post-its.

But that little personal touch from Hotch had been balanced out by the formidable stack of case files placed dead center on the desk - a welcome gift from Strauss, no doubt. The pile seemed impossibly tall, a silent reminder of the bureaucratic weight she could wield when it suited her. You’d kept your composure on the phone with her, but it felt like she was testing you, making sure you knew this wouldn’t be easy.

Time slipped away as you sifted through the stacks of case files, the silence in the office thick and unnerving. It wasn’t just the absence of sound or movement, it was as if something essential had been stripped from the room, a heartbeat that once pulsed quietly in the background now stilled.

You’d always been one to come in early, even back when you first started at the BAU. But back then, you’d never been the first to arrive. You’d grown used to Hotch’s subtle routines: the way he’d already have a fresh pot of coffee going by the time you arrived, the sight of him hunched over files, deep in thought, yet somehow always aware of your presence, a reassuring constant.

That morning felt like a quiet reminder of all the things that had changed, and all the things you wished, just for a moment, could stay the same.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see JJ standing there, smiling softly. “You’ve probably been here for hours already, haven’t you?”

You stretched your arms, letting out a small laugh. “Me? Never. But what are you doing here so early? You’re not due for another half-hour.

JJ stepped further into the office, a knowing look on her face as she held up a file. “Actually, I came in a little early to show you the ropes, but from the looks of all these files you’ve already gone through, it seems like you’ve got everything under control.”

You glanced at the neat pile of case files in front of you, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Guess I couldn’t resist the urge to keep up with Hotch’s reputation. I’ve got to maintain the early bird standard around here, right?”

JJ chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re definitely living up to it. At this rate, you’ll have his entire routine down before the end of the week.”

You leaned back with a grin. “Just promise me that if I start communicating in cryptic stares and monosyllabic responses, you’ll stage an intervention.”

“Excuse me?!” he said, feigning offense on the other end of the line.

You couldn’t help but laugh, recognizing that his mock outrage was, in fact, a perfect example of the very thing you had just finished saying. “Right, because that wasn’t a textbook example of a monosyllabic response - alright, maybe three syllables, but I’d still count it.”

JJ laughed, giving you a playful nudge. “Noted.” She took a breath, the humor fading slightly as her tone softened. “Oh, by the way, I wanted to let you know - Gideon called in sick, didn’t give much detail. This is today’s case.”

A frown tugged at your lips as JJ passed you the file. Hotch had warned you to keep an eye on Gideon, especially after what happened in Arizona. The weight of Sarah’s death still seemed to carve deeper lines into his face with every case, his once-steady demeanor unraveling.

Gideon had been a cornerstone of your time at the BAU, a bridge to those early days. Now, without him, the weight of responsibility pressed harder on your shoulders, the pressure to hold everything together more overwhelming than ever.

“Thanks for letting me know,” you said, taking the file from her hands, feeling the weight of it. “I guess it’s going to be one of those days.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile, her eyes warm with understanding. “Hey, we’re in good hands. I know stepping in isn’t easy, but you’ve got this.” Then she added, “Oh, and I went ahead and set everything up on the screen in the conference room. No need for pinning photos or scribbling on the board like back in the day.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair with a look of disappointment. “So, just one sentence, and I’m already labeled a dinosaur? For the record, JJ, I’m only three years older than you, and just a few months ago, I was still in my twenties. I think I’ve got a ways to go before ‘ancient relic’ status.”

JJ chuckled, shaking her head. “Relic or not, don’t worry. You’ll settle in just fine.”

You laughed, standing up and gathering the files. “If you say so...” As you followed her to the door, you asked, “I’m heading to the coffee machine. Need me to grab you anything?”

She raised an eyebrow, a playful spark in her eyes. “I thought that’s supposed to go the other way around, Chief?”

You shook your head, laughing. “Oh, come on, no need for all that formality. I’m still getting used to it myself. Just stick to my name… at least until Morgan decides on something else for everyone, I know his reputation precedes him.”

JJ laughed as the two of you headed down the hallway, your footsteps echoing softly. “Well, you know him. Whatever it is, I have a feeling it’ll stick.”

You shook your head with a smile, following her towards the coffee machine. "I’m sure I’ll survive - though if his nickname is too creative, I might have to pull rank on him." You teased, knowing full well that wasn’t your style.

---

By the time you finally stepped into the conference room, the familiar rhythm of the BAU began to settle around you, but that’s when the weight of your nerves - the ones you had tried so hard to push down -suddenly hit you like a punch to the chest. You hadn’t even realized it had been building until it was too late.

Coming in early had given you the luxury of solitude, a quiet space where you could pretend this wasn’t real yet, where you could almost convince yourself that everything would be just like the old days. But now, with the hum of conversation filling the room, the reality crashed down on you all at once.

The team was here.

The case was here.

And you were standing in Hotch’s place.

The familiar energy buzzed around the room, the usual anticipation that always lingered before a new case, but none of it felt normal to you. There was a sense of expectation that weighed down every breath you took.

Each step toward the center of the room felt heavier, and with every pair of eyes that turned in your direction, the weight became unbearable. You knew that even if they didn’t realize they weren’t just looking at you - they were looking for answers.

They were waiting for the guidance and steady leadership they had come to trust in Hotch.

But you weren’t Hotch.

Morgan was the first to spot you, and as usual, he was impossible to ignore. His eyes lit up as he crossed the room with his signature swagger, that confident, wide grin already plastered on his face. His easy demeanor was infectious, a kind of effortless confidence that seemed unshakable, and as he made his way toward you, you wished you could channel even a fraction of it.

“Teacher!” he called out, wrapping you in a strong hug before you had a chance to say anything.

You laughed, returning the hug and rolling your eyes at the nickname, but the moment you released him, you felt the tremor of anxiety creeping back. “Good to see you too, Morgan. For a moment there, I was almost surprised you didn’t have the nickname ready and waiting the second I walked in the door.”

He chuckled, his smile widening as he winked. “Oh, trust me, I’ve got a whole list lined up. I’m just pacing myself, you will fear me.”

You tried to match his lighthearted tone, but your mind kept wandering back to the task ahead.

Your first briefing as Unit Chief. Don’t mess this up.

Just then, Prentiss strolled in, catching the tail end of your conversation. She crossed her arms, a playful smirk already forming on her lips. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said with a gleam in her eyes, looking between you and Morgan. “I think Morgan is the one who’s secretly terrified of you.”

Morgan scoffed, his usual bravado showing, but there was a spark of amusement - and maybe a bit of truth - in his eyes. “Terrified? Of the teacher? Come on, Prentiss, you’ve gotta do better than that.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow, clearly relishing the banter. “Oh really? Because, if I remember correctly, you couldn’t stop talking about that guest lecture she gave at Quantico. You’ve been on edge about it ever since.”

You chuckled, leaning slightly into Emily’s side, grateful for the camaraderie. “Is that so? I knew there was something you weren’t telling me, Morgan.”

Emily’s arm draped around your shoulders, and she gave you a reassuring squeeze. The warmth of her support should’ve been comforting, but instead, it only made the knot in your stomach tighten.

What if I disappoint them?

“You know I’m all about team morale” Prentiss said ironically ”especially if it involves messing with Morgan. It’s nice to have you back, and I’m excited to watch you put him in his place for the next two weeks.” You grinned, but the weight of her words added to your anxiety.

Two weeks. Don’t screw it up.

“Oh, I’ll keep it low-key,” you said with mock innocence, glancing at Morgan. “Wouldn’t want to ruffle any feathers on my first day.”

Prentiss shook her head, laughing. “No way. Go all out! Quiz him, put him on the spot he deserves it. Trust me, it’s been a long time coming.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, amused but clearly unfazed. “Careful, Prentiss. You’re tempting fate.”

Before you could respond, Reid approached quietly, lingering on the edge of the conversation as he often did, waiting for the right time to join in. Finally, he stepped forward, offering a small wave and a hint of a smile – his familiar shyness was a welcome distraction from your mounting nerves.

“So, Morgan settled on ‘Teacher,’” he said with his usual calm precision. “For the record, there were 11 other options on the list, but ‘Teacher’ seemed the most fitting in my opinion.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” You hadn’t spent much time with the team before that day - just a couple of occasions, really - but from the few moments you’d shared with Reid, you knew how much he valued the chance to break down his thought processes. You gave him the space to elaborate, genuinely curious to hear his reasoning.

A spark of excitement danced in Spencer’s eyes, and he straightened a little, clearly appreciating the chance to share his insight. “Well, it’s actually pretty poetic,” he began, his voice tinged with enthusiasm. “Your first academic publication was on Plato, right? And Plato wasn’t just a philosopher - he was a teacher at his own school, the Academy. And now, here you are, teaching at the Academy. Even though you’re taking a break from it for the next couple of weeks, the nickname ‘Teacher’ seems… poetically appropriate.”

You smiled, touched by the thoughtfulness of his connection, but a shadow of doubt still lingered.

They all see you as capable. But what if you’re not?

“That’s a beautiful interpretation, Spencer. Plato’s one of my favorites, so I really appreciate that you found those links.” You tried to sound confident, but the tension in your chest remained.

Spencer’s face brightened, clearly pleased by your response. “Thanks! I try,” he replied, a bit shyly. You could tell he was happy to have made the connection for you, and that warmed your heart.

You leaned in slightly, knowing he’d appreciate a chance to continue the intellectual thread. “By the way, since we’re on the topic, do you know why it’s called the Academy?”

Spencer looked momentarily taken aback, shaking his head. “No, actually, I don’t.”

“It’s because of the land it was built on,” you explained, enjoying his anticipation. “Plato’s Academy was set up in a grove just outside Athens, named after a local hero, Akademos… or Hecademus, depending on the source. The fact that the land was sacred wasn’t incidental; it created a space that felt set apart, a place where learning and reflection became almost a spiritual process for Plato and his students.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, captivated by the backstory. “That’s… incredible. I had no idea,” he admitted, visibly impressed. Then, with a smirk, he added, “Though, I have to say, it’s a good thing the local hero had a dignified name. The School of Bob might not have carried the same historical weight.”

Before either of you could dive deeper into Philosophy 101, Garcia swooped in with her usual whirlwind of energy, wrapping her arms around you in a hug so tight you could barely breathe. “Welcome, naughty Teacher!” she exclaimed, her grin stretching from ear to ear.

You laughed, trying to shake off the creeping anxiety. “Nice to see you too, Penelope. But I’m afraid we’ll have to drop the ‘Naughty’ part unless you want HR knocking on both our doors. Anything more PG, I’ll gladly accept.”

Penelope gasped dramatically, clutching her chest with exaggerated flair. “Alright, alright, just ‘Teacher’ then,” she conceded, but her eyes twinkled with mischief. “But know that I’ll still think ‘naughty’ in spirit.”

You shook your head, chuckling as you nudged her playfully. “Noted. And I’ll make sure to blush and feel flattered by it - purely in spirit, of course.”

She pouted playfully, then cocked her head, adding in a teasing, faux-flirty tone, “Teach, just checking… you still taken? Engaged and all that?”

You grinned, crossing your arms as you replied, “Affirmative, Penelope. The position is still filled.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head with an exaggerated sigh. “Ah, tragic! Well, it’s truly the world’s loss then,” she said, winking. “But you know, if the situation ever changes…”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “I’ll be sure to update you on any status changes in a timely manner.”

She winked, giving you a playful shove. “See, now that’s why I always keep my options opened.”

Despite the playful banter, the clock was ticking, and the weight of what was about to happen settled in more heavily than ever.

It’s time. Don’t mess this up.

A few moments later, you clapped your hands, bringing the room to order. The friendly chatter died down, and all eyes turned to you. This was the moment you had been dreading - the first time you’d lead a case briefing as Unit Chief. Your heart raced, but you forced yourself to project confidence as you stepped forward with the remote in hand.

With a click, the screen flickered to life, displaying the crime scene photos in stark, unsettling detail. You could feel the weight of their gazes, their expectations.

They trust you. Don’t let them down.

“Alright, team,” you began, forcing your voice to steady even as the nerves rattled within you. “I’d love nothing more than to catch up, but we’ve got a triple homicide on our hands, and time isn’t on our side.”

You took a breath, signaling for JJ to start, and she took over, filling the team in on the case basics. “We’re looking at three victims in Newport,” she explained. “Different ages, different backgrounds. The first two were killed a week apart, but the last one was just three days ago. The timeline’s escalating.”

You nodded, moving closer to the screen as you clicked through the crime scene photos. Gesturing at the images, you continued, “There’s a pattern here. The unsub leaves a white mask over each victim’s face, with holes cut around the nose and mouth. There’s no sign of a struggle, no defensive wounds - this is clean, methodical work.”

You paused, letting the silence settle as they took it in, but the stillness only made the knot in your stomach twist tighter. Am I explaining this right? What if they’re questioning my judgment?

“Whoever this unsub is,” you went on, pushing down the doubts, “they’re confident, careful, and they’re taking their time. We need to figure out why.”

Are you really enough for this team?

Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced at it, feeling a sudden jolt of surprise and relief as you saw the name: Lawyer – it was Aaron.

Lawyer:

Don’t second guess yourself. You’ve got this. I trust you, I hope you know that.

Lawyer:

P.S. If you could avoid winning everyone over in the next two weeks, that’d be great. Try to be a little unlikable, so they’re actually glad when I come back. ;)

And just like that, the voices of doubt went silent.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, feeling steadier now. You turned back to the team, ready to continue.

Don’t second guess yourself.

You’ve got this.

I trust you.

---

Once at the Newport precinct, you could feel eyes on you as soon as you stepped inside. The local detectives seemed disoriented by your presence, their confusion was evident as they exchanged glances. You’d prepared for this reaction, but it still stung.

You introduced the team with a smile, doing your best to mask the flicker of irritation that flared up when one of the older detectives barely glanced your way. He muttered something to his colleague, just low enough that you couldn’t catch it, but you could feel the dismissiveness in his tone.

The insinuation was clear: Too young, too inexperienced, too… female.

Shaking it off, you divided the team into two groups. “Morgan, Prentiss, you two head to the medical center to review the autopsies. Look for anything that might indicate how the unsub maintains such precise control over the victims. Drugs, maybe something else.” They nodded, Morgan already heading toward the door with his usual confidence, Prentiss following closely behind.

You turned to JJ and Reid. “We’ll stay here. JJ, let’s start with victimology. You and I will talk to the families. Reid, you’ll work on a geographical profile. See if you can figure out a pattern in the locations.”

You and JJ arrived at the small, quiet home of the third victim’s parents, Filipino immigrants whose grief seemed to fill every corner of the room. Stepping inside, you felt as if the air itself mourned with them. Family photos lined the walls, capturing a life now painfully incomplete. The parents sat close together, their hands intertwined, clutching at each other as though any moment they might shatter.

“Kamusta po. Ako po si Y/N, kasama ko si JJ. Galing po kami sa Behavioral Analysis Unit ng FBI. Alam kong napakahirap ng pinagdadaanan ninyo, at hindi ko po madadala ang sakit, pero nandito kami para makinig, para tulungan kayong mahanap ang hustisya para sa inyong anak na babae. Kapag handa na po kayo, gusto sana naming magtanong ng ilang bagay.”

“Hello. I’m Y/N, and this is JJ. We’re from the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. I know the pain you’re going through is unimaginable, and while I can’t take that pain away, we’re here to listen, to help bring justice for your daughter. When you’re ready, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

The mother’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, her posture softening as she realized you spoke her language, a small but meaningful gesture that bridged the gap between their grief and your willingness to understand. Her grief was still raw, but she opened up, telling you about her daughter, sharing the little details that made her life beautiful.

As you finished with the first family, you and JJ stepped outside, the weight of the interview hanging heavy in the air. You turned to her, noticing the sadness etched in her eyes, the pain she tried to conceal. You could see how she always felt deeply, letting herself absorb the grief around her, and it showed.

“You good here?” you asked softly, searching her face. She hesitated, eyes distant for a moment before she nodded.

“Yeah,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper. “I’ll handle it. You head back and see what Reid’s found.”

You reached out, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Hey, listen to me. You’ll get through this. I know these cases hit hard, but even when you’re at your worst, JJ, it’s still better than anyone else’s best. You’re compassionate, and that makes you the best person to speak with these families. But if it’s too much, let me know, and we’ll switch.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, and she took a steadying breath, nodding slightly as she met your gaze. “Thanks,” she said, a glimmer of strength returning to her eyes. “I needed that. But I’ll be fine. Go on, you can head back to Reid. I’ve got this.”

You gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning back toward the station. Inside, Reid was hunched over a map, his fingers tracing the outline of the city as he studied the locations of the murders. He barely looked up when you approached, his mind clearly absorbed in the puzzle before him.

“So, Doc, what do you have for me?” you asked, leaning over the desk.

Reid straightened pointing to the map. “I’ve been analyzing the locations of the murders, but I think the most significant detail isn’t where they happened, it’s the masks the unsub uses.”

Your brow furrowed. “The masks?”

Reid nodded, his voice gaining momentum as he explained. “The masks only have holes for the nose and mouth, not the eyes. That suggests a couple of things. First, they’re not something you can just buy - these masks are probably handmade, which means the unsub has a certain level of craftsmanship or access to materials. And second…” He paused, waiting for you to catch on.

“They’re covering the eyes deliberately,” you said, the realization sinking in. “They don’t want their victims to see - or be seen. By obscuring them, the unsub is denying the victims any self-recognition.”

“Exactly,” Reid confirmed. “The eyes are the windows to the soul, right? It’s a symbolic way of stripping them of their identity”

You felt a rush of clarity, your mind connecting the dots. “That’s a really good observation, Reid. It fits with the unsub’s need for control. They’re not just killing, they’re staging a performance.”

Before you could delve further into the theory, the air in the room shifted. One of the local detectives, the same one who had dismissed you earlier, sauntered over, his expression smug as he cast a glance at Reid. “You guys find anything useful? Kid here looks like he’s barely out of high school.”

Reid blinked, momentarily taken aback, but before he could respond, the detective turned to you, his tone dripping with condescension. “And you’re telling me the FBI put someone like you in charge? Not even thirty yet, and you’re calling the shots? Must be some kind of joke.”

Your muscles tensed, breath hitching as you caught a glimpse of Reid, his face paling slightly, visibly shaken as he struggled to find the courage to respond. Before he could get a word out, though, the doors swung open, and Morgan and Prentiss strode into the station.

They caught the tail end of the exchange, their gazes snapping to you, their expressions quickly shifting to a mix of concern and simmering irritation.

Morgan, always quick to defend, took a step toward the detective, his jaw set and eyes flashing. But before he could say a word, you lifted a hand, a subtle gesture that stopped him in his tracks. You forced a smile, one that was warm on the surface but laced with an unmistakable edge of disappointment.

“Detective,” you began, your tone even, almost gentle, but carrying a weight that silenced the room, “I understand how frustrating cases like this can be. But if we spend our time underestimating each other, we’re only helping the unsub stay one step ahead. None of us can afford that.”

The detective’s expression shifted, slightly thrown off by your calmness. He gave a gruff chuckle, shaking his head. “I just hope the FBI’s got the expertise to handle this one. It’s not your usual serial killer, that’s for sure, a fancy degree won’t do the job.”

“We appreciate your concern, Detective.” you said, your voice steady and calm as you stepped closer, fixing him with a focused gaze, your eyes narrowed slightly. “If you have specific doubts about our methods, I’m more than happy to walk you through them. The problem I’ve noticed, however, is that you’ve been approaching this case from a narrow perspective.”

You continued, gaze unwavering as you explained “This unsub isn’t one-dimensional, and neither is their motive. Without considering the complexity - the layers of behavior and psychology involved - we risk making shallow assessments, which lead to mistakes. And from what I’ve seen, you’ve overlooked critical elements of the unsub’s psychology.”

As you spoke, Morgan leaned in toward Prentiss, shaking his head. “She’s got that Hotch stare down, doesn’t she?” he murmured, his voice low with awe.

Prentiss smirked, nodding. “Oh, absolutely. But there’s something different about it… his stare is all intimidation, but hers? It’s almost worse - like you’ve disappointed her on some fundamental level. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.”

The detective blinked, visibly disoriented. “What do you mean, missing?” he sputtered.

You could hear their whispered comments, but you stayed focused on the detective, who was just starting to fidget under your stare. “The unsub we’re dealing with isn’t a sadist, despite what you’ve assumed. They’re not motivated by the need to inflict pain for pleasure. What we’re looking at is something much more complex - control, power, recognition. The masks, the staging? They’re not random. If we keep treating this like a sadist’s work, we’ll continue wasting valuable resources on a dead-end.”

You stepped forward slightly, your tone sharpening, though you remained composed. “And it’s not just this case. You’ve been missing the bigger picture all along, dismissing the insights we’ve been trying to offer. It shows not only in your handling of this investigation but also in your approach. You jump to conclusions, failing to consider the complexities.”

“See, when we try to prove a point, the evidence has to be accurate, or everything crumbles.” You paused, letting the silence hang for a moment. “Earlier, you mentioned I’m ‘not even thirty yet’ as part of your argument that I’m unqualified to lead an FBI team. If you had done your research, you’d know I’m actually thirty - I have been for months. Using incorrect facts, you made your entire demonstration falter.”

You leaned in, your eyes never leaving his. “This behavior of yours also affects your overall approach to this case. You rushed to label this unsub as a sadist, forcing everything into a narrative that fits your narrow perspective. And who benefits from that? The unsub.”

Morgan leaned toward Prentiss, nodding with a mix of admiration and amusement. “Man, she’s Hotch’s protégé. It’s like watching him all over again - tearing him apart on the technicalities, using the guy’s own words to back him into a corner.” He grinned, voice dropping slightly. “You can tell they spent years together.”

Prentiss smiled, her expression softening. “Yeah, but she’s got her own way of doing it. She’s not just channeling him, she’s making it her own.” She glanced at you, a note of pride in her voice. “That’s what makes her… her.”

Your voice remained steady, the edge of disappointment clear. “To be precise, that wasn’t the only demonstration of your failure to grasp the complexity here. Earlier you said I have ‘a fancy degree’ - once again - you didn’t bother to check your facts. The reality is that it’s not one degree - singular. I have multiple degrees - plural. And my colleague here?”

You gestured to Reid, who was observing silently, his sharp eyes taking everything in. “He’s the one you’ve underestimated the most. Not only does he have advanced degrees, he holds multiple PhDs – once again, plural . So, Detective, you haven’t just made the mistake of questioning my expertise, but you’ve managed to make an even bigger error by dismissing the experience of my entire team. More than just one individual. Understanding and managing the concept of plurality is essential, and it’s something you’ve consistently overlooked since the beginning.”

The room fell silent, your tone never rising but carrying the weight of undeniable authority. The detective’s face shifted, his bravado visibly crumbling, as he struggled to respond. His earlier confidence now replaced by a stunned, flustered silence.

Morgan leaned toward Prentiss again, barely able to hide the grin. “She just tore him apart. Without even raising her voice.”

Prentiss chuckled softly. “God, it’s like watching an artist at work.”

JJ crossed her arms, smiling faintly as she whispered, “Hotch is probably proud.”

The detective blinked, clearly struggling to keep pace with your explanation. You held your ground, your gaze steady, tone firm but calm. “We’re here to collaborate, not waste time. But if we’re not open to different perspectives, we won’t get anywhere. The unsub isn’t just killing; they’re constructing a narrative that reflects a need for dominance and recognition. Hegel’s master-slave dialectic is relevant here - recognition is essential to self-awareness, and the unsub is asserting themselves as the ‘master,’ with their victims as ‘slaves.’”

Reid nodded along, understanding where you were going. “The use of custom masks that only leave holes on the mouth and nose, are particularly telling. Hegel explains that the relationship between the master and the slave is based on mutual acknowledgment - each needs the other to confirm their own identity. Although the Unsub twists this dynamic at its core. By covering the eyes – the primary sense we use to recognize someone - the unsub symbolically denies the victims to engage in this shared recognition. So the unsub strips the victims of individuality, reducing them to faceless, passive entities. Objects.”

You continued, unfazed by the detective’s discomfort, speaking with the calm assurance born from your mastery in uncovering the intricate links between human behavior and philosophy. "The unsub doesn’t want recognition from the singular victims but demands it from society, a plurality. Which means that the unsub seeks godlike power over life and death, forcing us to acknowledge their existence through fear. It’s not about chaos; it’s a twisted form of self-affirmation. If we ignore these psychological details, we’re missing the core of their intent.”

Morgan raised his eyebrows at Prentiss, a smile spreading across his face. “Man, I love it when she goes philosophical. She’s got that deep dive style down to an art.”

The detective opened his mouth as if to argue, but your steady gaze cut him off before he could form a coherent sentence. Finally, he managed a weak, “Right… well, I suppose that makes sense… what do you need from us?”

“Full cooperation from your team,” you said simply, “and no more jumping to conclusions.”

As the detective shuffled away, visibly shaken, you turned back to the team, feeling a sense of relief settle in. Reid met your gaze, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, a silent thank you for handling the situation on his behalf. JJ gave you a warm, knowing smile, a touch of admiration in her expression, as though she’d seen a new side of you.

On the other side, Morgan and Prentiss exchanged glances, smirks tugging at their lips as they struggled to contain their laughter. Their eyes sparkled with barely concealed amusement, relishing the scene that had just played out.

They weren’t fooling anyone - especially not you. You knew that look all too well, it was the unmistakable glint of an inside joke, the kind of unspoken conspiracy that you could sense from a mile away.

You couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. You’d been in their shoes before, that playful bond where just one look could spark an entire unspoken conversation. It was the same look you and Hotch used to share whenever Gideon and Rossi did anything remotely friendly toward each other.

Just the slightest hint of camaraderie between those two was enough for you and Hotch to start your own silent plotting, exchanging glances and letting your imaginations run wild about their “secret romance.”

And if there was one thing you knew for certain, it was that Morgan and Prentiss were definitely up to something. “You okay?” you asked raising your eyebrows, catching the spark running through the group.

That was all it took, Morgan and Prentiss chuckled, their expressions carrying a mix of respect and pure enjoyment. You could tell they saw something of Hotch in you, but with your own twist, and that silent bond between you all deepened, shared in the moment.

“Oh, we’re good,” Morgan said, barely containing a chuckle. “Just… processing the show you just put on. Not bad, Teacher.”

Prentiss nodded, her eyes gleaming. “You definitely have that stare down.”

“What stare?” you asked, genuinely confused. “I didn’t realize I had a ‘stare.’”

JJ stifled a laugh. “Oh, you do... remember about the intervention? It’s a bit different than Hotch’s, though. His can be terrifying, but yours? Yours just screams disappointment. It’s brutal. I almost felt sorry for the guy.”

The team burst into quiet laughter as you gave them an unintentional demonstration of the stare, feeling the same subtle disappointment creep into your expression as you processed their remarks. “What’s going on?” you asked, the exact same tone Hotch used to use when he was catching on to their inside jokes, only fueling the laughter.

They laughed even harder, exchanging looks as if sharing an inside joke they hadn’t expected you to be in on. A bit intimidated but still chuckling, JJ finally spoke up. “It’s just… the way you said that, it was just like Hotch. Even the tone, the phrasing, it was all there.”

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “So, you all really think I’m like Hotch?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Prentiss replied, smirking. “You two have been partners since, what, the dawn of time? I’d bet good money you’ve picked up more than a few of his quirks over the years.”

You shook your head in mock offense, placing your hands on your hips. “Oh, please! Have you ever considered that maybe he picked up my mannerisms? But even if that were true, I have no idea why you’re all so obsessed with comparing us. I’m my own person. And Hotch and I? We’re not similar. At all.”

Prentiss let out a laugh, eyes gleaming. “Uh-huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that. But from where I’m standing, you two are basically the FBI version of an old mar-”

“Watch it, Prentiss,” you cut her off, the warning playful but sharp. The moment the words left your mouth, you froze for a beat. Even you could hear it - Hotch’s voice, not yours. You’d definitely heard him say it just like that before.

They laughed again, their amusement only growing at your reaction. Morgan wiped his eyes, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s there. You two are practically the same person when you’re in the field.”

JJ added with a smirk, “You spent so many years together, it’s bound to rub off… you two were like the dynamic duo. I just wish we could see more of it now. The stories I’ve heard about how well you worked together are legendary.” It was funny how you could practically visualise what Morgan and Reid were picturing in their minds at that exact moment. The best part was that no matter how many times the two of them tried to imagine you and Hotch dancing, it would never even come close to what it was like in reality. “You two were close, weren’t you?”

You two were close, weren’t you?

And just like that, your heart dropped, a pang of melancholy seeping in at her words.

They were right – no, actually – Aaron was right.

You’d missed working in the field, and coming back here reminded you how much you missed working alongside him, as a team, the way you once did every day.

But things were different now.

There was Peter who’d made it clear that he expected you to stay with the Academy.

A life at the BAU wasn’t compatible with settling down, and you knew if you came back, the job would consume you again, and any hope of a family life with him would fade

Seeing your expression shift, Morgan stepped a little closer, his tone softer but with that familiar edge. “You know, when I came across your file over a year ago, there was this old photo in there - had to be from Rossi’s first book party, back in ’99. The whole OG team was there - Rossi, Gideon, you, Hotch. But what really hit me? The way you and Hotch looked in that picture. He was actually smiling, like genuinely smiling. You were both laughing, heads tilted towards each other, practically leaning in. It’s the kind of picture that says, ‘yeah, those two have seen it all, side by side’.”

A soft ache tugged at your chest as the memory surfaced, sharper and more vivid than you expected. You hadn’t thought about that night in years, yet now it rushed back with startling clarity, as if it had happened only yesterday. No - more than that - it was as though it was unfolding right in front of you, playing out in real time, every detail suddenly alive again. You knew the reason Hotch was smiling in that picture.

---

The evening had only just begun at Rossi’s book release party, but the warmth of the room, the glow of dim lights, and the gentle hum of laughter and clinking glasses gave it a sense of timelessness. Rossi was in his element, charm radiating as he moved through the crowd with an easy confidence, his smile as wide as you’d ever seen it. He reveled in the attention, basking in the congratulations and admiration, the proud look of a man who’d earned every word of praise.

But you and Hotch had slipped away from the main throng, as you often did, drifting to a quieter corner where you could watch the scene unfold, cocooned in a world of your own making. The two of you had perfected this dance over the years, a private escape in plain sight. A shared glance, a quick smile, a whispered comment, and suddenly, the rest of the room faded into the background.

You watched Rossi work the room, the flicker of candlelight catching the satisfaction in his eyes, and you could feel Hotch’s presence beside you, steady and familiar. It was comforting, the warmth he brought just by standing close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. His quiet presence was an anchor, grounding you as the world around you spun with laughter and champagne.

“Look at him,” you murmured softly, leaning in just a little, letting your voice carry between the two of you. “It’s like he was born for this moment.”

Hotch’s gaze followed yours, a faint smile touching his lips. “It’s the Rossi special,” he replied, his voice just a whisper. “A room full of people, and somehow, they’re all drawn to him.”

You chuckled, your smile widening. “He’s practically glowing.” Your eyes drifted over the scene, and then you spotted Gideon, standing just a few feet away from Rossi, sharing an easy laugh. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand gently resting on Hotch’s upper arm, giving it a soft squeeze. The touch surprised him, and he turned toward you, his expression momentarily caught off guard. You tilted your head in the direction of your two “lovebirds,” and as soon as he followed your gaze, a smirk appeared on his face, as if he already knew exactly where your thoughts had gone.

Leaning in just enough for him to catch the soft, lingering notes of your rose perfume, he struggled not to lose himself in the scent he had quietly come to cherish. Your voice, low and teasing, slipped out in a warm, intimate whisper. “Tell me this doesn’t feel like the renewal of vows for our happy couple,” you murmured, your lips barely inches from his ear. You felt his breath hitch, a brief falter in his composure, as though the closeness had woven a delicate tension between you, one that hummed softly in the quiet space you shared.

“All that’s missing is a cake and matching rings,” you continued, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “They’re practically glowing over there, and I’m just waiting for someone to stand up and toast their ‘eternal bond.’”

Hotch’s gaze followed yours to where Rossi and Gideon stood, posing together in matching dark suits, looking more like a coordinated pair than the veteran profilers you knew. He leaned in even closer than you did moments before, so close that you felt the warmth of his breath as he spoke, his voice low and laced with amusement. “Oh, it’s definitely an anniversary,” he murmured, his tone playful. “Think about it - what are the odds Rossi’s book launch just happens to fall on the exact same date? Feels a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

You felt a shiver run through you as he tilted his head, his lips almost brushing your ear. “I’d bet anything he planned this whole thing just to make sure Gideon couldn’t pull another stunt like last year. No way Rossi was letting him show up empty-handed this time.”

You laughed, quickly covering your mouth to stifle the sound. He slid his arm over your shoulder, holding you close to keep your laughter contained, as if he wanted this moment to stay just between the two of you, hidden from the rest of the room. “Oh, I remember that,” you whispered, still smiling. “What do you think he got Rossi this time? It’s bound to be something… serious, but just impersonal enough.”

Up close, you could see his eyes light up with a glint of mischief as he slipped effortlessly into profiling mode, his voice dipping lower in a way that made your heart skip a beat. “Gideon’s practical to a fault. My money’s on something generic yet expensive, probably a leather-bound notebook set. Engraved, maybe. ‘For Loyalty Beyond Words’. Subtle but just close enough to the mark, a reminder that unlike Rossi, Gideon has probably never cheated on him.”

You stifled a snicker, nudging him playfully. “Oh, you’re definitely right. But seriously, look at them - matching suits? They practically look like they just walked out of a wedding chapel." You rolled your eyes dramatically, biting back another laugh as Rossi and Gideon posed together, their shoulders squared, yet there was something almost too intimate about the way they stood, like a pair of grooms posing after years of knowing each other’s every move.

“They’re definitely setting up for a solo photoshoot,” Hotch murmured, his smirk deepening, the soft light catching his dimples in a way that made them seem even more striking, like something out of a Caravaggio painting. “Look at the way Rossi’s arm is resting, just barely behind Gideon’s back, like he can’t help but pull him closer. And those cufflinks? They’re identical. There’s no way that’s an accident.”

Before you could reply, Rossi and Gideon turned in unison, spotting you both. Rossi waved you over with a grin, calling out, “Early birds!” while Gideon, at the same time, called, “Night owls!” The unplanned dissonance was so perfectly them that you barely suppressed a laugh, and Hotch was already looking away, shaking his head in amusement.

As you set your drinks down, you leaned in toward Hotch, your voice low and teasing. “Well, they’ll be arguing about that later.”

Without missing a beat, Hotch leaned in even closer, his lips barely brushing your ear as he started to whisper, but before he could finish, the words spilled out from both of you, perfectly in sync. “Rossi’s already canceled the hotel suite for tonight.”

The unison caught you both by surprise, and you couldn’t hold back your laughter. It bubbled up, blending together, as you both tried - and miserably failed - to stifle it, the shared moment drawing you closer. You instinctively reached for Hotch’s shoulder, your fingers curling around the fabric of his suit as your body shook with laughter. He mirrored you, his other hand covering his mouth as he tried - and failed - to contain himself, his shoulders shaking against yours.

Hotch straightened, casting you a sidelong glance with that infamous, piercing stare of his, his voice mock-serious as he said, “Okay, composure. We’re professionals, remember?”

“Professionals, yes, and incredibly mature,” you replied, grinning. “But admit it, Hotch - if anyone’s going to storm out tonight, it’ll be Rossi, and he’ll be dramatic about it as usual just to keep up with their tradition. Gideon will be left speechless, staring at the door in disbelief.”

Hotch’s grin spread wider, the mischievous spark in his eyes almost gleaming now. “Oh, definitely. You know Rossi won’t go quietly,” he said, his voice rich with amusement. He leaned in slightly as he mimicked Rossi’s cadence and dramatic flair, “‘I simply cannot believe I’ve tolerated this for so long!’”

Hotch paused for effect, just like Rossi would, his expression mock-serious before continuing. “And then, he’ll make sure everyone’s watching - dramatic pause, hand on his heart - and just when the tension’s thick enough, he’ll storm out, tie flying dramatically in the breeze, leaving everyone in awe of his theatrics.”

Your laughter spilled out again as you nudged him in the shoulder, trying desperately to maintain your composure while he kept up his increasingly exaggerated impressions, practically daring you to crack. You could barely catch your breath, finally managing to say through fits of laughter, “Aaron!”

The name slipped out before you could stop it, and you felt a rush of warmth rise to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and surprise fluttering through you. You’d never called him by his first name before. It had always been “Hotch,” or, more often, “partner”, a term that had taken on its own intimate meaning between the two of you, a word that only belonged to you both.

He stilled, and a small, surprised smile softened his features. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, steady and warm. “Hey, it’s fine,” he murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. And then, with a rare, mischievous glint, he added, “You’re more than welcome to call me by my name. After all, we’ve already shared some… pretty intimate terms, haven’t we?”

Your eyes widened, feeling a fresh wave of heat flood your cheeks as you realized exactly what he was referring to. Of course, he was talking about that night you’d both sworn to never mention again. You nudged him again, this time a bit harder, your voice dropping as you whispered, “Oh, my God, Aaron”

He grinned, leaning in closer. “I think you said exactly that that night,” he teased, raising his eyebrows. “Followed by -”

“Oh, so we’re doing this?” you shot back, trying to ignore the blush creeping up your neck. “Want me to start listing off a few of the things you said that night? I’m pretty sure we’re close enough to Rossi and Gideon for them to hear us.”

His chuckle was warm, but you didn’t miss the faint flush rising on his own cheeks. He leaned in even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Backing down already? That doesn’t sound like you.”

You grinned, narrowing your eyes playfully. “If I remember correctly, we both agreed to act like it never happened. But if you’re pushing, I can bring it up anytime, anywhere. Just say the word.”

He held your gaze, his smile lingering as he tilted his head. “I’ll take my chances,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, sending a thrill through you that you tried to hide. “I seem to recall you saying something similar… right before you practically dragged me to my bedroom.”

You bit your lip, fighting a smirk. “Well, you didn’t exactly resist, Aaron.”

He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and challenge flickering in his eyes. “Didn’t exactly hear any complaints from you either.”

With a smirk of your own, you took a step back, looking at him with a mixture of playful defiance and barely concealed warmth. “Keep pushing, and I might just bring up the part you said you’d never admit.”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he tried to recover. “Alright, truce - for now. I think we both know we’d have plenty to say about that night if we really wanted to.”

You gave him a sly smile, lowering your voice. “Fair enough. But remember, I’m keeping this card to play at just the right moment. Watch yourself, Hotchner.”

He chuckled, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze as he replied, “Guess that makes two of us.”

You both stepped toward Rossi and Gideon, who greeted you with smiles… little did they know.

Rossi leaned in first, his arm outstretched to give you the customary two kisses on each cheek. Then he moved to Hotch, who did his best to hide his discomfort, his jaw tightening slightly as Rossi followed suit. The sight was too much, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

“Oh, don’t look so horrified, Aaron,” Rossi teased, stepping back with a smirk. “This is a celebration, after all. And as much as the crowd loves me, I needed to be sure the two of you made it into some of these shots. You know, you clean up nicely for a couple of crime fighters.”

Gideon chimed in with a smile. “Especially you,” he said, looking over at Hotch, whose face remained perfectly composed despite the teasing. “You look more relaxed tonight than I’ve seen you in a long time.”

Hotch nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Just trying to keep up with my partner here,” he replied, his gaze flicking back to you with a playful glint, subtly teasing at the so-called truce he’d declared between you moments ago. “It’s not every day we get a chance to unwind like this.”

Without missing a beat, you crossed your arms, refusing to let him see you crack. He was expecting it, so you turned toward Rossi instead, playing it cool. “What’s the deal, Rossi? Miss us already? Need a little inspiration for that next bestseller?” Your voice carried just enough teasing to shift the attention, and you caught the faintest smirk from Hotch out of the corner of your eye, knowing you’d managed to keep the upper hand - at least for now.

Rossi shot you a sly look. “Not at all, especially not Aaron. I still remember the night he woke me up in the middle of the night, convinced he’d cracked the case.”

Hotch shrugged, his lips curving into a small smile. “Someone had to keep you on your toes, Dave.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You say that now, Rossi, but I know you’d be secretly disappointed if we weren’t here. Why else would you be pulling us in for pictures?”

Gideon, smiling, looked over at you and Hotch, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I have to say, you two look sharp tonight. It’s nice to see you out of your usual work clothes. Especially you, Y/N—it’s good to see you in an actual color for once. That dark blue really suits you... both of you.”

You glanced down, suddenly noticing that the deep, rich blue of your dress matched Hotch’s shirt perfectly, right down to the exact shade. Hotch caught your eye, a faint smile playing on his lips as he feigned innocence, clearly enjoying your surprise. “Pure coincidence,” he murmured, his tone dripping with quiet amusement. “Great minds think alike, I suppose.”

Rossi rolled his eyes, giving you both a look of mock exasperation. “Sure, keep up the act. We all know you two are practically telepathic by now. Matching outfits, finishing each other’s sentences - what’s next, a joint desk at Quantico?”

You laughed, playing along, the banter slipping effortlessly between you. “Oh, that’s never happening. You don’t know how particular he is about his desk. But we might just take over your old office for ourselves, it’s starting to collect dust.”

Gideon chuckled, nudging Rossi with a grin. “Watch out, Dave. Give it a few more years, and they’ll be running this whole place.”

Hotch chuckled beside you, his laugh low and warm, and for a fleeting moment, you felt the gentle weight of his hand on your lower back. It was subtle, but not meaningless - not for him, that was certain. The warmth of his touch seemed to seep through the fabric of your dress, almost as if his hand were resting on your bare skin.

Your eyes met his for a brief second, a quick, almost tentative smile passing between you, and in that heartbeat, his hand was already gone, faster than the speed of light, leaving you bare of that ephemeral touch.

As you gathered for the photo, the opening notes of “It’s All Coming Back to Me Now” began to play softly in the background, filling the room with its familiar, haunting melody. Gideon chuckled, shooting you a knowing look. “Perfect timing. They’re even playing your song.”

You shot him a playful glare, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you, and as the photographer raised his camera, Hotch’s arm slipped around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His hand was warm and steady, grounding you even as your heart raced but not as fast as his. You felt his fingers press lightly against your waist, sending a shiver up your spine.

The moment felt suspended in time, the music swelling softly around you as you reached up, slipping your arm around his neck, your elbow resting lightly on his shoulder. Your other hand - on his chest, fingers gently splayed. You leaned in, your bodies naturally angling toward each other, close enough that you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing and catch the faintest hint of his cologne. The warmth of his presence, the closeness - it felt far too natural, a quiet intimacy that left you almost breathless.

As you looked up at him, you caught a flicker in his eyes, something that wasn’t wrapped in the usual teasing or the shared jokes that had become your comfort zone. Instead, it was something raw, something unguarded and completely sincere, a depth that made your heart stumble.

As Rossi and Gideon drifted away, already pulled into conversation by a colleague, Hotch’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder, the warmth of his touch grounding you. You turned to look up at him, and he met your gaze with a quiet smile, his expression carrying a hint of something more.

“So,” he started, his voice teasing. “Seems like Rossi and Gideon’s anniversary isn’t the only remarkable event happening today.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to what he meant. “Oh?” you replied, eyebrows raised. “What else could possibly compete with the vow renewals of our favorite BAU lovebirds?”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “Today also marks your first anniversary with the BAU,” he said, his tone softening. “It’s been exactly one year since you walked into the bullpen and, by some twist of fate, ended up as my deskmate.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, a flutter of warmth and something deeper spreading through you. Between the long hours, the grueling cases, and the late nights, you hadn’t even realized what day it was. But Hotch had remembered, and that simple fact made your heart skip a beat.

Before you could say anything, he picked up the glasses of whiskey you’d left on a nearby table, raising one in a silent toast. “Here’s to you, and to one hell of a year,” he said, clinking his glass against yours.

You laughed, lifting your glass, still a bit dazed. “I didn’t even realize it. I guess I owe you a toast then, for putting up with me for an entire year.”

He smirked, setting his glass down and meeting your eyes with an intensity that softened as he spoke. “Actually, I have a gift for you,” he began, a playful glint in his eyes. “It’s a little different from my usual attempts - no pens this time. I noticed you haven’t even used the last one I gave you.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of his words, and his gaze remained steady, almost vulnerable as he continued. “This gift is… well, something I think you’ll appreciate more. You’re always the one diving into these philosophical speeches, so I figured it’s about time I gave it a try. Lawyers aren’t usually the introspective types,” he added with a smirk, “but I’ve learned a few things from you.”

He took a steadying breath, as if collecting his thoughts, before he began. “You once gave me “Hegel for Dummies”, and in all my time bearing you rant about philosophy, there’s this one concept that’s stuck with me – please correct me if I’m wrong: In order to fully understand itself, a self-conscious being needs to be seen and acknowledged by another. This process of seeking recognition is central to how we grow. We aren’t just… self-contained. We become who we are through the recognition of others.”

You blinked, surprised and deeply touched as he paused, his voice softening. “That recognition - of seeing and being seen - I felt it from the first day we worked together. I knew, right then, that you were meant to be my partner.” He smiled, the words flowing with a quiet sincerity that left you breathless. “In just one year, you’ve managed to become one of the most important people in my life, even with our ongoing rivalry - who’s at the office first, who’s cracked the case, and who’s snooped into the other’s files,” he added, his grin widening. “I’ll remind you, by the way, that I’m still unbeaten in arriving first.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling your heart swell as he continued. “But you’re more than just a colleague. You’re my partner, my best friend, and tonight, I wanted you to know that you have all the recognition you’ll ever need from me.”

He held your gaze, a softness in his eyes that he rarely allowed to show. “I don’t usually talk about these things out loud, but I know how much words matter to you. So, I’ll say it once, just to make sure you don’t let it go to your head.” He leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “I love you, philosopher.”

The words, though lighthearted, hit you deeply, his sentiment so sincere that it brought a sudden welling of tears to your eyes. You blinked quickly, smiling as you took a shaky breath, overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude. “I love you too, lawyer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned, his hand finding your shoulder again, giving it a gentle squeeze. For a moment, neither of you spoke, simply holding each other’s gaze, the weight of the moment settling between you like a promise.

You smiled at him, but a twinge of guilt twisted in your chest. “I feel terrible, you know,” you admitted softly, lowering your gaze before looking back up into his eyes. “You remembered our anniversary, and I didn’t even think to get you anything. I mean, this day is just as much about you as it is about me. It’s our anniversary as partners, after all. I’m no better than Gideon, forgetting about Rossi a year ago,” you added, with a small, self-deprecating smile.

You paused, letting the weight of the moment settle between you. “Even if we weren’t officially partners at first, I’ve always felt this day mattered for both of us.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his gaze steady and reassuring as he took a small step closer, his hand resting on your arm. "You don’t need to give me anything," he said quietly, his voice low but filled with sincerity. "You being here, by my side, is more than enough. I couldn’t imagine what any of this would be like without you, what a day without you sitting across from me would even look like."

His words sank into you, the depth of his sentiment catching you off guard. For a man who rarely spoke about his emotions, this was as honest and open as you’d ever heard him, and it struck you deeply.

"Maybe there is one thing," he added, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, breaking the seriousness just enough to ease the moment. "It’s a stupid deal, really."

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity tugging at your smile. "A stupid deal?"

He nodded, his voice warm and playful, yet beneath it, you could feel the gravity of his words. "Promise me that you’ll only leave me if you get tired of me. Otherwise," he paused, eyes locking with yours in that way that made you feel like the rest of the world had faded away, "I’ll always fight to have you back - and you have to let me. Deal?"

Your heart clenched at the sincerity behind the teasing tone. It was such a simple promise, but in that moment, it felt like everything. You blinked quickly, trying to push back the emotion threatening to spill over, and you smiled, a little shakily.

"You don’t need to worry about that," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you get tired of me first."

Hotch shook his head, a small, affectionate smile pulling at his lips as he looked down for a moment before meeting your gaze again, his eyes filled with a rare, raw emotion. "I could never get tired of you," he said, his voice so quiet it felt like it was meant just for you, a secret he was letting you in on.

"Deal," you whispered, a small smile curving your lips. "But just so you know, I’m going to hold you to that."

---

JJ looked at you carefully, reading the emotion that flickered across your face. “Why did you leave the BAU? I mean, we know you left to teach, but... you and Hotch? You had something here. Don’t you miss it?”

Your heart clenched again. You missed it more than you could ever admit, even to yourself.

You don’t need to worry about that.

I’m not going anywhere.

Not unless you get tired of me first.

The fieldwork, the adrenaline, the puzzles you’d solved together.

And Hotch.

God, you missed him.

But life now felt more complicated than it did in ’99. there was also Peter waiting for you back home. He wanted stability, a life where you could start a family and youl couldn’t just deny him that. You knew that staying at the BAU, returning to those long, chaotic hours, would mean giving that up. And Peter? He wouldn’t forgive you for it.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I do miss it. I miss the field, the cases, all of it. But... Peter and I, we want different things. He wants to settle down. I thought teaching would give me that balance.”

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. “But does it? Give you balance?”

You paused, the answer hanging in the air between you.

No, it didn’t.

Not really.

Not at all.

Teaching filled part of that void, but the truth was, your heart had never really left the BAU.

Morgan sighed, stepping closer. “I know we’ve only heard the stories, but it’s obvious you and Hotch were more than just partners in the field. You two had something special. And from what I can tell, he’s not the same without you. He doesn’t laugh like that anymore. Hell, he barely smiles.”

You being here, by my side, is more than enough.

I couldn’t imagine what any of this would be like without you,

what a day without you sitting across from me would even look like.

JJ smiled softly, “You could tell he really trusted you. And seeing the way you worked in just one day? Yeah... you’re definitely missed here.”

You glanced away, the melancholy creeping in.

You did miss the BAU.

You missed the work.

You missed him.

But could you really walk away from the life Peter wanted for you?

Could you sacrifice the chance to start a family for the pull of the field?

The silence in the room felt heavier now. The team could sense the conflict in you, the tug-of-war between your head and your heart. And as much as you tried to focus on the case, you knew that the real question was whether or not you could truly walk away from the one person who had always understood you completely.

Morgan broke the silence. “You’ve got two weeks with us, Teach. Maybe that’s enough time to figure out what you really want.” His tone was light, but the underlying message was clear.

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe,” you whispered.

But deep down, a part of you had already made the decision.

All that was left was for you to recognize it.

But you couldn’t do this alone.

---

Phi's Corner: I hope the binomial unsub/victim captures how the unsub denies the victim participation in the intimate act of recognition, yet demands society’s acknowledgment instead. In contrast, the philosopher/lawyer dynamic allows both to engage fully in the process of mutual recognition. This reflects her realization: to understand she belongs back at the BAU, she needs Aaron too. Recognition falters when it’s one-sided; together, it’s complete. I hope that conveys the theme with a touch of badly written philosophy.

Repeat after me AS A FRIEND, AS A FRIEND, AS A FRIEND. It's honestly hilarious the English language doesn't have a term that differentiates platonic love with actual love. All the betterrrrrrr

P.S. Yes, a part of me wants to believe the smile Aaron had in the pic was similar to the one I've chosen for the thumbnail. Yes, I edited the color of the shirt myself. Yes, it looks horrible.

taglist: @beata1108 ; @cuddleprofiler ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @justyourusualash ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @todorokishoe24

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader

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panic-at-the-fiction · 1 year ago

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The death of you

Summary: You and your best friend have your usual movie night except he can’t seem to keep his cuddly hands to himself and your close to physical combusting. Just a bit of your usual order of slightly angsty desired filled romance with little touch starved reader on the side.

Warnings: doesn’t go any farther than kissing just very passionate, very suggestive, Maybe I’m biased as the author, but damn it’s hot.

A/N: So I’ve been out of practice for 10 months now. Haven’t even wrote more than a paragraph that I just turned around and delete 20 minutes later these past few months. But let’s just say I found some inspiration to use for our favorite fictional men and we’ll see how this goes.

Movie night with Eddie, that’s normal, done it a million times. With friends, just the two of you, late at night, middle of day, outside, inside, at the theater, at his house, thrillers, comedies, action, romance, anything and everywhere for years. So why was this time different?

Currently you were sitting on Eddie’s couch watching the most recently picked out tape from the family video store. Steve let you guys borrow them for free as long as you brought the tape back the very next day. You guys watched movies all the time, so why was your heart beating out of your chest like a race horse on its final stretch to the finish line? Was it because his arm was around you?

No it couldn’t be that, Eddie was a big cuddler, it didn’t mean anything. He loved hugs despite his scary image in the public eyes, and he was always finding weird ways to poke, prod, or touch you. He was the type of friend to bite your shoulder when he got bored, an absolutely feral mad man type guy. And he knew that despite your lack of experience with physical affection, you never mind when it came from him. He always got your free pass.

Maybe it was the slow circles you felt him drawing on your skin? Or how occasionally his hands would slip into your hair, playing with it? Much more intimate little things that were making you feel like you were going to jump out of your skin from just the hints at this new kind of physical touch.

Yep, that was definitely the issue.

You tried removing his arm from around your shoulder and instead brought it back down to his side. But when he looked at you with such confused puppy dog eyes, you caved and played it off as just repositioning yourself as you instead wrapped around his arm and leaned into his side, laying your head on his shoulder. You could never deny him anything, just another issue of being so damn in love with your best friend.

As the movie ticked on and you both stuck to your usual quiet with some slight hilarious commentary during the movie, Eddie eventually pulled you closer so that he could bury his head into the back of your neck. One of his hands came up to play with your hair some more.

You knew he wasn’t paying attention to the movie anymore. He couldn't possibly see it, the way he was laying his head into your neck. Of course, it wasn't a very intriguing movie either, just not a great pick this time. But now he was rubbing the same small circles right under your ear, this time, and every so often his hand would find itself tangled in your hair. You tried to keep yourself straight and breathing consistently without letting your mind wander too far. He had to know this! That HE was killing you slowly.

Your breath nearly hitched this time when you swear you felt him ever so lightly brush his lips against the side of your neck. Did you imagine that part? God, you hoped he would do it again.

You weren’t even questioning why he would do any of this, you just knew you had to get yourself out of there before he realized how much of a mess this was turning you into.

As the movie came to an end you swear he had brushed his lips against your neck at least twice more, and you still couldn’t tell if it was intentional.

“Eddie it’s getting late I’ll have to go home soon.”

“Yeah” he muttered into your hair, all the while holding you tighter.

You gave him, and even more importantly, yourself, another minute before attempting to pull away. “Eddie, I have to get home soon.” You sounded like a broken record as you once again tried half-heartedly to pull yourself free from him.

He only pulled you back in and buried his head into your other shoulder. His arm came around, this time drawing lines down the front of your neck, and you shook at the feeling. This time your hand came up, cupping his head and running your fingers through his hair. Which only caused him to brush his lips against your shoulder once more. That’s it, it had to be intentional.

You swore you would combust into flames if you stayed there any longer like this. As every trace down your throat made you stop breathing. “I'm going to have to be the bad guy. I have to go.” You said, completely pulling away from him this time, moving to the other side of the couch.

He groaned, but nodded as he let you move away from him this time. He ran a hand through his hair before staring at you, darker and more lovingly than you had ever seen before. “Man, you're pretty with your hair messed up.”

God, that was the final straw. You jumped up off the couch. “You can’t say shit like that, Eddie.” You ran your hands up and down your arms, trying to stop how shaken you felt. Your nerves were on high, and he was still looking at you with that same stare.

“Why not?”

“Because!”

“Because what?”

“You’re my best friend. You can’t sit here and hold me like that, and stare at me like that and kiss my neck softly like that and then expect me to just be able to functionally drive home like it was another normal movie night hangout.” You snapped. He had you wound up and your lack of dating experience left you mad for more touches from Eddie.

He sunk low and pain hit you in the gut. “I didn’t realize I was crossing any boundaries of our friendship.” He said, leaning back on the couch. “The last thing I ever wanted to do was make you uncomfortable.”

You sat back down next to him, panicking as you realized how he took your reaction. “No, god no, no that’s not what I meant. You never make me feel uncomfortable, Eddie. EVER! I mean, it wasn’t bad like that. It was good…horribly, terribly good. The kind of good you aren’t supposed to feel when watching a movie with your best friend.” You rambled.

So this was how you were going to confess to him your feelings. Man, he had you so on edge, you would admit anything to him right now if he asked.

That almost hungry stare returned to his eyes as he looked back down at you. You had read about that stare before, many times, and honestly, you thought it was an overused phrase in romance. The hungry stare, but honestly, what else could you call a look like that?

“God, you’ll be the death of me, Eddie Munson.” You laughed, not being able to look at him as long as he stared at you with those big brown eyes.

“You should stop taking the lord's name in vain. It’s a bad habit.” Eddie whispered as he leaned closer to you, getting inches away from you. Your foreheads were nearly touching, causing both of you to gently close your eyes at the feeling.

“It's funny, I didn’t have such a problem with it until now.”

You could feel his breath so close to you as your hands found their way back into his hair. He slowly dipped his head further down, leaving the same light kiss in his wake. He could feel you pull him closer and the kisses gained more pressure in a way you had been craving since he first came anywhere near you with his light touches.

As he kissed harder into your neck, your hands switched from running through his hair to almost pulling at it. You began leaning back further on the couch as you pulled him down with you until Eddie was over top of you. You wanted to give him the room to be fully on top of you, so you wrapped your legs around him as he put his whole force over you.

You felt engulfed and dazed in a way you never experienced before as he began to kiss you faster moving sporadically across your neck until he had kissed almost every square inch of you. You focused on keeping your breathing even, trying to spare yourself embarrassment from how simply he had you melting underneath him.

He pulled away from you, hovering over you with that same stare that was filled with so much adoration in it. “God, I would keep you here all night like this. Just right here, all mine, and with nowhere else to be. It’s just so satisfying to be able to wrap you up and hold you in a way I know no one else gets to.”

“You know, I think… I don’t really have to get home tonight. No one’s going to miss me if I stay here.” You said breathlessly.

Eddie grinned like the devil looking over you. “Good,” he said as he finally bent down, capturing your lips. His hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your head up to meet him.

That was the last straw, you were a melted puddle that belonged to him now. If this was to be only the beginning of the evening, then surely Eddie Munson was going to be the death of you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader

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psychesalcove · 6 months ago

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„ we both like apple cider, but your breath is smellin' like fruit punch

𝜗𝜚 jason grace x daughter of poseidon

+ platonic percy jackson x sister reader

synopsis ; you and jason had just started dating. neither of you were ecstatic about telling your brother, percy, about your relationship. so, you did the most reasonable thing two demigods could think of;try to pretend your just friends around him.

⚠️ ; reader is a tad dramatic ab how protective percy is, percy being a good older brother, not proofread, iris camper gets targeted bc i didnt know who else to put 😭, piper n jason didn't date in this fic, reader was kinda a bitch to percy (not in the end tho!!), don't go much into how reader n jason pretend to just be friends, reader is a tad out of tune with her emotions, mainly reader and percy centered, kissing, percy being incapable of doing his laundry, percy being a drama queen twords the end

requested ; yes, by anon !!

jason and you had only been dating for around two weeks. and it was rough. not being with jason, no, that was amazing. you had been crushing on him as soon as he arrived at camp with leo and piper. you had never been happier for your relationship change with him.

percy was the problem. you loved your half brother, you really did. but he has a tendency to be a bit overprotective of you and tyson. most times, you don't mind at all. it means the ares cabin tries to pick fights with you less, the hermes cabin doesn't target you as much, etc.

but, percy and you dating don't go together very well. you had only dated one other camper, a child of iris, before you both decided you would work better as friends after a couple months.

percy had been there for those months, and he was not a happy camper. he consistently hovered over you and the child of iris, never letting the two of you be together by yourself, let alone in your cabin. he got better the longer you stayed together, but the underlying protective side of him was always present.

which is why you're trying to hide your relationship with jason from percy. you know percy means well, but you learned he can be a bit suffocating at times. even though jason and percy were friends, you know he'll still get protective.

so, both you and jason had mutually agreed to try to keep your relationship a secret from percy until you felt comfortable enough to tell him.

༉‧₊˚.

"so when do you think he'll catch on?" piper asked you as she laid down besides you on her bed. you were having a sleepover in the aphrodite cabin, piper wanting to share the latest gossip with you as usual.

"hopefully after we tell him," you chuckled, flipping through the pages of a vouge magazine you found on the floor. "i know percy isn't dumb, but i'm hoping that with us not being all lovey dovey with eachother in front of him pays off."

piper nodded her head. "yknow he might not mind you dating jason as much as that iris kid you dated a while back. i mean, the two are pretty good friends with eachother," hehe said as she scooted closer to you to view the magazine.

you sighed lightly. "i guess, i just don't really know," you said. "i don't want percy and jason to not be friends just because percy doesn't agree with me dating," you countied, looking at piper for advice.

"babes, i don't think percy doesn't agree with you dating. he just wants what's best for you, so he has high expectations for whoever you date." she mused, giving you the advice you were seeking for, even if it was going against what you had said.

"and, that iris kid was not cute; i can see why percy didn't want you dating them." drew added as she walked by the two of you.

༉‧₊˚.

it was a couple days after your sleepover with piper, and you were laying in your bed in your dad's cabin. you had thought over pipers (and drew's light commentary) words and realized that you were being a bit dramatic for how percy acted.

it was natural for him to be protective over you, just as you were of him. thinking about it, you would have been weary of annabeth if you were at camp before they started dating. and, drew was right. that camper you dated before was not the cutest, and also wasn't the best partner.

which percy had probably picked up on; which explains why he was so weird with you dating them. suddenly, the idea of telling percy that jason and you were dating didn't seem that bad, now having reasons for percys past behavior.

him and jason were friends, i mean they did go on a world saving quest not long ago, and they seemed to get along just fine together. (minus when they fought over a chair, piper told you that as soon as she could).

and, percy was probably really confused now thinking about it. both you and jason had tried to spend as little time as you could with him since you started dating; worried that one of you would slip up and accidentally tell him. whenever you saw percy, you tried to walk the other direction, and anytime he said something to you or tried to hang out with you, you made an excuse of being too busy.

you were brought out of your train of thought as the door opened to the cabin, percy walking in. he looked like he just got done with training and taking a shower. his hair still looked slightly damp, and he wore his orange chb shirt with his cargo jean shorts.

it seemed that he didn't notice you at first, lightly humming a tune while walking over to his bed. he started folding the pile of clothing that was on his bed, and that had been for about a week now.

you lightly coughed to alert him of your presence in the cabin, causing him to pause in his humming and turn around.

"hey, you." he said. "you tryin' to avoid me in here? yknow it isn't as affective because it's also my cabin," he tried to joke, but it just fell flat. you sighed lightly, sitting up on your bed and making eye contact with percy.

"i've been a bitch to you," you stated. his eyes widened and he laughed at your statement. you rolled your eyes in response. "i own up to how i've been acting and you laugh?" you said with an annoyed tone of voice.

percy quickly shuts up and sits on his pile of clothing bed and mirrors your position. "i wasn't laughing at you, i was just surprised that you said that instead of something else." he defended, smiling over at you. "have anything else to say?" he asked.

"me and jason are dating."

"i know."

you stared at him in surprise. "you know?" you asked with genuine question in your voice.

percy chuckled. "yeah, i do. pretty easy to tell when both of you start avoiding me and i see you two sucking eachothers lips off behind the zues cabin." he mused, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"and, you don't care?" you asked, still in shock with the information percy had just given you.

"why would i?" he said. "i mean, i know jasons good for you, i've seen it with my own eyes. he's a good person, has good morals, knows how to treat a girl right, i mean he might've been raised by a wolf but that guy is good." he says, getting up and taking a seat on your bed next to you.

he wrapped one of his arms around you and brought you closer to him. "i love ya kid, and i only want what's best for you. and jasons exactly that." percy said as you leaned into his embrace.

"but i also want you to know that if i do find jason n you making out again, the zues cabin might become flooded. just a warning in advance," he joked, but you wouldn't be surprised if that was a true statement.

you only hummed in response, bringing an arm to wrap around percy. "sorry i was such an asshole, i just wasn't expecting you to be okay with it," you said in a timid voice, not used to being so truthful with percy about these topics.

"apologie accepted," he said. "but, if you date another person like that iris kid, i'm gonna be the bitch, deal?" He asked, pulling away from the embrace and holding up his pinky finger, wiggling it lightly when you didn't move.

you rolled your eyes, but brought your pinky up to his.

"deal."

༉‧₊˚

it was friday night, which meant campfire night. after your conversation with percy, you had gone to the zues cabin to explain to jason your talk with percy. jason was more than happy that percy was okay with the two of you. (he would never tell you but he might have jumped around his cabin and im'd thalia as soon as he could to tell her).

jason and you sat at the camp fire, with the rest of the seven. even if you weren't apart of the prophecy, you still became friends with all of them; they like to refer to you as the hoary member of the seven.

jasons arm was wrapped around your shoulder, brining you to lean into his side as you both stared into the fire. one of the apollo kids was playing a song you didn't recognize, but it didn't really matter.

you were surrounded by people who you loved and who loved you back just as much: the main ones being jason and percy. both of them held special places in your heart. jason was your love, the part of you that you were always missing. percy was your sibling, even if only half, and was your partner in crime.

you saw jason make a quick glance in the direction that percy was in out of the corner of your eye. jason moved the two of you so both of you were face to face. he smiled softly at you and you returned the gesture. you saw jason take a quick glance down at your lips, and you got the cue. both of you leaned into eachother, lips softly connecting with one another.

it wasn't your first kiss with jason, but it felt like it. not feeling like it inexperienced and neither of you knew what you were doing. it felt like the first kiss because it was the first one that was happening with your relationship being out in the open.

all of camp had caught onto the fact that jason and you were dating pretty fast, as the two of you could be seen everywhere together: holding hands, kissing eachothers cheek and hands, and jason walking you to your cabin at the end of everyday.

with the warm fire and light storms of gutair in the background, it felt like you finally found exactly where you were supposed to be. you silently sent aphrodite a prayer in your head as you felt jason bring a hand up to your cheek to deepen the kiss.

both of you pulled away slowly, needing to breath for a moment. jason looked at you with such adoration in his eyes, showing nothing but his pure love for you in the moment. both of you smiled softly at eachother, jason bringing you closer so your foreheads could rest against one another.

as the song came to an end, a loud dramatic gasp was heard to the left of you.

"JASON MY LOVE HOW COULD YOU HAVE DONE THIS TO ME?" a voice, that you emideantaly recognized as percy, said. "I THOUGHT WE HAD A LOVE NOONE COULD EVER REPLACE," he countined as both you and jason rolled your eyes, pulling away from eachother.

percy approached the two of you as another song began, "jason, bud, on a serious note, you better treat her right okay? she only deserves the best and i'm expecting you to give that to her," he said in probably the most serious tone of voice you've ever heard.

as you watched jason give a salute to percy, piper and leo gave you a thumps up from behind jasons form.

#psyches writes ཐིཋ๋ྀ࣭⭑#percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy pjo #percy jackson x you #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #hoo x you #pjo x you #jason grace x reader #jason grace #jason grace x reader fluff #jason grace x you #jason grace fluff #percy x sibling reader #divider creds: cafekitsune

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moon-fics · 1 year ago

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Pretend-Simon Riley/Ghost

A/n: I found another old fic of mine and decided to post it just to have it back up! I hope you all enjoy it!

Summary: You and Soap are forced to pretend to be a married couple on a mission. Ghost doesn't enjoy this in the slightest.

Warning: Swears, angst, jealous Ghost, bad jokes, Gender neutral reader

You wander the streets hand in hand with Soap, gripping his as tightly as possible. You hate going undercover in situations like this because you’re barely armed. You have a single knife in the purse you were allowed to bring while Soap is unarmed. If things go haywire you’re stuck defending the both of you in an impossible situation. You’re just grateful that Ghost will be watching over you two.

“This is the market we’re supposed to stake out, see if anything is fishy.” Soap reminds you, pulling you forward. He stops at the first stall where the fruit is being sold, some you’ve never seen before. You have to pretend to be madly in love with Soap and the idea makes you sick, you’d much rather have someone else in his place. Preferable a tall British man, but you can’t swap now.

“Aren’t these beautiful, honey?” You give Soap an adoring glance and he smiles at you. He agrees, picking up an apple from the stall and handing it to you. You pull out your wallet and hand the seller a random amount, and he thanks you gratefully. You assume you gave him way above the price, but you don’t mind.

“Would you like to look at those wooden sculptures?” Soap offers, pointing to a stall where a woman is carving into wood. Her stall consists of wooden figures of a large variety. Your eyes land on a small skull sculpture and you instantly think of Ghost. “I’ll take the rose-carved one,” Soap speaks up. The woman stops carving and picks up the rose-shaped wood. She gives Soap a wide smile as he hands her money.

“Of course, he would.” Ghost’s voice cracks through your com and you have to stop yourself from laughing. You’ll enjoy Ghost’s commentary on Soap’s actions, it’ll get you through this awkward mission.

“What a lovely couple!” She hums, handing over the figure. You can hear a grunt in your earpiece that’s hidden by your hair. She congratulates you and your eyes are still on the skull. “Oh, do you want the skull?” She asks, picking it up gently. You nod, digging for your wallet again. She holds up a hand and places the skull into your palm. “No need! It’s a gift for your wedding!”

You walk away from the stall after thanking her, taking Soap’s hand again. You’re about to drag him to another stall near a sketchy alleyway you want to check out. Before you can tell him about it Soap grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest. He places a finger over your lip and plants it on the other side of his thumb. Your lips don’t touch but it would be easy to assume you’re both kissing. You can hear more noise through the coms, but you can’t make out what Ghost is saying over your pulse rising. You aren’t attracted to Soap in any way, but the closeness is intimidating.

You want to ask why he suddenly decided to do this until a group of men in enemy uniforms stomps past you. You realize it was his way of blending into a crowd, because who wants to stare at a couple displaying PDA. He pulls away once he believes it’s safe, wiping his thumb off.

“Rude!” You tease as Soap rolls his eyes playfully.

You’ve scoped out any suspicious activity in the area, to the point where you can name every stall with your eyes closed. Your feet are killing you and the heat of the day is making you too sweaty to be comfortable. You’ve already eaten your apple from that one vendor and yet you’re still starving. You just want to get back to base and eat an actual meal.

“Are you ready to leave?” You ask, stretching your legs to give them a break from your weight. Soap gives you a mischievous look before grabbing you and picking you up. You don’t know what cogs are turning in his head but you know he’s planning something.

He pushes his face against your ear where the com is, whispering as sweetly as possible, “I’m so glad you’re finally mine. Marryin’ you was the best day of my life and I’m glad we met.” Your eyes widen at his words. You don’t know where this romance came from and honestly, you’re confused about whether he’s being serious or still playing his part.

“If I knew any better I’d assume you’re whispering sweet nothings to Ghost.” You joke and earn a laugh from both men. Soap begins walking away from the market with you in his arms.

“Just trying something out.” He explains vaguely and a part of your stomach drops. What does Soap have planned and why did he have to make sure Ghost heard? You’ll probably never get your answer from him.

Once you get close enough to the safe house without any risks of being seen, Ghost joins you. His attire stands out from the clothes you and Soap chose for your fake date. His mask is clinging to his face, the skull covering what the rest of the balaclava can’t. He’s looking straightforward, silent as a mouse.

“See anything we should know about?” You ask Ghost, Soap’s interest peaking. Ghost’s eyes look at you through the corners of them, the usual dead look in them. You honestly find his get-up interesting, it’s unique.

“A few cars slowed down while passing the market.” His voice is monotone and you miss how he’d comment on Soap’s acting. You thought it was hilarious how he’d mock Soap and make quips whenever he spoke to you. Now he’s barely talking and you feel disappointed. If you’re being honest, you imagined Ghost being your date instead of Soap.

“I invented a new word recently,” Soap speaks up and you just have to hear the word he’s going to drop on you and Ghost. “Plagiarism.” You let out a giggle but Ghost remains cold. You’re worried now, he usually enjoys these types of jokes.

“I saw a guy spill a bunch of Scrabble letters on the road once,” You start your joke, hoping Ghost will join in after you. “I asked him what the word on the street was.” Soap pats your back with a grin.

“Tha’ was garbage!”

You sit on the bed of your room in the safe house. You were lucky the safe house was pretty big, but not a place you’d enjoy staying. It’s an abandoned house filled with cobwebs and rotting wood. Since the sun has set the house is ten times worse. Every shadow looks like a person and right now you really want a snack. Sadly, Soap left his protein bars on the first level of the house.

You gather your courage to walk down the creek stairs. You feel like a child as you grab your flashlight and a knife. You shouldn’t be scared of the dark, you’ve spent a lot of time in it. But this house is terrifying to you.

You exit your room, slipping down the hall past the other bedrooms. You get halfway down the stairs when someone clearing their throat startles you. You trip a bit and use the railing to stop yourself from falling down the rest. You spin around to see Ghost standing at the top of the stairs with an amused look in his eyes.

“You need a bell on you!” You hiss and Ghost chuckles. The tension inside you disappears at the sound of his laugh. It’s nice to hear it every once in a while, even though it’s not a full laugh. You’re just pleased to see him in a better mood.

“What are ya doing up this late?” He questions, still not moving from the top of the stairs. You have no idea how late it is, you assumed it was about 10 PM but from the way Ghost phrased his question you’d change your guess to past midnight.

“I got hungry and Ghost left his snacks in the kitchen.” You answer. You conclude that he won’t bother you anymore and begin down the stairs again. You enter the kitchen and see a small bag that Soap uses for food. You zip it open and pull out three protein bars. You know Soap will complain to you once he realizes you took food from him.

You sit down in one of the rotting chairs, open a bar, and take a bite. The taste is nice but you miss the meals you’d be able to make yourself. You shut your eyes from exhaustion, mindlessly biting into the bar again. You rest your head on your hand, hoping you don’t fall asleep like this.

“You’ll choke if you aren’t careful.” As if he’s a profit you choke on the bite from surprise. You’re getting pretty pissed about how silent he is and you’re genuinely thinking about getting him a bell. You clear your throat and glare at Ghost. He’s no longer wearing camouflage and is instead in a black t-shirt and jeans, the mask still on but the skull is gone. His arms are covered in veins poking out, the moonlight from a window illuminating them perfectly. You can see his tattoos and they’re hard to see from how chaotic the scene on his arm is. You can make out a skull and a soldier, barely able to confirm dog tags.

You both sit in silence while you finish your second bar, already full. You quietly hand him your extra bar and he stores it in his pocket for later. You stand up and begin heading back to the stairs.

“Do you like him?” His voice stops you. You spin on your heel but he’s not facing you. You’re not sure what he means and he must pick up on that, “Soap.” You wonder what happens if you lie or tell the truth. What are the consequences of your choice? It's not like this is any of Ghost’s business.

“Why does that matter? It’s not like anything will come of it.” You test the waters. You want to see his reaction being answering him. There has to be a reason he’s asking you besides curiosity.

“It doesn’t.” He responds. You’re not satisfied. He can’t just as a personal question after being so closed off and why even ask if it doesn’t matter? You’re upset now and you can’t pinpoint why exactly. Because he asked a personal question or because he doesn’t seem to care about you the way you care about him?

You thought you were close enough to consider yourself a friend of Ghost but now you’re not sure. You’re beginning to doubt if he even likes you or if he’s tolerating you. Have you just been making up answers for yourself this whole time?

“Then why ask, huh? Why are you so interested in my love life? For all you know, I’m madly in love with Soap!” You taunt and you can see his arm muscles tense up. You don’t stop though, “I get that you’re the lieutenant and all but what do my feelings have to do with this mission?” You huff. He abruptly stands up and marches over to you. His eyes are dark even with the moonlight reflecting off them. You stare deep into his eyes, trying to figure out what his issue is.

“Are you?” There’s a long pause where your breathing can be heard. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly at the position you’ve put yourself in. He’s so close to you, you can feel the heat radiating off him. You want to reach up and touch his face even while angry, but you close your fists instead. “Are you in fucking love with him?”

“No.” You answer right after he finishes his question. You furrow your brows and frown. There’s no change in his eyes and you’re certain he’s going to scold you. You hate how many pauses you’ve taken in this conversation so you speak again, “Someone else.” You bite your tongue at your response, hating how it came out.

He steps away from you and cold air rushes to your skin. His eyes no longer harbor anger, instead, there’s a distance. As if he’s pulling away from you mentally as well. You can’t describe the emotion his eyes are presenting you but it makes your chest ache. You reach out and grab his hand, staring at the connection.

You partially believe he’ll rip his hand from yours and reject you in every way possible. Instead, he adjusts his hands to fit your better. “Me?” He mutters softly. You nod and avoid eye contact with him.

You hear fabric moving and your eyes are swiftly covered by a hand. His hands are rough but you don’t mind it. His other hand lets go of yours and grazes over your lips. You swear you can sense him smirking.

“’m gonna erase his kiss from your mind forever.” His voice is low, dangerously low. You don’t have the heart to tell him Soap faked the kiss, not wanting to ruin the moment. Ghost slams his lips onto yours, and crosses your cheek. He’s rough at first, hungry for anything he can get from you. After a while, he slows down and his kiss is more gentle. His thumb rubs up and down your cheek and your heart skips a beat. He removes his lips from you but his hand remains over your eyes, “You’re mine.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” You tease.

#ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost fanfiction #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x you #ghost cod x reader #cod x y/n #cod x reader #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader

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bi-focal12 · 5 months ago

Text

I like to think that teacher!Izuku has an apartment near campus where all of his Pro Hero friends sporadically drop by, sometimes bloody, sometimes with coffee, sometimes through the window cause they felt like it, and they look over Izuku’s shoulder while he grades and give running commentary or listen as Izuku describes the quirks/attitudes of his students or vents his frustration about them. All of the more consistent visitors have their own mug in his cup cabinet. Katsuki has two bc he’s a sore loser and doesn’t like to be outshined. Everyone thinks the Dynamight mug is his but actually that’s Izuku’s.

One time Denki comes in through the window at 2am like a drunk elephant, horrifically tangled in Shinso’s capture weapon (he was messing around with it and couldn’t figure out how to get free, ended up making it worse) and Izuku, startled and still half-asleep, throws a pen at him because it’s the first thing he sees and they’re both so embarrassed about the whole thing they swear each other to secrecy.

#bnha #my hero academia #bnha spoilers #sort of #there are 8 years of canon to play with #this is MY hero academia now >:)#bkdk #izuku midoriya #teacher izuku #class 1a #denki kaminari #bakugou katsuki

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bonefall · 7 months ago

Note

how much of Stormpaw’s demon are Maple’s curse vs just things that happen (cause in canon it’s really vague about whether Maple causes all those tragedies or has the ability to see his future for some reason)

EVERYTHING that happens in Stormpaw's Demon involves her. It's not being so dramatically renamed for nothing, she's a major driver and cause of the plot! Crookedstar's young name is in the title; but really, his demon is driving the misfortune.

That said... It's been a while and I'm heavily considering retooling the narrative.

Since I last REALLY worked on it, BB has changed in the sense that I'm a lot more willing to alter canon than I used to be. While my driving mindset used to be "telling a better version of the original story," and that IS a value I still hold... I've lost patience with the misogyny within the original work.

I've spoken at length about the way Crookedstar's Promise grinds my gears (PLEASE follow this link for a full breakdown of why), but in summary; it desperately tries to keep every male character likeable when they shouldn't be, saying nothing about the fact they are complicit in or even enabling abuse, while giving Crookedstar TWO flatly evil maternal figures. Even Brambleberry, who's heavily praised for being "like a mom instead," has a weird moment where she starts giving Crookedjaw the cold shoulder because she finds out he's chatting with a demon.

So like... I'm not sure if I want to make the "better version" of that story. That was the one that I already had, which had Mapleshade be acting entirely out of just the malice of wanting to hurt a child, while Hailstar and Shellheart are the excellent people canon wanted to see them as.

(not that it's even a BAD super edition, it's actually a really good one, but if it's my kitchen that's not what we cook here. Man I really do always massively overhaul my favorite SEs LMAO)

I think, specifically, I want to make Mapleshade slightly more morally gray and Hailstar more of an enabler. Shellheart is getting significantly retooled to make him more of the heartwarming parental figure I think he should be; someone loving to help balance out a very heavy rework.

And of course Brambleberry, I'm going to tweak her some. Try to make her flaws more consistent, get rid of that odd cold shoulder moment.

Old regulars will remember an old AU which is also still a massive favorite of mine; it was called Better Call Mapleshade, and it was kind of a commentary on how an environment can shape a person. Mapleshade, as a demon in heaven, was essentially their best prosecutor and defense attorney.

You can actually see how a lot of ideas from that AU ended up in Better Bones with the expanded trial system! I'm thinking of taking another page out of it, by making Mapleshade more aware of "the game" of Clan culture's structural unfairness, while also using it like a weapon against people she wants to hurt. A powerful demon of revenge.

Under the cut, what won't be changing, the way it was, and Draft 2 of Stormpaw's Demon.

(MASSIVE CONTENT WARNING FOR MENTAL AND PHYSICAL CHILD ABUSE including ableism. BB!Rainflower is WORSE than canon.)

WHAT WON'T BE CHANGING;

These are major details of Stormpaw's Demon that are different from canon. I'm working with these as givens and won't be changing between drafts.

Mapleshade does have a bone to pick with Appledusk's lineage specifically. One option might make her more discerning when it comes to her targets, but no matter what, she is going to have her eyes on this bloodline. She Haunts Applekin.

Rainflower is Hailstar's deputy. And I will make her downfall spectacular. If you were worried I was going to make her more sympathetic then you have no idea who I am LMAO

Shellheart is not Crookedstar's biofather While I want Hailstar to maybe be worse; I do want to fix Shellheart by making him a good parent. I've decided a good way to do this is to make it that Shellheart adopts Storm AFTER he's been abused by Rainflower. He didn't have authority over him before then. In general, I do want him to have a bigger positive role in this narrative. DEPENDING ON WHICH VERSION: Oakheart might also not be his bio-brother.

Crookedjaw is not a cruel name; it's an Honor Title. I've ALWAYS been frustrated by how canon treats scars and injuries as bad things. It's a BATTLE culture. Surviving brushes with death is their WHOLE THING. There is no "crookedkit" or "crookedpaw," he was Stormpaw until he earned his warrior name, with "Crookedjaw" commending the massive lengths he's gone to in order to survive, adapt, and honor StarClan.

Mentor change: Goodbye Cedarpelt, hello Magpiesky! I decided to repurpose one of the Barn Cats! Magpie from the books is a daughter of Perchshine-- the cat who killed Mapleshade. She joined RiverClan long ago. She's actually the one who points him in the way of the barn, and has to train him "as a punishment for teaching him disobedience" when he comes back. I actually have a couple of minor reasons for making this change but I'll spare them for now. He might start with Cedarpelt, but then run to the barn when Cedarpelt is basically refusing to train him properly.

Some family tree shuffles I need to update this tree to show Crookedstar's new situation with Shellheart (and also reflect some other changes I made like confirming Hallowflight fully being Lizardtail's honor title and Robinpaw being the apprentice who gets eaten by Ripwater), BUT, overall this tree is solid.

The ableism Storm faces is going to have a different flavor I have built BB in a way where him surviving his injury would be very respected, but he'd get badly coddled and pushed into early retirement. Him running to the barn is because he suspects he wouldn't have gotten training otherwise.

He kills a fox there because it's Cool. I might give him the tail to wear as a trophy of the kill because that's also Cool. The fox was very old and feeble at that point, which was why it was attacking chickens, but shhh

The Way It Was (Very Evil Mapleshade)

Darkstar's Commandment creating the Queen's Rights, that no queen would ever have to reveal the other parent of their kittens, wasn't enough to appease Mapleshade.

Nor was the damning of everyone that Mapleshade killed. In a fit of irrational fury at all the death, StarClan sent all her victims into the Dark Forest.

But she can't chase them. In the Dark Forest, you don't see someone unless you WANT to see them, not unless you're hanging out in a "land mar" (a sort of personal hell that all demons get).

on the off-chance she does see them, Frecklewish usually rips her to shreds...

Which is the next problem.

You can't DIE in the Dark Forest if you're a demon. You poof back into existence the next day, no injuries, no scars, nothing.

she's bored.

And vengeful. In spite of the wrong being righted, she still thinks she deserves MORE revenge, because what she wanted was really Appledusk.

She finds it unfair that HER legacy is snuffed out, that it's Darkstar's Commandment and not hers, that her babies were destined for greatness and by extension SHE should have been great.

So she takes up a hobby in tormenting Appledusk's descendants. She wants to eradicate them completely, but is spiteful enough that she'll just settle with hurting them.

The first one she managed to kill was Applefrost, Reedshine's son. Just by accident. She didn't know she had such power over the mortal plane.

After that, she managed to drown Duskwater. The daughter.

But she couldn't wipe out HER daughter in that storm... and she brought two more Applekin children into the world.

Stormkit and Oakkit.

So, naturally, Mapleshade turned her sight on the little fuzzball.

He would be an easy kill, in theory. She smashed Stormkit's jaw on the rock, but Oakkit pulled him out.

From there, it's similar to canon for a bit. His recovery is long and painful.

Rainflower is disgusted, and wants absolutely no part of helping him through this process.

That wasn't an injury gained in battle-- it's because he's careless and didn't listen to her. He's going through all this suffering, and for what?

To never become a warrior?

She's cruel to him, begins to neglect and distance herself from him. Discourages him from suckling.

Mapleshade LOVES this. It's worse than she could have imagined. Rainflower is horrible.

Gleefully, she realizes that Stormkit dying now is what Rainflower wants.

So, she kills two other kits in the nursery.

Fallowtail's only survivor is Willowkit, so she has plenty of milk. She starts suckling Stormkit.

(Graypool is now an older sibling! She's actually an apprentice at this time! Later, she encourages Willowkit to visit their father, who decides to just kidnap them completely)

Eventually, being the deputy, Rainflower had some kind of conversation with Hailstar.

During that conversation, she asked him to do something very cruel to Crookedkit.

And Hailstar LOST IT

He's the successor of Volestar, who was appointed by Darkstar herself to uphold the Queen's Rights and protect children.

How DARE you try to turn RiverClan into a place of disrespect?? To use my power this way?!

So, her power was stripped, and Oakkit and Stormkit were taken from her.

From there, Storm eventually goes to the barn as discussed, and Mapleshade continues to do things to hurt him.

This was my first draft, and now having thought about it a lot, I feel like it's not super cohesive. A demonic Mapleshade who's entirely malicious is neat, but I feel like this makes her flat. Shellheart's not tied in super well either, and Hailstar's stand feels kind of hollow because Rainflower hasn't actually used or leveraged the new authority I've given her.

But most egregiously? Rainflower's abuse being so close to canon tastes kind of bland. I feel like I can make it sooo much more intense, complicated, and painful.

Draft 2 of Stormpaw's Demon (Demon of Revenge Update) Essentially an outline for the first few chapters establishing Mapleshade by dealing with Rainflower and then fragments for the rest.

Mapleshade's still malicious, but this time, there's more to it.

Darkstar's Commandment, and the damning of her victims, DID appease this Mapleshade.

But is she satisfied? No.

She doesn't feel like she was wrong at all, actually. Without her killing those three in revenge for her kittens, StarClan's anger probably would have subsided.

She can't hunt her victims down again though, because, they don't want to see her. She fights Frecklewish every now and then but what's the point?

She WON already. She already GOT the euphoria of dragging them all down with her.

Punishing everyone who had ever wronged her was the highlight of her existence... but now it's done.

She's in Hell and she's bored. Her punishment is never seeing her kits again, but more importantly, her punishment is eternal shuffling through the leaf litter when she's SO GOOD at getting revenge.

Problem with revenge is, when you get it, it's gone.

She probably messed with Duskwater and Applefrost a bit, but if she killed one of them, it was accidental. It made her realize that revenge without a motive is just boring.

The prologue would probably open up with establishing her as a character. Who she is, what she wants.

Because the first chapter would dive RIGHT IN to Stormkit. The only child of Rainflower, the deputy.

Right along with Stormkit, you only learn in hindsight that he was born in a storm that killed his grandmother. It's clear that Rainflower reminds him of this often.

And that she's nasty to him. Giving him unclear instruction and finding things to critique, telling him to jump and then barking at him that he didn't ask how high.

She has great expectations for him, and reminds him of their family lineage often. Of who killed his great-grandfather, of what a fantastic pair of warriors Applefrost and Duskwater were

"I lost everything the night you were born. You'd better be able to make up for it."

Unfortunately, Stormkit is not the sort of child who's good at listening to those sorts of orders. He's stubborn and defiant; angry and oppositional.

When he doesn't understand why you do something, he doesn't want to do it

He "embarrasses" her a lot, and gets hurt for it.

In public, these are swats and whacks. The things you're "allowed" to do to discipline your child. In private these are a lot more severe.

So when Stormkit is given an order or a command, he obeys completely out of fear rather than respect. And sometimes he forgets his fear.

The other cats in RiverClan? Well... Stormkit is a problem child, and Rainflower is a fantastic, organized, respected deputy.

Hailstar especially, unfortunately. He feels bad... for Rainflower.

"It must be so hard for her to have such a little brat as a son. He never seems to learn his lesson. When will he stop wandering off? What's wrong with him? He certainly didn't get that from her."

His best friend, Oakkit, gets in the SAME trouble he does.

He's mischievous, fearless, and outgoing, and... never gets punished for it.

There's times where Oakkit does something and Stormkit physically recoils, just imagining what Rainflower would do if HE did something like that. Especially in how Oakkit talks to his dad, Shellheart.

For example, Shellheart will come to get his son for suckling time and Oakkit will tell him to his face things like, "I don't want to! I'm HAVING FUN!"

and shellheart doesn't flip out. He just. explains why it's important to eat on time.

"I know. But Fallowtail wants to go have fun too! She's waiting for you to come and suckle so she can go play."

"Well why can't she just play now and I suckle later?"

"When a suckler is full of milk, it makes their belly very itchy. She's uncomfortable when you don't come and eat on time."

"nnnh"

"Tough sell? How about I sweeten the pile with a badger ride back?"

"Hm. You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Dad."

Stormkit doesn't know why he hates it. He's all angry inside when he sees them acting friendly. He's polite because Oakkit's his best friend and Mr. Shellheart is really nice, but he just...

He's too young at the time to know he's envious. He wants what Oakkit has so badly it hurts.

Sometime after an exchange like that, Stormkit is visited by Mapleshade for the first time.

And they talk about Stormkit's anger and resentment. Stormkit lets it slip that he HATES his Mi.

Waits for Mapleshade to stop him and tell him, like everyone else does, that "she's still your mother."

...but she doesn't.

Besides Oakkit and Shellheart, she's the first person who doesn't tell him that.

She just lets him talk. Lets him go on. Starts making nasty jabs, which make him laugh.

"She says she lost everything the day I was born!!"

"What?! That's crazy! She got you that day!"

"Right?! It's like she's saying I'm nothing! Maybe she SHOULD lose everything, then she'd know what she's got!"

And then she asks, "Do you want her to die?"

Suddenly, there's a chill in the air. He's really shocked by the suggestion of that. He didn't... he didn't mean it to go THAT far. That's not what he meant... is it?

But she's fading back into the shadows, just her eyes visible in the dark. Tells him that she can see he's unsure. That's ok.

Holds up a budding sprig of sycamore, the maple she's named for. Its buds grow in a "deer hoof," with one large bud in the middle and two "toes" sprouting on its sides.

Teaches him that if he needs someone in his corner, all he has to do is call.

(to summon her, a bud is plucked off the sprig and thrown in the river.)

He wakes up with the sprig in his paw, panics, and shoves it under the nest he shares with his mother.

The experience shakes him. He probably ran to Brambleberry for the first time, who explains very seriously that he was contacted by a demon.

From the description... Mapleshade. The cat who killed his great-grandfather.

He BEGS her not to tell Rainflower. PLEADS with her. He can barely hear her already saying yes under the throbbing sound of his heart in his ears.

When he calms down, he hears her saying yes. On the condition she will need to smoke the nursery with sage and cedar, and that he will be needing a bath as well.

When he's still concerned that Rainflower will question him, she makes a plan to distract her for a day, long enough for him to do his cleanse and the smell to fade.

And, of course, that he will not follow any instructions that Mapleshade left him. He agrees. But does not tell Brambleberry about the sprig.

For a while he's very "well behaved." But it's not about him, never has been.

It really doesn't take long at all for Rainflower to get worse. Kids who are defiant like that are usually exercising a defense mechanism-- if they're not aggressive about their boundaries, their limits are pushed to a breaking point.

And after a big blowout like this, which was probably a public spectacle, Stormkit runs back to his nest and digs out the sprig, runs to the river, and throws a bud in the river.

Having calmed down from his shuddering fury, the dread begins to set in as a dead-smelling wind ruffles his fur. He can't help but feel like he just did something very stupid out of anger.

Looking at his reflection, he sees no cuts or swelling. The blows weren't "bad enough." He doesn't have the kind of injuries that anyone would do anything about. Equal parts guilt and frustration swell in him like a tide at full moon. How could he be sitting here wishing she hurt him worse?

So he tries to soften it, "I don't want her to die, I just, I... I just want her to lose everything like she says. Please..."

The wind whispers in his ear, "it will get worse before it gets better."

"I can handle that," he sobs, "I can do anything. Please. Make it stop."

After that, Oakkit probably runs to come find him. Stormkit doesn't want to be found. He makes up a childish plan, on the spot, to run away and join ThunderClan.

Oak says that's mousebrained, but Storm has DEVOTED himself to this plan he made just now.

And is crossing the stones.

Oak sighs, but if Storm's going to ThunderClan, he should really go with him because then they could totally fight off a small fox (Childish hubris)

Unfortunately, Rainflower found them. asks Exactly What He's Doing.

The kids freeze. Stormkit in particular has that horrible, twisting anxiety that you get when you hear The Tone that means you're in for an absolute wallop when you get home.

He's about to start running, but then the voice tickles his ear-fur again. Mapleshade tells him to go back. It'll be ok. She's on his side. She'll make her pay.

Oakkit is still frozen in place when, as if possessed, Storm's body stiffly returns to his mother.

There's a silence. The river trickling through the stepping stones. Storm looking with fear and anger up at her.

She's waiting for an apology, groveling. He doesn't give her one.

So she raises her paw and gives him an awful, hard blow.

His little body twists, flung off balance, trying to correct himself, and he can swear he felt paws pushing him a second time, whipping him downwards.

The feeling of falling fills his stomach, the water sloshes into his ears before there's a ring of a sound like CLUNK-CRUNCH, and then the river floods his nose and mouth.

It all goes dark.

When he wakes up, it's with a throbbing pain in the side of his jaw so intense that he can feel it all the way down in the tip of his tail. He learns from Brambleberry that Oakkit rescued him-- jumped right into the water to pull him out. And then Rainflower pulled him out. That was when Shellheart came and found them.

There's a LOT of arguing outside, but Storm can't ask what it is because it hurts to move his mouth at all. Brambleberry hushes and soothes him, telling him it's nothing he needs to know about.

(MEDICAL INFODUMPING: i do actually have a medical reason I want his injury to come from someone hitting him which causes him to fall. The injury he'd get in canon would actually be a really simple and common split in the front of the mandible, which wouldn't cause his mouth to have a dramatic twist and would heal very easily. He needs to come down on the rock at an angle to shatter the joint like that.)

From here, the tune about Stormkit starts to change.

Oakkit was distraught when they got back, telling everyone that Rainflower smashed him against a rock.

Rainflower's story is that he was running, and she chased after him. EVERYONE knows that he has a habit of doing this.

Then HE slipped and fell and hit his face on the rocks. His fault.

Oakkit was running away with him, he's lying.

Shellheart is FEROCIOUSLY taking the side of his son, furious that she would imply he raised a liar.

Hailstar is taking the side of Rainflower. It's two troublemaking kits against his deputy.

Yes, Rainflower's disciplined him before, but that's no indication she'd do something like this on purpose.

Brambleberry weighs in that the injury that Stormkit has isn't the sort of injury a kitten gets from hitting his jaw. The bone is shattered.

probably does some kind of visual to go along with it, using a stick and a stone

"The bones of a kitten are like the young shoots of a tree. When they fracture," she takes a young twig and snaps it in her paws. The fibers in the center are bent but unbroken, with the bark splintered around them, "they flay but don't snap."

She places the stick on the ground, "So for the injury that Stormkit has," and violently smashes the rock down onto it. It's shattered and pulped, the fibers flattened, "there would need to be a great force."

Shellheart hisses, saying that THIS is the evidence. Oakkit's story is consistent but Rainflower HAS to have lied.

Several cats are now on his side.

...But more are on Rainflower's.

"She's his mother. She loves him. Oakkit has to be mistaken."

"Why would she chase down her own son just to smash his face on a stone?"

"She wouldn't pull them out of the river if she really wanted to hurt him!"

Hailstar prompts if there's ANYTHING else that could explain this?

It comes up that Brambleberry cleansed the dens the other day.

She says that it's possible there is a demon's influence at work. She can't know for sure which one it is-- but it may have a grudge against Rainflower.

She allows them to reach the conclusion that it's probably Mapleshade on their own. She will be talking to Crookedkit when he's able, but she's not about to tell anyone about his dream yet.

She doesn't want him to have the extra scrutiny when he needs to rest and heal, but if she'd shared that an unnamed cat had a demonic dream, it would set off panic as cats accused each other of dark magic.

Rainflower manages to escape consequences by pointing out that it was likely Mapleshade that injured her son.

Oakkit is still trying to tell everyone SHE did it, he SAW it, Stormkit walked back and she hit him and smashed his jaw on the rock

But he's hushed. It's decided there's not enough evidence. And not enough reason to doubt the noble deputy.

She's never done something like this before, after all. It's more likely it was an accident.

There is a group of cats that are dissatisfied about this, though, and it only grows when Brambleberry explains that Stormkit's prognosis is not good.

There is a very high chance he will die. Even adult warriors can wither slowly from this sort of injury.

Recovery will be slow and it will be painful.

...but after that incident? Rainflower gets bolder. She got away with it in public. She got a taste of the leverage she has, how much they trust her.

Stormkit spends a lot of time floating in between his dreams and his living-world pain. There's at least one interaction where he speaks to Mapleshade, screaming at her that he TRUSTED her, he KNOWS she's the one who hurt him! How could she?!

She can't say much, kept at bay by a hazy smokescreen of sage. "You must live! You must survive!"

Her old words echo in his head; It Will Get Worse Before It Gets Better.

Throughout the recovery, Rainflower grows more cruel and more distant.

In public she likes to talk about how difficult this is for her, but he's strong, he will survive.

In private, she'll do things that hurt him, like repositioning his head in a way that "his jaw will heal better in." When he cries, she's unsympathetic.

"You brought this on yourself. This is for your own good."

Her definition of "private" is also changing. She's getting more comfortable with snapping at him in front of limited groups of people.

Since she's deputy, the other two parents in the nursery, Shellheart and Fallowtail, do their best to care for Stormkit while she's away. He's pulled away from them when she gets back, any ideas or suggestions they have vetoed.

When they try to go to Brambleberry about this, she shakes her head with frustration and tries to make them understand she knows... and she's just as unhappy with it as they are.

She tells them she keeps going to Hailstar, but he's still hesitant. Even though she's trying to tell him that Stormkit's recovery is being undermined.

"Rainflower's son has always needed tough love. She's his Mi and knows him best... she's still taking care of him. Give her a warning before suggesting anything drastic."

In the other draft, I had Mapleshade kill two of Fallowtail's kits to free up milk for Stormkit. I'm not sure I need that anymore honestly, plus, this rework's heavy enough! She can just have Willowkit without any deaths, while Graypaw remains an older sibling.

When Brambleberry informs Rainflower and Stormkit that the jaw isn't healing straight and it will probably be at an angle forever, Rainflower reacts with disdain.

"His first scar and it's nothing he earned?!"

She's reminded he might not even survive. He's lost weight. He's eating less. Stormkit curls up quietly. He hates how they talk about him like he can't hear them.

"Surviving is the bare minimum," she scoffs reflexively. There's a silence so thick you can cut it with a claw. After an uncomfortable heartbeat, she continues, "What kind of a life will he live if he-"

"a life," Brambleberry cuts in, "he'd live a life. And it can be a good one"

Rainflower growls, spitting that the twisted jaw is a disfigurement. He'll never be able to open his mouth all the way. He can't chew and he can't suckle forever. Stormkit will never become a warrior if he can't even dispatch a fish with a killing bite.

"Scars are the sign that StarClan has mended our bodies after fighting a good fight, making any Clanborn cat worthy of being an elder" Brambleberry preaches, "Names are what mark us, calling upon our ancestors to look down at us and witness our actions, Rainflower. Don't say anything you wouldn't want them to see."

Rainflower flicks her ear, seething, a rumble in her throat, "was that some kind of threat? As if I've said something wrong?"

"If you feel threatened, look within."

Stormkit resents all of this talk. He can feel his mother tensing up next to him, hears the low rumble progressing into a growl. When adults play stupid games with his mom, he's always the one who ends up dealing it. Why don't they get that?

It's only Shellheart who seems to have it click, "Hey, this is the nursery. Can you take it outside, please?"

As Brambleberry and Rainflower leave, Stormkit lays curled up in his nest, cold and alone. Oakkit leaves Shellheart's paws to curl up around his best friend.

Shellheart stares at them, shifting, but ultimately stays where he is.

There's a lot of words I could write there, between Storm and Oak. Ones where Storm speaks about how he just wants the pain to be done with. Others where Oak comforts him, tells him how much he means to him. More where they end up running into the wall that they're just two little kids and they've both learned the truth that they have no control over what happens when Rainflower comes back into that den.

But I think it would be good to end there, at the lowest point. Because it gets better.

Pissed off by being gently confronted, after her warning from Brambleberry, this is the moment where Rainflower goes too far.

Hailstar is gradually losing his patience. Every time this issue comes up, he's making some kind of new excuse for her.

She's still a competent deputy who holds the Clan together, but this has taken a toll on her reputation.

Her biggest mistake was becoming more open with her abuse after being emboldened. And I think Hailstar is beginning to feel like he's got "egg on his face."

After standing up for Rainflower several times, getting heat from Brambleberry, and now the Clan also starting to murmur...

It's getting very difficult to justify why he's sticking his neck out.

and maybe, part of him is starting to feel a little self-conscious about the way that his deputy is acting about her injured child.

When she comes storming up on this fateful day, interrupting whatever he was doing to make a proposition, it's the breaking point.

Her suggestion: "I've realized that there's only one way to ensure my son survives his injury. He's being haunted by our demon, which only started threatening him when he disobeyed me for the last time. WE need to teach him a lesson, and make sure StarClan gazes down upon him to acknowledge his mistakes."

"...how do you intend to do that?"

"Stormkit must be given a Dishonor Title."

A Dishonor Title, one of the greatest shames that a leader can put onto one of their warriors. A punishment that ranks just below exile in terms of severity.

"you want to put a dishonor title... on your child? one with a life-threatening injury?"

"One that acknowledges his carelessness. To protect him from the demon."

Protect him from the demon. "I see now what must be done."

Previously, I'd thought of Hailstar as someone who would be loud and merciless when he does this. Now I'm thinking it was something he put a lot of thought into. He stands up, brushes past her, and goes to talk to some of his most trusted cats. Brambleberry, his mate Echomist, an experienced warrior such as Piketooth or Ottersplash, and lastly, Shellheart.

So it's not a surprise to anyone but Rainflower herself. He doesn't want this to be dramatic. He doesn't want it to be another big scene. Stormkit has gone through enough.

When he eventually has this Clan meeting, he calls it quietly. In his address to the gathered cats, a crowd that Shellheart and his family are missing from at his request, he says that his greatest regret is that he didn't do this sooner. He even doubts that Mapleshade is haunting her at all-- now having seen her behavior, he says it's more likely that Rainflower bashed her own child against a rock and simply lied.

First, he announces that Stormkit will be removed from her care. He will no longer be of the Applekin bloodline.

She is banned from the nursery at the request of Fallowtail, and will only see Stormkit when supervised by his new Mi, Shellheart.

Brambleberry has already agreed to this necessity, and is performing a ritual so that StarClan may approve of this choice.

He also strips her of her deputyship, and appoints Ottersplash instead. (I might change this to a different deputy eventually)

Not everyone agrees with Hailstar. There's an uproar from Rainflower's supporters.

She was a VERY popular deputy.

More that are just uneasy, feeling that this was a BRUTAL punishment that she didn't deserve.

Lots are happy and optimistic, though. But the mixed reception is exactly why Hailstar asked Shellheart not to be here.

This isn't something Stormkit has to deal with right now.

When Darkstar herself, who created the Queen's Rights, was on her last life, she appointed Volestar to uphold the law as her legacy knowing that Oakstar might try to break it again.

Volestar appointed Hailstar, in the hopes that he would uphold her legacy in turn, to protect kittens and those who can't protect themselves.

He was late, and can only hope he was not too late. He hopes that Volestar can forgive him for that.

Meanwhile in the nursery, Shellheart, Oakkit, and Stormkit are alone, far in the back, where the padded moss keeps out arguing voices.

Oakkit, bless his little heart, is babbling with excitement because his best friend is his BROTHER now. And it's gonna be THE BEST.

He's talking about how it's fine he can't chew because now they can have soup, and they're going to make the nest bigger, and they can stay up later because they can whisper quieter if they're this close together

But Storm doesn't really hear him. His head's swimming, thinking about the dull ache in his jaw, how MAD his mom's going to be because he can't imagine her not finding a way to hurt him, how this is all his fault because he called Mapleshade.

He can't stop it anymore and starts sniffling, which turns into weeping. Still, he's TRYING not to bawl, knowing, knowing he looks stupid when he does that

Shellheart just pulls him in close, so he can bury his face in his fluffy chest. Tells him it's going to be ok. He's safe now. No one can hurt him there.

Not on his watch.

Unfortunately, it's not the last he sees of Mapleshade. After this...

Mapleshade shows him everything she did for him. Yes, she did smash his jaw-- but it was to get him away from his mother.

And she planted an idea here and there, just little whispers into Rainflower's ear. Nothing she wouldn't do all on her own.

And now... Mapleshade believes she's earned some respect.

Stormkit can't disagree... she did exactly what she told him she'd do.

And now that he's not Applekin anymore, they can be Real Friends. They could even strike up a partnership, of sorts. After all, what did StarClan do to help him?

It wasn't StarClan that answered his prayers.

I'm still figuring out what, exactly, she's going to want from him. I have a scintilla that she wants to give him a life, maybe as some kind of bridge to StarClan to see her kits?

Some strange "attempt" at redemption, perhaps? Which she ultimately doesn't get.

Not that she didn't enjoy doing all that for love of the game, mind you. She's very good at getting revenge and it's fun and exciting to pull it off.

But hey, if you're good at something, never do it for free.

What causes Mapleshade to ultimately turn, and begin haunting the bloodline again + Oakheart, is Crookedstar rejecting her in some way.

She comes to collect on her end of the bargain and he refuses, breaking their partnership. He chooses StarClan.

And then from there, it's ON again. Now she has another EXCUSE to do what she wanted to do, and take out her boredom and malice on his family.

This time, it includes Oakheart as well-- because he was Crookedstar's brother.

It was also her curse that harmed Willowbreeze and eventually Silverstream. She's on the warpath.

Maybe she actually helped make him leader on purpose. Like he explicitly asked so she helped him by making the squirrel omen, instead of just doing it for him unprompted. Still figuring it out.

Shortly after the scene where Stormkit cries, he needs to have a confrontation with Brambleberry about Mapleshade I think. She needs to explain why Dark Forest demons are seen as bad.

She's biased, of course, but it's not like she's TOTALLY wrong either. Cats like Mapleshade ARE vengeful, in ways many other spirits are not.

If you're curious, Crookedstar's dishonor title from Rainflower would have been something comparing him to a parasite and referencing his ""accident"" like Fleaskip or Midgefall.

The point she's trying to make with the Dishonor Title is that her son is an annoying bug who didn't listen, as well as subtly erase she fact she knocked him off that rock.

She wanted his name to say "everything that happened was my fault and my mom did nothing wrong"

Not that Hailstar got as far as even asking lmao

#better bones au #Stormpaw's Demon #BB!Crookedstar #BB!Shellheart #BB!Oakheart #BB!Mapleshade #BB!Rainflower #Cw child abuse #tw child abuse #cw physical abuse #tw physical abuse #cw emotional abuse #tw emotional abuse #Stormpaw's Demon Draft 2

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