#she was brutally stabbed and then left to die in the cold on her own

[nellygwyn]

I feel like I'm going insane reading all the terrible information coming out of the currently on-going trial of the alleged murderers of Brianna Ghey, a transgender teenager who was murdered here in the UK several months ago, some of the most bleak shit imaginable, allegations of months and months of attempts to poison Brianna (and then finally resorting to stabbing her multiple times), very explicit transphobia in a lot of the leaked transcripts (including Boy X, the male teenage alleged murderer, writing that he wanted to see if Brianna screamed like a man or a woman) juxtaposed against TERFs and general transphobes rushing like vultures to a rotting carcass to "correct" journalists who are using she/her pronouns for Brianna, turning themselves inside out to try and make excuses for murder (I know a lot of autistic people fyi, and they don't horrifically murder trans people or anyone lol), and making sure to remind everyone that the killing had nothing to do with transphobia (because it was never explictly charged as a hate crime), not at all, the alleged murderers of Brianna were just looking for some rando to kill. Like.....are you all collectively hallucinating a scenario where YOU look like the morally decent people in a situation where you are bending over backwards to diminish the brutal death of a 16 year old? Even if it could be proved 100% that transphobia played no part in Brianna's death, you still look like freaks. Seriously.

If you can even make the horrific murder of a teenager all about you and your foulness, you are very very sick.

[londonfog-chan]

Emperor Geta x Barbarian!Reader: Free Will Sacrifice

Jesus H Tapdancing Motherfucking Christ. Here we go.

Big, huge shoutout to @eddiemunsonmash for beta reading the clown shoes snippet I had written of Geta falling for a masochistic pseudo-viking, in a time where the vikings didn’t even exist yet.

Look, I love the idea of being a concubine as much as the next person, but I also want to be a gladiator secretly. Like a battered, tired warrior draped in silk holding a sword whose retirement consists of getting dominated on occasion by her insane emperor boyfie. Just two deeply, weirdly fucked up individuals being nasty is all I ask.

Gimme a break here, alright? I like to pretend that Geta thinks he can dominate anyone, meanwhile his partner can foist him over her shoulders and launch him into the sun.

Content Warnings: 18+ Only, Fem!Reader, Elements of power imbalance, dom/sub sadomasochism shenanigans that would not pass a vibe check under normal circumstances, slapping, choking, unprotected p in v, dirty deeds done dirt cheap by two fucked up individuals, you can fix him she can chase him with a knife to humble him, breeding kink

Summary: The northern barbarian allows the emperor to believe he is able to make her tame.

****

“ Soon we will be gone

A free will sacrifice

As free men we are born

And free we shall die “ - Amon Amarth

****

“No gods… no masters…”

A stinging backhand struck across your cheek and jerked your head to the side, a headache coming as your head was already bobbing listlessly up and down from the incessant pounding assault from below. The thrusts of his hips were brutal, erratic. You knew the taste of coppery sanguine from his rings splitting your lip wide open.

This was of course by design, purely by your own allowance. Should you want to, you could just as easily regain control of him, but you allowed Geta to take his pleasure as if overtaken by rut.

And you loved every minute of the pain he inflicted in a desperate bid for domination.

“You will not speak of gods or masters. You will only speak of me! You are mine, and mine alone. Now say it. To whom do you belong?”

Parched lips split into a wide grin. You knew then that among all the things he tolerated about you, he would never tolerate your flagrant disregard for authority, nor your atheistic views.

Cockhead stabbing at your cervix, he drilled into you as though he was a farmer armed with an aratrum, determined to sow the seeds of his bastards inside you. In a frenzied moment of madness, you hoped one would take. Even if it left you gravid and vulnerable.

To be used and manhandled as per your consent was the first stroke of indulgence you had experienced in this place. Such was an indulgence not to be overlooked. It was a blessing. A kindness.

Such kindness was foreign to you in this land. To Rome you were an aberration — the northern barbarian— your foreign blood was meant to be proffered as libation to the gods, your body merely altar bread to be thrown into the colosseum for the rats to consume.

Yet Geta saw in you something more.

By some twisted miracle of fate, you snatched freedom out of the hands of desperate half-starved men; they who were unused to the sting of hunger deep in their bellies stood no chance against your determination to survive. What was suffering to you? Nothing more than an itch of an insect bite. Meaningless. Worth less than, because, at the very least, the itch of the bite was acknowledged with a scratch. When nursed by clansmen in the piercing gales blowing across the glacier’s barren face, the only thing that mattered was the struggle.

Struggle to overcome the cold.

To survive to see each morning sun, shining against the blue ice and snow.

You did survive. Using a blade made strong from the bones of your ancestors, you cleaved that freedom from the enemies of the Romans to choose this life.

The co-emperor had asked what you wanted with this new found freedom. Despite the fact that you were a woman missing your lower lip, and plagued with blindness of one eye, Geta had offered you a choice. No law existed for free women, only free men were expected to live to tell the tale of their colosseum victory, living lower than the slaves in Rome’s underbelly.

Geta’s cruelty would have sealed your fate had you been taken under different circumstances. Aberrant conquests were plucked out specifically as offerings to Caracalla, lesser goods bestowed to his lesser brother to be ejaculated in and on. Had you not shown your ability as the strongest fighter the colosseum had known, Geta would have given you to his brother on a silver platter.

Yet he worried about you beating his poor, weak minded sibling into bloody pap with nothing but fists. Poor, simpering little Caracalla would never stand a chance before you castrated him in a blind rage.

Admittedly, Geta was intimidated himself. It took six men to hold back your berserker strength, and you did not calm down until a blade was held to your throat. He did not expect anything less than for you to ask for a seat as a general, to demand a place in his army barracks. He would have given it freely too. Anything to keep you out of the streets where the senate feared you would begin a massacre of the people in bitter vengeance for your capture.

In your northern tongue, you made one request, translated by a warrior — frightened army fodder— who just so happened to know your language.

You wanted Him.

You wanted Geta.

“Sire, the barbarian… She says she is the sword forged in the ashes of her kin. She is the war bringer, the northern wind that can cripple the Roman empire. She is the free will that defies the hand of the gods… Her only request is that she wishes to take whoever she so chooses to bed — for this night and all the nights after, and she has chosen you.”

Any lesser man would have laughed. Made light of the wish. Geta’s generals had laughed. Hard. Teasing and baiting the mutilated free woman who had the audacity to lust for the glimmering, golden perfection of the co-emperor.

But the emperor’s genitals had other motives, and instantly sprung to life at the mere mention of the request.

You saw it. Trying to maintain your composure, you turned your head to face his arousal with your eagle eye.

A desireable length. Uncut, favoring to the left.

Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you called to the emperor, like a man catcalling a prostitute.

Geta’s erect penis tented under the deep indigo of his toga picta when he heard this click. A primal response to a primitive call.

A call to he who looked into your one good eye, and saw passionate fire burning in your iris.

You knew he was yours from that moment on.

“Tame me…” you had told him, words translated by the frightened warrior, “Make me docile… Take me on the ground in the way that the animals do.”

His amber eyes darkened.

He would make you tame, and take you on the ground on all fours, like the animals took their mates.

You would become concubina to the co-emperor. Just as you asked.

“You will not defy me with your silence, heathen!”

The emperor hissed into your ear through clenched teeth, his shaking body bringing you out of an orgasmic trance as he ceased jerking you back and forth, spearing you on his length.

“I am your master, your commander, your ruler. Say it.” He demanded.

“You are… my Geta-…” you began.

The emperor’s hand lashed at your cheek once again. Harder. With purpose. His fingers tangled into your knotted hair as he yanked your head back. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you in place as he looked into your one good eye. You would not be permitted to use such affectionate familiarity while in the throes of being taken like a beast.

“No… you will address me as your emperor.” he hissed.

He leaned forward. Warm, boozy breath against your skin. Hot, dripping wet tongue lathing in your ear canal.

“I am your emperor, not ‘your Geta’. I am your ruler, your master… your commander... I alone will decide whether or not you are to live, or to die. Now say it. Say it, heathen of the north.”

“Mu… my G…”

It almost slipped out on accident. Pure reflex and poor command of the Roman tongue made you seem incompetent in his eyes. You could see his ring adorned hand ball into a fist in warning, could already taste the golden bands even though they were nowhere near you yet.

You decided enough was enough. You needed more. You needed to take your pleasure, aching and throbbing with need around his cock shaft.

“My Emperor…” you whispered, the word foreign on your tongue as you mispronounced it.

Geta’s body stilled.

My Emperor…

It had come out of your mouth all wrong, mispronounced and uncertain. But to him, it was a start. Something to be worked with. His fingers loosened in your hair, hand moving to cup your neck, a gentle touch as he throbbed inside you.

“Again…” he murmured, voice soft and commanding.

“My Emperor…”

In a single fluid movement you contracted around him, his eyes nearly fluttering shut as his brow wrinkled. Geta was holding back, the moan catching in his throat as he remained stoic.

“Say it again…” he said, voice strained, “Sweet siren, sing your song once more…!”

“My Emperor… Princeps… Augustus… Imperator…”

When he heard these titles, you felt his heart thrash against your back. In a frenzied stutter his hips began moving involuntarily, utterly captivated in his rhythmic dance of taking pleasure. You responded in kind. Mouth open, tongue lolling out to catch the warm, wine tinged saliva he spit into your mouth.

“Again…!” He croaked.

This time, he held back no shameful sound of lovemaking. His voice was cracked, thrusts becoming erratic as he pumped in and out, pace quickening with anticipation. Low, tantalizing bleats of erotic mania escaped from his ruddy lips. One ringed hand wrapped around your thick neck, squeezing the breath from you with one hand as the other was coated in slick spit, fully intent on either slapping your firm buttocks or your face. Whatever was more convenient depending on your answer.

He would not abate his abuse until you said it again. Would not allow you the sweet release of climax until you screamed his name to the heavens, to the gods you didn’t believe in, to all of Rome should he have commanded it.

“Princeps…!” You keened.

And you were rewarded. Two moistened fingers, vigorously creating friction against your clitoral hood.

His title left your mouth in a wail as you sprayed his sheets with the aftermaths of ecstasy.

“Imperator… Imperator…!”

[suguru-getos]

fractures // geto suguru x f!reader // chapter 4

links: part 1 / part 2 / part 3

story summary: being a monkey is the norm except when you're captured by geto sama because he needs money from your parents. however, you may just have to suffer a little extra because of the forced thinking about the right and wrongs... you're putting him through. the affection you’re forcing him through…

chapter summary: only five more days left to finally be able to leave the geto estate, however with an environment so brutal & scathing… the reader is slowly losing her will to keep going, and her hopes with it.

warnings: depressed reader, geto is being a cunty bitch as always (but hes softened a teensy bit if you squint), trying to provide the resder comfort in his own way. degradation. not beta’d by me i’m a lazy ass bitch :33

you sat lonesome, devastated & absolutely crushed below the shower. the way the cold water drenched your hair, every hit of it against your skin reminding you of the fact that you were alive, still alive unfortunately. and will be alive, until geto suguru gets what he’s promised. the money. its been close to an hour and your skin has started to wrinkle apart, you are so lost in your thoughts that your mind forgets to register how cold you feel with the shivering. the white marble flooring of the bathroom against your bare bottom & the soles of your feet a constant reminder of the coldness.

“y/n.” a voice echoed from outside the expensive glassed sliding door of the bathroom. it sounds like a fake echo amidst the stormy thoughts you’re battling.

“Y/N!” the voice snapped louder, and you jerked at the shocking bellow. flinching and getting pulled from your mind to what’s real. “yes?” you answered meekly, getting up on your now wobbly feet with how long you had been sitting the same and twisting the shower nozzle to stop.

“just checking if you had died.” manami’s voice scoffs from outside the door, footsteps walking away from you and sounding delightfully fainter.

you want to kill everyone & yourself. these people were so beyond powerful that you didn’t know humans could… do that.

begrudgingly, passionately hatefully, you got up and wandered to wear clothes and apply any cream that could soothe your now dry & angry skin. that’s when you see the girls.

mimiko & nanako, peeking through the door and humming. “you are pretty.” one of them smiles, “shame you’re nothing but a monkey.” she pouted, the one with brown, whiskey-kin hair. you blink, unsure how to respond to something that sounded awfully unclear. “what do you mean when you say monkey?” you asked, sighing.

the girls invited themselves in, putting your food beside you. “geto sama wants you to eat.” the raven haired little girl numbly reiterated. you nodded, unsure why they respected the monster so much. then again, you also think he is insanely kind to everyone but you. oh how fun.

“funny he didn’t bring me an animal bowl since he called me a mutt.” you scoffed, you know the life within you brimming and enflamed could one day kill you. maybe it should. oh no… you’re starting to feel depressed. why else do you think so frequently that you should rather fucking die?

“mimiko, nanako, you both are excused.” the velvety hum of geto’s voice from the entrance of your door echoed. it sent instant chill in your spine, the color of blood & fear mingled into the reminding dark red that oozed from the word ‘monkey’. the girls listened to him as if he was all they ever had. conflicting, the tender tone he used for those teenagers was conflicting.

he walks in, hands in front with the gojo-gesa making him look even more majestic than he is. he is tall, bigger than you, and his cologne is perfect. you wondered if he dresses like this to hide the real him. the rotten, unemotional, sadistic bastard.

“did you like sleeping on the floor yesterday?” he hums, clearly in a mood to stab your barely healed psyche wounds. “yes, it was comfortable. i’m sure sleeping on the bed must have been quite uncomfortable.” your sarcasm is biting, you haven’t had a good sleep thanks to him. “get used to it, little mutt.” he shrugs, “get used to it until your pathetic parents can gather the money they are demanded.”

you sigh, right. money… “i am.” the fight within you is flickery, and you never know what might rub geto the wrong way & suddenly your whole body is chopped up. “you clean up bearable.” geto hums again, his eyes flickering towards how devastatingly gorgeous you look post shower.

“i know.” you respond again, waiting, bracing. he is here to hurt you anyway. he’s doing that everyday ever since you’re here. “the girls brought you food, eat.” he sounds demanding suddenly, breaking the chain of your vile overthinking.

“is it poisoned?” you snarkily replied. rolling your eyes. you have come to the delusional conclusion that this “geto” person wouldn’t kill you. until he has the money that is… that is the sole reason why your mouth hasn’t stopped.

suguru’s gaze almost softens, you look pale, having lost a lot of blood. he remembers how bruised your skin looked, and you look like you have easily lost a few pounds. he has come to a conclusion that he doesn’t like damaged goods. even when he’s returning them. that is a much better explaination than the other one that meekly whispers to his heart: he has a soft spot for a fucking monkey!

“it’s not. i am fully capable of stuffing that useless mouth full.” he answers, equal bite to his tone. oh his words scathe and burn you, but they do the same to him. they feel like branding on his skin. especially when the light in your eyes fades a little more at his sentences. you hesitantly take a bite, then another… and another. you didn’t know you were ‘this’ hungry, because you could swear the plates are finished in a few minutes. suguru feels a motherly joy upon seeing you like this, before he forcibly snaps himself out. “five more days, then you’re a free girl.” he hums, wanting to see the excitement in your eyes of finally ridding yourself off of him. to his surprise, there was none.

“if i am alive by then.” you hummed, there was no malice in your words, no ill-intent, no insight to piss him off. that’s what HURTS him. it feels like the wrath of a thousand suns is coming for him. you actually… feel that you wouldn’t survive.

for you, its because you want to give up. maybe kill yourself, maybe let him kill you. the idea of a ‘life’ after this whole ordeal seems draining. it would take so much to heal from it; and you’re becoming more and more unsure with every passing day.

suguru gets up, glancing your way once more. you are torturing him just by breathing. “if you had one last wish, what would it be?” he asks, partially to see any emotion apart from the numb on your face. be it fear.

you looked at him, “that you don’t tell my parents i’m dead. tell them i escaped & wouldn’t return.”

he widens his eyes, the frog in his throat unbearably tight. he clears his throat to sound the same distinct monotonous, unkind tone. “they should be happy their daughter is dead if you were to… stop… breathing.” he has to strain the last two words out of him. his jaw tightening.

“a-after all, what use are you to them? you are giving them stress while they try to collect money for you. to save you. and here you are, so okay with your demise.” there is a questionable vigor in his tone. as if he’s trying his best to stop you from killing yourself. “the only reason you’re still alive is because they promised the money.” and… not because suguru can’t bring himself to kill you. yeah, that’s it.

tears sting your eyes, your heart feels heavy. you don’t want to die either… you’re just tired god damn it! “what’s your full name?” you asked him, trying to deviate from the topic.

suguru is taken aback at that change, why do you want to know more about him? “geto suguru.” he hums, responding rather conceited.

“during sunset.” he begins again, unsure why he’s saying what he’s about to say. kicking himself for it. “the gardens… look exceptionally beautiful.”

you raised a brow, curiosity brinming within your bones. “if you don’t wish to die even one bit, a walk might help.” he gets up with that, leaving for the exit. before doing so, he stands at the entrance, “should you want to be a good daughter who is at least breathing when she meets her parents, i would be there in the gardens too. an unwelcomed and imposed company.”

you don’t have an answer to that. except a sigh of relief when he leaves, he didn’t hurt you today… until now. how relieving…

what you don’t know is geto is leaned against that very door, replaying this conversation over and over in his head like a stuck tape-recorder. almost choking at the way you were. maybe he needs to get back at it, killing annoying monkeys. that… should help?

[wisteriasymphony]

Chilocorus stigma - The Twice Stabbed Ladybeetle

Stigmata. She stands seven feet tall—built like a statue, dressed like a gladiator. Not a single muscle or patch of skin on her body is unmarred by scars or wounds, and even some that are days old still bleed fresh. That's what her power comes from, so she says: The spilling of blood. The essence of life.

Stigmata has never been all that creative or intelligent, and she will tell you this readily. She is meant to look just as smart and well-spoken as she is meant to look kind and caring... In the sense that she is the furthest from it. There has only been one area in which she considers herself knowledgeable, and that is how to hurt people. Mentally, physically. She scoffs at the idea that she could be anything further. Being the most violent holder of the Ladybug Miraculous isn't a point of pride to her, really, but it is a point of distinction, and she can stand by that.

You ask for her to demonstrate her powers, and she directs you to the largest wound on her body. Two open stab wounds on the left side of her stomach, overlapping circles almost like a bite. They opened up her first battle, and she tells you they will never close and never clot. She sticks a hand into the flesh wound easily, digging around in her own flesh. ....She pulls out a small spear, its handle marbled with red and black like old flesh. She really means it when she says her power comes from blood, from life—It takes from hers. Every weapon could carve minutes, days, even years off her lifespan, and yet she pulls anyways. Stigmata never planned on living long, never even expected herself to still be standing—That's what made her such a perfect holder, she says. The self-sacrifice. The violent martyrdom.

You ask where her earrings are—she points to her hands. Two large nails puncture though the center of her palms, the bruised discoloration around them only hidden by more blood. The dots on the nail heads—two red overlapping circles against a backdrop of black—are almost confused as rust at first. You ask if they hurt, and Stigmata laughs, loud and deep and unladylike. Nothing about it isn't painful, and that's why she does it.

Stigmata draws out another weapon, one she calls her signature: A scythe. The process takes much longer, and Stigmata grunts and heaves as she fights her own flesh to retrieve it, blood spraying out and spilling over the ground, soaking into her nails and between her fingers. You realize that one day, she might go to pull out a weapon and die on the spot. Does that run through her mind every moment she goes to draw her own blood? Perhaps it's just routine, and she no longer thinks about it. If the armament is her flesh and blood, then she is merely an extension of that... If the weapon is her, then she is the original weapon. Used by something far greater than what she knows or cares to know.

The scythe is long and metallic, in shades of dark reds and blacks. To you, it reminds you of farmers. With little else to defend themselves, humble country folk would use their farming tools to protect themselves. Scythes, pitchforks, grass hooks. A scythe is the people's weapon. To her, it reminds her of teeth. A large, bloodied fang that, much like her tusks, sticks out obscenely. Teeth are the weapons of animals, how a lesser being might defend itself just as its predator might go in for the kill. A scythe is brutality.

Stigmata. She stands seven feet tall—built like a statue, dressed like a gladiator. Her hair fans out on her neck, and her eyes are dark and cold. Through blood, she creates.

[wolfoftheblackflames]

Hi guys, thanks so much for the reblogs and likes on my fanfics! Here's my own Sinner Oc her name is Kerryn and this is her backstory. Enjoy!

She's a sinner with the potential to become an overlord, who died via a huge explosion she caused taking vengeance on some big wig assholes who tortured her little brother for fun, and burned the house she lived in with her mother still inside. She showed remorse for her actions choosing to die in said explosion when she saw innocents getting killed in the crossfire chaos.

Kerryn is supposed to resemble a dragon which in most terms is wrath and chaos, but has big wings much like a valkyrie due to her killing out of vengeance. Her main power includes explosive magic which can cause massive damage if unchecked.

Kerryn when alive used to live in Chicago with her parents and little brother Brom, but an accident occurred forcing the family to flee to Moose Jaw. This accident involved her father Jaeger when he brutalized a woman in the woods and fed his dark primal cannibal urges. He would often beat Kerryn's kind hearted mother Johanna, however when he found Kerryn trying to stop him, he went after the children, Kerryn stepped up to protect her family and stabbed her father in the chest, her eyes losing their innocent shine as this was the beginning of her damning her soul at the age of seven.

Finally free from his abuse the family fled to Moose Jaw, living in a small run down home for awhile, with Johanna recovering and the family starving, Kerryn used her small yet speedy body to steal food from places plus money from people to pay the rent. Her mother, unable to work due to injury, became a sex worker, prowling among the streets if it meant her children were fed. Kerryn snuck into her local junkyard to train since she had to protect her mother and little brother now, becoming a fast and hard hitting street fighter as a result.

Kerryn, now seventeen and ready to fight with her five foot seven frame, managed to take down guys that were bigger than her when they tried to start shit. She had no warmth in her eyes. They had become colder and dull with each fight, which she left her attackers begging for mercy at the end of it. Kerryn held no interest in love or sex for anyone, her human skin pale but often coated with grime, her brown hair short to keep others from pulling it in a fight, and her clothes almost ragged with a rotten old shirt and pants to keep her warm. Her soft, innocent brown eyes had become stern and fierce with several scars littering her lean built frame.

She was known as “The Dragon” or “Draco” for her fierce prowess as she was often mistaken for a man due to how she always kept her soft sounding voice quiet.

However, a fateful encounter turned her living hell into somewhat bearable. Kerryn was out with her mask on ready to steal to help her family, she managed to sneak into one of her targets homes, a big wig man named Mortes, what she didn't expect however was that the man had a daughter her age. At first, Kerryn crept around while the guards patrolled the halls, keeping hidden and quiet, until she ducked into a room that had the daughter inside. The girl was afraid as one of the guards was attempting to assault her. Kerryn then stabbed the man’s neck, ending his life with a quick jab and carefully tossing his corpse out the window.

Brown cold eyes met innocent, scared greenish blue. At first, the daughter was afraid but then realized Kerryn did it to save her, causing her small shaking frame to calm down a little. Reminded of her little brother, Kerryn softens and goes over only to lightly pet the other teen on the head and whisper comforting words to the other girl.

It was because of that event Kerryn had for the first time a friend to call her own, slowly becoming softer and kind. The daughter she later learned was named Hazel and had been sickly her entire life. The two bonded in the small room with Hazel bringing some of that innocence back to the cold emptiness that had become Kerryn's heart as it had been trying to come out more around her family, her treasure.

Hazel had started to become a part of the treasure hoard as Kerryn kept coming back to her, The Dragon had finally found peace in those slender arms, and a warm gaze with her own warmth bursting out like an explosion. Awkward yet brave, Kerryn told Hazel about this strange new feeling burning inside and that she liked it only for the smaller five foot teen to reply she felt the same way and gave her a soft peck to the cheek.

It was later Hazel realized she was damned. She was having feelings for another woman, straying far from her Father's Christian teachings. Kerryn tried to comfort her but was caught by Mortes, who looked furious. It became a scuffle as the older man tried to rip the two apart, however when Kerryn was beaten down, Hazel shook and tried to stop her father only to make the man slip out the window and impale himself on the fence spike below.

Hazel froze and started to shake. Kerryn, despite having a bloody nose, rushed over and held Hazel close. “You can't stay here… You have to go.” Those words rang in Kerryn's head, but the other girl replied with a soft pleading. “Come with me then.”

Hazel sobbed but winced her chest, hurting again. “I can't. Otherwise, I would.” Her voice was strained as she looked around for her medicine but stopped. “Please let me just lay here with you. That's all I want.”

That night, Kerryn watched her first ever love kill and then be punished for it, falling into death's embrace. She knew Hazel had a weak heart, but once footsteps were heard and Kerryn was found, her back turned to the man that was Hazel's Uncle. She left behind the body she wished she could've taken with her.

This spurred the brother of Mortes, Francis to hunt Kerryn down, taking glee in making her suffer, first with the fire that killed the mother, and then second with an explosion that killed the little brother. Kerryn broke and stormed the place, littering it with explosives, her heart torn in pieces, her mind rushing with wrath and pride. Pride to be the one to take down her family's killer and wrath because of the vengeance she brought down.

[phoenixduelist]

He was never afraid of her, although she had given him plenty reasons well before this. Including impaling his ship, setting tar on fire and fencing between the flames to get her swords back. It sparked curiosity, a moment lost in thought of what made such enormous difference. But a promise was a promise, and she never lied. Her right moved to unsheath the dagger, he will die either way. At least she makes it faster-

Eyes immediately snapped down at the intense pressure around trained but still delicate bones, so focused on it that she didn't even flinch at the hand on her throat. Nor cared about it. Her life worth nothing to her, unlike her hands. A different setting flashed in her mind, damp darkness. Iron grips, searing pain, shattered bones, ripped burned flesh ; all of its agony rekindled, returning as a vengeful ghost at the grip. Her heart rhythm is irregular again. It can't, it can't ! It will not.

Head slowly raised to meet Edward's glare, but no analyzing insults were hissed anymore. No cold snap back that no, he won't. After all, her left hand was still free, both him and a weapon was within reach and that's all she needed. Instead suffocating silence followed and she allowed him to see her pupils engulf her iris, the remaining green blazing like twin sun eclipses surrounding the deep abyss gates of Hell. Allowed him to see what she truly is. Any lesser man would've dropped to their knees, apologizing desperately at those words. But she wasn't lesser and most importantly, she was no man.

Her own grip in his hair still steady, wordlessly she tightened her hold even more and closed the distance with a vicious full force headbutt. The reaction from her only a deeper breath, now that she could and before the Kraken could recover, the Devil immediately delivered a brutal left hook with all of her weight behind the ferocious punch.

Roughly gathering the half or even barely unconscious man from the floor by the silver waves of hair, lifting him enough to mercilessly slam her knee into his face while simultaneously pushing him into the way of the movement. She felt his nose break upon impact. She let him drop back to the floor without care.

Her right still held the dagger. Her body halted in mid motion, just before the blade could slide between ribs and finish. There was already so much blood. She...didn't do that? At least not yet- Edward. His unwillingness. His stubbornness. And then...then something happened. Edward. He needed to, she needed him to come with her.

Memories slowly arranging themselves in her fragmented mind to form a picture meanwhile she was still frozen in position, millimeters away from delivering a fatal stab. Rozália decided to sheath the dagger, standing from the crouched position. Her head was splitting, her mind still unable to decide whenever her right hand still hurt the way it did, she needed to get him to Pest as soon as she could- she howled; deep, resonating and guttural, something inhuman.

An eyebrow raised at the piss poor attempts, worry still rising within steadily at the amount of blood she already lost so much

“Longer I stand here, more likely Izzy will think I also gutted you.” and she wasn't looking for that fight exactly now. Hand still outstretched to pull him up, until she realized...she couldn't. Not because she wasn't strong enough physically, but his stubbornness added chaining weights. He was bleeding out and she was failing-

Rozália seemed to have the ability of making lights look dimmer, to feel as if the whole world was closing in when she slipped into the darkest parts of her minds to touch the root of insanity, of something resembling to ancient evil.

“I'll word it differently then.” worry gone, replaced by grit and icy half smile

“You aren't going to bleed out.” with that, dexterous hand tangled in his wavy locks, curling into a fist and pulling strong enough to hurt

“And want to know why? Because I don't let you die, not like this. If you die, it will be by MY hand, not by random lowlife nobody who got lucky because you're getting sloppy. That glory won't be ripped away from me.” an another tug upwards, closer to the snarling maw

“Stand up, let my doctor handle you or you want me to be done playing already and slit your throat?” vicious emerald eyes trailed to where the jugular should be hidden by the beard “And before you can snark out ‘You wouldn't’: you already underestimated me three times. Three is the Hungarian truth and the fourth is the encore.”

“What will it be Edward? Live for an another adventure or perish here like this? Without a worthy finish to your legend you spent a life building and takes one wrong word to bury it.”

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[headinthestaticsky]

The Dusk Calls for me: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 15 FINALE

AUTHORS NOTES: This is a long one folks... hope you like it.

 ALL THE CHARACTERS IN TWILIGHT DO NOT BELONG TO ME! ALL RIGHTS GO TO STEPHENIE MEYER!

WARNINGS: Violence

“Before you slip into unconsciousness I'd like to have another kiss Another flashing chance at bliss Another kiss, another kiss.” 

Crystal Ship by: The Doors.

POV: BELLA’S

I slowly opened the ballet studio doors, I peaked around each side of the room before entering. It was quiet, and I didn’t see mom anywhere the entire room was void of people. 

“BELLA? BELLA? WHERE ARE YOU!?!”

I knew it, I knew Fleur was wrong... mom was here!

“MOM?”

“BELLA!”

“I’m coming mom!”

I ran to the end of the studio and opened the door, my heart sunk into my stomach... It was a TV, of an old home video mom took of me when I was a kid.

“Oh there you are! What are you doing in here?” My mom said.

“Mommy, I suck.” I said back to her, she gasp.

“You do not suck!”

I heard a laugh, it was deep, my blood had run cold, I knew who that voice was. My breath had started to stutter, but I face him. His body was imprinted on every mirror in the room.

“That’s my favorite part... You were a stubborn child weren’t you? Hmm?” James walked up to me, he petted the side of my head before pushing me against a wall.

“S-she’s not even here.”

“No.” He pushed his face closer to mine, breathing me in.

“I’m sorry... but you really made things too easy for me... so to make it up to you. I’m going to make a little film of our time together. I stole this from your house... I hope you don’t mind. And... action. Oh, this will just break Edward little heart.” 

I glanced up, I thought my mind was deceiving me... I saw Fleur, she was holding a rock in her hands. She brought her finger up to her lips and silently shushed me.

“Ed-Edward has NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS.” I said, I pushed myself up but I was pushed right back against the wall.

“Oh but he does, his rage will make for a much more interesting sport than his feeble attempt to protect you... and let’s continue.

“HEY!” 

James turned around, before he could say anything a rock was thrown right at his head. His skin had a slight crack in it... he looked pissed. When he turned back around to me I sprayed him in the eyes with my pepper spray. I took off Fleur waiting for me halfway in the room. She grabbed my hand and made a rush to the door but James jumped right in front of us. He grabbed me and threw me into a glass podium. He then turned toward Fleur, a deadly look was in his eyes.

“BELLA!” She screamed.

POV CHANGE: Fleur

All the fear had left my body as soon as I saw him... it was as if adrenaline had taken over me. I threw that rock with all my might, hoping to damage him in someway. I saw the slightest crack on him, and I got him to divert his attention toward me for a second. Bella and I then ran for the door but James got in our way. He threw Bella into a glass podium and then turned around to face me. The fear still didn’t enter my being, I was beginning to wonder if I had a death wish at this point. Before I could react James grabbed me by the back of my hair and turned me around to face the mirror. He slammed my head into the floor. He lifted my head back up and made my look at my now bloody appearance in the mirror.

“Jasper... he is just as pathetic as Edward... he left you this, fragile, idiotic human... He didn’t have the strength to turn you. You make this hunt much more...fun.” He licked the side of my head, drinking my blood in the process.

“You think your so amazing? I’ve seen the way you hunt and track people... It’s mediocre at best.” I spat back out, I could hear Bella groaning in pain in the background.

“How have you seen me? If I sensed you were there I would’ve eaten you up too.”

“I’ve had dreams, I was in that slut of your’s body Victoria... I saw how you hunted, it’s pathetic.”

“...You’re lying...”

“Oh yeah... does this sound familiar to you?”

“It’s always the same, inane questions. Who are you?” 

“What do you want?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“James... let’s not play with our food.”

“How in the hell could you be able to do that...You’re human, nothing more, nothing less.” James said, his grip tightened on my hair, he teeth were clinched. He was seething in pure anger.

“That doesn’t matter...” I said my dark brown eyes glaring back up at him through the mirror.

“All I know is Jasper is going to kick your ASS!”

James dragged me away from the mirror, bringing me to Bella.  He then set the camera down and grabbed both of our legs. Breaking them instantly Bella had started to scream but I held it.

“It doesn’t hurt...nothing is cracking... nothing has broken.... I will not give him that satisfaction of him knowing he hurt me.” I thought.

“Tell them how much it hurts.... tell them to avenge you!”

“NO EDWARD DON’T”

“That means you too...tell poor ol’ Jasper how much it hurts.”

I didn’t budge, he then let go of Bella’s leg and grabbed both of mine, He hurled me threw me through one of the mirrors. A large piece of glass was impaled into my side he then dragged my through the glass, my back getting cut along the way. He then dropped me  and turned to go back to Bella but before he could someone had knocked him out of the way. I then heard a bang against one of the mirrors.

“You got here first... because your fast than the others... but not stronger.” James said.

“I’m strong enough to kill you!” He then kicked James back, I couldn’t tell where though. The room was starting to spin, It felt like I was floating. I could tell who it was though it was Edward, he looked between Bella and I not knowing who to go to. He turned his head to me before muttering a “I’m sorry Fleur” to me. 

This was it, I was going to die here...Edward was going to take Bella and leave me here. I saw him jump up in the air toward a window but James had grabbed him and drug him and Bella back down to the ground. I was gasping at this point, the pain and loss of blood was starting to take it’s toll on me. I heard Bella scream in extreme pain, I knew James had bitten her right then and there. I couldn’t even say anything, I had blacked out. Muffled screams and voices had come into my sense of hearing. I woke up after being shaken by someone.

“Hey, hey, darlin, look at me. You’re going to be fine.”

“J-jasper?” I said... I didn’t recognize my own voice, it was weak and frail.

“Yeah, it’s me... you need to stay awake for me okay? C’mon let me see those beautiful eyes huh?” 

My eyes opened slightly I could see the blurry image of a fire with Alice, Dean and Emmett fighting for something to go in it. I felt a gigantic pressure on my side and hissed. I began to fade out again.

“Hey, hey... c’mon keep your eyes open... you have to stay awake! You can’t forget about what you told me in your room that night... 

I weakly grabbed his hand, squeezing as tight as I could.

“Jazz, y-you need t-to go... my blood, you can’t be comfortable right now. He ignored me and continued in on his rant

You told me you’d live... that no matter how much you got hurt... you would live, you would still be human. You can’t break you promise on me now... you need to stay awake. Fleur? FLEUR!”

My world faded to black again, the sound I heard was the beeping of a machine, it smelt like I was in a hospital. My eyes twitched and I heard rustling on the side of the room.

“Petal? Are you waking up?” It was my dad’s voice... relief filled my body, he was okay. I finally opened my eyes, they were burned by the bright fluorescent lights in the room.

“Dad?”

“Hey petal, you feeling okay?”

I tried to sit up but, a stinging sensation on my side made me lay back down.

“I’ve been better.”

“When I got the call from Jasper, my heart dropped... I didn’t think I would ever see you again.” Dad said, he grabbed my hand and held it tightly.

“I’m here... just a little beaten up right now.”

“Jasper has been here ever since you came in, he hasn’t eaten or drunken anything... in 3 days. I’ve tried to get him to eat something but he would budge. You picked a good one Petal, I’ve never seen so much dedication for someone before.”

“So, you aren’t mad at him?”

“Not at all, Edward on the other hand... he needs some work.”

“A lot of work you mean.”

He chuckled 

“Yeah, you got that right.”

“Is Bella okay?”

“Yeah she’s fine... she told me what happened. She said you were chasing her down a flight of stairs in the hotel  when she tripped dragging you down with her... and then you both went through a window! Do you remember any of this?” 

“Nope, none at all.”

“They said you lost a lot of blood due to a piece of glass stabbing you on the side, it was close to hitting the side of your lung. You got stitches over there.”

“Oh, that explains the pain then.”

“Yeah...”

“I can’t wait to go home... I miss it there... and I miss my bed too.”

“The rooms ready for you Petal.”

The hospital room door opened, we both looked up and saw Renee looking in on us.

“She wants to see you.” She then closed the door behind her, not even acknowledging me.

“Well I see she hasn’t changed much.”

“Yeah... not at all.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with her dad.” 

He turned and looked at me, and then he smiled.

“It’s worth it for you.”

“I love you dad.”

“I love you too.” He then left, leaving me alone in the hospital room with Jasper.

“Hey Jazz.”

“Hi Darlin.”

I opened my arms, inviting him in for a hug. He accepted the invitation immediately.

“I’m so happy to hear your voice again love.” We pulled apart, now facing each other.

“I’m happy to be alive, to be able to see you again. Did you guys get James?”

“Yeah, we got him, boy you should’ve seen Emmett and Dean... they were brutal.”

“I couldn’t of imagined how you felt... I’m sure my blood made you uncomfortable too.”

“You’re the one in the hospital bed... and you’re worrying about me? You did the same thing in the studio. You told me to leave, that you didn’t want me to be uncomfortable around all your blood. You are something special my love, purely amazing.”

“Of course I worry about you Jazz...I love you.”

“I love you too Darlin.”

TIMESKIP: Two week later.

Getting back to Forks was amazing, I never thought I would be so happy to see that small town again. The first week back was rough, I could hardly move, the pain was unbearable at times. The second week was a lot better but, Bella and I haven’t talked much since our fight. The tension was back... and I knew I couldn’t trust her anymore. She was too selfish, too self absorbed, she would risk me and everyone around her just to save herself and Edward. Rosalie and Alice visited me whenever they could and today, the were helping me get ready for prom. I didn’t think I would be able to go but, the pain in my side was nothing more than a annoying throb.

“You guys really don’t have to do this you know...” 

“Yes we do, besides I picked out the dress and I want to see you wear it.” Rosalie said.

“I’ve always wanted to do your makeup and hair... and since I’m here, you can’t stop me now!” Alice exclaimed.

“Alright, alright, make me beautiful!”

A few moments had passed and my make up and hair were done, I was impressed. They really knew what they were doing. I quickly changed into my dress, this was the most beautiful I had felt in the past 2 weeks.

“You look beautiful.” Rosalie said, she looked at me through the mirror, a smile was on her face.”

“You better go, Jasper’s waiting downstairs with Charlie...”

“Okay, okay, thank you guys.”

We all three hooked arms with each other and made our way downstairs. Jasper and Dad sat up walking toward the stairs, they both smiled at me.

“You look gorgeous.” Jasper said.

“Thank you, you look great. Just ignore the cast... it’s a lot...”

Jasper wrapped his arm gingerly around my waist and kissed my cheek.

“You two have have fun, stay safe.” Dad said.

“We will dad.” 

Rosalie, Alice, Jasper and I all made our way outside, Emmett and Dean were waiting for us. 

The drive was nice, it gave me a sense f peace after everything that had happened to me. I wish I could keep this feeling this forever, I felt safe, loved. Jasper had helped me out of the car and guided me through the front of the building. We got our pictures taken and made our way inside... it was a bit chaotic. I looked around and saw Angela and Eric, she looked at me and waved happily. I of course, returned the gesture. I then saw Jessica with Mike, she was posing and taking pictures. When she saw me I gave her a thumbs and mouthed,”You look incredible.” She mouthed back, “you do too!” 

“Come with me, love.” I heard Jasper say, he pulled my attention back to him.

I he pulled me towards the outside of the building, it was secluded. The lights from the inside and the gazebo gave it and warming glow. He turned to face me and grabbed my hands. He pulled my on top of his feet and then began to dance.

“This isn’t how I exactly envisioned this moment but, the one part I knew would happen is still here.” I said.

“And what would that be?”

“That I’d be dancing with you.”

“Looking you over, and you don’t know my name yet.

By the time you looked away I already knew I couldn’t fake it.

I got this need for you, forming in my beating heart.

I knew the meaning right away, when only yesterday were worlds apart.”

“I’m glad I got to be apart of it with you.” Jasper said

“I do too, the happiness you’ve made me feel, is always the best I’ve ever felt.”

“You brought me back to life, love.”

“And you brought even more life to me.”

“I think I may love you, 

If you give my sometime,

Maybe you’ll love me too.”

“I got this need for you, if you come closer I can whisper in your ear.

And if you wanna walk away 

I’ll tell you all the things I know you’d wanna hear.”

“You know... I was talking with Edward he told me some things about Bella.” Jasper said.

“What would that be?”

“Bella is in desperate need to become a vampire now.”

“Wow...”

“So I wanted to ask you... are you in desperate need to become one too?”

“ I mean... I would love to spend eternity with you but... it’s way too soon for me to change. I’m not ready to leave dad yet...”

“That’s a relief to here love.”

“If I were to get changed so soon... It would have to be because I’m about to die... I won’t do it any other way.”

“I promise I won’t change you unless I absolutely have too.”

“I’ll come closer,

To you if you

Come over

I know we’ll go farther

Farther with you

With you I’m in warm water swimming down.”

“I love you Jasper Hale.”

“I love you Fleur Swan.”

“With you I’m in warm water swimming down.”

Warm Water by, BANKS.

END OF BOOK 1

[veliseraptor]

been a bit since 150 words meme and since I’m having a fuck of a time focusing and self-motivating still apparently...well, external help it is

send me up to three of the numbers below and I’ll write 150 words in the designated project

1. “You have a very dim view of the world,” Xiao Xingchen said. 

“I’m right about it.” 

“Hm,” Xiao Xingchen said, and then, “I suppose it doesn’t change anything that I saved your life.”

“That’s you,” Xue Yang said bluntly. “And if you’d known who I was right off, don’t pretend you wouldn’t’ve left me right there.”

Xiao Xingchen’s expression flickered, then steadied. “I did know,” he said. “I brought you here anyway.” (the backyard is full of bones)

2. He fumbled to get the door open and bolted. He didn’t stop until he was on the sidewalk outside, breathing in deep gulps of night air. His heart was pounding and there were weird shivers running up and down his spine, like chills from a fever.

He made it halfway home on the bus before his head started to clear, though even then he still felt shaky and strange, a little like he’d just been sick, or fainted. That was also when he realized that he’d left his coat on the floor of Xue Yang’s apartment. Xue Yang’s apartment, which he’d just run out of, like an idiot, after a blowjob and a handjob.

He put his face in his hands only to discover that his fingers still smelled like sex. (Redux)

3. His injuries were not minor. If Xiao Xingchen hadn’t found him when he had, within the day he probably would have died. He wasn’t at risk of that anymore, but the damage to his leg had cut through the muscle almost to the bone, the stab wound through his shoulder had only narrowly missed piercing anything life-threatening or crippling, and at least four of his ribs were broken from what, as far as Xiao Xingchen could tell, a truly brutal beating.

“Oh, yeah,” the stranger said casually, when he asked. “Pretty spectacular. You’d think I’d dishonored their mothers, or something, how hard they were going at it.” 

He sounded almost amused. As though it was something funny. 

(Xiao Xingchen didn’t find it entertaining at all. He knew that some people dealt with their pain by making light of it, but it still seemed wrong to be quite so cavalier about an attempt on your life.) (Bedrest)

4. “You killed the Chang Clan,” she said. Swallowed, and added, “all of them.” If she thought about that too much it made her feel sick and shivery, so she didn’t. It was cowardice, but it was a cowardice she allowed herself. 

“Yeah,” Xue Yang said. “Everyone there, anyway, I guess one of them survived.” And now his voice was a little different, too. A little harder, a little colder. Still casual, though, as if he was indifferent to all that death.

“Why?” 

It was like watching a door close behind his eyes, rendering them suddenly opaque. The curve of his mouth dropped out of a smile and then pulled back into one that was sharper, meaner. 

“He asked that too,” Xue Yang said. “Your didi.”

Jiang Yanli didn’t think she needed to ask which. “He did?” 

“Mmhm. Only one. Thought that was kind of funny that no one else was even a little curious.” He laughed, sharp like his smile, and Jiang Yanli felt a little as though she was swimming in a lake full of things with very sharp teeth. (this world is gonna break your heart)

5. He did end up having to listen to Xue Yang loudly and thoroughly working Xiao Xingchen over until close to midnight, and couldn’t decide if he was being teased or being punished. 

“Hope we didn’t keep you up,” Xue Yang said the next morning, with a shark’s grin as Xiao Xingchen quickly tried to bury his face in his mug, and Song Lan decided it was almost certainly teased. (heel, stay)

6. Xue Yang cracked his neck to one side and paused, curling one hand around the pouch that held Xiao Xingchen, suddenly wondering if there was any chance that being around this much saturated resentment might be bad for him. 

No. He should be well insulated where he was. Safe. 

Shaking off the brief prickles of unease, Xue Yang moved on. The ground here had been cleared, sort of, but he didn’t have to look far to see the places where bones still lay barely covered by thin grass and brambles. (a symphony for the departed)

7. The evil thing was going to bring Xiao Xingchen back.

That was what he said, anyway. A-Qing knew it was something he could do, hypothetically. I’ve done it before, he said. I’ve raised plenty of corpses and one conscious one so there’s no reason I can’t do it again. 

She should run. Xiao Xingchen had wanted her to. But Xiao Xingchen was gone and her only chance of getting him back, maybe, was the bastard himself. Xue Yang. (the people are gone and the place is empty)

8. Song Lan gestured at Xue Yang’s right shoulder. Xue Yang let out a bark of laughter. “Are you asking if I’m okay? That’s sweet.”

Song Lan felt his face twitch and controlled it before it turned into a scowl. He stared at Xue Yang, waiting, hoping that he would read it - correctly - as his expecting a response. 

“I’m fine,” Xue Yang said, tone turning snappish. “I’ve taken worse than one angry fierce corpse throwing me around a little.”

Song Lan felt a strange twist of discomfort. For a split second it crept into his mind that Xue Yang was badly wounded and functionally his prisoner. He was still dangerous, even with their tentative truce Song Lan didn’t trust him.

But Xue Yang had just helped him, even if it was his fault Song Lan needed it in the first place. There is punishment, and there is cruelty.

What would Xingchen think to see you now? 

The pang of guilt was gone even more swiftly than it had appeared, though it left a sour aftertaste. (Walking Far From Home)

9. He moved back to give Xiao Xingchen a little space - he’d probably wake up upset, after all, and Xue Yang didn’t want him to do anything he’d feel bad about later. Sat down at the table, folded his arms and rested his chin on them, settling in to wait. His eyes fixed on Xiao Xingchen’s chest moving up-down, up-down. 

It’d been a near miss. He hadn’t expected Xiao Xingchen would pull something that stupid. 

But it’d worked out okay. And everything would be fine now. (xxc survives and it isn’t fine)

10. “What’s your name?” he asked, a sudden shiver of fear running through him. “I don’t remember-”

“Yeah, that’d be because I never told you,” his friend’s voice said after a very brief pause. 

“You didn’t?” Xiao Xingchen said. That seemed odd. Wouldn’t he have asked? He supposed if someone had been reluctant to tell him then he wouldn’t want to press - but if they were friends… 

“It’d be great,” his friend said after a more lengthy pause, “if you told me that you were playing dumb about now.”

“I’m not,” Xiao Xingchen said immediately, though his stomach was sinking. 

“Yeah,” his friend said. “I figured. Unfortunately. Fuck.” (xiao xingchen + concussion)

11. “I told you,” Lan Wangji said. “I would give you rest.”

“Enlightenment,” Wei Ying sneered, and laughed, high and cold. “It’s always the same story with you, isn’t it? ‘Come back to Gusu, Wei Ying. Let me play music for you, Wei Ying. Let me fix you.’” 

The mockery stung him more than he expected. He had told himself that he’d be prepared for cruelty, but hearing it aloud in Wei Ying’s voice, however altered, however much he knew that angry ghosts were not the same as the people they had been in life–

It cut toward the heart of his own regrets. What he knew of his own shortcomings, meticulously catalogued over three years in an icy cave, and now spat back at him from the person he’d failed. (the fair and the brave and the good must die)

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Four

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(

in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.

***

Nesta, 14

Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.

When she needs to go away, she comes here.

Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.

It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.

She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.

She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.

Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.

“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.

She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.

Nesta freezes.

“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”

Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.

All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”

They weren't supposed to be here this early—

Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.

“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.

Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”

Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.

Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.

Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”

Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.

“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”

There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”

A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”

From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.

Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”

“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”

He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.

Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”

Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”

Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”

Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”

She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.

He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”

“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.

Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.

Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”

Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.

Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.

Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…

He falls asleep waiting.

***

Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.

She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.

Cassian: please eat.

Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.

It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.

Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.

During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.

After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”

Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”

Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.

***

Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.

Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.

Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.

She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.

A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.

A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”

Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.

A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”

She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”

A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”

That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.

“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”

Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”

“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”

Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.

Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?

“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”

If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.

“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.

After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.

Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.

In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.

Her eyes flutter shut.

“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”

Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.

“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”

It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”

A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”

His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.

The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.

Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”

“Don't call me that.”

He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”

“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.

“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”

“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”

“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”

“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”

Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.

It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”

“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.

“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”

“No.”

“I already made an appointment.”

“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.

“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”

“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?

Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.

“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”

“No.”

“DO IT!”

In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.

“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”

An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”

“Nesta.”

“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”

“Nest—”

“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”

“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”

Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.

He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”

He’s confused. “Fine, what?”

“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.

Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.

He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?

***

a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx

[whump-town]

Without A Word

Hotch sits with Emily right after her death.

She spends every Saturday night on his couch, tangled in his unusually long limbs and the blanket he keeps draped across the back just for these nights. Drinking whatever cheap beer she finds at the corner store a few blocks from his apartment until he’s had enough and gets out the wine. Between them, there is no need for long-winded conversations or many words at all.  The night turns in and she finds that since stepping into the room neither of them has said a word. Not when he ordered their dinner. Not when she finished his discarded beer.

Not a word.

Those Saturdays are her favorite.

Were.

They were her favorite and they were something she used to do.

She’s no longer allowed these things.

She watches him from the stiff, unforgiving mattress beneath her sore body. Her arm aches where the IV has sat for so long in the crook of her elbow and she knows all she needs to do is say something and they’ll likely move it but she’s afraid of how she’ll sound. To her own ears, all she will hear is the pathetic rasps and whines of such a silly complaint. To the staff, it’s the way they’ll soften and she’ll be forced to see the pity they have for a dead woman.

And, more than anything else, she’s afraid of what Aaron will hear.

To see the quirks of his face as he reasons through what it is that he, himself, thinks. Will he disapprovingly narrow his eyes, tightening his lips as he thinks about his own nightmare. George Foyet and the many nights he spent in the hospital recovering from not just one impalement but nine brutally drawn-out stab wounds. Will he look at her with soft eyes and force her to watch him avoid her eye so she won’t see the pity. Will there be guilt? The hardening of his jaw as he clenches his teeth and cast his eyes anywhere but at her.

It makes her wish she’d never known him.

Not to surpass the worry she feels about his perception of her (deep down she can acknowledge that he must love her to be here now) but to prevent all of this. To pull him from the stiff-backed chair he has restlessly has fallen asleep in and send him home to his son. Go back to a time when she didn’t know what it was like to be hurt -- physically, emotionally, and sexually. To be seventeen again gulping down coffee with no cream or sugar because she thought the bitterness would make her stronger, more of an adult. But life requires one to be greedy about the things in life that feel good.

Reid taught her that, watching him pour mountains of sugar in his coffee. Bitterness is not the measure of adulthood or success. It’s one ability to take one more longing glance at the mug in their hands and decide whatever body part might shut down in a few years is not worth the disgusting sludge in their mug. Indulge while you can before you find there is nothing but bitterness and no sugar to sweeten the mess.

Indulge before it’s too late.

She never indulged herself enough.

“You’re awake.”

She watches the micro-expressions (pain from sitting in that chair, happiness that eats up a dimple, guilt that pulls down his eyebrows like a bar with too much weight on its ends) slip across his face before it settles on passive worry. There’s an intensity to his eyes that makes her aware that she’s being watched, not by Aaron and his soft edges but by Hotch who will fight with nurses and get himself kicked out of the hospital. She wishes she could feel something past the numb itchiness of her nose and the distance of her hands, then she might be able to worm her way into his brain. So she might live alongside his thoughts.

She thinks she’d probably enjoy herself there.

“Emily?”

She looks down where his hand touches her own. Emily. She can’t feel the warmth of his fingers sitting over the top of her own but then he’s always been cold. Blankest always tucked around his broad shoulders. Hands tucked into his pockets. Her favorite part is that he hates summer, despite what could be assumed about its escape from the dreaded winter. But people have a tendency to overcompensate with air conditioners. He fucking hates the summer.

She won’t see that this year.

She’s dead.

“I’m sorry.”

She wonders how it is that he steals the words right out of her mouth. Because it should be her apologizing. For not trusting him despite how many times he’s leaned into her. For running away when she’d called him a coward for wanting to do the same thing. For getting herself killed and hurting him, for making his worst nightmares come true once again.

She opens her mouth and he rises with deep groans from his lower back and his knees old hinges from door frames older than them combined to stretch and get her water. She didn’t even realize how much her throat hurt until she’s greedily pulling from the straw he’s bent to allow her access to the content of the little cup. “Not too much,” he warns softly, pulling away. “Water doesn’t mix well with the meds.” A lesson he learned the hard way when she’d done the same for him when it was him in the bed and her sleeping in the uncomfortable visitor’s chair.

She couldn’t save him from the nausea of her good intentions but he can spare her the pain of too fresh stitches being tugged by a heaving stomach.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Between them, there is no miscommunication. She knows him as she might know her own hand or her favorite book -- as an extension of something past herself. More than Emily Prentiss. He knows her the same. So, there is no need to clarify and even less of a need for her to have to say the words at all.

She’s right, of course. His being here disrupts the flow, it’s a wedge in the crack of the team’s trust, and each time he finds himself here that wedge sinks a little further.

He repeats back to her the words she’d whispered to him only a year ago. “You shouldn’t be alone.” She’s surprised he can remember that at all. There had been only a small debate about who it was that could stay with him that night, but she was glad it was her answering his questions when he woke drowsily with the drugs and when he’d tried to send her home. But insubordinate is a word that perfectly explains their friendship and she’s never been afraid to toe at his “firm” line of what he’s willing to deal with.

She narrows her eyes at him and he does it right back, both baiting the other. He’s right and so is she. She hates it when he’s right.

“Sit.” She croaks pulling her arms up to put weight on them and inch her body to the left so that he can sit.

He grabs her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t,” he commands softly. “You’ll pull your stitches.” Another hard lesson to learn, one he can spare her. He’d done the same for her in the hospital but powered on despite the feeling of the stitches pulling at his skin. The nurses had not liked him very much, he wasn’t very good at sitting still.

Without a word he carefully leans onto the bed, sitting right where her hip is. Close like she wants without actually needing her to move. His eyes wander and he finds himself glued to the heavy gauze wrapped around her abdomen. His mixed feelings are met with a smile from her, “we’ll match.”

He grimaces, “you don’t want that.”

He won’t be there to talk her through healing. The way things burn and itch and ache and that she’ll get so light-headed she’ll nearly pass out. That she might need iron supplements like him and that they taste like death and he’s seen and smelt enough of that to know that it’s a very correct description. How the nightmares ignite the pain and if she thinks the anxiety and the panic are too much she’ll be floored the first time she feels the attack again.

He can still feel Foyet’s hands all over his body. He’d take any punishment, as many tactile nightmares as his body could handle, to save her these things. The betrays of mind and body.

Her body is heavy and she can feel the pain returning. “Aaron?” She needs to say it now because when she wakes up after this she’s going to be in too much pain to think about what she’s left unsaid.

“I know,” he whispers. He knows that she loves him. That she thinks he’s the biggest dickhead she’s ever met in her entire life and no one is as insufferably annoying as he is to her. That someone, preferably Garcia, needs to take care of Sergio and to take care of her plants. That she’s going to miss him so fucking much and she’s not sure how to function when he’s not there anymore.

He knows. God, he knows.

“You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I have other places to be,” he states, uncharacteristically trying at something playful. She narrows her eyes at him and he caves. “I’ll be here.”

Eyes closed she hums, “it’s not like you have other friends.” The comment is meant to be light but it... hurts. He’s burring his friend. He can’t tell Dave how he really feels. Can’t accept Garcia’s attempts at comfort. He’s sending her away and the false hope that she’ll ever return is more damning than if she’d died.

“No,” he replies thickly. “I suppose not.” Next time, he vows, he will die with her because he won’t survive this again.

[vulpes-z3rda]

Wish I Were... // Nishinoya x Reader

A/n: HEY EVERYONE!! I’d like to thank you for 100 followers first and foremost, it means a lot that 100 of you fund following me worthwhile iuytghjk. AND ALSO! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! The star tear disease is something new to me so I’m not sure i wrote it right, but nonetheless, ENJOY!!

CW: nothing really, if you see anything triggering please let me know so i can add it here!

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1782

I still remember third of December

The first day you met.

A complete and utter accident caused by the one time you clumsily walked into someone in your first year. An accident that ended up being one of the best days of your life.

You had met your best friend Nishinoya Yuu. A person you cherished a lot in life

Me in your sweater, you said it looked better

On me, than it did you

He'd often give you his hoodies or jumpers whenever you were cold. One of the many things you loved about him.

He cared for you.

Did people often assume you were a couple? Oh yes, the whole volleyball team did when you first met them but you were both quick to deny it and say you were just good friends.

Only if you knew

How much I liked you

Having someone so caring in your life, someone who seemed so interested in your hobbies, someone who would go on 3 am adventures with you and just... your other half in all honesty.

Who wouldn't fall for someone who fits so perfectly with you?

But you couldn't tell him. There was too much at risk and he only ever saw you as a best friend anyway, what would come of it but heartache?

but I watch your eyes

As she walks by

Who could blame him for liking her? Kiyoko Shimizu. A goddess on earth as Noya had described her to you so many times before. And who were you to disagree with him??

She was gorgeous.

So what would he see in you? He was blinded by his admiration and love for her anyway, blind to your pain.

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than the blue sky

You tried not to let the ugly green monster called jealousy take over but it was hard. Why her? Why not you? So what if you don't have her shade of eye colour or her clear skin or her dark black hair. So what??

You were there for him through all the rejection, the false hope, the little achievements and the constant fawning over her.

Why couldn't he love you like that?

She's got you mesmerized

While I die

As much as you hated to admit it, you were now a second thought to Nishinoya. His best friend of two years was nothing more than quick glances, dry text conversations, no more 3 am hangouts and no more stupid jokes.

He was your light and without light every flower withers. As your first petal fell, he only hid further away in the clouds.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

You knew it meant nothing. It was a dare for God's sake but it was your first kiss. Your first kiss was stolen by the boy you adored more than anything. Dare or not, it was special to you even if he immediately went to Kiyoko's side after.

The happiness of the action quickly died as the realisation sank in that he'd always go back to her. The goddess on earth.

‘Hehe... am I not enough for him??’

You gave her your sweater

It's just polyester

Then the hoodie and jumper exchanges stopped. "I just want her to see that I'm available you know f/n?" Lord you know he meant nothing by it. But when he offered her the hoodie he had so nonchalantly stated he saw as yours, it was like a switch went off in your head.

"Oh, you gave it to Kiyoko?"

"Huh? OH! The hoodie?? Yeah, I'm surprised she took it to be honest."

"Well, I'm happy for you."

"Thank you f/n! Oh, do you wanna hang out this weekend? Tanaka somehow roped Kiyoko into doing-"

"I can't. Thanks for offering though."

But you like her better

Wish I were Heather

God only knows how much you wanted him to look at you how he looked at her. You've seen him fall for a few girls in the two years you knew him but she was different. Everyone and their mother could see that and don't get me wrong, you were beyond happy for him but it hurt. It hurt seeing him be this happy over someone else.

And with the first tear falling, you wished you could be her. Even if it was only for a moment.

Watch as she stands with her holding your hand

You chuckled to yourself as you saw your friend trying to impress Kiyoko. Admittedly you were taken aback when she held his hand to try and calm him down. Not so surprisingly, it did the exact opposite. 

At this point you were what Akaashi was for Bokuto, you could calm Noya down and the team were thankful for that. "This is what two years has come to huh?"

"F/n? Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I'm fine Hinata. Good luck with the game tonight but I should head up to the stands."

"But Nishinoya senpai-"

"Is doing fine without me. See? Holding her hand helped."

Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder

At this point, you found his efforts heartachingly comical. Maybe that could just be the loneliness telling you to find humour in the lack of your best friend.

Watching the short male wrap his arm around Kiyoko in a hug was now commonplace so you should be used to it.

But you hated it. Every time you saw it, it felt like you were being stabbed. It was like a brutal reality check that you were losing him. As long as he's happy though f/n... right?

But how could I hate her? She's such an angel

You had tried distancing yourself from her but since you were like an unofficial manager, it proved to be difficult. But your blunt wording and attitude hadn't gone unnoticed by the team. Suga had taken guesses as to why you were like this but what would he know? You haven't opened up to anyone in forever.

And then she had talked to you. As much as you despised everything that was happening, it comforted you talking to her. Well... it comforted you until you heard the team talking about how sweet Kiyoko was for checking up on you.

You definitely couldn't miss your crush talking so lovingly about her.

But then again, kinda wish she were dead

As she walks by

Finally, a weekend with Nishinoya again. Just you two at an arcade being your old chaotic selves. You missed it... you missed him.

"I've missed this kind of weekend!"

"Yeah?"

"Duh. How could I not Noya?"

He chuckled before an obvious blush invaded his cheeks and a familiar look danced in his eyes. "F/n! She's here!!"

"Really? Who would've thought." A dry chuckle left your lips as you shook your head seeing he'd already moved towards where she was going. "I should head home, my mum wanted help today. I'll see you at school Noya!" So much for a best friend day. You thought as he looked at you curiously.

What a sight for sore eyes

Brighter than a blue sky

She's got you mesmerized

While I die

His brown eyes always seemed to glow whenever he was near her. He always had that extra energy with her. Just two simple things among the many you had noticed in your pining for Noya. Yet she always held the same stance with him as she always had done. In fact, she seemed more involved with Tanaka and his attempts to win her over.

I guess you're trained enough in that department to see it in others.

"F/n, what're you... oh."

"Suga, you scared me!"

"Haha, sorry sorry... so?"

"So what?"

"Nishinoya huh?" You ignored the audible worry he held and looked down to your feet. "Sadly... yeah..." and so the second lot of tears fell.

Why would you ever kiss me?

I'm not even half as pretty

After finally opening up to someone, Suga had somehow convinced you to talk to Noya about your feelings. You don't entirely get how, but he did it and now you were regretting ever asking him to stay behind so you could talk.

"F/n?? What's up?"

"Hey, Noya... I uhm just wanted to get some stuff off my chest."

"Okay?? Can you be quick though? I wanna get to practice and see my queen!"

"Why did you kiss me?"

"W-What?? Oh, the dare? Because it was a dare, why would I have ever turned down a dare?"

"Noya..."

"You know you've been acting weird ever since that and I don't get it. It's not like it meant anything."

"I just-"

"Listen, I need to go but I'll call you tonight I guess. See ya later f/n!"

You gave her your sweater

It's just polyester

But you like her better

I wish I were Heather

You sat on your bed dreading the moment he calls you... or if he even does. It's not usually like this for you but he was just something different and you could feel it come crashing down.

What was probably only 1 hour felt like an eternity before your phone lit up with the familiar phone number. Hesitantly, you reached for the phone and answered his call. "Hello?"

"Hey, okay so about earlier... Yes, Tanaka, I gave Kiyoko the hoodie what about it?"

The whines coming from the other teen made you chuckle before you shook away any trace of happiness. "So, you gave her that hoodie again huh?" You shakily got out, a wave of sadness crashing into with each word.

"Yeah. You sound sad about it though... Come on f/n, it's just a tacky polyester hoodie. Nothing special."

"I thought I made it special..."

"F/n, you're not making any sense. Can you just tell me what you need to please?? Me and Tanaka are going out with-"

"Why her?" Tear after tear fell, a distant twinkling sound coming after a few of them. "What? F/n, if you're talking about Kiyoko..."

"Was I not enough Nishinoya?" Sparkles joined the twinkling, each tear seeming to shine and glow in all shades of colours.

"Can you please just talk some sense?? What are you talking about f/n!? Why is there twinkling... what is happening?"

"Noya I just... I have feelings for you!!" You blurted out, the pressure you were feeling finally beginning to lessen. "F/n... I'm sorry. But I like Kiyoko, you know that."

"I know I just..."

"You what f/n?"

"I wish I was Kiyoko..."

And then, as though you had gained control of the night sky, stars began to fall from your eyes, creating a song of their own so your emotions could dance before you.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #25: Break Free

Words: ca. 6,600 Setting: canon AU Lemon: no CW: Imprisonment, Torture, Injuries (but no graphic detail), Abuse, Mentioned Kristanna, Mentioned Character Death, actual character death, violence (choking). Mentions of slavery

 xXx

“Anna… Anna…”

The redhead’s eyes slowly opened at the sound of a familiar voice, as she was brought out of another horrific nightmare.

“Are you awake?” A voice spoke.

Weakly, Anna nodded. “I take it, that’s you there, Elsa?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Anna groaned, getting out of bed. For the past year, she had been a prisoner in the Southern Isles, kept as a trophy by King Hans. Everything had been taken from her, her friends, family, even her kingdom.

The cell was dark and filthy, with only one bed. The floor was stone, cold on Anna’s bare feet. The dungeons were on the lowest level of the castle, Anna’s cell having a window overlooking the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the rockface often keeping her up at night.

Lamenting her situation, Anna hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life here. She was a Queen and a warrior, she didn’t deserve to die in a dungeon-like this. She should have died defending Arendelle with honour… but Hans had denied her that.

As Anna got up, she sighed, rubbing her eyes. She missed the days when she actually had a good nights sleep. As she climbed off her bed, she saw the door to her cell open, the familiar sight of a blonde-haired woman in uniform walking into the cell. It was indeed Elsa, Hans’s second in command, the woman who had led the attack on Arendelle… and if Anna was honest, her only real friend.

"Nightmare again?” Elsa wondered.

“The same one I’ve had for the last year,” Anna remarked.

Elsa sighed. “I’m so sorry.” Then she cleared her throat. “Prince Hans has requested your presence at breakfast, your majesty,” one of the guards said. “You are to come with me.” “He should give up,” Anna replied. “I’m not going to give in to his demands.” “Even so, you have to eat something,” Elsa insisted. Knowing Elsa was right, Anna got up. She needed to keep her strength up, what little of she still had. “Fine,” Anna agreed reluctantly. Walking out of the cell, she let Elsa lead her down the corridor, her weakened legs barely keeping her standing straight. She looked at the sorceress, confused about how she felt.

Elsa had been responsible for so much pain in her life, and yet, she had also visited her cell pretty much every single day. Anna didn’t know why, but perhaps she was just as lonely as she was. It was clear no one really talked to Elsa, aside from Hans.

But Anna still felt a sense of unease around her. She had watched her kill so many people in her dreams and yet, the real Elsa wasn’t as cold as she imagined.

The real Elsa actually had a kind heart to her, and it was clear that she did care about Anna. But Anna would never forget what Elsa had done, despite the fact they were friends.

She remembered the day Arendelle fell like it was yesterday, reliving the images of the invasion every night, seeing friends and loved ones slaughtered every time she closed her eyes. Every night in her dreams, the images would be warped and distorted, portraying Elsa as some kind of inhuman monster, who had brutally murdered her husband. But Anna had a feeling her dreams were just exaggerations, brought on by her trauma.

For much of her life, Anna hadn’t really been given much of a childhood. When she was a baby, enemy spies had kidnapped her older sister, forcing her parents to keep her locked in the castle for much of her young life.

As Anna grew up, her mother and father put her through all sorts of training to protect herself, to ensure what happened to her older sibling would never repeat itself. By the time Anna was eighteen, she had already served a couple of years in the kingdom’s royal guard. By age twenty-two, she had attained the rank of officer. But that was not the last title that she would be known by.

Her parents tragically died at sea a year later and as such, Anna assumed the throne as Queen. Most assumed it was just a really bad storm. Anna hadn’t taken the news well and it was only afterwards, she knew the truth about her lost sibling.

But even though she deeply mourned her parents, she carried on, later taking a husband. Kristoff was a kind man, he had a large heart and it was his love that made Anna feel so alive and helped her to love life again.

But just as tragically, this bliss was not to last. The Southern Isles, who had been expanding their territories, had wanted to Anna to surrender her kingdom to them. Despite knowing they had a secret weapon that had allegedly wiped out entire kingdoms, she wanted Arendelle to go down fighting.

So much for that, since her forces were completely wiped out, but she’d heard rumours that many of the civilians had managed to survive as refugees elsewhere.

“I take it you didn’t sleep well,” Elsa assumed, bringing Anna out of her thoughts.

“Is that sarcasm?” Anna responded. “I didn’t think you had a sense of humour.”

“I take no amusement from your treatment, Anna,” Elsa stated. “But… you did bring this on yourself. Hans gave you a guest room to stay in when you arrived, a rather luxurious abode I might add.”

“It was still a cell,” Anna replied. “I’m still a prisoner in this castle, regardless of how I’d be treated.”

“But it would have been preferable compared to what you’re going through down here,” Elsa expressed.

Soon, Elsa brought Anna to the royal dining hall, where Anna could see a great banquet of food laid out for her. She felt her stomach growl at the sight of it.

Hans himself was sat at the end of the table facing her, her father’s crown upon his head and a smug look on his face. Glancing at him enraged Anna, the sight of her oppressor reminding her of her suffering.

“Ah, your majesty,” Hans greeted her, as Elsa took a seat on the edge of the table next to him “You must be famished.”

Anna sat down, taking a bite of a slice of beef that had been placed on a plate for her. As much as she hated submitting to Hans this way, she was starving and Hans knew this. But she wasn’t going to let him take advantage of her.

Hans just smirked knowingly, as if he was mocking her. “Tell me, my dear, how have you been doing?”

Anna glared at him, just eating her food.

“I said… how have you been doing, Anna?” Hans asked again.

In response, Anna just muffled something while she was eating.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rather rude,” Hans snarked

Anna swallowed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh come now, Anna. You’ve been our guest for a year, I would think you were a tad more sociable by now.” Hans forked a piece of sausage into his mouth. “I hope you’ve once again reconsidered my decision.”

“I am not going to become your wife, Hans,” Anna said defiantly. “I’m not some property for you to own.”

“Come now, if you agree to marry me, you’ll be given riches beyond your wildest dreams and be adored by the people,” Hans offered. “Plus, you won’t need to suffer in those dreadful dungeons any longer.” Anna looked over at Elsa, seeing the blonde staring at her with concern. It was clear at this point that Elsa wanted Anna to fake her own surrender, as Elsa couldn’t bear to see Anna this way. But Anna wouldn’t do that. It would go against everything she stood for.

“I already had people who loved me… your soldiers took care of them,” Anna remarked. “And why would you care? I’m sure Elsa here would make a much better Queen than me.”

Hans chuckled. "I care about Elsa a great deal and I would not want the burden of Queen to be placed on her. Besides, she prefers women and I would not wish to make her… uncomfortable.” Anna noticed how saddened Elsa seemed to be from that subtle insult. Despite the abuse, she still followed Hans loyally without question. In a way… Anna felt sorry for her, that Elsa was as much of a prisoner as she was.

Putting down her cutlery, Anna glared at Hans.  "And what about me, Hans? If you care about me so much, why am I whipped, beaten and starved so much?”

“You refuse to behave,” Hans growled. “I’m honestly reconsidering why I even let Elsa take you in alive when I easily could have let you die with the rest of your pathetic kingdom.“

Enraged, Anna snarled, grabbing a knife and lunging at Hans. She knocked him to the ground, trying to jab the knife into his eye. But being starved so much meant that Anna’s strength was nowhere near how it used to be and as such, Hans got the advantage.

Anna tried to stab the knife, but Hans managed to dodge it, the knife merely grazing his cheek. He snarled, punching Anna in the face. Anna stumbled back to her feet, dazed, before Hans got up and slapped her, knocking her to the ground.

Elsa got up, watching as Anna writhed on the floor, groaning in pain.

"Even after all this time, you’re still a disobedient little harlot,” Hans murmured. “Elsa, take her down to the dungeons for punishment.”

"Yes, my lord,” Elsa responded, going to Anna’s side.

As Hans left the room, Anna glared at the man, cursing herself for not being strong enough. She was clearly not the great warrior she once was.

xXx

The punishment was a whipping, as usual. Anna was chained to the wall and whipped by one of Hans’s guards, yet another tactic used by him to try and break her mentally. To be honest, sometimes Anna wondered if Hans had succeeded and she hadn’t realised it, but some part of her would still keep fighting on.

Elsa was there every time, watching the punishment take place, watching Anna as was made to suffer in agony. But eventually, the pain was over, Anna shaking as she ached in chains.

It amazed Anna that she even had enough strength to try and tackle Hans in the dining hall, but she hated herself for not being able to finish the job. Still, she wouldn’t succumb to this agony, no matter how painful it was. Even with her dying breath, she’d deny Hans that satisfaction.

Knowing that Anna had been through enough, Elsa looked at the guard, nodding. “That’s enough, soldier. You can go now.”

The guard left them, Elsa going up to Anna and undoing the chains around her arms and legs. Anna collapsed to the floor, quivering as Elsa walked over to her.

“It’s over now,” Elsa spoke, handing Anna a waterskin.

Shivering, Anna gently held the pouch in her hand, gulping the water down. She gulped down the water as fast as she could, before panting, as sweat beaded down her body.

“You… You’re gonna get in trouble for helping me like this,” Anna said shakily, her throat dry.

Elsa looked away. “What Hans doesn’t know won’t hurt him. To be honest, I’ve been wondering why you’re even still here. It’s clear that no matter what, you’re not going to break.”

“I won’t break,” Anna insisted.

“That’s a rather arrogant way to look at things,” Elsa noted. “You’ve been pushed beyond your limits. I’m surprised you haven’t died yet.” She then bent down and helped the struggling Anna to her feet. “Let me help you. I’ll take you back to your cell.”

Anna merely nodded as Elsa helped her. She was surprised the sorceress was so kind to her at times, as if the person who had helped destroy Arendelle and the person helping her now were two completely different people.

“I admire your strength,” Elsa spoke. “Most people would have either gone mad or died from the torment you’ve been put through.”

“My parents raised a strong daughter,” Anna replied.

Eventually, the two of them arrived at Anna’s cell, Elsa unlocking the door.

“We’re here,” she said. “You should rest.”

Anna hobbled inside, eventually making it to the bed and collapsing upon it. Much of her body now was covered in scars from the torture Hans put her through constantly. As she laid on the bed, she saw that Elsa was still standing there.

“What are you doing?”

“I… I don’t know,” Elsa expressed. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

“You could have told Hans not to whip the piss out of me,” Anna remarked, trying to use humour to disguise her pain.

Elsa shook her head. “No, I can’t disobey Hans. If it wasn’t for him I…” The blonde stopped herself. “But maybe there is something I might be able to now to help you relieve that pain.”

Anna sat up, looking away. “Why do you care about me so much? I’m just a prisoner to you.”

“Perhaps… perhaps you’ve helped me to discover my humanity,” Elsa admitted. “You’re a rather… fascinating woman, Anna of Arendelle.”

“I’m surprised you have some,” Anna argued. “I still see you killing Kristoff in my dreams every night, leading the assault on Arendelle. In my dreams, you’re a cold, unfeeling monster.”

“And is that what I really am?”

“I… I don’t know,” Anna admitted. “You give me mixed messages. Some days I think you’re a friend and others, I’m reminded you’re a monster.”

Elsa walked into the room, sitting down on the bunk opposite Anna. “He attacked me from behind. I… I actually tried not to kill everyone. But Kristoff, he came at me with that spear and… ” She looked away. “I regret that.”

“What?” Anna wondered. “What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to win that battle with minimal casualties,” Elsa stated. “But everything went wrong. I regret what I did to you, and to your kingdom.” She looked into Anna’s eyes. “I even let most of the civilians go when I found them in the forests outside your kingdom. They didn’t deserve to die… no one did.”

"Is that… true?” Anna asked. “You’re not lying?”

“No, I haven’t lied to you,” Elsa expressed. “I’ve been good to you this past year to try and make up for the fact I destroyed your kingdom. I hoped… I hoped that perhaps if I befriended you, that life here would be better for you. It was obvious you and Hans wouldn’t get along but perhaps if you had me…”

Anna thought for a moment. She had a gut feeling that Elsa was indeed telling the truth.  Anna had misjudged Elsa slightly. Hans was clearly using her as merely a weapon, not truly caring about her as a person. After all, in war, soldiers often were forced to fight, not given a choice to leave.

And in Anna’s eyes… Elsa had shown she was a kind person. A complicated one, but her actions of mercy and care for her had shown her humanity. And yet, her visage still haunted her dreams.

“I… I think I can forgive you,” Anna accepted. “But… part of me will always be angry towards you for what you’ve done. But it’s clear that perhaps you’re on the path of change.”

“That means a lot to me,” Elsa admitted. “ I don’t blame you for still partly being angry over what I did to your husband. You don’t have to completely absolve me of this.”

“I am not,” Anna said honestly. “But perhaps I can move on. Even if the image of you slaughtering so many with your magic is etched into my mind… it’s clear that’s not you anymore.”

“Then… allow me to assure you that I have changed,” Elsa spoke after a moment, slowly taking off her gloves. “If you’ll let me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just lay on your stomach and I’ll do the rest,” Elsa said softly. “Do you trust me?”

For a moment, Anna almost said no, but Elsa had clearly opened her heart to her and been honest to her. She was genuine and wanted to help Anna and if Anna was to try and move on with all of this, trust between her and Elsa was important. She nodded, laying down on her back.

Elsa then reached over to Anna, pressing her hands on Anna’s back, her cold icy magic soothing Anna’s skin.

“Uhhh…. what are you…”

“Using a bit of my magic to relieve your pain,” Elsa said. “It’ll allow you to rest better.”

Sighing in content, Anna felt relaxed as Elsa applied pressure to her aching back and legs. It was almost enough to make her forget where she was, but no matter how much Anna wanted it, she was still a prisoner in this dungeon.

After massaging Anna for a while, Elsa looked over at her. “You okay now?”

“Mm, much better,” Anna purred. “Have I ever told you that you have hands like a surgeon?”

Elsa chuckled, to Anna’s surprise.

“You… you laughed!” she exclaimed.

Her friend stopped, a little embarrassed. “Sorry… I can’t remember the last time I found anything funny.”

Anna sat up and looked into Elsa’s eyes. The two of them were but inches apart and at that moment, as Anna was relaxed, she gazed at Elsa. Her gorgeous blue eyes almost glowed in the sunlight, and her platinum blonde, nearly white hair looked as soft as silk.

In all this time, had Anna really not considered how beautiful Elsa was? At that moment, a strange new sensation started to form inside Anna’s chest. Not anger, not a desire to never give up, but… something else, some sensation of her wanting Elsa, wanting the two of them to try and make something of all this.

And then… Anna leaned in and kissed Elsa. It was a brief moment, Anna succumbing to whatever this sensation was inside of her, before quickly pulling away. “I’m sorry!”

Elsa stroked her lips. “I… It’s okay.”

“No… I didn’t mean to do that,” Anna argued.

Nodding, Elsa stood up. “I… I should go,” she said to break the tension. “You should rest, conserve your strength and whatnot.” She smiled at Anna. “I… I wouldn’t mind taking you out of this cell tomorrow. You need some exercise.”

“Would… would you be allowed to do that?”

“As I said before, what Hans doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Elsa said reassuringly.

Anna nodded. “I’d like that… getting out and all.” She laid down and sighed. “And Elsa?”

“Yes?” Elsa wondered.

“Thank you,” Anna said genuinely.

Elsa smiled, closing the cell door. “Rest well, Anna.”

xXx

Fresh air, sunlight. It had felt like an eternity since Anna had been outside, in the presence of nature. Elsa had brought to a clearing just outside of the Southern Isles capital, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. The clearing was surrounded by beautiful trees full of lush green leaves, while in front of Anna, she could see a small lake with clear water reflecting the morning sun. It reminded Anna of where Kristoff had proposed to her.

Anna almost turned, instantly expecting to see the man of her dreams next to her…. only to be met with the sight of Elsa, having just dismounted the ice horse she’d created to take Anna to this place. She felt… unsure. It was confusing to Anna, who now realised she’d been attracted to Elsa for quite some time. Part of her hated Elsa and Part of her loved her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

The sorceress walked up to her and smiled at her. “Enjoying the view?”

“I guess,” Anna answered as best as she could. “Why did you bring me here exactly?”

“This is where I go to practice my magic,” Elsa replied. “No one else knows about this place other than you and me. It’s the perfect little spot where no one will ever find you.”

“Huh,” Anna remarked. “You know, I’d have figured for an ice witch, you’d be hiding out in some giant frozen castle on the side of a mountain.”

“You really think that?”

“It was in a bedtime story my mother read to me as a kid,” Anna explained, before sitting down by the lakeside. “Thank you for bringing me here. I remember I had a place like this in Arendelle. It was in the gardens and Kristoff and I used to spend so many afternoons here.” “You miss him terribly,” Elsa said. “And It’s all because of me.” “You explained that last night,” Anna replied. “I do blame you still partly for what happened to him… And I doubt he’d have approved of me being like this with you. But then again… he’s gone and I should let go of the pain and move on.” “And what do you think?” “i… I think you know how I think,” Anna replied.

“If… If this is about that kiss, you don’t have to apologise,” Elsa expressed. “I’ve heard of the concept where one falls in love with their captor out of desperation.”

“No, if that were the case, I’d have fallen in love with Hans,” Anna corrected her. “But you aren’t my captor. You’re just as much of a prisoner as I am. Just I’m in a cell and you… you aren’t.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “And I think… I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“I… I think I feel the same way,” Elsa admitted. “But it can’t work. I can’t go against Hans, as much as I’d like to. I can’t give you freedom or your kingdom back.”

“Why can’t you?!” Anna demanded. “Elsa,  if this is how you really feel, why the flying fuck have you allowed yourself to be Hans’s lapdog all these years?!" 

"Because I’d have nothing else!” Elsa shouted back.

“I saw how Hans treated you at breakfast yesterday, with that bigoted remark,” Anna reminded her. “And you’re supposed to be his equal for crying out loud? Doesn’t sound very equal to me.”

“You don’t understand!”

“You could have broken away from Hans anytime you wanted,” Anna argued. “You could have stopped yourself from becoming what you are, you could have prevented so much death and destruction!… and yet you didn’t. Why?”

A few more tears of regret shed from Elsa. “Because I was a fool. Hans was the first person who ever showed me kindness, who saw some use for me.” She looked away at the water, looking at her reflection. “I was taken from my parents when I was three years old by Hans’s father. My powers hadn’t developed by then and I was just meant to be some political hostage, meant to weaken one of the Southern Isle’s enemies. Hans took pity on me as I got older… I helped him kill his father. He gave me a life, a purpose. His enemies were my enemies and I gladly cut them down for him. But… after that, he was colder to me, especially after he found out I preferred women.”

“So… he made a pass at you,” Anna realised. “That explains it, and part of your mistreatment is because Hans couldn’t have you fully. And yet, he still needed you.”

“It’s kinda stupid isn’t it?” Elsa remarked. “And I’ve been too damned insecure to do anything about it. If I kill Hans, I’d have nowhere to go. I’m fairly sure my birth family is dead. . I’m most likely wanted in the surviving kingdoms that I didn’t destroy… I have nothing. Even if I did spare many of the civilians, my reputation among the other kingdoms is tainted.”

“That’s not true,” Anna argued. “I… I’d welcome you to stay in Arendelle if I could.”

“Would you really do that?” Elsa wondered. “In spite of all of my crimes.”

“At least you’ve tried to atone for yours by being my friend and taking care of me,” Anna replied. “That’s more than his royal douchebag ever did for me.” She took Elsa’s hands. “So yes, if Arendelle were still standing… I’d gladly invite you to stay and… I love you.”

Elsa was stunned, as Anna then kissed her again, but then, she gave in, wrapping her arms around Anna as she kissed her, caressing the other woman gently. Anna gave in to the moment, relishing the kiss, letting go of all that pain and anger. Would Kristoff have approved? Well, he’d have been glad that she’d found love again, but with the woman who had killed him? Well, that was certainly complicated, but love wasn’t a matter that was easy. At the end of the day, he’d have been happy if she was happy.

But as Anna held Elsa in the kiss, something clicked in her brain, something about Elsa’s story that seemed… familiar.  A young princess kidnapped at three years old, stolen away and never to be seen again. Could Elsa be… no, it was impossible. Anna panicked, pulling away from the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked, concerned. “Anna, are you okay?”

Anna looked in the water at hers and Elsa’s faces, she could see that there was indeed a resemblance between them. A similar face shape, their eyes being a similar shade of blue, Anna’s teal and Elsa’s ice.

She didn’t want to believe it… but couldn’t deny the facts before her.

“You… you don’t have nothing, Elsa,” Anna spoke.

“What?” Elsa wondered. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t my family’s firstborn,” Anna explained. “I had an older sister who was abducted when I was just a baby. My parents never told me about her and I never even knew she had existed until they died at sea a few years back. But, if she was still alive….”

Elsa’s eyes widened. "You… You don’t mean.”

“I mean look at us!” Anna shouted. “Our faces, don’t they look kinda similar!”

“But… That’s impossible!” Elsa shouted. “I would have known I’d have had a sibling! Oh god… I kissed my sister!” “Oh god, I fell in love with my sister!” Anna reacted. “No… it can’t be right,” Elsa argued. “Hans would have told me that I had a sibling.”

"Would he?” Anna wondered. “Did Hans even tell you what Kingdom you were taken from?”

“No..” Elsa realised. “He did not… and if your story is true and then…” She shook her head. “But why wouldn’t he have told me… unless he wanted to further…” After passing through disbelief and confusion, Elsa finally ended up in anger.

At that moment, Elsa’s hands curled into fists and an angry scowl formed on her face. To Anna’s shock, a whirlwind of ice and snow surrounded Elsa as she let out a massive scream of rage, firing ice blasts left and right. One of the blasts was powerful enough to freeze the whole lake.

“Elsa! Calm down!”

“No!!!” Elsa shouted. “I’ve had enough! I’ve been lied to my whole life and I’m tired of it! Hans forced me to destroy my own home, and I didn’t even realise it! He deserves to pay for what he’s done!”

Anna walked over to Elsa, feeling a little nervous. Seeing Elsa this way reminded her of the visions of the sorceress that she saw in her dreams.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Elsa panted.

“You sure?”

Elsa nodded. “Yes… Damn it all to hell. How could I have been so blind all these years? I knew Hans was a piece of work, but if this is true… then he and his whole retched family deserve to rot in hell.” She started to sob, Anna going to her side and holding her.

“I’m here,” Anna whispered. “I’ve got you, Elsa.”

Accepting it all, Elsa looked at Anna, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“And I’m sorry too,” Anna apologised as well. “I should have realised this sooner… I’ll just forget those kisses happened. I can’t believe you’re my sister… and I’m in love with you.”

“No Anna, don’t say that,” Elsa urged. “For all you know we might not be related after all… and even if we were, does it really matter? No one would know but us.”

“I… I don’t know,” Anna responded, unsure. “What… what are you going to do now?”

 "I’m going to look through the journals of Hans’s father. It likely confirms what you’ve been telling me. Then… I’m going to confront Hans about this myself.“

"Alone?”

“I won’t put you in danger,” Elsa insisted. “Sister or not, you’ve been through too much and I care about you.”

“But I was also raised as a warrior,” Anna replied. “If we’re going to do this… and we’re going to finally do what I think we’re going to do, I want to be there.”

Elsa nodded. “Okay… but I’ll take you back to your cell while I look through the journals.”

“Sounds good to me,” Anna replied.

xXx

It hadn’t taken Elsa long to find King Johann’s journal. Hans hadn’t exactly left his father’s old belongings hard to find in the castle attic. But actually reading the words to herself made Elsa sick to the stomach.

The entries in the journal confirmed what Anna had suspected, that Elsa was indeed the other Arendellian princess, abducted as a child. It had made Elsa angry that she had been denied such a life, a sister, two loving parents, the chance to be Queen herself…

But now, Elsa knew she had a chance to start over with Anna. She could bring Arendelle or the other kingdoms she destroyed back and try and do her damndest to make amends for all of her many many sins. And how was she going to do that? By finally killing the monster who had used her for all these years.

Storming through the halls of the castle to Anna’s cell, Elsa pondered what she was about to do. For one small moment, she was scared, scared that killing Hans would only make things worse for the Southern isles. But then she thought about the power she herself had, a power that if used right could do much more good than harm.

Eventually, Elsa made her way to Anna’s cell, opening the door and looking at Anna, who was lying on her bunk.

“Elsa?” Anna asked.

The sorceress walked over to Anna, reaching her hand out to her. “It’s time to get you out of here… my sister.”

“Wait, are we really?”

The blonde nodded. “Yes, you’re my sister, Anna.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” Anna expressed. She then jumped up and hugged Elsa tightly. Her long lost sister… finally they were reunited. For a moment, she thought about kissing her again, but knew it was best to push those thoughts to one side.

“So… are we going to do this?” Anna asked.

Elsa nodded. “Yes…. this is something I should have done the moment I let Hans get into my head.”

And so, the two sisters eventually made their way to the war room, where Hans and his generals were planning their next campaign of conquest. Elsa told Anna to wait outside, Anna hiding behind a nearby statue, while Elsa walked inside, firmly prepared for what she was about to do.

Hans and his generals were gathered around a table plotting their next conquest, Elsa seeing the usual smug look on Hans’s face. It enraged her now, more than it ever did, especially now that she knew the truth. But finally, this nightmare would be over, for both her and Anna.

“Hans?” Elsa asked.

“Elsa! Just the woman I wanted to see,” Hans responded. “My generals and I were going over the plans for our next campaign. I trust you will be of course leading the charge?”

Elsa then bowed in respect. “Of course. I live to serve you, my lord.” She knew she had to get Hans alone in order to do this. The fewer people around, the better. “I… I had something I wanted to speak to you about,” Elsa said.“Can we speak in private?”

“Of course!” Hans replied. “I was hoping to talk to you about some personal matters as well.” Hans looked at the generals. “Leave us, please. This hopefully won’t take long.”

As the generals and the guards that had been in the room left, Elsa stared at Hans, as the former went to pour himself a drink of whiskey from a nearby bottle. After taking a swig, he smirked at Elsa.

“I know you don’t hold your ale well, but would you care for a drink, Elsa?” Hans offered. “This is a rather good vintage.”

"No thank you,” Elsa responded.

“Hmmm pity,” Hans remarked. “I was having a drink in celebration.”

"Of what?” Elsa wondered. “Your next campaign?”

"Oh no, something a little closer to home,” Hans explained. “I’ve just arranged for the execution of your friend Queen Anna.”

Elsa’s eyes widened. "What?! Why?”

Hans shrugged. “I just wanted to clear up loose ends. After yesterday’s little incident, I realised she’s too much of a liability. It’s best to let the last remnant of Arendelle be finally snuffed out. Plus… She’s a rather bad influence on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid, Elsa!” Hans shouted. “I know you have feelings for her and how you feel pity for her. She’s made you soft.”

Her heart beating in her chest, Elsa flared with anger. She had to act now, Hans was going to kill Anna, the only family she truly had left and she wouldn’t allow him to take her away from her.

"No.”

Hans put his glass down. “No what?”

“No, I can’t allow you to do that, Hans,” Elsa argued. “I’ve been your slave for too long. I know everything now. I know I was stolen from Arendelle as a child and that Anna is my sibling.” She strode towards Hans. “Why did you lie to me, Hans?! Why use me?!”

Hans sighed. “Oh well… I suppose you were going to find out eventually.” Hans walked over to a nearby window, looking out on his kingdom. “You were too useful to me, and I couldn’t resist losing you or the power you would gain me. And I had to teach your birth kingdom a lesson. They were trying to take you from me.”

“What… What are you talking about?”

"A few years ago, not long after you helped me stage my coup, do you remember when I had you sink that enemy ship?”

"What does that have to do with this?” Elsa wondered. Then she stopped and thought. She remembered how the king and Queen of Arendelle had apparently died at sea. Her parents. “Oh…”

Hans laughed. “That was your own parents, Elsa, rushing to your rescue and you never even realised it. I bet Anna would just love to know that little factoid. She’ll never consider you a sister once she knows that.”

“What?!” A voice exclaimed.

Elsa turned around, seeing Anna walk into the room, her mouth wide in shock. Sweat beaded from her brow, knowing that Hans had deliberately withheld that information from her, for just such a moment like this. “Anna… I didn’t know, I swear!”

“You… you killed them….”

“It was Hans!” Elsa argued. “He forced me to sink that ship. I didn’t know our parents were onboard it! And it doesn’t matter, this is him trying to mess with our heads!”

Anna sighed. “You’re right… I can be angry about that another time.” She glared at Hans. “You’re an insane bastard, Hans!”

“Oh shut up, the pair of you,” Hans argued. “There’s nowhere for either of you to go now. So just run along back to your cell, Anna.”

“No, she’s staying with me,” Elsa said defiantly.

“And you’re going to stay with me!” Hans insisted. “And you would have been nothing if I hadn’t taken pity on you.f I hadn’t, you’d still be locked in a cell as one of my father’s little trophies. I made you what you are Elsa.”

“You’re wrong!” Elsa shouted. “You can’t control me anymore!”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Hans asked. “If you kill me, you’ll have nowhere to-”

And right there and then, Anna punched Hans square in the face with all her strength. The king was started for a moment, giving Elsa the chance to grab her hands around Hans’s neck.

Hans choked and grunted. “Elsa… What…” But Elsa’s hand squeezed tighter and tighter, Hans’s face turning redder as he tried to breathe. However, he felt a sudden chill as ice spread from Elsa’s hand to all over his body. Elsa quickly let go, but Hans struggled as the rest of his body started to turn to ice.

“It’s the end for you, Hans,” Anna said coldly.

“And you were so wrong about me,” added Elsa in an equally icy tone. “I have a sister, someone I love. That’s more precious than something you’ll ever have. And as for you… you’re about to lose everything.”

Hans gurgled audibly, trying to form words to spit out, but he couldn’t. His throat had been the first thing frozen solid by Elsa. He settled for glaring venomously at Elsa, full of fury.

With a powerful kick, Anna knocked Hans towards the window, smashing him through it. As she watched, she saw Hans fully become an ice statue before he finally hit the courtyard below, nothing left of him but bloody particles. Finally, it was over. Hans was no more.

Just then, Elsa and Anna heard the sound of the guards enter the room, having heard the window break. They drew their sabres at them, but Elsa just gave them a freezing glare. The soldiers surrendered in moments, bowing in respect for Elsa, completely at her mercy.

“What is your command, Elsa?” one of them asked.

“Leave us for a moment,” Elsa answered. “I’ll address you when I’m ready.”

As the guards left the room, Elsa looked over at Anna, who was looking at the window.

“I can’t believe it… it’s finally over,” Anna admitted. “I’m free.”

“Are you still angry?” Elsa asked her.

“No… No, you didn’t know about our parents,” Anna replied. “And to be honest… I bet they’d have been happy that we took out Hans together.” She turned around. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ll assume the throne of the southern isles,” Elsa stated. “Put the kingdom’s resources towards repairing the damage I’ve done. I’ll make sure Arendelle is restored to its former glory… hopefully some of the people I let go are still out there.” She held Anna close. “Finally… it’s over.”

“Good riddance to Hans,” Anna admitted.

“Did you have to kick him through the window?” Elsa asked. “I mean, I was gonna shatter him to pieces anyway.”

“A warrior has a flair for the dramatic,” Anna replied.

Elsa knew this probably wasn’t the best time to ask about this, but she and Anna both knew that despite the revelation of them being sisters, they couldn’t simply ignore their romantic feelings. “Anna… about us being sisters…

"I made my decision already,” Anna interrupted her. “I want to be with you, Elsa. This whole sisters thing… as long as we keep it our little secret things will be fine.”

“You’re sure about this?” Elsa wondered.

“Well, how else am I going to make you my queen and not raise eyebrows?” Anna remarked.

“Wait… what?”

But Anna had then grabbed Elsa, dipping her down for a passionate kiss, celebrating the fact that freedom was theirs at last.

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 4 - flame

the makeshift trio make their way to a safe haven.

Joel Miller was a man of many words.

Relentless when it came to bringing down hordes of infected lunging at him, or when he was raining bullets down on whatever hostility ended up in his sights. One simple glance at him would be enough to make an ordinary survivor run five times back. A resourceful man, finding ways to walk out, to get information, to somehow get through when no other could. Cold, cruel and when all else came down to it, when he had no other choice, a downright savage.

Merciful had not been a trait he got associated with often.

In this world full of unknowns at every rotten corner, the gruff man had been another enigma on his very own - as someone who endured so much loss and so much pain would rightfully become. It had taken him many cheap mistakes and scars on his taut skin along his years of surviving to learn how to slowly, painfully construct walls in his mind that kept the flooding memories sealed, along with demonstrations of emotion - yet every single line on his tan skin and every little glimmer of light amber in his eyes told otherwise, now and then, succumbing to his human nature. A hardened survivor like him knew damn well that one second of losing yourself into your memories, one short moment of tapping into your emotions could lead to a shiv lodged inside your throat with your own blood leaking on the floor. Life and death, both tied by the same thread to a sheer moment of humanity.

Why he helped out a woman who was bound to die sooner rather than later, while risking everything that he stood for and swore by, had been the most recent piece - albeit the most interesting one - to add to the puzzle.

It had been the one question he had been asking to himself for the past days, although his other, much smaller companion might have been wondering about it even more than he was, judging by the constant looks thrown at their newcomer’s way accompanied by the colorful curses that hung from her mouth every time you would stumble slightly.

The fourteen year-old, regardless of her impressive maturity despite her young age, had been the one not taking so lightly to the old man’s methods of spilling blood to get through to begin with. He had been a much better observer than his companions would often give him credit for - he would see the occasional wince running through her features every time he would stab a shiv into a neck, the mutters of curses, groans at a hunter’s guts flying out of his ripped flesh. In a brutal world comprised of few moral lines, taking care of a little girl, his cargo, across the horrors had been no easy feat.

Maybe it had been the hollow in his stomach he chose to bury deep inside every time he would see the girl sadden, that made him carry a helpless woman.  How she wanted to see him do some good in a world full of bad, so much that made him give a second chance to someone in desperation. Could have been that he wanted to have as much protection shielding Ellie as possible, to make up for those brief moments he had to take his eyes off of her to clear a safe path.

Maybe it had been the look in your piercing eyes that awaited the cold arms of death had it not been for him.

For the time being, the Texan just could not place a proper answer to that one question that has been burning in the back of his mind, no matter how many gazes he would throw your way.

Oh, those olive orbs were always on you as you advanced through the slight hills with a slight stumble to your gait. That stare bearing daggers was on you every time you stood too close to the girl for his own liking or every time your hand went to your revolver holstered on your good leg. It had been a hard decision to make, giving you the handgun. The man had only put in couple of bullets, stating it would be just for emergencies, his own hand moving to his gun whenever you would pull out yours out of sheer instinct. His trust would be the hardest trophy to earn on that scorched earth, and only a handful had gotten close to the final round - it did not look like you were reaching that level anytime soon with his rare words directed at you. Instead, those eyes would watch, intently, as the orange and red lights of the small fire shone against your skin during a night when you all camped in a meadow on the outskirts of the state.

It had been almost a couple of weeks since you had found yourself awakened in that molded room and mere days since your wounded leg let you travel on foot - granted they were only educated estimations. Time had not been a notion that interested you for the past years, only discerning the ends and starts of the days by watching the sun, reduced to only judging the months by the changing weather.

The infected did not keep the time, so why would you need to?

One thing you surely could tell about the time was that yours spent with these survivors you knew close to nothing about had been too much for your own liking. The escape out of state and onto the damned highway had been so close - your haste got the worst of you as you got tricked by the stray group of hunters on the outer perimeter, huddled up in the last quarantine checkpoint.

The bastard that sat couple feet away from you just had to find you and haul you out of your grave.

Your luck had to run out sooner or later, just like the others before you. Just like the ones you tortured and saved alike. The messed up fate of yours had to pull another stand, saving you from your demise a little earlier at the arms of this man sitting across from you, dragging you to protect the pair as they made their way to a safe zone. That was what you were reduced to out of so-called debt - a mere bodyguard for a little girl in the damned apocalypse out of all roles, an extra pair of eyes protecting the duo that you could probably do without.

When you expressed your thanks to the man, what you expected was for him to trade in some supplies, something that would feed the little girl and him and set you on your way. Never before did you pay off a good deed like this - how could you refuse and expect to live? Being indebted to strangers was not exactly one of the situations you wanted to get yourself into in this dog-eat-dog world. With every move you made, you had to feel the burning gaze of Joel on the back of your head, ready to unload some lead right in your skull with one single slip-up. Wondering when he would decide it was time you paid him off for saving you and killed you in your sleep for good. The sliver of trust that enabled you to catch a little shut-eye at nights came from the mere fact that the man was taking care of a kid in the damned apocalypse - children were always the biggest liability in the new order, and if he had the strenght to keep her alive for so long, that meant something.

It was a newfound feeling that you could not decipher correctly - something in you relished in the fact that you were with people and you were somewhat safe. It was clear as day if you did one fuck up, he would not hesitate to shoot your brains out, but nevertheless - you had company.

Only thing you knew about the father and his daughter was that they were capable. Capable enough to carry you to a safe house and tend to your wound. Capable enough to slit your throat once you have exceeded their uses. Grouping up with people you did not know the motives of was like playing some sort of roulette - someone got shot in the end, and you sure as hell was not looking for that person to be yours truly.

You did not know much about them, and they did not know anything about you in return - the way you liked to keep it. With your leg feeling a little bit better every passing day, you only could hope their destination was closer so you could get away and not owe a soul a damn thing.

The girl reached over to the small fire, warming her hands in the cold of the night as her father sat close to her, his eyes torn off of you for a moment as he looked around the landscape - a rare feat. Sitting on the grass with your bad leg extended, covered in the cargo pants you had changed into with your back against a tree trunk, you did not speak much. The trusted, a little rusty switchblade of yours was in between your nimble fingers, toying with the metal as your gaze focused on the moonlight it reflected.You would be damned if the stray infected around the meadows was not attracted to this, the cracks of the fire and the ramblings of the girl to Joel, talking about this joke book she had acquired somewhere.

“What is the leading cause of divorce in long-term marriages?”

Ellie, that was what her name was, you had overheard Joel call her. Had she been a handful - solely based on your couple days worth of observations as she would barely acknowledge your existence, you could not help but sometimes admire the father Joel was. The girl barely needed the protection from you, judging by the way she held onto the handgun while you traversed the state border, how she carefully avoided your close presence. She surely had learned all of those from his teachings. That, you could respect and to some extent, admire.

No one had been there to teach you how to hold onto your own but yourself.

“A stalemate.”

Overhearing the exchange, a small yet audible chuckle went past your lips, shaking your head in a breathy laugh.

“That’s terrible.”

Two pairs of green eyes with unknowns swimming in them landed on your frame, with you undoubtedly looking like a deranged woman scoffing to herself. Feeling the stares on you, your own eyes would rise yet the slight twitch on your lip did not falter. Joel’s face had been devoid of emotion as per usual, but you could swear you saw Ellie’s lip curl up in amusement ever so slightly, to which you could only shrug. If horrible jokes were the last and only choice of entertainment left around you, you would take it, regardless of who it came from.

As expected, the only non-hostile interaction you had with the girl that did not involve any taunts thrown your way had been cut short by a certain tall man standing up with a huff after dimming the fire a bit. Ellie followed his lead, leaning her back against the tree closest to him, no doubt getting ready for some shut-eye. The residual red  and orange lights coupled with the ambient moonlight were what illuminated his bearded face as he gave you a short nod, his large hand reaching out towards you.

“I’ll take over in a couple hours. Watch us good.”

His instructions simple and concise, making you clench your jaw a little. Looking up at his brooding height, you would give a nod over his way, adjusting your body with a groan emitting out of your lips when you had moved your wounded leg, slipping the revolver out of the holster. Reaching up, your much smaller hands would place both your blade and handgun into his palm. With a low huff, he did not watch you suffer through your leftover pain, instead opting to make his way towards Ellie’s side. What you did not see was that he would usually stay up anoher hour or so, pretending to sleep, making sure you do not even attempt to do something stupid.

Left alone for the time being to contemplate the darkness under the sparkles of stars above, you sat down on the grass, senses on high alert as per habit. A little peace and quiet, some company albeit not the warmest, safety in numbers, helping each other survive were things that you could get used to in the long run.

It was only a matter of time till you could no longer run and someone recognized you.

next

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Beneath the Blade zine! I just love Ingrid and her relationships with Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri. You should check out @  kaijujuice on twitter for the collab art!

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Ingrid knew the Gautier house like the back of her hand. Since she was a child, she had roamed its gardens and halls as though it were her own home. She knew Sylvain’s favourite hiding places, the number of training dummies Felix had destroyed, exactly where they had to plaster over to hide Dimitri’s clumsy strength. Through the seasons and years, she had come and gone from this house without much thought beyond how hopeless her boys were.

 The place standing before her couldn’t possibly be the house in her memories. Flags erect, generals flowing in and out of the doors, and training grounds crowded with soldiers, the Gautier home was dressed in the colours of war. Ingrid swallowed as she stood in front of the house, unable to go in, unable to leave. Had it only been yesterday that they’d all be in the academy, chastising Sylvain for his latest conquest?

 “Ingrid!” A cheery voice greeted her. Speak of the devil; it was like thinking about him had summoned him. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

 “Run out of people to flirt?” she retorted automatically, turning around as she spoke. Ingrid froze at the sight before her, at the boy (man) dressed in armour, the metal gleaming in the afternoon sun. Despite his grin, he wasn’t Sylvain. He couldn’t be. There was something harder, tougher about the person in front of her, a sharper edge than Sylvain had ever had.

“Only stating the obvious.” He smiled easily, and that much hadn’t changed. No matter the situation, he had always found the lighter side of things. Though, something about his expression felt off. When she didn’t say anything, he winked, “What, did I make you speechless?”

 Ingrid didn’t know where to start. How to start. Lamely, she mumbled, “Your hair…”

 “Oh this?” He tugged on a particularly long strand tickling his chin. “Thought I’d grow it out a bit.”

 She wondered how much of that was the truth, and how much of it was because he hadn’t had time to cut it. You look like a knight, she almost said, but she bit back the words, fearful that saying them aloud would make it all the more real. It was bad enough that they were at war, that Dimitri was dead. Now Sylvain looked serious for once in his life and those carefree days from the monastery were really gone, weren’t they?

 “Ingrid?” Sylvain asked, worried now. He reached out to squeeze her shoulder, his grip firm, and she’d never thought of him as reliable before this point.

 “It’s nothing.” Forcing a smile, Ingrid pulled out an envelope from her bag. “I just came to deliver this.”

 “What’s that?” He plucked the letter, turning it over in his hand. “For the—”

 “For your father, so don’t open it,” she admonished before he could rip it open. When he gave her a pitiful look, she looked away, ashamed. “We…we won’t be joining you.”

 “Oh.” Sylvain looked at the letter, then back at her. Still wearing a good-natured smile, he shrugged. “It’s a good decision. Everything’s going way too fast as it is, better to just sit back and wait.”

 Ingrid’s jaw dropped, and she hissed, “What?”

 He backed away, his hands held up in surrender. “I’m wrong?”

 “Any honourable knight would, would…” she choked back a sob, forcing the words out. “Avenge their liege. It’s the honourable thing to do.”

 “Honour, huh?” Sylvain smile disappeared. Grimly, he replied, “I don’t know how much of this is really about honour. If honour is really worth all this death.”

 “That…we can’t just do nothing,” she replied lamely. “Not after what they did.”

“Maybe, but reacting like this’ll just get a lot of people dead.” Sylvain rubbed his neck, looking away. Softly, he added, “Like Duscur.”

 Ingrid couldn’t say anything about that, couldn’t deny or agree with his words. She wondered if she’d ever be able to think of Duscur objectively, be able to hear the name and not think of Glen, think of Dimitri’s parents, think of those lost.

 If she’d ever be able to think of it without remembering Dedue and wonder what could have been.

 “I’m not saying we’re wrong, it’s just…” Sylvain looked over his shoulder, at the knights training in the distance. “Dimitri’s…Dimitri’s dead. Getting revenge won’t bring him back.”

 “But we swore—”

 “That doesn’t matter to a dead man.” Sylvain looked back at her, his eyes clear. “Why risk your life over this?”

 “And what about you?” she snapped back, her hand curling into a fist. “Why are you fighting?”

 Sylvain laughed sheepishly. “Got me there. I don’t really have a reason. It just…” He trailed off, looking up at the clear blue sky. “It just doesn’t feel right, what happened.”

 Oh. That’s what it was. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. Ingrid looked away, quietly agreeing, “Nothing feels right.” She didn’t think anything would feel right ever again.

 -x-

 The trip to House Fraldarius was quicker, quieter affair. Rodrigues didn’t condemn her as she handed over the letter, as she rubbed her arm and offered her apologies. Instead, he had merely nodded, his eyes kind and tone kinder. It was more than she deserved. The Galatea bannermen were refusing the call, selfishly stepping back and avoiding conflict. A rebuke would have been expected. A harsh judgement even better.

 Guilt was the only reason she could give for seeking out Felix immediately after. As usual, he was in the training ground, sword in hand and sweat dripping down his skin. There was no finesse in his sword work, none of the grace she’d come to associate with his attacks. Each strike was more brutal than the next and his rage was a palpable thing.

 “You’re not joining us,” Felix grunted as he delivered one last strike, stabbing straight through the dummy. Straw flew in the air as he savagely yanked his sword back out.

 “Did Sylvain tell you?” she asked instead, watching as he turned to her. His hair was longer too, his frame taller, and she didn’t know if these changes were overnight or if they’d happen quietly, where she couldn’t see. If like with Dimitri’s obsession, she had averted her eyes from those around her.

 Felix snorted. “He didn’t have to.”

 It stung more than she’d expected. “Was it really that obvious what my father would choose?”

 “It doesn’t matter. You aren’t needed.” For once, his words lack their usual bite, their malice half-hearted.

 In another time, she would have argued back. Now, she felt as tired as he sounded. Ingrid peeked at his hands, at the bleeding calluses. “You won’t be much use either, like that. You should rest.”

 Felix flexed his hand and shrugged. “I don’t have time to wait for it to heal.”

 “That’ll get you killed.” Ingrid frowned. “Why are you even fighting? To die?”

 Felix’s lips curled into a snarl. “Of course not!”

 “Then why?” she pressed, stepping forward and grabbing his hands. “Why are you hurting yourself like this?”

 He yanked his hand away. “Isn’t it obvious? The boar—I—I…” And just as quickly, his anger died down, his eyes flickering to the practice dummy. “I…”

 They used to train there together, the four of them. And then, after the massacre, just the three. Felix could barely tolerate her and left immediately whenever Dimitri arrived. Was he thinking of that? Or further back, to when it had been just him and Glen? At what point did a memory stop hurting, at what point did a regret stop keeping them awake at night?

 She didn’t know the answer to that, anymore than she knew the answer to how they’d reached this point. Maybe it was when Felix had forgotten how to be happy, when Dimitri had learned to hide his rage or Sylvain faked his smile or even when she had left behind her dreams for her lance. Their fracture had started long ago.

 “I don’t know,” Felix muttered finally, loosening his grip on his sword. “The boar…this wasn’t how he should have gone.”

 “No, it wasn’t.” Ingrid rubbed her wrist. Life wasn’t fair. She had learned that lesson long ago but at some point, she’d forgotten it. At some point, she’d thought they were impervious to it.

 Life wasn’t fair. It was a lesson she hoped she’d stop learning.

 -x-

 Dimitri didn’t have a grave. It was the fact that bothered her the least—Glen’s name was carved into a marble tomb, the letters cold in a way he had never been. Ingrid had never found him there, but instead in the training grounds, in the spaces they used to spar. She had not loved him. She wondered if she might have.

 Death had a way of taking away all possibilities.

 When they were young, they used to play in a brook on her lands. Sylvain would tan on the banks, Felix would train on the side, and knee-deep in the cool waters, a cocky smirk on his face, Dimitri would try to catch the fish with his bare hands. He hadn’t looked like a prince then, just a boy who couldn’t control his own strength.

 The brook was still there, even if the people weren’t. Ingrid’s armour clanked as she sat down on a log by the riverbank, staring down into the clear waters. Her lance sat on her lap, balanced precariously. It was quiet here, away from people. The brook babbled, the birds chirped, and Ingrid pulled out a book from her satchel. Her fingers traced the title, Sword of Kyphon, before she opened it. A lifetime ago, she and Ashe used to pour over the books, the candles flickering as they talked deep into the night about loyalty and honour.

 How simple it had seemed then. How easy. She should have realized it then; the knights never had it easy, honour was earned only through spilled blood. If the king had died, what would these knights have done? Avenged him? The line between justice and revenge was a thin one. And after that, after the king’s ghost had been put to sleep, then what?

 Nothing. No one ever planned for the ‘after’.

 The brook babbled. The birds chirped. And the children were long gone. Ingrid closed her book and tucked it away in her satchel.

 “I’m sorry, Dimitri,” she murmured, standing up. “I can’t hold your ghosts.”

 Ingrid had always thought of Dimitri as strong but she’d never realized just how strong till now. His ghosts, his rage, his vengeance—all of it had been hidden behind a polite smile, all of it simmering below the surface. She only had two ghosts, two regrets, and she couldn’t handle that much. Yet, despite his strength, Edelgard still walked, his revenge incomplete.

 No, worse than incomplete. It was dragging everyone else into it, ruining lives faster than rot through a field. A war was brewing, whether she liked it or not.

 And whatever her parents wished, Ingrid was going to enter it. Gripping her lance tightly, she closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the staff. “I cannot get your justice. But I will protect everyone else. At one point, I think that would have been enough for you.”

 It was too late to save Dimitri, too late to apologize to Dedue, too late to love Glen. But Ingrid had enough with lingering regrets and she wasn’t going to add to their weight.

 When the war was over, her friends would be alive by the end of it.

 And maybe, just maybe, somewhere on the other side, Dimitri would be at peace with that.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 20

Deal or No Deal?

Achilles appears beside Chad and Orhihime, dressed in his black under armour and holding only his shield. He looks unassuming, for one of the most famous heroes in history. A whisper in the trees and he knows that Medusa and Cu have taken up their posts, but none of them move to interfere. Cu and Achilles have too much respect for a deal made by warriors to come between the two of them, and Medusa will stay where she is unless he looks like he’s going to die.

Which he won’t.

He can’t let himself die yet.

He has far too much to do.

Zangetsu sings when he blocks a tiny cero aimed at him. It cuts easily to both sides of him and blows up a tree violently. Ichigo blocks each one that’s lobbed at him, until Yammy yanks out his zanpakutou and swings it viciously at Ichigo.

Ichigo blocks, narrowly, and swings Tensa out of his sleeve in an uppercut that nearly spills Yammy’s guts from his body. If Hollows have guts.

He doesn’t actually know.

Yammy howls and keeps taking wild, viciou swings at him. He’s strong, and powerful and angry.

But that makes him stupid, too.

Ichigo bolts between his legs when he lifts his sword above his head and avoids a blow that leaves a chasm in the park ground. Ichigo spins on his knees and brings his shorter blade around to slice through Yammy’s tendons on his legs, then up his back with Neive.

On the chance that their Zanpakutou work like his he lops off Yammy’s other hand when he tries to flail behind him and kicks the sword into the trees.

Ichigo levels Neive to Yammy’s throat and stands still.

He’d learned a long time ago not to let people ‘level up’ if he could help it.

“Yield,” he ordered coldly. He didn’t feel much like Ichigo Kurosaki, Substitute Shinigami right now. He felt like Ichigo Kurosaki, Master of of Chaldeas.

“Fuck you!” Yammy snarls at him. “You can’t do this!”

“Funny,” Ichigo says, “I just did.”

He turns his eyes to Ulquiorra, who’s impassiveness is broken only by a slight widening of his eyes.

“Well?” Ichigo asks, not taking his blade away from Yammy’s throat.

Ulquiorra tilts his head. “I will have to confer with our Lord.”

Ichigo bristles. “You made a deal,” he snaps. He sees Achilles start to rise and Cu step out of the trees. The whisper of chains and serpents to his right reminds him that they aren’t alone. All it will take is one word for him and they’ll tear through both of them brutally.

“I didn’t think you would win.”

Ichigo will give it too him. He’s honest.

“We shall return, when Lord Aizen sees fit.”

Before Ichigo can move to stab him or give the order Ulquiorra turns and tears the air apart.

It splits like a mouth, gaping into a void. Unceremoniously Ulquiorra appears in front of Ichigo in a burst of insane speed and thrown Yammy straight through the gap.

Ichigo barely reacts in time to block a blow aimed at his head.

In a second the hollows vanish, Urahara appears with Yoruichi, and Ichigo starts cussing a blue streak.

*

Jekyll is red faced at breakfast the next morning, his shoulders hunched and his gaze guilty whenever it lands on Ichigo.

The girls notice, of course they do. Mash looks between the two curiously, and Mordred seems to come to her own conclusions because she mock gags and drags Fran away as soon as they’re done eating.

Alice and Jack as corralled by Mash, who shoots Ichigo a look as she escorts them out of the room and into another. The authors haven’t even emerged from their room. Admittedly, as servants they don’t need to eat, but its still nice to have everyone around the table, and Jack and Alice act like they’ve never eaten before in their lives.

(Ichigo very intentionally doesn’t look into the implications of that)

That leaves Ichigo alone with Jekyll, who takes one look at him, glances at his lap, and bolts for the door.

Ichigo is left watching him go. What the fuck is he supposed to do about this?

It’s easier dealing with children. It really, really is.

Ichigo taps his bracelet until Romani comes up on the coms.

“Ichigo! What’s going on?” Roman asks cheerfully. Ichigo can hear him take a sip of his coffee and hum.

“Nothing terrible just. Annoying. What do you do when someone’s convinced that their other personality has done something terrible to you, but you can’t explain that they didn’t and even if they did its not their fault for what the other them did because they won’t let you talk to them because they’re guilty and freaking out about what the them that they aren’t didn’t actually do?”

“... what ?”

“Uh. You know what. Never mind.”

“Wait, no, Ichigo I wanna know more what the fuck is happening down the-”

Ichigo hung up on him swiftly and stared down at his watch. God this was a stupid situation.

Jekyll acted like they’d just woken up in vegas or something.

And Ichigo has no idea how to fix it.

* *

Ichigo sits in the room in Urahara’s. Cu and Achilles are in the front of the store with the kids, and Medusa had gone to see to the girls, and make sure that they were safe. If someone had been sent to find him, there was always a chance that Aizen would send someone after the others too. He hated it, but he had to keep reminding himself that Aizen isn’t Kyo.

He isn’t the same person as the one he’d met in america. They haven’t fought and almost died together. Ichigo hasn’t shoved his very soul into Aizen’s. He hasn’t stayed night vigils on the restless river with him. He hasn’t held him while he begged for his memory.

Still.

Ichigo has promises to keep.

“What were you thinking?” Urahara asks, “Making a deal like that?”

He doesn’t even sound like he’s scolding Ichigo, for which he’s grateful. He might punch him if that was the case.

It’s strange sometimes. Urahara doesn’t patronize him nearly as much as other people have. People who’d known much more about what he was capable of and what he’d done in the past. He has a startling amount of faith in Ichigo. Even if he is a liar.

“I was thinking I need to have a … discussion, with Aizen,” he says at length.

Urahara’s brows shoot upwards. “A discussion.” He repeats.

Ichigo shrugs, and offers no other explanation. He said what he said, and he meant what he’d said too. He needs to talk to Aizen, if only to tell him the truth.

He may be a traitor to these people, and there’s a history between him and the exiles that Ichigo doesn’t know the details behind, but Ichigo has been to Seireitei. He’s talked with Kyo for hours, lamenting the state of the world and encouraging him to light the spark of revolution. He has no ill will towards him for betraying such a bad place. He barely begrudges him Rukia’s near execution.

Ichigo plays favorites. Sue him.

“Ichigo. He’s a very dangerous man. If you had gone what was your plan?”

“Are you trying to say you’re not dangerous?” Ichigo reasons, looking dead at him. Urahara has the decency to tilt his hat down.

“Certainly not. I would never lie to you like that, Kurosaki. We have a deal, don’t we?”

Ichigo shoots him a half a grin. “So we do.”

“And,” he adds, “My plan is the same as it always is. Charge in with a motley crew and make allies when I get there. It worked before.”

“These aren’t shinigami. They’re hollows.”

“It seems to me that at this point I’m as much a hollow as I am a shinigami. And, they were my enemies too. Does it really make that much of a difference? They clearly have personality and opinion. Not all of them can be on Aizen’s pay roll.”

Urahara considers this.

“It was still reckless.”

Ichigo leans across the table at him. “ I am reckless. It’s always served me well. Besides, I have people watching my back.”

“Yes, your friends. Who you’ve never explained.” Urahara shoots him a pointed look.

“I wasn’t just referring to them,” he nods to Urahara, who actually looks startled before he snaps his fan out to hide his mouth.

“That still doesn’t explain your friends.”

“No. You’re a smart man, I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Ichigo did not grin when he said it, even if he wanted to. The truth is impossible, even for ghosts in most cases, but Urahara had had a hogyoku. He’d held the impossible and possible in his own hands and nourished its power for centuries. He can come to his own conclusions about Ichigo’s life.

Ichigo kind of wants to know just what they’ll be.

“Anyhow. What are we gonna do about the Drosiv?”

“Dro- what now?” Urahara genuinely looks befuddled.

“Well they’re hollows with shinigami power right? The opposite of Visord. So Drosiv. Do you have a better word for them?”

“... I do not.”

* * *

Gin watched the show Ulquiorra put on for the gathered arrancar.

On Aizen’s order, without even blinking, he ripped his own eyeball out and crushed it into dust.

First was the sight of the bloodied teenagers. A young girl with brilliant hair that looked far too much like Rangiku for Gin’s own personal comfort, a bulky boy who Yammy swatted like he was little more than a fly. The girl held up better. She was strong, and a fighter, but it was pretty clear she took no joy in fighting.

Then came Ichigo.

The first thing Gin noticed, besides his hair, was his sword.

When last they’d met it had been a massive, body length kyber knife. Now it was the same length but the ribbon had turned black and there was a hollowed out portion in the blade.

Even more surprising is the white knife, pattered in geometric blue that appears from inside his sleeve.

“Looks like yer boy is gettin’ new tricks, huh?” he tilts his head towards Aizen, who wears a smile that would make lesser men grow cold. It’s not even a cruel smile. It’s just far too interested for someone like Aizen. Gin almost pities little Ichigo Kurosaki. Almost.

As it looks now the kid knows how to hold his own, and how to be vicious. Which was not the vibe Gin got from him during their brief encounters in the Seireitei.

Determined yes. Stubborn yes. But not cruel.

“Let’s make a deal,” Ulquiorra met his gaze squarely. Brown burned at his, and now Gin’s too, with a jaw set hard.

“And just what would that be? ” he asked, his voice smooth and flat. Through the memory Gin can feel the most muted tick of interest. Funny, the last few times they’d done this he hadn’t felt anything besides mild annoyance.

“You work for Aizen, right?”  A redundant question. Ichigo adjusted his grip on his blade.  “If I win I want you to take me to him.”  

Ulquiorra looked briefly between the pair of them before he closed his eyes. It was dark for a long moment.

“So be it.”  

Gin kept looking at Aizen, watching him reactions even when Grimmjowstarted berating Yammy for his state and Ulquiorra for not simply killing the other two. Grimmjow was always picking fights.  

When they finally got the end, Aizen hummed.

“Interesting,” he said at last. “He wants to come here, then we’ll let him.” Aizen’s smile grew steadily.

Gin had a bad feeling about this.

* * * *

Yuzu was getting frustrated.

She wasn’t unused to being the weakest in the family. It wasn’t a surprise. Ichigo and Karin had taken all of the ghost power when they were born, and only left a little bit for her. Just enough for her to know when ghosts were around.

Not like the other two.

They could see them, interact with them, and even fight them. They were truly their mothers children.

For all Yuzu took over as a housewife once she was tall enough to touch the stove she had always felt the least connected to their parents.

Masaki had always been Ichigo’s world. She was a light for all of them but it was Ichigo that she doted on the most, and Ichigo that had clung so hard to her. Even after she died, Yuzu remembered the grieving more than her mother herself. Masaki was a distant memory, a warm and soft one that was corrupted by the rain of sorrow and the hole in the family that she’d left behind.

Yuzu remembered dark days, days when her dad wouldn’t talk to anyone, and when he brother paced the river bank looking for something that not a one of them could ever see.

Then, in those months, it had just been her and Karin.

It had been the two of them that had pushed their dad out of the house to find Ichigo when he stayed out in the rain. It was them that held each other in the dark of the night. It was them that cried for someone that they would barely remember in the years to come.

Then Karin had grown. She had taken the route of the tom boy, and despite his doting on her it was Karin who had more in common with their dad. Even their hair was the same.

And now it turns out that all of them had been able to see spirits the entire time.

Yuzu had always been the odd one out. Always.

So sometimes, when they go to visit the Ishida household she spends more time with Ryuken than practicing shooting like she’s supposed to. She can barely see what she’s doing, let alone form a proper weapon.

It’s frustrating, and it’s easier to find Ryuken and sit with him and do her homework while Karin tried to learn to fight from Uryu.

It’s during one of these sessions that Ryuken looks up from something he’s doing, hospital administration she assumed, and speaks.

“You should give this up. It will serve you better to focus on the living instead of the dead.”

Yuzu looks up at him. She feels older than 11. Sometimes she thinks she is.

“It would probably be easier,” she admits, “But… But this is something for us to remember our mom with. Did you know I only have three memories of her?”

Ryuken’s brows furrow minutely.

“I… did not.”

“Mhmm. I remember her in the kitchen. She had me sitting on the counter, and I was her taste tester for her curry recipe. It was way too spicy, but I liked it anyway. I liked the color it was. That was a long time ago…”

“I remember when me and Karin were first going to pre school. Dad was crying and making a fuss, and mom had to pry us out of his arms so we could go to class. She told him that he should be pushing us to explore, not trying to hide us away at home.”

She fell silent. Ryuken slowly leaned closer across his desk.

“And the third?”

Yuzu looks up at him. “I remember her funeral. I was the only one who could stand to look in the casket. She looked like she was sleeping. I kept waiting for her to open her eyes and tell us it was all a mistake, she was fine. But she never did.”

“No. I suppose she wouldn’t have. I remember that funeral.”

Yuzu startles. She hadn’t even realized he had been at it. “You do?”

“Mhmm. I always thought they’d picked the worst lipstick for her. She hated red with a passion. My mother always wanted to wear more make up, and look more lady like.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuzu said quietly. “You must miss her.”

Ryuken hummed. “She was my best friend.”

He stood at last. “If you’re really so serious about this, I may be able to help.”

Yuzu scrambled to her feet, her homework discarded, and rushed to follow him.

* * * * *

Ichigo was gonna kill someone.

He really, really was.

All he wanted to do was duel a hollow, jump through an interdimensional tear, and talk to his time travelled/mind wiped best friend so he could ask him about overthrowing the government but no!

No!

Now an entire band of dead people were standing in his homeroom, making a massive spectacle, and  how do they think they’re actually blending in right now?  

Ichigo looks at Hirako, who looks back at him with what might be his more honest expression to date. A frown.

“Don’t look at me fer help. I’m just a normal human person.”

“Oh yeah. A regular fellow human, you human fellow,” he drawls.

Rukia appears on the WINDOW of all things, her arms crossed and her chin lifted regalling.

“Ichigo! It’s time to talk.”

“Later,” Ichigo waved dismissively at her. “We’re about to start history. Sit down or take a step back, would ya?”

He ducks when Rukia flings herself at him with a vicious punch.

“And the rest of you! Sit down, what’s wrong with you?” Ichigo demands irritably. “Why does everyone insist on putting school on the back burner?”

“Why Ichigo, I had no idea you were such an academic!” Rangiku leaned right into his personal space, her blue eyes bright and teasing.

“I’m not,” he says flatly. “But the better I do the sooner I graduate. So. Sit.”

One by one the shinigami sit around the room, stirring up ripples of conflict.

Ichigo can feel a headache building behind his eyes and the bell hasn’t even wrung yet.

Couldn't they find him after school? Or just leave well enough alone?

  Stupid question. Of course they can’t. They’re my friends, after all.  

* * * * * *