#felt like writing something small

[bitchapalooza]

"Who is she?"

Zoro cracked an eye open. "Hah?" He grumbled. "You're blocking the sun, twirly brows. Move it."

Instead of receiving a remark back, Zoro got something rudely shoved in his face instead. He repelled the cook's hands away with his own. "Well? Who is she, mosshead?"

Zoro squinted his eyes, nose scrunched as he darted from the blond to the bounty poster and photograph taken back in Water 7 before their departure. Closely focusing his sleepless eyes he finally saw what the cook was talking about. He shrugged, seeing no issue in the matter.

"Franky thought it was overexposure or something when copying the film at first but then she showed up in the other photos." Zoro's gaze lazily trailed off to the railing of the Sunny, where Usopp and Luffy were fishing(but not catching a single bite—a repeat of yesterday). There an apparition sat, a girl only Zoro has been gifted to see. She relaxed on the railing next to the boys, semi translucent, an aspect about her that has always screwed with Zoro's mind, being able to see through her and all, as foggy and unclear as it is.

"You know her." Sanji boldly claimed. Zoro shut his eyes and relaxed back onto his folded arms. "She's always around you."

"Cook," The name fell from his mouth like molasses. "You implying I got a ghost girl following me around? Do you know how stupid you sound right now? Well stupider than usual..."

Sanji tsked.

'It's fine, Zoro.' The swordsman flinched as within seconds Kuina appeared in his ear. 'I think I trust these people. I don't think they would call you crazy.'

Zoro cracked one eye open to peer at the girl. The forever thirteen year old girl. Sometimes she appeared normal. Other times she had a gnarly bloody gash on her forehead. Today, though, she was normal. As healthy looking as she was before she died.

"She's here with us, isn't she?"

"Why are you so interested in the ghost girl?" Zoro grunted.

'I have a name you, ass!' Zoro ignored her outburst.

"No. She's not here. Now leave."

Kuina stamped her foot. 'Roronoa Zoro! Stop lying!'

"She's taking a ghost shit. Lose it, perv cook." He ignored the offended gasp.

"Oh shut up, moss, I know you're lying. She's here and I'm right."

Zoro shifted, his bottom feeling numb. 'Tell Sanji I wish I could eat his cooking. It looks delicious!'

Zoro rolled his eyes. He sat up and hauled himself to his feet with a grunt. "I'm not saying shit for you."

"AHA!" Sanji exclaimed a finger pointed directly at him. Luffy, Usopp, and Robin turned from their spots on the deck to the shouting chef. "I knew it! The ghost girl is here!"

'Tell him, Zoro! Tell him his food looks yummy! Dad's cooking was always so bland and boring, always something with rice. The pork cutlet he made last week was soooooo good looking, you describing it's taste made my mouth water—and I don't even have spit or an appetite anymore!'

As Kuina rambled Zoro stamped off, agitated at the attention he was suddenly getting. He just wanted a good nap in the sun, not a damn probing session.

Kuina showed up several months after she died. He had been training in the heavy rain when he saw her looking out the window, just staring. From the room that contained her sword, there she stood. For days he thought he'd just gone insane with grief and delirium, barely sleeping enough to be considered a healthy amount for a ten year old. But then one day she lashed out. Angry at her father for talking about her like that, even after she was gone. She got so mad. So so mad. In her angry state her shrine shook, vase of flowers falling, photo cracking, candle and incense blowing out. There was no wind, no earthly tremors, only a pissed off girl—Zoro believed she was real from then on. He wouldn't tell Koushirou, he just thought there was a weird isolated earthquake and didn't ask any further question. Zoro began to talk with her like normal again. While they couldn't quite train together she did give him pointers here and there, telling him how to improve his skills when before she wouldn't share anything, let the younger boy find it out himself.

'It would be nice if I could talk to people again.'

Zoro wiped the sweat from his brows with his own shirt. "You talk to me." Way too much, Zoro neglected to add.

'Other people,' Kuina clarified. 'I know I was considered a quiet kid when I was alive but sometimes it's nice to talk. It fills the silence. Makes me...'

"Feel alive again?" Kuina nodded. Zoro put the weights away and faced his friend. "Do you seriously want me to tell everyone? I mean... It's not like they'll magically be able to see or hear you."

Kuina shrugged. 'So? At least they'll know I'm here.'

Good point.

"Fine," He sighed, easily swayed, picking the weights back up for another round. "Later then. After dinner. But I'm not making it a whole thing! I'll just say you're here and get on with it!"

Kuina wasn't listening anymore. She was excitedly rambling, loudly fantasizing about the possibility of socializing with someone other than the grumpy sourpuss that is Zoro.

He could sense the soft hum of Wado Ichimonji, leaning up against the crows nest wall, gleeful just like the spirit attached.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[jasperthejester]

me: finally accepting theres a good chance im autistic and starting to work up the courage to ask my parents to see if i could get a diagnoses but being scared to

my mom: do you ever think you have adhd? if you want to do a screening for add next time your at the doctors you can

me:

[yellowocaballero]

Reading 'Solo Leveling' (a webtoon/webnovel about a guy who uses a game-like interface to level up and fight monsters and become ridiculously OP and the coolest and hottest guy in the whole wide world) really proves something to me that I've thought about.

The goal of a story is to achieve what it wants to achieve. Different genres have different certain marks the story should achieve. If it doesn't hit those marks, it's not a good example of the genre. In a lot of was it's not even a good story - it doesn't entertain the audience in the way that they want to be entertained. A romance novel isn't a bad story because it doesn't feature great action scenes, but neither is it a bad story because it doesn't delve deep into the sociopolitical implications of neocolonialism. Does it make the reader feel happy? Is it cathartic? Is there a happy ending? Then it's a good romance story - even if you think stories shouldn't need happy endings.

The 'satisfaction' of stories like Solo Leveling is the fact that is very entertaining to watch a guy be super powerful and mow down bad guys and have everybody around him go "WHOAH that's a cool guy". Maybe it's cool because you're projecting, or maybe you like great action scenes, or because you like 'underdog gets powerful' stories. It's a power fantasy. That is the goal of Solo Leveling, and so long as I'm going "WHOAH COOL", then it's a good story. And Solo Leveling is the example of the power fantasy video game dungeon OP protag. It does those elements, it executes them competently, it's a good story.

This is the third of these types of stories I've read more than 5 chapters of. The first was Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint. And baby. This is no ORV.

ORV a big reaction to Solo Levelling in a lot of ways, since Solo Levelling was very genre defining and influential, and it's hard to write these OP stories without having a relationship to Solo Leveling. It's like the most popular webtoon out there. The OP hero, the gaming interface and rules, the gods fucking you up, power fantasy - they're all checked off by ORV. It doesn't subvert them much. You watch kdj pull one over on a shmuck and you're like HEY YA BABY and you watch him utterly decimate some schmuck and you're like WHOAH COOL. You like ORV, basically, for the same reasons you like Solo Leveling. They're the same genre and in a lot of ways the same story.

But ORV has driven me nuts and after a while Solo Leveling has gotten boring. Because ORV has a fantastic supporting cast that puts the MC's OPness in relative perspective. Because there's cool action scenes with different teams, of different dynamics, giving freshness to each chapter. Because you get to see kdj slowly implement some nuts gambit of the course of the entire arc and when we finally hit the end point where it all comes together it's FUCK YEAH. I'm leaving out the actual depth here. But ORV and Solo Leveling do the same thing, except ORV has a great deal of other story elements that build into the main 'point' and escalate the satisfaction, joy, and intensity of those points. You don't read these OP hero novels for the supporting cast. You read it to watch a dude be cool. But ORV's supporting cast - and, like, the fact that they're actual characters, even the women - gives us a lot of other smaller 'hey yeah!' moments, gives it buildup, makes the OP moments meaningful, and gives a grand climax and huge satisfaction when kdj does what the SL guy did by himself. And the supporting cast is only one example of this. A story is a good story if it accomplishes its point, but a story like SL will never really deliver its promises nearly as well as ORV could. Not because ORV is deep and has """themes""" or fucked up shit like that. The 'WHOAH COOL's are just better. Because ORV knows why stories are good and what makes a good story.

Anyway I'm fucking begging you I have tears in my eyes this is why your fic needs more than the hot ship of the day I promise it won't detract from the ship it will make the ship BETTER but you have to get WHY you like these homosexuals so much and it's NOT just because they're CUTE sometimes there's OTHER REASONS THAT ARE IMPORTANT LIKE THE WOMAN YOU'VE BOOTED AND -

[cerise-on-top]

Hi!! This might be awkward because it's my first time requesting something but I'll try my best.

Could you write a Fem!Reader x Farah where the reader is a Belly Dancer?

Just them meeting and feeling a spark between them. I'm a dancer and it would mean the world to me.

Thanx in advance!

Hey there! I went a little wild with that one since I've been wanting to write something a bit more elaborate for a while now, hope you don't mind =)

Farah with a Belly-Dancer!Reader

The chill of the evening made you shiver, its breeze gently caressing your skin as though you were a lover long lost. And yet, your performance continued as the audience cheered for you. Four evenings you had been performing now, calming the minds and souls of the weary freedom fighters that battled demons each day, trying to gain their freedom from their cruel oppressors. In the darkness of the night, you danced, giving them a glimpse of hope, showing them what they’re fighting for: A future in which neither man nor woman, adult nor child, had to fear for their life. A future in which everyone was treated as equal with love and compassion. From the ashes of war, that future would arise, growing, nurtured by the community found in the broken homes of the people crying for help. You were there to remind the fighters that that was the life to be had once all of this was over.

A small celebration it was, with many having gone to bed, dreaming of green plains among which their children would play. But not you. You would dance the night away. For as long as you could move, for as long as you could improve someone’s night, you would continue to dance. Your graceful movements, paired with the drums of another, made for quite the spectacle. Although tired, the people cheered for you to continue, to entertain them with your entire being. Those fights riddled them with fear, engraving into their hearts emblems of terror, but you dulled the pain, if just for the duration of which you performed your heart out. The rewards weren’t applause, whistles and flowers being thrown at your feet, it was tomorrow. A tomorrow that was one day closer to being ideal. One day, the wars would be over, but until then you shall hold on.

And the chill of the evening almost made her shiver as well. Farah took notice of the gathering of people over at the building, convening in front of it as though offerings to praise the gods were being made. But there was no such thing, for a benevolent and kind deity would never allow this many of her brothers and sisters to fall. And yet, her curiosity betrayed her in that she turned to look at the blissful scene. As her people clapped along to the music, she felt intrigued. Who was it that brought joy in such dark times? Who would bring about such bright smiles? Who would make those soldiers feel at ease during times of war? It must have been someone, who had lost their mind, evidently. And yet, there was a sense of gratitude. Why wallow in misery, one day it will all have been worth it. One day, those uncertain times would finally be over and they could finally rebuild their cities from the rubble, that, which has been so unfairly been laid waste to.

And among that stage was something Farah would have never believed, had she not seen it with her own eyes. A trick of the dim light, perhaps. Maybe even a phantom, sent to entice her. She was strong, much more so than even her closest companions would believe, but what she saw on stage gave her a feeling of contentment. There was no certainty you were real, perhaps you were an illusion caused by her fears and worries, perhaps you were a foul demon that sought to get her off her path of righteousness. Either way, you were ethereal. The passion behind your movements was enough to convince her that you must have been some greater being. You brought cheer and happiness to the almost hopeless. Oh, how Farah wished she could have gone onto that stage, show her chivalrous side and protect you from all harm. But her mission would allow her to do so anyway.

And what you saw almost made you freeze in place. A woman, hardened by the battles she’s fought and won, but the kindness in her eyes was very much there. She was rough around the edges, she had been beaten down so many times, but she never ceased to fight, she never ceased to do what was right. For herself and the people she believed in. From below, she stared right back at you, her eyes sparkling brighter than the stars above. Although you had recognized her from hearsay, you never would have thought you would get to see her in person, much less have someone of such importance watch your performance. It was the incentive you needed, the energy boost given to you after a small break, that invigorated you. You were born anew under her gaze, a warm feeling overcoming you. And just like that, just because that woman watched you with such intent, you could continue to dance the night away.

But even as that youthful joy began to settle in your heart, you felt the urge to talk to that woman. She, who had no name you knew of so far, had captivated you in a way you couldn’t describe as you were. Perhaps the gods knew what it was you were feeling, but you, a mere mortal, lacked the understanding. And thus, as the masses slowly began to disperse, seeking the warmth of rest, you stepped off the stage for just a moment. There she was, her arms crossed, and yet she seemed approachable. With a gentle smile, she waved you over. In a world where most deities seem to leave humanity to fend for its own, why would a goddess of beauty, love and war come to call you, of all people? It was an enigma you had naught but an inkling of a reason. And yet, despite all the wars she’s fought in, she seemed to be so kind. Your heart was drawn to hers.

“Your performance was really nice.” Her voice, sweeter than sugar trapped in honey, enticed you. Her melodious voice beckoned you closer, and you followed suit.

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you. You’re the commander, right? It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Y/N.” Almost shy in your approach, but you seemed more fierce than a lion defending his own kin. Although you held no guns, you fought for your beliefs in your own ways. How admirable.

Farah may not have been a believer of destiny, thinking that one could only carve one’s own path as the world would do whatever it took to prevent one from achieving the greatest of things, but it felt as though her and you had been intertwined. Oh, what cruelly sweet fate had brought you together? What made you meet under these circumstances? But perhaps fate had brought you together for a reason?

And for the first time that evening, the both of you could finally share in the warmth of a new companionship.

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

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.

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: SUR'KESH

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Urdnot Wrex With: Lt. Steve Cortez, Dr. Mordin Solus, Major Kirrahe, and Urdnot Bakara And a Special Guest Appearance by: Adm. Steven Hackett Alliance R&D has officially begun construction on the Prothean device. The team has dubbed it: "Project Crucible". We're throwing everybody who knows how to throw a hammer at it. This is gonna be the most ambitious undertaking in human history. I'm not saying it won't be a challenge- but we can do this, Shepard. You can do this. Never doubt that. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

+BONUS (the smirk™️)

[acheronist]

giving myself a solid B+ grade overall for this month's apprentice tattooing event...... i did more last-minute appointments this time so instead of my scheduled 15, i ended up doing about 18 tattoos in total over three afternoons, and i only started getting clumsy and really mean to myself during the last three appointments on the last day. so that's pretty good i think????

[inkyclive]

Joshua supremacy 😭😭😭 I’m so soft for him. Just let me be his little princess. He can make all the rules idc

omg he’s so gorgeous and like the thing about him—at least in my opinion/my own personal interpretation—is that while he is genuinely so sweet (almost sickly so at times!) and so kindhearted and so so tender, he is also so used to being served and so used to being the Boss, the undying’s precious phoenix prince, the king of everything, and it comes out in these tiny little wisps and hints in certain interactions; a vaguely bratty comment, a gentle yet vehement assertion, a soft chuckle beneath a gloved hand……..

all of this is to say, i think he’d fucking love to have a partner who lives to serve him and be his precious lil doll (to the point where he may even feel guilty about how much he loves it, because he knows it isn’t necessarily right, but he just can’t help but feel this way about you <3). he wouldn’t push it on you, and he wouldn’t hold you back from doing things you wanted to, either, if he deems them good or beneficial for you—he’d definitely encourage you to do things if they were things you wanted to do/made you happy—but oh, to have a baby who’s syrupy sweet and devotedly doting and hangs on his every word; to have a precious lil princess who gazes up at him as if he’s painted the entire night sky by hand, speckled the stars across the atmosphere and carved out the moon himself; to have a soft sweetheart who clings to him in every way possible, hands curled around his fingers or wrists or biceps when he takes you for a walk in the gardens or when you sit down for a meal (always beside him, never across from him, protocol be damned), who snuggles in his lap or straddles his thighs and nuzzles their sugar-sweet lips against his neck or collarbone or jaw, who obediently never leaves his side unless it is absolutely necessary <33333 that sounds like a perfect dream, a paradise, to him <3

[technovillain]

everyone always says "don't make your first comic project one that you're overly attached to" for the sake of 'your big idea you're in love with is probably way more ambitious than your skill level will accommodate for' and that is a statement that i generally agree with. not me though, i'm different. /silly

i just feel like there is an alternative to that statement too which is both "you can start it anyways but just accept that later your early work will not be as good as the later work, creating a bit of a quality gap over the span of the comic" AND "the power of hyperfixating on your own characters for years at a time can make you actually do the big project so dont let the generalized advice about starting an overly ambitious project snuff the fire of your interest by making you feel like you have to wait 'until you're talented enough'. like you can always go back and re-do the old parts once you're better and that's okay. or you can leave them as a reminder of how much you've grown with your big passion project"

[fucksatan]

Thinking about a time I wrote a 7 paragraph long post analysing Walter and Skylar's relationship back in 2022 and somehow it got deleted and I was so devastated and I felt so silly and useless and I stopped posting altogether.

[fallowtail]

when you start to get a fic idea but by the time you vaguely work out what you want to do someone else has already written it 10x better and longer than what you’re capable of before you’ve even managed to start so there’s no point in doing it anymore 😭😭 being slow at everything you do is roughhhhh

[fleet-off]

A snippet from Off the Handle

(CW: minor accidental self-harm, allusions to suicide.)

His madness begins in the aftermath, when anger loosens its stranglehold and wraps him in its familiar seething caress. Vegas swipes his damp finger along the tips of the knives on the drying rack, traces their honed edges and well-oiled wooden handles.

Who the fuck puts wood in the dishwasher? Even Vegas knows better than that, and he’s more accustomed to the banalities of cleaning crusted blood from a set of pliers than he is to cleaning chili oil from a vegetable knife.

At least the focus required to handwash them has dampened the petty urge to stab them into the kitchen walls.

The bedroom door is shut, but Pete hasn’t left the apartment. As long as Pete is still here, this is fixable. Surely he’ll come out for dinner.

…If Pete skips dinner, Vegas will fucking--

Vegas flings his dish towel to the floor. It lands with an impotent flop.

He’ll fucking what? There’s no forcing Pete to eat when he doesn’t want to.

Pete’s fury shouldn’t be silent. Pete’s fury as Vegas knows it is world-ending, concussive. It batters Vegas’s brain against the inside of his skull and threatens self-immolation.

Vegas runs his thumb down the edge of his butcher’s knife.

There should be blood on the floor, he thinks. He’d feel better for it--Vegas has tidied up the consequences of arguments countless times, knows how to put his pieces back in presentable order almost by rote.

This listless limbo can’t last. Something is coming. Something has to break, to punctuate all that anger. Shattered dishes, ringing ears, bruised skin.

Life was miserably simpler, when Ba was around.

Pete’s anger these days is more like Vegas’s mother’s. Ba used to call her hysterical--but that was Ba’s way, wasn’t it? Pete--(Vegas’s grip on the knife tightens)--Pete has realer, more accurate words.

Ma took what she was given until the very moment she couldn’t. Life broke her, and so death--

A thin twist of pain teases up Vegas’s fingertip. He reacts several seconds late, with a flinch he doesn’t feel but supposes he should--because the blood is welling up from a cut in his finger and the lack of a flinch reflex isn’t adaptive anymore, it just makes Vegas a clumsy fuck-up with cooking burns on his palms.

Vegas frowns at the gash. It barely bleeds until he squeezes it open. Who needs a knife this sharp in their kitchen?

Vegas--more fool him--had thought he did, cheerfully whetting his new knives. “Sharp enough to fillet a man,” he’d told Macau, because Macau would treat it like the joke it was and feel included without having to live the truth of it.

At his corner of the counter, Pete had remained silent, his eyes glittery and dark like a spider’s. That look is habit now, emerges in Pete every time Vegas turns his sharp purpose towards feeding him. The new familiarity spins nostalgia-like in Vegas’s chest.

It isn’t his old life. It’s better.

Vegas’s stomach twists to recall that spark of ownership and joy over his space in their kitchen at the center of the world. What a short-sighted ass he’s been.

Pete wears anger like Ma did. If there is to be blood on the floor, what better means than the knives at the core of the argument?

Impotent. Worse--maker of his loved ones’ annihilation.

…He might get away with one, but Pete would notice if he wrecked all the blades.

Vegas swallows and scoops them up, a steel bouquet in his destructive hands. Self-sabotage waiting to happen. He opens the knife drawer.

It’s better-balanced without the knives in it. Neater, closer to the toothless thing Vegas never was.

His blood has smudged on one of his nice new knife handles. It feels like an omen.

Vegas closes the drawer. He’ll find a temporary home for the knives. They can order takeout, just for the next few days. As long as Pete and Macau are willing to eat, Vegas won’t let his family go hungry.

[padfootastic]

hello! here’s a lil drabble/ficlet situation about sirius being super invested in baby harry’s life, to the point he gets annoyed and jealous when he’s not immediately caught up on every little thing.

x

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”

Lily entered the dining room to an unusually confrontational scene. On one end of the table was her husband, hands held up, palms facing outward in a gesture matched by the pleading look on his face. Right across from him was Sirius, arms crossed across his chest and a severe frown on his face. In the middle, Harry was sitting with a thumb in mouth, watching his father and godfather intently. Lily was a bit surprised at how quiet he was being—usually the presence of his favorite people meant an overload of squeals and shouts and giggles.

“Padfoot—“ James began only to be cut off by Sirius’ hand swiping through the air.

“No, James, I didn’t expect this from you of all people,” he took a deep breath and Lily was startled to see the emotions play out on his face. “How could you?”

Lily decided to enter the conversation then before things could devolve any further.

“Er, what’s going on here?” In any other situation, the way in which both their heads swivelled to look at her, coupled with the surprise on their face, would’ve been comical but Lily was too distracted to care about that right now. She couldn’t even remember the last time James and Sirius had had a disagreement. Those two just didn’t do that.

Which was another issue all in itself and if she focused too long on it, it made her head hurt (how can two people who spend as much time as they do together never have any tension?? she didn’t get it, didn’t think she ever would). But for now, she had more important things to tend to.

“Well?” She asked again, seeing the expressions change on their face. James was making a face, not unlike a child who’d been caught with their hand in a biscuit jar whereas Sirius had doubled down. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a straight line, and the most stubborn expression Lily had ever seen on his face.

“We, er, that is—“ James tried, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s nothing, hon.”

Lily snorted in response. She could see Sirius staring incredulously at James and really, this was just getting weirder by the second.

“Evans,” Sirius said, curtly. She didn’t even bother correcting him knowing it was a lost cause at this point. “Will you please remind your husband that we had an understanding and I won’t stand for him breaking it as he pleases?”

“Sirius—“

Lily doesn’t let James finish his groan before cutting in. “What understanding?”

“Did you and your husband not name me Harry’s godfather for a reason?”

“…yes?”

“And does that not entail certain responsibilities and obligations on my part—“

“…Yes.”

“—as well as yours?” Sirius finished, speaking over her uncertain agreement. Now she was a bit stumped.

“Ours?” She blinked at him, wondering what he was on about. A quick glance in James’ direction showed no help from that side. Her husband had the most resigned expression of exasperation on his face, which was really saying something, considering how often he looked like that.

“But of course!” Sirius said, “You are aware that James has the mirrors, yes?” This time he didn’t even bother waiting for her to nod before continuing. “Which means instantaneous communication.” He stressed the last two words, eyes squinting and a stern wrinkle appearing on his brow.

“Si, stop being so dramatic,” James cut in. “You’re confusing the dragonshite out of Lily.”

She grimaced lightly. “Very elegantly put, darling.” Her dear, dear husband only sent her a cheeky wink in return.

“Fine,” Sirius sneered. “Let me ask you this, then.” He pointed one long, pale finger in her direction, her eyebrows raising at the attempt at intimidation.

“Is it or is it not true that Harry, my godson, crawled on his bum across the living room exactly eight days and three hours ago as of right now?”

She opened her mouth to say—not sure what, exactly, but something. Before she could, though, Sirius had already cut in with an overemphasised, “And. Is it or is it not true that James, once my dearest friend—“

“Once?” James yelped.

“—and you, fellow co-wife—“

“You can’t be serious right now,” James groaned, clearly distressed if he wasn’t considering his egregious word choice.

“—did not even bother to use aforementioned mirror to inform me, post-haste?” Sirius finished dramatically, with the air of someone throwing down the gauntlet. He stared at them with a ridiculous air of triumph around him, daring them to disagree.

Lily could only stare in bemused disbelief at her husband’s best friend, nay, brother. One of her closest friends in his own right. Someone who, by all accounts, was incredibly smart and articulate.

Perhaps his bloodline was making more of an appearance here?

“He really has gone off his rocker, hasn’t he, Lils?” James’ spoke what she dared not say out loud. “Should’ve considered this before putting him in charge of the sprog.”

The words had the intended effect. In front of her wide eyes, Sirius basically puffed up in outrage, reminding her terribly of a charm-dried duck. He leaned forward to wrap a possessive arm around Harry, as if James could’ve been anything but joking and they’d take his precious godchild away from him, keeping him plastered to his chest. Harry, for his part, was as overjoyed as ever. He happily wrapped his chubby fingers around two of Sirius’ and prompt tried to insert the whole thing in his mouth, drooling and chewing gummily.

And Sirius, who was notorious for not even deigning to shake hands with strangers (and on one unavoidable occasion, had actually cast a cleaning charm on his palm the moment they’d stepped back from the handshake), someone who applied three different kinds of purifying charms on anything before using it, barely even spared a glance in his direction beyond pressing a kiss to his crown.

“Well, nothing for it then,” Sirius sniffed, nose slightly in the air in a way that reminded Lily entirely too much of Narcissa Black—not that Sirius would appreciate the comparison, of course. “I’m afraid I must take my godson out and away from this dishonourable institution then.”

And in front of both the Potters’ disbelieving eyes, Sirius actually swept out of the room with their child happily lounging in his arms, neither of them looking back even once.

“James…”

He made an answering squeak, still looking at the doorway through which Harry had basically been kidnapped by an over zealous godfather.

“What just happened?”

Her only response was the sound of his head landing on the table with a thunk.

[yeyayeya]

I’m back! Well, not necessarily, but I’m on the road back home. I am mentally exhausted, but my break back in Mexico was fun! I won’t exactly get back to posting normally, but I will in a few days

[pyrriax]

hi utopia :] hrrmm what can i ask you. what’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written

hi scooter!! thats a tough question, ooo.....

in terms of true fanfic, i'd have to say thats asomatous . that fic absolutely reconstructed how i go about writing, since it really just turned out Right.

but, if i bend it a little to include some of my more. original-but-still-inherently-fannish works, then i mean. i have to point to where the dust settles (which i swear im working on its not abandoned ive just been plagued by terralith)