#atrous

some that I've recently enjoyed: Kiss & Tell by Adib Khorram (YA), Code Red by NR Walker

forever fave series that hooked me: Riven by Roan Parrish 🔥🔥🔥

country music star: All Note Long by Annabeth Albert

woop woop preview for the next chapter in my hitsukarin fanfiction that I will update promise gais

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They landed in unison, not a single sound being emitted as their feet touched the ground with the greatest of ease, both clad in ivory cloaks that covered most of their pale faces with the exception of their eyes; endlessly searching and painfully beautiful. The male had striking turquoise eyes that darted around its surroundings as soon as his jet black boots met the snow. The petite woman was calmer in taking action, her violet eyes resting on her companion and emitting a low sigh.

“It’s not like we’re in a rush or anything, Hitsugaya-taicho. Relax.”

The man to her right grunted loudly before answering. “Who said that I was in a rush?”

“Your body language is quite easy to read, since you only have around two or three different motions that—“

The woman didn’t have any time to finish before the man gave her a glare and removed his cloak, raising his white eyebrow in dismay. “Har, har Rukia. I’m almost laughing over here.”

Rukia puffed, her slender arm hitting him lightly in the ribs before giving him a smile. “It’s funny because it’s true.”

Toushiro rolled his eyes and started walking. Somehow the solid crunch of his winter boots against the pack road snow fills the night with a relaxing atmosphere that marks their journey coming to an end; the destination soon in sight. With his ivory cloak resting on his broad shoulders, his white hair has now emerged from behind the hood and dances lightly with every breeze. He stops silently in his steps and looks back, turquoise meeting violet, said eyes staring back at him for but a moment. “You coming or not?”

She starts walking toward him as a reply and he sighs and turns his back to her, knowing she is behind him judging by the crunching being heard, the sound getting louder and nearer for each step she is taking. Toushiro looks up towards the cloudy sky and is greeted by snowflakes falling down in disarray, ending their journey in his hair and on his face, a few meeting the earth.

“Is it your doing?”

Toushiro blinks in confusion, giving Rukia a raised eyebrow as a reply who now stands shoulder to shoulder with him. Before she has time to open her mouth again, he takes pride in noticing that his frame stands a few inches taller than his companion and gives the slightest hint of a smile.

“The snow. It’s your doing, right”

His mouth opens and closes as Toushiro is unable to answer. Whenever it snows in Soul Society, it is a running gag that everyone blamed him when snow began to descend from the sky, even if it isn’t his doing—but he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t making it snow unconsciously by letting his emotions getting the best of him when he was young of age.

But every time it had been his doing, he had Hyorinmaru with him.

This time, he was alone.

Biting his lip, he ponders if it’s possible he could summon snow without his zanpakuto’s help; he’d never asked anyone else about his powers revolving snow since there was no one fitter to talk to than Hyorinmaru, and now Toushiro felt powerless and alone. Once again lifting his head to the sky, he sees the snowflakes falling but the speed is somehow slowed down, as if it’s being replayed over and over again. He sees one specific snowflake tumbling around, falling from the grey sky and he silently extends his hand and lets it fall into his open palm.

He wants to believe that it is Hyorinmaru’s doing—that he’s hearing him, seeing him, feeling him and wants to give him a sign that he’s near and that he’s okay and that they will meet again—but his thoughts falter as the snowflake melts in his pale hand.

He’d never given him a sign before, so it seems pointless to start doing it now.

Toushiro shrugs his shoulders slightly, his head tilted at Rukia before answering. “It’s just the weather.”

But as they kept walking along the road with only their footprints resting in the white snow, Toushiro hopes in his heart that it’s not.

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The thunder echoed off the dark walls with the rain thrashing against the compact windows, droplets of water falling silently down in random patterns and she can do nothing but stare because she has nothing but time. Her room is big—also gloomy and utterly boring—but the space makes her feel safe, with the stark bright walls almost resembling armor; too bad it's only a façade for everything from the fluffy pillows to the beautiful beige divan and gorgeous paintings covering the walls are only a coverage for the lie she is living.

She is a prisoner. Nothing more, nothing less.

There isn't much light in Orihime's room with the exception of one lonely lamp positioned near her nightstand, and the dim moonlight basking in the shadows of the walls and furniture. With the one source of light directed onto her frail body, Orihime whimpers. Though thunder storms aren't that much of a rarity in Hueco Mundo and she knows deep down that she has nothing to be afraid of, this one feels somehow different. She can see clearly where the lightning strikes, the lonesome trees falling victims and are electrified in an instant, a shimmering halo surrounding the timber before it withers, the black ash falling with the remnants of the wood. She pulls her ivory blanket that's tightly fitted around her body closer and snuggles into the only source of warmth she can find, emitting a sigh before turning her head away from the window and instead lets her gaze fall on the massive door to her left.

It’s going to be fine, she consoles herself over and over, but after what feels like eternity, the words eventually taste forced with just a hint of bitter. With her petite digits clenching the soft material around her body like her life depended on it—she tries not to think that it actually does—she tries to let her body relax and unwind, tries to shut out the rest of the room and just focus on the warmth slowly encircling her limbs.

A soft rumbling from her stomach brings her back to reality and Orihime bites her lip, hazel eyes darting to the clock hanging over the door. It’s late, far past midnight and emits a sigh when realizing that making a servant cook some food at this late hour is not something out of the ordinary in Las Noches. For Orihime however, it’s considered rude to wake someone from their peaceful sleep just so they can make some snacks for her—the prisoner—so she decides not to say anything and lays down on the mattress, feet tingling from the newfound warmth of the blanket.

She can’t have been sleeping for more than thirty minutes when a lightning bolt strikes awfully close to her room and white dazzling light erupts, finding its way into her room from her window and makes the room stark bright to her eyes, waking Orihime in a way she certainly didn’t find pleasurable. Swinging her pale legs across the mattress, she stands up and tries to withhold her gasps as her feet make contact with the floor that feels like ice to the touch. Ignoring the way her feet protest with each step, Orihime continues to walk forward in the direction of her wardrobe, the ivory loafers placed next to the sofa being her target. She lets out a blissful sigh as she neatly tucks in her feet and feels the warmth creep up her two feet and legs, and reaches for the robe that is folded next to them, putting it on with haste. Orihime smiles at the touch of cotton wool caressing her skin and starts walking towards the door, raising her hand and lets it linger on the silver bell proudly placed to the right. With a gentle press, her index finger touch the bell and she cannot help but smile when a machine-like voice appears through the speakers located above the door.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Throughout every word spoken there is a fragment of a human voice, lingering with the way she pronounces her sentence and Orihime can’t help but wonder what the hollow looked like when she was alive and mortal and human but quickly realizes she has yet to speak a word. “Toast with ham, garlic and cheese. And an orange juice, also.”

A pause, and then. “Confirmed. It will arrive in precisely eight minutes, seventeen seconds point twenty hundredth, ma’am. Anything else?”

For a split second, Orihime hesitates and lets her finger slip off the bell until she takes a deep breath and presses it yet again. “Yes. Send Ulquiorra in, please.”

It’s almost like she can hear the woman smile. “Of course.”

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 [first half of first chapter, done.]