#[ i mean the hole itself is supposed to represent the “missing heart” of a hollow ]

[despairforme]

Ive noticed something about canon nnoitra, so hes the only hollow with a hole in his head, right? Ive suspected that this symbolized a sort of mental illness when he was human

But then i noticed in his resurrection, he can summon spare scythes from inside his wrists...

❝ Nah, havin' yer hollow hole go through yer head ain't uncommon. ❞ He wasn't the only one. There were PLENTY of others. Like Loly or Lilynette. Or Shawlong. He didn't know what the hole in his head symbolized. He didn't like the thought of it having something to do with a "mental illness", but of course --- He did think it had something to do with the eternal amount of negative thoughts he had. The reason for him becoming a Hollow had to be because of DESPAIR. Why else would that be his aspect of death? The source of his powers? And the worst type of despair was the kind your mind could bring forth. Because there was no escape from that. Nothing you could do to battle it. So yeah - maybe his hollow hole had something to do with that. He wondered if that meant that all the other Hollow with holes through their heads had similar struggles to him. Nah. No way.

❝ 'N Where ELSE would I pull 'em from? 'S 'da most convenient joint on my exo-skeleton. ❞ The outer skeleton that Nnoitra received in his Resurrection, giving him that insect motif that his Zanpakuto carried. He didn't understand what summoning scythes from his wrists had to do with anything.

Unless - maybe - they thought it had something to do with suicide. Nnoitra had tried to kill himself in the past, thanks to Nelliel. But he'd never - Ever - thought about doing it like that. To slit his wrists like a coward and bleed out. He was not a coward. He was going to die standing on his own two feet. In battle. Drawing his final breath and knowing he'd been strong to the very end. If he killed himself like a coward, that would ruin everything.

He didn't often think about how he'd died as a human. It was so long ago - 1000 years, give or take - and his human life was as alien to him as anything. He sometimes didn't feel like he'd ever even been human. Since it was so distant, it didn't much matter to him how he'd died. He knew there hadn't been a Shinigami there to lead him to Soul Society. And that SOMETHING about his death had made his soul turn hollow. Maybe he'd died from suicide. It wasn't impossible.

#[ thank you for the ask anon! ] #[ there are so many theories about what the location of a hollow hole represents 8) ] #[ i mean the hole itself is supposed to represent the “missing heart” of a hollow ] #[ - not the actual physical heart but yeah - ] #[ BUT YEAH nnoitra definitely has depression ] #[ and he's always had it ] #[ so probably as a human as well ] #[ but for me it's too modern for him to slit his wrists ] #[ don't know how much history there is about suicide way back in the days ] #[ but i just don't imagine a brave man like nnoitra killing himself like that ] #[ so for me that's a pass ] #[ i think if him summoning weapons from his wrists means anything ] #[ it's more that he draws strength from despair - ] #[ so everyone ELSE'S suicides give him power ] #[ when a human dies of despair that is given as power to nnoitra - since his aspect of death is despair ] #[ it could also symbolize him battling his deathwish ] #[ HMM IDK but i just don't see him ending his life like that ] #[ but yeah thank you for sending!! it was interesting! ] #despair for me. ╱ in character. #talking shit. ╱ answers. #the praying mantis. ╱ canon verse. #suicide mention //

[plausiblyananomaly]

Only Storybook’s Have Happy Endings

Title: Only storybook’s have happy endings

Notes: I guess you could call this a Character Study of how she might react to a certain situation. Also, This is Katelyn-focused incase you couldn’t tell. (Did I do this right I HOPE I did this right. )

Word Count: 1157 WORDS(This is the longest thing I've ever written)

Only storybooks have happy endings

 It’d be a lie to say..she wasn’t even the slightest bit hopeful when she came back. Maybe some might even say excited to return home. 15 years with no Zane, the world had to be better because of that. Without Zane here..there was nothing stopping her from coming home and telling them how much she missed her family. 

Except. That wasn’t at all what happened.

The moment the village came into view her heart sunk. It was blackened. Crumbling, deserted...empty. It felt so hollow only representing a shell of what it had once been. She couldn’t even say she was surprised. She knew Zane hadn’t been telling the truth the day she left to join the Jury. Still she hadn’t expected something like this.

Had it ever really been there? Or was it a memory made of air.

Despite the ruins, Katelyn knew her way around. It was familiar in the sense that when she saw the ruins she could see what had once been there. She could look at the market and remember the vibrant shades of blue and white, people from their stands shouting to get your attention. Kids running around narrowly avoiding crashing into each other, laughing the entire way.  

She could walk past where there once stood a blacksmith’s shop. The clanging of metal on an anvil was still close in memory, or the freshly made bread from the bakery. How on windy days the smell would blow over and mix with the smoke from the charcoal and it created a scent of its own.

Alone the house stood, empty of the familiar faces she had wanted so desperately to see.

She stopped in front of the house. It was the only one that hadn’t been burned to the ground. Maybe it was supposed to be an example, Zane would’ve been the type to do that - leaving the house of the firefist’s standing..just to show how little they could do in the village’s time of need. 

Or maybe it had been forgotten. Or they never got to it. Regardless, the house was empty now. The wood creaking under her feet, was the only noise that had been made. But truly no matter where she looked, there was nothing left. Without even realizing it she felt tears fall. What started as a silent sob, got louder, and suddenly she was no longer standing. Sitting on the floor holding herself as she sobbed. Everything she’d tried to protect was gone.

It was almost hilarious. The proud, cool, and confident “Lady Katelyn” in the middle of an empty room. Sobbing. Out of grief. Out of the fact she couldn’t control this. Out of anger. Bitterness, there were too many emotions and feelings all bubbling over to really tell. It was just one big mess. Some say that the spirit’s of the dead watch over you.

Katelyn didn’t agree. Finally picking herself back up after what felt like forever, she felt no closer to her possibly dead family. She didn’t feel calm watchful eyes, trying to whisper in her ears that she wasn’t to blame. She never would. When her mother died and she was just a little girl, she didn’t hear her say anything no matter how long she cried or asked to be closer to her. If it didn’t happen then, why would it happen now?

She breathed deeply, taking in the rooms surroundings. Her breathing was far to rapid, and slowly she counted until her heart felt into a steady rhythm. No longer beating like it was trying to force itself out of her chest. Looking around the room once more, she smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile but at least she could still smile about this. This was a goodbye after all.

All stories have to end.

Katelyn could accept the changes to the story. This was the closure she had wanted. To truth she so desperately had needed to see.  Yet, even now she felt unsettled. Tired. Vulnerable.. It wasn’t something Katelyn enjoyed. It wasn’t something that belong on a Firefist.

She was supposed to be confident, bold, strong, and smart. She was all of those things, but somehow insecurity had found its way in there. Creating cracks in the picture perfect image of a cool and collected woman.

Deep down a voice asked her if she really wanted to be all of that. If she wanted to pretend forever that she wasn’t human. That she had flaws, but that voice was much to quiet and much to weak that it only took a clenching of her fist to silence it.

Once it was silent, Katelyn stood up finally. Looking back at the village for the last time before turning around and walking away.

She walked without looking back. Finally saying goodbye

A story for another day

   Travis, might’ve been the most annoying person in the world. Katelyn had firmly decided on that. His smile seemed to bring out the worst in Katelyn, and by that she meant that it made her want to smile. She laughed with him, she talked with him.  How much longer before she fell for him? They both were tumbling further into a hole and they kept saying “Don’t get to close” all the while getting closer and closer. It was only a matter of time before he asked.

“...You’ve seemed..off ever since you went back to that Village. Did...Did something happen?”

 Travis sat with his legs crossed on the sand. He was raking his fingers through the sand searching for shells. Every once in awhile he would stumble on a poor crab and snap his hand  backwards to avoid the claws of it. The disturbed crab then digging back into the sand, while Katelyn let the silence settle on them.

“I..uh...mean you don’t have to tell me!” Travis spoke again looking at her nervously. She was worrying him by saying nothing. “Of course, that’s up to you. I just. Wanted to make sure.” Katelyn sighed, leaning back with her arms holding her head up. “..No. I just, didn’t think anyone noticed.” She choose her words carefully, focusing on the moon in the night sky. She felt like it had been so distant, and now it felt like it had happened only yesterday.

“..The village. It was gone. All of it. “

“Oh..”

“Yeah..Oh.” Katelyn laughed, bitterly. Sitting back up she looked over at him. “Soooo.... This was a good talk, let’s not do this again and i’m going to go to sleep.” Katelyn turned away from him starting to walk down the beach.

“..It’s okay..to talk Katelyn. I..just want you to know that.” Travis said almost to softly for anyone but her to hear that. She felt her confident attitude wobble, and with a nod. She kept walking. She wasn’t ready to be vulnerable today. That was a time for another day, with a story that had a happy ending.

#Katelyn #My Writing #Travis #Briefly #He's not the main focus #Travlyn if you really squint #I can't believe i wrote this much #I'M SO PROUD OF MY SELF #WOO!! #Aphmau #MCD

[trickedcoffee]

The Summer Court

The day Lily was taken, Ashleigh did not cry.

She did not wrench her dark hair out by the roots, though her scalp itched.

She did not claw the walls till her fingers were bloodied and ruined, though her hands twitched.

She did not scream until her throat was raw, though within her a flood was rising.

She placed her knife in its sheath, a pack round her shoulders and steel in her heart, and she left to reclaim what was hers.

All the village knows of the path that wends through the deepest, darkest part of the woods.

It is not a hunter’s path, for animals avoid it.

It is not a travellers’ path, for it leads nowhere that feet can tread.

Rarely – once in a dozen summers or so – one child will dare another to walk it.

The lucky do not return.

More rarely still, people come down the path, out of the woods.

Sometimes they are children, speaking in a strange accent and wearing strange clothes, asking after mothers and brothers whose names they have forgotten.

Sometimes they look like children, laugh like children, cry like children. But children do not have eyes so old.

Sometimes they are not people at all, however much they seem to smile (and they do smile), however beautiful they seem (and they are beautiful).

When the beautiful ones come, they light bonfires and pour cups overflowing and laugh, and drink, and dance all night.

When the beautiful ones come, the villagers know to lock the doors, cover the windows, douse the lights.

Lily had always loved to watch the dancers, from their house at the edge of the village. She would peek through the curtains, her face radiant with more than the fire glow, and watch all night, however much Ashleigh begged her to come to bed.

And one morning, when the sun rose on foot-flattened grass and a cold bed, there was a note tucked into Lily’s shoes.

(The dancers dance barefoot.)

And Ashleigh did not cry.

It was a summer day that midwinter dreams of. The sky was the shade of blue that forms lovers, the air hazy with the lazy heat of long summer days.

It was a relief when Ashleigh entered the dappled shade of the forest, where ancient trees fought centuries-old battles for droplets of light.

And all too soon, the path prostrated itself before her.

It was barely a path at all – only one intimately familiar with woodland would notice the cleared bracken, the pressed-down cover of leaves. The first steps along it are hard – are always the hardest – as the trees themselves seem to fight against the intrusion, unseen branches catching on one’s hair and clothes as if to say away, away.

But they relent in the face of perseverance, and Ashleigh would not be turned aside.

Even as the trees parted to allow her passage, they grew taller and thicker, darker and wilder. Their highest branches enclosed her in cool shade, their pressing trunks reminding her that it was too late to stray.

She was surprised to see hoofprints, small, freshly-trodden, in the soft mud.

(Animals avoid the path.)

And suddenly, she was not alone.

The first thing she noticed were the eyes.

The pupils were slitted like a cat’s, the colour a deep amber, and all iris. There was something in them – or rather, something missing – that belied their predatory nature.

Supporting a bare and fantastically hairy torso were the legs of a goat. From his (and he was clearly and abundantly a he) broad forehead sprouted a matching pair of curled horns.

He bowed low without removing his eyes from hers.

“Sweet lady,” he said, and his voice was like dry leaves burning in an open fire. “Whither wander you, so far from home? These woods are dead, and hunger roams.”

“My wife has been taken. I am come to bring her home.”

“Ah! Sweet lady, your voice is like a starling’s song to these old ears. Won’t you give me the name of the one so brave as to come to steal from the forest’s heart?”

“Give, I shall not. But I have no objection to your knowing it. I am called Ashleigh, and the one I seek, Lily.”

“Ashleigh,” purred the faun. “I am Willow. A pleasure.” He bowed again, low and ironically. “It’s not often that we humble forest-dwellers are graced with the pleasure of the company of your kind. And it is truly a pleasure. Allow me to offer you a boon as a token of our hospitality.”

“I’ve heard enough of the old stories to know that gifts are never without a cost.”

The faun’s laughter was like the wind shaking the treetops.

“And clever too! I like you, sweet lady. These woods are full of dangers, my honeydew guest, and even one as brave and clever as you would find the way difficult. Give me your ruby voice, and I will see that you walk this path unmolested.”

“And to return along it? With the one I seek?”

“A hard bargain, but a fair one! It shall be as you say. Before the sun sets, you and your darling wife may come and go along this path as you please.”

“Then take it, in fair trade.”

And in a moment he was on her, his hands trapping her head in a vice-like grip, claws pushing into her mouth, pulling, tearing –

And it was over. Ashleigh slumped to the ground, mouth full of blood, mind full of pain. Through her tears she could see Willow standing over her, torn piece of flesh dangling obscenely from two fingers.

He bowed, low and formal, and was gone again.

It was a few long moments before Ashleigh moved. When she did, it was to crawl to the edge of the path, to the base of a tall oak. With the knife from her belt she cut off a sliver of bark, exposing the white flesh beneath. The bark she placed into her bloodied mouth.

The bleeding flowed, then stopped. Experimentally, she tried to speak.

“Aaah…”

The sound was like the creaking of a ship, a distant tree falling, the moan of an old house in a storm.

It would do.

Perhaps out of pity, the path seemed a shade kinder to her – rocks less sharp, branches less barring. It was widening as well, slowly encroaching on the surrounding woods, losing definition as it went.

It wasn’t long before the path disappeared entirely, subsumed into a wide clearing.

Trees arched high overhead, forming a canopy through which the midday sun trickled. The air was still and oddly quiet – no birdsong, no buzzing of insects, no sigh of wind.

The clearing was dominated by a grass-covered mound, an artificial hill resembling the barrow of a long-forgotten king. Ashleigh walked clear around and over it, but could find no entrance.

She had pushed back her sleeves and was preparing to dig through the dirt with her fingers when an unfamiliar voice spoke to her.

It was female, rough, and had the firm softness of one unaccustomed to long speech.

“Why not use the front door?”

It was the faun Willow who spoke, in a voice that Ashleigh now recognised as her own, heard from without for the first time in her life.

She awkwardly formed words around her bark tongue.

“There isn’t one,” she rasped.

“You cannot see one – that isn’t the same thing at all, my brave girl.”

“You can see it?”

“I can. You could too, if those silly mortal eyes of yours weren’t getting in the way.”

“What do you mean? My eyesight is good. I can distinguish the feathers on a bird at a hundred paces.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You have mundane eyes, good only for seeing mundane things. They get in the way of what’s really there. Give them to me, and in return I will show you how to truly see.”

“What need have you for my eyes, if they are so useless?”

“I am a collector of beautiful, useless things.”

“Then take them, and keep to your promise.”

It was over quicker than it takes to tell. In a very few moments Ashleigh was curled into a ball upon the grassy hill, Willow standing triumphantly over her, bloodied fist clenched around the snatched orbs.

He held one up to his eye as if peering through a crystal.

“Stunning, just stunning… how little you mortals see, yet how brightly!”

Ashleigh moaned softly, hands covering her blood-streaked face. Willow glanced down. “Ah, of course.”

He pulled her hands away from her face and spat twice, once into each gaping socket.

The pain vanished suddenly, and the bleeding, and a light appeared in the darkness.

It was as though someone had cast a net of golden wire over her, each strand pulsing with an inner energy. All else was empty – not the blackness of night, but the void of absence.

She climbed to unsteady feet, and the tangled net swung nauseatingly.

She became aware of a hole in her vision, a sucking emptiness, a void in roughly the shape of a man.

She took a step towards it and promptly tripped.

“How am I supposed to use this?”

“I taught you how to see, the understanding is up to you.”

The air shifted, the blinding hole in her vision vanished, and she knew that she was alone once more.

The ground beneath her appeared as a latticework of light, interlocking lines of energy glowing in her mind – but so were the trees, and the sky, and the air itself, tangled into a multi-layered confusion. Navigation was impossible, or nearly so, as was recognising even the simplest of objects. One thing stood out to her – a tangled knot, a golden skein, quite nearby. It shivered as she focused on it, as if in anticipation.

Touching her face, she could feel her eyelids closed, hollow beneath. The blood on her cheeks was not yet dry.

For a long minute, she simply thought. She could not close her new eyes, but she shut out as much as she could. Eventually, an idea came to her.

“A mundane object… for mundane vision.”

She felt along the ground and chose a small, smooth pebble that fit comfortably into her palm. She rubbed it briefly on her shirt to dust off the dirt, then popped it into her left socket.

At first, she could see even less than before – a doubled vision, with dark and blurry shapes overlaid onto the bright, tangled lines. Then with a blink the world twisted and snapped together, condensing into a single image. It was almost the old way of seeing she was used to, but everything was slightly more vibrant, slightly more representative, as though touched by a painter’s brush.

Where the tangled skein of lines had been, Ashleigh now saw a double set of doors, carved from dark wood and incongruously set into the hillside.

It swung open at a touch.

The inside of the mound was far larger than it had any right to be. The first thing she was aware of was light; the second was colour. Impossibly contained within the mound was a ballroom, dazzlingly lit by candles supported by spindly, silvered stands, the walls covered with mirrors that made the true size of the room impossible to guess.

Dancers swirled in clothes of every colour. Silken dresses shone like gems, vibrant suits of jewelled tones swept across the floor. They wore animal masks and danced to crystalline music played by unseen musicians.

A slim, androgynous figure wearing black – one of the very few – bowed to her and offered her their arm. Ashleigh did not spare them so much as a glance, but brushed rudely past, leaving a somehow bemused wolf mask staring sadly after her.

She watched the dancers closely, trying to spot a familiar build, or step, or poise – but the damned things wouldn’t stop moving, and Lily would never wear such ridiculous clothes, and the reflections and the flames were distracting.

When suddenly there was a flash of a face, pale and scared and gut-wrenchingly familiar, over the shoulder of an owl, reflected in a mirror – Ashleigh whirled around, spotted the owl immediately, but none other – turning back, her wife was still there, in the mirror – in the mirror.

By the time Ashleigh pushed her war through to the glass, Lily had vanished into the mirror-crowd.

Ashleigh placed a palm against its cool surface. Ordinary glass.

At the moment of her touch, a hush fell, the room stilled. The dancers stood frozen, some on one foot, impossibly off-balance. A fox had her head thrown back, baying with silent laughter as a flute of champagne spilled its contents down the violet waistcoat of a hawk, the glass hanging motionless where it was still falling from a waiter’s tray.

But in the mirror, the dance continued.

Pressing her ear to the mirror, she could hear the whisper of conversation, laughter, music – and something else. A whisper? A scream?

Ashleigh pulled back her hand, and clenched it into a fist.

“You won’t get through like that,” came the soft, unnervingly familiar voice. She turned to find herself staring into soft, chestnut eyes.

“The trouble with you mortals is that you keep getting in your own way.”

Ashleigh pressed a hand against her reflection’s, palm to palm.

“What is the cost this time.”

Willow’s smile widened a fraction, the eyes crinkling with amusement.

“The payment and the prize are the same. That which I asked you for at our first meeting. For your name – your Christian name, bestowed through baptism. The one written in the Book of Life. I would have it.”

“Then take it, and to hell with you.”

Ashleigh’s smile was all teeth as he bowed his horns low and allowed himself to be swept away by the reanimated dancers.

________ looked into the mirror. She saw the room of dancers, the blazing candles, the lost eyes of her love. There was only one thing she could not see.

She took a breath, then a step, and entered the reflection.

It was like moving through dry water, or cool flame. The air on the other side was just cool enough that it never quite disappeared into the background. Her vision was crisp and clear, the edges of objects sharp.

Dancers still spun on this side of the glass, but slower, and in perfect silence. As she strode forwards she made no attempt to avoid them, but always they contrived to be where she was not, like passing a hand through a cloud of minnows.

And then Lily stood before her, dark eyes and dark hair.

________ reached out a hand to touch her.

There was a soft tinkle of glass as Lily shattered into a thousand pieces, shortly followed by the mirror-dancers.

Laughter came, muffled, from the other side of the glass. The faun Ashleigh stood there, hand on Lily’s shoulder.

The mirror was as hard as stone under ________’s touch. She beat her fists against it, but couldn’t create so much as a crack. And she was weakening.

“Lily,” she cried.

Lily turned her head. Her pupils were dilated and unfocused, and her eyes slid over ________’s face, and up onto Ashleigh’s.

“I… think I know you…”

His smile was wide, his eyes bright. “I am Ashleigh, your lover. I have come to take you home with me.”

“He lies,” rasped ________. “I am… I am…”

Ashleigh smiled sardonically at her through the glass.

“You are nothing. Voiceless, sightless, nameless. Who would know you? Who would love you?”

“I…”

Ashleigh sighed, almost sadly. “You are little more than a reflection now, and soon not even that. You have traded away everything you are, my sweet, and now very, very little remains.”

Already she could feel herself dissipating, her grasp on reality so tenuous that a stray wind could blow her to dust. But she wasn’t gone. not yet.

“I… am the one who speaks with a voice of oak. I am the one who sees with eyes of stone. I am self-born, self-made, self-named. I took the things cast aside, worthless and forgotten, and made them my own. I am the one who had no name, so claimed one for my own. I am Willow. And you will know me.”

Strength flowed through her, her muscles knotting like gnarled branches, her bones as hard and sharp as flint.

Willow reached out and, with a strength as inexorable as the drift of continents, pushed through the barrier, shattering the glass into shining pieces. The world snapped, and she was back in reality – she was reality, for that moment, as the initial blaze of power shone strongly through her.

(And Ashleigh smiled still.)

“Lily,” Willow rasped. “Come to me.”

“I… I don’t know you…”

Willow’s lip curled in anger.

“I do not require your understanding. Only your obedience. Now, Lily, we will return home, together.”

But Lily still shied away from her outstretched hand.

“I do not know you. And I do not know him,” she pulled away from Ashleigh, who seemed content to watch, grin never leaving his face.

“Lily…” Willow took a step towards her, but was arrested by Lily’s outstretched hand.

“I am leaving. Now. I have had my fill of the dance, and you will hold me no longer. Neither of you.”

And she was gone.

Willow became aware that the dancers had stopped and were watching her, masks tilted curiously. One by one, they all bowed or curtsied to her.

She pointed a hand towards Ashleigh, standing like a tree amid wind-bowed reeds.

“I would not have this creature in my halls.”

(It really was curious how like faces those masks could become).

But even as he disappeared beneath the tide of billowing skirts and fluttering tailcoats, his smile never faded.

#my dumb writing #writing #original writing #the summer court