#i love having a bleach brain rot <3

[diorsbrando]

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 ♡♡.

[q1ngqve]

hi!! same anon here you dont have to take this as a request bc i just wanted to get this out of my chest yandere or at least obssesive averatio where both overstim the hell out of reader (lowkey mindbreak if you're comfy about that??) after reader rejects their advances NOT OUT OF HATE or anything but bc their insecurities got the best of them and either thought the two were just messing w them or they have abandonment issues (i do not have the second one whatever do you mean i am not projecting do not percieve me) no offense to these two but they look like the ppl to mess w your heart n leave you to rot

mb some predator/prey (they both hunt you down after you avoid them both and as ratio wisely said "what do you do with a cornered prey? hunt it to death" AUGHAHSGA) aphrodisiacs, drugging, etc. anyways after that you best bet you'll be too dumb to ever think of something as stupid as that, and sure, yes ratio hates idiots but well..... you will be the only exception given how cute you look all fucked out and broken on their bed with their cocks deep inside you <3

SKLDJALSDJAL HELP i feel awfully embarrassed w writing this lmao scuse me while i bleach my head.

i am very sorry this took so long </3 i wrote this as a fic at first but i lost motivation so now it’s just in the form of brain rot :(

oh no :( poor reader with insecurities from your past relationships thinking every man out there is a liar, especially the two that gave their hearts to you :( running away from them is a smart move because we don’t trust men in this household!

but you forget how annoying they can be when it comes to getting what they want, and they want you (´▽｀) so don’t be surprised when you find yourself feeling scared out of your mind walking home alone and feeling like you’re being watched! or when you find certain luxury items randomly appearing in your room! or the slightest hint of their cologne when you wake up every morning! because you asked for this by running away 😵‍💫

this was supposed to be holiday for you — coming to penacony, but the headache and blurry room before you has you panicking! you best know that no one is coming to save you when you’re running through the reverie hotel like a lost bunny when you receive a letter saying they’ll have you tonight! and if you think you had any chance of escape, you’re so wrong 😖

oh, and don’t let them know that you’re afraid, it only spurs them on! hunting you down through the corridors of the hotel is so adrenaline inducing for them <3 running shouldn’t be so hard though, so why do you feel as if your legs are going to give out any second? oh right, the drink! they probably drugged it, seems like something they would do

an exasperated gasp leaves you when you finally let your body fall, eyes closing, preparing for impact. and the next thing you know you wake up, hands tied above you to the headboard, your body completely bare. you’d struggle with all your might, soft whines sounding at the back of your throat when you spot the two of them hiding in the shadows, staring down at you with those bright, lust-filled eyes

oh, you’re so dead

your body feels like it’s on fire, desperately needing release, needing someone to touch you, anyone. your voice betrays you as whimpers leave you when they stalk towards you, their burning gaze not helping with the burning sensation.

you really did think you could escape! so why’re you here, tied and unable to move? tears fall as you lock eyes with veritas ratio, your fight or flight kicking in when he reaches out to caress your cheek, wiping the tears away. laughter sounds from aventurine on the other side of the bed, you’re just so naive! all he wants to do is to love and break you until you’re a sobbing mess beneath him 😵‍💫 so don’t blame him when he kisses you, he just can’t help it anymore, not when you’re already shaking when all they did was drug your drink and reveal themselves to you after months of stalking :(

the aphrodisiac is making you incredibly sensitive to their touch, which is perfect for them because that would mean hearing your sweet cries of pleasure! you best prepare yourself though, because they’re not stopping until you’re about to pass out 🧎🏻‍♀️ they haven’t had you for months, nobody is going to stop them from worshipping you, not even yourself.

you’ll be so overstimulated by the end of the night that even just innocent touches can have you whining and trembling like a leaf (^^)

“you really think you can run from us?” — veritas ratio

“who you knew you were so filthy, hmm? you wanted us to hunt you down, didn’t you? dirty, dirty girl.” — veritas ratio

“missed you so much, pretty girl.” — aventurine

“stop? now why would we do that? you’re clearly enjoying this. look at you, making such a mess on my cock.” — aventurine

[monstercampus]

WHAT. 😱 He’s cursed?!? ELLIE PLEASE, I AM BEGGING. 🙏 Lore on Plauge Doctor???? A snippet of his deep dark backstory perhaps? Pretty please? A cherry on top? 🍒?

Oh, it's nothing special! Just the story of an average young man with an insatiable lust for death flying a bit too close to the sun </3

(cws: death, active plague, sickness, mentions of rot, body horror)

In life, "Doctor" Symon Knox was as average as anyone else you might meet in that tiny village on the outskirts of Ordomia--a kingdom-turned-capital city as the world knows it now, far, far away across the seas from the campus he now finds himself employed. Being such a talkative, curious boy in his youth, it was no surprise to his elders that he dreamed of becoming a doctor, and perhaps one with impeccable bedside manner since he found it so easy to make people laugh their pains away.

But this was an era before cellphones and sterilization, and upon reaching his tender adulthood Symon found himself in the throes of an unimaginable plague spreading across the continent, wild and uncontrolled as it killed indiscriminately. Still in the service of his mentor at the time, Symon was given the role of scribe during the last moments of each patient's life. Chivalrous or wicked, senile or sane, he penned each word to save and keep on record for many months, and grew quieter and quieter as the job worked him past his own limits. In time, it felt as though the mask he donned was a feature of his own face, the leather and cloth part of his skin that stuck fast to his bones. Not long after that did his mentor fall from the illness, as did the people he knew and loved from his village as sickness swept over each poor, kindred soul.

Upon returning home to such a sight, Symon began penning his own last words. Page after page of nothingness slung into fire, ink spilled over half-spelled curses, quill-tip pierced through the tough parchment into his father's writing desk. Days passed into weeks and months, the sickly-sweet stench of rot invading the bed of crumbling lavender protecting the beak of his mask. Having adored the man so much in his early years of doctorhood, Symon wouldn't realize that his descent into madness was caused by his mentor's wicked desires--even if he had at the time, there would be no stopping his transformation. The Lich that had masqueraded as a well-to-do doctor, had taken a dirt-poor youth under his wing to teach him the practice of medicine, had crafted that same disease that would kill his corporeal body and take his protégé's life next.

And while Symon Knox unknowingly wrote out his last rites in his own hand, his body was changing to fit the mold he'd been given--the shape that the Lich had deemed worthy to house the fount of his unimaginable necrotic power. Four hundred years prior to present day, Symon Knox died at his writing desk, quill perched deftly in his left hand. Less than four days later he awoke, quill pierced through his gloved palm, with nothing writhing beneath his robes but the curse of rot and death. Blood drained to a pale-skinned touch he rose as a phantom of his true self, his blue eyes no longer clear but cloudy, his hair bleached to a cowardly white from the strawberry blond strands he inherited from his loving mother. Neither living nor a corpse, black vines twisted themselves into neat array over his skin like the fibres of muscle beneath it, only patches of pallour visible and even less with several centuries of rot between them. He may as well be nothing but a lich himself if not for that distinct craving for the true depth of his power, his knowledge lost but the presence of his master violently cramming itself into his brain--for four hundred years he must keep it out, keep it away, lest it overcome him in the absence of his psyche and steal away the last part of Symon he so desperately clings to.

Memories, emotions, senses, and functions trickle out over time, falling limp and blank and drawing to a close, but never quite reaching the point of dying. The body wants to die but Symon Knox rather wants to live, to see more out the polished glasses of his plague mask than he ever would as a young man dying of an incurable sickness. He may have died at twenty, but he lives to twenty-one every day--and although he never quite shakes the feeling of need, need to kill, need to die, need to watch the light leave their eyes, he's gotten quite good at shaking that voice loose and shoving it to the back of his mind. To find something else to fill it, that would do the job quite well....if only he had something to occupy every waking thought, someone so endearing he can't help but run them through his head every waking moment of every living day.

[sillyclowncircus]

Oh no, silly brain rot

@o-i-w-u come get some gore

Au where the tsams characters all work at a school- but ya know me, murder murder murder- so uhm- everyone has a small twinge of evil- or a lot

And all the kids are orphans to explain why no one notices kids missing

Ack- murder school

Uuuhm- gore mention besties

Tw: gore, murder, death, children death, esting flesh, EVERYONE IS MURDERERS

Sun does art classes :D he really enjoys painting the most, and red just happens to be his favorite color! And who else but those misbehaving students to provide him with that red paint his loves so much? Whats a little loss of a misbehaving student for the cost of art after all? Besides, hes been teaching these kids for 3 months now! If their art hasnt improved yet, what use are they to him but paint providers?

Moon! Going with that basic bitch science teacher for him. He enjoys science and loves it even! It's such a nice pass time for him, something he can relax while doing! Thats why its so annoying when one of the students have to mess up his relaxation time! How could a student be so stupid to mix ammonia and bleach!? Some students just have to learn by being the victim of their own failed experiments... even if it results in a little death sometimes.

Killcode is a gym teacher. After all, who but the fast predator to be one? Kill code is well aware that he scares the students, and he thrives on that terror. He loves to give students difficult tasks. What does he care that you're getting ropeburn from climbing that 20 foot(about 6 meters, i think-) rope? If you fall, then you best get up and run and keep running til someone else falls, or you're going to find yourself torn to pieces to feed his family and other students.

Earth does both cooking and gardening! She loves planting things! Especially things like Castor Beans, Winter Daphne, and Dendrocnide moroides! She has a love for plants that are dangerous and well... dont be surprised if a Castor Bean seed ends up in your food if you happen to be rude to one of her favorite students. Earth may not like killing, but she does like knowing punishments have been given, even if it results in death. She pften cooks the meat of dead students so it doesn't go to waste. It is a shame to waste such good meat after all... and meat is good plant fertilizer.

Lunar does zoology! He brings animals into the school and lets the students meet them! Who cares if last weeks wolf killed a kid? Not Lunar, he's metal. The wolf couldn't hurt him! The raccoon had rabies, and it bit you? Well, the only way to tell with animals is cutting their head off and sending it to the lab, so say by to your head and off to Moon's lab it goes! And if he so happens to take you outside and into the woods within the schools the 3 miles of fencing? He's just there to feed the animals he keeps, and you happen to be the meal.

Bloodmoon does anatomy! If a body comes in whole, they'd use it to carve ooen and show their class, maybe eat an organ or two. When there's not one? Well... no one is gonna miss that short kid in the back, right? It would be fun to cut open a live one and let their students see a heart pumping, lungs drawing their last breaths.

BM1(Bloody) he especially loves the gore, he personally loves the live students to work on, finding the dead ones boring since they don't squirm and scream. He prides himself in making the students both terrified but intrigued

BM2(Harvest) prefers working on the dead bodies. The struggle of the live ones annoys him, too squirmy, too wriggly. Tho he does hate the cold feeling of the dead bodies, so sometimes he just kills a student the moment they walk in class to have a warm cadaver to work on.

SolarFlare teaches both math and reading. Personally, he doesn't like killing that much... but someone getting answers wrong irks him. He's worked so hard with these students for months, and that can't spell something simple that 'Knowledge' correctly? Or what 2544 ÷ 48 is? It's 53! They aren't worth his time, and he doesn't feel that another teacher should waste their time either. So he kills them, his go-to method being to break their necks so its quick and not too messy.

Solar is the janitor and technician. He's just... tired. There is too much cleaning to do, too many dead kids, and most of all... ugh, Eclipse is annoying. But he doesn't break his role of janitor, knowing that he really has nothing outside this school anyways, so whose gonna judge him for snapped and punching a student who annoys him? No one. At least he's not killing... or if he is, no one noticed... It's amazing what hydrogen peroxide can clean out of clothes after all.

Eclipse is the principal. He doesn't mind all the killing, but he prefers not to get his hands dirty. It's enertaining to watch students come complaining to him, though. He will kill, tho. A student breaming too many rules, making too many messes, out with no hall pass... those who break rules have no place in his eyes. So a quick death should do fine. But if there's one he just particularly hates... He's happy to take his time to peel off someone's skin

[ohdearlordspencerreid]

SPENCER REID IS DEAD.

My first Criminal Minds Fanfiction!!

Summary:

What would have happened if Spencer had relapsed after Maeve's death? How would he have coped with his new reality? How would the team pull him back from the brink?

'He knew that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of Great Expectations, ran out.'

I put this on Ao3 and didn't get much interaction, so here I am, desperate for validation. Please don't repost anywhere, I'm really proud of this ❤️

Warning:

This is a big sad. Please don't read this if you are not in the mood or in safe headspace to see our baby boy and the rest of the team suffer.

This work does not contain any graphic descriptions of drug use, it is all implied, however it does contain a lot of dark and sad ideas including multiple references to suicide and death. Please be careful and maybe read something happy after this <3

Notes:

In my fanon, as in real life, relapse is a part of recovery, I respect MGG not wanting to continue with Reid’s addiction storyline but it feels unrealistic for Spencer to have stayed sober through all his trauma and stress especially with Maeve's death.

Please be kind, this is my first piece of Criminal Minds fanfiction ever and my first time writing anything in several year, nevermind posting it.

Spencer Reid is Dead- OhDearLordSpencerReid

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He felt like he might melt into the floor, a puddle of pain, anger and suicidal ideation. The world stood still but simultaneously ran past him, leaving him alone, bitter and inconsequential. She was dead.

Spencer’s vision swam as he knelt on the hard wooden floor of his apartment, his week old pajamas sticking to him uncomfortably, personal hygiene had become a thing of the past, so had sleep. The dark circles under his eyes made his face look like a skull, he had torn large chunks of his once soft, honey brown curls from his scalp, he didn’t remember doing it. His mouth was dry, he felt like he had been drinking bleach, maybe the misfiring synapses in his previously exceptional brain were on to something, was that a good idea? He just needed everything to stop.

He barely heard the knocking on his door, the rhythmic sound blending in with the constant and overwhelming pounding of his head. He heard voices outside his apartment, but he couldn't bring himself to care, nevermind open the door. He knew his friends would be worrying about him, he knew they loved him, or at least the part of his brain which wasn't currently tripping on a deadly combination of gut wrenching, life ending grief and dilaudid knew that. The active part of his brain however wanted to be left alone, wanted to sit here as he had for days and rot.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He didn't know what day it was anymore, he was only aware of two things, that the only person who had ever truly understood him, the woman he loved, was dead. And that his one lifeline was getting shorter, as the immeasurably holy and extensively evil vials of poison that sat on his coffee table, atop a mocking copy of great expectations, ran out. Eventually, he would hit withdrawal. He had two choices, his brain fought to use even a fraction of his usually infinite space and exceptional speed to process his options, feeling increasingly dizzy and hopeless.

Option one, call someone and ask for help.

Pros:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die.

Cons:

You won't have a seizure from withdrawals and choke on your own vomit and die. Let it end.

The team will know you’re being weak again, fucking weak!

You’ll lose your job! Who cares honestly..

Spencer shook his head, feeling his slowly frying brain slosh against his skull.

Option two, go outside and buy more dilaudid.

Pros:

More dilaudid.

No more feelings.

No more thoughts.

Cons:

Going outside.

Being a weak, drug addicted loser.

Spencer began to sob, crying so hard he began to wretch, wretching so hard he had to drag himself off of the floor, running as fast as his shaking legs could carry him to the bathroom and throwing up bile. When was the last time he had eaten? Did it matter? He’d always been too skinny, said his mother. His mother, who had put a goddamn genetic time bomb in his brain. Maybe schizophrenia would be easier than this.

After vomiting bile for several minutes, his nose burnt by the acid, his lungs burning with the effort it took him to keep breathing when he saw no point. He looked back up at the vials, they mocked him.

He couldn't go outside. Not like this. But going outside sober was an even more terrifying prospect, primarily due to the fact that he would be sober.

But he wasn't going to call anyone. As he lay down where he was on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor he made peace with the idea that what would be would be.

‐--------------------------------REID-------------------------

He must have fallen asleep or passed out because the next moment he heard a frantic banging on his front door, it sounded like someone was trying to break it down. He laughed bitterly, thinking of Derek, constantly having to use funding the FBI could use on better things instead, on reimbursing people for unnecessarily kicking down doors. The thought made Spencer laugh, high and manic, it made him cringe, the sounds coming from his own mouth. He hadn't used his voice in days, weeks? How long had he truly laid on the teak effect floor in front of his front door?

The pounding continued, it frustrated Spencer, scared him that he couldnt tell if the noise was real, or if it was a fiction created by his self destructive, drug addled, fucking Intolerable, all remembering, overdue for a bullet, genius brain. He stormed over to the door, on unstable legs, his knees covered in dark bruises from hours of kneeling, he looked through the peephole. And who did he see but said insufferable prick. Best friend? Unfeeling bastard? Brother?

All of the air was knocked out of Spencer's fragile body as he saw it was really him. It was Derek Morgan.

‐-----------------------------MORGAN---------------------

Derek Morgan paced the bullpen, his phone clasped to his ear, he sighed in frustration as Spencer’s phone went to voicemail, yet again. He resisted the urge to scream, to throw something. He knew Penelope was going to Spencer’s house this morning, to drop off her usual gift basket, she would surely call him if something was really wrong.

If she smelt the all too familiar stench of rotting flesh wafting from under the young genius's door.. Derek shook himself, trying to push away the dreadful thought. Spencer knew he was there, knew he loved him like a kid brother, an annoyingly smart and unsettlingly traumatised kid brother.. Oh god.

Were they going to carry the tall, spindly, blood splattered body of Spencer Reid out of his apartment on a gurney, would he have to see his ‘Pretty Boy’ in a body bag, would he be asked to identify him? Was he still Spencer’s emergency contact? The mental image was vivid, horrifying. Should he have taken Spencer’s gun? ‘No, because this was the ‘Boy Wonder’ he wouldn't need something as barbaric and neanderthal as a gun to end his painfully short and difficult life’, a voice that sounded distressingly like Spencer’s echoed in Derek’s mind. Derek began to lose control of his breathing, began to gulp air like he was trapped in the desert and he wanted to drown in the oasis he found there, mirage or no.

Derek’s head span as his breathing became erratic, he hadn't noticed before that his cheeks were wet with tears, his hands shook as he struggled to regain control of himself. He needed to be strong, he needed to continue to hold this team together. It was his job to chase away the monsters, it was his job to protect the little guy, to keep JJ and Penelope and Spencer safe. He’d failed in his big brother capacity before and he’d never forgive himself if he did it again. Derek desperately tried to center himself, but it was no use, the world was cracking like a Chicago sidewalk taken over by tree roots, his brain screamed like a gunshot heard from the footwell of a police car, his heart ached like it had that day and Spencer wasn't even dead, yet.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned, eyes wide to see Hotch.. Hotch, Aaron Hotchner, surely he would know what to do, what to say.

‐-----------------------------GARCIA------------------------

Penelope Garcia knocked on the door, softly at first as if worried the shock of a sudden noise alone would stop the broken heart of the cowering young man, unbeknownst to her, laying half unconscious behind the door. She waited a few moments and knocked again, this time louder. She heard a pitiful noise from inside, it broke her heart but as sad as it felt to think, at least it meant Spencer was still breathing in there. She called out, her lips inches from the door, when she was met with only a phrase she would not repeat in polite company, telling her to ‘go away’ she put down her basket of blueberries. ‘They are high in antioxidants and serotonin vitamins’ her internal Reid said, somewhat inaccurately as Penelope didn't know all the facts, as though trying desperately to drown out the broken and unpleasant memory of the real Reid only inches away.

Penelope wanted to help, she needed to be able to do something. This was Reid, this was the soft young man who brought her baked goods when she had a bad day. Here was Spencer, who could be surprisingly hilarious, even if it hadn’t been his intention. He was the ‘Pretty Boy’ to her ‘Babygirl’ and he was suffering, in a way Penelope couldn't fathom. There was no system she could hack, no phone to trace, no dirt to dig up, that would get Reid to let her in. Only the echoing distance between them, as extensive as the time, space and regenerations between the fourth and eleventh doctors…

Penelope didn’t want to leave, she was so scared for him, it was so hard to turn off her instinctual empathy and intrinsic sense of duty to fix things and make them all sunshine and rainbows… but she knew she couldn't fix this. Especially if Spencer wouldn't even open the door

‐------------------------------HOTCH------------------------

Aaron Hotchner has seen agents in distress. He had seen it many times. Hell he’d seen Reid in distress many times. The thought made him sad. He felt like a bad boss. A bad friend. A bad father? It was true he did see Spencer as a surrogate son, partially because he knew Spencer needed a father figure, desperately. But if he was being honest it was in large part to that fact that the kid was just so easy to fall in love with. He had endeared Aaron from the get go, the way he walked around as if everything and everyone was a potential threat, made him want to protect the young agent in the beginning. The way he lit up when he got to share a piece of extremely niche knowledge, the pride he felt when they solved a particularly difficult case.

Spencer was easy to fall in love with.

But now, that fear, that anxiety and self doubt Hotch had found endearing in the beginning when Spencer looked like a very tall child in a cardigan and obscenely large glasses, had transformed into something terrible. He had seen it, the ugliness that lingered inside Spencer Reid, he had seen it when he had returned from his break after the Tobias Hankel case, seen the anger and animalistic fear in the usually sweet mans eyes, he had seen the metaphorical foaming of the rabid dogs mouth.

He’d known he’d never have the strength to put that dog down.

It had eased and the dog had become a sweet little puppy again, following Gideon around, playing chess, devouring books, opening up emotionally. Hotch had been proud, in the years since he had only seen glimpses of that pain, of the Spencer that could go feral and rip out his throat, they had always faded. But this time, this time Spencer hadn’t screamed or lashed out or cursed the world. No, Spencer had seen the woman he loved murdered in front of him and shut himself away. Shut himself in a cage, biting and clawing only at himself, wounded and content to tear himself apart, by brain or by vein. Aaron’s dark train of thought was suddenly broken by Anderson, who knocked on his door and told him that he thought Derek Morgan was having a mental breakdown. ‘No, no more’ Aaron thought ‘Oh God please, let them be, let me take their pain’

‐---------------------------------JJ--------------------------

Jennifer Jareau walked into the bullpen and found a commotion unlike anything she had ever seen before. A small crowd was gathered seemingly centered around someone, a crying child? Who was sitting on the floor, JJ approached cautiously, not wanting to intrude if this was a family member of a victim. Her blood ran cold as she saw the shaking, sobbing form of Derek Morgan, the strongest man she knew, curled in a ball on the carpeted floor, clinging to Aaron Hotchner’s shirt like it was his last tether to this mortal plane. She stepped forward, the crowd parting slowly as she approached. She got immediately to her knees, gently placing her hands on either side of Derek’s face, trying to ask him what had happened. When she heard the name Spencer amongst Morgan’s apoplectic ramblings, she felt suddenly faint, the images she had been desperately repressing came crashing down, pinning her to her spot, to this singular breath with their gravity.

Spencer Reid was dead.

Her best friend wouldn’t make it to thirty, he would remain forever young. His photo would join the other ghostly faces lining the corridor outside the BAU office, the wall of those who had died because of this god awful job. He would join Roslyn in her mind as the cold corpse of a sibling, of a soulmate. Spencer Reid would never get his fourth doctorate, never see the return of David Blaine, never tell her another fact about enucleation, never be a father, the one job beyond behavioral profiler or exceptionally overqualified college lecturer, that he would be truly exceptional at.

Spencer Reid was dead…

Until he wasn't, a bright pink blur ripped through the room as Penelope Garcia descended on Derek, her face a mask of supposed ‘eternal and infallible optimism’.

Spencer was alive.

He wouldn't open the door and she’d barely gotten a word out of him. But Spencer Walter Reid was still breathing and suddenly, Jennifer could too.

‐--------------------------------ROSSI-----------------------

David Rossi, didn’t have any children, hell he wasn’t sure if he would even want any. But he enjoyed his role as the fun uncle to Aaron Hotchner’s strict father immensely. He loved seeing the program he and Jason Gideon had built flourish into an exceptional team, a life saving and justice affording safe haven, a real family. Family had always been complicated for Dave, he hadn't felt this close to a group of people, trusted anyone so much since leaving the marines. He knew that he could give his still beating heart to any one of the BAU members and they would treasure it, nurture it, protect it at any cost. That was why he felt so helpless as he sent lavish gifts to Spencer Reid’s apartment, sent him texts offering to pay for him to take time off, to pay for therapy, they all felt like hollow gestures. The fickle attempts at support by a man who was yet to realise that money doesn't buy you happiness. Dave knew this practically of course, but he felt trapped, paralised by his inability to read Reid, the way he had encouraged him to pursue his relationship with the woman who was now being prepared for her funeral, a woman Spencer had loved with such intensity and innocence, far beyond Rossi’s comprehension.

It was then as he stood in the lobby of Spencer’s apartment, trying to gather the courage to go up and see him that Dave realised one thing Spencer had that he had never been able to grasp, besides a comprehensive knowledge of string theory, quantum theory and the difference therein, vulnerability. Spencer was able to be truly vulnerable with those he loved.. That vulnerability usually lent itself to him as compassion, as a strong sense of justice and as an infinite capacity to love others, to fight for them. But right now? That vulnerability was slowly sucking every happy memory in his seemingly limitless mind, right now that vulnerability was a weakness. And so, too, David was weak. He walked back to his car, silently begging any god or holy being that would listen to give him even a tenth of the strength Spencer had, even a moment to be truly vulnerable, to show the kid he loved him that he would fight for him.

For the first time in many years, Rossi doubted the existence of god.

The strength didn't come.

‐------------------------------BLAKE------------------------

Alex Blake was new. It had taken a while for the team to warm up to her. But not Spencer. He had met her where she lived, where she was comfortable, in a joining of intellects, a tête-à-tête, a friendly competition of defining obscure words. She had instantly felt a kinship with the boy, she knew he hated being called a boy, a kid, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Not out of malice, but out of a motherly instinct, that had laid dormant for several years. He was sweet and smart, she had often wondered what Ethan would be like, she hoped he would be like Spencer.

She had greatly enjoyed seeing him sneaking around, making mysterious phone calls, after learning that he was calling a girl he liked and not under the thumb of some kind of MENSA mafia that is. Alex smiled at the memory of Reid’s blushing face when he had talked about her, the memory tasted sour now, given the dreadful results of Spencer’s first meeting with his mystery woman. She was dead, and Spencer it seemed was content to let himself be buried with her. She knew that pain, the feeling of wanting to drop dead when the person you love is gone…

Alex slowly sipped her coffee, trying to focus on her morning crossword, dreading the phone ringing, signaling another case, but also desperately wanting a distraction. She felt like an intruder, watching Spencer and his loved ones, his REAL family, grieve and worry. She felt like an aunt's new exceptionally dull boyfriend that you have to endure attending your wedding because he's a plus one. She felt she had no right to be as sad as she was, no right to compound her grief for her son with her newfound worry for Spencer. He never asked for that. But she cared, god she cared. She wanted to help him, to help them all, but she feared she would just be a hindrance, an ill fitting cog, ‘the new guy’. She visited Spencer’s house several times, leaving sudoku and crossword puzzles.

She never knocked.

He never opened the door, even if he saw her.

It was like they had a silent agreement, no one was entitled to their pain.

They simply remained, lonely parallels. Broken hearts.

‐-----------------------------SPENCER--------------------

Spencer reeled as he saw Derek Morgan, the real Derek Morgan outside his door, kicking, flailing desperately trying to break down his front door. Derek’s eyes looked hollow, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping. Derek Morgan, the man who could practically sleep standing up during a fire drill. Spencer felt awful, the slimy self loathing he had been feeling since that fateful night, since his teens honestly, slithered up his throat like a giant, blood filled leach. Full of his friends worry, full of wasted potential, full of things that would never be.

Things he had wanted so desperately with Maeve.

Maeve.

It was as if her name broke through to him, he hadn't even allowed himself to think the word, scared he would completely lose his mind. With shaking hands Spencer removed the chain from his door, unlocking it just as Derek kicked it again. Tears streaming down his face, the door hit Spencer hard in the chest, knocking him sprawling to the floor. A small, sweaty, pale, skeleton-esque mess, his arm littered with needle marks, his aura exuding pure shame and grief.

It was then as Derek stood in the doorway, his heart slowly shattering that Spencer noticed he wasn't alone.

The whole team stood behind him in the corridor, full of love and full of fear.

Penelope looked drained of all hope, her skin grey, her pink glasses doing nothing to hide her red rimmed eyes.

Aaron Hotchner’s face was blank, not in the usual serious way he had. In a way that scared him.

Jennifer was shaking clutching a soft purple cashmere scarf, the one from Spencer's desk. It was wrapped around her neck, right next to her sister's locket.

Rossi hovered near the back, clutching his rosary, caught in a muffled prayer, tears freely falling down his face.

Blake was smiling softly, trying to keep it together, physically supporting JJ.

“Help me” Spencer sobbed, falling as he tried to stand, his voice breaking harshly “please, please help me. I need you”

-------------------------FIN------------------------

[missingn000]

Hi chi!

First and foremost loved the latest chapter and congrats on the amazing new job!!!

I was dying my hair black again after I had bleached it white for months cause the gojo brain rot is severe and i realised at the end that, haha I looked like megumi

And so i was thinking since gojo is trying to be his own person instead of just being labelled as the strongest. This, just as he loves he colour orange and hates blue maybe he could wear a black wig for a joke or maybe dye his hair, because that's again a very defining trait of his but mostly because he would look exactly like megumi and toji and i think that the gangs reactions would be pretty hilarious, megumi would be pissed but secretly happy when everyone says that gojo and him look alike and old man Toji would just tear up a little

Just a suggestion, no pressure! Can't wait for the next chapter btw. <3<3<3<3<3<3

aww, that'd be so cute!! the fluff scene in this chap is already mostly written, but it's something i'll keep in mind for later. they do totally have the same spiky hair, even if the colors are opposites.

also ahh white hair!! i used to dye mine white too back in undergrad and i've been missing it so much lately lol. hope you enjoy megumi mode too :D

[sbeefs]

when I was little I loved reading so much, like I’d open the bathroom cupboard and read the small print on the side of the bleach bottles and stuff I knew what a period was before I got it and before anyone told me bc I read the instructions manual in a box of tampons

read dracula when I was maybe 7 and had nightmares, lmao

it sucks now bc I can’t get myself to read for shit, like I’m 3 chapters into two separate books rn and I really want to continue them but I just never seem to get to it

I also have a bad habit of skimming over long posts on here, too

internet brain rot u_u

[mrsmaybank]

My Little Sun - Reid x Reader

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” “So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

CONTENT WARNINGS: AGE GAP, VIOLENCE, KIDNAPPING, PREGNANCY, STALKING, LANGUAGE probably the misuse of a Russian word  IF THERES MORE LMK 

A/N: Okay, let me be honest rq this idea lowk scared me but the words really just fell out of my brain really easily so, yk fuck it whatever.  ANYWAY, if you like, please let me know! 

pt 2, pt 3 “I love you Spencer.” The words immediately melted me. 

“I know so many things.” She gave me an unapproving look. 

“I don’t mean to sound cocky, but I do! Now for once in your life, listen to me.” She nodded her head in concession.

“I’ve just read more, I’ve written more, I’ve discovered and studied more than the average person. I could tell you a little bit about anything with one hundred percent certainty. I could--and want--to tell you the names of all the stars, I could recite verbatim the entirety of Prometheus Bound by Aeschylus or Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov, which you know, speaking of I will ‘cause I still can’t believe you haven’t read it,” Her smile flattened into a straight line, and I laughed. “Orrr, I could also tell you something simple, like why we get the hiccups.” I shook my head. 

“Regardless, I know so many things and I’m rarely taken by surprise because of it. Everything in life is a pattern of change, and as a human, we will always adjust and adapt to whatever situation we are in. For better or worse, we don’t feel the same thing for very long. This is why an addict takes a couple more every time, a sadist hits his second victim harder than the first, they’re searching for the high of the first time, and it will never come.”

She nodded in understanding, 

 “I know this is true, it’s factual, and yet every time I look at you it feels like the first. You’ve broken the laws of human psychology.” 

“First time you saw me was at a gas station Spencer.” 

“No. The first time I looked at you after I knew I loved you.” 

“Where were we?” 

“My car. You were dancing. You looked ridiculous.” 

“Ridiculously sexy? You mean?” She smiled. 

“Ridiculously perfect.” I held her tighter as she looked up at me and our eyes locked, “I’ve fallen ridiculously in love with you.” 

“So my evil plan worked then?” She chirped.

“It did indeed. You’ve become my solnyshko moyo.”

“Tell me that’s Russian dirty talk.” She said with a grin. 

“It’s better. It’s a term of endearment you’ve become the epitome of.” 

“And what’s that Dr. Reid?” she giggled. 

“My little sun. You’ve become my little sun. Following me around and bringing light and warmth.” She snuggled herself impossibly closer into my chest, wrapping one of her legs over mine. 

“Except for your feet!” I shrieked at her freezing toes meeting mine. 

“They’re not that cold you big baby!” she shouted. 

I laughed and kissed her sweetly, “I am not the baby here.” I said.  

“Please,” she started until I interrupted her with a kiss, “If you’re not the baby,” I kissed her again, “That implies I’M the baby,” Kiss, “And I’m not a” Kiss. 

“Shush baby.” I told her, but like always, she didn’t listen, instead sitting up to straddle me. My appreciation for her beauty was like how a prisoner appreciates freedom, and yet it was miniscule into what I found in her character. It blew my mind that a girl so perfect existed. 

“Rarely do great virtue and beauty dwell together. Francesco Petrarch.” I started, my hands making their way onto her hips, “That makes you a rarity.” 

“You’re spoiling me with nice words today Spencer.” “You’ve spoiled me. My frontal lobe is spoiled milk.” She laughed, wondering how I was going to manage to make this one romantic. 

“That’s the part of the brain responsible for sensibility and logical thinking, and you, little girl, have positively ruined it. You make me stupid.”

“I ruined the genius Dr. Reid with the 187 IQ? Makes sense. I’m like, way smarter.” 

“You are. So, so much smarter.” 

“I want that in writing.” she poked my chest. 

I pulled her down and kissed her forehead to whisper in her ear. “Not a chance.”

She pushed herself away and rolled her eyes at me like a bratty child does her nanny, and I continued, “ You’re smarter, but I’m more educated. I have more doctorates than you have years in university.” 

“Whatever…”

I brushed the hair away from her perfect face, “You tired baby?” 

She sighed and laid down, splaying herself on my chest, laying on me like I was the duvet. “Very.” 

I held her impossibly close, breathing in her scent and counting every time her heart thumped, her bpm said she was relaxed. Oh god, I wanted her like this forever. Relaxed in my arms, where nothing could touch us but each other. 

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“Must you work?” I sent the message to Spencer as I rolled over to his side of the bed in anticipation. I breathed in heavy, liking the way the pillow smelled like his laundry.

“Unfortunately.”  he responded. “Think you’ll be home this weekend?” 

“It’s not looking like it, little one. I’m sorry.” 

I didn’t reply. I was too sad to reply. I knew it’d make him feel guilty, which I didn’t want to do, cause like, his job and saving people and shit is important. But, it still wasn’t fair! At all. There was something very important I had to tell him. 

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Total darkness, and then way too much light. My head hurt and I couldn’t move. I was handcuffed to a wooden chair. There were chains around my torso and ankles. The room was a medical sort of bright. It smelled like bleach and rotting fruit. The walls were dilapidated, seeming to be made of tiles that were once white, but have turned yellow. 

What the FUCK? 

“Hello!” I shouted. My voice was so coarse it hurt. Shit. My head pulsed so badly it practically hurt to think, but I still racked my brain. 

Where am I? 

How’d I get here? 

Why am I here? 

I woke up again. Fuck, why can’t I think? Why can’t I do anything? 

“Hey, y/n.” A woman’s voice. A very stoic, cold, sounding female voice.

I’m not alone. Thank god, oh my god, I’m not alone. 

With the little strength I had, I lifted my head to see her. She wasn’t what I thought. She was alright, she wasn’t tied. She did this to me? 

She took a sip from her silver flask, “Do you know who I am?” 

I shook my head. “No.” 

“Typical.” She stood up and grabbed me by the hair, “You fucking disgust me.” Like, she said, she threw my hair away like it disgusted her. 

She sat back down on the bench in front of the chair I was chained to, “My name is Brook Austen. I was a professor at Georgetown last year. Taught a couple seminars at your school, that little university you go to, the students there were nothing like mine. Not nearly as intelligent, but as expected, Georgetown is much more prestigious, obviously.”

I was confused, and she knew, but did not care. 

“You’re not the brightest, y/n. Only slightly above average high school grades, strikingly mediocre academic performance now.”

Where the hell is she going with this? 

“And you know it doesn’t surprise me, per say, because every man on this goddamn planet is a piece of fucking shit! But I thought that, maybe, just maybe, Spencer was different.” 

She grimaced, “I thought he’d want more than just a pretty face! ‘Cause you might be prettier y/n, but I’m smarter.” Her words were laced with utter hatred. 

Her demeanor changed, and it almost started to seem like she was talking to herself. “I'm older. I’m more successful. I’m fucking better.” 

She approached me again, grabbing my face so I was looking her in those scarily light green eyes, and she wrapped her hands around my throat.  “I’m fucking better then you! Better, better, better!” Every time she said better she shook my neck and gripped tighter so I couldn’t breathe. 

“Stop! Please! Please stop!” I shouted, “I’m-I’m pregnant!” 

She began to break down, “You’re pregnant?” A maniacal chuckle left her throat, “You’re pregnant?”  

“Is it Spencer’s?” she asked. 

I nodded. 

“Wow.” She laughed once more, “Fucking wow.” 

“How could Spencer choose this!? You’re nothing like him. You are a pathetic fucking college student. A fucking daddy issue ridden slut! I’m a celebrated academic, just like him!” Tears began to slip from her eyes, “How could he not choose me?”

This woman is NOT well in the head. 

“You--you like Spencer?” I asked. 

“You don’t get to ask the fuckin’ questions here.” She pulled a knife out of her pocket and held it to the tip of my chin, “I do. So you’re gonna answer them.” Or, she started manically laughing, “I’ll kill you.” She swallowed, “And your baby.” 

I screamed at those words, “No,” I sobbed, “NO!” 

I turned my head away so I didn’t have to look at the woman in front of me, there was a timed red dot blinking. A camera. 

“Is that-- is that a camera?” 

She nodded, “I want Spencer to see you and his child die.” 

“He….No! No, please, No!” I choked on a sob and she smiled. 

“He doesn’t know.” She paced, “He doesn’t even fucking know!” 

She waltzed over to the camera and brought it closer to us, “Hey Spencer.” She began waving, “Hey Penelope. Aaron. Derek. Jennifer. Emily.” 

Her demeanor changed once more, into that of a cheerleader of all things, “So, quick recap.” Brook pursed her lips, “Spencer your twenty three year old fucktoy is pregnant. Congrats!” 

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Y/N was two things I didn’t know she was this morning: In serious danger, and the mother of my expected child. I felt frozen in trepidation. 

We all watched in horror as Brook greeted us. All by first name. She knew exactly what she was doing and it freaked me out even more. 

“Reid, you need to step out.” Hotch grabbed my shoulder, “Now.” 

I was sick with fear and ill with rage. I sat down because I could feel my knees go weak. Hotch started again, “We know who she is. We will find her. Y/N will be alright.” He paused, “So will the baby.” 

I replayed the events of the live footage in my head, her screams of pain and terror, her trembles and confusion. I’d failed her. I’d failed her and now I knew I’d also failed our child. 

JJ sat down next to me, “Spencer, when did you meet Brook?” 

“I uh,” I wiped my face, “A year and four months ago. I did uh, I taught uh, I taught a string of seminars at Georgetown. It was biweekly. Her office was next to mine. We spoke for the first time when she offered me a coffee.” 

“What did you say?” 

“What do you think I said?” 

“Yes.” 

“Yeah, I said yeah, I fucking like coffee.” I felt instantaneously guilty for cursing, and especially at JJ but I was too frazzled for it to last long enough to apologize. 

“I know Spence, I’m sorry. Just keep going.” 

“Then, the next week, we got lunch together.” 

“Was it, you know, friendly?” 

“What are you implying Jennifer?” I snapped. 

“No Spence, we just need to know. You know that.” 

“It was-- it was just lunch. A very normal colleague to colleague lunch. We talked about the school’s history. And uh, where we grew up. It was small talk.” 

“Ok, was this the last time you spoke to her?” 

“No. There was one more time. Y/N was there.” 

“Tell me about it Spence.” She grabbed my hand, 

I breathed out, “It was the next week I taught after lunch. About two hours before my class. I was lesson planning, and Y/N was doing homework on my desk. She came in. She asked if I wanted to go get lunch. She saw y/n and--Fuck.” 

“What Spence? What?” 

“She asked me who she was, but it was like, she didn’t want y/n to know she was asking. She thought she was…”

“She thought she was what?” 

“A student.” 

“And what did you tell her?”  

“The truth. That she was my girlfriend.” 

“Did you see her anywhere else after that?”

“No. She never came by my office again. When I would see her by chance, she would scurry away. It was strange.” 

“Think really hard Spence. Did you ever see her again after you stopped teaching at Georgetown.”

I racked my brain, “Yeah. I did. It was two months ago. Three days after I proposed to y/n. She was getting a coffee at this coffee shop by y/n’s school.. I was bringing her some lunch” 

“Spencer she's been stalking you. Your proposal was the stressor.” 

“But--I’m a profiler. I would’ve noticed.” I stood up with a realization.            “What Spence?” JJ asked, standing up as well to look at me. 

“She’s been stalking her, not me. She knew I was a part of the BAU, she knew I would’ve noticed.” 

“I’ll tell the team.” 

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A/N2:  If this doesn’t totally flop, I’ll write PT 2, that elaborates on the reader’s and Spencer’s relationship. I think through flashbacks from both Y/N and Spencer would be a cool way to explore their relationship and of course the whole reader being kidnapped thing plot could develop. Again, if you enjoyed this pls let me know!!

[howisavedtheworld]

there is no feeling better than this | tsukishima kei

genre: VERY FLUFFY, like hk tooth-rotting fluff, tsukishima kei x fem!reader, established relationship

warnings: curse words scattered in there somewhere, kei being a total simp for you and helping you bleach (dye??) your hair, other than that i cant think of much! just a really cute late nite moment

a/n: i havent posted in a while so hi its me again heres some fluff <3 fun fact: when i first watched haikyuu in like 2016, tsukki was my favorite character. also pls send requests im running out of scenarios to write abt with my pea brain 

wc: 844

“fuck it, i’m dyeing it.” you announce to kei while soft sounds of morning birds travel through the living room window.

it was an impulse decision: granted, you were running on nothing but adrenaline, having spent the entire night surveying diy hair dye videos with your boyfriend by your side.

he stares at you, eyes skeptical before shaking his head.

“you know, you’ve said that a hundred times.”

“well, this time, i’m serious! and i’ll do it by myself!” you exclaim, walking over the bathroom where the various bottles of store-bought hair dye, bleach and developer are scattered. “in a little bit, you might not even recognize me. mark my words.”

he snorts from the living room couch. “well, if it looks ugly, i’m leaving you.”

you roll your eyes, sliding on a pair of latex gloves to mix the ammonia-scented chemicals together to lather on your head.

you’ll prove him wrong.

at least you thought you would.

20 minutes later, you sprint into the living room, eyes welling with tears of frustration. “kei, i need your help. i can’t see if i’m getting the bleach in the right spots in the back and it’s stressing me out. can you do it, please?”

“oh?” he blinks and pushes his frames up to the bridge of his nose, eyes narrowing.

“what happened to ‘i can do it by myself’?” he mocks you, although getting up to follow you back to the bathroom.

truth be told, tsukishima hates seeing you upset, especially if he can easily salvage the situation. whether it was helping you find the word that was on the tip of your tongue, or zipping up a dress that’d been frustrating you to no end, even if you ask him to fill in the unbleached spots in the back of your head after you previously claimed you could do it without him, he always obliges.

he may never admit it, but he loves the way you praise him afterwards, your lips curving upwards and uttering admiration, your eyes softening while you throw your arms around him in gratitude. he loves every second of it, and does everything he can to see you do it over and over again.

“well, i could do it by myself,” you jokingly lied. “but since you’re here and everything, you might as well give it a shot.”

he huffs, slipping on a pair of latex gloves and dipping the brush into the bowl of bleach.

“whatever.”

you bend your head to offer him better access, and he got a glimpse of you in the mirror.

you’re tapping your foot anxiously with your lip caught in your teeth, and his chest warms at the sight of you, all the nervous habits of yours that he’s familiar with, and all the trust you put in him to make things right again.

“this stuff smells like shit, y’know?” his nose scrunches before he applies the brush on a section.

“ugh, i know, right?” you laugh knowingly, your body slightly shaking under him. “but i’m gonna wash my hair after this.”

he lets out a hum, having always been obsessed with the scent of your shampoo, shoving his face into your hair whenever you hug him or lay on his chest.

“does it hurt?” he pauses, looking down at you. like he expected, your eyes are warm and the biggest smile appears on your face.

“no, no, i’m okay!” you quickly reassure him, pressing a soft hand on his thigh. 

these are the moments tsukishima can never forget: the version of yourself only he gets to see. how your eyes crinkle at the sides and you couldn’t even wipe the grin off your face if you wanted to. to know that he is the only one who can make you feel that way makes him love you all the more.

“done.” tsukishima quickly pulls the latex gloves off his fingers, disposing them in the garbage. his eyes follow you as you carefully wrap a plastic shower cap on your head to seal the bleach.

“alright, 30 minutes and i’ll put the color in.” you turn to face him, a loving smile on your face.

he raises an eyebrow. “what?”

“hmmm…nothing. just thinking about how i have the best boyfriend in the world.”

his cheeks turn a unmistakable shade of pink before he covers them with his lanky fingers, pushing up his frames again.

“oh, shutup.”

you grin, tugging on the fabric of his shirt to pull him towards you.

he almost gives in before he remembers and steps back. “you’re gonna get your bleach on my shirt.”

“shit, i forgot.” you nod before slightly pouting. “..so i can’t touch you for 30 minutes?”

he furrows his brows before slouching to meet your eyes. your eyes widen and he chuckles at the way you bashfully respond to him even after months of dating. 

“nah. i think i can fix that.” he says before pressing his lips on yours softly, feeling you smile against him.

he’s sure that there is no feeling better than this. 

[diorsbrando]

AROMA ( addicted 2 u ). ( g.j. )

pairing ! ━━  grimmjow jaegerjaquez  x  black!fem!reader 

cw ! ━━   minors do not interact. reader is also thick-coded and has no spiritual powers/abilities except that she has spiritual pressure and can see hollows and stuff. reader is also aged up to 20+. grimmjow has a devasting scent kink (olfactophilia) so there are many instances of smelling/taking large whiffs of reader. instances of kidnapping/coercion ( dubcon ), possessive and clingy behavior from grimmy because he’s obsessed. asphyxiation kink? (reader likes being choked). explicit content & language used. nsfw w/ descriptions of smut. unprotected + rough sex, a lil bit of teasing, groping, ass + thigh slapping, mentions of creampies. dirty talk, oral (f! receiving), masturbation (m! receiving). grimmjow kindaa gets pussydrunk. really just grimmy slowly going feral n falling in love <33

word count ! ━━  4.5k

notes ! ━━  yeah i think im just physically incapable of writing anything less than 1k words bc wtf😭😭😭 the original thirst where i got this from ( found here ) wasn’t even 1k, so where did the other 3k+ words come from ;-; idek if i like ending lololol. anyway this piece is basically dedicated to @garoujo​ bc i promised her for a while i’d do this. this another impulsive bleach fic, i hope y’all enjoy reading as much as i enjoyed writing :’) all my grimmy luvrs + fuckers wake up! i’ve come to feed you <3 REBLOGS ARE HEAVILY APPRECIATED! 

      grimmjow’s adjuchas form was la pantera; a slender, panther-like animal that dominated the perpetually pale white dunes of hueco mundo. so naturally, (with my brain falling into grimmjow-specific rut) i’d like to believe that grimmy has a scent kink. and he’d never know nor expect to have one before crossing paths with you, a damned human, he’d curse in his mind.  there’s just something intrinsically wild and unhinged about grimmjow, and loving the way you smell ━ even to extreme extents ━ is just one of the ways he displays his affection for you. so, this segues into grimmjow getting very possessive over you very quickly and is almost …territorial with this pretty human girl that’s close with soul reaper ichigo and his friends.

it’s when he initially acts on his own, gathers his group of lower ranking arrancar, and invades the world of the living that he discovers you and your unique but slightly impressive spiritual pressure; impressive in the sense it was enough to see at least see spiritual beings like hollows and shinigami. during all the chaos and on his search for this ichigo kurosaki he’s been hearing about, he spots you on a sidewalk, engaging in what looked like a sprint, farther and farther away from a fight between one of his men and another shinigami he didn’t recognize or care enough to know the name of. from where he stood in the air, he could see then clear look of fear in your eyes. your facial expression was showed you were deeply distressed, your body visibly trembled━ 

then his analysis came to a pause. wait.

your body.

getting a little closer to the grown, grimmjow was able to get a closer look at what pieces of fabric were hugging that...voluptuous figure of yours. while dodging fall debris, maneuvered through the streets of karakura town in a baby blue, spaghetti strapped tank top that stopped just above your pierced, pudgy navel (the blue-haired arrancar had never seen a piece of jewelry placed there before, but found himself staring at it for longer than what was necessary), black yoga pants whose hem reached past your ankles, black ugg tasman slippers, and to top it off, your long black cardigan flew wildly in the wind as you ran. all his senses were sharper now that he was a more powerful, full-fledged espada, so he could hear the faint sound of clear beads from your butt-length hair violently bouncing against each other, giving you an individual style that grimmjow couldn’t help but find remarkable. and then without warning or a distinguishable explanation, some primal notion deep within his being, felt himself immediately attracted to you. but of course, being supercilious as he was, the thick fog of pride fogging his vision, he rebuked any and all lingering thoughts, curiosity, attraction towards you. you were a human for crying out loud. what was worse, you didn’t even have any powers like that orange haired woman orihime or that other strong guy, chad. they were human too, so what was different about you. not having the patience to figure it out, his ( initial ) regard for you plummeted and ultimately decided to ignore you so and carry on with what he initially came here for: to find a worthy opponent and fight them.

and that same wind that passed through your knee length cardigan floated irregularly through the atmosphere, making a slow and aimless ascension to the clouds that hung lazily in the navy-blue sky━ inching closer to the sexta espada. the air infused with your scent entered the vicinity in which his sharp nose was able to reach. the breezed wisped across his strong face and jaw, he inhaled it unintentionally and— God his mind literally blanked. grimmjow’s train of thought was abruptly flung off the rails and momentarily lost concentration on the fight he was about to engage in. he swore the hot blood that rushed down to his crotch from his brain was instantaneous, he almost lost balance.

what was that smell? and why in the hell did it smell…so good? his mind wandered, unknowingly becoming hopelessly enraptured by your aroma and wanting to fulfill the instantaneous urge to follow the scent, like a fucking dog or something. and when he remembered you running, panting heavily to safety ━ past his general direction ━ he put two and two together and figured out it was you. the ambrosial smell was coming from you, from that plush body of yours. it had taken his olfactory senses by the horns, and grimmjow nearly lost all his wits, the urge to abandon the whole fight with carrot top just to seek you out and take you for himself was getting stronger with each passing minute. and it was obvious he’s not good with impulse control at all, so the fact he had so much self-restraint to focus on the current task at hand was a feat in itself.

he was able to spot your figure one last time before you disappeared into one of the buildings a few blocks down. while senselessly beating ichigo into the asphalt of the street, there was a lingering thought in the back of his mind that liked seeing shade of blue against your mocha skin. 

maybe because the hue was coincidentally similar to the hair on his head.

soon enough the battle was over, and when he returned to his own quarters in las noches, laid on his bed and took a moment to really process everything? he could feel himself spiraling, but this time he didn’t do anything to stop it; he let his thoughts hurl themselves off the deep end. his senses were swirling, your pleasant odor imprinting on him more deeply than he had expected or anticipated it to. he needed to see you━ no, to smell you again. little did he know these budding desires would cause him to become enamored with every aspect of your being in the very near future. with grimmy being who he is, he already began to scheme and figure out a time when to go back to the world of the living. he didn’t even know what he was going to do but he just knew that he had to satiate these relentless thoughts. 

he could feel his member stiffening again when he remembered how just how you looked, with that frightened expression laced in your countenance. that paired with your sensual figure and how you smelled? without giving it a second thought, he scrambled to get his pants at his ankles so he could wrap his large palms around his girthy dick quick enough. he gave himself a few experimental pumps, precum was quick to bud from his slit when your round tits flashed in his mind’s eye. he then imagined how your aroma mixed with the scent of passionate sweaty sex as he fucked you silly would smell like, and just how much sweeter your voice could sound with his name dripping from your plump lips. with his mind racing, shame quickly evaporated from his body as he tightened his grip, his hand movements grew faster and alternating between different wrist movements. grimmjow cursed himself through deep groans for being aroused enough to even do something like this because of some human woman he saw on the street in the world of the living, but the poor baby couldn’t help it. 

grimmjow got so lost in the pleasure, in the feeling of how his heavy cock felt in his grasp and in his fantasies of bouncing you up and down his length, breasts jiggling in his face with his mouth clasped onto one nipple, like a baby desperate for milk from its mother. and he wanted all of your ‘milk’, and he desperately wanted to give you all of his; he wanted to fill you up with it. after overstimulating himself a little and having mind-blowing, sheet-gripping orgasm that left his chest rising and falling like waves against the seashore, his hips lazily thrusted into his fist on their own volition to prolong this euphoric sensation for as long as possible. usually, post-nut clarity was supposed to bring you to your senses, to a more rational and calm state of mind. 

and bring grimmjow to his senses, it did. because he stared at the unnatural amount of his solidifying seed in his palm, on his lap and near the hole in his abdomen, one thing became increasingly clear: releasing an abundant amount of cum didn’t make him want you less— it made him want you more. because grimmjow knew well enough he’d drive himself crazy with these kinds of perverse behaviors and thoughts of you had he done nothing to resolve the issue. with you on his mind, he wouldn’t be able to focus on the tasks as one of lord aizen’s elite arrancar.

eventually, around the time the fourth espada ulquiorra would coerce and kidnap orihime to come with him to hueco mundo, grimmjow decided that was the best time to. . . apprehend you as well. he didn’t even have a valid reason other than wanting to keep you for himself and utilize you as he saw fit. quite frankly he doubted anyone, including aizen himself, would care if he brought back a little something extra from the world of the living, especially if this ‘something’ was a human who was no imminent threat to aizen’s plans. if anything, this could only benefit him, since you were one of ichigo’s close friends and if needed, you could be used as leverage.

it would be at night when your fate would be sealed, the sky practically empty and starless. the lights from the many buildings and streetlights outshone any stellar body that hung up above besides the moon. and high in the atmosphere is where the garganta that came from hueco mundo pried itself open, like the mouth of a monster about to devour its prey. except the ‘predator’ in question was actually the sixth espada; and of course, you were the unsuspecting prey. his sapphire irises scanned over the vast area of the city, starting at the place where he last fought with ichigo.

memory served him correctly ━ probably because he was so determined━ and recalled the general area where your living space was. using his sonído, grimmjow already found himself hovering above the apartment complexes, and began to seek out your unique spiritual pressure. within seconds he was able to distinguish yours from the faint traces of the other humans living on this block, and he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating from excitement or not, but he was sure he could pick up your scent from all the way where he levitated in the air. he had to suppress a growl as he followed his senses, and made an abrupt appearance on your terrace, which you unfortunately left cracked open because your bedroom was much too stuffy and desperately craved circulation from the cooler, night air. 

the blue-haired espada let out a sort of derisive chuckle at your blatant ignorance. 

it’s only when you opened the door to your bathroom that led directly to your bedroom did you notice that a stranger had entered your apartment. your heart dropped when you saw grimmjow’s tall, lanky but muscular figure sitting on your bed, his elbows on his knees and his eyes trained on you. he was like a cat, with how his gaze was so fierce and consuming. a wave of an unfamiliar fear washed over your body and mind, completely drowning you. your legs instinctively moved backwards back into the bathroom, your flight response taking prominence and deciding you’d barricade yourself in there. you weren’t even a hundred percent certain it would work, but you couldn’t just stand there.

but grimmjow was much, much faster. faster than what you could comprehend. 

his movements were so high speed, you had almost thought you imagined him sitting there, because by the time you blinked out of your stupefied stare, he was gone.

but your horror was unfortunately realized. in fact, you were not hallucinating the whole ordeal, because an unpleasant, static ━almost booming noise ━ rung out in your ear, and suddenly the intruder was behind you, one hand gripping your throat with unnatural strength, cutting off vital oxygen supplies to your heart and lungs, and the other harshly gripping one of your arms to keep you still. 

“scream, and i’ll snap your arm like a fucking twig. it won’t be hard for someone like me, y’know.” you tried very hard not focus on his rough palm on your windpipe, and how easy it would be to delude yourself into a line of thinking that, had then circumstances been different and you were already acquainted with one another, this could have led to an entirely different outcome.

but, at the moment all you could do was gasp raggedly, your mind slowly falling into delirium because you couldn’t breathe. using what little space you were allowed to turn your head back towards your assailant, your eyes widened at just how ferocious he looked. he looked human, but you knew he wasn’t; the skeletal row of sharp, saber-like fangs on his right jaw and the concerningly large hole in his stomach told you that; it was unsettling. what was even scarier about him though, was that he looked a little familiar to you. why did it seem like you’ve caught a glimpse of his face before?

“stupid woman. . . leaving your doors open like that. don’t you know that you’re inviting practically any body into your home? you’re lucky that it was me, and not some creep.” he taunted you sinisterly as his grip on your neck and arm grew tighter, and now your struggle to breath became more obvious when you started to see blotches in your vision. the balance beam tipped dangerously back and forth between arousal and the fear that ran through your brain at the thought you might actually die.

“w━wh..who a-are. . . you. . .?” you had so much to say, so many questions. but you physically didn’t have any strength to voice them and oppose him, and you certainly didn’t want a broken arm.

“doesn’t matter. all you need to know is that you’re coming with me. and no, you don’t have a choice so don’t try and make a big fuss about it.” grimmjow stated tersely, not waiting for your compliance or a response. it’s not like you could speak clearly anyway. 

given with how close grimmjow was to you, your scent violently invaded his nostrils, and he couldn’t help but lean down slightly from his height and take a deep inhale into your braided hair that was tied down with a fine, silk scarf. even a barrier such as that couldn’t stop your aroma to waft into his personal space. standing from behind you he also got a good view of your cleavage in the v-cut oversized black shirt you wore, and how your nipples reacted to the cold air from outside. he had to physically stop himself from ripping your panties off, gagging you with them, and stuffing your cunt by confining your arm into a tighter grasp. you thought it would break if you even moved an inch. he figured he’d only suffocate you, since he admittedly preferred not use force on you; you’re too pretty and fragile for that. grimmjow shook his head at the fleeting thought. he hardly even acquired you for 5 minutes, and you were already permeating and changing his ideals.

a transient thought of how sexy the man behind you was, how nice his chiseled chest felt against your back flickered through your mind before you succumbed to your unconscious.

by the time you awoke, your eyes adjusted to him leaning over your horizontal figure on the surprisingly soft bed, his nose once again in the junction between your neck and collarbone. you groggily recalled him getting a good whiff of you before you lost consciousness, but it didn’t occur to you how strange it was until you saw his handsome figure hovering over you like this. you lifted your hands to touch his taut pectorals in an attempt to put some distance in between the two of you, but of course, he was big and strong and wouldn’t move that easily.

“h-hey! . . .where am i? and what the fuck are y—“

he stopped anymore protests from flowing out of your mouth by slamming his hand over your jugular, which caused a startled yelp— one that sounded too close to a mewl— to tumble past your lips. you stared at the tendrils of baby blue hair that fell across his forehead as he lifted his face to look at you.

you couldn’t even maintain eye contact for five seconds; his acute stare quickly overwhelming you on top of the flurry of thoughts that wanted to ponder on his mean, but ruggedly beautiful and proportionate face. you felt shame heat your cheeks and throughout your body at these thoughts.

“stop. . . moving. and watch your fucking mouth when talking me, woman.”

there was something about the dangerous glimmer in his eye, the tone in his voice, and the blade strapped to his hip that you just now noticed was nudging your leg, that told you not to say anything more. the longer you processed this, the longer you stared at the gaping hole in his abdomen, the longer you eyed the arrancar taking prolonged whiffs of your skin, the more frightened you became. you reminded yourself that this — none of this was normal.

you were kidnapped. taken against your will to come to a place you could only assume was the place where all these hollow creatures came from, and the only reason you even knew that was because you were so close with ichigo. you felt your heart tremble and shake against your ribcage at the very real possibility that no one knew where you were or just who took you. you weren’t even sure if anyone was currently out looking for you.

pure terror of all the unknowns running laps in your brain caused the blood in your veins to run cold and freeze over. clenching your eyes shut as if you were trying to block out the impending dread, you tried to ignore the heat that blossomed and penetrated your thinly clothed waist when grimmjow’s fingers brushed against the fabric and fully took hold of your flesh in his possessive grip. the guttural groan he let out against your shoulder caused your body to buzz in pleasure. “i don’t know what the hell it is but you smell so. . . fucking good.”

time gradually passed—you don’t even know how long since the sky always resembled midnight and you had no watch or your phone — but your mind started to move away from your friends and lifestyle back in the world of the living and became accustomed to this life as grimmjow’s. . . .human. too accustomed, in fact. you weren’t even sure what you were to him, other than the fact he was always with you to some extent. he was always there watching over you, glaring at you and whatnot, always smelling you. had your mind become so deprived of genuine human interaction that you found this behavior endearing?

perhaps.

in a way, his clinginess made you feel safe, it made you feel protected. like— if you really wanted to let your mind fall down that rabbit hole— that no harm would ever come within 5 feet of you, so as long as the sexta espada was looming over your form from behind. 

as for grimmjow, normally, he would have harshly judged people who acted this ill-composed, depraved or obsessive, but now he was no better than them with the way he acted around you. there was just. . . some element that drew him to you, like a moth to a flickering flame, and it all started when your beguiling fragrance wafted up to his height in the sky that night. he was turning into a feral animal that needed to be kept on a leash; if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he was reverting back to his pantera form.

if anybody’s gaze even so much as lingered on you for a bit too long, he would feel offended (why? he still didn’t know himself). his short temper would ultimately get the best of him, instinctively giving them a venomous “the hell you staring at? huh!?”, paired with his irritated and equally sharp glare. he’d rest a lazy hand on your hip or draped across your shoulder for good measure. 

and that’s another thing you noticed during your indefinite stay here at las noches, the name of the vast, castle-like building you’d soon discover later: grimmjow always seemed to be touching you in some shape or form. an arm across your shoulder blades, a palm on your curvy ass, a hand around your throat— usually to threaten you but you couldn’t help but be aroused and you were pretty sure he was well aware of this too— even when you slept. he quite aggressively insisted you share a bed with him, and his muscled forearm would always be perched across your torso. it wasn’t necessarily in a loving way, but more territorial. and when you’d wake up to find him closer than when you drifted off to sleep, with his nose wedged on your shoulder and a big hand encasing your breast, you couldn’t help but wish this, was a little more genuine.

and just like the animal adjuchas he was deep down, he consistently found himself to be in something of a rut, a lust-filled heat engulfing his loins whenever he looked at you, even if it was only for a second. you could be doing literally anything or just standing there, and the urge to pounce on you, to bite and lick and inhale your skin would become too strong at times. he constantly had to fight his primal temptations to shove you up against a wall or bend you over, and repeatedly piston his hips inside your tight heat — no matter who may or may not have been around. you caused his self-control and decency to deplete at alarming rates.

but, in those moments he let those impulses take over, which became increasingly intentional, it’s the most….God, you feel so many things when grimmjow has you sprawled out or spread open for him, practically in his palm and at his mercy. you could feel the possessive nature of his personality absorb you with the way his tongue danced across the canvas of your skin, and the way he gripped your hips so hard, constantly breathed your scent —like it was the only air he needed to breathe — as he drilled his hips wildly into your dripping cunt (he’d always tease you for how easily wet you get at any little, seemingly innocuous gesture he directed towards you, despite him doing it on purpose to provoke you).

out of all the positions he has, and will plan to, put you in, his favorite is most definitely back shots because he likes to watch his cock, with a scary amount of concentration and a manic smirk on his lips, impale you over and over and over again. he also loves seeing your luscious, fat ass ripple and bounce against his slender hips. “pussy so—” he’d let out a malicious chuckle and growl before roughly planting a heavy palm on your fleshy mound, the sound resonating throughout the spacious room, “—so fuckin’ good…all this time, before i even came and got you, you were keeping her tight for me, weren’t you? yeaaaah, fuck yeah you were princess. this cunt was practically made for me, just asking to be ruined.”

he’d say the filthiest words you’d ever heard when he had your back arched in the shape of a parenthesis. missionary admittedly always did it for him too, just so he can watch your face scrunch up in overwhelming pleasure and good hear you whining his name without the buffer of the blankets beneath you. and when he’d push your thighs all the way back to feast because he was hungry? you swear you lose your vision and see stars, practically ascending to the heavens when grimmy is devouring your cunt. it really shouldn’t turn you on so much when he takes a moment to unlatch from your twitching pearl of nerves, your slick sticking to his chin, just so he can smell you while he plunged his appendages in and out of your folds. he’d always edge you like this, and you hated it, but your whiny protests were dragged back down your throat and exchanged for a moan when he landed an abrasive slap on your thigh and muttered a gruff, “shut the fuck up, brat,” against your dripping sex.

he would be seconds away from cumming in his pants untouched when he treated himself to that first whiff. you’d be so embarrassed by it at first,but would soon enjoy it as much as he does; he basically corrupted you by thrusting his own lewd fantasies onto you and implanting them in your psyche. the sixth espada gets so drunk on the taste of you and the natural perfume of your pussy, he could stay down there for hours, until you passed out from the pleasure or physically couldn’t orgasm anymore. you’d have to hit him on the head to get him to come up for some air. even when you were on your period— some bloody human thing, he’d call it— didn’t stop him from effectively eating you alive.

grimmjow would soon come to the realization one night when he was balanced on his forearms on top of you, languidly rolling his pelvis in and out—with that slight upward motion that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull—that this, that you, were all he needed. nothing, not fighting any of his ‘comrades’ or enemies, not devouring other unfortunate souls, not the thought of getting stronger, could measure up to the way your palms grasped at his brawny, taut back, the way your voice got all high-pitched and soft, crying about how you “need more, i-i need you, love yo—oooh, fuck, yes!!”, and how your intangible essence surrounded and swallowed up his very soul.

as his thrusts grew deeper, faster and more mind-numbing, he decided that ‘yeah, this is it’. being inside you and taking pleasure in invading your mind, body and heart was it for him, he couldn’t ask for more. he knew he’d do just about anything for you if you just asked or bat those long, dramatic lashes at him. he hesitantly admitted himself that you were more powerful than he originally thought you were, because only you were able to make him come undone to such a staggering degree and reshape his disposition, even if it was only a little bit, and only for you to witness.

maybe humans weren’t that weak.

あ TAGGING ━━ @yamaguchism @aaphroditeeeee @heartsfrommars @saintblk @h34rt4u @deathskid @nekoriots @hellavile @kxkyuu @eiflawriting @6kugo @izurou @bunnyyamor @garoujo @yooniluvbot444 @loyenne @satotokii @divilyn @obitohno @monirei @444yeager @sanjithesimp @cosmicdoechii @nobdytbh . . . . wanna join my taglist ? click here to join !

[shadyufo]

Hey, is it possible for you to share your bone cleaning procedure? Yours always seem to come out super bright! It's ok if it's a trade secret, love from the UK!

Thank you for the kind words, Anon! And I’m always glad to share what I know! I’ve made a ton of mistakes over the last 20+ years I’ve been processing bones so if I can share any knowledge I’ve gained to help others from making those same mistakes then I’m happy to do so. 

Bone cleaning can be broken down into three fairly basic stages: remove the flesh, remove the grease, and then whiten. That’s pretty much it. Now there are a lot of variations to all of these steps but here’s what I usually do:

To remove the flesh: If the specimen is fairly fresh then I’ll usually skin it and deflesh it (cut away as much meat as possible such as the organs, tongue, eyes, brains, and major muscle groups). This isn’t totally necessary and can be skipped if you don’t want to mess with the mess but it does speed the cleaning process up a bit and prevents you from having to sort through fur and hair to collect bones down the line. But I’ve skipped skinning and defleshing plenty of times over the years with no ill results.

Next choose your method of decay. You can use dermestid beetles, macerate in warm water, nature clean, etc. Just be sure to NEVER BOIL and I generally advise against simmering too because there’s a very fine line between cleaning and damaging bones there. I used to have beetles and they are great, especially for smaller specimens but nowadays I personally prefer maceration or nature cleaning. 

Maceration is pretty simple—put the specimen in a bucket of heated water (85-110 degrees Fahrenheit is ideal and can be achieved with a fish tank heater or bucket heater), put a lid on the bucket, and wait at least a couple of weeks. It’s gonna smell and it’s gonna smell bad when you open that bucket up but it’s a really good method for cleaning bones. The maceration process is done when all of the tissue has rotted off the bones. Don’t change the water during this process or you’ll lose your bacteria colony (responsible for decomp) and they’ll have to start all over again.

Nature cleaning can be done several different ways. You can use old wire animal cages or build your own cage/box, place the specimen in that, then let nature takes its course and rot the specimen down to bones for you. You can also put the specimen in a plastic trash bag with some holes poked in it, put it under a bucket or other container, weigh it down so no passing scavengers will tip it over and steal your specimen, then again wait for nature to do its thing. You can also bury a specimen in a flower pot or even in a container filled with horse manure to let it rot. I haven’t done it in a while but the horse manure method was pretty cool. Whatever nature cleaning method you choose just make sure to cover or secure your specimen well enough to keep scavengers from stealing it. 

Now for degreasing! I usually just use Dawn dish soap (any good grease-cutting soap will work) and hot water (85-115 degrees Fahrenheit). Change the water as it becomes cloudy or develops a film on the surface and keep it up until the water starts staying clear. Then let the skull dry and see if you notice any smells or stains. If so, continue degreasing. If not, on to whitening. That’s pretty much it. Some people prefer to use ammonia to degrease with but I’ve always been happy with the hot, soapy water process myself.

Whitening! I just use 3% hydrogen peroxide to whiten skulls. NEVER USE CHLORINE BLEACH on bones—hydrogen peroxide only. Chlorine bleach will eat away at the bone until it becomes brittle, flaky, and discolored. Even after you take the bone out of the bleach it will still continue to degrade it. Peroxide is the way to go. Soak the skulls in it an open container out in direct sunlight. Make sure they are totally submerged in the peroxide. You can water the peroxide down to make it go further if you want. Being exposed to air and sunlight degrades the peroxide faster but I’ve always found that the added whitening boost you get from the sun is worth the trade-off and skulls do get whiter, faster this way in my experience.

That’s pretty much it! You can experiment around and see what method works best for you but hopefully this will give you some good ideas to start. Best of luck and happy collecting! :)

[bleachbleachbleach]

Adore the blog, it's hitting everything I need since the Hell arc brain rot set in. Maybe it's cause I'm old now but I too want to see mundane shit. If you haven't done them already: D, X, and W for the ask meme?

[insert enthusiastic blabber about mundane stuff]

D — A pairing you wish you liked but just can’t.

whipplefilter: Hitsugaya/Karin. It would be in my best interest to like it because it makes up a pretty big chunk of Hitsugaya content! I don't have any particular bones to pick; it’s just that the things that are exciting and appealing about it to others are not things that happen to be exciting or appealing to me.

Sometimes I think about that soccer ep, though, and wonder if Renji would ever consider inviting Hitsugaya to the futsal league. At first I was like, I mean, there’s no real proof that Hitsugaya is actually good at ball sports—how good do you have to be to be better than a bunch of 10-year olds? XDD But I think that’s actually an underestimation of human 10-year olds. I actually really like [Div 1] U11 boys soccer! They have enough coordination to not be a mess but aren’t yet at an age where they’re feeling undue pressure to show off to the detriment of the team. Once you’ve seen a 10-year old hook a shot from midfield straight into the top left corner of the net-- *chefs kiss*

ippoddity: Grimmjow/Ichigo. I know I keep talking about this pairing, and even though quite a bit of GrimmIchi crosses my dash, it’s just not something that I personally ship yet. I have nothing against it, I just am pretty indifferent about it.

X — A trope which you are almost certain to love in any fandom.

whipplefilter: Anything that takes place in backcountry. It augments the practicalities of being in a place and not dying, so you can see the characters (in)competencies in that regard. There’s also a high probability that some bullshit will go down that can’t be easily solved, and they’ll have to improvise. Plus it pretty much will get you all kinds of atmospheric goodness, whether your backcountry is deep forest or craggy shoreline or vast desert. Aaaaaah. <3

I have been part of an annual gift exchange in one of my other fandoms for like a decade at this point (it is the one thing I do to participate in said fandom) and EVERY YEAR one of my prompts is a backcountry scenario. And how many times has it been filled? ZERO. XDD But I have a friend in that fandom who knows this about me, and I told her, "So, I want to write a new Bleach fanfic." And she was like, "It's a backcountry scenario and water is involved." And I was like, "DAMN FUCKIN RIGHT." I never go anywhere without my emergency backcountry scenario!

ippoddity: I thought long and hard about this, I’m not sure if I have a very good answer. I like too many things, and am constantly amazed by what fandom is able to accomplish using plots/tropes that I never thought I would enjoy. But, I do love love love myself some found family stories. These idiots were thrown together by circumstance, and now they’re a family? OK, I’M ON BOARD.

W — A trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

whipplefilter: Human AUs aren’t for me. Like, stuff where non-human characters like shinigami are human-were-always-human. There’s not a whole lot of this in Bleach as far as I can tell (and it’s not like I "hate" it such that I hate you if you like it!) but part of my attraction to Bleach is being able to explore the points of intersection between shinigami/human experiences as well as the vast differences.

I like this trope a lot less re: Pixar Cars, though, because this is a VERY popular trope over there and I maintain the whole point of Cars is that they are cars. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I wanna talk about steering and suspension and transmission coolers and the ghost in the machine and the carthropology of kinship systems outside of the nuclear family!!

ippoddity: I think I’ve said this before, but I will give pretty much anything a chance, and so far there isn’t anything I totally HATE. That being said, I am not a huge fan of kid fic. Kid fic can be cute when done well, but I feel like I’ve seen a lot of badly written children. Not like, the kids are misbehaving, but because the children are not written to act like real children. For example, baby talk coming from a 6yr old. Like ahhhhh, that does not jive with me. I always tentatively go into kid fic, hoping the children are written as real characters, and not just some empty plot prop. But I’m often disappointed. :(

[jellyfishloveletterghosts]

Tagged by the lovely @psychicwarfarebaby Thank You 💜💜

rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

1. Alpha rockstar Billy/Omega model Steve + Carobin

2. Bleach thing

3. Cat Got Your Tongue

4. Harringrove PB Pt1

5. Harringrove PB Pt 2

6. Heat

7. Kegboys PB

8. My Latest Medieval brain rot at least its not more clown/Jester porn

9. Nurse/Helper Billy

10. Peg PB

11. Steve with a pet Rabbit

12. Steith Steve/Keith + Keith hc

13. Stommy Pb

14. Untitled Doc.

So most of my wips actually end up in the PB folder they go with when I’m not actively working on them so if you pick one of those I’ll pick something from it at random, and this isn’t everything I need to clean up again and shove all the stuff I’m not actively working on back in their respective docs but it’s already a lot so I didn’t want to add more 🤷‍♀️ 

tagging @withoneheadlight  @nblesbianbenhanscom  @smashmouth-hargrove  @pr1ncesteve  and who ever else wants to join because there is no way I am tagging that many people. 

[nancewright]

[ NANCY WRIGHT. 26. FEMALE. SHE/HER ] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ 2 MONTHS ] and are originally from [ NEW YORK CITY, NY ]. They are a [ WAITRESS AT GOLDEN GRIDDLE ] and in their downtime love [ GIVING SHITTY LIFE ADVICE ] and [ SWAPPING TAGS AT FUNKYTOWN THRIFT ]. They look a lot like [ MAIKA MONROE ] and live [ IN OASIS APTS ].

hi hello, i’m brenna and i absolutely despise writing intros. pls accept this meager offering of a word vom ramble

stats page + pinterest

surface level: nancy is very messy, sometimes rude, and often nude

deep down: ......... that’s still pretty much accurate lmao

born in nevada, her parents first met thanks to a chance encounter while her mom was traveling & researching for an upcoming book. nancy was an unexpected surprise in their lives, but fast-forward five years and they were sealing the deal, getting hitched in new york where her mom had the gaudy, mega wedding of her dreams.

photographic evidence of nancy being an angelic flower girl DOES in fact exist

as an only child, she’s never been super aware of how spoiled she is. doted upon by wealthy grandparents throughout her childhood, running amok in the streets of nyc with her friends all during her teens, and never getting a lecture beyond “you’re grounded!” definitely made nancy feel a little bit like she could get away with murder.

should she ever find herself stuck in Deep Shit ??? well duh, call daddy to save the day!!

she rolled hard with her rebellious streak and refused to acknowledge that there might be “““consequences””” to her ““actions,”” instead taking full advantage of her parents’ combo leniency & constant bickering to sneak out at every turn.

during her junior year, however, nancy was in a minor car crash that resulted in a quick knee surgery and a blossoming love for painkillers.

she milked her oxy script for all that it was worth and her new habit didn’t go entirely unnoticed -- mrs. wright pushed nancy through months of physical therapy appointments, dragged her across the finish line of high school graduation, and then dumped her directly into rehab with the ultimatum to either get clean or be cut-off.

kinda a no-brainer decision, but only the beginning of a snowballing problem

she could get sober in a cushy facility, find her zen during months of therapy, and think up as many master life plans as she wanted, but back in the Real World? where all the choices were ultimately her own? well... nancy sure did like getting high, even if it meant finding cheaper, quicker fixes as time went on

it was her mom who once again caught on, somewhere between rehab stay #2 and #3, and forced nancy onto an even shorter leash by moving her directly into the guestroom of her penthouse, hoping to cut the cycle short and stop her from treading water forever.

no booze, a ban on visitors, and the constantly buzzing presence of her mom...... it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise when she ran away. literally.

finding out that a friend was visiting family in los angeles, nancy jumped at the chance to tag along. she packed up as much of her stuff (and her moms jnsdkm) as she could before getting outta dodge, making a brief pitstop at her dad’s place to leave her dog in his care and a vague note to assure her well-being.

it’s been two months since she settled in silver lake, renting a crappy little one bedroom at oasis & securing a waitressing gig, and a tentative ten months since she dipped her toes into the opioid pool.

always picking up random hobbies to try and keep herself busy, though they rarely last. the latest is tie dye and bleaching clothes, so you can bet that she has a lot of random shit hanging from her apt balcony to dry

frequents trader joe’s only to let her fresh produce rot while she chows down in-n-out.

nancy has taken a lot of random college/online courses at her parents’ urging over the years -- accounting, sociology, interpretive dance -- but nothing that adds up to a full degree

lowkey desperate to prove her independence, but could probs use a roommate at some point?? nancy’s not used to living solely on tips skmdjsnm

really tempted to call her dad like, “money me. money now.”

instead!! she’s started selling all the stuff that she stole from her mom. hit up her depop if you wanna dress like a middle-aged woman from manhattan xx

very much into high fantasy & horror

extremely social, which is a big part of why nancy loves partying, but she’s struggled to find an easier, chill middle ground since moving.

does not know how to keep her opinions to herself. brain to mouth filter has long since dissolved

is always smoking. even if she’s not LITERALLY holding a cigarette, rest assured, she’s mentally taking a drag

aaannnd, that’s all folks!! idk how much of this is actually coherent so please do bug me if you have questions or just wanna riff about charas. since nancy’s so fresh to silver lake, she could use every connection under the sun & tbh i really love randomly throwing muses into the thick of it without much context too, so i have no qualms about goin’ in blind.

[jolgan]

Something Wicked Comes to Stay

Intro/Summary

Prologue

Chapter 1 

Rating: T

Warnings: teenagers making out, demons, knives, identity crises (plural), existentialism, strong language at times, violence (teenagers attacking each other in a controlled environment, mentions of gang violence, oh yeah, demons), Teen Angst and other dumb teenage bs

Word Count: 5.8k

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: I’m still experimenting with narration so if there’s inconsistencies or things seem awkward that’s why and I’m sorry. Also character descriptions... Sorry about those too. 

Chapter 2

Waves lapped at CeCe’s ankles, feet sinking further into the sand as she stared across the water. She could tell it was the ocean because of the salty brine in the air, even though the passage of water itself was narrow. On the opposite beach, a dark figure stared back at her from across the waves. She couldn’t tell anything about them, other than they were looking at her. This may have made her uncomfortable if it wasn’t something she’d seen before. Instead, it just left her frustrated.

A high-pitched beeping snapped CeCe from the beach. She opened her eyes and sighed. After a moment or two of staring at the ceiling she rolled over to turn off her alarm. She groaned, wishing she could go back to sleep, but it was the first day of school and she needed to get ready. She glanced toward the window as she got out of bed. It was pitch black out, not even four a.m. yet. CeCe yawned as she headed for the bathroom, thinking back to her dream.

She had been dreaming of the same beach since she was little. Before that, actually. Her mother dreamed of it when she was pregnant with her. The dreams started out as just the ocean, CeCe standing in the sand looking out across the vast expanse of the sea. Progressively, the ocean got smaller and another beach appeared. A while after that, the figure became visible, standing across from her. Although she had the same dream for her entire existence, she had no idea what it meant. No one else had any explanation for her either, other than it was probably linked with her powers. But she could have worse dreams she supposed. Some people might have even found them soothing, but they left her slightly unsettled at the lack of answers and made her feel like she kind of had to pee.

After getting ready for school, CeCe went downstairs to find something quick for breakfast. She was surprised to find both her parents in the kitchen waiting for her, but it made her smile that even though she was seventeen now, and perfectly capable of getting herself out the door, they still wanted to see her off on the first day of the new year. Wyatt sat at the table, scrolling through his news app and sipping coffee. Her mother, Melanie, poured her own cup and walked to the table to sit across from her husband.  

“You didn’t have to get up this early,” CeCe told them as she entered the kitchen, but they both ignored her statement.

“Good morning sweetie. Did you have good dreams?” Her mother asked

“Wet ones,” CeCe answered. She closed her eyes, immediately regretting what she just said. Luckily her parents ignored the double entendre. She was glad she didn’t say that in front of Chloe.

“The ocean again?” Wyatt asked. CeCe nodded in response. “Any new developments?”

CeCe shook her head this time. “No, it’s still just a dark figure standing across from me.”

“You’ll figure out what it all means soon,” Melanie assured her with an eerie tone in her voice. She always responded that way when it came to subjects like this one. It must come from experience; they did have the same power after all.

CeCe pondered what her mother meant as she put a pop tart in the toaster.

“It’s just frustrating. I’ve been having these dreams for as long as I can remember, but I still know nothing about them. It doesn’t make any sense. I wish I had more control.” She complained as she joined her parents at the table. She took a bite of her breakfast while Melanie spoke.

“I know, honey. Someday you’ll be in full control of your powers and it will be easier. But even then, you’ll only know what you’re supposed to in the moment.”  

CeCe knew her mother was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept. She echoed this thought in her words, “I know, Mom. But it would still be nice to have all the answers.”

Melanie chuckled and reached for CeCe’s hand. She squeezed it as she said, “But then there would be no adventure in life.”

CeCe finished her breakfast, hugged both her parents, and exchanged “I love you’s.”

“Be safe,” Wyatt called as CeCe was surrounded by white light and disappeared from the kitchen.

Magic School was on its own plane of existence. The specifics of this plane were unknown to most people, but it didn’t really matter. Everyone who needed to know how to get there did, and only those with pure intentions were allowed through the barrier. At least that’s how the Elder’s explained it. The school itself existed for thousands of years at this point and not much about it changed in all that time. Aesthetically, at least. The sun was shining when CeCe passed through the barrier. She landed on the cobblestone path and looked up fondly at the timeless school. The architecture was both ancient and modern and it was huge, no one alive today knew exactly how big it was. CeCe was grateful she got to go to school in such a beautiful place. She smiled to herself as she walked along the path to the tree that she and her friends had made their designated meeting place.

The three boys were already there when she arrived. Adam was sitting on the grass with a portable game console in his hands, fluffy, bleach blonde waves obscured his forehead and much of his eyes. Leaning against his back, was another bleach blonde boy, but his hair was straight and had longer, darker roots than Adam, giving it more of a two-toned look. The two boys had a similar build, both of about average height, or maybe even considered on the shorter side, and more wiry than anything else. The second boy was staring intently at the console he held in his hands. Laying in the grass front of them, was a smaller boy with wild red hair.

CeCe yawned a good morning and sat down next to the red head. “Why does school have to start so early? It’s not even five a.m. my time,” she said to no one in particular.

“How do you think Shoyo feels?” Adam questioned, barely looking up from his game. “It’s nine p.m. his time.”

CeCe looked at the red head next to her. “Are you gonna be okay today, Sho?” she asked.

The smaller boy, Shoyo, opened his eyes and squinted against the light. He stifled a yawn and smiled. “I’ll be okay. I started switching my sleep schedule around last week.”

CeCe smiled back and turned her head to address the other blonde boy. “What about you, Kenma? Ready for a new year?” she teased.

“I guess,” he answered, still fully invested in whatever game he and Adam were playing.

CeCe met Kenma Kozume four years ago when they were in the same class and got paired together for a project. Kenma is quiet and reserved and CeCe enjoyed being around him. His presence introduced a much calmer energy to the chaotic atmosphere that surrounded her and her cousins at the time. It was a classic mischievous, extrovert adopts unassuming, introvert situation. They got along well despite the differences in their personalities and eventually became very close. When CeCe introduced Kenma to her cousins, unsurprisingly, he and Adam hit it off rather quickly. They had a few commonalities and bonded over them. One of them being their interest in video games, another being that Adam was perceived as the least erratic of the Halliwell trio. Chloe, however, was a different story. They got along well enough, but their personalities clashed at times. Although Kenma was much quieter than the Halliwells, and based on the reputation that surrounded them, it didn’t seem to outsiders like he’d fit in, but he did. And much to his own chagrin, he enjoyed their energy.

Shoyo Hinata, however, visibly fit right in with the group. He was friendly and energetic. Shoyo was the newest addition and the youngest. He had only been a student at Magic School for two years, but when they met, Kenma and Shoyo took to each other right away. Soon after, Kenma introduced him to the cousins. They all loved his happy-go-lucky personality and welcomed him with open arms.

“Why aren’t you playing, Shoyo?” CeCe asked, gesturing to the console in Kenma’s hands.

“My mom won’t let me have one. She says they rot your brain,” he answered earnestly.

“How old fashioned,” Adam commented before swearing. “Damn it, Kenma! Again?”

Kenma shrugged. “No need to get sweaty about it, Adam. It’s just a game.”

“This is the fourth one I’ve lost this morning!” Adam complained.

“Guess I’m just built different,” Kenma deadpanned.

CeCe leaned closer to Shoyo. “I see what she means,” she said in a mock whisper. Her comment caused the younger boy to erupt into a fit of giggles and her cousin to whip his head around and glare at her with icy blue eyes. She smirked and cleared her throat. “Anyone seen Chloe yet?” she asked the group.

“She and Celine got here a little while before you did. They went inside already.” Adam told her, still glaring slightly.

“They seemed tense,” Kenma commented.

“They never argue verbally,” CeCe explained, knowing exactly what he sensed.

“I can understand where Celine is coming from. Chloe is a bit overprotective of her,” Adam empathized for his younger cousin.

Celine was Chloe’s younger sister and it was her first day back at Magic School since integration. Understandably, Chloe was worried for Celine’s safety and wellbeing and she let everyone know.

“Wait, how do they argue if it’s not out loud?” Shoyo wondered.

“They’re both empaths,” Kenma answered.

“No need for words when you know exactly what the other is feeling,” CeCe added.

Shoyo looked intrigued and then shuddered slightly, like he came to a realization.

The bell rang, cutting off any further discussion. The group collected their belongings and headed toward the entrance of the school. CeCe’s mind wandered as they walked, passing other groups of students. In the two years that passed since demons started coming to Magic School, tensions had settled. The transition was understandably rocky in the beginning, both sides butting heads frequently, but eventually they adjusted, and settled into their new reality. Some students had even made friends with their new classmates. Every now and then there was still a scuffle, but disciplinary actions were taken, and things were seemingly resolved.

At the front entrance of the school, glimmering marble steps lead up to a pair of giant wooden doors that were visibly ancient. Other students rushed around them, trying to make it to class on time. Once inside the school, the group of friends said their goodbyes and went their separate ways. Adam and Kenma joined hands and orbed to their first period class which they had together. “See you in fourth period?” CeCe asked Shoyo. He nodded with a grin and they too headed to first period.

The first half of the day flew by. CeCe had magical literature, potions, and lunch by herself, which she was used to. The administration learned early on in their education to not put any of the Halliwells in the same classes. This was a bit irritating now that they were maturing beyond their mischievous childhoods, but they understood that they created a reputation for themselves, and now they had to live with that.

Fourth period finally came along. CeCe was currently sitting in “Theory of Practical Healing” a class for half-whitelighters who haven’t awakened their healing abilities yet. She listened to the teacher drone on about how “You need to have enough compassion in your heart to be able to heal others.” CeCe rolled her eyes internally. She knew what it took to gain the ability to heal, if you were going to anyway. She shook the thought away and looked over her shoulder at Shoyo, who to her surprise, was listening intently and taking notes on what the teacher had to say. The more she thought about it, it made sense that this class would be able to hold his attention better than another subject. Shoyo was a born-whitelighter. This meant that one of his parents, in this case his father, was a whitelighter who fell in love with a mortal and had a child. There were a couple of them around, but it was a rare thing. Most of the other students in the class were half-whitelighter (or quarter in CeCe’s case), half-witch. After sitting for what seemed like way longer than an hour and twenty minutes, the class ended.

“Do you have a free period now, Sho?” she asked the red head as they packed up their materials. Before he could answer, they were interrupted by another student that was still in the classroom.

“Hey Hey, Hinata!” a big guy, both tall and muscular, with spiky gray hair exclaimed as he bounded up behind Shoyo and threw an arm over his shoulder. “Halliwell,” he added with a smile and nod in her direction. CeCe smiled back.

“Hey, Bokuto,” Shoyo greeted.

“Did you guys have a good summer?” Bokuto asked. Both CeCe and Shoyo told him they did. “That’s great to hear! Let me know if you need anything! I gotta go meet up with Akaashi,” he said, unwinding himself from the much smaller boy.

“How are you guys doing?” CeCe asked before he left.

With a dreamy look in his eyes, a dopey smile slowly spread across his face. “We’re great, thanks for asking,” he said before sobering up. “Alright, I’ll catch you guys later,” he said as he orbed off to find his boyfriend.

“They’re so cute,” CeCe commented, mostly to herself. “Anyway, you wanna come to the library with me?” she asked Shoyo.

The library was close enough to the classroom they were in, so they decided to walk and chat. CeCe asked Shoyo what he did over vacation since she hadn’t seen him since his birthday at the end of June. He explained that the school year was a bit different in Japan, and summer break was a lot shorter than what they had at Magic School, so he was pretty much home alone during the day for the first part of their summer.  He told her about how he took care of his little sister, Natsu and kept her entertained while their mother was at work. He also told her all about his friend Kageyama and how they practiced volleyball together for the rest of the break. Curiosity struck CeCe about how Shoyo managed to keep friends outside of Magic School and magic in general.

“Where does your friend think you go to school?” she asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Oh, uh, he thinks I go to an international school that my dad managed to get me into,” he told her. “It’s not exactly a lie, but it still sucks that I can’t tell him the real truth,” he said, sadly.

CeCe looked down, nodding sympathetically. She didn’t realize her question would make him sad and she kind of wished she kept her mouth shut.

“But hey!” he said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think Kageyama would believe me even if I could tell him. And honestly, I don’t think he thinks I’m smart or creative enough to come up with any of this on my own. He’d probably think I just got it from a movie or something,” he chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, Shoyo,” she said sincerely.

He brushed off her apology with a wave. “It’s not a big deal, really,” he smiled, though it wasn’t as bright as usual.

They walked silently for a while. CeCe thought about how Shoyo didn’t find out he was magical until he was thirteen and how he used to lead a completely different life. Since she was raised magical, she couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have her life totally uprooted like that. From stories that Grams would tell, she knew that it was really difficult to maintain relationships with people who didn’t and couldn’t know about magic. She felt terrible that Shoyo had to keep so much of himself hidden from his friend, especially when they seemed like they were pretty close. Under the sympathy she felt for her friend, she was also a bit irritated with him. If she had known that he was alone for most of the summer, she would have asked him to hang out more. It’s not like she couldn’t orb to Japan and be back in time for dinner. But she felt like she had already done enough damage, so she kept that irritation to herself. A few more moments of silence passed between the two before Shoyo broke it, saying he was going to use the rest room and he’d meet up with her at the library.

CeCe continued down the hall, hoping that she didn’t upset Shoyo as badly as she was afraid she had. She pulled out her phone to distract herself. She had a text from her dad. “Hey, sweetheart,” It read, “We’re going to be having family dinner tonight at the house. Your Aunt Melinda is back in town.” As her eyes scanned over Melinda’s name, she felt her body being pulled forward. She blinked and when she opened her eyes again, instead of being in the hallway at school, she was standing in her attic in front of the Book of Shadows. It was open to a page with “Akuma” written across the top with Chinese characters underneath it, but she couldn’t see any other details on the page.

“I don’t know, kid. I’d ask Grams about that. She would know better than me,” Melinda told her.

CeCe felt herself walk into something large and hard. The “object” grunted. The noise dragged her back to the present. “I am so sorry,” she apologized, “I-,” she was going to explain, but the words died on her lips as she looked up and was met with a cold, hard glare. It was a demon boy. He was at least a foot taller than her. Based on how it felt when she walked into him, she inferred that he was in excellent shape. He had wavy, black hair and cold, black eyes. The rest of his features were hidden beneath a cloth mask, except for two moles stacked on top of each other over his right eyebrow. Under other circumstances, she might find them unique and maybe even attractive. But right now, she was intimidated. She felt herself shrink under his gaze.

“Watch it, witch” a masculine voice said from her right. She didn’t look to see who it had come from.

Neither CeCe, nor the boy she walked into said anything. He continued to glare at her and she stared back, not wanting to let her guard down, but she also felt frozen, like she couldn’t look away.

“Come on, Omi,” a feminine voice whined. She tugged on the demon’s right hand. He pulled it from her grasp, his glare shifting from CeCe to the other girl. Finally, he stepped around CeCe and continued down the hall with his group.

“Witches, man,” The other boy said.

The dark-haired demon ignored him though and chose to address the other girl instead.

“I have repeatedly asked you not to touch me,” he told her, bitterly.

CeCe remained in the spot he left her. Her mind swam as she tried to process everything that happened in the last two minutes. On top of the confusion she felt about the premonition, she was mortified. She felt betrayed by her powers and body. How could she keep moving if she wasn’t mentally present?

“Are you okay, CeCe?” Shoyo asked as he jogged up behind her. His voice helped shake her out of her internal struggle.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she responded. “Demons are rude as hell.” Shoyo snorts at her joke, that being enough to convince him she was alright. She offered a small smile and they continued to the library.

Kenma and Chloe were already there by the time they arrived. They sat together at a round table in the far corner of the room. Chloe seemed anxious, nerves rolling off her in waves CeCe could feel from across the room, even without being an empath herself. Kenma did his best to ignore her, opting to focus on a game instead.

“Have you had any premonitions today?” Chloe asked CeCe before she could even sit down and say hello.

CeCe was taken aback by her cousin’s question. How’d she know? she thought to herself.

“Uh… about what?” she asked out loud. She felt Kenma’s gaze shift to her curiously.

“Celine!” Chloe shouted impatiently, the outburst earning her dirty looks from students at surrounding tables. She lowered her voice when she continued, “It’s her first day and I’m so worried about her. I haven’t had any either.”

“Well, if you haven’t had a premonition about her I’m sure that means she’s fine right?” CeCe reasoned.

“No, that doesn’t mean she’s fine at all!” Chloe raised her voice again.

The boys stayed quiet and let CeCe try to calm her cousin.

“Chloe,” CeCe said in her most soothing tone. “I’m sure Celine is fine. It’s not like she’s never been here before and she knows how to get to us if she needs help.”

Her words were not enough to douse Chloe’s anxieties.

“She’s never been here with demons before! I’m gonna go find her,” Chloe vanished in pinkish-red light, not even bothering to get up before beaming to find her sister.

With that discussion over, Kenma piped up.

“So, what was it about?” he asked CeCe nonchalantly.

“What was what about?” she asked, confused about what he meant.

“Your premonition. You only asked, ‘about what.’ You never said you didn’t have one.”

In their four years of friendship, CeCe still couldn’t get over how perceptive Kenma was. It was kind of unnerving at times, how he knew so much more than other people did just by paying more attention to small details.  

She sighed. “Uh, I was in the attic at home, talking to my aunt. Nothing special,” she shrugged.

Kenma seemed satisfied with that answer until Shoyo asked, “Is that why you walked into that guy, CeCe?”

She groaned. She hadn’t realized Shoyo saw that much of the unfortunate interaction.

Kenma snorted “You walked into someone? Who?” he asked.

Shoyo answered for her, “Those really tall Japanese guys. The demonic ones. I was afraid they were gonna kill her.”

“Oh yeah, those guys are jerks,” Kenma agreed. “You okay?” he asked CeCe.

“Just a bit humiliated,” she huffed. She was jealous of Chloe’s premonitions. They were more like flashes of the future instead of actually going there. Chloe also had way more control of them than CeCe did. She didn’t walk into people in the middle of them, for instance. CeCe searched for a way to change the subject and remembered the text from her dad. “Do you want to come to family dinner tonight?” she asked both boys.

“No thanks, I can only take so much of your family,” Kenma declined.

“That’s fair. What about you, Sho?”

“Oh, I would, but I have plans with Kageyama later,” the red head answered.  “Thank you, though,” he said with a smile.

“Sure,” she smiled back.

The three students settled into a comfortable silence, only breaking it to ask each other a question about assignments they were working on. CeCe tried desperately to not think about the debacle in the hallway. She couldn’t help but think about her premonition though. How random was that? CeCe hated the visions that gave her no context. She wondered if it would have been longer if she hadn’t walked into that guy.

Shoyo’s voice interrupted her thoughts when he asked Kenma what a certain kanji meant. Cece knew the book would be written in perfect English when she looked at it, but she glanced at the page anyway. That was another cool thing about Magic School, and what made it so easy for them to educate magical students from all over the world. Students heard and read their native language no matter where they were within the plane. Sometimes it tripped CeCe out to think that when she spoke to Kenma, for example, he heard Japanese even though she was speaking English and vice versa.

A nagging feeling ate at CeCe as she thought about her premonition and the characters on the page in the Book of Shadows. “Hey Kenma? Do you know anything about who or what Akuma is?” she asked when he was done answering Shoyo’s question.

Kenma’s face fell slightly and he was quiet for a moment. He cleared his throat before he answered, “Uh yeah, he’s a demon, based in Japan. He mostly works above ground now. He seems to be heavily involved with organized crime these days.”

Cece felt like there was something he was leaving out, but she didn’t pry. She knew he would tell her when he was comfortable enough, he always did. “That was part of my vision,” she explained. “I was looking at his page in the book.”

Kenma nodded his understanding and the group fell back into silence, working on their various assignments. Around ten minutes before the end of the period, Chloe returned. She walked back to their table and sat down. She looked both flustered and slightly more relaxed.

“I embarrassed her.” She said sheepishly.

“What did you do?” CeCe asked accusingly.

“I may or may not have beamed directly into her classroom.” Chloe admitted after a moment of hesitation. “I got chewed out for interrupting her professor’s lecture on exposure. Then he used me as an example.”

“Is Celine okay?” CeCe asked, more for Chloe’s sake than Celine’s.

“Oh yeah, she’s fine. She probably just won’t talk to me for the rest of the day,” Chloe told her. “What classes do you guys have next?”

Shoyo answered first and told her he had Wiccan History. Chloe smiled brightly.

“So does Celine!” Of course she memorized her sister’s schedule as well as her own. “Would you keep an eye on her for me?” she asked him very seriously as she ran a hand through her thick, dark hair, her smile turning saccharine.

Shoyo cleared his throat and agreed, a hint of pink tinged his cheeks.

“You are the best, Shoyo,” Chloe praised, while she made direct eye contact with the younger boy. Her soft, brown eyes bored into his. Shoyo’s blush deepened and he looked like his brain might short circuit.

“Chloe,” CeCe said her name like a warning.

Chloe tore her eyes from the bright red, red head and turned her focus back to CeCe and Kenma.

“What about you guys?” she asked, tone shifting slightly. Kenma rolled his eyes at her.

“Kenma and I have something called “Tactical Magic,”’ CeCe said. “Whatever that is.”

Chloe scrunched up her face. “What the hell? Are they gonna use you guys to raise an army or something?”

“I guess we’ll find out,” CeCe shrugged.

Kenma and CeCe walked to class together silently. He always found it easier to keep his mouth shut around Chloe, only speaking to her when she asked him something directly, but this seemed different. CeCe wondered if there was some lingering tension from the Akuma conversation.

They walked into a large, airy classroom. It was located in one of the towers, so the far wall of the room was curved, making it a semi-circle. All the desks were pushed to either side of the room leaving a large open space in the middle. They were instructed to remain standing as they entered. Murmurs from other students filled the room. They mostly asked each other if anyone knew what this class was about.

The bell rang and two men came to stand in front of the class. CeCe recognized one as Takeda, a whitelighter and the school’s counselor of sorts. He had curly, black hair and brown eyes. He wore thick framed glasses and a soft, approachable expression. The other man was almost the total opposite of Takeda. He was taller and broader than the counselor and had blonde hair that was held out of his face by a headband. He had multiple piercings in his ears. Overall, he looked like someone you might cross the street to avoid. This guy was clearly a demon.

The demon spoke first. “Hello, welcome to Tactical Magic. My name is Ukai and I’m going to be your instructor for this class.”  Takeda cleared his throat from beside his counterpart. Ukai rolled his eyes and added, “Takeda is here in case you wanna drop the class or if you end up with emotional trauma, I guess.”

“I’m here to make students more comfortable,” Takeda corrected.

“Right,” Ukai snorted. He inhaled to continue speaking but acknowledged a student who had their hand raised instead. “Yes?”

“What is this class about?” the student asked.

“I was getting to that before I was interrupted,” Ukai told the student. “This course is to evaluate and develop how you fight against the opposite side.”

A beat of silence filled the classroom before a wave of voices crashed over them, all varying degrees of confusion and outrage in their tone.

“So, you’re teaching them to kill us?” a voice asked from behind CeCe. She couldn’t tell whether its owner was a witch or a demon. It didn’t matter at this point.

CeCe looked at Kenma, his amber eyes slightly wider than usual. She took his hand and squeezed gently. He looked at her, his features relaxing slightly.

“What do the Elders have to say about this?” another student asked.

Concerned chatter from other students continued to fill the room until Takeda finally regained control.

“Alright, enough,” he said sternly, surprising some students with his tone. “The Elders developed this course to provide a controlled environment to teach you all to defend yourselves outside of this plane. This is meant to keep you safe. All of you,” he said pointedly.

The students processed the whitelighter’s words and the meaning behind them. They eventually settled down and silence fell over the room. Ukai glanced gratefully at Takeda before he spoke once again.

“Today we are going to do an exercise to get a feel for your individual strengths and weaknesses,” he said, getting right into it. “I’ve already paired you off, one demon or warlock, one witch. You’ll have two minutes to do your best to subdue your partner. Powers and hand to hand combat are both allowed, but no weapons.” Then his tone changed, “It really is a shame they don’t allow them anymore. They used to have a bitchin’ selection.”

Takeda shot him a weird look.

Ukai cleared his throat and called the first pair of names. The two students walked to the center of the room and faced each other from opposite ends of the open space. The instructor set a timer for two minutes and told them to begin. When their two minutes were up, the round ended with the demonic student as the winner. The next two names were called. This went on for a couple of rounds, sometimes the witch won, sometimes the demon. As CeCe watched the other students spar, she tried to come up with a plan of her own. She decided that simply freezing her opponent and anything they threw at her would be sufficient. Another pair of names were called. When their round began, CeCe looked over at Kenma again. He seemed like he had relaxed, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching the other students spar. Kenma shouldn’t have any trouble with this exercise. He may have seemed unassuming, but he was one of the most powerful students at Magic School. He had the power of thought projection, meaning he could create images and show whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted. It made him formidable, but also put him in danger.

“Kozume, Kuro, you’re up,” Ukai called.

Kenma walked to the center of the room with his hands still in his pockets. His opponent, Kuro looked familiar to CeCe. She had seen him around a lot in the last year, hanging out with Bokuto. She was pretty sure he was a warlock. He was tall and had jet black hair that he wore in an interesting style. He looked like one of those “scene” kids Aunt Melinda used to talk about.

“Begin,” Ukai told them as he started their timer.

“Let’s see what you can do,” Kuro said in a rather cocky tone.

Before he could take even a half a step forward, or blink, Kuro’s eyes glazed over. He was already trapped in Kenma’s illusion. Kenma stood the same way he had been before the match started, hands in his pockets, looking at Kuro. Neither of the boys moved for the full two minutes. Kuro couldn’t have fought his way out of the projection if he wanted to. Finally, the timer went off and Kenma let Kuro free.

“Uh, okay… Kozume, good job I guess,” Ukai said, not really sure about what just happened.

Kenma walked back to CeCe and reclaimed his place beside her. Kuro stared after him with glassy eyes for a moment before he too walked back to where he had been standing in the group.

Cece leaned closer to Kenma. “What did you show him?” she whispered.

“The meadow,” he answered simply.

Ah, the meadow. She thought back to the first time Kenma had shown her the meadow when they were fourteen. It was gorgeous. Bright sunshine and pretty wildflowers surrounded her. There was a crystal-clear brook that babbled in the distance. The main attraction, however, was the guy that joined her. It was that one guy from that one band. The cute one with the swoopy hair. She smiled to herself as she thought about it now. That was the point of the meadow, to show you your greatest love or biggest crush and distract you with them. Kenma couldn’t see who they were though. To him it was just a white figure.

CeCe was jolted out of her happy memory by Ukai’s voice calling her name.

“Halliwell, Sakusa, your turn.”

A nervous pit that wasn’t there before settled in CeCe’s stomach. She walked to the center of the room and saw her opponent. Dread washed over her as she looked into the same cold stare from earlier. It was the boy from the hallway. The one she walked into. Well, this should be interesting, she thought to herself.

“Halliwell, huh? This should be interesting,” his deep voice rumbled through her, mirroring her sentiments.

[cheshiresense]

For the 5+ headcanons post, I was interested in seeing if you had anything for UraIchi. I didn't have a specific au in mind although I really enjoyed "Hope Springs Eternal" and would be interested in any epilogue thoughts, or something Seireitei University perhaps.

Utter crack, thy name is Seireitei University ^_^|||  I’ll give you something from HSE instead lol~

1. They never do get around to having a awkward dancing around each other/pining/dramatic confession moment. They have an apocalypse to reverse and no time for lovesickness, but also Ichigo’s spent too long on his own to realize those are things a lot of people go through, especially at his age. They already spend most of their time together, Ichigo knows more about Kisuke than he does any of the others, and they practically sleep in the same bed, with how close their futons have gotten (because sometimes they stay up at night lobbing new ideas about the Hogyoku back and forth and planning for the past-future or just talking about nothing until they fall asleep). Kisuke’s always been a category of his own in Ichigo’s mind, and if he starts thinking he wouldn’t mind waking up more often with his head pillowed on Kisuke’s thigh while Kisuke scribbles new theories in his notebook, it’s not as if it’s anything that different from what they’ve already been doing anyway. On Kisuke’s part, he probably notices before Ichigo, and he thinks for a hot second that he should probably feel guilty– but a fierce sort of possessiveness overshadows it more and more with every time Ichigo turns to look at him first, with every smile shared over tea at midnight, with every lethally beautiful dance together in the training grounds, and Kisuke can’t bring himself to object in the end. He figures he’ll go at Ichigo’s pace, and that will have to be good enough.

2. The world is very different once they’re back in the past. Aizen is handily taken care of with a bit of custom-made poison and an assassin of Yoruichi’s caliber, staged as an accident and all his research quietly destroyed. The problems come after that. Half of them don’t even remember what it’s like anymore, to live in a world where stepping outside doesn’t mean potential instant death, where they don’t have to hoard food and carry weapons and mark every hiding place and exit in any given vicinity. Even for the adults and Shinigami amongst them, it’s difficult not to flinch under the natural sunlight or go their separate ways and put down roots in buildings no longer half as warded as the warehouse they’ve lived in for the past decade and a half.

Some adjust more quickly. Ichigo does not. He stares at the crowds and unbroken streets and bustling shops like they’re completely foreign. He jumps at music blasting from a loudspeaker and is constantly tamping down the reiatsu that sparks at his fingertips every time a group of people walks by chattering freely. He walks into restaurants like he half-thinks they’re one of Aizen’s illusions. Kisuke… hopes he helps. They go on walks and he shows Ichigo more open, quieter areas like the parks and the riverbank and the hiking trails. He shows him hand-drawn maps of Karakura, points out all the entrances and exits of everything from the mall to the high school to the hospital. They take it slow, and whenever Ichigo starts looking overwhelmed, a couple Kidou spells from Kisuke is enough to redirect the crowds somewhere else.

3. Another perk of travelling back to the past is that it fixes Ichigo’s body. His power levels stay the same, his control and strength and speed all remain, and they even made it so that he keeps his eighteen years instead of being stuffed back into his ten-year-old body (there’s a moment where they have to scramble for paperwork and possibly amnesia-fy an entire town), but for the longest time after they return, Ichigo takes to staring into the bathroom mirror with something as desperate as it is disbelieving. He never does break the habit of wearing clothes that cover up most of his skin, but he also bares himself for Kisuke more easily, and Kisuke loves the way he shudders when they’re in bed and he’s running slow reverent hands over miles of tanned flesh, taking just as much comfort in the smooth warmth of a body unmarred by his mistakes.

4. Isshin is a Problem for all of two minutes when he catches Ichigo pinning Kisuke to a wall in the Shouten, kissing the breath out of him, thoroughly enough that it takes several dazed seconds for Kisuke to pull his brain cells back together when Isshin shrieks something unintelligible from the doorway. Technically, Isshin knows about the Other Future, but he has no memory of it, not like the rest of them do, and they certainly didn’t tell him about Ichigo and Kisuke - Ichigo because he couldn’t be bothered with someone who might as well be a stranger, Kisuke because he’s never been in the business of airing his personal laundry. So Isshin shouts and accuses Kisuke of being a pervert and preying on his innocent son and demanding he keep away from Ichigo from now on, and Kisuke only has time to feel Benihime seethe at the back of his mind before Masaki appears, casually kicks Isshin back out into the courtyard, waves at them with a cheerful reminder to “practice safe sex!”, and then she’s gone, dragging Isshin away with her. The next time they see Isshin, he still glares daggers at Kisuke but he keeps his opinions to himself, especially since every time he opens his mouth, Masaki’s smile would brighten like demonic sunshine, and Isshin would snap his mouth shut again with a wince, face bleaching white as he adopts a mien more suitable for a funeral. Ichigo’s mother is terrifying, and Kisuke prays he never gets on the wrong side of her.

5. Ichigo’s favourite thing about being back in the past is how much more freedom he has. He doesn’t know any other way to put it– it isn’t as if he was locked up in that Other Future, and it’s been years since anything could really pose a danger to him - Aizen aside - so it wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to wander wherever he pleased even back then. But here, where people don’t scuttle around like they’re constantly expecting death, where there’s no bodies littering the ground, and the air doesn’t smell like blood and rot, Ichigo in turn has no reason to constantly keep his guard up, to patrol and scavenge for supplies and be ready for battle at any moment. Sure, it’s a little boring with only a few Hollows to kill every other month, but it also means his family is a lot safer, and he’s free to do things like tangle his fingers with Kisuke’s when they take a peaceful walk in the evening, or go out for dinner and come back late without anyone panicking about something happening to either of them, or just stay in bed all day with Kisuke, knowing the cupboards and fridge are full and they don’t have to get up to tend to the farm or hunt for more essentials or search for another way to end Aizen once and for all. It admittedly takes some getting used to, but this world is definitely preferable to the apocalyptic one, and Ichigo doesn’t plan on wasting a single day of it.