#truly fear leads to anger which just instantly jumps into suffering. more deep breaths.

[pocketramblr]

How dare they make me so angry that I don't even want to post the Tensaki fic I was so excited to start. I'm shaking. AhhhHHHHHHHH

[mrs-gucci]

I’m going to try come up with other ideas lol but these jumped out at me. I would absolutely use these for something! I’m saving them too because I just might!

But if you feel like it, these combined scenarios could be really fun for a sarcastic, grouchy ass Flip or Kylo AU. It could be anything from enemies to antagonists to the guy being in trouble with you currently from doing stupid shit and trying to make up with you! Anything you think!

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

The Longest Knight {Sir Kylo Ren x Reader}

author's notes: hello, hello! shannon, dear, you always seem to know what I'm in need of when you send requests in. I've been dying for an excuse to write some medieval/knight Kylo, and this fits in perfectly with that AU, so thank you! <3

**THERE ARE SOME DARK(ER) THEMES IN THIS STORY, BUT ONLY AT THE VERY BEGINNING (there’s an indicator of when the dark content ends, in bold, you can’t miss it). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TW’S BEFORE PROCEEDING!**

warnings: some angst. some gore. some fluff. smut. enemies-with-benefits. sex w/o feelings. kylo is a huge douche (but in, like, a lowkey sexy way). 

tw's: (at the very beginning): dead bodies & blood, vivid depictions of wounds/injuries, brief depictions of battle, implied (battle-related) murder. mentions of sex work (later on in the story, not relating to the reader character).

word count: 4.4k

terms to know: loincloth: groin-covering cloth tied around the waist (literally just underwear). bedswerver: “adulterer” (an insult). mamillare: medieval breast band (bra).

When the sounds of marching footfall, deep cries of manly battle, and shod hooves pounding on the drought-hardened ground had ceased from the air, you saddle your horse and ride out to the far field of your property. 

The putrid smell of rotting flesh hits you before any bodies are even in view. Your prized stallion slows his trot, nostrils flaring and ears perked forward as the scene of battle presents itself to both of you.

He begins to snort and whinny in acute panic at the sight of so many corpses, both human and horse. Your stomach begins to churn, and you can barely bring yourself to look upon the scene as your heel encourages him onward, wanting to make sure there aren’t any surviving soldiers. 

Both sides seem to have suffered great loss, although you’re unsure which corpses belong to which side. The conflict betwixt Alderaan and Naboo has been dragging on much too long, and at the end of the day, is any conflict truly worth all of the lives lost?

You certainly didn’t think so, but perhaps you’re just too close to this war, incapable of having an unbiased opinion due to the loss of your beloved husband at the hands of Sir Kylo Ren, the Alderaanean calvary general and the most feared man across all five kingdoms. 

As you make your rounds to check for survivors, much to the dismay of your steed, you quickly lose almost all hope that anyone laid here ended up surviving the brutality apparently brought down upon them during the fight. 

Suddenly, your horse lifts himself up on hinds legs ever so slightly, jogging in place as a barely-audible groan comes from one of the men. His hand moves ever so slightly, and you quickly rush over to him, dismounting with a small first aid bag.

His helmet is that of a high-ranking official, but on which side he belongs, it’s too hard to tell. Not that it truly matters, you’d take just about any man with the courage to fight these battles.

“Sir?” You say, kneeling down beside the large man. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

He grunts lowly, winter-chapped lips opening in an attempt to speak. “S-Stomach.”

Once your mind registers his husky words, you look down at his abdomen and see that his armor seems to have been compromised in a spot right on the side of his stomach. Fresh blood seeps from the deep wound, and you cringe, grabbing one of the towels from your pack to gently wipe away some of the blood, but the tear in flesh is so deep, it’s impossible to do with just one towel. **dark content warnings ENDS**

“My estate is just a short ride from here. I cannot hold your weight myself, but if you can mount my horse, I will take you back and mend your wounds to the best of my ability.”

The mask nods softly, slowly but surely lifting himself up off the ground, wobbling towards your horse, who snorts nervously. He seemingly understands the severity of the situation, though, and stands still as the knight sits himself on his back. 

From there, he lays back, breath catching in his throat as his injuries are tweaked with each of the horses’ strides. You hold onto the reins, leading your stallion back to the house. 

After quite a bit of maneuvering and a lot of quarreling with the injured knight, you finally manage to set him up the cot in your spare bedroom. He sits down on the chair as you do so, mumbling and grumbling about his pain. You found it quite annoying, really, but you can’t really blame him for acting in such a way.

“You’ll need to remove your armor, sir. I cannot treat your wounds with it on.”

“By God’s bones.” He curses under his breath in annoyance, but stands and removes his body armor nonetheless.

Piece by piece is peeled from his body, his physically intimidating figure revealed slowly to your curious eyes. Only his under-layers were left, soon enough, and you found it a bit odd that he hadn’t taken his helmet off first. You would think that would be a great relief to have the proper air exposure on your face, but you’re not really in a place to make assumptions about that sort of thing.

His brilliantly alabaster skin is severely bloodied, bruised, and badly butchered. He would require quite some time to heal and recover, but if you learned anything from being married to an army man, it’s that they’re all stubborn bastards who never take the proper time to allow time for their bodies to properly heal.

He’s soon fully exposed to you, minus his helmet and threadbare loincloth, and you have to look away quickly as your cheeks heat up. The small garment left very little to the imagination, and this knight was...well endowed, to put it kindly.

Putting your own personal feelings aside for the betterment of the patient, you look back up at him with a small smile. “You may remove your helmet now, good sir.”

“I cannot reach up to grab it from my head.” He says in a flat, unamused voice.

“Of course.” You scold yourself for not thinking of that. “Well, if you lay down on the cot, I shall remove it for you.”

Instead of protest, which is what you expected, he complied with your instructions and laid down on the cot. He grunts satisfyingly at the comfort of a mattress, most likely used to sleeping on the ground.

When you reach for the bottoms of his helmet to pull it off, he suddenly snatches your wrist, stopping you instantly.

“If you need touch me, ask before doing so.” His voice is nothing more than a growl.

You almost roll your eyes, starting to truly become annoyed with this knight. You invited him into your home and you’re willing to be his bedside nurse...and he has the audacity to request something like this.

Again you’re forced to put your personal feelings aside for the sake of your patient and for the maintenance of your bedside manner, forcing a smile onto your face. “With all due respect, sir, I’m your nurse for the time being. I will be needing to touch you quite often. Am I really expected to ask each and every time?”

“Yes.” He replies.

Your jaw clenches and you wish nothing more in this moment than to smack this man right across the face.

“Fine. May I please remove your helmet?”

Sparing you the assurance of a vocal reply, the mask simply nods, and you pull it over his head. When the face of your patient is revealed to your eyes, you’re appalled.

It’s Sir Kylo Ren...the man that murdered your husband.

You drop the helmet onto the ground, metal clattering as it rocks back and forth once it’s settled in one spot on the hardwood. This can’t be real.

He snarls. “Why are you looking upon me with that expression? Have you never seen a man before? I have wounds that need tended to, girl, and I’d like to be out of here before sundown.”

Anger begins to boil your blood, tears burning in your eyes as you look down at the man before you.

“You bastard.” Your hand raises, ready to strike him clean against the cheek. He catches your fist in his hand before you can, though.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Kylo warns, squeezing your fist. “I’ll have to have you beheaded for hitting an army man, and your head is much too pretty to be put to such waste.”

You snort, yanking yourself from his grip, teeth gritting as you walk out to fetch all the medical supplies. He’s wearing a cocky expression when you walk back in.

“I recognize you.” He says.

You huff, unamused. “How could you possibly recognize me? We’ve never met.”

His lips curl up into a devious smirk. “You’re right, we haven’t met before, but I recognize you from your husband’s description. I asked him what you looked like, since he was babbling on and on about you.”

You freeze up, bottom lip beginning to quiver as Sir Kylo continues.

“Then I drove my blade straight through his pathetic chest, and later that night, I touched myself as I thought of you.”

He chuckles deviously.

“Bedswerver!” You yell, cocking your fists once more and lunging at him, ready to strike once more. But then, you stop yourself, knowing the consequences you’d surely face should you actually hit him. 

Your fists lower and you simply say nothing, preparing the cloths in the warm water. The tears run down your cheeks on their own volition, but you quickly wipe them away before turning back towards him. 

“He wasn’t worthy of your company, Y/N.” Kylo says as you begin to clean the wounds on his stomach. “And he clearly didn’t satisfy you in the way you needed, considering the manner in which you looked over my body when I took my armor off.”

His hand reaches around and squeezes your ass, making you jump. 

“How long has it been, little lamb? A young woman like you shouldn’t have to live without a man to satisfy her aching need.”

You can’t pretend that you’re not aroused by his words, by his touch. But you’d never let him have you, not in a thousand years. So, you quickly swat his hand away and continue cleaning his wounds. “That’s none of your concern, Sir Kylo. I am perfectly content without a man and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I bet you’re aching right now, just from my words and my simple touch.”

Before he can touch you further, you back away, limbs trembling with anger and frustration. You dunk the bloody rag back into the bowl of water, ring it out a bit, then throw it onto his chest.

“Clean the wounds yourself, since you can obviously move your hands and arms perfectly fine.” You say, wiping your own on a dry cloth. “I’ll be back to bandage you in a bit.”

“Don’t think of me too much, lamb. You’ll release too quickly.” He snickers as you slam the door shut behind you, bursting into tears the moment you step foot into your bedroom.

You sob quietly, the freshly-healed stitches of your heart popping open one at a time, the grief and pain of losing your beloved consuming you once more. 

And now you’re here, mending his killer.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes everything you have, every ounce of willpower, to wake up and face Sir Kylo every single day. You know you’re doing the right thing by helping him, but that doesn’t make dealing with him any easier.

He’s impossibly stubborn, arrogant beyond comprehension, and increasingly grumpy. But, you just have to keep going, keep pushing through, reminding yourself that each day brings you closer and closer to his inevitable departure.

You’ve all but blocked out his inappropriate and antagonizing comments or remarks, just getting his bandages replaced and then leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Today, though, he’s achieved a new level of jackassery, a thing you thought impossible until he did it. And boy, did he do it.

“I’ve made arrangements for a few whores to come and provide me some...company.”

Your fist tightens around the bandage in your hand. He smirks.

“You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of me to go around, little lamb. You’ll get your turn.”

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather stab myself with a sword.” You reply, beginning to switch out his bandages. “You’re lucky I’m even allowing it to occur in my house.”

He just chuckles. “You’d probably be bad, anyway.”

You suddenly rip the bandage off of his skin, causing him to cry out in pain. He looks at you, and you glare down at him. “Just...can you please just stop talking for once in your life? Must you always berate me when all I’ve done over the past few weeks is take care of you? Is this what kindness, genuine kindness, gets me?”

He suddenly seems to sober up, to let what he’s done to you sink in. It doesn’t last long, but you still see it. Perhaps he does have the capability to feel at least some sense of remorse.

Kylo stays quiet for the rest of the time you tend to his wounds, and when you turn to leave, the two words you’ve been convinced are not in his vocabulary, come from the behind you.

“Thank you.”

This sliver of empathy is short lived, especially after the girls from the local brothel make their way up to his room. 

“Oh! Oh! Sir Kylo!”

You shake your head, attempting to read in the study, which is located on the other side of house from the guest bedroom. Yet, their screams, cries and the various other lewd noises still manage to make their way to your ears.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” “Take it, whore, take it!” “Kyloooooooo!”

The temptation to go up there and kick the girls out is increasing by the second, but you don’t. Maybe this will help mellow him out a bit, make him more manageable.  Plus, you’re pretty sure that you’d have to carve your eyes out after walking in on whatever they’re doing up behind that closed door.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes progressively more difficult to focus on your book as the burn between your thighs intensifies. It’s been almost two years since your husband was murdered, which means that it’s been a little over that since you were last intimate with someone.

Normally, and up until Sir Kylo entered your household, you were more than fine subduing your sexual desires. You haven’t once touched yourself, not that you’d really know how to anyway, and you certainly weren’t about to start now.

You cross your legs, hoping that’ll quell some of the burning, but it only makes it worse. Another half an hour passes and your hand now rests on your thigh, slowly inching down towards your soaked and quivering pussy.

Just a quick touch won’t hurt...he doesn’t have to know...

Luckily, a knock at the door brings your motions to a stop. You sigh in relief, walking over to open the door. When you do, you’re met with a bandaged bare torso, a very muscular bare torso. His skin glistens with sweat and the smell of sex radiates from his essence. 

He’s still breathing heavily as he stands in the doorway, looking down at you.

“We’re finished upstairs.” He says breathily. “I’m due for my afternoon bandage change, whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him saunter away, admiring the way his muscles stretch and tense with each stride. You’re burning up by now, both your skin and your arousal, and you wonder how you’re going to get through this next bandage change. 

When you enter the room, the musk of sex is thick in the air, humidity at a suffocating level. You try to ignore it, try not to let it get to you, but it’s just surrounding you. 

Your skin begins to glisten, brow furrowed as you focus on trying to change these bandages as quickly as possible. Kylo seems to take notice of your hurry, your sudden perspiring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks you, biting back a smirk. “You seem flustered.”

Nodding, you continue on with the bandaging.  “I’m fine, just a bit warm is all.”

Kylo hums, reaching down to grab your wrist as you reach up to re-bandage the wound on his chest. He brings your fingers up to his lips, sucking the tips into his mouth gently, tongue swiping over the pads of your digits.

You try to pull away, to leave before you do something you regret, but his hold on you is firm. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t actually want him to stop.

Oh lord, this is bad. It’s so wrong. You shouldn’t want this. He murdered your husband, the man you loved. He’s so smug and cocky and yet...it’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, the thing you’ve tried to suppress, to not let yourself want.

But now, everything else be damned, you want this. You need this. And damnit, you’re gonna have it.

His lips release your fingertips with a lewd pop! sound, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t tried to pull away or tell me off in a minute or two. Is everything alright?”

You huff. “Just do it.”

He raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little. “Do what? What do you want me to do, little lamb?”

“You know what I want.”

“Oh yes, I’m fully aware of what you want.” He smirks. “But I want to hear you say it out loud.”

You cross your arms on your chest, trying to ignore the twang of guilt that shoots through you as you prepare to say the words aloud.

“Fine. I want you to f-fuck me.”

“That’s right. I knew you wanted it.” Kylo takes your hand and trails it down his muscular abdomen, stopping just above where his loincloth sits on his hips.

“Take it off.”

You’re chewing your lip numb as you reach down and undo the tie holding the garment on. Your breath hitches as you slide it off, exposing his member, which is hardening steadily.

“Instead of staring, perhaps you’d like to try touching it?” He smirks.

You shoot him a glare. “Stop talking, for once in your life, please spare my ears the sound of your constant squabble.”

Kylo chuckles, putting his hands behind his head.

Your hand wraps around the base of his length, and he grunts softly. It’s your turn to wear a smirk.

“Oh, do you like that, Sir Kylo?”

He huffs. “Every man likes their cock being touched. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

You squeeze his shaft, drawing a deep grunt from his lips and small buck of his hips. He looks away, jaw clenched in an attempt to prevent any further noises. 

This fact only makes you more determined, hand pumping his cock with more vigor, alternating between different paces and pressures to really drive him crazy.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, drinking in the sight of him trying his absolute hardest not to react to the touches that so obviously arouse him. You tease him even more, using your fingers to touch certain parts of his length. 

Well, it’s fun for the few minutes it lasts, but suddenly, you find yourself in his position, laid back on the cot. He’s on top of you, now, pushing the skirts of your dress up, fingers yanking the laces on your bodice.

He quickly pulls it off, followed by your skirts, leaving you in only your mamillare and your loincloth. His eyes roam your newly exposed skin for a moment before his hand slips down between your thighs, fingers pressing up against the fabric.

“I knew it. Were you listening, little lamb? Were you listening to me fuck those whores and wishing it was you?”

Your breath hitches. “Well, it was sort of hard not to listen when the girls were screaming.”

His fingers wrap around the waist tie, pulling them down to fully expose your wet heat. He smirks, rubbing around until he finds that one spot that has your back arching and a gasp escaping your lips.

Before he can even say anything, you reiterate his words in a mocking tone. “Every woman likes being touched there. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

He huffs, rubbing you harder.

“Tell me how wet you got when you heard me fucking those whores. Tell me that you wanted a turn on my cock, wondered how good I’d feel inside you.”

“N-No.” You say, a stern expression on your face. “I’ll never say that to you.”

His jaw clenches as he bends down, lips next to your ear. “You'll be screaming it once I’m done with you.”

Your eyes widen when his fingers slowly press up into your entrance. 

“Kylo...” You’ve never been touched in this way before. It’s...different, and not necessarily unpleasant.

He sees your hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

And you did.

His digits begin moving in and out of you, curling up occasionally to stimulate a certain tender spot inside you. You’re biting down on your lip, surely hard enough to break the skin, trying your darndest not to give him the privilege of hearing your noises.

As you did to him, seeing you suppress your noises only spurs him on more, movements becoming quicker, swifter. Your orgasm draws closer with each skilled stroke, but just before you reach your peak, he pulls out.

You thought you wanted to hit him before; now, you kind of want to pop some of his abdomen stitches. 

“Why did you do that?”

He laughs devilishly, reaching down to pump his cock, slicking it with the juices of your arousal. “You didn’t think I’d actually let you get off that easily, did you?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping...”

You’re brought to silence when he crawls on top of you, trapping you beneath his massive form. His mushroom head swirls around your entrance, collecting some of your slick before pressing it inside of you.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve had anyone, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone of his size before, so you gasp softly as he presses forth. Soon, his entire length is seated in you, stretching and filling you to the brim.

His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he tries to remain still in order to allow you an adjustment period. Once you’ve had some time, he begins moving his hips, rolling them at a steady pace. 

“Knew you’d have a nice little cunt,” He growls, teeth baring. “So wet and tight for me, little lamb.”

You bite your numbing lip in an attempt to prevent any of the desperate moans or cries that want to escape. He’s doing something similar, jaw clenched tightly. 

Only the wet squelch and sharp snapping of skin colliding can be heard between the two of you, minus the occasional grunt or sharp inhale from either of you, which is quickly shut down almost as soon as it slips out.

Soon, you feel your climax begin to appear on the horizon, walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. He takes notice, quickly speeding his rhythm up, exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils.

He’s getting close, too, balls pulling up as his body prepares itself for orgasm. The energy between you two, as well as your physical movements, quickly turn desperate. 

“Don’t release inside me.”

“I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to.” He says, smugly.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “I see that even the throws of passion and ecstasy is still not enough to tamper your unbearable attitude.”

“There is nothing that can stop me from taking the opportunity to get a rise out of you, milady.” He smirks before his brows knit in the center of his forehead. “If you’re gonna cum, I suggest you do it s-soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips attempting to lift up off the mattress, wanting him to hit that certain spot inside you. As soon as you find the right angle, a choked sob leaves your lips as you’re quickly brought and tossed over the edge.

Kylo groans softly, thrusting rapidly before pulling out at the last minute, spilling his seed all over your abdomen.

Both of you are breathless as you ride out your climaxes, basking in the peaceful bliss that washes over your body, basking in the luxury of his utter and complete silence. It was a welcome change, a much-needed reprieve from the past few weeks of dealing with him.

He eventually flops down onto the mattress beside you, grabbing and re-securing his loincloth around his hips. You’re already a bit sore from being stretched for the first time in two years.

“May I just sleep here tonight, Sir Kylo? Unless you’d like to carry me back over to my bedroom.”

The side-eye he gives you is incredibly humorous, but you contain your laughter, not wanting to add oil to the flame.

“I won’t be a bother. I will stay on this side of the cot; you’ll barely even know I’m here.”

“Are you truly incapable of walking yourself back to your bedroom after one session of fucking? Was I really that amazing that I’ve left you unable to move about the house?” He laughs.

"And suddenly, the pain of walking over to my room seems less painful than staying here and listening to your vexing squabble.”

Kylo huffs. “If you stay here for the night, you may not breach the center of the mattress. I will kick you out if you even come close to bumping into me or making any sort of physical contact.”

Mocking his words from earlier, you smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to touch you.”

“Very funny.” He says, flatly, rolling over to face away from you. “Just stay on your fucking side of the bed.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up to braid your hair for bed before fluffing the goose-feather pillow beneath your head, settling down for the night. Soon, Sir Kylo’s obnoxious snores bounce off the walls and you put your pillow over your head, hoping to muffle the noise.

God, even his snores are arrogant.

-

The next morning, when your eyes flutter open at the first sign of light through the window, you find the sheets next to you vacant.

You sit up, eyebrows furrowed as you look around the room, ears open to listen for any noise anywhere in the house. You don’t hear anything.

Then, you see a piece of rolled up parchment on his pillow along with a small satchel. When you open the pouch, you’re shocked to see a pile of shiny coins. You unrolled the note, reading the sloppy script.

For the medical supplies and for your trouble. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.

-Kylo

As you read the very brief and to-the-point note, you can practically hear his snide voice in your head reciting it. The cold, cocky tone of his words shone through the parchment and ink, incredibly so. You huff, tossing the note back onto the pillow before getting up to begin the day. 

Well...at least you’ll never have to see him again.

[chibi-writings]

Ink 2/?

Characters: Frollo, Esmeralda (Disney)

"He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure." - Psalm 40:2

Deliverance

The morning had dawned with an ominous red sky, choking black clouds still crawling across its length like a great heard stamping their airy hooves in a sea of blood. A tapestry of doom woven by the Moirai, the most hopeless and the most vengeful sky that Esmeralda had ever seen in her life. People had started to gather and stare at them all from the shadows of their houses, visible only when they moved, frail grass stalks bending to their own unseen winds. Esmeralda looked among their faces for any sign of pity, anything that would tell her they were here to help, but she only saw anger and fear.

How could they all do this? Could they really just sit there and watch them all die and not do anything?

She sensed Frollo coming long before she saw him. The sound of hooves clacking on the stone was the first sound she heard, then a ripple passed among the crowd that stirred them into life, the air buzzing with their whispers and the swish of their clothes. The air pressed on her as if it had become water and somehow the shadows seemed even darker, more substantial. She shrank away from them, overcome by the insane feeling that if they touched her then she would feel fingers across her skin.

The clopping of hooves became louder and then she could see him and the people parting around him hurriedly, throwing themselves away as if he would burn them. Even in his most consuming of rages, the coldest of his disdain, the thickest of his confusion, Frollo had the most perfect horsemanship Esmeralda had ever seen. He sat upon his Friesian like a king and it responded to signals and touches she could barely ever discern, they were so complete that it was more like he spoke to the animal with his mind. How could this not be seen as witchcraft by such a dumb and foolish population as these people?

Frollo's swaying in the saddle was perfect and the horse nearly glided across the space that separated them, the leaders of a procession of guards who were infinitely more clumsy and awkward on their own mounts, their armor rattling and half of them looked like they would fall off at any moment compared to Frollo. Esmeralda could not take her eyes from him and even with the distance between them she could still feel his scorching gaze across her flesh, gripping her in a restraint that existed without touch. Her heart galloped in her chest, her ribs which before had seemed so protecting before were like a cage now, a cage made of her very own body.

Each growing step made her realize how huge his horse truly was, how large they both seemed and they stole the air with their very presence. No matter how many times she inhaled it didn't seem like it was enough, her head was light and spinning and they pressed down on her, she felt as much in their shadow as she did of Notre Dame. Her knees trembled and she would have probably fallen if her knees hadn't been locked and her hands gripping her cage with an intensity born of fear. She looked up defiantly as they stopped in front of her, seeing them framed by the sky above that seemed too perfect to be natural for them.

At first all Frollo did was stare at her. His dark eyes were unreadable, unchanging, and it was more like an animalistic instinct that whispered to her what he was feeling than what the judge actually gave away. Anger and desire that chased each other, all wrapped up and caught in each other so it was impossible to separate one from the other entirely. Smugness that oozed from him in every movement, but his face so frozen and cold...So cold. He was close enough for her to nearly reach out and touch but he was as indifferent as a hermit on a remote mountaintop.

Frollo and his horse could have been a statue carved from ebony, marble, and amethyst. Neither of them moved.

"Take her."

She jumped when he suddenly spoke. Everyone did, it seemed. Snapping into action, her guards quickly unlocked the door and then they were around her, grabbing her wrists and yanking her away. Her fingers ached horribly from how hard they had been holding the cage and their hold burned harshly against her wrists. Esmeralda gritted her teeth at how hard they tugged her, but she did not protest and forced her feet to move with them.

"All of them," came the second, imperious command.

There was commotion everywhere, the people around raising their voices in a shout that she could not understand. She couldn't understand anything, her blood was roaring in her ears, roaring like the clanking of armor and the constant buzzing voices around her. The one thing she could hear clearly was Frollo's voice, like cold water against heated skin. It always pulled her back to the present with the shock of hearing it.

Soldiers were pulling her, dragging her along with them, closer to the front of Notre Dame. A platform had been erected there earlier, with a single pole serving as its decoration. Her heart tripped and froze at the sight of it all, her mind just now comprehending the full meaning even though she had spent the whole last night knowing what was to come.

Then, like a slap to her face, came Phoebus's voice rising above the din. Frollo's voice was jolting as the cold, but Phoebus roared like a clap of thunder. "What is wrong with all of you?! He burned your houses and ransacked your city! Can't you see what he's doing is wrong! He--"

"Witch!" Came an insane shriek that Esmeralda had to turn around and see. The others were behind her in their own twisted procession, but Phoebus was the only one resisting his captors. Then from somewhere in the crowd came a rock that hit Phoebus right in the gut, driving the breath out of him and his knees buckled. All around them the crowd cheered.

It felt like her heart had been torn instead. Esmeralda couldn't hold back the small scream in her throat at the sight of it all, and just like wolves smelling blood, their attention turned to her.

"Gypsy witch!"

"Burn her!"

"There she is!"

Another rock came sailing by, passing so close to her that she heard it whooshing in the air as it passed. Their screaming, frothing rage was stirring into a frenzy, as mindless as howling dogs. Other things were being picked up, fruits and sticks and anything they could get their hands on to hit and attack the gypsies with.

"Enough!"

Frollo's voice rose above it all like a god and at all once there was silence. An incredible, single breath of shocked silence before his soldiers snapped into action, those not holding prisoners pushing the crowds back, screaming threats and waving their spears around to herd them into a more acceptable position, forcing them to leave the prisoners with a wide berth.

Esmeralda felt her eyes burning, but she refused to cry. How could she have ever expected these people to help? These were the very same heartless bastards that had tied a poor hunchbacked man to a wheel and thrown fruit at him, all to make fun of his ugliness. And they had laughed at his suffering cries!

God damn them. God damn every single one of their souls to the deepest pits of Hell.

If she was destined for Hell, then Esmeralda would laugh while she was there. She knew all of them were destined to end up there with her, and how she would be the one to laugh at their pain in the end.

She tried to be brave and defiant and strong, but her knees were shaking so badly that she could barely walk. Not even she understood how she was managing to do it, it was as mechanical as breathing at this point. Even if the guards weren't holding her she had no idea if she could even pluck up the strength and courage to run. Where would she go? Right into the waiting jaws of the peasants who would enjoy tearing her apart with their bare hands? The images of Phoebus played over and over in her head, how easily he fell and how they cheered at it. He was the captain of the guard, one of the most respected men in the city, and how quickly they turned on him! What hope did she, a gypsy, have?

Oh God she hoped Phoebus wasn't badly hurt. He had only been shot a day ago and he needed to recover. Wrestling with his guards couldn't possibly be easy with his injury and stupid, ridiculously noble Phoebus was doing it anyway because it felt right. At the very least one of them would go to heaven. That was a small spark of happiness that glowed in her. She could bear Hell easier not seeing Phoebus there and knowing that his immortal soul would be taken to God's kingdom.

The stairs leading up to the platform banged against her ankles and she screamed again, the pain momentarily crippling her as her legs refused to walk. She wobbled and her guards stopped her from falling, but she could hear their sneers and their annoyance with her. Angrily, she tried to fight her way past it, to show that she would walk proudly to her execution with her head held high and uncaring because she was better than all of them. But she had already been too slow and her guards hauled her up the steps, her feet barely finding purchase and her shoulders screaming as her arms pulled against them.

For a moment, she could breathe. There were no longer people swarming around her and the air was clear and she took a deep breath. Instantly she coughed on the smoke and turned her head to cough into her hand. From the corner of her vision she could see the whole length of the courtyard and the sheer amount of people that swelled inside of it made her blood freeze. Fear unlike anything she had ever known pounded in her veins and once again deafness fell upon her, all other sounds drowned out by her terrified blood screaming in her ears.

They dragged her to the pole. They had to drag her because her legs refused to work altogether. She saw a few things roll by her feet, a much smaller rock and an apple so rotten that it didn't so much roll as flip its way over. One of the guards kicked it back into the crowd before they pressed her against the pole and began to tie her to it, the ropes biting into her skin.

She couldn't stand, her legs felt like water and could not hold her up, all her weight pressed against the ropes until the pain became too great and she forced her legs to move until they finally began to hold her weight again. Pinpricks at her feet made her look down and only then she noticed that other guards were swarming around, throwing bundles of hay beneath her. To burn her. She had seen the displays before.

Her breath screamed in her ears, tearing out of her throat in ragged, panicked gasps. Her eyes darted around, looking for any sort of help, and the sea of angry, jeering faces being held back by the guards made her turn away from the earth and up to the heavens. Those dark, opaque, heavens.

Notre Dame towered over it all. Two pillars of harsh, jutting stone presiding over the gathering like distant judges. Their firm edges were at once both terrifying and somehow comforting, the safety and solidity of the cathedral apparent in every stone, yet hard, unfeeling stone did not move the slightest when souls were in danger. The eyes of Notre Dame watched, but did not care.

Esmeralda looked up to the bell tower. She could not see much through the haze of smoke and the distance, but she thought it looked empty. Where was Quasimodo? What had happened to him? A wild, desperate part of her wanted to scream for him to save her like he did when he carried her from the church, but she knew it was hopeless. He wouldn't hear her. And he could not fight through the crowds around her anyway.

Silence descended upon the square, as if Death's shadow had passed over. Esmeralda had no idea how much noise she had been blocking out until it was all gone and the utter lack of it was now what was uncomfortable. Instinctively she looked back down and there he was at the top of the steps, his robes blacker than night and his face still set in its cold scowl. He was so pale and haunting, his eyes burning out at her from the dark circles around them.

Seeing that he had her attention, he began to walk to her. His robes rippled around him with each liquid movement and the clunk of his shoes against the wood seemed as loud as a cannon in the quiet. The air coiled around him and made his movements seem strange, as if he was stalking upon something like a predator rather than walking. He came closer, and finally she saw a smile start to emerge on his face.

"Gypsy."

His lips moved, and his whisper was so soft that her ears strained to hear it. Immediately the crowd began to whisper and grumble, and she heard from somewhere a man shouting at him to speak up. Frollo ignored the comments.

"What do you want?" she tried to growl in a final attempt to be careless and defiant. Her voice broke and her snarl refused to stay in place no matter how hard she tried.

"Do you remember what I said last night, gypsy?"

She balled up her hands. "Yes, and you can go to Hell."

He chuckled, stroking his chin a little as he leaned in closer to her. "How amusing. Do you tell me that because you yourself fear for your soul, knowing that is where you shall go? Redemption is not too late for anyone, you know." His eyes shifted, flickering to the assembled crowd that was grown more irritated by the moment. "Tell me, did you see them?"

She blinked at him, her mind stumbling in the dark, groping for a meaning to his questions. "I--Of course I did. Do you think I'm stupid on top of everything else?"

"Do you think they would see it that way, Esmeralda?"

The use of her name stopped her. "What?"

"Redemption, gypsy, redemption. Do you think they want to see you redeemed? Do you think they would like it if you fell before me and begged God to purify you and forgive you of all sins?" He looked back at her. "What do you think they came here for, gypsy? Did they come to watch a woman's soul be saved, or did they come to watch a witch burn so they could scream and humiliate her and feel righteous about themselves?"

An uncomfortable truth flooded her and made her throat close. Her mouth had no answers to give him. She could not speak and admit he was right, especially not to him.

But, for all her silence, he seemed to know. "Hear them yelling now? They want me to get on with it, to burn you for the crime they believe you are rightly guilty of committing. They are not here to help you, Esmeralda. They are not your allies. Remember that." He stepped away.

The first beat of the drums made her jump. She had not seen them at all earlier but of course there would be drummers here for the mass execution to take place. Frollo did not take his eyes off her and lifted his right hand, which she realized had a rolled-up parchment grasped in it. The light of the torches danced across his rings as he moved with a practiced, ceremonial air and unrolled the parchment.

His voice boomed out, suddenly so loud and commanding that it seemed impossible that such a frail looking body could produce it. "The gypsy, Esmeralda, has been accused of witchcraft," he read to the cheers of the people. "The sentence: death!"

Whatever he said next was lost in the roar of the crowd that mirrored the roar in her brain. She tugged at the ropes vainly and felt more straw being thrown under her. It was nearly up to her knees at this point, digging through her dress and scraping at her skin; no matter how much she squirmed and wiggled it still hurt, she couldn't escape from the pinpricks. But that would be nothing compared to what would happen when the straw would be lit. She had seen witch burnings before--how they screamed, God...

Light invaded her eyes, and she looked up, trembling, into the face of Frollo just a foot away from hers. He carried the torch with him, just like how she saw at the miller's. The light danced across his face and the shadows cast by its planes and the wrinkles decorating them danced with it. It gave him a twisted, ethereal appearance that shifted and morphed wickedly under the display, like his face would melt away at any second and reveal the demon beneath.

"The time has come, gypsy," he said to her, the smooth tones of his voice rolling out in that baritone that made her bones tingle. "You stand upon the brink of the abyss. Yet even now it is not too late." He was leaning closer to her, smiling and bringing his torch closer at the same time, his growing more earnest. "I can save you from the flames of this world, and the next." There was a heartbeat, a solitary breath of a pause where they both tottered on the edge of an abyss that had no bottom. "Choose me, or the fire." He brought the torch closer.

The heat was scorching her face, everything seemed too bright, too hot and she tried to turn away from the flames but the ropes barely let her move. Her heart still thundered, her blood racing yet she couldn't explain how she was still shivering as if she was cold. She knew what he meant by his words, and what choosing him would mean. She knew and yet--yet to stand here in flames, in the heat and everyone would laugh and cheer all because she was hated. But Jesus bore such suffering, did he not?

She could smell burning hair--hers! She jerked away, gasping for breath. "I--" Yell! Scream! Be defiant! The words would not come. She was split between two halves of herself, titans facing each other on a battlefield that existed only within her mind, as different as any two sides could be. "I--"

"Speak quickly, Esmeralda," Frollo told her, unrelenting. The way he said her name, rolled her syllables so beautifully from his cultured accent... "It comes down to this. No more running, no more sorcery. Choose."

He would burn her. She knew that in the very depths of her soul. His attraction, whatever form it might be, would not prevent that. She watched him barricade an innocent family inside their home and set it ablaze for no reason, he would absolutely let her burn alive and enjoy it. Either way he would win.

She trembled, fear making her head spin, tears filling her eyes. Frollo would win no matter what, but he could win with her alive or her dead. And one of them, just one, kept her alive and out of the flames of Hell for a little while longer.

The crowd was screaming, frenzied, a writhing mass of righteous fury.

Heat still burned her, so close it felt like her skin was about to peel off. It hurt so much, so much.

She was no Jesus.

"I--" she faltered, a bird flapping unsteady wings. "You," she said to her feet.

The surprise from him was palpable. Even the flames seemed to waver and become unsure of themselves. "What?" she heard the single, silent whisper of shock. Then a louder, vicious growl. "Say it again."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "What?" she blurted out in an exact echo of Frollo. The bottom dropped from her stomach, sweat pouring from her skin. Did he not accept it? Was he dangling freedom in front of her just to snatch it away? "But I said it!"

"Say it again!" Frollo snarled, thrusting the torch inches from her face and bearing over her, his hellish expression boring into her.

The heat and flames were too much, she cried out and tried to run from them. "You, you, you! I choose you!" She wanted to scream the words out but her throat was too choked with fear to strangle out more than a whisper.

All at once it was gone and the blessed colder air kissed her face. "The gypsy, Esmeralda, has recanted!" she heard Frollo's voice shouting, and the roar of the crowd. Yelling, booing, disappointed that she was not currently screaming from the flames at that very moment. "She will be brought to confess for her sins, and may God forgive her for them!"

The citizens went insane, screaming and throwing more things and a few even tried to force their way past the guards until one of them was stabbed. Frollo was about to have a full riot on his hands. But the judge didn't seem to care, he unsheathed a dagger that he carried from his belt and cut her ropes in a few short, sharp strokes. His robes seemed to nearly engulf her, hiding her from the accusing, malicious stares of the peasants. If only briefly.

"Come quickly," his hand seized her wrist, his skin still burning compared to hers. But this time he gripped her with a tightness that seemed born of desperation and urgency. Oh, he didn't care that the crowd was about to throw a revolt, but he was certainly aware of it. He dragged her to the steps, his feet taking enormous strides and forcing her to nearly run to keep up. "Quickly, quickly!" he hissed at her, passing her over to two guards who caught her as she stumbled down the steps. "Take her to the Palace of Justice immediately. You may kill anyone who tries to stop you. You--" he pointed at some other soldiers. "Bring me another one of the prisoners, now, dammit!"

There was a torrent of noise around her, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the hatred that glared at her from hundreds of pairs of eyes. It was shocking and utterly crushing to see. Just some days ago she had danced for these same people in the Festival and they had loved her, adored her, called her the finest girl in France and praised her dancing. And now--now it was all gone, just like that under the one simple accusation: witch.

"This way," a soldier growled into her ear and he hurried her away, her trembling legs stumbling awkwardly after him like a child. It was hard for even her to imagine that these very same legs were capable of dances and acrobats that had even landed her the title of witch in the first place.

She was surrounded by men, soldiers, all of them except her escort forming a ring around her that lashed out at anyone who managed to break away from the blockade to try and rush at her. They herded her and she saw Frollo's carriage of wood and iron at the other corner of the courtyard. She wondered who had brought it.

"Here!" Frollo shouted above the mass, somehow still able to make himself heard. "Another witch! And a king of the gypsies, too!"

The words sent a dagger into her heart, as did the shrieking that threatened to split her ears open. She whirled, not wanting to look but at the same time needing to, and met the eyes of Clopin. His mask was gone and even as he was being tied to the pole his gaze was on her.

The shock and betrayal on his face was too much for her. She turned away away, tears burning in her face and sick to her stomach.

Of course, freedom for her didn't mean Frollo would let everyone else off so easily. He probably didn't even offer them the choice.

And Phoebus... No, she was absolutely not going to look for Phoebus. That was the last time she was going to look back or she would actually go insane.

Tears made her vision wobble and ran tracks down her face, stinging her sensitive skin before the air cooled it back down. "Inside," she heard one of the men say as he opened the door to the carriage. She nodded dumbly, mutely, and forced her limbs to cooperate and properly climb into the box. The prison, it all but felt like.

As soon as the door shut she let herself collapse, though. A small part of her noted that Frollo's seats were made of some sort of fancy fabric that she had never felt before, but the most of her finally broke down and sobbed. Sobbed in total, overwhelming terror, anger, grief, and tying them all together: relief. It made her hate herself to feel it, but at the same time she was still alive.

The carriage shuddered and swayed as someone whipped up the horses and set them off as a fast trot, no doubt to get as far away from the volatile crowd as possible. She didn't care, she could finally lay down and cry until there was nothing left inside of her anymore.

A/N:  Aside from the obvious change in the end, I made a few minor tweaks to the story and setting and characters to fit in with a more realistic depiction of when HoND takes place, the most obvious of course being the peasants.