#swan watches bleach

[swan2swan]

MY DARLING MOMO FINALLY LAUNCHES A COMBO ATTACK

IT HAS BEEN ALMOST TWENTY YEARS

[swan2swan]

And there you have it!

It only took Ichigo a few minutes to get rid of the Quincy King's control over him. In the last episode, we saw him use his legs and other arm while his controlled right arm was useless; now he gained full control.

It was just an attack he wasn't expecting before. Even the Quincy Powers inside of him probably didn't realize that they were subservient to the will of the Almighty.

"The Blade is me" and "The Quincy blood in you will not permit the Soul King to exist" are two fundamentally contradicting statements, and it's frustrating that people don't seem to understand that.

Which is it: Has Ichigo mastered himself and is in control of his powers in totality, regardless of where that power comes from, or is he enslaved to their whims like he always has been?

If "The Blade is Me" was a factually correct statement, Yhwach should have no power over ichigo whatsoever. Ichigo should've been able to pull out the sword at no risk to himself, or baited Yhwach by pretending go along with the compulsion before attacking him instead.

But the statement is factually false by Yhwach declaring "The Quincy blood within you will not permit the Soul King to exist" turning Ichigo's own Quincy side against him, declaring it will kill the Soul King regardless of Ichigo's own desires. Which narratively speaking tells us Ichigo has NOT mastered himself and never will.

I ask again: Which one is it?

What was the point of introducing that whole concept, and the Quincy parasite pledging fealty to Ichigo, if the idea was immediately contradicted by having the parasite betray him?

Kubo, pick a fucking lane, you hack.

[x-gabrielle-x]

Tides Of Survival | 1

Pairings: Finnick Odair x Reader.

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, murder, swearing, major and minor injuries, death, (eventual) smut, mentions of forced prostitution.

Summary: The white swan of the Capitol; gracious, elegant, and innocent. You catch many of the Capitol's attention in your games, whether that was due to your agility, cleverness, or looks in all, even managing to capture the gaze of your young mentor and old friend, Finnick Odair.

Series Masterlist | Pinterest Board

Although most days in District Four were hot, today was definitely one of the most. The sun blared down on your back and sweat lined your forehead, creased with dedication and concentration. You swore that if it were to get any hotter than this, your skin might as well be melting off.

The breeze did little to cool you down, the wind hitting your face as your fingers worked at the knots in your aching hands. You could conclude now that you were miserable at knot tying.

Frowning, your smaller hands lifting the mess of a rope up to your father's gaze, you called him.

"I still can't do it, Pa" you whined, gaze trained on him as his fingers worked effortlessly at his now half-finished net.

He glanced down, brown eyes flicking between you and the disaster held tightly in your smaller grip. He smiled, though his fingers remained at his work.

"You'll get it, Princess. You've only been practicing for a few hours," he tried, but you were determined.

"All the kids at school can make them now, I don't want to be left out." Twisting the rope between your hands, you undid the poor knot before aimlessly placing it down on the wooden work bench, fingers raw from the rough material.

He hummed, picking up a weight that laid off to his right and tying it to his work. "Sometimes it's just harder for others to learn. Thats why we practice, so that we become better."

You huffed when he turned away, though you weren’t able to avert your gaze from his hands. They worked effortlessly with the small rope, weaving and pulling into patterns. Though District Four was full of different kinds and styles of nets and knots, your fathers were some of their proudest works.

"How about this," he started, eyeing you at his side as you sat atop the table boredly, legs kicking back and forth. "When we get home, I have some old rope in my bedroom. We can practice together when I'm off work. Does that sound good?" He asked, and like a switch your smile was gleaming back up at him.

He laughed, a solemn look flashing over his features when he went to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. "You smile just like your ma, Princess." He pressed a quick kiss to your head.

Whilst he continued his work, you allowed for your gaze to wonder. The docks of District Four were crowded with workers; some actively catching a variety of fish and others weaving and knotting nets at the benches like your father. The air lingered the smell of salt and seaweed with every crash of the waves against the shore. The heat blaring down at you made you ache for the feeling of the cool water surrounding your body, and you watched on as sunlight danced across the water like ribbons of gold, as if taunting you to give in.

"How much longer?" You asked. The sun had yet to set, and you knew that would mean a few hours at the least.

Your father let out a breath, and you didn't miss the way his hands trembled and flexed with exhaustion. "Still got a few hours, Hun. I need to go and grab something off Matt, so stay put here, alright?"

Once you nodded, he was already walking a few tables down and disappearing into the crowd of people. Now alone, your gaze caught onto the rope beside you, fingers etching out to grab the rough material when a voice piped up from behind you.

"Maybe I can help you."

You turned, startles to see a young boy stood behind you. You recognized him as one of the boys from the year above you, though you didn't remember his name. His sun-bleached blonde hair was pushed around from the salty ocean breeze, and his green eyes sparkled with mischief. He stood with a certain confidence that you admired, his gaze trained on the untied knot at your side.

You hummed in question, and seeing your confusion he picked up the rope you had previously discarded, twirling it in his palm as if he was dissecting it.

"I've already tried," you told him, though you were quite embarrassed admitting it. A District Four girl couldn't even tie her own net.

He raised a brow. "Can you tie shoelaces?"

Taken aback, you frowned at him, slightly offended. "Yes, I can tie shoes. I'm not that bad."

"Can you tie any knots?"

"Only a few my Pa taught me."

His lips quirked into a grin. "Great! Then you won't have a problem."

He handed you the rope before fishing around in a nearby crate of ropes. Finding what he was looking for, he turned to you and set the rope out flat.

"All you need to do it watch carefully, and if you're stuck ill help you."

You didn't answer, only watching as he slowly began to explain to you between weaving and pulling. He kept it at a slow pace so that you were able to follow along easily, and though you messed up a few times, he was quick to correct you. Your movements were hesitant and slow as you tied your knot, and you noticed Finnick pause at your side.

"You know," he began. "You make fumbling around look kind of fancy."

You wrinkled your nose into a scowl. "Thats not a compliment."

He laughed, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. "I promise it is," he said.

A pause.

"What's your name?" He had asked, watching you closely. He noticed that you barely were watching him work now, instead getting the hang of the knots yourself.

You glanced at him, smiling brightly. "Y/N."

He nodded. "I'm Finnick."

After some time, you couldn't help but to smile down at the finished net in your hands. It was only small and still poorly done, but it was better. Better than any progress you'd made so far. You held it up to Finnick, gleaming brightly.

"See? You did it!" Finnick smiled, though he let out a small laugh when you eyed the net wearily with a grimace. "Not bad for somebody who can't tie shoelaces."

You shot him a look, though the corner of your lip tilted into a smile. "I told you I could tie laces?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Just better now."

You lifted the net so that it was eye level with the both of you. Some of the knots were better than others, and half the net hung lower than the other, but nevertheless it was yours.

"Should we test it?" Finnick questioned, and you eagerly nodded and jumped off the bench.

The planks creaked beneath your feet as you ran to the end of the deck, Finnick hot on your trail. The net was practically tangled around your arms, and you shrugged it off with excitement, gazing down at the water below. You noticed some of the Peacekeepers leant up against the wooden railing, and though their helmets concealed their expressions, you knew they were watching. They always were.

"Let's hope your throwing is better than your net making," Finnick joked, but you ignored him, finally getting the newly made net untangled and throwing it as far out into the water as you could.

"Imagine how good I'll be in a few weeks," you thought, but Finnick was quick to nudge you.

"Not ever as good as me, though."

You opened your mouth to retort but were cut off by a gasp when a splash in the water caught your attention. Finnick helped to pull your net back up onto the doc, the both of you noticing it had come back empty.

"I definitely saw something," you murmured, though there was no upset in your tone. You were eying the net carefully, gaze practically burning.

Finnick shrugged. "Next time, we can make the-"

"Wait!" You suddenly squealed, digging around into the wet net. It was then that Finnick realized the subtle movements from under one corner of the net. You dug around, hand finally clasping around the fish.

"I got one!" The words caught in your throat with excitement, and you watched entranced by the scales of the fish that shimmered like treasure. Perhaps it was treasure to you.

The moment was short lived when the fish in its mighty attempt flapped its fins, slipping from your grasp and falling back into the water. Finnick was prepared to assure you that you could always try again, but when you turned to him, bright smile on your face, he swore he'd never seen anybody happier. Your smile was contagious to him.

"I caught a fish in my own net!" You jumped up and down, and you noticed your father back at the work bench from the distance. You turned to Finnick, E/C eyes sparkling with pride. "Next time we will catch more fish together." It was a promise.

"Thank you, Finnick," you gleamed, before running back to your father with the soaking net, telling him about the exciting news and practically shoving your new net in his face.

Your words echoed in his mind. Next time, he thought, the smile lingering on his face at the promise of many.

©x-gabrielle-x. Do not steal, copy or translate my works.

[princessbrunette]

okay but just imagine being popes sister and you’re sneaking around with jj and one day hes like talking to you through your bedroom door while jjs balls deep in you

CLOSE CALL!

a.n: this can def apply to regular siblings or just step-siblings with pope. some smut but nothin crazy !!

Closed doors at the Heyward house was allowed.

You were allowed privacy, your room was your space and there was a decent amount of trust between all of the house residents. However, locked doors was a no-no, especially now you and Pope were older and were spending an increasingly large amount of time with the opposite gender.

In your defence, you didn’t even know Pope was home. He was meant to be off with John B that day, looking into some old transcripts that could lead them to a map for some treasure you’d all been after for a while now. This was you and JJ’s day off, one might say — and you spent it straddling his lap on your bed, his cock bullying your insides as you grind down on it, his hips lifting beneath you to meet your bounces. One of his ringed hands clasped your waist, helping you with your movements whilst the other took a moment to run through his sun-bleached hair, slightly matted from the sweaty, balmy atmosphere in your room. “Fuck, that’s good huh?” He groans.

Your jaw dropped, a moan just about to rip from your throat as you drew closer to your orgasm— when the moment was interrupted by a swift, but unmistakable knock at your door, followed by the calling of your name. Pope.

JJ sat up so fast from his laid back position you nearly knocked heads, the blonde wincing and holding your lower back as you clenched hard in surprise. You looked at eachother, eyes wide — before Pope called your name once more.

“I gotta get in there, I hid the key to the safe in your room ‘cos I was paranoid and now—” The handle to your door turns.

“Don’t come in!” You yelp, JJ about 3 seconds from throwing you off him so he could swan dive naked out the window. “I’m naked!” Technically, not a lie.

“So put some clothes on, look I’ve got John B waiting outside and I don’t have time to—”

“I cant, I just got out the shower and I’m air drying. Just— just tell me where the key is and I’ll bring it to you.” You call out, hearing him sigh. JJ shifts a little inside your wet heat, and you both wince this time— both sensitive.

“I don’t really remember. I just know it’s in your dresser— Look if you just let me look it’ll be quicker I really gotta go!” He begs and you bite your lip. Pope wasnt dumb, if you tried to sneak JJ out the window or even off the bed he’d hear the extra set of feet and come bursting in like the protective big brother he was. You stare into JJ’s wide eyes, his expression reading ‘What the hell are you about to do?’ and speak again.

“If you come in you gotta keep your eyes closed, okay?” Your voice wavers unsurely, now if having JJ round during the day wasn’t a big enough risk, this sure was. JJ’s eyes widen, jaw gaping slightly as if you’d lost your mind.

“Obviously, I don’t wanna see you naked, dude.” Pope mutters before swinging the door open, eyes screwed shut as promised, even holding a hand over them for extra precaution.

“Just— take a few steps, and then a few to the left and then face the wall where the dresser is.” You direct him as he stumbles over, following your directions until his back his to you, the dresser now infront of him. The two of you watch Pope rummage through the drawers, searching for where he left the key— JJ practically holding his breath, putting statues to shame.

“You should really be coming to this. It could be pretty big.” He converses, digging around.

“Uh— yeah, maybe I’ll meet you there in a little.” You try and regulate your voice, trying to ignore how you can feel JJ throbbing inside of you, begging for release. You furrowed your brows at him briefly, in disbelief that he was still this hard with his close friend in the room. Must have been all the nerves, JJ was always the adrenaline junkie.

“JJ too. Lemme text him—” He mumbles, and you watch the back of him as he digs into his back pocket. The blonde boy beneath you comes to life, wilding shaking his head and waving at his phone sat proudly on your bedside table like a bomb ready to detonate, sure to make a loud and obnoxious noise if Pope was to text him, giving the game away.

“No!” You yell, a little too urgently, and you watch Popes back straighten a little suspiciously, like he wanted to turn around. “Let—” You clear your throat, attempting at a casual tone. “Let me text him. I’ve been looking for an excuse to text him anyway.”

“Gross, you can’t be crushing on my friends. They’re… dudes. They think with their dicks and it’ll just fuck everything up.” He scolds you, sticking his arm deep in the drawer until he jolted with recognition, finally finding the key amongst a wad of socks. “Ah, got it.”

‘Gross?’ JJ mouths to you, face screwed in offence and you lightly smack his arm, distracted by the conversation.

“Whatever, Pope. We’ll talk about this some other time. Now uh— see yourself out.” He stumbles blindly to the door and shuts it behind him again, the two of you staying rooted to your spot until you heard his feet descend away and out the front door.

JJ collapses onto his back once more, breathing out a loud sigh of relief and from the momentum you fall straight on top of him with an ‘Oof!’

“Jesu— my legs crampin’ up. You really just— invited him in here? Just like that?” He explodes, brows raised as you shuffle into a more comfortable spot, his cock still nestled inside of you.

“I had no choice!” You pout, hoping to win some cute points. “And we got away with it, didn’t we?” You add with a cheeky grin, rolling your hips as you grind him in and out of you once more. He lets out a jagged breath and then a chuckle, shaking his head.

“Oh you’re crazy. You know that right? That you’re crazy?”

“You like it.”

“I do but uh— don’t you have something you should be doing? Like texting me for example?” His smile grows as he speaks and you burst into giggles from his stupid joke and fingers digging into your waist. Not giving you a chance to retaliate, he flips you on your back and gets back to work.

[kurosstuff]

2nd time requesting so bear with me please. Sera x Gn!Exorcist!Reader who came back from an extermination and is very tired. Just some fluffy stuff and maybe a small tiny bit of spicy stuff. It doesn't have to be a Fanfic, it can be head cannons. I don't really mind :]

Please and thank you!!

Gonna be a headcanon this time cause- I got a very bad headache at the time of me writing this♡ your so sweet♡ Oh -So only one drabble this time- I do hope you enjoy still though

Warning(s): fluffy mostly, some blood and some spice tho- slighr angst? Very short headcanons

Ngl I like to think all the sera x exorcist reader are all like- connected that I did- ..maybe I'll make a thing about it? If anyone would like that idk

Sera x gn!exorcist!reader

Every time without fail. The second you enter your home, Sera is there waiting for you- eagerly to help you relax more than be aware of how taxing - how draining your job is. How she carefully pulls your tired Frame to her huge one not minding the blood touching her or her dress-

"Shh, little one~ my darling little swan~, you've done so good for me~ protecting Heaven~. " she purred out, shushing your tired body from your worries of you dirting her. Ruining her pure white dress- bleaching it in such a sinful color.

Red.

Such a gross thing on such a pure angel "now now~ I've made a warm bath for you~" Sera purred out, carrying you to the bath, her large height bending into the bathroom setting you down. Planning on helping you relax fully-

First a bath- to clean yourself of the filth(and to ensure you are unharmed) sera will bath you herself humming to you as she does

Just going all out bubble baths massages wing massages- SCALP massages- she wants her precious angel to feel relaxed

praises- I repeat PRAISES.

THE WHOLE TIME?? She'll praise you none stop- even after she carries you out of the bath- dressing you in pajamas she set out-

She won't let you eat though- she'll make you drink water but food? Forget it. She read somewhere that food after traumatic events they'll throw it up and she's scared that'll happen to you when your supposed to rest

Cuddled all the way- just wrapping you in her six wings whispering to you sweet praises? Watching you turn into a puddle into her arms? GOD she can't get enough of it- how your wings flap how you chirp-

She doesn't mind having a little fun to help relax you- she doesn't mind at ALL only thing though- she won't allow you to lift a finger- just going all out on servicing you- ensuring your satisfied- it's all about you-

She'll stay the whole night cuddling kissing up on you praising- only time she won't do spicy is if your truly exhausted and/or hurt in any way

She'd be too panicked over you to even think of such a act- she's just to busy worrying about you to act on that "impulse"

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2024–Day 10: A Pirate’s Christmas Carol (2/2)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Word Count: 2724

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes: This is the conclusion of my 2016 fic A Pirate’s Christmas carol.  At the time it was written, it was a future fic, but now that canon has disproved it, it’s more of an ��alternate” fic.

Killian woke with a start, heart pounding, utterly disoriented, realizing he wasn’t in his bed with Swan curled up at his side.  After a moment, it all came back to him…his fears and insecurities about upcoming fatherhood, coming to sit before the tree and the fire so his restlessness wouldn’t wake his sleeping wife, Liam, the journey to the past.

Had it really happened?

Surely not.  Likely his sleep addled brain had conjured an elaborate dream, seeking relief from the anxiety.

The thought was sad, somehow.  How he would have loved to spend another hour in Liam’s presence, even if his brother was naught but a ghost.

Deciding it would be best to return to bed, Killian got to his feet.  It was then that he noticed the other presence in the room.

Henry stood still and silent in the corner near the Christmas tree.  He stared, unblinking, merely taking Killian in.  It was unnerving as hell.

“Henry, lad,” Killian said slowly.  “I didn’t see you there.  Did you…did you need something?”

The lad shook his head slowly, and then finally spoke.  “It wasn’t a dream, Killian.  You know that, don’t you?  It truly happened.”

Killian took an involuntary step backward.  There was something eerie about this conversation.

“Uncle Liam, I mean,” Henry continued.  “He came to help you overcome your fears, and so have I.”

“But…I was under the belief it would be ghosts visiting me lad.”

Henry nodded.  “Indeed.  Henry lies sleeping peacefully in his bed.  I’m but a shade of your stepson.  Think of me as the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

That…made about as much sense as anything else had on this confusing night.  Perhaps Swan had been speaking literally and not merely in a figure of speech when she called Christmas Eve night a magical time.

“And have you come to show me vignettes from my present?”

Henry nodded and then smiled brightly.  “Absolutely.”

“Well then, lad, lead on.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Killian first found himself standing near the window in his own bedchamber.  Bright rays of sun burst through the gossamer thin curtains and came to fall on the bed.  Emma slept on her side, a peaceful smile on her face.  Killian lay behind her, holding her to him.

As the sun continued to pour in, the Killian in the bed woke slowly and stretched.  Sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair, and then smiled down at his still sleeping wife.  A glint of mischief came into his eyes, and he leaned down, brushed her hair back from her face and began to kiss the spot on her neck he knew she particularly liked.

Standing by the window, Killian felt his face flame.  “Henry, lad.  Are you sure you wish to be privy to this?  It appears we’ve wandered into a scene not fit for a son’s eyes.”

“Relax, Killian,” Henry said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.  “You really think I would have brought you to a moment that would leave me wanting to bleach my eyes?  Yeah, I don’t think so.  Just watch.”

Killian shot him one last skeptical look, and then turned his attention back to the bed.

Emma squirmed, and then turned onto her back, eyes opening, smile firmly draped over her face.  Without a word, she reached up behind his head and brought his lips down for a long, slow kiss.  When it came to an end, Killian caressed her face, joy radiating from him like the rays of the sun.

“That was quite the way to wake up,” she said.  “Looks like someone’s in a good mood.”

“Aye,” Killian said.  “And while I’d greatly love to continue on to activities that would ensure both of us were in an even better mood, I fear your lad will be knocking soon, eager to open the gifts we left for him last night.”

“You’re probably right,” Emma said, awkwardly moving to a sitting position, her protruding belly making the movement far more difficult than it would have been otherwise.

Killian reached over and rubbed Emma’s belly, then leaned down so he could better greet his little one.

“Good morning my lad,” he said.  “I love you, and I can’t wait for the moment I may greet you properly.”

Hand still placed on Emma’s stomach, Killian jumped slightly, feeling a little foot kick him.

Emma chuckled.  “Looks like someone’s excited to hear his daddy’s voice.”

“Truly?” Killian asked, face a bit wistful.  “You think he recognizes me.”

She laughed again.  “Killian he kicks and squirms and does somersaults every time you’re around.  I think your son loves you already.”

Killian leaned down to kiss Emma’s belly, right over the spot the babe had kicked.  “I hope you’re right.  I’d never known it was possible to love someone this much—and he hasn’t even greeted the outside world.”

Emma pulled him up until she could kiss him once more.  “You’re going to be an amazing father, Killian.  You know that?”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The scene blurred, and Killian rubbed his eyes.  When he opened them again, he and Henry stood near the Christmas tree in their home.

“The first Christmas with the whole family at the new house,” Henry explained as Killian looked around at the Charmings, Regina and Robin (who had made a miraculous return from the dead), Roland, little Robyn and even Zelena.  (Emma had expressed reservations at inviting the greener of the two Mills sisters, but Snow had insisted, stating that if they wanted Zelena to continue on her hero path, they had to give her a chance to prove herself.)

Killian saw Emma making some last minute preparations in the kitchen, assisted by her mother, and Henry sat near the fire playing with his young step-brother and entertaining his even younger uncle…but Killian didn’t see himself in the happy family tableaux.

“Where am I, lad?” Killian asked, feeling a sense of loss at the idea that he was missing Christmas afternoon with his family.

“Don’t worry, Killian,” Henry said.  “You just went to the Jolly to check on her after last night’s snowstorm.  Oh look!  There you are now.”

Accordingly, just as the lad indicated, the front door opened, and Killian came barreling in, quickly closing the door to the winter cold.  He removed his coat and then turned to kiss Emma.

“Hey Killian,” vision Henry said, getting up and going to his step-dad.

“Merry Christmas again, lad.”

“Is the Jolly weathering the winter well?”

“She’s right as rain, my boy,” Killian said. “Nothing so prosaic as a snowstorm can disturb her.  She’s truly a marvel.”

“Cool!”  Henry said.  He continued to smile for a moment, and then suddenly began shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Is something troubling you, mate?” Killian asked, brow furrowed.

Henry averted his eyes.  “No.  Nothing’s wrong,” he said.  “I just…I was hoping I could talk to you.  You know somewhere where everyone isn’t watching.”

“Of course.  You are aware you can always talk to me about anything on your mind, are you not?”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry said.

The two stepped through the door to what used to be the creepy Dark One cellar—now turned into a comfortable man-cave, as Emma called it.  The visitor Killian and his guide Henry followed their other selves; somehow Killian knew this conversation was precisely what guide Henry wished him to see.

“Now, what’s this about, lad?” Killian asked as soon as they were assured their privacy.

“It’s just…” Henry began awkwardly.  He turned away, reached into a satchel Killian hadn’t realized he’d been wearing.  After a moment of shuffling, he pulled out several pages.

“A new story for your storybook, lad?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.  “Well…more for your storybook.  Yours and moms.  I’m gonna give you guys the start of the book for Christmas, but…I don’t know…I wanted to give you this story separately.”

Killian took the pages and looked over them.  “Our story,” he breathed softly.  “You wrote of the difficult times we’ve just overcome—from your mother becoming a Dark One, to her confrontation with the hooded figure.”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“But why did you feel the need to pull this story out in particular, and why did you wish to give it to me privately?”

Henry looked anywhere but at Killian, his shuffling and squirming beginning again in earnest.  “It’s just…I wanted to say thank you.  I mean, these last few months have been really, really hard, and you’ve always been there for me, even when you were scared for mom too.  So, yeah.  Just…thanks for being the best step-dad out there.”

Killian felt the familiar rushing sensation, and the next thing he knew he was back in his living room in the middle of the night.

Killian felt a suspicious lump in his throat as he watched the scene play out.  “Do you really think that way about me, Henry?” he asked in a small voice.

“Of course!” Henry said with a smile.  “And that’s why you have nothing to worry about.  All you have to do to be a great dad is to love your children, and you do.  You really do.  My little brother is going to be a lucky kid.”

“I hope you’re right, mate,” Killian said, allowing hope to fill his heart and almost—not quite but almost—push away the fear.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

When Killian woke the next time, he looked around eagerly, wondering which familiar face had shown up to guide him this time.

He found himself peering into the face of a stranger.  He was tall and handsome with straight, black hair and familiar green eyes.  Killian was quite sure he’d never met the man before, but there was a definite air of familiarity about him.

“Would you happen to be the Ghost of Christmas future?” Killian asked carefully.

“That I am,” the man said.  “I’m here to show you a Christmas from your future.”

“Pardon mate,” Killian said, “but who might you be?”

The man smiled, a secret smile that Killian couldn’t quite understand.  “For the moment, you can simply call me Charles.”

“Very well, Charles,” Killian said, feeling somehow both eager and hesitant to see the future visions this man had to show him.  “Lead on.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The first thing Killian noticed when the room stopped spinning was himself and Emma sitting on the couch before the fire.  Many years had clearly passed as both of them were quite elderly, sporting snow-white hair and skin significantly wrinkled.

“She’s still beautiful, isn’t she?” Charles asked, following Killian’s gaze.

Killian let out a long, slow breath.  “My Emma is gorgeous, and she no doubt will be until the day she dies.”

Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “The two of you have always been so romantic and in love it’s almost disgusting.”

“You’ve known us long?” Killian asked, curious about the identity of this guide.

“All my life,” came the cryptic reply.

“In what capacity?”

Charles shushed him, pointing toward the front door of the Swan-Jones home. 

After a quick knock, the door was opened and a woman entered; a woman Killian didn’t recognize—but he didn’t need an introduction.  The lass was the spitting image of Swan at the time he met her.  This must be…couldn’t be anyone else but…their daughter.

Killian felt the tears come to his eye as his lovely daughter rushed forward and hugged first Emma and then him.

“Eva!” Emma said.  “You’re here!  You actually made it!”

“Surprise!” she said. 

“What happened, love?” Older Killian asked, joy suffusing every inch of his face.  “You told us you were required to work over the holiday.”

“I couldn’t do it, Papa!” she said.  “I know how much Christmas means to you.  To both of you.  I rearranged my schedule and took the first flight I could get into Storybrooke.  I couldn’t stand to be anywhere but at home for Christmas.”

Older Killian hugged his daughter once more, a single tear tracing its way down his wizened cheek.  “You couldn’t have given me a greater gift, little love.”

The living room blurred, and when it came back into focus, Killian noticed that the evening had turned to night and Eva was joined by a whole houseful of new—and familiar—faces.  Killian noticed a middle-aged Henry, seated next to a similarly aged Violet.  Several children played, running and chasing each other in the far corner of the room.

Killian continued to scan the scene, smiling as Eva and Emma sat talking and laughing together.  He saw himself with a tiny boy on his lap…and sitting next to them was none other than Charles.

“Papa!” the tiny boy said, turning toward Charles, “Grandpa told me a story!  An exciting one about when he was a pirate!”

“Did he now, Liam?” Charles said, ruffling the boy’s hair.  “Grandpa has all kinds of exciting tales to tell.”

“I know!” Liam said.  “He said he’d tell me the one about the beanstalk and the giant and his first ‘venture with Grandma.  He’s the best Grandpa ever, isn’t he, papa?”

Charles put a hand on older Killian’s shoulder.  “That he is, Liam.  My dad is the best father and grandfather I know.”

Killian gasped, turning to look at his guide with new eyes.  “You’re…you’re my son?”

Charles grinned.  “The very same.  You haven’t officially met me yet, but I’ll be born in just over a month.”

The emotions rose up and nearly overwhelmed Killian.  This man, this happy, well-adjusted man with a loving wife and a beautiful son was the first child born of his and Emma’s love.  “So…I didn’t fail you, lad?”

“Look around you, Papa,” Charles said, gesturing at the happy, if slightly chaotic, sight around him.  “Look at the family you and Mama built.  This is hardly failure.  This is just about the greatest example of success I could imagine.  I wouldn’t have traded my life with you and Mama for anything in any of the realms.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

“Killian?”  He woke slowly, feeling a gentle shaking of his shoulder.  “Killian, are you alright?”

Swan.

He smiled, reaching for her and pulling her in for a quick kiss.  “Aye, love.  I’m quite fine.”

Killian looked around, noticing the first soft rays of the sun beginning to peek through the front windows.  “What day is it, Swan?”

She gave him a strange look.  “Um…well it was Christmas Eve when we went to bed last night, so that makes today Christmas.  That’s how these things work.”

“So they did it all in one night,” he muttered to himself, thinking of his three ghostly visitors and all the many places—and times—he’d seen.

“What?” Emma asked.  “Killian, are you sure everything is okay?  I woke up and you were gone, and your side of the bed was cold.  It’s not like you to leave our bed in the middle of the night.”

Killian smiled tenderly at her, caressed her cheek and pulled her in for another long, slow kiss, his hand caressing her belly.  When the kiss came to an end, he pulled away only far enough to press his forehead to hers.  “I was afraid,” he admitted.

Emma started and pulled away.  “Afraid?  Of what?  Don’t tell me we have a new villain in town!  It’s Christmas!  Can’t they at least wait until after the holiday to make our lives hell?”

Killian chuckled.  “Calm yourself, love.  Nothing like that.”  He rubbed her belly once again.  “We’ve only a month yet before this little one comes, love, and I suppose I feared my ability to be the father our son deserves.”

“Killian…” she said gently, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

“Don’t worry love,” he said.  “Last night my fears were put to rest, thanks to some very persuasive guests.”

“Well this sounds like it will be quite the story.”

“Indeed,” he admitted, getting to his feet, “suppose I tell you the entirety of it as I make you a Christmas breakfast?”

NEXT CHAPTER->

[secretly-a-catamount]

  Water is eternal. It cannot be created. It cannot be destroyed.

  Water is ancient. It fell from the heavens at the beginning of the world encased in rock, and, once it was freed, drowned the flames and ash. It falls to the earth still, a cycle that cannot be broken, an ouroboros eating its own tail.

  Water is all-encompassing, everywhere. It is present in ever living thing. It seeps into that which is believed to be dead but is not.

  Water births.

  Water sustains.

  Water kills.

  The man walked up the misted dock with an assurance that could only be granted by absolute power; someone who was used to taking what he wanted, the very mountains crumbling beneath his will. His skin was paler than sun-bleached bone, and his hair was the color of burnished gold and fell in tousled waves to his coat collar. He wore black clothing, blacker boots, and a dark gray jacket that accentuated his musculature well, silver buttons neatly fastened through ever hole atop his wrists and up the deceptively delicate, almost swan-like curve of his throat. His blood ran slowly through his veins, each beat of his heart punctured by a wound that would never heal.

  He stopped halfway down the dock, hellfire-green eyes scanning the partially obscured surface of the lake, and spoke.

  “I need you to do something for me.”

  The trees did not answer, gnarled roots and trunks bent, arms burdened with leaves bending down to be swallowed by the water, but the man had not expected them to. The mist did not answer either, but he had not expected it to, anymore than the trees. The wind, faint and weak, running the incorporeal tendrils of its fingers down his neck, didn’t answer, but he had not expected it to anymore than he had the trees and the mist.

  “I said: I need you to do something for me.”

  We heard you the first time, the response came from everywhere and nowhere, a thousand voices speaking as one but slightly overlapping, the angry buzz of bees, the deafening patter of raindrops against a metal roof, the howl of a hurricane, waves crashing against the shore, who are you, to think you can command the Element of Water?

  “I’m the Enemy of Death.”

  A moment of silence, then a loud crack as the end of the dock splintered off, then a thump as a mangled corpse pulled itself from the churning depths and heaved itself onto the splintered end of the dock.

  The mage gasped and staggered back, watching as the animated corpse dragged itself towards him with the nasty scraps of bone against wood, and the wet slaps of wood against rotted flesh. The water, splintered boards, rusted nails, vegetation, and silt, came with it, reconstructed its body as it went.

  By the time the Devoured was erected and whole, the Enemy of Death had composed himself again to the point of neutrality.

  The Devoured smiled like a predator, the vines wrapped around her bones and ruptured flesh acting as muscles and ligaments, her remaining bits of skin splitting at the movement, peeling away from her ruined body. Blood and oil leaked from her empty eye sockets, and her black hair twisted around her form like a shroud. She was vaguely humanoid, vaguely feminine, and vaguely young. She wore the tattered remains of a Golden Year uniform and a Magisterium wristband.

  “Hello, Tamara.”

  Hello, Aaron.

[girlblogkiller]

“and i watch you; like prey to a hawk but like love to me” 💝

sweet, sweet, infatuation. i found my religion in the stretch of your skin, the wave of your hair, the shine of your eyes.

to love is to devote myself to you, to be on my knees in prayer, repenting my heart and confessing your name. to love is to be devastated, to be desperate and lustful, to burn for you from deep inside.

touch me, taint me with your hands, condemn me to my own damnation until i can no longer fight the tears that are falling. god knows whether my love for you is optimism or mere ignorance but the less i know the better, rose tinted glasses perched on the bridge of my nose.

i exist only within this lovesick haze, sticky skin, long limbs, and words for you that i cannot speak aloud. my bible is every thought of you that fills my lovelorn mind, the image of a cross sitting in the dip of your neck. you’d be my crucifix and i your believer, wait for the fever to break but it never does.

i fear i’ll long forever, condemned to pine for the forbidden fruit, the sweet sacrifice only we would make. it tastes of citrus, sweat, and my tears. my heart pumps your blood and yours mine, we are all and nothing and nothing and all.

i’ll kiss your back and trace stars, grieving us with the grace of a swan and the face of a lover. you taste of all things sweet and smell of a heaven that i still don’t believe in. although you are still my faith, i have my doubts in my heart of hearts and my mind of minds. a kiss would submit my soul to yours but would not ensure the truth of all the pretty things i don’t believe.

my hand brushes against your hip, a quick motion, a simple touch, but my love burns with the heat of a thousand fires when your atoms are close to mine. nimble fingers, they twirl with the hair at the nape of your neck, i splay my hands along your back, we indulge ourselves.

you are an arrhythmia i would rather die than ever be without, a dream that i forgot about after i woke up. this is my testament, my love letter to you, a yearning that will be felt from beyond the horizon. this is my damnation, my salvation, and my crucifixion, all in one.

is it possible that you will be my greatest love of all?

is it fair?

they say all’s fair in love and war but for now, i can’t tell the difference between the two.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　

[atamascolily]

first lines meme

Thanks to @virusq for tagging me! Skipping over multichapters and nonfiction/meta here to focus on shorts and one-shots.

Too weak to stand, Xie Ying Luo crawled. - Of Use (Thunderbolt Fantasy)

After Maomao had left the Inner Palace for good, Gaoshun found Jinshi huddled on his knees in the corner of his office surrounded by a sickly purple aura. - Mushroom Hunting (The Apothecary Diaries)

Homura woke before her alarm, as she always did--somehow, she knew what time it was without needing a clock and would jerk from a sound sleep to full alertness in seconds at precisely the right moment. -wake me up before you go-go (PMMM)

Ichigo Kurosaki never thought he'd see the day where he was grateful for the end of summer vacation, but the first week of the fall semester came as an immense relief. - Catching Up (Bleach x PMMM)

Your name is Mai Kawasumi and though you are a senior in high school, you are also an accomplished demon hunter who keeps the city safe by dispatching the monsters that no one else can see. -Demon's Serenade (Kanon x PMMM)

Which came first, the chicken or the egg? - Chicken and Egg (Null Magical Girl)

"Are you sure about this?" - Puppetmaster (Thunderbolt Fantasy)

"Mistress Frieren," Fern said sternly to the small figure crouched expectantly in front of a suspicious-looking wooden treasure chest tucked away in a corner of the dungeon. "You do realize that's a mimic, right?" -Improbable Odds (Sousou no Frieren)

The wild swans came down from the north in early autumn, the whistling of their wings echoing across the lake in the growing twilight. - Transmigration (Princess Tutu)

For a region supposedly devastated by the War of Fading Dusk, the Wasteland of Spirits contained no end of hostile inhabitants, all of them out for blood. -Unexpected Interference (Thunderbolt Fantasy x PMMM)

As you can see, I try to make sure my first line either functional (i.e., tells you who it's about and where in canon we are, if relevant) OR thematic. In other words, it explains either the setting or the what it's about--and sometimes, if I'm very lucky, both at once, as in the Homura one.

Stories are fractal, so I find it pleasing when the first sentence encapsulates the whole of the story in microcosm. I don't always achieve that, of course, but it's nice when it happens. So the fic about consent play begins with a question about consent; the story about wild swans and seasonal migration begins with their appearance; the story about fighting monsters in a wasteland begins with the dry observation that there's actually quite a lot going on in a supposedly empty landscape. And so on.

Because of this, I have a tendency for wordy first sentences, so it's nice to see I actually do vary my pacing a bit. I recall someone telling me once that you should never start with dialogue or a question, which, like most writing rules, can be safely ignored.

That said, I usually think of it more as "first paragraph" rather than first sentence, as you can see with the Frieren one. Anything I can't cram into the first sentence goes later in the paragraph if possible:

The wild swans came down from the north in early autumn, the whistling of their wings echoing across the lake in the growing twilight. Fakir stood on the dock with his neck craned and admired their fluid grace. In the water beside him, Ahiru watched too with her usual anatid inscrutability. Still, he couldn't help wondering if she wished she might follow them--if this little lake and his company weren't enough for her compared to the wide world beyond.

Here is the whole conflict of the story laid out--post-canon Fakir looks up at the swans, and he's wondering what Ahiru is thinking, and projecting his own ideas onto her because she cannot communicate in words. Everything that follows comes from this, and this is the image we ultimately return to at the end, with Fakir looking up at the swans once again--this time, hoping to see Ahiru and hoping she'll return, and the question of whether he is "enough" for her is finally resolved with her (non-verbal) answer.

In journalism, first lines/paragraphs are called "ledes", which I think is a great word, because you want to lead the reader along with you. Ledes can be any length--in a longer essay, the lede might be several paragraphs vs. a sentence in a short article--but they perform exactly the functions I've described above of explaining what the story is about and where it's going. Sometimes ledes are perfunctory, sometimes they're clever, sometimes the writer accidentally "buries" their lede by putting it later in the article. The lede may not necessarily be the first line, but it often is, and "find the lede" is a great exercise for writers in general.

Learning how to write ledes was the moment I really "clicked" as a writer--up until that point, I'd written thousands if not millions of words, but the spark wasn't there. Suddenly, I got it, and it completely changed my writing and my life. So I have a special fondness for them and they are also one of the hardest things to get "right" in a piece. I don't always succeed, but I keep trying!

[runner-owen]

Proud of this so, here:

Halfway down a hall, a scent brushed against my nose. My stomach churned. Sterile alcohol, strong soaps, broth tea. I glanced towards Nora but she seemed to not notice the look on my face. I dragged in a deeper breath, my fingers curling into gentle fists.

Hard to mistake them as anything other than a sickroom, that room, with those doors. The white paint on the door looked crisp as any bleached sheet, two swans with glinting gold feathers on the tips of their spread wide wings guarding the souls of the ones lingering within. The white ravens carved into the doorframe watched us with empty eyes.

Silver bells dangling from the door handles chimed as Nora opened the doors.

"Mr. Hepatica?" She stepped in before me. "The Runner is here."

The smell that wafted past her eased the tension in my back. Not the rot of old wounds, not the slow, painful decay of the internals. Just tea and soap and firewood, that same fire crackling with cheer in the dark old fireplace. Across the room from us, a white cloth partition hid what I guessed was the bed from sight. Before the fireplace, a low table without cloth sat between chairs and a reclining couch of soft, simple brown fabric.

The man on the couch lifted his head towards the door. I paused beside Nora, looking at him. I'd never seen a man as pale as him, at least not that wasn't a vampire. A stranger to me, one lean and worn with age, he looked handsome as anyone could be, with his dark hair tied back with a red ribbon, and eyes that watched me right back.

His hands shook. They clutched the mug within his grasp as if it would drop at any moment.

He said nothing.

I stepped forward, placed my hand over my heart, and bowed. When I straightened, I found him smiling now. With steady hands, he set the mug down.

[swan2swan]

THIS IS NOW

THIS IS NOW

THIS IS NOW

[witchvvolf]

WIP INTRO: Sea Angel

Hey, I just woke up... so have a wip intro!

disclaimer: this is an original work, and any sort of plagiarism will not be tolerated.

Genre: Adult literary fiction (?) again i don't know. anyways, take it.

Synopsis: Ryland sets eyes on Thalia and Pru, and cannot escape how enchanted he has become.

Setting: somewhere in Portland Maine

Trigger warnings: violence, blood, animal death, cannibalism, drowning, death

The vibes: the light house flashing over the docks, crashing waves, thunder storms, the scent of sea salt, girl that smell like britney spears, glitter, the scent of bleach in the bathroom, microkinis, chrome, vanilla ice cream, bare feet in the sand, chapped lips, sapphires, long nails, snake skin, tide pools, dancing at the club, eating ice cream on the sidewalk

click me for the pinterest board! and click me for the playlist!

Snippet from the first chapter in Thalias perspective (which is unnamed) below the cut!

Tw for mention of vomit

Thalia hardly registers the touch of fingertips brushing her skin through her sweat drenched curls as she retches into the toilet, her small body trembling as she blinks back the tears in her eyes. “You shouldn’t have had so much to drink, girly,” says a voice above her. It’s deep, melodic, soft and luring. She can hear the sound of a lighter sparking a flame to life and within some seconds, the stall is full of cigarette smoke. As if it didn’t smell bad enough in the bathroom. Her bare knees pressed into the tile, the powder blue heel of her nine inch pleasers dug into her bottom. She got the fucking memo, tasting the bile in her mouth, wiping the tears of mascara from her cheeks. Thalia lifts her chin, a pout on her full lips, stained a berry red, brown eyes framed by faux wispy lashes. “Blonde looks good on you,” the fingers in her hair retreat, the green chrome shining like snake skin in the dim bathroom lighting. “Thanks, Pru,” Thalia mumbles, wipes her lips on the back of her left hand and reaches to flush the toilet when she would usually do so with her foot. Pru leaves the stall first, the heavy door slamming the stall next to it. Pru is taller than her, especially in heels, paying the club a visit on her off day to see how the new Swan was fairing. She was beautiful in a way that wasn’t textbook, her features sharper, especially those eyes of hers. The cigarette hangs between her lips, glossed a cherry red as she watches Thalia wash her hands in the sink. Thalia was still getting used to this lifestyle, leaving the mascara trails to dry on her cheeks—because some guys liked that, right?

lmk if you wanna be added to a tag list or something. otherwise, mwah!

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Random ask, who are your favorite romantic relationship's couples in any media, like anime/manga, tv series, books, etc (can be canon or non-canon)? Feel free if you want to write the reasons or not of why you love them....

Ohhh, I do love a romance so I kind of have endless answers to this question. I'll try and start with shows that I still regularly engage with and post about:

Ida/Aoki from Kieta Hatsukoi (both the JDrama version and the manga).

Adachi/Kurosawa from Cherry Magic (JDrama version; I have not read the manga or watched the anime yet LOL)

Pat/Pran from Bad Buddy

Fleabag/the Hot Priest from Fleabag (they live in my head rent free)

Jason/Janet and Chidi/Eleanor from the Good Place (also Tahani/Eleanor tbh. Everyone in that show has chemistry with each other)

Cheoljong/Bong-Hwan (as So-Yong) from Mr. Queen

Kakashi/Yamato from Naruto (obviously LOL) and also Minato/Kushina (I also love Naruto/Sasuke/Sakura but I think way more about Kakashi's gen than theirs LOL)

Ichigo/Rukia (mainly) but also Orihime/Tatsuki and Orihime/Uryu from Bleach

Makoto/Haru from Free! Also Sosuke/Rin

Maou/Emi from Devil is a Part-Timer! (it's the manga I follow the most closely, but I have seen the anime; although I have not read the light novels and actively avoid spoilers for those LOL)

Recently, I've fallen into Megumi/Yuji and Nanami/Gojo from JJK (also anime only; have not read past Hidden Inventory)

Roy/Riza and Greed/Ling/Lanfan from Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood (if we are counting throuples)

Scott/Allison/Isaac from Teen Wolf (yet another throuple LOL)

I could write for ages about what I like about each couple but some common themes are friends-to-lovers or enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, repressed longing, a fun and funky supernatural theme to the relationship (body swaps; power swaps; mind-reading; etc.). Bonus points if it involves a bisexual character (canonically like Aoki or Bong-Hwan or Eleanor or someone who is Bisexual to Me like Scott or Kakashi.)

Also if we're talking about shows I don't necessarily post online about but that live in my brain affectionately:

Captain Hook/Emma Swan from Once Upon A Time

Laura/Carmilla from the Carmilla webseries

Chad/Sonny from Sonny with a Chance (don't look at me; I love Chad Dylan Cooper)

Lucy/Amy from the D.E.B.S. film

Rory/Jess from Gilmore Girls

Nathan/Haley from One Tree Hill (though I still haven't seen the last few seasons)

Seeley Booth/Temperance Brennan (Bones) from Bones (also haven't seen the last few seasons)

Also it's been a while since I've read something other than light novels, manga, or tie-in works, but I do still love Peeta/Katniss from The Hunger Games

Common themes here: Semi-contentious beginning to their relationship, long-game flirting, big kiss moments, falling in love with someone your loved ones don't like at first, working together as a team, big banterers, protecting each other, one half of the relationship being a bit bolder and cockier, working in the same general field (LOL @ how that applies to a few of these couples; do Lucy and Amy work in the same field because one is a thief and one is a spy?) Anyway, this is not an exhaustive list but definitely covers more than a few of my favourites. Thanks for asking!

[colorfuldreamsmkg]

Duck, Duck, Swan | Swan Song | 1.1 | ATTN: Lau Fei, Crimson

How odd. His hands come up to scratch at his neck, frowning slightly at the bared skin.

His scarf. He missed the comfort of a noose around his neck. 

When he was embarrassed, or considering what to say, he had a habit of burying his face away into the fabric to get his bearings. His scarf, a gift from his step-father, or so he liked to tell people, because really, it wasn’t all that sentimental. Just a whimsical purchase he threw on his performing outfit, but he liked people to think it had more meaning that it did, that he had more meaning than he did, more sentimentality than his existence really had to offer.

And now that pure white cotton lie had been stained red with a life he failed to save. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to wear that scarf again. Not even if he bleached it to frays and strands would he ever don it again. He’d never wanted to bury his face away more than he did now, an unspoken apology caught between gritted teeth. He’s sorry he couldn’t save her. He’s sorry how little his efforts amounted to. He’s sorry she’s gone, and all he could do was watch.

But he’s a showman at the end of the day, and there’s a performance to put on. So those gritted teeth grin and bear it instead.

“Well then.” Allow him to cut in, why don’t you? He might not have much at all to say, but bend your ear for a second, if you please. He won’t say anything too controversial or upsetting - just the facts.

“I’d like to start out with clearing mine, Lau Fei, and Crimson’s names. Lau Fei and I were together the whole time, and we were also with Crimson in the orchestra room with Dahlia up until around…” He clicks his tongue, waving a hand vaguely. He hadn’t been paying attention to the time in the slightest. Maybe Lau Fei or Crimson could fill in some blanks for him. “Anyways. We were in the room together, all four of us, when Dahlia disappeared. Disappeared, not left. That means Dahlia had to have to gone into a fear zone or a SEKAI. And considering I didn’t see her with her phone out…Well. I won’t sully the topic with opinions just yet. But I’m willing to place my life savings on knowing exactly which of the two she went to. Don’t get too excited, though. It’s only three dollars and some change.”

Did he have to this now? Of all times? Believe him, he’s the one asking the questions right now.

His arms fold across his chest, fingers tapping against a forearm. Want to know a secret? He had been somewhere else entirely during the investigation. Physically, he moved with the others, but internally, he was somewhere so far away, he didn’t have a prayer of being reached. The performance took over. The show had already started. So a piece of him regulated itself to a member of an unseen audience, eyes screwing shut, hands clasped over their ears, refusing to acknowledge the reality.

And that piece of him was still tucked away on a shelf. Preserved so perfectly. While every other iteration of who he was, who he had been, and who he will be were trusted to carry things out from here, he would close his eyes and remember. Remember this was happening, because like hell he could forget, remember and feel such shame at his own cowardice.

When he spoke again, it was in a voice so unfamiliar to his own ears, the words clumsy and stale on his tongue. He wasn’t used to being the one speaking. Stars above, he was a performer for fuck’s sake. Pull it together.

“We also were in the orchestra room when she came back.” His voice sunk an octave. “All three of us. None of us left from the time she disappeared to the time she came back.” So none of them could have possibly been the one to do this. He hopes that’s enough to convince others of their lack of involvement. He hopes, and yet…His gaze drifts somewhere entirely too far away.

He hadn’t known Dahlia all that well, but she deserved better. Much better. He’s sorry this was all of him you would get.

“Lau Fei, Crimson, and I watched her fall.” Such an unpleasant memory. The words like ash against his tongue, burning cinder. “So all three of us can attest to the fact that she was definitely injured prior to that. Likely after she went into a fear zone or SEKAI. She was completely fine before disappearing from the orchestra room.”

His own voice resonates with a weight that’s entirely unfamiliar. It burdens his tongue like lead. It’s hard to speak. The syllables gunk up his airways. He blinks, too quickly to be natural. He’s just sorry.

He’s a performer. He’s a performer. He snaps back to it with a light thumping to the side of his head with his fist, facing the rest of the trial-goers with a sheepish smile. “Apologies. Allow me to continue.” If he can just say this much, maybe he won’t have to speak on this anymore. Maybe he could sink somewhere within himself - after this, he doesn’t know how much faith he has in the water anymore.

“I was thinking, it might be good to get everybody’s alibis out on the table, no? Before we get too caught up in details.”

Let him duck his head away for a spell.

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

An Unwavering Light - Chapter One

Rating: T/Teen for violence (in certain chapters), coarse language, and mature themes, including ones about trauma and depression.

Setting: begins before the confrontation with Aizen and co. in Fake Karakura Town arc, and goes from there to the manga's end.

Music to listen to: Swan Song by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify), Compassion by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify) Recollection I (YT | Spotify), II (YT | Spotify), and III (YT | Spotify) by Shiro Sagisu, Spiritual Bond by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify), Here to Stay by Shiro Saigsu (YT | Spotify), and Ceremony Commences by Shiro Sagisu (YT | Spotify).

Synopsis: During the confrontation against Aizen, the unthinkable happens. For Hitsugaya, a vow is broken, and for Hinamori, her future is unknown. With everything in shambles, how can they piece their lives back together? Or their bond?

AN: And so it begins. This has been years in the making, starting very close to when I first read BLEACH. Thank you to everyone who voted in my last poll, where the story of Toshiro and Momo's reconciliation was the winner.

For those who haven't been following me, this fic is primarily about how Toshiro and Momo reconcile after Aizen's defeat. While this will be a chaptered story, I aim to write most of these chapters as though they could be standalone fics, so if you haven't reach the previous chapter, you hopefully don't feel out of the loop.

This story will be a long one (at this stage, I’ve planned for about 20 chapters, but we’ll see how we go) and is based on this massive list of headcanons I wrote last year. It will include scenes from other fics I’ve written (and were inspired by/based on the headcanon list to an extent) but either from another character’s perspective or changed in some ways.

This first chapter was a hard one to write. I have never really explored what happened to Hinamori in the months leading up the Fake Karakura Town arc, but I knew it would involve coming to terms with her trauma and accepting, in part, that Aizen was not the man she thought. It would also involve her having to find the strength to go confront him on the battlefield. I hope I did her justice in this chapter.

Finally, the figurines Hinamori has in her room are based on these dolls from Usaburo.

With all of that out of the way, let's get started! I hope you all enjoy this!

Disclaimer: BLEACH and it’s character’s belong to Tite Kubo.

Next chapter >>

_____________________________

She was surrounded by darkness. She turned – or at least, thought she’d moved to turn – to search around her. She opened her mouth to speak to the void around her, but heard no voice come from her throat. There was nothing to feel, hear, smell or see.

Has she done it right? The instructor had warned her she may not get there until another few attempts.

Then, after a blink, something small and bright sprun to life. Even from the long distance she stood at, she knew it was flames, resembling a campfire. She frowned when she couldn’t see any wood or kindling burning, the fire simply burning on it’s own.

She’d always been wary of fire, especially when it was not one within a firepit or a lantern, but she knew in her gut this one was not like others. When the voice comes form the flames, a whisper that gradually becomes a call, she stepped towards it.

_________________________________________

The curtains flutter in the gentle breeze, brushing over the windowsill in slow, undulating waves. Outside, one the division’s zanjutsu instructors yells commands at those in his class, nearly obscuring the chirping of a nearby bird and the chattering of officers that pass by underneath the window.

Hinamori listens to all of this and watches the shadows of the curtains dance across her quilt. There’s something hypnotic about it, almost meditative.

She wants to stay in this trance, be lost in it for a few moments longer. Her head is heavy, but empty for once. She doesn’t let any particular thought stick or take hold, just lets it be vague and pass by until it fades, like the afterimage of a bright streak of light.

But one thought persists. A memory, too recent and fresh to forget. She let’s it go by, but it keeps coming back, trying to get her attention.

It’s a minute later when a leaf blows in, landing on the quilt, just below her knees. She frowns at it, and her furrow only deepens when another joins it. They’re different shades; one a golden brown, the other flame red. Autumn is here, but it only felt like summer yesterday.

She tries following the curtains’ shadows again, but the leaves broke her concentration, and the memory creeps closer and closer, until it’s all she reflects on.

Hitsugaya’s face comes to mind, eyes wide and lips parted, speechless at first. It had been the first time she’d properly seen him in weeks – not in streaks of color while rushing at him with her sword raised, or at a distance while following him to Central Forty-Six. Ad she's stood before the screen, sorrow and guilt had outweighed the small flutter of gratitude that he didn’t turn his back on her. The way his expression had softened to one of concern, it makes her heart ache just as much now as it did then.

He cared, even after everything she did against him, he cared.

When he’d told her, in his own way, that an apology for her actions wasn’t needed, she’d never felt so relieved in all her life. She wouldn’t blame him for not forgiving her, but she didn’t know what she’d do if he hadn’t. She dreaded the idea of them growing apart and becoming strangers to each other.

She’d never thought of a life without Hitsugaya, as if somehow he would always be there until the very end.

But then, she’d never thought of a life without Aizen either.

And it was this same way of thinking that had led her to asking Hitsugaya to not kill her captain – former captain, she tries to correct. Her request had broken what little peace there’d been between them, and she’d become so lost in trying to justify it to him and to herself she doesn’t remember how Hitsugaya’s face looked, nor did she notice Yamamoto cast hakufuku on her. When she next awoke, it was in her room, with Isane at her side.

With a deep breath in, one that lifts her shoulders and chest, some of that weight in her head shifts, coming forward to make her neck crane forward. She had been granted an opportunity to make things right, and she had wasted it.

Yet, for all of her guilt for her actions against Hitsugaya and others, and for the shame of losing control in front of the Captain Commander, she can’t shake off the belief Aizen never meant for any of this.

Someone had to be controlling him, or something must have overcome him and compelled him to turn his back on all of them. She knew him. She had been by side for most of the time she was his lieutenant. He had told her things some of the other officer never knew – his favorite books, about the house he grew up in, memories of his student years at the Academy, even his favorite stalls in the Junrinan. Surely he would never do something so harsh without a good reason. He’d always said that to fight for something right and good you sometimes had to go against the laws set up others, after all.

But it doesn’t stop it from making it right that he'd left her behind. How could he have left Fifth Division behind? Why had he?

A knock breaks her reverie. Her throat is coarse from heavy breathing, and her hands on verge of cramping from clutching her quilt.

“It’s Funai-kun and I, Lieutenant,” comes Takagaki’s voice from behind her door.

Hinamori shakes her head and clears her throat, trying to take out the nerves out of her tone. Then, she manages to lift her lips into a smile. “Come in.”

Takagaki slides the door open, allowing Funai to walk in with Hinamori's lunch on a tray. Both are Fifteenth seat in the Fifth Division. If they saw any of her previous anxiety, they didn’t betray it with their own polite smiles.

“I hope we didn’t disturb you,” Takagaki says, trailing into the room.

Hinamori shakes her head. “It’s all right, I was getting a little peckish actually.”

“Guess we came just in time,” Funai chuckles. “Takagaki-san here made your meal today.”

Takagaki looks away, a slight flush colouring her cheeks. “I’m not a great cook, not like others in the Division. I hope it tastes okay.”

“I’m sure it’ll taste great,” Hinamori reassures. “You’ve been taking lessons from Hanae-san from Tenth Division, right?”

Both Funai and Takagaki blink at that.

“Y-Yes,” Takagaki eventually answers. “It’s been me and a group of other seated officers. He’s taught us a lot since we started.” Her smile returns, now thoughtful. “Um…thank you for remembering, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori’s lips widen into a grin. She tries to remember small things about her subordinates, and she at least still has that ability with her now.

Takagaki nods to Funai. “I better get back to the kitchens. I’ll leave the rest to you.” Then, she bows to Hinamori. “I hope you enjoy your lunch, Lieutenant Hinamori. Please let me know if there’s anything not to your liking.”

“I doubt that will be the case. Thank you for preparing my meal.”

After Takagaki leaves the room and Funai starts to lower the tray, a stronger gust of wind blows through. It gives him pause; then, he spies the leaves. “Apologies, Lieutenant, I didn’t see them until now.”

“It’s all right. The wind is pretty strong, I suppose,” Momo offers lamely. “I should’ve picked them up before."

Funai only chuckles nervously and puts the tray on top of her set of drawers. He picks up the leaves and throws them back outside, then goes to lean forward and close the windows.

Hinamori raises a hand. “No, allow me. I should’ve done this earlier.” She pulls the quilt aside and angles over to the window. While pushing the curtains aside and closing the windows, she tries to ignore the disquiet stare boring into the back of her head. It’s as though she is a fragile vase, at risk of tipping over.

He’s being kind, she chastises to herself, he cares about you. Everyone here does.

Windows closed, she sits back again and Funai visibly relaxes.

“How is everyone?” Hinamori asks, trying to distract both herself and him. “I could hear one of the instructors out there before. Sounds like he’s working everyone hard.”

Funai retrieves her lunch and lays the tray over her lap. “He certainly is. Everyone is keen to learn, of course.” He shrugs. “Otherwise, it’s business as usual. I’m sure Isawa-san could fill you in on more details.”

Hinamori nods. After giving thanks for the meal, she takes up the chopsticks. “Have you been drawing or painting lately?”

The answering smile is similar to Takagai’s one from earlier. “Ah, no, not recently. I haven’t found much inspiration lately.”

Hinamori frowns while taking up a heap of rice. “I hope it’s not because of work.”

“Oh, no! Of course not!” The nervous edge to his voice says otherwise. “It’s just a dry time for my art, that’s all. I’ll find a bit of inspiration at when I have time, you know how it is.”

It takes everything within Hinamori to not let her mind wonder to the implication he’d unintentionally brought up. Still, her gaze briefly darts to the sketchbooks lining the bottom shelf of her bookcase. Something flickers across Funai's face, akin to a look of horror, but at her unfaltering smile, he manages to hide it with a clearing of his throat and looking off to the side. “A-Anyway, I’ll leave you be. I’m sure you’ll want to eat in peace, and I have to find Hirose-chan.”

Hinamori blinks at the honorific. Had they gotten closer? She has to resist the urge to grin, the previous pang of darkness falling back, while picking up a tamagoyaki. “Her gardening group, I suppose?”

“Yeah, just maintenance this time.” He gestures to the window. “Being autumn and all, not many plants we can put in the ground, I guess. Not that I know much about gardening.”

Hinamori chuckles. “That is for Hirose-san to know.” She bows her head at the same time he does. “Thank you for bringing me lunch. Please tell Takagaki-san it’s delicious.”

“I will.”

“And…”Hinamori raises her head. “I hope you find inspiration soon. Please remember to not strain yourself with work.”

Funai gives a tense nod. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori watches him leave, not returning to her meal until the door closes. She’s lost her appetite, but doesn’t want to leave the dishes empty. With the window closed, the orders of the zanjutsu instructor are muffled, the wind swooshes against the walls, and save for her chewing and the clinking over chopsticks to bowls and plates, all is silent in her room.

It leaves her with nothing to do by ruminate, and that all too familiar heavy haze sets back into her head.

__________________________________

You do not need pity.

The room is dark save for a thin beam of moonlight cast on the wall. It had been silent until now, and Hinamori can’t remember what she’d been thinking about for the last few hours.

She twists on to her left side, facing Tobiume. Her zanpakuto is propped up against the wall, next to her set of drawers, the hilt shining dully.

 It’s coming from a good place, Hinamori responds. They mean well, and they care.

Even so, pity is not what you need, Tobiume argues. They should see you as the leader now that he’s gone.

A pang runs through Hinamori’s chest. Even the implication of him hurts. I’m not fit to lead.

Because you haven’t done anything to change things! Simmering heat radiates of the blade. We need to do something, or else we’re stuck here!

“I know I should! You don’t have to…” Her eyes burn with the threat of tears. Tobiume has been more temperamental than usual in the last few days. You’re angry with me.

The heat falters, and gradually cools to a warmth like that off a candle. No, I’m not. I want to see you get better.

Hinamori sighs. Pushing her quilt aside, she slides out of bed and kneels before her weapon. She ignores how much effort all of her movements seem to take, as if someone had tied weights to her limbs.

“I’m sorry it’s taking me so long,” she rasps. “I want to get better, but I don’t know how. It’s all so confusing.” She stares down at her knees, her forehead almost touching Tobiume’s scabbard. “You’ve always been there for me, and I take it for granted.”

You’re stronger than you realise, master. Do not doubt your skills.

Hinamori shuts her eyes and remains silent. It feels like everything she had learned and improved on is gone, vanished like Aizen. It's as if he took them with him, and all that is left within her is everything weak.

This is why you do not need pity. You risk stewing in it. If you continue to lie here, your mind and skills will grow dull, but they’ll never vanish. You’re strong, and you can always be stronger, but you are still strong. You need to show them you are not broken.

Hinamori sighs wryly. “It wouldn’t be the truth though. How can I be strong when all I want is for everything to back to what it was before?”

And with that she stands and returns to her bed. Tobiume is silent for the rest of the night.

__________________________________

Aizen is always in her dreams. Sometimes they start with him as the benevolent captain she knew, then he morphs into the cold figure that stood over her while she bled out. Other time, he has morphed into something monstrous, grinning at her and telling her she’ll never leave him, that she’s too devoted to him.

Waking from these nightmares becomes less of a shock with each one.

__________________________________

“The gardens are looking great.”

Genji raises his head from the paperwork he holds. “Hm?”

Hinamori points out the window to the next courtyard over. “I’m guessing that’s Hirose-san and her group’s work. It looks like they removed some plants and trimmed the bushes.”

Genji smirks. “It took quite a bit of effort. I may have been dragged into it too.”

Hinamori chuckles for the first time in weeks. “She has a way of pulling us into it, doesn’t she?”

Setting aside her longing to be with her division members with a sigh, she turns back to Genji. Ever since she began her recovery, he would visit every few days, sometimes bringing her a meal, other times just to check in on her and converse about casual going-ons  happening around the division.

Today, however, she couldn’t help but be hopeful when he entered with the documents in hand. “Did you need me to look over those papers?”

“No,” Genji says, shaking his head with too much vigor. “These are just my notes from today’s Lieutenant’s meeting. I believe you should know what was discussed.”

“Oh…” Again, she has to set aside her disappointment, this time with a forced smile. “Then, please tell me.”

Genji shifts the chair – a new piece of furniture that’d come not long after it was decided she needed to rest and recover in her room -- closer to Hinamori’s bed and tilts the documents for both of them to see. As he speaks, he points to the relevant lines for her to read. “We have been asked to take on more surveillance in our jurisdiction. Given recent…events, the Captain Commander felt it was best to maintain a watchful eye over all areas of the Soul Society and World of the Living to ensure the Arrancars don’t breach any of the recent kido defenses we’ve put up.”

Hinamori frowns. “These numbers…he wants more than half of the Division’s performing these duties.”

Genji only nods.

“But what if they’re needed for…?” The thought of the impending conflict makes her stomach churn.

Genji sighs through his nose. “There hasn’t been any intel from Twelfth Division about when that battle may be. They still predict it will occur in winter.”

Hinamori presses her lips together, and in the silence, tries to banish the memory of her asking Hitsugaya to not kill Aizen. She tries to understand why this strategy bothers her, as though something were missing. No, as though something were being kept away from her. “We have to be prepared by then. The zanjutsu and kido lessons won’t be enough.”

Genji’s shoulder tense a fraction. He doesn’t meet her gaze as she says, “Yes, of course, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, no, I…” She raises a hand, tempted to lay it on Genji’s shoulder, but then thinks better of it. “That wasn’t a critique of how you’re running the Division! You’re doing an exceptional job, especially given the circumstances. I feel much better knowing you’re leading everyone right now. I don’t intend to keep you in such a position for long, though, and I’m sorry this is the way things have turned out. I want to support you, however I can.”

Genji is slow to smile, and his eyes become glassy. Hinamori senses it’s not from sorrow or concern. He bows his head to her. “Thank you, Lieutenant. But please, continue to rest and recover. Everyone is cheering you on.”

Hinamori swallows against the tightness building up in her throat. “Thank you. I’ll keep doing my best.”

__________________________________

The occasional whispers don’t escape her. Whether they’re just outside her door or window, or a simple look exchanged between two of her officers, she knows what they’re not saying to her

“I heard the Lieutenant is still unwell. I hope she gets better soon.”

“I only transferred to the Division a week before Aizen’s betrayal. It’s so sad here.”

“I wish Captain Aizen were here.”

“How can you say that?!”

“Isawa-san seems really tired these days.”

“Did you hear about the new plan? You think they’re trying to distract us from the war?”

“The Lieutenant seems to be in a bad way.”

“Don’t talk so harshly! Lieutenant Hinamori will recover, she’s strong. She'll definitely get better."

“…But what if she doesn’t?”

__________________________________

Why had she become a Shinigami?

It’s a question that floats to the surface of Hinamori’s mind almost every night while she tries to sleep. Every time, she pushes it away, afraid of how the answer will lead to Aizen.

__________________________________

Hinamori dreams of the first time she saw Tobiume. She’d come to her as a fire, small but steady, in middle of a dark space. When she’d walked towards it, Hinamori gradually felt dry grass beneath her feet, and her arms brushed branches and leaves. The air was cold, but warmed as she neared the flames. The strongest smell was of burning wood, but beneath it is the slightest hint of something sweeter and floral.

A voice had wafted from it, a whisper at first, then growing louder as she approached the fire. She couldn’t comprehend what the voice was telling her at the time, but she knew she needed to listen, that whatever it said was important.

When she came to a stop, the flames continued to dance in front of her, memorizing and strangely familiar. Going against every instinct she’d had from childhood, she reached out to the scorching heat. To her surprise – and a disappointment didn’t understand – the fire lurched away from her. She leaned further in, and still it avoided her, diving in and around her hand no matter which way she angled it.

The voice had stopped too, and save for the sizzling and crackling of the flames, there was silence.

When Hinamori wakes from this, she doesn’t feel relieved to have had a dream for once that wasn’t about Aizen. She dwells on the silence until it’s buzzing in her ears.

__________________________________

Though Hinamori rarely does so, she’s allowed to leave her room for brief periods. For her visit from Nanao today, she meets her in the Division's gardens. Sitting on a bench under a Japanese maple, the sun is warm on her face and hands and the breeze, though cool, is gentle. It's not usually this warm in September, but she's glad for it. It’s been a long time since she was outside, and she takes in long breaths of fresh air.

For a moment she wonders why she didn’t step outside more often, but maybe it was the nature of the restrictions put on her. It was meant to ensure her recovery, that she wouldn’t strain herself by going to far and making herself more fatigued than she already is. She can’t help but think it’s for another reason, one she dismisses quickly.

“I think you’ll find this one interesting for it’s plot.”

Hinamori takes the book from Nanao. “Petals on the Wind. It looks…different.”

“It’s from the World of the Living,” Nanao explains. “I got it when I was posted on a mission last time. It has an intriguing mystery that kept me guessing and a slow build up for the relationship between the two main characters. There’s references to events and devices from the World of the Living, however, so you may need to set it aside every now and then to do some research.”

Hinamori places it atop of the latest editions of Seireitei Communication at her side, then gestures to the second book Nanao holds, Another World Through a Flower Pot. “And that one?”

“It’s written by a former officer of the Ninth Division. It’s about the lives of two women, one from our world and the other from another world, who can communicate with each other through a flower pot.” At Hinamori’s raised brows, Nanao chuckles. “I know, it sounds strange, but it was oddly touching. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

“I've always trusted your judgement.” Hinamori takes the other book and puts both of them in her lap. “Thank you for these, I really appreciate it. I’ve run out of books to read in my room.”

“It’s no trouble, I had a feeling that would be the case. You've always been a fast reader.” Nanao adjust her glasses, raising them further up the bridge of her nose. Behind them, her eyes are soft with sympathy. “We miss you at the Women’s Association meetings, and I miss our discussions about books.”

“Well, you’ll have to come by again once I finish these.” She pats the stack of books. “ I miss our discussions too, I don't get to talk about what I read with a lot of people. I’ll be sure to send a message to you when I’m done reading these.”

“Please do.” Nanao's smile slowly falls and she looks to the side, rueful. “I’m sorry, but I have to return to the barracks. Captain Kyoraku and I have to go over some reports, and you know how he can be.”

Hinamori can’t help but sigh. Despite the obvious hesitations from her fellow lieutenant – in her pauses before she spoke and the concern she would catch in her gaze at certain points --  this short time with her had been the closest thing to normal she’d experience in months.

“I understand,” she says while they both rise from the bench.

Nanao pauses mid turn. Pursing her lips, she looks back to Hinamori. “I know I asked before, but…are you really all right?”

Hinamori forces a smile. “I know how it may seem, but I really am much better than before. I’ll be back to my duties before you know it.”

Nanao puts on a forced smile of her own, unable to hide the concern from her eyes. “Of course.”

“I’m afraid I can’t accompany you to the main entrance, I’ve been told I shouldn’t go any further than the main barracks and it’s courtyards.”

“It’s quite all right, I’ll see myself out.” Nanao bows to her. “It was good to see you. I’ll be sure to visit when you've read the books."

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Hinamori watches her leave. As soon as her friend is out of sight, she falls back against the bench. This fatigue isn’t getting any better, but the weight in her mind is floating somewhere far away. She tries to keep it that way as she straightens and slowly returns to her room.

__________________________________

While reading the Seireitei Communication that evening, Hinamori gets stuck on the haiku poem submissions from Izuru. They all speak of nature, but differ in certain ways; one is about change, another about autumn, and another about the unknowable quality forests can have. As always, she enjoys them and can understand why he has a following for his writing.

She sometimes extends her sense to check on his reiatsu. When she can sense it, it’s as she’s always known it: a strange swirl, dark and weighed down, but not unfriendly.

She wonders if he ever contemplates coming to see her. She’d been told he came to visit her a twice while she was unconscious in Fourth Division. She’ll apologise for her actions when she next sees him. Knowing him, he will too.

Maybe they’ll just pick up where they left off, discussing their divisions’ matters and then move on to their hobbies or how they can get Renji to come with them for a dinner. They can reminisce about their Academy days. But given what happened, can they still do that?

No, she knows, it can’t be like that. They’re changed now. She considers him a friend still, and if him visiting her was any indication, he still does too, but there’s no telling what their friendship will look like now.

Maybe, if she’s brave enough and can see it won’t affect him too harshly, she can ask him how he’s coping with Ichimaru’s betrayal. It will be to comfort him as a friend, but selfishly, it’ll also be to see if she can learn anything from him. Did he have nightmares about what happened? Did he still cling to how Ichimaru used to be? Did he wonder why he betrayed them or believe he had a good reason to?

She shakes her head. She won't burden him with such questions. She already does it to herself, and it only makes her head heavy and her mind spiral far away from the present.

__________________________________

She often asks Genji if he’s heard word about how the advance team are doing in the World of the Living. He always shakes his head and says, “Nothing yet, Lieutenant.”

Why had they not received word from them? Were they struggling? Were they communicating with the Soul Society at all? They must be, otherwise there’d be rumblings amongst the captains and lieutenants and a new team would be sent to retrieve them. Was the information they were sharing something only the Captain-Commander is meant to know?

Sighing through her nose, Hinamori takes a sip of the tea Genji had brought her and leans back against her pillow. She watches the rainfall outside and listens to it pattering on the roof. It must be this weather that has her thinking about Hitsugaya.

The last time she saw him arises in her mind again. This time, however, she tries to recall his surroundings. She’d been so focused on him, they’re blurry, but she remembers a window and a floor similar to the ones in the Soul Society. There was a cabinet behind him, with photos on top and other items. Was there a small shrine there too?

Then there as what he wore. It was the first time she saw him wear anything from the World of the Living. If not for the gravity of the situation, she would’ve dwelled more on how strange he looked. She’s grown so accustomed him to seeing him in uniform and with his haori. Without them, he’s closer to looking like the Soul she first met the in Jurinan.

To think he’d once never wanted to be a Shinigami. He’d planned on staying with his Granny, taking care of her and their house. She wasn’t blind to the way he was treated, it dawned on her not long after she was seen with him in public. She never understood why he was ostracized by her friends and the Junrinan's residents, but in more recent years, she began to wonder if his powers had something to do with it.

Bowing her head, she looks at her reflection in the tea. She’s not like the girl from the Junrinan she once was. She seems so far away now, almost forgotten. Where did she go?

__________________________________

That night she again dreams of when Tobiume first came to her. Only this time, Hitsugaya is on the opposite side of the flames. He looks like how he did when they were children, his young face and his green yukata illuminated by the firelight. He looks into the flames, and doesn’t respond when she calls out his name.

He only takes notice of her when she’s at the fire.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks. She blinks at the sound of her voice. She sounds younger and looking down at her arms, they're shorter and her fingers lack callouses. Is she younger too?

 “You told me to come here,” he says, like it should be obvious.

She frowns at him. “I did?”

He slowly walks around the fire to stand at her side. “The others couldn’t make it,” he says, folding his arms. “They’re too busy.”

“Others?”

“Ayumi and Tatsukichi.”

“Oh…Why did I want us to gather here?”

His brow furrows deeper and gives a stuff shrug.

Hinamori looks around, but the firelight only shows the two them. “Did I also ask Kira-kun, Abarai-kun, and Rangiku-san to come?”

 “Who?”

“They’re my friends too.”

“I don’t know them.”

She doesn’t know why she asked. This is clearly a Hitsugaya from the past, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite fit how she knew him at this age.

He jerks his chin at the fire. “This thing doesn’t like me.”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

He pulls the sleeve back from his arm and raises it. There are rivulets of water running down his skin. “See?”

She acts on instinct and grabs his wrist to pull him away. She freezes when can sense rather see another presence. She subtly tries to search, but Hitsugaya still sighs. “What’s got you distracted?”

“Don’t move, Hitsugaya-kun.”

“Ha, you finally call me by name.”

“Shh!” Then, quieter. “There’s someone else here.”

Rather than the roll of his eyes and comment about her being paranoid like she expects, his eyes widen and his posture tenses. This alertness reminds her of the Hitsugaya she knows in the present. “Where?”

“I’m not sure, but they’re here.”

She can sense they intend to harm them. Heart racing, she thinks to search for a weapon but can’t see anything. She could feel around for and break off a root or a branch, but she knows it’ll be useless against whatever this is.

The fire, as if picking up on her panic, has become erratic. The flames dance in every direction and grow taller, twisting around as embers fly high into the darkness and fall around them.

Then it comes to her, as if it were the most obvious solution.

“Hitsugaya-kun, we need to get into the fire!”

Hitsuagaya stares at her as if she’s lost her mind. “What?!”

She’s already backing herself into it, and with her grip on his wrist, she’s pulling him along.

“Let go of me, Hinamori!” he yells, struggling to get out of her grasp.

“It’ll be okay, Shiro-chan,” she tries to reassure, even as she feels her hand slicken with the water forming on his arm.

Her back is scorching when she steps into the fire. Just as she knew, it doesn’t burn her. It feels right to be in here. She stops halfway in. “This fire will protect you,” she promises. “It’ll never hurt you.”

“We can’t go in there!” he yells. "You need to get out of there!"

It’s as if she snaps out of a trance. Despite how right it feels to be in these flames, it’s wrong to bring him in here. As a tear falls down her cheek, she releases her grip. Hitsugaya's arm, having struggled to break free, goes flying in an arc. Water drops fly off his limb and evaporate in the hot air.

This fire was ignited by her, but it’s not for her. It’s not Tobiume. The realization comes to her as a flare of pain races up from the soles of her feet up to her head. Then, from the darkness, another hand clasps Hitsugaya’s wrist. With a scream, she tries to reach for Hitsugaya from the flames. Her hand, though whole, feels as if it’s on fire.

“No!” she screams. “Let him go!”

Hitsugaya repeatedly smacks and kicks the attacker behind him, showing none of the combat training he'd learned for decades. It does nothing to loosen the grip they have on him. Then, above his head, there’s a cold smile from the being.

“I’m sorry!” she cries out to Hitsugaya as the being's face comes into the fire light. “I’m sorry!”

Hinamori flings up from her sleep with a strangled sound caught in her throat. Her arms are out in front, as if still reaching for her childhood friend. She stumbles into the bathroom to wash the thin sheen of sweat from her face and shaky arms. After changing into new robes, she lies back down a few minutes later.

She stares at the ceiling, watching it turn from dark grey to pale yellow as the sun rises.

__________________________________

The next day, Hirose, one of the Division’s Twelfth seats, comes by with a bunch of flowers. Hinamori can’t help but grin when receiving them, her mood lifting for an instance at the sight of the bright chrysanthemums and cosmos.

For a moment, there’s a sense of the old normality, but she tries to not let it stray too far into the past as she chats with her subordinate. It becomes harder when Hirose spots a vase on her bookcase and uses it to put the flowers into. It’s one she’d bought many years ago. She had hoped to one day put it on her desk when she became a Lieutenant, but it never left her old or current quarters.

__________________________________

It’s three days later when Hinamori is in the middle of reading one of Nanao’s novel and she remembers Rangiku’s birthday was yesterday. She hasn’t returned from her mission in the World of the Living, that gave Hinamori some time to think about what to give her when she was back. She can’t go out and buy anything, and she doesn’t want to trouble her officers with buying something on her behalf.

Hinamori puts the books aside, then with some effort, rises and slips out of her bed. On unsteady legs she comes to her bookcase. She’d read most of the novels stacked on the shelves, but would Rangiku be interested in any of them? She isn’t much a reader, and what little she does read is often limited to magazines and short novels packed with either melodrama or light-hearted content. None of Hinamori’s books contain either of those things, and the only magazines she had were old copies of the Seireitei Communication – ones that feature articles or creative contributions from her friends.

She glances at the purple vase on the middle shelf, still with Hirose’s flowers in it. A few days on, they’re beginning to lose their vitality, with several petals already drooping and fading in colour, and their sweet scent is developing a sour undercurrent.

Next to it are tiny figurines, a gift from Hitsugaya and Rangiku for her birthday a few years ago. They are of a boy, short-haired and in a blue kimono, and a girl, pig-tailed and in a floral white and red kimono. Their proportions are reduced to two spheres each – smaller ones for their heads and bigger ones for their bodies. They stand next to her each on their tiny platform and beam at her. For a moment, she can’t help but smile back at them. To this day, they still remind her of her and Hitsugaya when they were children. She’d even been tempted to paint the boys hair white not long after receiving them, but was too embarrassed by the idea.

There’s nothing here she wants to part with, and she scolds herself of even thinking of giving Rangiku something she has here rather than give her something new.

Her gaze floats down to and lingers on the sketchbooks on the bottom shelf. Perhaps she can draw her something, but what? Hinamori had always wanted Rangiku to sit for her to draw her portrait. Or maybe a simple letter, apologising for actions and telling her how much her friendship means in times like this. It isn’t much, but it will have to do for now.

Withholding a wince, she bends down and takes out the newest sketchbook. As she straightens, she opens to a blank page. But it’s not. It’s of a drawing, one that gives her pause. Then, sends a wave of nausea through her and a slip of cold rippling up her back. Her breath catches in her throat, and she drops the book as if were on fire.

It doesn’t snap shut, falling with the portrait facing up. One of many, she knows. She stumbles back to her bed, almost tripping over her own feet and unable to look away from her drawing of Aizen. He smiles serenely at her, that peaceful expression she always associated with him. She barely hears Tobiume’s cries over her heart racing in her ears. In that moment, the memory of him smiling coldly at her overlays it for a flash.

She collapses on to her bed, then scrambles for the window and throws it open, heaving a lungful of air. She fights against the urge to throw up, covering her mouth.

“Lieutenant!”

Higuchi, her Seventh's seat, and Genji stand in the courtyard below her window, doused in the orange light of the setting sun and in the middle of a conversation until she forced her window open. In her peripheral, officers and new recruits had been trailing into the main barracks, but stopped at Genji’s alarmed cry.

“Hold on, I’ll be there!” Genji calls out as he rushes to the nearest barracks entrance. Higuchi hesitates, then sprints to follow his superior. Most of the officers and recruits move on, but a few linger, exchanging worried and knowing glances.

When Genji and Higuchi reach her room, Higuchi guides her to her bathroom. Still, Hinamori peers over her shoulder at Genji. He stares at the sketchbook on the floor, unmoving and unblinking, wide-eyed. Slowly, he picks it up. Sorrow flickers across his face, but as Higuchi leaves her and shuts the door behind himself -- upon her weak instance to do so -- her Third seat’s face turns to something stony.

She wishes she had Genji’s strength.

The next several minutes pass in a blur. She emerges from the bathroom later, her stomach emptied and a foul taste lingering in her mouth despite washing it out. While Higuchi helps her settle back in, Genji hurriedly leaves and returns with a glass of water. She has no appetite and requests that noone prepare her dinner. Higuchi, ever paternal, still insists on at least a bowl of chestnut rice, and too fatigued to put up a fight, she agrees to it.

It’s not until her officers reluctantly leave the room she notices the sketchbook has been put back in it’s place. She can’t stand to look at any of them. How foolish she’d been. Had she not been hesitant to look at them weeks ago?

He’s in all of them. And not just there; he’d given her some of the novels lining her shelves, with small messages written on the first page of each.

Tomorrow, she’d ask Genji to move them and the sketchbooks into her closet. She tries to ignore the thought of her cowardice, that she would ask another to this instead of doing it herself. She wants to cry, but can’t find the strength to do so.

At some point, an officer brings her a small bowl of chestnut rise. She doesn't take a mouthful until it’s gone cold and the sky has darkened to night. When another officer comes back, it’s not even half eaten. It sits in her stomach, lying there like she does. Suspended somewhere, heavy and immoveable.

That night Hinamori watches her alarm clock tick over from the last day of September to the first day of October. Another month closer to winter.

__________________________________

Ever since the incident with the sketchbook, she has lain in bed doing little but eat and sleep. She couldn’t even focus on reading or having conversations with officers who came to visit or bring her meals. Genji never brought up the sketchbook, and like others, he became more wary of his words and his gaze ranged from pity to disquiet, more obvious than before.

Isane comes to check on her every few days. They check her physical condition, then she asks her the usual questions designed to her to speak her mind. She's more happy to see her friend than she is divulge how she feels; it should feel as though she were getting things off her chest and letting go of the weights in her mind and limbs. It helps in the moment, but when Isane leaves and Hinamori is left alone, it returns quickly.

She’s never been so tired in her life, nor so heavy in the mind. It becomes worse at night, especially when everyone but her is asleep.

Now, two weeks from the incident, it's no different. She stares out at the gap between the curtains, searching for the stars between the gaps in the clouds.

She faintly recalls star gazing with Hitsugaya when they were children, and even more recently. It's had been last year on her birthday, with her and her other friends. They'd all gone out to dinner, but Hitsugaya only joined them for the stargazing. To see everyone there, happy to be with each other, knowing they could turn to each other when needed, it made the moment one of the happiest memories she has.

It stands in stark contrast to now. Can they go back to days like that? Can days like that happen again in the future?

The thought does not bring the usual self-pity and hopelessness. It sparks something at the back her mind. It's enough to make her want to move.

With what little strength she has, she slides to the edge of her bed and reaches for Tobiume. In the silence, her zanpakuto’s reiatsu becomes a small fire, warm and comforting. The fact she does this, after barely speaking a word to her master, makes a lump form in Hinamori’s throat.

Taking her weapon, she scoots away from the edge, rolls on to her opposite side and lays her zanpakuto over her comforter. Keeping a hand on the scabbard, she shuts her eyes. Tears fall from them not long after.

Hours later, she sleeps without dreams. She wonders if Tobiume somehow blocked them from her, or maybe, she’d reached a state where she’s too afraid to dream but too exhausted to force herself away from rest.

Regardless, she sleeps through the whole night for the first time in months.

__________________________________

It’s a surprisingly warm day, with a gentle breeze blowing through her room and not a cloud in the sky.

Rather than watch the shadows of the dancing curtains, Hinamori closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth. It penetrates through her skin, touching her bones. A glimmer of peace briefly sparks in her heart. It’s like rediscovering a lost but fond memory, or coming back to an old friend.

She at once clings to that ember of peacefulness, but also allows the lump her throat to form and the tears to quietly course down her face. They are not the same as ones she’d shed last night or in the last few weeks when she was alone. They are not of guilt or sadness or hopeless or denial.

Something freeing, something that felt like the unlocking of a door, but not yet the opening of it.

__________________________________

“They’ve really improved with their kido. Even so, I know they miss you’re training lessons.”

Hinamori smiles out at the field of recruits practicing their kido on targets against the far wall. It's most natural smile she's given in a while.

“I miss giving demonstrations,” she admits to Genji. “They’ve all come a long way, the instructor has been teaching them well.”

He grins. “I’ll be sure to pass that feedback on to him.”

They stand above the training grounds on one of the balconies. Even though her mood had been low, Hinamori decided that morning she needed to leave her room. Genji had been hesitant at first, but she brought him around when she reminded him of Isane's recommendation that she get fresh air whenever she felt up to walking around.

Even so, he'd given her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders against the cold winds. It ruffles in the wind now, and she’d rather throw it off, but she knows the officer would worry if she did.

She and Genji continue to watch the recruits in silence. She makes notes for each one, from their postures while casting spells to the resulting beams that strike the targets. She’s heartened to hear the cheers and claps when someone hits a target, and mostly sympathetic encouragement when someone doesn’t. There’s still a sense of comradery, much more so than when she’d been advised to rest months ago.

Still, she doesn’t fail to notice two recruits sitting on the sidelines. They’re waiting their turn, but one of them bows her head. Her friend puts a hand on her shoulder, and it’s as if something in her breaks. She folds into herself and her frame shakes.

Another recruit comes over and kneels before her. He asks her what happened, and Hinamori can catch pieces of what she says. “It’s…I haven’t been able to…Aizen.”

However, her other friend nods sympathetically. “I’ve also been finding it hard.”

“We all have,” says the other. “We…and Fifth Division…stand strong.”

“Oh no,” Genji says under his breath.

“Do you know that recruit?” Hinamori asks without looking away from the scene.

“No, she's new, but…” He can’t finish his sentence. He turns towards the entrance they’d come out of. “I’ll go and see what’s happened.”

Hinamori remembers the whispers, had caught glimpses of low moral from outside her window as officers came and went in the courtyards. She's certain Genji has had to deal with situations like this on an almost daily basis since Aizen left them behind. Something about this moment is different, however, and she can’t stand by and watch anymore.

“No,” she says firmly. “I’ll go.”

Genji frowns at her. “Are you sure? I can handle this.”

She shakes her head and offers a small smile. “How about we both go, then.”

By the time they get to training grounds, the three recruits have been joined by a few more. The concern they show warms Hinamori’s heart, and she’s slow to approach them.

One notices her, then another, and soon, everyone’s eyes are on her. They speak her rank and name, most bowing, other’s too surprised to do so. Seeing them all, up close for the first time in over a month, something shifts in her. The warmth in her chest dims, and in it’s place is something contracting.

She’s seen gazes like this before, on battlefields and in scenes of destruction. Shinigami looking to her for orders, Souls looking for answers. They’re shocked by her unannounced appearance, but just as quickly, they’re seeking from her. It’s the same gazes they gave to Aizen, looking to him, up to him. Knowing he would lead them to right place, to sooth their hearts and deal punishment to Hollows who threatened their world.

He would go against the laws if meant championing a greater good. She keeps staring at her subordinates, and for the first time in far too long, anger simmers in the pit of her stomach.

What good reason would he have to leave us behind?

“L-Lieutenant Hinamori.”

She snaps out of her reverie. The crying recruit, still supported by her friend at her side, bows her head. “I-I…F-Forgive me, I-I’m not…”

Hinamori breathes, her shoulders rising a fraction before lowers. Then she bows her to. “It’s all right. I didn’t mean to draw attention.” Then, straightening up and addressing everyone. “I was watching your progress with Isawa-san. I didn’t want to interrupt your training, forgive me.” When no one speaks, she thinks to fill the silence. “I know I haven’t been present for the last month, but I can see you’ve all greatly improved. When I’m in better health, I hope return to giving demonstrations and assist you in becoming even better.”

She’s emboldened by the smiles and nods from some around her. “I know these three months have been hard on everyone,” she says, loud enough that her voice echoes around the training grounds. “It hasn't escaped me, and I am deeply sorry that I have not been there to lead you all. I am getting better...but Fifth Division is nothing without it's officers. Without your all of support and strength, we would not be where we are today. So, please, keep going, and we can continue to make Fifth Division a great place to be!"

The speech doesn't draw an enthusiastic response, but most are smiling and nodding and few even cheer. If she'd been more prepared, she's certain she could've come up with better words.

While Genji directs everyone else back to the kido training, Hinamori turns her back to the weeping recruit. "What's your name?"

"Tanaka Mai, Lieutenent," the recruit responds.

"How long have you been with the Fifth Division, Tanaka-san?"

"Three months."

"I see...I'm sorry it's been like this for you."

"Ah, no, please Lieutenant, y-you don't need to apologise." She glances at her supporting friend, and then at the other who had knelt before her. Fresh tears well up in her eyes. "I looked up to him, Lieutenant. I wanted to be like him."

It hits Hinamori's heart, and she can feel the cracks web through her whole body. For a flicker, she sees younger self in this recruit. And not just her, in her friends too, who have similar crestfallen expressions as her.

She can't be here. She doesn't know what to say without also breaking into tears.

She bows, her hair falling and obscuring her face. "I understand." Then, abruptly rising, she turns in her heel and marches to Genji. "Isawa-san!"

Genji's concern makes her wince inwardly, but she quickly instructs him assist and apologize to Tanaka and her friends on her behalf. She departs in an instant, needing more space and air. She ends up in the courtyard outside of her room. She wipes the tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks as she paces around the maple tree and bench. A few officers pass by the courtyard, and she offers a weak greeting to them, and then in turn bow and are quick to move along, sensing it wasn't the best time to speak with their lieutenant.

After several minutes she comes to a stop and ends up looking at her bedroom window. She'd sat behind it for months, rarely coming outside. Rarely thinking of anything beyond what had happened.

She sense Genji approaching before she sees him.

"Lieutenant," he says softly as he approaches. "Are you all right?"

She doesn't turn to him. "I'm sorry for how I reacted back there. If I had prepared myself better, I would have been able to handle it."

"No, it's understandable, you don't have to apologize. Please, don't think about it."

"I have to, as their Lieutenant."

He doesn't argue, because on some level, he must know she's right. On some level, he may even resent having to step up to higher duties, and she wouldn't blame him.

For a minute in the silence between them, she shuts her eyes. They burn, and her mind whirls with the threat of panic and having too many heavy thoughts tumbling around. She breahtes, takes in the fresh air, just as Isane said she should.

There's no going back now.

“Isawa-kun.” She turns back to her Third seat. “Captain Aizen…he really betrayed us.”

She’d wanted to end it as a question – he really betrayed us, didn’t he? –but she needs it to be a statement, as much to herself as to show Genji her acceptance.

He tenses, and when his gaze darts away, it strikes her that maybe his hesitancy this whole time had not just been out of concern to her. He had shown determination when looking at her portrait of Aizen, but maybe, like her false smile, it was his way of facing this. She was not blind to her Division’s suffering, to the effect his betrayal had on all of them, but had she somehow underestimated how deeply it ran?

“Yes, he did.” There’s the slightest waver in Genji's voice. It’s enough to make Hinamori bow her head to him.

“I’m sorry for leaving you with so much work. I said before I would get better, and it’s taken me so long To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I can lead us out of this.”

Genji stumbles for words, but when she raises her head, he’s rendered speechless. She hopes her expression convey her will to right the wrongs Aizen left behind. “But I won’t give up. I am still the Lieutenant of the Fifth Division, and I want to continue to be. I will need you and other seated officers’ advice once I recover. Together, we can bring the Fifth Division back and help everyone.”

Genji's eyes brighten. He ducks his head, and again his voice catches. “Of course, Lieutenant Hinamori.”

__________________________________

Why had you become a Shinigami?

The question emerged six days ago, and for the first time in weeks. Today, it comes to Hinamori while she eats breakfast and causes her to stop chewing. Rather than push it away, she clings to it. It’s the only thought that isn’t of her past actions, the pity of those around her, or of Aizen. The question is a glimmer in this darkness, a tiny speck of light that promised something more than the ruminations swirling around constantly day and night. If she’s going to get better, this seems like the best place to start.

When she reflected on it in the last week, the thought ended up leading to her former captain just as she'd feared, but she is quick to divert him away.

Now, setting her breakfast aside, she crosses her legs and places Tobiume in front of them, making her zanpakuto a focal point to concentrate on. It’s almost like jinzen, but without the full connection to her zanpakuto to enter her inner world.

A meditative trance comes over her, causing her to let out a long, deep breath. There had been a reason before Aizen, before she even got accepted into the Academy. It was more vaguely defined, tinged with childish optimism and naivety, and somehow it persisted well into her first days in the Fifth Division, even after the horrific things she’d been on battlefields. Even after realising the gap between the wealthy families and those who came for the lower districts. Even when faced with realities that came with being a Shinigami, that she could not save every life or help every Soul.

You wanted to be a light.

Her zanpakuto’s interruption doesn’t startle her. She’d felt her presence in the back of her mind, mediating with her on the question.

“I wanted to help others,” she rasps. “I thought the Shinigami who brought me here was one of the kindest people I met…” She sniffs, throat tightening on the verge of a sob. “I don’t even remember what they look like now.”

It’s natural for a Soul to forget their time in the World of the Living and how they arrived at the Soul Society.

“It was considered strange that I kept my memories for as long as I did.”

She senses Tobiume nod. You wanted to find that Shinigami who led you here.

“I never did.”

It stopped bothering you at some point. Not long after you met your friends.

The faces of Izuru, Renji, and Rukia come to mind briefly. It feels like more decades ago than it was when they first met. They weren't the first Souls she met with the same potential as her, but with Renji and Izuru in particular, she knew not long after meeting them she would still be friends with them for many decades to come. Maybe it had been the few personal interests that had intersected, or that they were just the first fellow students they really spoke to in the Academy.

Truthfully, she thinks it's because of the fight they put up against the Hollows in the training mission that had gone wrong. She had run into the fray against the Huge Hollows, and they'd followed. Somewhere in that back her mind in that moment, she knew she would fight back to back with either of them. If they were willing to follow her into a battle like this, even when she made a sudden decision as that, or to protect someone none of them has really known, she wanted them to stay in her life.

But after that battle, when Aizen and Ichimaru had come to save them, it all changed. She resists the urge to stop thinking there, to keep pushing through and see this train of thought to it's end.

Yes, her and Izuru in particular had changed. It had been a gradual thing, taking place over a month or so, with all three of them unable to forget what happened, but with Hinamori and Izuru learning more about the two Shinigami who saved them. Izuru's motivation shift slightly, going from becoming a Shimigami to appease his family's wishes, to wanting to serve under the men who had saved them.

For Hinamori, it was almost a seismic shift; her goal changed to wanting to serve under Aizen, and maybe even become his lietuenant. It was almost a trenous thought at the time, hoping with Ichimaru would step down as his lieutenant. She'd never forget the burst of hope that filled her when he announced that he was moving on to become Third Division's captain; she'd been a Fourth seat then.

Looking back now, it's strange her first thoughts after a life-treatenign situation were of Aizen and Ichimaru, and not of Hisagi ro thanking either of her freinds for coming to assist. She had been younger the, but even so, she would've hoped she had the capacity to at least think of thanking them. Renji had known better, would rarely talk about either man afterwards and would wonder how Hisagi was doing or how either her or Izuru could become so awestruck by Aizen or Ichimaru.

"I changed after that day," she reiterates, shaking her head to herself. "That's all it took."

You were younger then, Tobiume offers, and inexperienced. You flew in to save someone in need. Doesn't that align with your original intentions?

Back then, she had gone to help Hisagi without a second thought and despite her fear. She didn't know him, but he was injured and out-numbered. She couldn't leave him. It went against everything she stood for.

She thought Aizen had stood for those same things. It's one of the reason she had admired him so deeply. She saw who she thought was the embodiment of everything she wanted to be, but believed she could only ever become a pale imitation of him. He had been too good, too perfect in many ways.

But even as she served under him, had she not still wanted to help others? Had it always been because she wanted to impress him or try to be like him? A lot of those instances had been without his presence or knowledge. The back of her eyes burn.

"I never lost it," she realises, voice becoming raspy. "Even now, I still want to..." I want to help others. I want to help my friends.

He had become her reason to reach the level she had, but he hadn't taken away her original goal. If he hadn't taken that away, maybe she he hadn't taken other things with him.

With a sob, she bends over Tobiume. A tear lands on her scabbard, and another on her quilt. She rubs her eyes and Tobiume soothes her in the back of her mind.

I told you, she says, you're stronger than you know. You still have these skills, master. They never left you.

After several minutes, Hinamori calms her sobs. She brings up Tobiume and presses her forehead to her hilt. "I'm so sorry, Tobiume. Thank you, thank you..."

A zanpakuto, she recalls from one of her instructors, is a reflection of their wielder. When you communicate with your weapon, you are communicating with yourself.

How had she not realised it sooner? She had been so focused on him, she didn't see what was still within her and in front of her. She still had her friends, her subordinates, and in time, she would strengthen herself again. She didn't know how for the latter, but she had been working the other two, albeit in a fumbling and unsure manner.

That sensation, of the unlocked but still closed door returned. Now, the handle turns, and she doesn't know what lies on the otherwise, but she will face it.

He had his reasons for betraying them, whatever they were, but he had not taken her own reasons to stay on as lieutenant of the Fifth Division.

__________________________________

It’s two days later when the zanjutsu instructor is back in the dojo, yelling just as loud as the last time.

There is no breeze today, or birds chirping in a nearby tree, and most of the leaves have fallen from the trees. It’s all she can hear.

On unsteady legs, she rises from bed and manages to bend over and grab Tobiume’s hilt.

Master? Her zanpakuto questions.

Hinamori slowly comes to the middle of her room, barely managing to stand straight. “Let’s practice.”

Are you sure?

“You told me I do not need pity.”

Something flared through Tobiume; it felt like a hope and a determined smirk. Good!

Hinamori assumes the stance the officers in to dojo below have. She positions her feet, steady on the ground, and holds Tobiume with both hands, the sheathed blade’s tip pointing towards the ceiling. She breaths in and out deeply, trying to dispel the weight in her mind and tremors running through her limbs.

She listens to the instructor and the officers responding cries. Not wanting to draw attention for the fear of an officer rushing in thinking something’s wrong, she keeps her mouth closed and follows the movements they would.

On her first swing, she loses her balance and topples to the side, landing on her bed. She ignores Tobiume's concerned cries and gets back up. "I'm fine," she tries to reassure. "I just have to keep going. Believe in me, Tobiume."

She definitely rusty, continually losing her footing in the first volley of practice strikes, but she does not let it deter her. She keeps raising her sword and bringing it down, falling back, then stepping forward doing it again and again.

It becomes a rhythm; then, at some point, muscle memory. She forgets about the weight in her limbs and mind, and she’s more free than she’s ever been.

_________________________________

Hinamori wakes an hour before the sun rises. Not feeling the urge to shut her eyes again, she gets out of bed and takes up Tobiume. She sneaks to a training ground -- one away from the barracks that house her subordinate -- and performs her zanjutsu training.

The extra space allows her to arc her zanpakuto higher and her foot work to go further around.

She’s never felt so free. The thought makes her stop. She lowers Tobiume to her side.

She’s been doing this for almost two weeks in secret. Why did she have to hide this? Wouldn’t it be encouraging for her subordinates to see her up like this?

The thought of her turning up to training gives her an unexpected anxiety. It comes with thoughts of unsure gazes and the dread that she would not be able to show them she was getting better. What if she slipped in her foot work? What if fatigue made her movements sluggish?

I can’t risk them knowing about this, she thinks. I’ll keep training, but…

One step at a time, master.

__________________________________

It's four days later when she makes way down to the Fifth Divison's library. It's the late hours of the night, when everyone is asleep. She takes a lantern with her and uses it to browse the shelves. There's no new books in the ficision section, but that hadn't been why she'd come down here.

She rounds the corner and ends up with the instructions and guides. She grabs the tomb she needs, then rushes back to her room. It of the kido spells, most of which she already knows. Still she studies the guide as if she were back in the Academy.

In the coming days, after she hones her zanjutsu skills in the early hours of the morning, she practices the hands movements and chants the incantations in her mind before breakfast. When she's certain she has memorized enough spells, she begins to study how they can be combined. She'd come up with combinations in the past, but she'll need stronger ones for the upcoming war.

She's caught out of bed practicing her hand movements and mouthing a chant by Isane almost a week later. An awkward silence passes between the two, and all Hinamori can do is sheepishly look at the tray Isane holds with her breakfast on it. Eventually, her fellow lieutenant smiles and says "You seem to be in good spirits, Hinamori-san."

After a bout of surprised laughter, Hinamori replies, "I, uh...I wanted to get back into the basics, I suppose. I'm not actually casting them of course!"

They go on to have a rather lively conversation about kido. Perhaps it's not as big a deal as Hinamori thought. If anything, it might show the Fourth Division's lieutenant that she's on the mend. Soon, she might be able to face her subordinates in one of their training sessions.

__________________________________

Doing all of this practice isn't enough to make her completely forget what happened, nor does it draw away the heaviness completely.

Even so, she feels stronger. No longer are her footsteps shaky and she can sleep through most nights. She's getting better, and it's a revelation she can't fully believe some days.

Her subordinates notice something is different about her. They visit more often, telling her about what's been happening in their personal lives, and she steps outside more often, even sitting in on one of Hirose's gardening groups.

Today, she watches them come and go in the courtyard, and she can tell the mood in the Division is shifting. The only strange thing is Genji seems to be attending more meetings in the afternoon.

She can't stop, she reaffirms to herself. She has to keep going. It's nearly the end of October; the war will be on the horizon soon.

__________________________________

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Hinamori can’t help but frown when her Tenth seat enters carrying her breakfast. “Imai-san.”

“Apologies, Isawa-san usually brings your meals on Friday morning, doesn’t he?”

Hinamori nods. “It’s not a problem. Is he unwell?”

Imai shakes her head and lays the tray across Hinamori’s lap. She notes two of her subordinate's red-painted nails are chipped. “He had to attend an emergency meeting.”

Hinamori’s eyes widen. “Has something happened?”

“No. He didn’t say much, but he mention that the advance team have returned.”

“Thank you, Imai-san.” Then, remembering. “And please thank whoever made this for me.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. Please enjoy.” After her Fourth seat leaves, Hinamori can barely eat with the butterflies in her stomach. Hitsugaya and the others have returned.

She casts out her senses, and sure enough, Hitsugaya’s reiatsu is there. Slightly more faint, shes sense Rangiku’s and Renji’s near him. If she had to guess, they’re all in First Division meeting hall.

Would they come visit?

Why would they?

Her shoulders deflate. After what happened, she wouldn’t blame Hitsugaya for being hesitant. Why has she even thought he would?

More importantly, why had they returned? Was their mission over? What had they discovered about the enemy? About these Arrancars? She’d only heard snippets and rumors spreading amongst her officers in their whispers and conversations they have while passing her room or below her window.

She munches on her breakfast, unable to cast the thoughts aside.

Later, Imai comes to collect her tray. She’s disappointed again when it’s Higuchi rather than Genji who serves her lunch to her. The day turns to sunset, and when there’s a knock, she can’t help but eagerly call out, “Come in!”

Sure enough, Genji has her dinner. “Good evening, Lieutenant Hinamori.”

“It’s good to see you Isawa-kun.”

He comes to the stand at her bedside, but doesn’t lay the tray down. “Sorry about this morning, I had to attend an emergency captain and lieutenant’s meeting.”

“Yes, Imai-san told me.”

Genji lowers the tray to her lap, and rather than make small talk or excuse himself to leave, he lingers at her bedside.

Hinamori isn't surprised by the awkward pause. Still, she had hoped she wouldn't need to prompt Genji. Had the Captain-Commander instructed Genji to not tell her what was discussed? Or was Genji simply concerned about the effect debriefing her would have?

Knowing him, it's the latter.

"Isawa-kun, whatever happened at the meeting, I want to know," she says, gently. "I am still a Lieutenant of the Gotei Thirteen, and if it concerns the Fifth Division, I wish to know. If you're not allowed to speak about it, however, I understand and I will consult with Lieutenant Sasakibe if I need to."

Genji frowns at the floor. After letting out a long, silent breath, his gaze reaches hers. "The Advance Team returned from the World of the Living. Captain Hitsugaya gave a full report on their battles in the World of the Living. These Arrancar, Lieutenant...they are strong."

Hinamori lips part at the news, unsure how to respond, but she nods for him to continue.

"They returned in light of a human, Inoue Orihime, is believed to have sided with the Arrancars."

"W-What?" Hinamori stammers out. Then, she recognises the name. "She was one of the Ryoka that tried to save Kuchiki-san. How do they know she has betrayed us?"

"She was training in the Soul Society only yesterday with Captain Ukitake and Kuchiki-san. Captain Ukitake was the last to see her before she vanished. However, she made it back to the World of Living, evidenced by her healing one of Kurosaki Ichigo's wounds while he was asleep."

Hinamori can only shake her head. This conflict had inspired acts of betrayal from all sides. Why would she do this?

Noticing Genji's hesitation, she decides to put the matter aside for now. “Go on, Isawa-kun. Is there something else?"

He nods, but doesn't continue right away. He loosk out her window, at the gatherings of officers in the courtyard, having either come back from missions or outings to the Rukongai. “We know who will be required to attend the battle against Captain Aizen and the Arrancars.”

Hinamori's hand flies to her throat when it involuntarily clamps up.

“It will only be captains and lieutenants. All ranks Third seat and below will remain in the Soul Society while the captains and lieutenants wait in the fake Karakura Town.”

“I-I see.” A thought occurs to her in horror. “That doesn’t mean you will have to be on the battlefield in my place, does it?”

“Ah, no! The Captain-Commander assured me that no one from Fifth Division is expected to be there.”

No one from Fifth Division should go with them, is what he really means she suspects. They could compromise the battle, serve only as a weakness to the Gotei Thirteen’s forces. She tries to ignore the tiny furl of bitterness in the pit of her stomach. Surely this order came from a place caring, too. “That’s a relief.”

Genji nods.

“And what did you mean by ‘fake Karakura Town’?”

“The Captain Commander wants all officers to fight at their full capacity. To avoid human causalities and any destruction to Karakura Town, Twelfth Division used Tenkai Kecchu to create a copy. The real Karakura Town will be transported to the edge of the Rukongai when the enemy is expected to make their move.”

She’s never heard of the technique. She’s about to ask what it is when Genji raises his hand.

“Please, Lieutenant, you should eat.” She wants to insist on knowing, but when his gaze falls to the ground, she notices how slumped his shoulders are. He’s weary, and likely feels guilty for having told her about the upcoming battle. “I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have burdened you with all of this, especially this late.”

Hinamori watches her Third seat for a moment longer, then takes up the chopsticks. “Thank you Isawa-kun. I appreciate that you told me this, and that you brought me dinner.”

Genji manages a faint smile before he bows and leaves without another word. Hinamori lets the chopsticks fall back to the tray and stares into space for so long her food gets cold by the time she remembers to eat it.

__________________________________

Hinamori can't get the plan out of her mind. It follows her in her training and even as she eats her meals. Did it mean the Captain-Commander foresaw the conflict happening sooner than expected? Or is he simply planning ahead to catch the enemy offguard?

She had brought it up with Isane on her latest visit, but her fellow Lieutenant couldn't offer much more than Genji had. Hinamori took some comfort in seeing she too was worried the conflict might be coming to them sooner than they'd hoped.

At night, Hinamori can't help but imagine the scenario before she shuts her eyes to try and sleep. The captains and lieutnenants facing Aizen, Ichimaru, Tosen, and the Arrancars. It meant her friends would be there. Izuru and Hisagi would have to stand on the same battlefield as the captains who they'd once served. No one from Fifth would be there to confront Aizen.

It's a relief none of her subordinates had to be involved, but that bitterness from her conversation with Genji always finds a way to influence her thoughts. Everyone on that battlefield will be expecting her to stay here, recovering from everything that's happened. They think she's at her weakest physically and mentally.

I've done little to show them otherwise, she thinks pitifully while practicing the hand movements for a kido net spell.

You still can, master, Tobiume tries to encourage.

How do you mean?

When Tobiume doesn't answer immediately, Hinamori halts her practice and waits. Her zanpakuto spirit's answer makes her frown.

You've been thinking about it, whether you've realised it or not.

__________________________________

It's two days later when Hinamori dreams of the fire. She’s alone with it again, and it's calmer than before. There is no threat, but still she steps into the flames.

She goes in facing it, letting it wash over her face first, then her torso, then her arms and legs. This time, she knows for certain these flames are hers and hers alone. Tobiume's voice echoes around her, saying too many things at once, but somehow Hinamori can understand it all.

This is where she should wake up, for a presence enters her space again. It's same one as last time, and she's terrified to turn and face him.

He won't leave unless I face him, she realises.

She looks to the flames around her, brushing over her limbs and whipping through her hair. She tries to take strength from them as she turns.

He stands on the other side, smiling. He reaches for her, but she steps back. The flames grow in intensity, whipping against the intruders hand. he doesn't flinch away, however. His hand remains hovering in the fire, and she can only watch as it starts to burn his flesh. He still smiles at her.

Not long after Hinamori opens her eyes, she cringes and grabs hold of Tobiume before marching towards the training grounds. Tobiume rages with her, the heat of her flames coursing through Hinamori's veins. Her slashes through the sky and attacks on a training dummy are harsh and brittle.

She's certain before she awoke her heart had been pulled in a violent tug of war between letting him burn or pushing his hand out of the flames to safety.

_________________________________

She returns to her room as the sun begins to rise. Tobiume is silent, but Hinamori can sense her presence in the back of her mind. It's as if she's waiting on something from her.

What is it, Tobiume? she asks.

Her zanpakuto's spirit says nothing still. She's usually quick to speak her mind, prompted or not.

Hearing an officer from down the hallway, she decides to leave it and quickly returns back to bed. Had they seen her just now?

She frowns when she dtects the officer's reiatsu and notices his footsteps are hurried. Genji runs past her door and down the stairs. She parts the curtains in time to see him rushing across the courtyard towards the Division's main entrance. A Hellbutterly follows in his wake.

Something has happened.

_________________________________

For the next hour, Hinamori alternates between pacing around her room and sitting and waiting for Genji to return. Anxious jitters thrum through her, threaten to break limbs out into quivers and shakes. She casts her senses out, but he's still in the First Division.

The sun has risen and most officers make their way to the mess hall for breakfast. No one is alarmed that Genji is not there, likely thinking he's either out running errands or getting breakfast elsehwhere.

They don't anticipate the news she already knows.

The war is here. She can sense it in the air, as though a lock had been snapped open, unable to hold back what it tried to contain. It’s in the way the reiatsu she can sense at First Division all waver, heightening and decreasing in intensity. It’s the only explanation she can think of.

 With a shaky breath, she stops in the middle of her room. How will she react with Genji gives her the news? How will her Division react? No doubt some will want to go out to the battlefield, but most, she thinks, will be tense. The outcome of this battle didn’t just determine the fate of the Worlds they protect. It was a battle against the captain they once followed, the man that betrayed them and left them shattered in their wake. A being powerful enough to fool everyone and leave the Soul Society unscathed.

She again replays the battlefield scenario in her mind. Her friends, zanpakuto drawn, staring down Aizen and his accomplices. They’ll get hurt, may not even come out of this alive. It’s an inevitability she faces every time any of them go to battle. It’s as much a part of her life as eating or breathing.

She returns to sitting on the edge of her bed. Her fingers dig in and clutch the fabric of her robes, white-knuckled. She’s expected to stay here while the fate of the Soul Society and her friends is decided. Her division is expected to stay out of the way, when their former captain is one leading an attack on them.

She thinks back to that day Nanao came to visit, when she had briefly wondered by she didn’t step outside of her room more often. She hadn’t wanted to give the thought any credence, but it had stuck itself to the back of her mind. On some level she sees the restrictions as an imposition,  as an attempt to keep her under watch. She had played along with it, remaining where she needed to be and doing as she was instructed. It was why the training she did in secret was so liberating.

She shakes her head. It was this sort of thinking that got her into the situation she was in now. She has no one to blame but herself for her past actions, and perhaps they were right to enact these restrictions for that reason.

But they are her actions.

He won't leave unless I face him.

She turns her head to her weapon, laying on to of her quilt. Tobiume, she beckons.

Her zanpakuto’s spirit makes her presence known in Hinamori’s mind, but says nothing.

“Is this what you meant?” she says. “That I have been thinking about ignoring everything to go and confront Captain Aizen?”

Tobiume again says nothing, but a flare of reiatsu comes from her blade. It’s as good as saying ‘yes’.

Hinamori lets out a long breath, as though finally getting something she had on her chest for months. It'd be reckless, no better than when she blindly followed Aizen's wishes when she thought him dead. How can she confront him?

With a grunt she forces the thought away. Her stomach roils and her heart thumps against her chest. She can’t stay here, waiting and hoping. She has to go to the fight. Had she not been training for this very moment?

There will be consequences, perhaps dire enough to ensure she is never a Shinigami ever again, but she can’t sit idly by. She has to face him. She doesn't want the pity of the captains and other lieutenants; she somehow has to show them she is strong enough to stand with them. That she too would do anything to protect her home.

She casts her gaze back to her subordinates. coming and going from the mess hall. Most seem content, but there's still grave expression and an air of somberness around them.

What good reason would he have to leave us behind?

"Tobiume," she says, and despite the steeliness of her voice, her heart flutters with uncertainty. "What I want to do is reckless."

It is.

"I don't know what will face me when I go there, or what will face me when I return, but I cannot stand by and let Captain Aizen hurt my friends and threaten the Soul Society." She bows her head to her zanpakuto. "I know I have put you through much these last two months, but please...will you fight with me now?"

Her zanpakuto's reaitsu flares, becoming a raging fire for a few seconds, as though she were giving a roar. Without question! I will aways fight alongside you.

_________________________________

She received her orders from a Hell butterfly before Genji returns. She is to stay in the Fifth Division and will be protected by her Fourth and Fifth seated officers. There's a wartime exception, allowing Shinigami to carry their zanpakuto, and to be alert for any unusual activity in the Seireitei.

Genji returns with similar orders hlf an hour later, and it sends the division into a frenzy. Officer race back to their barracks and spread the word to those bewildered by the sudden change.

Eventually, Genji arrives at her room, with their Fourth and Fifth seated officers in tow.

"There has been rapid developments after Kurosaki Ichigo invaded Hueco Mundo," he informs her, kneeling at her doorway with his head bowed. “The Captain-Commander has reason to believe that Cap – that Aizen will invade the World of the Living today at midday.”

The air is swept from Hinamori’s lungs in a gasp. How can it be so soon? She had thought it would be a day or more. She didn’t have much time to prepare.

Genji mistakes her apprehension for worry. “You’ll be safe here, Lieutenant. I’ll be coordinating everyone from here. We will be following the Captain-Commanders orders for our officers to be posted in the Rukongai in case the Arrancar somehow make it here. If they come into contact with Aizen, they are to not engage in battle with him.” He struggles to get the next sentences out. “Given that we were under the influence of his shikai, it means we are susceptible to fall…under an illusion. If he uses that on us…”

“Understood,” she says, not wanting to hear the rest. “Thank you, Isawa-kun. I'll stay here.”

After Genji leaves and she thanks her Fifth and Fourth seats, Hinamori shuts her door. She swallows back the bile that rose from lying to Genji and her officers. She’s slow to move to the centre of her room. Despite the shock of it, she is not deterred by the information Genji provided; this is only a setback she needs to overcome.

She only has three hours to come up with a plan. Her only exit is either her window or her balcony. Most of her subordinates would be dispatched to the Rukongai within the hour, and there would be just under a hundred still in the barracks based on what Genji showed her last month.

She wont be able to convince the officers posted at her door to let her go outside, and refuses to use hakufuku on anyone. If she escape and uses a concealment kido, she could bypass most officers and find an isolated area to create a senkaimon. Where would be isolated in a time like this? What concealment spell would work best and not leave a trance until she's long gone? Who are the biggest threats to her plan? She winces at how much this mindset reminds her of when she planned to escape the cell and confront Hitsugaya months ago.

Without realising, she turns her head to the figurines on her shelf. The boy and the girl continue to smile at her, but she cannot return it. Hitsugaya will be at the battle. What will he think? He'll lecture her after the battle, obviously; perhaps tell her how foolish her actions are ad not speak to her for some days. But maybe, he'd understand. Like her, he too is dedicated to his occupation and the protection of Soul Society and it's residents. Despite his perchant for following code of conduct and laws of the Soul Society, she could imagine him doing something similar to her if he were in her place. Hadn't he done so only a few months ago?

You came to help me, she thinks. Even when I wouldn't listen to you and didn't want to believe what you were saying, you came to help me. Perhaps now, I can come to help you. Other Shinigami come to mind, friends and subordinates. I want to help all of you too, as you have done for me.

Joining the simmering anger is a determination strong enough to rid her of the anxious jitters and hone her focus on forming a coherant plan.

________________________________

She stares at her reflection, having just finish tying her ribbon over her hair cloth. She has looked like this in months, it’s as if she’s staring at a ghost. The bags under her eyes are gone at least, and despite appearance, she is not the same Soul who once wore the same clothes and accessories. When she returns from this battle, she’ll have changed again. Hopefully for the

Stepping out the bathroom, she glances at her lieutenant’s badge lying on her chest of drawers. When she picks it up, there a weight to it that hadn’t previously been there. She ties it around her arm with reverence. Despite what she’s about to do, she vows she will honour this position on the battlefield.

Strapping Tobiume to her hip, she then summons for a Hellbutterfly. While waiting for the creature, casts her senses out. In line with Genji’s information, the captains and lieutenants gather at fifteen minutes to midday together at the central Senkaimon. Their reiatsu gradually vanish one by one as they pass through the gateway.

I’ll be seeing you soon. Despite the anxiety and steely determination running through her, she can’t help but smile at the thought.

The Hell butterfly flies through her open window. The curtains flutter around it and behind the branches of the trees in the courtyard sway too and fro. The Hell butterfly lands on her shoulder, and she leans forward closes the window.

After the last captains goes through the Senkaimon, she waits. In that time, she stares at the books Aizen gave her, at the sketchbooks will with drawings of him, and at her reflection in the window.

I will face you, she vows, schooling her expression to one of stern resolve. You are a traitor to the Soul Society, an enemy to all the Worlds.

After fifteen minutes, she takes in a long breath, and at the exhale, she raises her hands. This is it.

 I will show you that you do not affect me or the Fifth Division anymore.

She’ll only have a minute at most before her Fourth and Fifth seat realise she’s not in her room. She whispers the incantation for a high-level concealment kido. Before she even utters the last word, she walks to the door to her balcony. Her limbs thrum with anticipation and nerves as she slides it aside quietly.

Then, she leaps up to the railing and bolts off, flying through the air, her gaze on the sky high above. Before her feet touch the ground, Tobiume's flames heat her blood, ready for battle, and her heart soars with a determination that surpasses any shame she has for escaping like this.

But then, the memory of Hitsugaya in the World of the Living comes to mind. She’d ask him not to kill Aizen. Sorrow briefly pricks at her heart. Forgive me, Hitsugaya-kun she thinks, feet only a few meters from the dirt..

As soon as she lands, she sprints in the directions of a training ground in the woods. Everything passes her in a blur.

I’ll show you and everyone else I’m better now.

_____________________________

Next chapter >>

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Christmas Reruns 2023 Day 5: A Pirate's Christmas Carol (2/2)

Merry Christmas if you celebrate it and happy holidays if you don’t!  One of the things I love about Christmas is watching reruns of all the old classic Christmas movies–Christmas is a big time for nostalgia.  A few years ago, I decided to incorporate that tradition into my fandom life and post my CS holiday reruns.  So here you go!  Enough holiday (mostly) fluff to get you to New Year’s Day. (With a new story posting on Christmas Day.)

Rating: G

Word Count: 2724

Other chapters: 1 2 3 4 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

Notes: This is the conclusion of my 2016 fic A Pirate’s Christmas carol.  At the time it was written, it was a future fic, but now that canon has disproved it, it’s more of an “alternate” fic.

Killian woke with a start, heart pounding, utterly disoriented, realizing he wasn’t in his bed with Swan curled up at his side.  After a moment, it all came back to him…his fears and insecurities about upcoming fatherhood, coming to sit before the tree and the fire so his restlessness wouldn’t wake his sleeping wife, Liam, the journey to the past.

Had it really happened?

Surely not.  Likely his sleep addled brain had conjured an elaborate dream, seeking relief from the anxiety.

The thought was sad, somehow.  How he would have loved to spend another hour in Liam’s presence, even if his brother was naught but a ghost.

Deciding it would be best to return to bed, Killian got to his feet.  It was then that he noticed the other presence in the room.

Henry stood still and silent in the corner near the Christmas tree.  He stared, unblinking, merely taking Killian in.  It was unnerving as hell.

“Henry, lad,” Killian said slowly.  “I didn’t see you there.  Did you…did you need something?”

The lad shook his head slowly, and then finally spoke.  “It wasn’t a dream, Killian.  You know that, don’t you?  It truly happened.”

Killian took an involuntary step backward.  There was something eerie about this conversation.

“Uncle Liam, I mean,” Henry continued.  “He came to help you overcome your fears, and so have I.”

“But…I was under the belief it would be ghosts visiting me lad.”

Henry nodded.  “Indeed.  Henry lies sleeping peacefully in his bed.  I’m but a shade of your stepson.  Think of me as the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

That…made about as much sense as anything else had on this confusing night.  Perhaps Swan had been speaking literally and not merely in a figure of speech when she called Christmas Eve night a magical time.

“And have you come to show me vignettes from my present?”

Henry nodded and then smiled brightly.  “Absolutely.”

“Well then, lad, lead on.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

Killian first found himself standing near the window in his own bedchamber.  Bright rays of sun burst through the gossamer thin curtains and came to fall on the bed.  Emma slept on her side, a peaceful smile on her face.  Killian lay behind her, holding her to him.

As the sun continued to pour in, the Killian in the bed woke slowly and stretched.  Sitting up, he ran his hand through his hair, and then smiled down at his still sleeping wife.  A glint of mischief came into his eyes, and he leaned down, brushed her hair back from her face and began to kiss the spot on her neck he knew she particularly liked.

Standing by the window, Killian felt his face flame.  “Henry, lad.  Are you sure you wish to be privy to this?  It appears we’ve wandered into a scene not fit for a son’s eyes.”

“Relax, Killian,” Henry said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.  “You really think I would have brought you to a moment that would leave me wanting to bleach my eyes?  Yeah, I don’t think so.  Just watch.”

Killian shot him one last skeptical look, and then turned his attention back to the bed.

Emma squirmed, and then turned onto her back, eyes opening, smile firmly draped over her face.  Without a word, she reached up behind his head and brought his lips down for a long, slow kiss.  When it came to an end, Killian caressed her face, joy radiating from him like the rays of the sun.

“That was quite the way to wake up,” she said.  “Looks like someone’s in a good mood.”

“Aye,” Killian said.  “And while I’d greatly love to continue on to activities that would ensure both of us were in an even better mood, I fear your lad will be knocking soon, eager to open the gifts we left for him last night.”

“You’re probably right,” Emma said, awkwardly moving to a sitting position, her protruding belly making the movement far more difficult than it would have been otherwise.

Killian reached over and rubbed Emma’s belly, then leaned down so he could better greet his little one.

“Good morning my lad,” he said.  “I love you, and I can’t wait for the moment I may greet you properly.”

Hand still placed on Emma’s stomach, Killian jumped slightly, feeling a little foot kick him.

Emma chuckled.  “Looks like someone’s excited to hear his daddy’s voice.”

“Truly?” Killian asked, face a bit wistful.  “You think he recognizes me.”

She laughed again.  “Killian he kicks and squirms and does somersaults every time you’re around.  I think your son loves you already.”

Killian leaned down to kiss Emma’s belly, right over the spot the babe had kicked.  “I hope you’re right.  I’d never known it was possible to love someone this much—and he hasn’t even greeted the outside world.”

Emma pulled him up until she could kiss him once more.  “You’re going to be an amazing father, Killian.  You know that?”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The scene blurred, and Killian rubbed his eyes.  When he opened them again, he and Henry stood near the Christmas tree in their home.

“The first Christmas with the whole family at the new house,” Henry explained as Killian looked around at the Charmings, Regina and Robin (who had made a miraculous return from the dead), Roland, little Robyn and even Zelena.  (Emma had expressed reservations at inviting the greener of the two Mills sisters, but Snow had insisted, stating that if they wanted Zelena to continue on her hero path, they had to give her a chance to prove herself.)

Killian saw Emma making some last minute preparations in the kitchen, assisted by her mother, and Henry sat near the fire playing with his young step-brother and entertaining his even younger uncle…but Killian didn’t see himself in the happy family tableaux.

“Where am I, lad?” Killian asked, feeling a sense of loss at the idea that he was missing Christmas afternoon with his family.

“Don’t worry, Killian,” Henry said.  “You just went to the Jolly to check on her after last night’s snowstorm.  Oh look!  There you are now.”

Accordingly, just as the lad indicated, the front door opened, and Killian came barreling in, quickly closing the door to the winter cold.  He removed his coat and then turned to kiss Emma.

“Hey Killian,” vision Henry said, getting up and going to his step-dad.

“Merry Christmas again, lad.”

“Is the Jolly weathering the winter well?”

“She’s right as rain, my boy,” Killian said. “Nothing so prosaic as a snowstorm can disturb her.  She’s truly a marvel.”

“Cool!”  Henry said.  He continued to smile for a moment, and then suddenly began shuffling from foot to foot. 

“Is something troubling you, mate?” Killian asked, brow furrowed.

Henry averted his eyes.  “No.  Nothing’s wrong,” he said.  “I just…I was hoping I could talk to you.  You know somewhere where everyone isn’t watching.”

“Of course.  You are aware you can always talk to me about anything on your mind, are you not?”

“Yeah, I know,” Henry said.

The two stepped through the door to what used to be the creepy Dark One cellar—now turned into a comfortable man-cave, as Emma called it.  The visitor Killian and his guide Henry followed their other selves; somehow Killian knew this conversation was precisely what guide Henry wished him to see.

“Now, what’s this about, lad?” Killian asked as soon as they were assured their privacy.

“It’s just…” Henry began awkwardly.  He turned away, reached into a satchel Killian hadn’t realized he’d been wearing.  After a moment of shuffling, he pulled out several pages.

“A new story for your storybook, lad?”

“Yeah,” Henry said.  “Well…more for your storybook.  Yours and moms.  I’m gonna give you guys the start of the book for Christmas, but…I don’t know…I wanted to give you this story separately.”

Killian took the pages and looked over them.  “Our story,” he breathed softly.  “You wrote of the difficult times we’ve just overcome—from your mother becoming a Dark One, to her confrontation with the hooded figure.”

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“But why did you feel the need to pull this story out in particular, and why did you wish to give it to me privately?”

Henry looked anywhere but at Killian, his shuffling and squirming beginning again in earnest.  “It’s just…I wanted to say thank you.  I mean, these last few months have been really, really hard, and you’ve always been there for me, even when you were scared for mom too.  So, yeah.  Just…thanks for being the best step-dad out there.”

Killian felt the familiar rushing sensation, and the next thing he knew he was back in his living room in the middle of the night.

Killian felt a suspicious lump in his throat as he watched the scene play out.  “Do you really think that way about me, Henry?” he asked in a small voice.

“Of course!” Henry said with a smile.  “And that’s why you have nothing to worry about.  All you have to do to be a great dad is to love your children, and you do.  You really do.  My little brother is going to be a lucky kid.”

“I hope you’re right, mate,” Killian said, allowing hope to fill his heart and almost—not quite but almost—push away the fear.

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

When Killian woke the next time, he looked around eagerly, wondering which familiar face had shown up to guide him this time.

He found himself peering into the face of a stranger.  He was tall and handsome with straight, black hair and familiar green eyes.  Killian was quite sure he’d never met the man before, but there was a definite air of familiarity about him.

“Would you happen to be the Ghost of Christmas future?” Killian asked carefully.

“That I am,” the man said.  “I’m here to show you a Christmas from your future.”

“Pardon mate,” Killian said, “but who might you be?”

The man smiled, a secret smile that Killian couldn’t quite understand.  “For the moment, you can simply call me Charles.”

“Very well, Charles,” Killian said, feeling somehow both eager and hesitant to see the future visions this man had to show him.  “Lead on.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

The first thing Killian noticed when the room stopped spinning was himself and Emma sitting on the couch before the fire.  Many years had clearly passed as both of them were quite elderly, sporting snow-white hair and skin significantly wrinkled.

“She’s still beautiful, isn’t she?” Charles asked, following Killian’s gaze.

Killian let out a long, slow breath.  “My Emma is gorgeous, and she no doubt will be until the day she dies.”

Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “The two of you have always been so romantic and in love it’s almost disgusting.”

“You’ve known us long?” Killian asked, curious about the identity of this guide.

“All my life,” came the cryptic reply.

“In what capacity?”

Charles shushed him, pointing toward the front door of the Swan-Jones home. 

After a quick knock, the door was opened and a woman entered; a woman Killian didn’t recognize—but he didn’t need an introduction.  The lass was the spitting image of Swan at the time he met her.  This must be…couldn’t be anyone else but…their daughter.

Killian felt the tears come to his eye as his lovely daughter rushed forward and hugged first Emma and then him.

“Eva!” Emma said.  “You’re here!  You actually made it!”

“Surprise!” she said. 

“What happened, love?” Older Killian asked, joy suffusing every inch of his face.  “You told us you were required to work over the holiday.”

“I couldn’t do it, Papa!” she said.  “I know how much Christmas means to you.  To both of you.  I rearranged my schedule and took the first flight I could get into Storybrooke.  I couldn’t stand to be anywhere but at home for Christmas.”

Older Killian hugged his daughter once more, a single tear tracing its way down his wizened cheek.  “You couldn’t have given me a greater gift, little love.”

The living room blurred, and when it came back into focus, Killian noticed that the evening had turned to night and Eva was joined by a whole houseful of new—and familiar—faces.  Killian noticed a middle-aged Henry, seated next to a similarly aged Violet.  Several children played, running and chasing each other in the far corner of the room.

Killian continued to scan the scene, smiling as Eva and Emma sat talking and laughing together.  He saw himself with a tiny boy on his lap…and sitting next to them was none other than Charles.

“Papa!” the tiny boy said, turning toward Charles, “Grandpa told me a story!  An exciting one about when he was a pirate!”

“Did he now, Liam?” Charles said, ruffling the boy’s hair.  “Grandpa has all kinds of exciting tales to tell.”

“I know!” Liam said.  “He said he’d tell me the one about the beanstalk and the giant and his first ‘venture with Grandma.  He’s the best Grandpa ever, isn’t he, papa?”

Charles put a hand on older Killian’s shoulder.  “That he is, Liam.  My dad is the best father and grandfather I know.”

Killian gasped, turning to look at his guide with new eyes.  “You’re…you’re my son?”

Charles grinned.  “The very same.  You haven’t officially met me yet, but I’ll be born in just over a month.”

The emotions rose up and nearly overwhelmed Killian.  This man, this happy, well-adjusted man with a loving wife and a beautiful son was the first child born of his and Emma’s love.  “So…I didn’t fail you, lad?”

“Look around you, Papa,” Charles said, gesturing at the happy, if slightly chaotic, sight around him.  “Look at the family you and Mama built.  This is hardly failure.  This is just about the greatest example of success I could imagine.  I wouldn’t have traded my life with you and Mama for anything in any of the realms.”

~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~c~s~

“Killian?”  He woke slowly, feeling a gentle shaking of his shoulder.  “Killian, are you alright?”

Swan.

He smiled, reaching for her and pulling her in for a quick kiss.  “Aye, love.  I’m quite fine.”

Killian looked around, noticing the first soft rays of the sun beginning to peek through the front windows.  “What day is it, Swan?”

She gave him a strange look.  “Um…well it was Christmas Eve when we went to bed last night, so that makes today Christmas.  That’s how these things work.”

“So they did it all in one night,” he muttered to himself, thinking of his three ghostly visitors and all the many places—and times—he’d seen.

“What?” Emma asked.  “Killian, are you sure everything is okay?  I woke up and you were gone, and your side of the bed was cold.  It’s not like you to leave our bed in the middle of the night.”

Killian smiled tenderly at her, caressed her cheek and pulled her in for another long, slow kiss, his hand caressing her belly.  When the kiss came to an end, he pulled away only far enough to press his forehead to hers.  “I was afraid,” he admitted.

Emma started and pulled away.  “Afraid?  Of what?  Don’t tell me we have a new villain in town!  It’s Christmas!  Can’t they at least wait until after the holiday to make our lives hell?”

Killian chuckled.  “Calm yourself, love.  Nothing like that.”  He rubbed her belly once again.  “We’ve only a month yet before this little one comes, love, and I suppose I feared my ability to be the father our son deserves.”

“Killian…” she said gently, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

“Don’t worry love,” he said.  “Last night my fears were put to rest, thanks to some very persuasive guests.”

“Well this sounds like it will be quite the story.”

“Indeed,” he admitted, getting to his feet, “suppose I tell you the entirety of it as I make you a Christmas breakfast?”

NEXT CHAPTER-->