#and a piece of my very soul can be found within her. Why? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefallennightmare · 5 months

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Just Pretend-sixteen

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: Please listen to Eyelids by PVRIS during this chapter. Thank you very much.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake @bngurngheart @shilohrosechicken @emzandthevoid

READER

With the notebook in my lap, as I sat cross-legged on my bed with Salem curled up next to me, purring away, I watched intently my laptop screen. My heart pounded so hard in my chest it made it hard to breathe. Noah and Jolly were currently performing a live stream on Veeps and from the moment I clicked on the video, I couldn’t stop staring; with his long hair cascading down his face in perfect waves. His face stone with concentration but yet soft with the features I loved.

“Do you think he’ll mess up like the last stream he did?” I asked Salem while scratching his belly.

Noah’s voice was something extremely distinctive, not just anyone could hold a tune or lit a candle to how he sounded. The way he effortlessly went through every emotion in his body. I looked at Noah as he was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and he swayed so gracefully that it almost seemed as though he was gliding. I’ve seen beautiful men before; men who caught my eye, but to my mind, they usually lacked the traits I found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits I aspired to myself, all the traits he had.

I hung off the cliff for Noah for a long time until recently, when I fell to the depths below.

It sparked something in me as I watched Jolly and Noah’s performance. I wanted to do something like this too; to showcase my real voice. I was better without Trey; the band was better. Trey wasn’t the end-all, and I wanted to prove it further. I understood the fans; I knew their positions; I understood their inner turmoil and their panic. Change is actually horrific under some circumstances, not all, but surely a few. This one was big.

Hollow Souls was never supposed to be a 3 piece. Hell, we didn’t even have a guitar player and our tech had to fill in when we recorded My House. Which is why I was learning how to play guitar so I could take Trey’s place. A lot of change within a few months and while it was scary, it was also exciting. But that didn’t stop me from questioning once again if we needed another person. What if I wasn’t strong enough to do this alone? Just the three of us?

What the hell were you worried about, angel?

I was thinking so heavily about what Noah texted me. He was proud of me. Of me! And my friends. That woke me up, he always could. I wanted to grab my phone to call him, and ask him for more reassurance. Our 2:30 conversations were slim and in between and I was struggling with that. I didn’t want to push my luck; he had Bailey.

Bailey.

I rolled my eyes, at the memories of the party. Ridiculous. I was tiptoeing around Noah; I knew if I called him I’d so desperately try to stay on the line. But what if she showed? It was killing me.

Therefore, I was hesitant to perform Eyelids; I was worried Noah’s reaction would warrant further frustration, considering he was in the arms of someone else. I couldn’t handle it because it fucking hurt seeing him with her. I wanted Noah to myself, as selfish as that sounded. I could only hope that in the discovery of my lyrics, he’ll at least know I meant everything we did and said that whole tour, meeting him changed my life for the better; before I hurt him.

I miss him and I only wished I was in his arms.

As the livestream ended, I smiled warmly as Noah and Jolly waved goodbye at the camera and then tried to focus my attention on the paper in my lap.

Amongst the idea of our own live stream, I couldn’t help but want more out of me. It was small; it was something just dying to purge out. However, the more I looked at the lyrics on paper, the more it didn’t fit; it wasn’t me. It was as if these lyrics were meant for someone else.

Letting out a deep breath, I sang a harmony I thought would fit with the lyrics. “Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask.”

The more I read it, over and over. It was good; I’ll say that. But, surely it didn’t belong to me. I could feel that. But I didn’t give up yet. I wrote another verse, hoping this one would speak more of me.

“I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself and tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.”

Fuck, even singing these lyrics didn’t feel right. My heart knew that this didn’t belong to me, it was meant for someone else.

Making a rash decision, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the name I needed help from.

“Hello?”

I perked up at the accent immediately. “Jolly! Hey, it's me. Y/N.”

A light chuckle echoed in my ear. “I know who it is, doll, I have caller ID.”

“Ok don’t be smart,” I teased.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

I bit my lip, wondering how he would take my idea. It sounded rash in my head but if anyone were to listen to my idea; it was Jolly.

“I have something to run by you. Well, actually a few things.”

NOAH

My knee bounced as I sat in my chair, phone gripped tightly in my hand, as I glanced at the clock on my computer.

2:28.

It has been almost a week now since our last 2:30 call and the last one was short as she was running around Japan with her dad. Things were awkward to say the least at the party the other night and I wanted to make sure that things between us were still good.

Good? What’s considered good anymore? You’re dating someone else, dumbass.

Ignoring the voice in my mind, I let out a deep breath before clicking on Y/N’s name; the ringing echoing loudly in my quiet room. It rang and rang and rang. It went on like this for a few more times until, eventually; I hung up the call with a groan. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet and I typed out a quick message to Malcolm.

ME: Is Y/N around? I tried calling her.

Malcolm: Yeah, she’s been in the shower. Has been in there for a while- too long, maybe shaving or some shit. I’ll have her call you.

An audible, deep groan, fell from my lips as I leaned my head back against the headrest of my chair when the thought of Y/N in the shower.

Naked, water, and soap ran down every inch of her unholy skin.

“Shit,” I cursed when my dick twitched in my sweats.

“Noah.”

Y/N’s voice rang in my ear as my eyes fluttered shut, hands in fists on my thighs. My vision was so vivid as if I was in the shower with her, our wet skin ablaze as I wrapped my arms around her from behind to bury my face into the crook of her neck.

“Angel,” I breathed while my palm pressed against my hard cock in my sweats.

My hips raised from the chair as a moan crawled out of my throat, my hand now all but ripping out my dripping cock from my pants. It was red and thick with the mere thought of Y/N in the shower. Gripping it between my fingers, I slowly pumped up and down, thumb grazing over the pre-cum that leaked out from the slit and circled it around the head of my cock.

“Noah, I need you.”

Her name fell from my lips as a prayer while I leaned farther back into my chair as my hand worked faster, the grip around myself tightened as the orgasm buzzed in my lower stomach. The burn felt so good but it wasn’t enough; I needed something else to help me over the edge.

I pulled the extra skin down tight, cock standing straight up in my hand, as I let out a strangled breath. My orgasm was right there, but I wanted to edge myself longer; I didn’t want this vision to end.

Y/N rubbed the soap over every inch of her skin, her fingers teasing over her nipples as he head fell back, water spraying into her mouth.

But after that vision, another one came to mind which made my hand work in faster strokes. Y/N on top of me with her hands gripping my braids as her mouth fell slack with ecstasy. I consistently became a time traveler of that night, the night she rode me into oblivion. A night I’ll surely never forget. Even in these moments, my mind goes there.

“Fuck. Shit.” I cursed as a shock shot from the base of my spine to the top when my body went stiff, orgasm so close to destroying me.

I jerked when my phone buzzed against the computer desk so I stopped my actions but kept my grip tight on my aching cock to realize Bailey was calling me.

Ignore.

With my phone still in my hand, I quickly went to my photos and clicked on one of my favorite pictures of Y/N; from the day we spent on the beach. She was staring straight out into the water, a small smile playing on her sweet, plump lips.

Fuck, I wished those lips were strangled around my cock.

Once the phone was set up directly in front of me, I leaned back into my chair again and worked my hand in fast short strokes, the orgasm once again burning low in my belly.

“Noah.” Y/N’s voice echoed in my mind again.

“Shit, angel. I’m gonna-fuck,” I groaned low, the noise barely audible as it crawled out of my throat when my release finally washed over me.

Cum shot all over my hand and onto my pants but none of that mattered; my dark eyes were stuck on the picture on the screen. Until a different picture appeared which had me cursing and wiping my cum covered hand on my pants before tucking myself back into my pants. Just a simple phone call from her had my dick aching again.

With a few steady breaths, I ran my clean hand through my hair before answering the FaceTime call; Y/N’s bright smile warming my heart.

“Hi Mochi! I didn’t mean to miss your call. I was in the shower.”

She was sitting on her bed, water still dripping from her wet hair, and internally I groaned when the same thoughts as earlier came creeping back into my mind.

“Oh yeah? You-uh-feeling clean?” I flushed while shifting in my chair.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckled. “That’s what a shower is. Water, soap.”

Naked, I know the drill.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Anyway, can you talk or is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I was going to send this in the group chat but since I have you on the phone, I figured now would be the best time.”

I raised a brow as my heart pounded widely in my chest, wondering what she was going to say.

“Veeps offered Hollow Souls to do a stream as well! So I wanted to make sure you were free to watch it, maybe? Totally fine if you can’t, I know you might be busy with-.”

“I’ll watch it,” I rushed out, not missing a beat. “What time?”

“Oh, in about 2 hours?” She bit her lip, hopeful I’d say yes.

My dick throbbed as memories of moments before her phone call replayed in my mind. “I’ll have the tv on standby downstairs, angel. We wouldn’t miss that shit for anything.”

Y/N smiled brightly as she brought Salem into view of her phone, his green eyes staring directly into my soul. “Salem thanks you for the support.”

“I miss him, we really bonded while you were gone,” I smiled a bit.

“Well, you can come by anytime to hang out with him; or me,” Y/N added the last bit slyly.

“Count me in, angel.”

READER

Once dressed, almost ready for the live stream, I was rummaging through my sock drawer to find a pair of socks when my fingers brushed against something soft. My brow raised as I pulled out two small velvet boxes, my mind immediately going back to my birthday.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I opened the box, and a gasp left my lips as the silver necklace and matching bracelet shined under the light of the room. It wasn't anything over the top and there were no diamonds but that didn't matter to me. I wasn't one for over-the-top jewelry, this simple chain and bracelet were enough.

With wet eyes, I gazed up at Noah, who had a nervous look on his face as he fiddled with his wooden rosary. "Do you like it?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my embrace, burying my face into his neck. "I love it, Noah. Thank you so much."

With the haste of break up, the end of the tour, the move, and everything that happened between Noah and me, I almost forgot about the jewelry. I've stared at this bracelet and this fucking necklace for a while now. To think I had almost forgotten it, I shook my head at the thought. I couldn’t, things that were meant for us to find their way back. Well; at least that’s what I told myself. I yearned for him, his comfort, his gaze. I didn’t plan on falling in love with him. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. I gasped when I realized what that burning feeling in my heart took over my entire existence each time I thought of him or saw him.

I love Noah.

I nearly stumbled on my feet as a breath fell from my lips again. “It’s too late now.”

With shaky hands, I opened the box, my heart skipping a beat. It still took my breath away as I opened the box, clasping on the necklace first then the bracelet.

“I have to admit, Salem” I turned towards the mirror in my room so I could stare at my reflection while the cat sat on my vanity. “Noah did pretty well.”

There was a knock on my open door, and I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “Hey.”

“Almost ready?” He asked.

“Yep.”

He then taped a finger to his neckline twice. “That’s a nice necklace. Who gave you that?”

“It was a birthday gift,” I shrugged nonchalantly.

The corner of Jolly’s mouth turned up in a grin. “That’s not what I asked.”

Ignoring his comment, I slid into my slippers and led him out of my room down to the dining room where we set up earlier.

Jolly first arrived a few hours ago for our daily lessons before helping me set up the stream. After I watched theirs almost a week ago, I asked Jolly if he could come over to help me with my stream. I couldn’t play guitar but we could practice the two songs I wanted to perform.

Chase and Malcolm asked if I needed them for this but I could tell they already had plans. Even though this was a Hollow Souls set, it was more of an acoustic version so Chase on drums and Malcolm on bass wasn’t needed; hence why I asked Jolly to help. First off, who else was better to teach me how to play guitar than him? I knew the basics, but he was helping me hone in on my skills. Second, I needed to talk to him about something important.

As I finished making things were in order, Jolly sat on his chair to strum the first few notes of If I’m There on his guitar.

“Feel comfortable enough?” He wondered.

I nodded while looking at the laptop to make sure the stream was ready; all I had to do was hit the live button.

“Yep. We’ve been practicing every day. It helps I have a great teacher,” I beamed at him. “Thanks for this, Jolly. I didn’t know who else to ask and I know you’re Noah’s friend first.”

Jolly shrugged. “You’re my friend as well, doll. I help my friends and that’s something Noah knows and understands.”

Silence fell between us for a long moment until he hesitated.

“How did you feel about our new single, honestly?”

My shoulders went rigid for a second before I shrugged. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y/N don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t be that dense. You know it was about you, right?” Jolly asked.

“I-,” The words died in my throat.

Jolly raised a brow. “Yeah, so tell me. How do you feel about it?”

“Are you my shrink now?” I crossed my arms over my chest, one last ditch effort at shielding myself from admitting the truth.

“No, a friend,” he sighed while setting down the guitar.

Defeated, I fell into the chair with a groan. “I-I feel sad. Noah must fucking hate me.”

“I assure you, he doesn’t,” Jolly said.

“How can you be so sure, Jolly? He went and found someone else. He’s clearly writing how he feels too. I hate feeling like this.” I sat with my hands folded in my lap as I chipped away at the nail polish.

“So talk to him, because I can tell you right now, Noah’s not head over heels for this girl. I think you know deep down what he’s trying to do.”

I refused to meet his gaze as I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean. I can’t-he seems happy.”

“Y/N,” Jolly sighed. “He’s not happy unless he’s with you.”

“Then he needs to tell me that,” my eyes snapped up towards him. “I was going to express some things I’ve discovered but-.”

Jolly raised his brows. “Discovered what?”

For a split second, I thought about telling him but decided against it. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t mess anything up for him. I need Noah to need me. It works both ways, Jolly.”

“Y/N you’re not understanding you’ve got it all wrong-.”

“Can we move on, please? It hurts enough to think about him with someone else the last fucking thing I want to do is talk about them,” I let out a shaky breath as my bottom lip wobbled.

Jolly gave me a weak smile. “Sure thing, doll. Did you want to go live?”

“Actually,” I bit my lip before reaching over to the table to grab a piece of paper. “There’s something I want to run by you.”

When he nodded, I handed Jolly the paper. “I wrote it about Trey but the thought of recording it scares me. It’s deeper than what I typically write and it's not me. I thought about selling it but that didn’t feel right.”

I watched intently as Jolly read the lyrics, his eyes taking in every inch of the page, the smile on his lips growing with each pass.

“Doll, this is,” he shook his head. “Amazing. Are you sure?”

Our eyes locked as I nodded. “It’s not a Hollow Souls song. But Bad Omens on the other hand, I know you guys can give it the justice it deserves.”

NOAH

“SHUT UP!” I bellowed while tossing a pillow towards Jesse, who was talking extensively to Orie about some shit that didn’t matter. “The live stream is about to start.”

Jesse caught the pillow mid-throw and smirked. “Excited, are we?”

Flipping him off, I sat on the couch with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, sending another text to Jolly. He’d been M.I. A all day, and we were wondering if he was going to join.

“Has anyone heard from Jolly?” I asked.

Orie shrugged. “I thought he was in his room.”

“We went to lunch earlier,” Michael said while walking into the living room, bowl full of random snacks in his hands before he set them on the coffee table. “But he said he had some things to take care of afterward.”

Just then the stream began and Y/N’s soft voice echoed through the speakers.

“Shit, are we live? Wait, I probably shouldn’t swear on this.”

We all shared a laugh until we saw who was sitting next to her.

“Hi everyone! It’s Y/N from Hollow Souls. You might have noticed that I have a friend here with me today,” Y/N adjusted the headphones before she motioned to Jolly who sat on her left. “Jolly from Bad Omens.”

Jolly waved to the camera. “Hi.”

“I guess that’s what his errand was,” Jesse said while throwing some popcorn in his mouth.

Ignoring him, I wondered why Jolly was with Y/N right now. I wasn’t jealous he was with her. I was jealous that I wasn’t there instead. She looked breathtaking with her long hair pulled back in a tight bun to showcase the sharp features of her face, her plump lips glistening with the lip gloss she must have applied before the stream started. Her bright eyes shined with the excitement of what she was about to perform which in turn made me sit up straighter in my spot on the couch, a proud smile on my face.

“So, the reason Malcolm and Chase aren’t here is because this set is more of an acoustic one. I recently saw some friends of mine do something like this and wanted to try it,” she smiled over to Jolly.

“I’m here for moral support,” Jolly said.

“He’s actually been teaching me guitar the last week because I wanted to do more for this band since we kicked Trey out,” Y/N revealed.

At the mention of his name, I felt my face twitch but kept it as stone as I could, not wanting to give anything away to the rest of the guys. They were the only three of the entire group that didn’t know the truth about Y/N’s relationship with Trey.

“Did you know Jolly was teaching her guitar?” Jesse asked me.

I shook my head while running a hand through my hair. “I had no idea she wanted to learn. I mean, I knew they had to figure out a guitarist moving forward but didn’t know she wanted to play.”

“She didn’t ask you?” Orie wondered.

I shrugged, wondering the same but did my best not to dwell on it as I went back to watching the feed.

“So, I’m going to sing two songs for you guys today. The first one is a cover, and the second is something new. It’s nowhere near ready for release but it’s been weighing heavy on my heart the last few weeks since I wrote it.”

Y/N adjusted her headphones before glancing over to her laptop. “Woah, the chat is going crazy you’re here, Jolly.”

He hummed in amusement while tuning the guitar. “What are they saying?”

“Where’s Noah? When is the collab with Bad Omens coming?”

Y/N snickered before looking back at the camera, giving a wink. “I don’t know. Noah has my number.”

Quickly pulling out my phone, I pulled up the stream to add something to the chat.

“Oh, look who joined the chat. Jolly, Noah is wondering if you could bring pizza home,” Y/N laughed as she read my comment.

I chuckled to myself as we saw Jolly roll his eyes. Then Y/N read my next comment, her cheeks flushing red; something others might not have noticed. But I did. I watched and analyzed everything she did with a careful eye.

The comment I sent in the chat was something simple; something only a few of us would understand.

We can talk about the collab during our next phone call.

She shifted in her chair, a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, my first song might sound familiar to a lot of you. It’s my first time performing it but unlike Noah did last week, I won’t mess up the words.”

Jolly broke out in laughter before playing the opening notes of the song; one I recognized immediately even though I knew which one she meant before Jolly played the first few notes of the song. There was only one song I messed up on a livestream recently. If I’m There.

Her beautiful voice stung deep into my veins as I fell back on the couch.

“Oh. Shit,” Orie spoke. “No offense, man, but Y/N kills your lyrics.”

I nodded, numbly as I agreed with him. It was as if my lyrics were made for her voice, the sultry tone of it sending chills all over my body. She gripped the microphone with a soft touch and my cock twitched as I remembered earlier up in my bedroom.

As she got to the verse I messed up on my own livestream, Y/N’s eyes opened to throw a quick wink and smirk toward the camera when she sang it perfectly; almost annoyingly perfect.

I felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of my head and briefly tearing my gaze away from the television; I shot Jesse a look.

“What?”

He pursed his lips while shaking his head. “You haven’t stopped smiling since she came on the screen. You look like a kid that was given free rein in a candy store.”

Rolling my eyes, I focused back to Y/N just in time as she sang the last two lines of the song.

“And if you're there to catch me when I fall then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all,” she breathed before pushing away the microphone from her a tad.

Shit.

This was different than Hollow Souls. The softness of the song was fucking made for Y/N and something she needed to do more of.

“Fuck yes,” she beamed but then smacked a hand over her face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to swear. I’ll add it to the jar Malcolm has on top of the fridge.”

“He doesn’t?” Michael chucked.

I nodded while taking a long drink of my beer. “He does. I saw it when I was there taking care of Salem. Thing is empty but fuck is in their everyday vocabulary so you know they’re not adding to that shit.”

Noticing she was reading the comments once again, I quickly typed out one.

Great job, Y/N! Feel free to cover any of our songs. I’d always watch it with a proud smile.

Even though she didn’t say she read it, I knew she did with the way the corner of her lip raised and the way her eyes crinkled at the sides.

“Alright, the last song is a new one. We do plan on having it on the next record but it will sound different from what you’ll hear right now. My friends, thank you for watching. This one is called Eyelids.”

This had me sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, as excitement filled me.

“I'll face my fear of the evening once I get used to this feeling. I can't sleep. That's when you're torn away from me. While I'm dreaming I feel you leaving.”

My jaw fell slack, hearing the rawness in her voice with the pure emotion being poured out of her soul.

"I'll face my fear of the sunrise when I wake up with your hand inside mine. It's hard to say good morning when it's followed with goodbye. Just wanted to say good night.”

Something glinted on the screen, which immediately took my gaze away from her face down to her neck, my heart and breath catching in my throat. I remained silent as my body leaned closer to the television.

“What are you doing, man? Did you forget your glasses?” Michael joked.

His voice was a white noise as I moved from my spot on the couch to the coffee table, now sitting directly in front of the screen.

What the fuck?

Is that?

I inched closer and closer to that television, I couldn’t hear what was being said to me as I scrunched my face up and began squinting.

No, it can’t be.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

It hung almost a little well above her cleavage, that beautiful silky neck- my eyes moved quickly to her wrists.

“Let me see,” I muttered under my breath.

I made an inaudible sound from my throat, mouth peering a little open.

She was wearing them; both of them. My heart raced even further, longer, more rapidly.

I was feeling a lot of things at once; I didn’t quite know how to place them. I needed a beer. I needed to talk to my shrink. That’s what I should do, because the panic was setting in, this ache was almost unbearable.

Why, why would she want to wear them after everything? Even now?

I’m hurting her right back, aren’t I?

Everything has become a puddle of mud, a mess of my volition now. I did this. All I could think while seeing the jewelry I gifted her, all I could hear while listening to her voice was “Maybe, just maybe I’ll come back to you.”

She was occupied by her own complicated thoughts - you could tell from the way she was squinting and moving her mouth.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe until-.

“I'll face my fear of the cold nights when you leave me behind. I felt your hands in my hair. I felt your breath on my neck. Yeah, I need to feel you again. Just wanted to say good night.”

My body went still, all the air taken from my lungs, as I watched her lips move. Her own personal conflict was clear in the way the muscles in her jaw tightened and her eyes screwed shut.

No, it couldn’t be.

She didn’t.

Did she?

Was this about us?

No, I’m overthinking this.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Orie smack Jesse on the shoulder and motioned to the stillness of me; still unmoving.

“Our eyes fighting the light. But I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

I could see Jolly vibing along to the lyrics next to Y/N but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered more than this moment right here as I watched her pour every feeling about that night into this one song. My heart fell deep into the pits of my stomach when I saw her grip the necklace, playing with it between two fingers.

These eyes are closed again for yet another night I wake up and I can feel you by my side. But I can't find you in the dark when you're so far. Yeah, that's the hardest part. Here comes the hardest part.

My eyes dropped slightly in tangent with my shoulders.

Our eyes fight the light. But I'm not ready to say good night oh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. To say good night.

As the last lyric faded into the air, there was a hushed recording playing some words in the background; another small thing I picked up on.

“I mean in what world do I go to sleep after you and wake up before you? I don't even know how it happens. Well, I hope you're having sweet dreams. And you call me when you wake up.”

Fuck.

My bottom lip trembled when I recognized that voice. It was Y/N’s, and it wasn’t just any kind of recording. No, it was a voicemail she left me while she was in Japan. It was right after I missed one of our 2:30 calls. I was asleep but once I noticed she called me less than an hour later; I listened to the voicemail before quickly calling her back.

“Okay, that deserves a curse,” Jolly said. “You fucking killed that, Y/N.”

She was beaming with pride. “Holy shit, guys. You don’t understand how long I’ve had this festering inside of me. It feels so good to get out.”

Y/N clicked on the laptop to read through some of the comments, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“Oh my god. Are you and Trey getting back together?! You were so perfect. No, we’re not getting back together. I grew up since the breakup; I became a savage. But not everything is about fucking Trey. This is just a song about a really awesome guy. That’s it.”

I was still, like a statue, unmoving and unnerving as Joly and Y/N said their goodbyes before the stream ended; a black screen mirror back to me.

Jesse leaned forward in his chair. “Noah-.”

Hearing my name broke me out of the trance and without saying another word, I jumped up from my spot on the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps thundering throughout the house before I slammed myself into my bedroom.

Tears threatened to spill, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I held them in with a choked sob as I ran a shaky hand over my face.

I didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. Maybe just romantics would call this a twisted, toxic beginning to a love story while the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind, it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I’ve chosen to follow and that I- I love her.

Ripping the drawer of my desk open, I rummaged through the useless crap, already knowing what I was looking for. I tossed the velvet boxes to the side and cradled the jewelry, my large hands encased them. I pressed them on my forehead and let the tears finally spill to the floor as I fell to my knees, resting my back up against my bed.

I cried; actually fucking cried.

The necklace and bracelet shook in my hands as the sobs wrecked through me. I haven’t cried like this in a long time mostly because I hated being this open and vulnerable. It made me sick, knowing that I wasn’t able to protect myself from these feelings right now. I spent my entire life protecting myself from these feelings only for Y/N to sink her claws into me in the best way possible.

“I love her,” I choked out through sobs, realizing what I felt earlier. “I fucking love her.”

NOAH

I wasn’t sure how long I kneeled on the floor, jewelry grasped deep in my palms as it dug into my skin. But it wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that pulled me from the despair. Red, puffy, bloodshot eyes glanced up at Jolly, whose shoulders fell as he took in my state; tears dried to my face and hair a mess from running my hands through it.

“Noah,” he muttered.

“Please leave me alone right now.” I whimpered lowly, refusing to meet his gaze again.

“No. Jesse said watching her perform Eyelids fucked you up. What’s going on?” Jolly kneeled in front of me.

“I can’t-,” I choked on a sob. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

Jolly rubbed his jaw. “Was it the song or the jewelry?”

My eyes snapped up to him. “How did you know about the jewelry?”

“You used the band card to charge it, goof. I see everything,” Jolly gave me a small smile.

“Fuck. Sorry,” I sighed.

“It’s okay man, it’s okay,” he reassured me with a strong grip on my shoulder.

“No, no, it’s not. I’m tired of feeling. I want to disappear, just disappear.”

Jolly now gripped both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "No, you don’t. Don’t say that shit.”

“I just mean I wish it wasn’t this. Y/N’s been giving me mixed signals.” I mumbled.

“Have you thought you’re doing the same? You’re literally hanging out with another woman out of spite,” He raised a questioning brow.

I leaned my head against the side of my mattress. “She won’t tell me how she feels, I’m trying to show her. I’ve always tried to show her.”

“There’s a saying.” Jolly paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “We are defined by what we do, not just nice words. However, I think you’ve shown enough, Noah. It’s time you use your words.”

“I don’t know how,” I admitted with a shaky breath after a long beat of silence.

“If you’re not comfortable talking about it with us, Noah. Talk to your therapist about it- but this has to stop. It’s draining you.”

I saw the way Jolly’s mouth twitched, his own emotions close to slipping through his own mask, but he held it stronger than me.

“Once you’re in a better place, come to the studio. I have something to show you.”

I nodded. “Sure, yeah. Might be good for me to write something.”

Jolly gave one last squeeze to my shoulder. “Love you, man.”

“You too. Thank you.” I smiled.

NOAH

An hour and a long shower later, I walked down the hallway toward our studio with a new tune in my head. The lyrics were loud in my mind as I played with the new bracelet on my wrist, twisting it between two fingers.

“There’s not another way don’t let me go, don’t dig another grave today,” I sang under my breath as I walked through the door.

Jolly was sitting on the couch in the room, guitar on his lap and notebook on the floor at his feet. He looked up as I walked in and had a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey, you better?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. What’s this?”

As I sat on the couch next to him, I went to reach for the notepad before he placed a foot over it, blocking me from retrieving it.

“Y/N gave me something earlier. I really like it but wanted to run it by you, if you were comfortable,” Jolly said hesitantly.

I tensed, not knowing how to feel. I wasn’t comfortable with whatever Jolly needed to show me but knowing it was from Y/N eventually made me agree.

He removed his foot so I could grab the notebook, eyes immediately scanning over the lyrics on the page.

Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I licked my lips. “Wow, that’s impressive. When did you find the time to write this? Usually, that's my wheelhouse.”

“Noah cut the shit. You know this isn’t my work. I just told you, it’s Y/N’s,” Jolly sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just being a dick.” I snorted a laugh while bumping his shoulder with mine.

“Yeah, you are. Now what do you think? We can use this, no? As inspiration, maybe?”

Suddenly the lyrics I sang a moment before walking into the room played in my mind again; I hummed them under my breath, adding it to the lyrics Y/N wrote.

“One second,” I muttered while pulling out my phone.

ME: You sure you want us to have your lyrics?

Y/N’s response was immediate.

Angel 🪽: Nobody could do it better than you guys. You’ll give those lyrics the justice it deserve.

Leaving the message on read, Jolly and I worked tirelessly to rework the lyrics together and when I felt we were in a good position with them, I reached for my phone again. There was still a lingering feeling festering deep inside of me, that I wanted to make sure Y/N was fine with.

ME: I’m taking creative liberty for this, are you good with that?

Angel 🪽: What's mine is yours, Noah.

Yeah, not everything.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

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cassiopeiathe1st · 9 months

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so as a biology major, here's some things i've been chewing on after reading the unwanted guest. this post is brought to you by the part of my brain that saw the 7th's hereditary blood cancer and thought ok but what KIND of cancer is that.

the phrasing of "permeability of the soul" makes me think of semipermeable membranes and diffusion. diffusion is a passive process -- our molecules, when left to their own devices, want to be everywhere because entropy, but the semipermeable membranes that make up cells organelles etc make life possible by keeping things organized. this dividing & filtering process is required to keep things in place. with me so far?

to me, this concept of permeability emphasizes that souls are objects with boundaries. there's a line somewhere, however blurry (clearly very very blurry) or porous, that divides self & other, and! and!! that line only exists because it is somehow constructed, maintained, enforced. see: ianthe working so hard to convince herself/pal/the hypothetical audience of this play she's putting on that she's just ianthe with no babs mixed in. or john's ritual of retelling his story to alecto/harrow in NTN. something something being the unreliable narrator of your own identity.

palamedes calls the process that merges him and camilla to give us paul grand lysis vs. the "petty", incomplete lysis of eightfold word lyctorhood. lysis = the disintegration of a cell by rupture of the cell wall or membrane. the boundaries of their souls are sliced open so their contents can be poured out & mixed together to make someone new. but even in conventional lyctorhood, there's some kind of exchange of whatever material makes up the soul between cavalier & necromancer. as our boy tells ianthe at the end of the unwanted guest,

This is the real truth of Lyctorhood, Ianthe--it's not some bloodless swapping-out of batteries. It's grafting; transplantation. When you absorbed Naberius Tern's soul, you didn't swallow a diamond. You swallowed a piece of meat...and the longer you digest that meat, the more its proteins and lipids and molecules mix in with yours, until you can't tell them apart anymore.

idk where i'm even going with all of this, i'm just rotating it in my head, but:

tamsyn muir is so precise with her necromancy jargon & anatomical terms that i feel like there's definitely meaning to be found in the imagery here. there is poetry in biology, the universe is made of stories not of atoms, etc etc

it turns out lysis is also the title of a dialogue of plato on "the true nature of loving friendship," so if any classics enjoyers have thoughts on that connection i would love to hear them!

if lyctorhood is transplantation, is it possible for that transplant to be rejected? can the graft refuse to take?

souls are contained within their edges not unlike how a cell membrane contains its cytoplasm. or how a capri sun pouch contains its juice. and lyctors slurp that shit up and digest it baby

why choose to link the soul so closely with water? (the river, bubbles, currents & waves in the river, nona saying the water of the river "doesn't want to touch us.") contents of souls = liquid in the same way that the river is a liquid??? the river = spirit version of the primordial soup???

dulcinea refers to the river having two shores, not just a generic "shore", so it sounds like they're different in some meaningful way. but that may be conditional on what happens in alecto ("if this ends well you'll find that out")? is the point of the river the river itself, or is the point of the river to separate those two places?

#tlt meta #the unwanted guest #the unwanted guest spoilers #the locked tomb #tlt speculation #on lyctorhood #the river #tamsyn i am in! your! walls!!!#(if you have thoughts on any of this please do engage i'm SO interested to hear other people's interpretations)#my posts #necro science #necromancy studies

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jackiehicks · 9 months

Text

Written In The Stars

Wyatt Lykensen x Reader

request: wyatt x werewolf!reader and them finding out they're each other's mates (maybe they both have matching markings??)

A/N: this one was kinda fun!! i was stumped at first bc i’m not big on soulmate au’s and i’ve never written a werewolf reader before, but i made it there in the end. i attached a pic of what i imagined the mark to look like when i was writing at the end teehee. i also took some creative liberty with this one, i decided to go for a soulmate thing instead of them being typical wolf mates or whatever, plus the reader is gender neutral so you can read this however you want to perceive it! i hope you guys enjoy <3

words: 1.3k

content warnings: very light mentions of sex

in old wolf legend, there was the story of soulmates. on the 18th birthday of a wolf, they would get a marking on their hand. if two marked wolves were to share genuine love for each other in an embrace, the mark would glow to signify their souls being intertwined. if no glowing occurs, they cannot be soulmates. however, soulmate markings are only for werewolves. if one’s soulmate is not a wolf, no mark will appear. in today’s society, a wolf with a soulmate mark was rare. especially in seabrook, a town where werewolves live in harmony with humans, zombies, and aliens.

so on the 18th birthday of the lykensen twins, when a soulmate mark appeared on the hand of wyatt lykensen, everything changed.

wyatt inspected the mark on his hand for the millionth time that day. he liked how it looked - the design was intricate with overlapping lines and little triangles hidden in it - but despite that, he hated everything about it. the mark was a burden. every wolf his age was suddenly trying to make some sort of love connection with him in hopes that he would be their soulmate. half of them didn’t even have their soulmate marks yet.

wyatt wouldn’t have minded if it was because they wanted to be with him, but he knew it wasn’t that. his sister was the alpha werewolf, making him second in command. they wanted his power and his position within the pack. he knew that if willa had received a mark then all of this attention would be on her, but willa had already found a soulmate in a-spen. that’s what wyatt wanted. not some sort of forced relationship because of a magical tattoo, he wanted the kind of love that you would travel galaxies to find.

he sighed, looking away from his mark for the first time in what felt like hours. he was sitting on the top of the wolf-den, under the stars. when he was little, he would sit up here and try to make words and shapes out of the stars. he looked up at the night sky, inspecting something new for the first time all day. soulmates were supposed to be written in the stars, right? maybe he could find a clue up there…

“BOO!” came a voice from behind him. wyatt jumped, startled, then let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was only y/n, his best friend since they were pups.

“what is it with you and scaring me?”

y/n shrugged, sitting down next to him, “it’s fun.”

“yeah, for you.”

“shut up, you know you love me.”

wyatt looked back up at the stars, raking an exasperated hand through his hair.

“you’ve got that look about you again.” y/n nudged him with their shoulder.

“yeah… it’s-“

“the mark? dude, it’ll be fine.”

“i know, but… why did it have to be me?”

“don’t complain so much, you’ve got 20 age-appropriate werewolves trying to jump your bones. even waverley is trying to get a piece of you, and waverley is hot. who wouldn’t want that?”

“me, y/n. also, gross - don’t talk about jumping bones. i’m having a crisis here.”

y/n leaned back on their elbows, “yeah, but you need to lighten up - what better way to do that than to be wildly inappropriate?”

wyatt chuckled and looked at the rocks below him.

“see, there’s a smile!” y/n nudged him again, “and hey, at least you know now that you have a soulmate. i’m 18 in like… a month. i’m still in the process of wondering if my soulmate even exists.”

the weeks passed quickly. there weren’t many 18th birthdays so soon after wyatt and willa, only waverley - the really good-looking it-wolf of the pack. no mark appeared on waverley’s hand, to wyatt’s secret delight. waverley was cute and all, but he wasn’t interested. the werewolves that had tried to make a love connection with wyatt had all given up, deciding that it was a whole lot of work for something that wasn’t even that important. he was relieved in the end; he had started to get real sick of hugging.

it felt like no time had passed until it was the night before y/n’s birthday. wyatt was looking all over the wolf den for his friend, nowhere to be found. it was late, everyone else was asleep. he stepped outside of the cave when he heard a frustrated sigh from above him. he didn’t even have to look before he knew that he had found y/n. wyatt climbed up the front of the cave, hoping to scare the birthday wolf. he was met with a pebble to the head as he jumped up.

“ow?? why are you throwing stones??”

“sorry wy, i’m not having a great time up here and there are a bunch of loose rocks.”

wyatt clambered up and sat himself next to y/n. “every year, i forget just how much you hate birthdays.”

“why do birthdays have to be so weird? i don’t want all the attention on me. it’s gonna be so much worse this year with these stupid soulmate marks…”

“it’s really not that bad. plus, there’s like 6 of us with markings, so it’s not even a common thing.”

“i guess you’re right… i mean, i don’t know how i feel about even, like, the concept of soulmates. like, to be tied to one person for the rest of your life? i’ve never even been in a relationship. that’s terrifying.”

“yeah, i hear that. i don’t know, i hated it too when i first got it. i kinda find comfort in it now, though. like, there’s someone out there who is for me and will understand me and look out for me, and they’ll be there for the rest of our lives. something about that is reassuring, don’t you think?”

y/n scoffed at that. “it’s creepy! ‘ooh, we’re soulmates, i don’t know you and you don’t know me but i’m gonna love you and be there for you forever and ever and ever until we die’.” y/n shuddered, “super creepy.”

wyatt couldn’t help but laugh. “don’t be such a drama-wolf. it’ll be fine.”

y/n smiled, but the smile quickly faded into a melancholy sadness.

“hey,” wyatt started, “don’t be worried. soulmate or no soulmate, you got me. i’m here for you. nothing’s gonna change that.”

he could hear y/n’s silent tears in the night-time silence. wyatt put his arm around his dear friend, and y/n’s head sank into the crook of his neck. they sat like that for a while, until wyatt noticed a glowing golden light out of the corner of his eye.

“hey, what’s that?” he asked. y/n sat up, and the light moved. wyatt looked at his hand, and the delicate marking on his hand was shining a stunning ethereal gold. it looked beautiful. he heard y/n gasp gently, looking at the mark that had appeared on their own hand. y/n checked the time on her phone.

“12.02am. it’s my birthday.”

“you have a mark.”

“we didn’t even notice.”

“you have a mark.”

y/n tore their eyes away from the marking, which was now glittering a more subtle gold.

“it was-“

“i can’t believe-“

the two laughed lightly as they talked over eachother.

“this whole time,” wyatt began, “this whole time, i’ve been worrying who my soulmate could be. i didn’t even think… y/n…”

“we’ve been inseparable since, like, forever. god, it was the most obvious thing in the world! are we stupid?”

they laughed, revelling in this new and exciting feeling.

“we’re idiots.”

they looked up at the night sky once again, entangled in each other’s arms, and wyatt could swear he saw a glimmer of y/n’s smile gazing down at him.

#disney zombies #disney #wyatt lykensen #wyatt lykensen imagines #wyatt lykensen x reader #pearce joza

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serenescribe · 10 months

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ell, i hope ur request is still available??? lol but im submitting a fic idea for now-- its been laying on my art ideas for awhile but im just not sure how to draw it so im sharing it now-- (this ask is long T0T im sorry-)

so basically the story right now is Lilia's dream and I believe the point of this dream is having Lilia be on time to save Malenoa and Levan from the Silver Owls???

i read a lot of theories that Silver might overblot mostly from magical exhaustion from using UM but its also possible that he might overblot by just the mental stress of it all lol so i think the moment that he'll really snap is the moment he'll found out he's a Silver Owl.

u see, I'm kinda hesitant to support the theory that Silver is one of the Silver Owls (even tho its so likely TT)---

bcuz,,, guys,,, do you the impact of that twisted info??? it means that IF Silver is one the Silver Owls;;;; he's from the nation that destroyed the Land of Briar, the reason why Briar Valley is such a small secluded nation and hates humans a lot, the probably main reason why faes and humans are distrustful to each other, the people who murdered Malleus' parents, the reason why Malleus had to grow up in isolation, the people who killed Lilia's most important people: Malenoa and Levan (which we can assume the only people he can refer to as family), and the reason why his father is dying early and is falling out of magic because he had to exhaust all of it for Malleus to live because his ancestors killed his parents---- if Silver is from the Silver Owls actually, can he truly still have the audacity to refer to Lilia as "his father" knowing well now he's the root of all his misery?

He'll never meet Lilia if he's from Silver Owl/if Land of Briar won against them)-- unlike Sebek and Malleus who's family is tied with Malenoa and Baul

He's realizing that his existence to his father life was born from losing everything he had and he gets engulfed by the darkness

"because this is Father's true family…" Silver realizes as he looks at the expression of Lilia genuinely happy in relief that Malenoa and Levan was saved and the enemy is defeated and he'll never meet Silver anymore because his nation lost.

"We were never meant to dream together" (this is in contrast of Silver's UM's message; "let's share the same dream")

you. you are WICKED for this utter monster of a prompt. lian, i cannot believe you. i woke up, read it, and just couldn't stop grinning. i genuinely hope i did this justice. thank you for letting me write this!

The relief on his father’s face hurts Silver to the very core of his soul.

There is a celebration erupting around him, the chaotic, spontaneous festivities of a war long-won. Victory is theirs; the Valley has prevailed over her enemies, all human intruders either slain or driven out, the Silver Owls and their Knight of Dawn thoroughly suppressed.

And yet, as Silver lurks about at a corner of the room, back pressed against the dark stone wall as he observes from afar, all he can feel is a deep-rooted agony. There is a light happiness to his father’s face, so unlike the stern disposition of the general that Silver had gotten used to, having adapted to it despite how strange it feels to interact with his father in his callous prime.

Near his father is Princess Malenoa and her betrothed, the former carrying her egg in her arms. From where he stands, Silver watches as the draconic fae’s face creases as she laughs at a comment Lilia makes, the three of them enraptured in their own little world.

He bites his lips, heart aching as it thumps against his chest.

It hurts.

It hurts because Silver knows who he is, what he is now. He’s put it all together, uncovered all the missing pieces of the puzzle throughout his time fighting by his father’s side, hoping to wake him within his dream. There was an uncanny resemblance Silver shared with the Knight of Dawn, one that had struck him upon laying his eyes on the man. Even now, it makes him sick to his stomach thinking of the implications.

But appearances could be coincidental. There were many people in the world; surely some people were bound to share similarities in the end? And yet, there was another piece of evidence, one that had casted away any lingering doubts Silver had clung to, one that damned his fate.

Silver’s fingers close around the ornate ring in his palm, its necklace chain draped over the side of his wrist, swaying slightly.

He’d found the very same ring in the Knight of Dawn’s tent, when they’d ransacked it after a lengthy battle. It had been nestled in a tiny locked box that opened at his touch, and Silver’s breathing had stuttered to a gasping halt as soon as he laid eyes upon the tiny piece of jewellery — a perfect replica of the ring slung around his neck.

“Hey.”

The sound of a voice snags his ear, swaying his attention away from the cheerful face of his father — though does Silver truly reserve the right to call him that, after everything he’d learnt? Glancing to the side, Silver relaxes at the sight of Yuu shuffling over, standing next to him, their hands buried in the pocket of their jacket.

Silver dips his head at them. They smile weakly at him in return.

For a while, they stand there together, simply observing the rest of the room. Silver’s gaze flits around, from the thronging groups of fae celebrating their victory, to the sight of Sebek laughing up a storm with the younger form of his grandfather — an apparition of Lilia’s dream, but still an indulgence for the boy — until finally, they land back at his father.

“How’re you feeling?” Yuu asks, out of nowhere.

Silver exhales. “I… I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Mm. I don’t really think fine constitutes standing in a corner of the room like this,” Yuu points out with a shrug. “Isn’t now probably the best time to… what was it, try and wake up Lilia?”

It is the best time to do such a thing. And yet, whenever Silver considers the thought, eyes darting back to his laughing father, he hesitates. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Princess Malenoa passing her egg off to her lover to lean over and wrap his father up in a warm embrace, lifting him off the ground as she whirls around in giddy joy.

The peaceful bliss on Lilia’s face is familiar to him. It’s an expression Silver’s seen many times before while growing up.

“...We can wait,” Silver eventually says, stifling a sigh. He crosses his arms. “It would not hurt to let him enjoy this a little longer.”

“If you say so,” Yuu hums in response. “Not that Grim would complain, I think. Pretty sure he’s off gorging himself on food somewhere, the little rat.”

Another pause, only permeated by the constant sound of festivities.

“...Something isn’t right, huh?” Yuu exhales. “I don’t really… know much about Hornton— um, Malleus, apart from what he told me, and… what I’ve learnt here.” They gesture at the room. “But I kinda get the feeling his parents aren’t exactly around anymore. And yet they’re alive, huh?”

Silver doesn’t even need to turn to know just what Yuu is looking at — the very much alive, not missing, Princess Malenoa and Levan chatting happily with Lilia.

“...Yeah,” Silver eventually breathes, voice weak. “They’re alive.”

Maybe— no, not maybe. It’s definitely better this way. How can Silver restore the status quo after everything he’s learnt throughout his father’s dream, of the wretched past that Lilia never told him about? His father looks so unbearably happy now, in this peaceful dream of a war won without the losses that happened in reality. Lilia had lost his closest companions, his childhood friends. He’d spent years presumably exhausting his magic, to take care of Malleus in their stead until the draconic fae finally hatched, because Malleus’ parents had been killed.

And he’d taken Silver in, despite the hue of his hair, the colour of his eyes — all little bits of evidence that should have clued Lilia in on his son’s true identity: a descendent of the Silver Owls.

A ragged exhale spills out of his mouth.

How can he look at Lilia now and call him his father? Silver is sure of it; he has to have been descended from the awful humans who ravaged the Valley and bled her dry of her resources, all before slaughtering the fair folk’s princess before her child could even be hatched. They’d been responsible for her bethrothed’s disappearance too, Silver is certain of it.

How can Silver have the audacity to think of Lilia as his own, when he is tied to the root of all his father’s misery?

And to make matters worse, in such a selfish, wretched way that it makes him feel sick—

Silver cannot stop thinking about how, in this other world, this perfect fantasy that his father supposedly longs for, he would have never found his son.

(Can Silver still call himself that?)

“SILVER!”

That familiar, thunderous voice startles him out of his swirling thoughts. Sebek frowns at him, hands resting on his hips. When had his friend arrived…? “We ought to get a move on with waking up Master Lilia,” he declares, attracting a few glances from nearby fae, chittering to each other about what Silver presumes is the sound of Sebek’s voice. “That IS what we came here for, no? And then after, we shall go and save Lord Malleus!”

“And on that note, I should go find Grim,” Yuu says, turning with a wave. “I’ll meet you guys when you’re ready to dream hop, Silver!”

Silver watches the human prefect depart, vanishing into the throng of shifting fae.

He bites his lip.

“Silver?”

Sebek’s voice is stern. And yet, there is a hint of what Silver knows is concern weaved into it. He glances back over at his friend, noticing the scrutinising arch of Sebek’s eyebrows, the way he inspects Silver closely. “What are you waiting for?” he demands. With a wave of his hand towards Lilia’s general direction, Sebek says, “Let us depart!”

“I can’t.”

Those two words spill from his lips before he can stop himself. Silver winces at the sight of Sebek’s eyes widening, pupils constraining at what he said, thoroughly taken aback. “What— Whatever do you mean, Silver?” Shaking his head, Sebek narrows his eyes. “Now is not the time for such foolish jesting—”

“I’m serious, Sebek.”

Silence. Sebek gawks at him, and Silver averts his gaze. His heart hammers in his chest, so loud he can hear it in his ears. He feels vaguely lightheaded. And it still hurts.

But it is precisely because it hurts that Silver is doing this, that he is refusing to wake his father up from his dream. What right does he have to do that, to disrupt such a wonderful fantasy, a world where everything turned out right for Lilia in the end? It would make him no better than the selfish, greedy humans who pillaged the Valley, killing fae left and right, and wrecking such havoc upon them all.

In the end, to wake Lilia up would be such an audacious, inconsiderate desire on Silver’s part. How dare he strip his father of the happiness he deserves?

Because, Silver thinks wistfully, gazing upon Lilia and Malenoa and Levan all over again, this is Father’s true family. It was never me. It is an epiphany that dawns upon him. And all of a sudden, everything feels clear.

(“Silver? SILVER!”)

Yes, this is the way it should be. Lilia should remain here in blissful paradise. Silver can move on, can take Sebek and Yuu and Grim with him — unless they wish to stay, of course, to which he wouldn’t fault them; he’s seen how attached Sebek is to his grandfather, after all. They don’t need to bother his father with the likes of their plans to save Malleus from his overblot. They can find other people instead!

(“SILVER!”)

We were never meant to dream together, Silver thinks wistfully. It’s like his focus has narrowed down to solely his father, everything else in his peripheral vision blurring together into a mess of darkness. But that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?

What sort of a selfish son would he be, to strip his father of his hard-earned happiness?

“SILVER!”

He jolts at the sharp sensation of a slap, lurching back to his senses.

The first thing he notices is Sebek’s face, contorted with such abject fear, hand raised in front of him.

The second thing he notices is—

The darkness, bubbling around him, sucking at his heels, clinging and sliding its way up his legs.

Hands wrap around his wrists, trying to drag him forward, away from the sloshing pit of inky blackness that claws at him. “Get OUT!” Sebek screeches, in part a furious demand, in part a desperate plea. But as soon as Silver stumbles his way to clean, even ground, the darkness slides right back in, nipping at his ankles, dragging him back in.

And yet, all Silver can feel is an overwhelming sensation of calm. There is a dull ache that throbs in his chest, one that sobs and wails and causes the darkness to clamber up his body even further. A single realisation makes itself clear in his mind.

He’s overblotting, isn’t he?

That’s the only explanation Silver can muster, the reason why the darkness has returned for him. It’s not reacting like it has in the past. No, this time, it’s surging straight for only him while ignoring everyone else in the room.

Perhaps he’d overexerted himself a bit too much. Perhaps he’d let his tumultuous emotions get the better of him.

What will happen if he stays? Will he lose control of himself? Silver exhales, a melancholic acceptance overtaking his soul. He knows what he has to do now.

And it is with his newfound purpose in mind that Silver pulls his hands out of Sebek’s grasp. He steps back, a sad smile on his face as the other boy stares at him. “ARE YOU INSANE?” Sebek screams, voice erupting through the air, dragging the room into silence. “SILVER, YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY THINK OF GIVING INTO THE DARKNESS!”

All Silver can do is hang his head, and take another step back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs — and he truly is. But it’s safer this way, isn’t it? He can handle an overblot. He knows how to get himself away, so he cannot hurt anyone else any more than he already has.

And as Silver readies his magic, hands clasped firmly around the ring in his palm, beginning to murmur the words under his breath, his gaze flits around the room once more. From a panic-stricken Sebek to a distressed and frozen Yuu, Grim tucked under their arm, to the whispering fae backing away from the scene, until finally…

He meets crimson eyes that widen, a glint sparking within them, face contorting into one of realisation and pure fear.

“Meet in a Dream,” Silver whispers with a sad smile, raising his ring to his lips, breath ghosting along the glistening gem — slowly clouding over, losing its lustre and shine.

And as the general breaks away from his two closest companions, boots slamming against the stone floor as he sprints for Silver, one arm outstretched, the scream of a name emerging from his lips—

Silver allows his magic to tear himself away from this dream, taking him somewhere far away, where he can let the blot swallow him whole.

At the very least, as he loses his mind—

He knows his father will be safe and happy.

#writing requests #my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #twst #twisted wonderland #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst ch7 #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #twst yuu #lilia vanrouge #twst fanfiction #twst writing #again i am on holiday at da beach as this goes up... B)#enjoy the horrors while i have a good time!!!

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deanwinchesterswitch-events · 15 days

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FriendSHIP Challenge

May 1 through December 31, 2024

Through fandom, I have come to know so many wonderful people and, in turn, have made a few fantastic friends. In honor of those fabulous individuals, I am hosting a challenge about FriendSHIPS.

Create mood boards/aesthetics, fanfic, fanart, edits, and fanvids celebrating characters' friendships within a fandom, add your best friend or yourself as an OC in a story, or create a piece with characters from different fandoms you think would make great friends. Love isn’t just about romance and sex. Join the fun and share the love of friends and the soul of friendship.

Below are the fandoms you can create for. The list includes some of my favorites, along with a few of my friends’ favorites. The use of a prompt is not required, but a few have been added below the cut for inspiration.

Rules/Guidelines/FAQs

Tag for the challenge: #dwfriendship24 and mention @deanwinchesterswitch-events in the post.

No sign-up is required. The challenge runs from May 1 through December 31, 2024.

All creations should be friendship-themed.

No romantic ships or smut.

No implied romantic relationships or smut.

No friends with benefits.

Crossovers and OCs are welcome.

No RPF (there are so many fandoms, and my knowledge is minimal for a few of the actors).

Everything has to be your own work! Works created with AI will not be reblogged.

If a work created with AI is inadvertently reblogged, it will subsequently be removed from the events blog and the master list.

Feel free to send me an ASK or DM me if you have questions.

All tagged (#dwfriendship24) creations will be added to a Master List.

Use warnings if they are needed!

There is no word limit, but if the text is more than 500 words, please use the read-more link.

Fandoms

Big Sky

Daisy Jones & the Six

DCU/DCEU

Doctor Who

Leverage/Leverage Redemption

MCU

Shadow and Bone

Sherlock

Sons of Anarchy

Supernatural/The Winchesters

The Boys TV

The Librarians

The Vampire Diaries

The Walking Dead

Top Gun/Top Gun: Maverick

Prompts for inspiration (use is optional)

They cultivated a secret language between them over the years that no one else understands

"Just don't laugh." "I/We would never!”

B loves baking but can't eat everything they make before it spoils, so they regularly feed A with the extra.

“I seriously don't know how you came this far in life.”

Share a love of the same music

Argue over musical choices

"I can't even describe how important you are to me. You've changed my life. I wouldn't be the same without you.”

“I think I’d follow you into hell just to see what you’d do.”

“Everyone said we’d never be friends, but look at us now.”

A falling out/Argument

Being a good wingperson

Being a bad wingperson

Museum visit

Cooking together

Hurt/Comfort

Rekindling a friendship

A is a horrible friend, but B won’t give up on them

Drunk conversation(s)

Road trip/Vacation together

"You can't eat that. It has peanuts in it. Here, I got you something else."

They're not each other's favorite person but still appreciate each other's presence.

"Stop screaming at me! I never asked to be involved in all this."

A: So ...you set it on fire? B: Yes, and you let yours die. A: I see why we're friends.

“Who’s your new friend?” “I dunno. I found him/her/them bleeding on the street. He/She/They wasn’t/weren’t really in a position to refuse my friendship.”

“I’m aware of who I am when I say this, but your friendship is weird.”

“You are my best friend, and unfortunately, there is very little that you, I, or anyone else can do about it.”

Why are they friends

Fake friends

A brush with death

“You already are a handful. Together, you guys are insufferable.”

Long distance friendship

"Don't you dare to blame this on me! I wasn't the one who suggested it."

Getting a tattoo together

As always, I hope you have fun!

#dwfriendship24 #creative challenge #writing challenge #all about friends #multi fandom

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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 3 months

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For What the Future Holds

Prompt: forgiveness

Rating: K/General with mild themes

Setting: Starts Ichigo defeats Yhwach, continues into the very beginning of the ten year time skip. There’s also flashbacks to Toshiro and Momo's past dotted throughout.

Synopsis: Momo notices Toshiro is acting out of sorts ever since the war against the Quincy ended. Meanwhile, Toshiro tries to look to the future.

AN: It’s finally DONE!!

I had the idea for this ages ago (around the time of Horizons, which is why they have a similar structure as you’ll see), but it wasn’t until the 'forgiveness' prompt for the @yearoftheotpevent came up that I finally sat down and wrote it out. It didn't turn out to be the main or overarching theme and the fic itself turned into quite the emotional piece to write ^^;

This was also partly written in light of my headcanon becoming canon! I was aware of the question from Klub Outside a long time ago, but Kubo has confirmed Toshiro and Momo were neighbours rather than living under the same roof, which has always been the scenario I saw for them when I was reading BLEACH and writing fic.

Finally, this fic also has a flashback that slightly ties into When the Souls Sleep and the World is Our Own, but only in that it was a deleted scene and I found a way to include it here instead. You don’t have to read that fic to understand what happens in that scene, just that the setting is not long after they met.

Anyhow, I hope you all enjoy it!

____________________________

“I should’ve told you about it earlier.”

Momo blinks, both at the quietness of Toshiro’s voice and the bowing of his head in her peripheral. She raises her gaze to his face from the now healed over wound on his arm, cancelling the kido as she shifts over to sit next to him. “Told me about what?”

He rolls the tattered sleeve down. He contemplates what to say, staring down at his lap. Behind him, Hyourinmaru’s hilt glints, and beyond, Shinji and Kyouraku watch over those they’d dug out from the ruins earlier. Next to them, Nanao is communicating with someone in the Seireitei – Iemura, Momo suspects – trying to coordinate transportation for the injured, and Isane, bandaged up and still recovering from her own injuries, heals Aikawa. Far away at the Reio’s Palace, she can sense Rukia about to be reunited with her brother.

“That form is why I was training in the caves,” Toshiro says, diverting Momo’s attention back to him. “I should’ve told you about it sooner.

“You mean Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form?”

He nods.

Was that all? She thinks to tease him, to make light of something he seems to be treating with more seriousness than needed, but she halts at his gaze. It’s not the usual icy, determined one she’s used to.

He’s tired – and who could blame him after what they’d gone through? – and it makes him look vulnerable. Something trembles within him, something he’d likely keep hidden behind many walls.

She offers a sympathetic smile. “Why would you need to tell me about it?”

“The way you reacted before…you were startled. If you’d known before, it wouldn’t have been as much of a shock. I apologise.”

It’s true, she’d been stunned, had even flinched with a loud gasp when she first saw him, and was perhaps even a little frightened. She’d stood there, mouth agape and speechless, unable to take her eyes away from him, even as her captain swore and asked who he was. She hadn’t known how else to react, but later as he motioned her towards a piece of rubble to sit on as he explained how he had somehow become an adult, the shock wore off.

She had to resist the urge to hug him out of sheer relief, this was not the time or place for such high emotions. So she’d gotten to work on healing his wounds after he’d transformed back – but only after the others had been found and pulled out from under the rubble.

“It’s all right,” she reassures. “It was startling, yes, but I knew it was you. It was incredible, actually, but also not too surprising now that I know what it is."

He’s stunned, but hides it quickly with a clearing his throat and a deepened frown. “How so?”

“I didn’t see all of the battle you and Captain Kuchiki did with the Quincy, but what I did see was amazing. You froze the Quincy’s shield in mid-air, within a second. A-And then you froze the Quincy completely! I thought for sure he was defeated then, truly.”

He nods to himself, remembering. “So did I. He gave us more than we bargained for in the end.”

“At least he’s gone.” Momo sighs, and with it, a weight is released. “At least…it’s over.” It’s like a vice has loosened around her head and chest. She lets out a shuddering breath and her eyes become watery. “We’re okay, now.”

“We’ll have a lot to do when we get back, it’s not…” Toshiro trails off when he meets her gaze again. His hand twitches at his side, clearly resisting moving it. After a beat, his lips shape into a faint smile and he let’s out a short, tired chuckle. “You gonna cry, bed-wetter?”

She can’t even be mad at the nickname, she becoming too overwhelmed. “No, it’s not the time and place to.” Even as she says this, she’s furiously wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

He shrugs. “No one would blame you.”

“But it’s like you said, we need to focus on the task at hand.” She gestures to the others a short distance away. “On transporting the injured back and figuring out what our next steps are.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” His smile widens a fraction. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Despite herself, she can’t help but grin back. She sniffs and looks down. “I’m just so glad it’s over.”

He only nods with a hum.

A silence passes between them, and Momo slowly realises her own exhaustion. She has enough energy to cast lower powered kido, but even then she might be pushing it. She finds herself sitting back against the same piece of broken wall Toshiro is, listening to the distant chatter amongst their friends and wreckage crumbling and falling. She cranes her neck on the rubble’s edge, looking up at the sky.

She’d seen him soar across it hours ago, only a spec at times, and a more recognisable figure at others. At one point, the cold of his reiatsu had washed over her like a gust in a blizzard, freezing and chilling her to bone. It ebbed away minutes later, but it made her realise the magnitude of his powers. She'd wondered if he had this power this entire time and had chosen not to unveil it until now, when he needed it most to protect the Soul Society. If he was capable of this now, who knew what he could achieve in the future.

But then her mind rolls into another thought, one that makes heat rush up the back of her neck to her ears and try to suppress a chuckle.

“What is it?”

By this point Toshiro had closed his eyes.

“It’s nothing important.”

He opens one eye, unconvinced. “The spike your reiatsu said otherwise.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, chastising herself internally for not keeping it under control. She’s tired, but it’s no excuse. She lets out a small chuckle. “I was thinking that, in a funny way, Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form has given us a glimpse into the future. It’s shown us what you’ll look like when you grow up.”

She had meant it as a tease, to try and lighten the mood, but Toshiro’s frown deepens. As if realising his reaction was unexpected, he let’s out a snort. “Anything can happen between now and then to change how I look.”

The usual bite is not there. The response itself is strange, too.

Before she can ask, her captain comes up to both of them, asking for her help with moving Aikawa’s injured leg into a makeshift splint.

As she rises and leaves with her captain, Toshiro’s smile fades away, and he stares into his lap. No, into something else.

___________________________________

There was a time where future went as far as Granny.

What would she need today? What days was she planning to go out and shop? Would he need to help her with?

When would she pass away?

Toshiro never lingers on that last thought, always distracting himself with whatever he could. At the moment, it’s with sweeping the house and yard.

He’s up to the front porch, pushing the dust and dirt off the edge with the broom. Granny is inside, sewing a new garment together for him.

“You’ve grown again,” she’d remarked earlier with a smile. “You’ll need new clothes now.”

As far as he could tell he hadn’t. The ground seemed to be as far away as it was a week ago, and he hadn’t put on any weight. But he had to admit his clothes the last few days had seemed a fraction shorter at his legs and tighter around his shoulders.

It’s a few minutes later when he hears yelling. A group of children rush past his house, some giggling, others chattering about Momo, who's at the center of attention. She excitedly tells them her application exam date, beaming so wide it must hurt her cheeks.

When was she going to the Academy?

That one stung, and he ignores it with a sweep of the brush.

Months ago, he’d asked Jidanbo what it took to become a Shinigami. The giant was just as surprised as Toshiro had expected him to be.

“Have you changed your mind about not going, Toshiro-kun?” Jidanbo had asked.

“No,” is all he said.

Realising he wasn’t going to elaborated, Jidanbo had shrugged and said, “First, you must have spiritual potential and the ability to show it. You go to the Shinigami Academy, where you learn to become a Shinigami. The exam to get in is tough, sometimes you have to take it multiple times --” he'd rubbed the back of his neck “ -- like I did. My brother was more lucky, he only took the exam once and got in. Once you’ve passed, you’re enrolled in the next semester and that’s about it.”

Toshiro already know even if Momo didn’t get a pass on the exam the first time, she’ll go for it again and again and again, until she was enrolled.

He’d seen her enthusiasm long before this. The day she’d rushed to him, her cheeks flushed and her hair whipped around her from running to find him, and taken him back to his house to show him what she’d just accomplished. She’d cupped her hands together, and several seconds later, a white glow emanated from between the gaps in her fingers. When she’d pulled her hands apart, the orb radiating in her palms broke apart into smaller orbs that floated away. Momo chortled in delight, and Toshiro almost did the same. When she was this joyous it was often contagious, especially when he eyes are so wide with wonder and elation.

What had stopped him was a single thought, one that shot through him and made him realise just how far he’d let her into his life.

One day, she’ll be gone.

____________________________

The next time Momo sees Toshiro is on her way to the First Division. Shinji runs ahead of her on the walkway, listing off the topics they will need to discuss with Kyoraku. She’d been listening intently, but got distracted as they passed Twelfth Division.

From this high up, she couldn’t recognise most of Shinigami out and about, but the moment she saw one with white hair and a short stature and his cold reiatsu faintly emanated up to her, she knew it was Toshiro. He steps out of Twelfth Division’s main barracks, followed by Rangiku. There’s something morose about the way they hold themselves and in their slow walk to the division’s main gate entrance. They come to a stop just as a building blocks Momo view.

“You all right back there?” Shinji asks.

“Sorry, sir! I just saw Rangiku-san and Captain Hitsugaya.”

“Ah.”

“…Are they coming to this meeting too?”

“Nah, just us, Third, and Eighth.” She can hear his grin when he continues after a beat, “Were you hoping to socialise with them?”

“Of course not!” Momo scoffs.

It’s left at that. Still, she thinks back on how they had looked. She’d be sure to visit them sometime soon, if all goes according to plan with the reconstruction of the Districts.

________________________________

Momo found him sitting on the front porch of his house, peeling chestnuts. He hadn’t noticed her at first, but when her footsteps scrapped against the dirt path, he looks up.

“What’re you staring at?” Toshiro asks.

“Sorry, I just came to visit,” she says as she comes closer. “What are these for?”

He senses there’s more to this than just a visit, but he puts it aside for now. “Baa-chan is making chestnut rice tonight. She was going to ask you to come take some back to your house. She always does it in big batches.”

Momo grins. “That’s kind of her.”

Toshiro only shrugs with a huff. Momo’s grin falls into a small, unsure smile. He’s quick to pick up a nut from the tub in front of him, peel the shell off with a small knife, then put it with the others ready for Granny.

“In that case, do you mind if I help?” Momo says. “I can’t let her do that for me and my friends without helping her.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to.”

She makes herself comfortable next to him. She takes a spare knife from the tray he’d brought out, then collects several chestnuts from the tub. He opens his mouth, but shut it after she starts peeling. What had he wanted to say? Did he want to tell her to leave? Did he want to ask about the Academy?

Save for the knifes cracking open and peeling the shells, there’s silence between them. In front of her, the day passes, clouds moving across the sky and the sun shining down on the swaying trees and lively Junrinan a short distance away.

After a moment, Momo pauses as she takes another chestnut. In his periphery, she fiddles with it between her hands, as if trying to wring something out of it. She puts the knife to the chestnut, but is slow to peel the shell away.

She nervous, perhaps gearing herself up to say something. He already knows she’s going to Academy, remembers her loud declaration to Granny several weeks ago that was equal parts ecstatic and anxious. He didn’t want to reflect on his behaviour since she announced it, but he knows he’s become more sullen towards her.

Granny chastised more than once him, saying he should be happier for her and congratulate her; but he can’t ignore the tightness in his chest every time he thinks about her leaving. He hates that she had become a annoying and welcomed constant in his live for the last few decades, and even worse, that he had imagined what the future – whether it was the next week or the next year – would be like, and she was there in his imaginings, along with Granny and Jidanbo. Never used to even think about the future, his life had been repetitive until she came along.

After taking off the chestnut’s shell, Momo stops. “Can I ask you something?”

Toshiro continues peeling. “Hm?”

“Even if you don’t become a Shinigami, can we still be friends?”

Toshiro halts. His brows furrow, but he still doesn’t look at her. “What’s with that question?”

“I mean, while I’m at the Academy we won’t be seeing each other too much. And when I become a Shinigami, it’ll be even less. We’re friends, and, um…I want to stay friends, even when we’ve grown up.”

Her voice wavers towards the end, losing what confidence she’d built up to speak to him.

Toshiro blinks down at the chestnut in his hands. Somewhere around them, the leaves rustle in the wind, and a bird chirps and another caws back in response. The last parts of the shell fall away.

“You might be different by then,” he says solemnly, still unable to look at her.

Momo presses her lips into a tight line. “Well, of course. Everyone changes as they grow up. They become more mature and responsible.”

“Not all adults are.”

“Most though.” She drops her chestnut into the peeled pile. “I don’t know how often I’ll be allowed to visit, but I’ll write to you as often as I can.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be doing your Shinigami stuff, you won’t have time.”

“B-But I want to.”

He finally looks at her. At the hurt that flickers through her eyes, he wants to take it back. She obviously hadn’t expected this coldness from him. Yes, his usual bratiness can make him say some hurtful things on occasion, but this is different for her. This was a side of him she rarely saw, and it’s a side she is never on the end of.

But what’s the use? She’ll go to the Academy and forget about him. She’ll make new, better friends. Ones she can go into the future with and who can understand the struggles and triumphs she’ll experience as a Shinigami.

“Do whatever you want then.”

His comment doesn’t ease the turmoil in her, with her gaze falling off to the side and her shoulders slumping. She’s on the verge of a sob, but she bravely keeps it back. “Are you saying you don’t think we should be friends anymore?”

It’s an opening he should take. He has to start letting her go, so it won’t hurt so much when she turns away, and stops being a part of his future.

“I…I’m not saying that.” He’s weak. “I’m just being realistic. You’ll be busy, you won’t have the time to write to us.”

It’s not the answer she expects. Her eyes widen and her lips part, but she doesn’t speak for several heartbeats. She's stuck between being confused and stunned. “I-I’d make time. Of course I’d make time!”

Her earnestness and fierce determination fracture what little resolve he had left. “Well then, let’s see you try.”

_____________________________

Momo glances at Toshiro from across the meeting hall.

He’d just stepped back into line after reporting on his areas for reconstruction. His division is doing well, ahead of schedule in fact.

Normally the thought would make her happy. He’s always been a hard worker; never for the sake of wanting to one-up another or show off, but because he wanted to do good for others. It was one of her favourite things about him.

But something about him is different. The war against the Quincy and taking in the total devastation it had caused had affected all of them, changing each of them in both subtle and obvious ways.

Toshiro holds himself differently. There’s the usual stoicism on his face, and the straight, pulled back shoulders and slightly raised chin that have been a part of his posture since he became a captain.

It’s his hands. They’re curled in loose fists at his side. Something is on his mind, and whatever it is, it’s causing him to be tense. His gaze shows he’s present, now listening to Mayuri give his report into his latest findings, but there’s something going on in the back of his mind he can’t escape from.

She wishes she could cross the room and take one of his hands.

_____________________________

“Don’t bother coming back, bed-wetter!”

Please come back.

And she must see through him, because her high spirits aren’t dampened as she continues to smile and wave at him. He’ll never understand how she can be so cheerful so often.

Eventually, she has to turn away from him and navigate her way through the growing crowds. After she vanishes and as Granny gently chastises him for his rudeness, he can’t dismiss the thought that haunts him. The same thought that had made him try to disconnect from her weeks ago.

What if she doesn’t?

_____________________________

Momo watches Toshiro ponder over the map of the North districts. Each was outlined in the colour of the division that has jurisdiction over them, Fifth Division’s in turquoise and Tenth Division’s in dark green.

“So we’ll tackle this area together,” Shinji says while drawing his finger along the border between the North districts nineteen and twenty. “It makes sense seeing as our jurisdictions are night next to each other. Also, saves us on costs if you go with shared resources, right?”

Both Toshiro and Rangiku nod.

“Have you brought this up with the Captain Commander yet?” Toshiro asks.

“Not yet. We went to a meeting about…” he lifts his gaze to the ceiling of Tenth Division’s office, trying to recall.

“It’s was a month ago, sir,” Momo quietly offers.

Shinji snaps his fingers. “Yes, thank you, Hinamori! Geez, we’ve been to so many meetings lately I’m getting them confused.”

Toshiro scoffs. Momo tries not to smile in response; it’s the first normal, in-character thing she’s seen him do since they arrived.

“Anyway, at that meeting, the Captain Commander suggested a few ways we can save on costs for the reconstruction efforts, one of which was shared resources. Sure you got told the same whenever you went to you met with him yourselves." Shinji jerks his thumb towards Momo. “My lieutenant here suggested we collaborate on the districts that border with other divisions, like yours.”

Momo can’t help but lift her chin a little at the credit her captain gave her. Sometimes he had a way of making one feel accomplished, even over the smallest things.

Rangiku grins. “It’s a great idea, and not surprised that it came from you, Hina-chan.”

Momo laughs nervously. “Rangiku-san…”

“Stop, you’ll make her overheat,” Shinji teases.

“Sir, honestly!” Momo retorts.

He only laughs, but he eyes Toshiro. So he’d noticed it too. Normally situations like this riled her childhood friend up, made him shout something along the lines of ‘We need to focus right now!’ or simply glare at him. Toshiro’s eyes were on the map, jumping to all the districts under his jurisdiction.

It was barely perceptible, but Momo could see with each district he eyes, a little more weight is added to his shoulders.

Shinji quickly returns things to the business at hand. Several minutes later, her captaina nd Toshiro agree to do reconstruction together.

As Shinji and Rangiku start on a plan, Toshiro stands up rorm the couch. “I’ll go get a pot of tea.”

“Do you need assistance with that?” Momo asked, ready to rise up.

He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

He leaves while Rangiku and Shinji continue to hash out a plan. His walk would not seem out of the ordinary to most, Momo saw the weight in his shoulders from before, and just as she’d noticed when she first arrived, that he forced himself to stared straight ahead, and not once at her.

___________________________

He regrets every bad thing he’s ever said to her. Every angry exclamation. Every promise or important day he’d forgotten. Every time he scared her for a laugh when they were children. Every tease about her.

He barely manages a landing, his whole body numb with horror. Ice keeps breaking around them. He can hear yelling, but it’s muffled around the ringing in his ears. For the first time in his life, he’s too cold.

She finally stirs, and her hazy, fading eyes stare up at him. He shakes and can barely breathe. He might collapse, but she’s keeping him rigid and frozen in place. She says his nickname, a pierces through him, hitting a part of him that he always associated with first meeting her. The memory of it, the feeling of someone finally looking at him like he wasn’t so different, and letting it warm him into a fleeting sense of security.

“…Why?”

Something in him shatters.

He should’ve been kinder. Why hadn’t he been? Because he’d been a child who didn’t know better when they first met. Because he’d been alone for so long he didn’t know how to interact with others. Because he’d been scared. Because he’d let her in too far. Because he didn’t know a life without her anymore.

____________________________

An evening breeze blows through the streets of the South Second district, swaying the lanterns of restaurants and brushing Momo’s hair over her shoulders. It reminds her she needs to get it cut, but then she had thought of –

“That was a really good meal.”

Momo looks over to Rangiku , who interlaces her fingers and stretches her arms over her head with a grin.

“It was,” Momo says with her own smile. “I’m glad you recommended that place. We should take the other Women’s Association members there sometime.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. I wanted to try it out with you first.” She winks as she lowers her arms. “It’s been a while since we had a girls night out, huh?”

Momo’s smile widens. After recovering from the battle in the Fake Karakura Town and being discharged from Fourth Division, Rangiku had arranged for the two of them to have lunches and dinners together. They’d be casual mostly, chatting about work for only a short while before moving on to longer discussions about their hobbies, who they’d caught up with lately, and there were a few times they’d left wherever they'd eaten from and gone shopping together. Every now and then, particularly in the beginning, their chatter would turn sombre. They’d reflect on what had happened, whether it was Aizen’s betrayal or Gin’s death, and it took some effort to return the conversation back to something lighter.

Momo remembers the look that would come over Rangiku’s face during those moments. As her friend stares ahead into the growing crowds, she can see hints of that old expression. Her eyes are hooded, her eyes take on a glassiness, and she ignores things – like the loud cheering of an izakaya they pass by, or the sprinting children that almost bump into them before dodging off to the side. What was most telling though was Rangiku didn’t comb her fingers through her hair and complain about the wind ruining her hairstyle.

Like Toshiro, something had been bothering her, but unlike him, she seems to be bouncing back from it quicker. Still, she had moments like this where she grew quiet and solemn. It sends a twinge through Momo’s chest. “Can I ask you something, Rangiku-san?”

Her friend blinks and “Hm?”

Momo’s hesitation catches up to her. She’d wanted to ask before she’d come to dinner, but at seeing Rangiku being her usual boisterous and jolly self, the question had faded into the background.

“I was wonder…”

If she asks her now, she can finally know what happened. Of course, it wouldn’t be Rangiku’s place to say what happened to Toshiro…but what if it was the same thing that affected her?

“…I was wonder if you, uh…”

Momo recalls the two of them leaving Twelfth that day over a month ago, and the chances are whatever it was…

“Do you have any style recommendations for my hair? I was thinking of growing it out rather than getting it cut again.”

Without realising, Rangiku had brought them to a stop in the middle of the street. Souls pass around them, some with skeptical or awed looks, others completely ignoring them. The wind dies down, leaving Rangiku hair slightly frizzy. There’s a gentle smile on her lips, and a knowing look briefly comes across her eyes. Had she known what Momo truly wanted to ask?

But she couldn’t bring herself to, not when it occurred to her that asking Rangiku would potentially expose what has been bothering Toshiro too. She didn’t want to put her friend in an uncomfortable position, but with a tightening of her heart, it dawns on her that asking Toshiro would only do the same for Rangiku.

She’d trapped.

“Yeah, I can think of a few,” Rangiku eventually says. "I'll bring some ideas at the next Women's Association."

Momo blinks.

Rangiku had spoken quietly, uncharacteristic given that hair and fashion were topics she often spoke fervently about. Momo manages to take a deep breath in that looks natural enough, and then a small smile. “I thought you would. Thank you.”

____________________________

Come back.

Toshiro pleads it in silence to the night sky on another sleepless night.

He’d known her for so long, had let her become his closest friend. Her being there as they grew older, as they rose up the ranks of the Shinigami and protected the Seireitei, was an inevitability. How naïve he had been. For all of his posturing and talk of responsibilities and knowledge that any of his subordinates could die on missions, she had somehow become the exception.

Somehow, she would live on forever with him.

How can he have clung to such childish ideals?

Come back, he pleads again. I know now. I want things to be different.

_________________________________

Shafts of the sunrise spill into Momo’s room. She sits up before her alarm clock goes off. Rubbing her eyes and lifting the blanket away, she starts her day.

Nerves thrum through her, and no matter what she tells herself or how many times she goes over the plan for today, they don’t settle.

Today is their first day working together with Tenth Division.

After bathing and changing into her uniform, she steps up the mirror to brush her hair. After a few minutes, she takes up her hair clip and clips it in place.

She stares at her reflection, and after a beat, worries her bottom lip. She sighs and lowers her head with tightly shut eyes. How is she going to get through today?

_____________________________

Momo bound up the stairs towards him. Her recently cut hair tousles around her, and she beams widely. She’s obviously dying to tell him something, even shouts his nickname. Perhaps because they’re not in vicinity of his subordinates or the other Captains and Lieutenants, or perhaps because her joy is so often infectious, he chooses not to shout the usual correction at her.

In fact, Toshiro can't help but smile. He’s been doing that more lately.

He decided to be more open, with her first, and eventually with others.

When she stops in front of him and began to gush over a new project she was working on with her division, he has trouble covering up the reaction he has to the relieved, cathartic ache in his heart. Her forgiveness is still raw, even after all these months. Thankfully, she’s so caught up in her excitement she doesn’t see him briefly glance away to regain his composure.

The future was brighter, but the fact there was even a future with her after everything is a blessing all of it’s own.

_____________________________

From a distance, Toshiro orders his and a few of Fifth Division’s officers to do various tasks, and after they disperse, he goes to the next group.

Momo looks back to the map of North District Nineteen and continues outlining the area she and her subordinates will work on. In her periphery, Shinji finishes speaking with Takaya and Katsuro, and makes his way over to Toshiro before he can reach the group.

She tries to ignore the exchange, but her ears unwittingly tune in, catching bits and pieces of their conversation over the shouts of subordinates, sandals crunching in the dirt, and equipment being unloaded from carts. From what she’d (unintentionally) been able to tell, they discuss their findings so far.

She keeps a wince from reaching her face and she recalls their brief meeting this morning. She only gave Toshiro a glance, keeping her eyes either on Rangiku or somewhere behind the two of them. Toshiro retained a stoic exterior, even made a few pointed comments towards Shinji like he did when her captain annoyed him, but that heaviness in his shoulders and eyes is still there. She wishes she could just wave it away, like the wind pushing the clouds across the sky overhead.

It had been over a month since the war ended. He hasn’t said anything to her, and she can’t tell of it’s because of the work they’ve had to do or because he doesn’t want to. Was he concerned for Rangiku? Was it something he didn’t think she’d understand? Would it hurt her?

She shakes her head. She repeatedly tries to tell herself it’s none of her business, but her concern and burgeoning frustration doesn’t waver. Both grow when she can sense, for only several seconds, his gaze on the side of her face.

_____________________________

He doesn’t recall anything of his time as a ‘zombie’ to the Quincy, nor does he want to.

The last thing he remembered was collapsing, his ice shattering around him. Time slowed, as in that moment he thought about how this could be the end. It certainly felt like it was. He was so weak, so very tired and hurting, but he was still awake when the shadow fell over him.

However, the old cliché he’d been told about didn’t happen. He didn’t think on or remember his past. He didn’t despair that he was dying.

He'd thought about Rangiku, dying below, with no one to help her.

He'd thought about his subordinates, who would be without a captain again.

As a darkness began to settle around the edges of his blurred vision, he thought about Momo. He’d sensed her before, she’d been far away from where he was. She reiatsu had been strong, she was all right.

He didn’t need to protect her. Yet he still wanted to see her. For the last few seconds before the darkness took over and muffled footsteps and a sickly sweet voice reach his ears, he thought about the fact he won’t be there in her future.

His next memory is of being put in the recovery tanks along with Rangiku. At the time he’d been exhausted from the procedure Mayuri had made him endure – he vaguely recalls Mayuri half sarcastically marveling, “I’m quite surprised you’re conscious right now.”

He was lifted and secured into the tank by Nemu. Mayuri had watched him, and didn’t approach until Nemu stepped aside. He’d spoken at him, but Toshiro wavered between consciousness and falling into a warmer darkness and only caught sections of his sentences.

“The tank will complete the de-zombification…Consider yourself…Lieutenant is…My procedure took…years off your lifespan, but…we’ll take you to the Palace, no doubt you will…”

And the tank lid had lowered as Toshiro bowed his head. As he drifted into unconsciousness, his mind clung to one part of what Mayuri had said.

My procedure took…years off your lifespan…

He vaguely remembered thinking he must have misheard.

He hadn't focused on it when he awoke again and left the tank, choosing instead to thank Mayuri and rush off into the fray with Rangiku. She surely heard too, but he'd kept quiet about it. He’d been truly grateful and yet, that piece of information, it lingered quietly in the back of his mind.

He’d focused on the fight against the Giant Quincy, and had to resort to using Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form. He thought only of battle strategies and ways to keep his enemy distracted from either destroying the Soul Society below or from causing further harm to those still in the area.

It's now hours after the Quincy had evaporated away, and he and Byakuya found Momo and Shinji, safe.

She's been clearly startled by his appearance. He didn't know what to expect, had never really thought about her reaction to seeing him like this, but he dislikes her being so confused and unsure. Certain there's no immediate danger in their vicinity and with Byakuya scouting the area, takes her aside to explain the Completed Form.

Shock turns recognition, and then finally to relief. He can't help but feel she same moments later when he's transformed back and she heals his injuries. It's only a few minutes later when Mayuri’s words fully hit him. From then on, he can barely look her in the eye.

_____________________________

The setting sun halos Toshiro's hair, and his shadow casts long over the rubble. He stands alone, arm folded and back facing those a short distance away, clearly lost in thought.

In different circumstances, it would’ve posed as quite the striking image for Momo; one she would be tempted to capture in either her drawings or as a photo on her denreishiki.

His subordinates walk around her, gathering up the materials and equipment they’d used. She didn’t have to interact with him at all today, and even if she did, she’s not sure how she would go about it.

Somewhere behind her, Shinji calls out for officers to help with lifting some of the ruins into carts to be cleared off. She turns to go and assist, but its hard to take her eyes off her friend. The turmoil from earlier arises. She can’t ask him what's wrong, and he won’t even look at her unless she doesn't notice. Still, she can’t leave him as is.

With a deep breath in, and then out, she walks to him.

Her steps crunch from the smaller pieces of rubble and dirt, and alert him to her approach. He half twists around to her, and it causes her to stop more than an arms length away.

“I was wondering…” She hadn’t thought about what to say. But with a light snort, she manages. “Sorry, I was wondering if you had any further plans for Higuchi-san or Takagaki-san. We need some help with clearing the wreckage into the carts.”

Toshiro blinks, as if coming out of deep thought. With a small shake of his head, he turns back to the sunset. “No, I have nothing for them. Their performance was good, if you need to know.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be sure to tell my Captain. They’re both hard workers, so that isn’t too surprising to hear.”

“I sent them with Narita to set up the rations for distribution. They should be finished by now.”

Momo swallows against the growing tightness in her throat. She gives a nod, not trusting her words, and only lingers for a few seconds more before turning to go. She wants to kick herself for not coming up with something better, something that would make her stay with him a bit longer and force him to talk with her.

She’s taken ten steps when Toshiro calls to her.

“Wait, Hinamori.”

She looks over her shoulder, squinting against the setting sun. She can’t make out his expression, but his arms now rest at his sides, and his shoulders are higher, straighter. There’s a resoluteness there, but somehow also a reluctance.

He approaches her, but stops after a few steps. He speaks lowly, and it’s hard to make out what he says. She has no choice but to come closer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said, Captain.”

The corners of his mouth fall and tighten into a scowl – not directed at her, she’s certain.

“When we’re done here, I want to discuss something with you,” he repeats. “I assume you don’t have time for today so I –”

“I do!” Momo would normally balk at her boldness – especially for interrupting someone, let alone a Captain. But it was if she’d been holding her breath on the brink of passing out, and now she was desperate to get air. “I-I’ll have time after we’re done here. We can talk.”

Toshiro had been surprised, but shifts his expression back to neutral. “It won’t take long. Let’s load those carts first and get back to Tenth Division.”

He walks past her, and for a moment, it's as if the heaviness within him lingers over her. Whatever this would be, she's both eager and dreading to know.

____________________________

“How long do Souls live for?”

Toshiro rolls his eyes. Ever since she got here, Momo had been full of questions. She’s more curious than the average Soul, wanting to know every little detail about her new world she called home. Just a few minutes ago she’d asked a range of questions about what rules she needs to follow she didn’t end up in trouble – as he answered her, it reminded him of telling Jidanbo the Rules of City for the first time.

Before he answers her current question, he kicks a small hill of snow just in front of them, sending a white spray into the care tree they stood under. “It depends. Some live for a few decades, others live for thousands of years.”

Over the many layers she wore up to her the bottom half of her face, Momo’s eyes widened in wonder. “Really? That’s such a long time.”

“Not to them,” he says. “Time here is different to the World of Living, or so I’ve heard.”

“Thousands of years…you can do so much in that time!”

She starts listing off various activities and adventures one could do for over a thousand years, all the while her eyes shone, and when a scarf loosened from around her face, it revealed her wide grin.

He doesn’t understand her glee. Was this something specific to Souls that came from the World of the Living? Humans lived far shorter lives than Souls; perhaps the idea of being able to live that long appealed to them. He’d been born in the Junrinan, he knew only this world, and from what Granny had told him, ten years here likely felt like a year in the World of the Living.

He let’s her go on and on with her list, but when she comes to an end, breathless, she says, “Do Souls know how long they’ll live for?”

He lets out a bewildered snort. “Of course not!”

“Oh…” That dampens her enthusiasm, as if he’d popped a bubble. Before he can feel any guilt, she turns her attention back to the silhouette of the Seireitei in the distance. “So, I guess this means the Shinigami in there have been alive for a long time then.”

He shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

It’s several heart beats later when her grin returns, but there’s a softness to it. “I hope we get to live for over a thousand years.”

He’s taken aback. We? Why 'we'? Why not ‘I’?

He wants to ask, but fears he’ll embarrass himself. So instead, he ponders on it in silence as she continues to admire the Seireitei’s silhouette. Did she mean it as a friend? That she saw them being in the future together?

Granny had been the only person who saw a future with him, planning their days with what items he’d have to go out and buy and what shrines or places they needed to visit together in the coming month.

Something about another seeing him in their future made bite the inside of his lip against the painful pang in his chest. Somehow, though, it also made him happy.

“What if we did?”

He hadn’t realised he’d asked the question aloud until Momo swivels her head back to him. “Hm?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“You mean if we live for over a thousand years?” He cringes inwardly as she considers. Her grin widens after a beat. “We’d have a lot to do, I’m sure of it!”

____________________________

Momo stares mutely at Toshiro, and then at some point, through him, and then into nothing. He shifts his gaze to the side, staring hard at the corner of the training room.

Just behind them, Fifth and Tenth Division officers shared a meal together in one of Tenth Division’s courtyards around a fire, chattering and laughing amongst themselves. Even in her shock, Momo ended up hearing her captain laugh loudly at one of his own jokes, but she can’t bring herself to smile or cringe.

She and Toshiro sit by the training room's entrance, mostly in the shadows. A strip of moonlight comes between them through the doorway, falling over his left foot and her folded knees. He sits half against the wall, his left knee bent and his arms resting in his lap. It would appear to some as the most relaxed he’s ever looked, but this is one of the few times she’s seen him look resigned.

He’d just recounted to her how a Quincy had taken control over him with her blood, and then how Mayuri had restored him. It had all made sense up until that point, but not what he’d just said. No, it was more like she didn’t want the sentence to be true, refused to let it be a part of what he'd already said.

She brings her gaze back to him as a small tremor runs through her hands. “I don’t understand,” she struggles to say. “What do you mean? How can you live for only three hundred more years?”

She thinks he won’t answer her, too overcome by whatever emotions rush through him. However, he takes a sharp breath in, but continues to stare off to the side. “Kurotsuchi says that’s at most, but it’s at least one hundred and fifty years. The procedure he used on me was crude by his standards, something he cobbled together while we were battling the Quincy. As a result of that and what the Quincy did to me, my lifespan has been reduced.”

“You’ve acting differently lately --” her voice catches, and her vision becomes misty “-- now I understand why.”

A quiet, strangled sound comes from Toshiro. “Matsumoto thought it was best to tell you.”

And it’s all the confirmation she needs that Rangiku is facing the same tragedy. She must have seen Momo’s dilemma that night they ate out, and decided to make things easier by encouraging Toshiro to tell her. She could cry for that alone, but she won’t; she’ll speak with her later.

She bows over, fisted hands bunching her uniform at the knees. “I-I don’t know what to say,” she laments. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

That strikes something within him. He shifts, his back fully pressing against the wall and moving his foot out of the moonlight. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and she can make out the furrow in his brow twitching and the corner of his mouth dropping into a grimace.

His gaze goes to the ceiling. “I didn’t want to say anything,” he admits. “There’s nothing I can do.”

The catch in his voice is enough to make her move over to him, coming to sit next to him, their shoulders grazing and her knee bumping up against his. She rarely sits so close to him, feeling they should maintain a small distance between them, but this felt right. And judging from his lack of comment or shrugging away, he thinks the same.

“I’m sorry for what I said at the Palace.”

He blinks and finally looks at her. “What?”

She can’t help but be a little relieved he’d forgotten her comment, but winced at having to bring it up now. “I said Hyourinmaru’s Completed Form was a glimpse into the future. How careless of me.”

He shakes his head, but still doesn’t seem to remember. “It’s fine, you weren’t to know.”

“Even so, I should have been more considerate. That form is part of your zanpakuto, not something to be joked about.”

“You were shocked by it, and we’d come out of a battle and Yhwach was defeated, it’s understandable.”

She considers, and then admits, “And we were really tired, I guess.”

That gets a huff of a humoured snort out of him, but it doesn’t reach his eyes or shape his into a faint smile.

The urge to hold his hand comes over her again. Unlike that meeting from a few weeks ago, she doesn’t resist it this time. She takes the one closest to her. It’s the one that been regrown with hojiku-zai, the original lost on the battlefield at the Fake Karkura Town. She doesn’t hold his conventionally, choosing instead to lay her hand on the underside, and her fingers loosely come between his.

She watches him tilts his head down, staring at their hands. Something soft flits over his face, something akin to being pleasantly surprised.

For not the first time, she thinks on how she never imagined all those decades ago he would lose and replace a hand. Just as she’d never imagined what they went through because of Aizen, or the battles they fought against Hollows and Quincy, or the people they’ve lost under their watch. They’d been through so much, perhaps too much for Souls their ages.

Despite the time and effort it will take to rebuild the Soul Society, she had been thinking that peace was finally going to be restored. She was going to be happy again, with her friends and subordinates. She was going to ask Toshiro out to lunches more often, and finally sit with whatever her feelings for him were. The ones she’s can’t put a name too, but feels she’s just on cusp of doing.

Had he thought about these sort of things too? About what he had been through and the future he may not have anymore? If that was the case, it’s no wonder he didn’t want to bring it up. It’s enough for one of her tears to roll out the side of her eye.

She’s quick to wipe it with her free hand, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by Toshiro.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps.

She shakes her head. “Why are you apologising? You didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, it’s not that. I didn't want to...”

He hesitates, and when he doesn’t continue, Momo finishes it for him. "Hurt me?"

He blinks, surprised she had guessed the rest. It still astounds her that he can't see the good within himself, but always in others.

"You don't need to apologise. When I saw something was bothering you, I wanted to know."

She senses there's more, a second apology he wants to make. When he doesn't, she stares straight ahead.

“We Shinigami are taught and prepared to die in battle for Humans and our friends,” she continues. “If we’re lucky, we can reach an old age with our accomplishments. Thinking about how long we'll live for is not something we're supposed to contemplate, our focus is on our duties and responsibilities. Even so, we’re not meant to die like this. You’re not meant to --”

He snorts again, and the faintest, saddest smile shapes his lips. “You’re not Reio, Hinamori,” he says, and she can imagine in another setting it would be a tease. “And even if you were, you doubt you would have the power to change this. I have accepted it's a likely possibility, and I will plan ahead accordingly. I never thought about how long I would live for --" his shoulders deflate with a shaky breath "-- and I shouldn't."

"Nothing is set in stone," she says, fiercely.

She’s always considered herself an optimist, perhaps to a fault. She remembers being more hopeful for the future when she was younger. Maybe that’s what came with growing up, you lose a little bit of hope every year, and cling to what still remains – foolishly, she suspects some think, but not her.

With a thick swallow, she lists her head up to the ceiling. “You said before that Captain Kurotsuchi was working on a way to restore your lifespan, right?”

“Yes.”

She mirrors the faint smile he'd had moments ago, but in her misty eyes there’s something less fragile. She tightens her grip on his hand. “Then let’s hope he does.”

It doesn’t dissolve his grief and cynicism -- she knows he hates leaving something he feels responsible for in the hands of others, and she can’t imagine what it must feel like to put your life in the hands of Twelfth Division’s captain. She has not words she can offer to console him or give him a new perspective of this. She has her own emotions to deal with too, ones of helplessness and a flickering hope, small but bright.

Her heart throbs when he flips his hand around and interlaces his fingers between hers in a tight grip. It's all they can do for now as a cloud passes over the moon and the laughter continues outside.

#hitsuhina #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #rangiku matsumoto #shinji hirako #bleach #fanfiction #angst #spoiler for the ending: I didn't intend it to be so bittersweet at the end (with an slight emphasis on the bitter)#but after a while it felt like the right note to end on #I may write up a small follow up that's most fluffy and shows Toshiro's determination to make the most of his life #whether that's in the short time he has or the thousand+ years he may get back once Mayuri comes up with something #because I am 100% certain he has tome to terms with it once the ten year timeskip has gone by #he doesn't like it of course but he has accepted it #and also write a follow up to explain what that 'second apology' was...👀#unless you were able to guess it in which case woo!

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lamemaster · 9 months

Text

The Prince My Sister Speaks Of

Pairing: Rog x Reader'

Summary: Rog carries within his heart these stolen pieces of you. He has loved you from the very first moment of meeting you. His affections for you, however, remain a well-kept secret.

AN: I really wanted to participate in this event. So, here's my entry.

Rog pines. He does so as his hammer shapes the seething metal, he does so as he sits in lengthy meetings. He would rather perish pining for you than witness another fate.

For a looming hardy smith, Rog's heart is nothing but the softest cotton for you. It blooms from a single glance by you and weaves itself into a thread to make a tapestry of you.

Even now as you chase after a giggling princess Idril, Rog's eyes follow your every movement. You are Lady Elenwe's sister, thus, Idril's aunt.

You had left Valinor following your sister. Rog wasn't there to witness your journey or your loss. His life had started on the shores of Middle Earth separated by seas, it was a wonder that Rog's path had somehow met yours.

You carry in you the light of Aman. The entire city of Gondolin knows of you. King Turgon's sister-in-law, who resides in the world of dreams.

A romanticist. You are a dreamer. A soul who walks the paths of Gondolin with a skip in their step, crouching among stacks of books all detailing deeds of love. During dark solitary nights when most scurry to light lamps or find comfort in their homes, you are found staring dreamily into the sky that holds all of Varda's creations.

Maybe that is the reason why King Turgon entrusts you completely with his treasured daughter.

You have looked after Princess Idril ever since your sister's death. Not even an ounce of darkness has come to the princess in your wake. It is said when the entire family grieved for Lady Elenwe's death, you were there holding on to your niece, singing her a soothing lullaby.

Rog carries within his heart these stolen pieces of you. He has loved you from the very first moment of meeting you. His affections for you, however, remain a well-kept secret.

The room pulses with an inexplicable heat, perhaps a result of the wine flowing freely among the company. King Turgon succumbed to intoxication long ago, his alcohol tolerance no match for the revelry.

Glorfindel and Ecthelion remain locked in conquest over the coveted loveseat. The others have long abandoned any attempts to intervene, letting the two elves sort out their seating dispute in their own boisterous manner.

Penlod, wisely, chose solitude over the rowdiness of the gathering, seeking refuge in this quieter corner. Meanwhile, Egalmoth has shifted his focus from the merriment to engage in what seems like profound conversations with the sapphires adorning his crown.

And then there's you — comfortably nestled on the chaise, a half-filled glass of wine cradled in your hand, your cheeks flushed from the abundant indulgence.

Yet, amid this chaotic scene, a world-altering event remains unnoticed by the intoxicated crowd. Rog, a pillar of unwavering composure, sits with unflinching poise. His back is as straight as a spear, seemingly impervious to the revelry around him. The wine in his glass ripples with the faint tremors he can barely conceal.

The epicenter of this upheaval? You. Leaning heavily against Rog, your head rests trustingly on his broad shoulder. Your hair cascades like a waterfall down his back, and the warmth of your breath skims his neck as you mumble incoherent words.

For Rog, each beat of his heart resounds louder than the clamor of his own forge. Your hushed, unintelligible utterances, so close to his ear, send ripples of both trepidation and exhilaration through him.

"She said emm she said... that I would marry a prince," your tipsy murmurs reach Rog's ears, your lips brushing temptingly close. He takes measured breaths, attempting to steady his racing heart as your ramblings persist. "Elenwe said that...," the mention of your sister stirs an involuntary twitch from Turgon even in his slumber, though you seem blissfully unaware. "but prince work in forge like Feanor did...then are you the prince? My prince?" you query, your voice a delicate melody that winds its way into Rog's very soul.

A prince...a concept so alien to him, a notion he could have never imagined. You, who were not born of royalty, now address him with a term that feels foreign yet tantalizingly sweet. As you delicately set aside your glass, Rog's world shifts. Your warmth leaves him, though the lingering sensation of your touch remains etched upon his skin.

Turning back towards him, you rise unsteadily, your hands finding purchase on his sturdy shoulders. Your bleary smile, a radiant beacon amid the haze of the room, holds a magnetic pull. Rog's lips twitch, the desire to mirror your expression warring with the taut control he maintains.

Your hands cup his rugged face, drawing his gaze into the depths of your eyes. In this intimate moment, your voice is a whisper, softer than a sigh, "Will you be my prince, Rog? Will you fulfill the prophecy my sister shared? Will you wed me?" The words hang in the air, untainted by the usual lilt of jest or the haze of inebriation. They are a genuine inquiry, vulnerable and heartfelt.

Rog's heart, once a forge that shaped the mightiest of metals, now hammers erratically within his chest. His dark eyes, a reflection of his internal turmoil, search yours for any trace of jest or illusion. But what he finds is unwavering sincerity, a truth that cuts through the haze of the evening.

From the stacked towers of your books to the winding paths of Gondolin your eyes always find him. The Lord of the house of Hammer of Wrath.

You can't help but muse about the way his eyes shine under the light of the Sun. Or how desperately you ward off elleth lingering about his forge.

These days even your darling niece, Idril finds immense joy in rushing into her father's office specifically during meetings with a certain lord. And you can't help but follow Idril with a fluttering heart.

On starry nights with no company in sight, you can't help but ask Elenwe, "Is he the one your stories spoke of?"

#the silmarillion #noldor elves #silmarillion x reader #rog #rog x reader #house of the hammer of wrath #underratedcharacterevent

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mogwaei · 1 year

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[Dragon Age: Ouroboros Codex - Precipice]

[Fen’Harel ⚔ Ouroboros]

The bad ending.

(codex text below cut)

“You are my dream. When you think yourself a nightmare, becoming or living one…remember that.”

He gripped her hand, heart lurching, “How would you stop it? If it exists within me?”

Her mouth twitched, briefly in to something forlorn, “Let our fortress protect you from it. You say I am a knight? Then you will have my sword and shield. Slip through the secret door and be free. I will follow, when I can.”

The simplicity of her answer stunned him into a silence of deep contemplation and he could only watch her walk away, returning to the camp alone. ‘A fortress to protect us from ourselves. Swords to cleave through the darkness. A secret door for the two of us.’

That night when he lay alone on his bedroll, Fen’Harel dreamed of a knight in the Fade that shattered a crumbling pillar holding the sky apart from the earth. As the heavens crashed into the land, through the chaos he witnessed the knight gather the pieces of the pillar heedless of the danger around them. Then, without looking back they secreted it away to a fortress built in a remote reach of the world. Far though the knight ran, they were pursued, for the pieces once holding apart the domains were highly sought after. He could not discern their hunters, whether they were armies mortal or mindless darkness, he knew only that they were intent on destroying their quarry in totality and finality.

Within the walls, the Knight prepared, shutting and barring all the doors and drawing up the bridges. Ghostly sentinels patrolled the battlements and he overheard talk of setting wicked traps and calling forth beasts from the Fade to guard the inside.

He felt a wrenching sorrow when at last the enemy arrived at their threshold and beat upon the walls with steel and magic. He did not know why, for any of it.

He found himself gripped by the dream as he watched the walls finally give way and the invaders flooded inside. He followed behind, through the ruined portcullis and into a wide courtyard, only to find that the shadowy invaders had come to a stop, emanating a perplexed air. He saw why.

There were no traps nor grotesque guardians. Of the sentinels there was no trace—perhaps an illusion all along.

Instead, they were greeted by frescoes adorning every surface, painted with pigments no mortal in present could possibly imagine. A thousand beautiful scenes that shifted and changed before his very eyes—mosaics made of gems and glass and stone glinting as though each piece contained its own soul. Gardens flourished all around that could only have been grown from dreams themselves.

The ache sank ever deeper, where no sword could reach as he watched the army disperse in search of the Knight and the Pillar. He seethed with anger, as they tore apart the sanctuary they had made. But he was powerless to stop them and he was filled with hate as desolation replaced beauty. Though he did not understand why they sought to capture the two, nor the enmity between the sides, he hoped the Knight and the Pillar would not be found.

After following what appeared to be the leader of the force, it seemed his hopes weren’t for naught.

They encountered a hidden door, overgrown by syl’sils. His throat constricted as the rare and fragile blooms were crushed and torn by hacking sword and clawing gauntlet.

When the door was finally revealed, only then did the hateful trespassers cease their assault.

For the secret door was already cracked open. They had escaped after all.

He treaded forward, not quite believing what he was seeing propped up against the wall, just to the side of the portal.

But before he could get a closer look, the cobblestones dropped under his next step and the dream collapsed around him.

When he woke, his cheeks were wet and he had no explanation why.

#solas #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age origins #da4 #dragon age dreadwolf #solasmance #solas x oc #digital art #illustration #artists on tumblr #solas x maordrid #otp: ouroboros #i reused a passage from my fic..still one of my favs :3 #maordrid #mogwaei arts #mogwaei ocs #I AM SO WEAK FOR THESE TWO #maelgwn

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agirlandherquill · 1 month

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Sweet Pea and Lily for the flower ask game?

let me just consult my massive array of stationery for the perfect piece of paper to respond to this - paper check, quill check, pot of ink? somehow intact, some may say more intact than my sanity, but anywho without further ado, it's time to write this so-called letter to Tumblr!

so, I'm new to ask games, incredibly new, sort of like the first petals that form on daffodils at the start of spring - in fact I'm seeing some right now as I write this (and it's fitting with not only the flower ask game, but spring itself), and since it's the start of a new month, spring has officially sprung and it's the easter holidays, why not use this perfect time to respond to this question,

alrighty for the first question we have sweet pea - what colour are your oc's eyes?

now this is a welcome invitation for a little ramble about some of my characters, because I picked every detail of their appearance for a reason - after all, who doesn't love little details that are jam-packed full of meaning?

to reiterate the cliche everyone knows and probably loathes (I personally have a love-hate relationship with it, and most cliches in existence), the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I chose the eye-colours of my characters to sort of reflect that,

so for my two ongoing novels, Ruin's Reprisal and A Deal of Daggers, the eye-colours are just as important as any other detail,

In Ruin's Reprisal we have Edeva, the main female protagonist (in the first instance of the series, she's the only one, but not for very long in the following novels), her eyes are what I described as 'cornflower-blue', a shade I found to reflect the sky moments before the sun slips away beyond the horizon, and I feel like that link to sunsets reflects Edeva's character perfectly - she's hopeful even in the darkest of moments, deep within her is a darkness created by events outside of her control, and truth be told her eyes are a shade of my favourite colour.

Fenley is Edeva's protagonistic counterpart (the red squiggly line under that informs me it isn't a word but to my mind it should be, therefore for this letter, it is) and he's her counterpart in a few other ways too - while she is hopeful he lives and breathes chaos, he resides in the dark, which is why I opted to give him grey eyes because it's a mixture of his inner darkness and her light, she brings out the better parts of him, even though he tries so desperately to hide them.

Moving onto A Deal of Daggers, we have Isolde and Reid. This paragraph is much simpler than the others because I had a much clearer reason for their eye colours: Isolde has chocolate brown eyes, simply because out of all my characters, I see her as the greatest extension of myself. Reid has green eyes because I think of him as a survivor, much like a plant, he adapts to his surroundings and he survives, no matter the risk or the cost.

And now for the latter question, Lily - what is your oc's love language?

My response for this is what some may say to be tragically simple, for almost all of my characters aforementioned, they hardly know what love is, but that isn't to say they haven't got it in them to discover it, but for the sake of providing some sort of response to this question I will refer to Reid - perhaps the only character in either of the novels who has any idea what he's doing when it comes to love, even if that love is forbidden, unrequited and fought against - mostly by himself. Reid uses words and subtle gestures as his love-language, he prefers subtlety above all else, he finds it to be the most effective, I tend to think of his approaches to love as though he is painting, one stroke, a small, meaningful stroke can make a piece, and bit by bit the painting grows, it becomes better, more beautiful. Slow but steady, so to say. Or perhaps... Slow-burn? (one of my favourite literary tropes)

and now I reach the end of my letter, a point at which I ought to sign off but I'd first like to thank you for the opportunity to ramble about my characters, and to thank everyone who reads not only this letter but every snippet, every piece of my writing, it means more than you know,

so with that, I'll be signing this off,

until the next letter,

~ A Girl and Her Quill

(p.s, I hope it's abundantly clear I have not read this through, my mind went on a ramble and I wholeheartedly went with it :) )

#writeblr #writing #creative writing

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rebelrebelwrites · 10 months

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Fic Friday! ❤️ Rebel’s Weekly Fic Recs

I'm back. 😊 A day and several weeks late, but I'm back. I've decided I'd like to keep doing these as much as I can. I hope anyone reading enjoys.

As always, this week’s recs are…

As always, please mind the tags on any recommended story for your own personal preferences.

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The Classic You’ve Heard Of But Somehow Haven’t Read Yet: About you, without you by @aylana-ryvain

What you need to know going in:

A lovely, sad, sweet one-shot written for Haladriel Week where Galadriel returns to Barad-dûr after Sauron’s defeat at the beginning of the Fourth Age. Once there, she discovers a treasure trove of trinkets crafted by The Dark Lord in the hopes that she would someday change her mind. 🥹 Another tragic instant-classic, this fic wrenches at your heart in the best way. Be ready to bookmark!

Complete, Teen

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The AU You Need to Immerse Yourself In Because, Well, Wow: Someone Taught You Wrong, Kid by @klynnvakarian

What you need to know going in:

The Western AU I never knew I needed! The VIBES in this fic, I tell you—they’re strong, and pitch-perfect. Between the dialogue and the at first tentative, blink-and-you-might-miss-it moments between Hal and Gal, which then blossoms into something that's more matter-of-fact; a frank romance that feels so fitting for this world and time and space for the two of them… it’s lovely. You’ll be swept away the same as they are. Very excited to see the final piece of it!

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter and AO3.

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The Complete But Never Forgotten Masterpiece: The Nicest Parts of Hell by @myrsinemezzo

What you need to know going in:

Eru have mercy on my soul, my unprecedented foray into dark fic continues with this gripping, dare I say insidiously enticing fic—and, as always, I mean that in the best way possible. This story settles into your psyche; making you feel just as unhinged as the characters feel. You’re probably asking yourself why, so let me get to the heart of it: the story starts with Galadriel stumbling (practically literally) into Halbrand’s arms… Only problem is, he’s her brother Fin’s boyfriend. 👀 From there, she and Halbrand start a toxic, troubling affair that is impossible to stop reading. (Same goes for this story’s sequel, which is still in progress).

Complete, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter and AO3.

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The WIP That Will Wreck You (In the Best Way): And In That Time, I Have Had Many Names by @the-manatee-hammer

What you need to know going in:

I’ve been meaning to share this fic for a long, long time, and I definitely should’ve done so sooner, so forgive me. Full disclosure: I found out about it from a friend who told me that I’d been mentioned in the notes, so again, forgive me for my slightly unbiased opinion. Regardless of how I came to it, I loved it as soon as I started reading! The story sees Halbrand still injured in the healing halls of Eregion—until Galadriel offers to help along the healing with something he’s never tried before. 👀🔥 Cue sexual healing! Spicy, intimate sexual healing, and I think the first time I encountered a virgin Sauron in fic. And hot damn, it’s hot. Unsurprisingly, Sauron is very eager to learn, and a very adept student. It’s been a while since this was updated, but still so worth checking out and subscribing to for it’s sensuality and supremely well done writing.

WIP, Explicit

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr and AO3.

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The Can’t Stop Consuming No Matter What Time It Is Fic: Stand by Me by @scriberated

What you need to know going in:

Lately I’ve been feeling some major burnout for many reasons, and for me, this fic was a balm at just the right moment! A sequel to this adorable one-shot, it’s an instantly delightful, fully-fledged romcom complete with roommates not-so-secretly pining after each other, fake dating, bed sharing, and that’s just within the first two chapters! 🤩 The premise: Hal and Gal are roommates, and after breaking up with her shitty, absent boyfriend Celeborn in the original one-shot, Hal takes care of Gal while she’s sick. This continuation sees Galadriel trying to navigate their growing closeness, finally agreeing to a trip together to visit Hal’s family—and from there, the romcom shenanigans ensue. This is another one where I can’t wait to see what comes next!

WIP, Mature

Read the story.

Follow the author on Tumblr, Twitter and AO3.

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🤩🤩🤩

Me at all these fics:

Don’t see your story on this list yet? Keyword: yet. Please don’t fret! I can only recommend so many each week, but I am always looking for more stuff to read, share, and generally shower with love, so please feel free to reply with your own fics or your pershaladronal faves. I have plenty more to recommend… ❤️

Until next week!

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blackjackkent · 5 months

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Quick little chat with Isobel, who is much more low-key than Aylin is.

"I can't believe it. I can't believe Aylin is here."

This is actually a really nice little conversation, and her VA does a lovely job with it. She just sounds very tired, and happy but worried and kind of bewildered by it all.

"And... my father. I heard what happened, what he'd become. By killing him, you set him free. You set Aylin free. And me."

"You and Aylin seem to have a lot of history. What happened?"

"A great deal, but still some of the details elude me. Ketheric Thorm is - was - my father. He raised me to serve Selune, as my mother, rest her soul, had wished. He was everything to me, all my life. When an emissary of Selune came to our little town, we were elated. Dame Aylin. Daughter of the Moonmaiden herself." She pauses, grins shyly at him. "Tell me - do you believe in love at first sight?

Hector has to think about that for a moment. In a way, it feels almost as if he has loved Karlach from the first moment he met her, but intellectually he knows it isn't true. There was a long period of wariness and caution before he realized how he felt about her, and a much longer period than that before either of them could do anything about it. "No," he says mildly with a slight smile. "But it sounds like you do."

She laughs sheepishly. "Guilty. The moment I looked at Aylin, I just knew I had to be with her. I was hers. That was it. Lucky for me, she felt the same way. But my father was skeptical. Aylin is immortal, after all." She pauses, shrugs a little. "I understand it's strange. There's an imbalance between us, certainly. But I suppose loving Aylin felt the same as loving myself. It was natural."

Hector nods slightly at that. That he can understand - the feeling of love being tied into every breath, every heartbeat. That is very much how he feels about Karlach.

"Then," Isobel goes on, "and this is where I still need answers - I died. I'm not sure how. Why. But it was all black, black, black. Next I knew, I was being jolted awake. I smelled musty air. I saw shadows. And then my father's face, so changed, so hideously warped..."

"He'd become the chosen of Myrkul," Hector says softly.

She nods sadly. "I didn't know that then. But I could see the change in him. He told me we'd be together now, said Aylin was dead. I couldn't speak, could only run. I found Last Light within the shadows. Made a shelter there. Prayed my father wouldn't find me. By the time Jaheira came, I'd pieced together just enough to know I"d been dead a hundred years. That my father was the source of the horrors plaguing this land, my home." She looks away. "I couldn't tell her who I was. I had to protect them - and myself - no matter what."

Hector refrains from telling her that Jaheira most decidedly figured it out anyway. "Understandable," he says.

She draws a breath, lets it out heavily. "It's all out in the open now. And with my father dead, I have nothing to fear. Except... for Aylin. She needs healing, rest." She reaches out to take his hand and squeeze it gently. "I'm grateful for your help - your friendship. I hope we won't intrude on your hospitality too long. But I'm grateful for a safe place to... well, just to be."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #idk what it is about the lighting over in this corner of the camp but i'm getting lots of REALLY nice shots of hector lol

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sugutoad · 5 months

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Matchup Trade for @nicosavior456!

↳ Thank you for doing Matchups at Sugutoad

Note from Anna: Hey Muiz! I’m also very excited to do this matchup trade with you. I’m not going to lie, it was hard. I was tempted to not give you Reyna at first but I just gave in as she was the best suited in my eyes.

↳ “ You’ve never seen a legion at war”

༉‧₊˚. REYNA AVILA RAMÍREZ-ARELLANO #HEALING LOVE; I won’t lie to you // i know he’s just not right for you // and you can tell me that I’m off // but I see it face // when you say he is the one that you want // and you’re spending all this time in this time in the wrong situation // and any time you it to stop; forbidden love, opposing sides, Romeo and Juliet, slow burn, helping one another find the deepest part of them, early winter mornings; collapsing in bed, cold eyes softening, scarred hands tangled in curls, each other’s anchor;settling one another, subtle nods in acknowledgment, white lies and silver tongues

༉‧₊˚. Though originally choosing Annabeth Chase with princess-like curls, you spoke on how you didn’t wish to have her so I ended up choosing Reyna. It wasn’t chosen because of your love for her but rather how you can change Reyna into her best self. Ah, Reyna's reasons for falling for Muiz? Well, let me try to put it into words for you. Reyna was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, captivated though she couldn’t entirely herself on why. From the moment she met you, there was an undeniable spark between them that set her heart ablaze, she was tempted to ignore foolish feelings. She knew how it was going to end up, it always ended the same way — a broken heart left in pieces. Firstly, your honesty was like a beacon of light for Reyna. Your sharp mind and quick wit fascinated her, and she found herself constantly engaged in deep conversations with you. Reyna would be enamoured by your kindness and compassion. You always went out of your way to help others, and your selflessness touched Reyna's heart deeply. You ignited a fire within her soul, challenging her, supporting her, and loving her unconditionally. With you by her side, Reyna felt like she could conquer the world. It is a beautiful tapestry woven with trust, respect, and an unbreakable bond.

༉‧₊˚. Your kind and assertive nature could complement Reyna's strong and determined personality. They could balance each other out, with you providing a calming presence to her and Reyna bringing a sense of strength and assertiveness within you, both searching and bringing the deepest part of one another. Both of you value honesty, which is important for a strong foundation. I doubt there is ever a miscommunication with you two, conversations are direct. Tangling your words is frustrating for the two of you, arguments rarely occurring.

༉‧₊˚. Though not originally caring for anime of any sort as she was completely busy, once figuring out your love for it, she decided to watch. More specifically, the ones that you enjoy. Late movie nights with a cup of hot chocolate, as the couple quietly discuss their opinions to one another. She would definitely let you play with her dogs, it’s like heaven to be with her. Always making sure that you are alright and commenting on your mistakes while great loyalty still exists. She is an enigma, so sweet when she is around you but a monster in battle. She will gladly punish anyone who dares to look the wrong way at the son of Demeter who stole her heart, repairing it slowly without ever realizing.

Runner Up: Annabeth Chase

#matchups #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson matchups #reyna x oc #reyna avila ramirez arellano #reyna ramirez arellano #It’s been so long since I did a proper matchup that is not a life one #Moots!#matchuos are still close fyi

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viviennelamb · 6 months

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Hi Vivienne, I subscribed to your content a while back and its changed my life! However, reading and contemplating this information is one thing. Practically applying it consistently? That's a whole different story.

I realised I've been passively consuming your writing and other likeminded creators, spiritual texts etc. As a crutch to delude myself into believing I was changing, and to stroke my spiritual ego. Reading the works of the few individuals that speak the truth about the nature of this reality is like using crack to me lol. It feels exhilarating, electric and almost illegal to read.

I'm gradually implementing meditation, prayer and service to others in my daily life, though my mind naturally gravitates towards distractions in the material world and media. There is a constant fight between my higher self and my ego and lust consciousness. I know it's not easy because if it was everyone would do it, but this hardship leads me to believe deep down I'm just not willing or ready to dissolve the ego yet, or until I'm faced with enough Karma and suffering.

I would love to know more about the 'Coldest Winter of Egotism' and if there is an aspect of divine timing in regards to self realisation.

Thanks for all that you do <3

Hello Celest,

The fact that you're reading means you're looking for something - once you have found that something you resonate with you will act or store the information for the next lifetime :) lol. Most people enjoy having passive consumers; if people improve, that means they're going to level up and leave the content creator behind. Same thing with therapists and doctors who string along their patients with decades of sessions and prescription pills so they have a cheque. The answer is simple and it's God, but people truly believe it's has to be something more complicated because they want to try everything else out first which is how we got into this mess in the first place. There is no philosophy that will help anybody but living in the Present Moment.

You can get all the information you require from God once you start meditating. The internet, as well as every other piece of technology will seem archaic as its the consciousness of the masses that makes the internet valuable and right now there's very few people to place your attention on if one actually wants Truth. There will be a day when you're done with reading intellectual takes and you'r ready to start living. Living in reality and realizing that the world is already the best movie with the greatest storylines will push you to become the lead actress instead of the egoic filler character who remains passive all her life. I naturally lost interest in the falsehoods within reality and started putting all my effort in the Game of Life which is levelling up spiritually. I'm trying to see how good I can get at my role and if I can successfully complete The Game within this lifetime.

It's difficult to remain ego-driven when I compromised and allowed some egoism to please society, but it still wasn't enough for the ignorant to let me live in peace, so I'm demolishing their treasured egos.

⚬ "A constant fight between my higher self and my ego and lust consciousness"

One thing about people working towards sainthood is that since childhood, they had no interest in the material world, due to their experiencing this Drama countless times before. To start your meditation and prayers right now, regardless of what you think they will yield, will pay off in future lifetimes.

Life is only a zero-sum game for those who waste it on materialism, but for the selfless, it's increasing bliss and an optimism that has no physical source, but rather stems from the love of God built over lifetimes prior.

Since you have found my blog I'd say you were on this path before in some manner, as it has been retained in your soul's memory which is why it feels good for you to read. That's your Soul giving you the green light to burn up your karma by remaining on this path. Do your best, but when you are finally free from egoism and ready to take action, you will be able to overturn every stone on earth to embody Truth, and nothing will be able to stop you.

⚬ Coldest Winter of Egotism

The coldest winter is when it hits you that you have never experienced true love and can never love which is the lowest depths of egotism. Many people experience this and call it depression and believe there is no point in living if they cannot love. However, they do not know that it is because they do not love God.

Notice how former drug addicts are more calm once they're saved through Jesus Christ, and they just love life? Just a sunflower seed of knowing God implants lifelong happiness in an individual. For those people during this lifetime, it's enough to have those beliefs. If they were chaste, meditated, and loved God so much that they worked to unite with God, hence becoming God through meditation, the God-Ego would be created as I explained in another post. The God-Ego is one that decimates evil, and if more people obtained God-Consciousness, the world would become the utopia everybody claims they want, which would be the most pleasant summer day.

Thank you for reading. ❤︎

#ask

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laurasimonsdaughter · 2 years

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Do you know of modern versions of deal with the devil fairytales/folktales?

Hmm, if you mean modern media inspired by those type of folktales, I’m afraid not. My interest lies with the folktales much more than modern fantasy! But if you mean “modern folktales”… Possibly my favourite fairy tale about a deal with the devil is a literary fairy tale written in 1965 by Dutch writer Godfried Bomans. I’ll try to do it justice in a retelling, it’s called The Stolen Heart:

There once was a fisherman who was rich in family but lacking in almost everything else. He and his wife lived in a little house by the sea. They had six children and one more on the way, but the fisherman barely caught enough fish to feed them all.

Since he loved them all very much it hurt him terribly to see them hungry. And one evening when he had caught even less than usual, he sighed: “If only I was able to catch more.”

“That can be arranged,” a voice behind him spoke, and the fisherman saw the voice belonged to a richly dressed nobleman who was blowing on his hands as if he was freezing cold. “Sell your soul to me and you will be rich beyond belief. All you have to do is breathe into my mouth.”

The fisherman considered this and while he did so a chill wind touched his face. “Then you are the devil,” he replied.

The nobleman stopped smiling. “Sell me your soul and you will be rich beyond belief.”

“Alright,” the fisherman relented and he did as the nobleman instructed and exhaled his breath into the mouth of the stranger. The very moment he did so he felt a coldness in his chest where his heart ought to beat. “What have you done with my heart?” he asked, frightened.

The stranger smiled. His cheeks were no longer pale. “In ten years you may see me again if you wish it, but you won’t wish it. I thank you.” And with that he jumped on his horse and rode off.

The fisherman could do nothing but roll up his nets and go home. But the net that had been empty before, now hid an oyster within the mesh, and in that oyster a giant pearl. The fisherman hurried home, but when his wife embraced him she startled because he felt cold as ice. The fisherman did not mind her, however, and told her to fetch the mayor.

He traded the pearl for a piece of land. It was a miserable little plot, but the first time the fisherman dug into the ground he found a chest full of treasure. This treasure he brought to the king and it bought him three ships, each with a crew one hundred strong. They set off in a merchant’s fleet, but tragedy struck. The fleet was destroyed in a terrible storm. Only the fisherman’s ships returned with their cargo of grain.

Now there was famine in the country, because the fleet had been lost, and the fisherman sold his cargo at ten times the price. Now he was truly rich beyond belief. He bought the royal palace to live in, because even the king had grown poor, and he sat on the sunny balcony listening to the starving people begging below. But he would give them nothing, because they could not pay.

This became too much for the King and he told the fisherman the people would die if nothing was done.

“What do I care?” the fisherman spoke. “I want for nothing.”

For the first time in his life the old king grew angry and he cried out: “You know what is wrong with you? You are heartless.”

The fisherman grew pale. “How do you know that?”

“Even a child can see it!” the king replied. “You laugh while the people starve in the street. It’s as if you’ve sold your soul to the devil.”

Now the fisherman grew as white as a sheet. “How do you know that?” he repeated.

The king startled. “You do not mean to say you truly sold your soul?”

“Yes,” the fisherman replied. “That is why I sit in the sun all day. I am cold.” And he took the king’s hand and placed it on his chest.

The king hastily drew back. It was like touching ice. The king, shaken to his core, ordered the fisherman to leave. He made a proclamation that the man who sold his soul was not to be harmed and that his leftover grain would be divided amongst the hungry.

Now everyone knew what the fisherman had done. He wandered from place to place, but everywhere the people fled from him. And no matter how much gold he offered, no one would give him bread or board. At last he remembered his wife and children and returned to his little house by the sea. Not because he loved them, but because he was hungry.

When he arrived he found his wife bent over the cradle, because their seventh child had just been born. But when she embraced him in greeting he pushed her away and when she placed her cheek against his chest she shrank back, because she felt the cold against her skin.

“So it is true,” she whispered. “And I have never believed it.”

“It is true,” the fisherman confirmed and he explained to his wife that they would never again have to worry about money and that once the people had gotten used to him, they would get whatever they wanted.

“That may be so,” his wife said. “But you no longer love me. And whatever you get, it won’t make you happy.” And she held up his newborn child to him, but all he could do was look at them both with cold eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. “That was the price.”

And so the fisherman lived with his wife and seven children, whom he no longer cared for. The youngest of them grew up strong and merry in spite of his father. When he was almost ten years old, he heard from his siblings what had happened to his father and why he was always cold and quiet. The boy grew to pity his father, so one day he went to him and said:

“Father, is it true you no longer have a heart?”

“That is true,” his father answered. “That was the price.”

“Do you not long to have it back?” the boy asked. “Do you want me to fetch it for you?”

“I don’t want anything,” his father replied. “How could I?”

“The ten years have almost passed,” his son said. “You could see him again, if you wished it.”

“How could I want or wish for anything? I have no heart for longing with.”

So the boy turned away from his father and prepared for a journey he did not know the length of. Then he hugged his siblings and kissed his mother and went to speak to his father one last time. But his father would not shake his hand or wish him well, so the boy set off to go to the devil.

He walked and walked, until he reached a place where the people told him there was a nobleman living nearby who had changed so suddenly almost ten years ago. He had always been cold and silent, but suddenly he had become cheerful and talkative. He had grown fond of children, though he had none. And of fishing, though he never worked a day in his life.

“Then he must have my father’s heart,” the boy thought and he set off towards the nobleman’s house.

On the way there he met an old woman, who greeted him kindly and asked where he was off to.

“I am going to the devil,” the boy replied.

“Is that so?” the old woman hummed. “Well, you may do so. He has no power over the innocent. But you must hurry, because tomorrow he is to set off on a journey.”

When he heard that, the boy’s own heart glowed, because tomorrow was the day he was born. The day his father lost his heart. So that had to mean that his father had wished to see the devil again after all, no matter how faintly, and that strengthened his resolve.

He reached the nobleman’s house at dawn and the devil himself opened the door when he knocked.

“Come in,” he said. “You are just in time, for I was about to go visit someone. You look quite like him.”

He led the boy into a large room filled with a rushing sound as if a hundred clocks were ticking all together. But when the boy looked around he saw rows and rows of glass cases lining the walls, each holding a heart that still beat.

“A hobby of mine,” he said carelessly. “Sit down, boy, and tell me, what can I do for you.”

But the boy did not sit. “You are the devil,” he said.

Now the devil sat down, because he knew he had met his adversary. “How do you know that?” he said softly.

“I know,” the boy said. “And I wish to know more. Who do these hearts belong to?”

Never in a million moons would the devil have answered such a question, but suddenly he felt quite weak. The father’s heart beat in his chest and he could not deny the boy.

“Ask something else,” he said.

“No. I ask this.”

The devil could not fight this strange feeling that he had never felt before. He was powerless to stop it. “Fine,” he said. “They are the hearts of the people who sold their soul to me. Now go, because you know too much already.”

“And why do you visit them again after ten years?”

“Ask something else,” he said.

“No. I ask this.”

Again the devil could not resist him. “I have to,” he replied. “After ten years they can get their hearts back, but most of them do not wish it. They have grown too used to me. Now go, because you know too much already.”

But the boy did not go and suddenly said: “Then give me my father’s heart.”

The devil grew pale. “Ask something else,” he whispered.

“No. I ask this.”

The devil looked at him in desperation. That strange, irrepressible feeling grew stronger and stronger and he could not deny this boy anything he asked for. But suddenly he had an inspiration. He reached into his chest, pulled out the father’s heart and placed it onto the table. At once he breathed a breath of relief, because the child’s hold over him had been broken. He looked at him with cold eyes and answered: “No.”

But the boy had already darted forward and snatched the heart off the table. He ran, and he ran as if he had the devil at his heels. Only he didn’t, because the devil didn’t have the heart to go after him.

So all the way home ran the boy, clutching his father’s heart, and he arrived there at nightfall.

“Father! Father!” he cried, running into the house. “I have stolen your heart!” And he placed the heart, that he had carried all the way, back into his father’s chest.

And no sooner had he done this, or the fisherman rose from his feet and wrapped his arms around his son. For the first time in ten years he looked around and saw his wife and children. Tears washed down his cheeks.

“How much you have all grown!” he wept. “And how much I love you all!”

Suddenly he felt the warmth of the flames in the hearth and he smelled the kettle boiling above it. He heard the wind whistle in the chimney and the rain ticking against the windows. Everything was new to him and everything was a delight.

He kissed his wife and he hugged his children and he took his place among them at the table and he could not stop telling them how much he loved them all.

But they do say he loved the youngest most of all. Because he had truly stolen his heart.

[Freely translated from “Het Gestolen Hart”, as published in Godfriend Bomans Groot Sprookjesboek, 1975]

#laura retells #godfried bomans #fairy tale #ask #anon

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