Disclaimers: I own nothing that is Bleach or Bleach-related (sadly that includes byakuya as well sighs) Personally, I think Shirayuki will end up as a chappy, but it's fun to imagine otherwise
Shirayuki/Rukia
Winter-fall
Autumn End
When she receives her first sword, she turns it around in her hands over and over, eyelids shut tight, sliding her fingers along the cool metal, memorizing the way it feels against her skin. It is slim in her small grasp and polished gem smooth and biting sharp edged and the same as every other blade given to every other student who passes through the academy. Rukia opens her eyes and looks down at it, wondering when it will have a name, when it will be hers and hers alone.
First Frost
She fancies that it might be a flame type, shinning with the blaze of the sun, red-hot and flaring with passion, or perhaps it would be a battle type, with enough power to split Seireitei right down the middle with a single strike. Or would it be a non-combative type…she hopes not. For all her ferocious spirit she would not want to serve under the fourth division no matter that their work is noble and honored. She lives for the fight, the way the blood rushes in her ear, her heart beating so hard it could burst from her chest. She never imagines that maybe it would be ice that would become her sword.
Snow flake
She dreams that night, of cold plains and snow falling as far as the eye can see and there she is, on a cliff top watching the silver sky, waiting for that which whispers her name. Her breath comes in a white mist and the chill seeps in, bone-deep and she shivers, eyes overly bright and blinking, searching beyond the curtains of pristine flakes. The wind howls, and she thinks she hears something else, tinkling bells and ice cracking and a streak grazes past her face and she turns. Wings so white that she shies away from their blinding luminosity. Rukia awakes with the name of the blade on her lips.
Winter Fall
He comes when she calls, white hair flowing in the winter wind, white sleeves spread fan-like around him even as the snowflakes flutter to the ground. The skin of the hand on hers is the colour of moonlight and her breath hitches as his words whisper cold and frosty in her ear as icy lips press themselves against her temple and he guides her in the first dance, taking the lead – tsukishiro – white moon. The hollows fall beneath her white blade, into the blazing light of the crescent-lit circle, turning into ice crystals and shattering into frozen dust.
Solstice Death
Lying slumped against the lamp post, she struggles to breathe, blood leaking out of her shoulder and spilling into red blossoms on the concrete road. Beyond the haze of her pain she watches as the boy-child battles the hollow, his orange hair a blazing light in the darkness of the spirit realm. She has not intended for this to happen, for him to take all her powers leaving her defenseless and weak and nothing more than a mere mortal. And then it strikes her. She can no longer hear the winter wind howling in her ear nor feel the icy cold touch on her skin. There is no blade in her hand.