Full Summary: Jeanne d'Arc Alter was born in fire, an inferno of hatred and vengeance and sin. It heeded her call to turn her foes to cinders, it wreaked havoc and terror among those who dared get in her way, and it held her close when she had nothing else. She never let it go, even as it scorched her skin and licked at her heart.

Victor Frankenstein's Monster had died in fire, smothered in sorrow and regret. Locked inside the prison of her mind, her body in eternal rebellion against itself, she had long given up hope of anything more than pitying glances and shallow sympathies. She treasured the little she had, but never stopped dreaming of someone who could hear her.

In another tale, each might have found comfort in the light of better people than them. In another tale, each might have destroyed themselves in their efforts to escape the agony of their waking moments. In another tale, each may have never had this second chance at all.

In this tale, their jagged edges will scrape against one another as they seek solace in each other. They will rip open old wounds and carve in new ones. But through all the pain and strife, they will find someone who will never leave their side.

They will finally find someone who understands.


Chapter One: High and Dry

Jeanne's cruel laughter echoed in the wind as she drove the pirates back towards the docks. No matter how quickly they ran, the few ships that sat in the harbor wouldn't save them. They'd all be corpses and ash before they could take a single step onto the gangplanks.

"Die, witch!"

Despite the sneer on the pirate's face as she swung her cutlass, her eyes were full of fear. Jeanne grinned, ducked under the weapon, then smashed her elbow into the woman's chest. Her victim staggered and looked up just in time to scream before the sword ripped her open from shoulder to stomach. Shoving the bleeding woman aside, Jeanne eagerly locked blades with the red-cloaked captain bellowing vengeance for her crew.

There was fury in her face, but underneath it, terror. The sight of it filled Jeanne with unholy glee.

Fuck beasts and wyverns. There's nothing like making someone beg for their life before I snuff it out.

Another volley of curses and threats, accompanied by a barrage of musket shots. Jeanne spread her arms and laughed as they pinged harmlessly off her breastplate. Hatred coiled in her gut, darkly pleasant as she cut another pirate down.

Finally, finally! After weeks of standing idle while her hatred gnawed inside of her, she had approved targets on which to vent herself. The salty wind whipping hair into her face smelled of blood just as much as sea water. Fucking wonderful, as wonderful as the spray of red across the white of her banner when she impaled another useless worm on her flag.

With a wicked smirk that had once brought kings and knights to their knees, she whirled on the next pirate—

"Jeanne!" called her idiot Master's voice from behind, "Fran's in trouble! Please back her up!"

She snarled in frustration. Right when things are getting good! The Monster just can't keep it together, can she!? Spinning on the balls of her feet, she snapped the cowering pirate's neck with a kick before moving to cover the pink-haired Berserker.

It was obvious why Master had called for support—the girl fought with even less care than usual. Several dozen cuts, thick and thin, scored her pale skin where she'd left her guard open. Too busy smashing everything in sight, though even then her blows were slow and sloppy. Two pirate officers had her pinned while their followers streamed past her.

"You've gotta be shitting me," she growled, then raised her voice as she called a wall of flame to stop them from getting near Master. "They're just humans, you fuck! You shouldn't even need your Noble Phantasm, they're so weak!"

With a curl of her fingers, Jeanne sent the blaze crashing down on the helpless pirates. But she didn't even get to enjoy the smell of charred flesh, instead she had to waste her time shoving the Monster behind a crate to protect her from another hail of musket fire. Extending her hand, she launched a return volley of spectral spears to impale the enemy.

"See you in hell, fuckers!" she yelled, covering them with white-hot flames until they were little more than ash. The scent of viscera on the wind made her wild grin return, and her heart beat faster.

Much better.

That bishounen alchemist might complain about ruined materials, but fuck him. Let him do some real work for a change. Jeanne was tired of picking up everyone else's slack.

Speaking of which…

Scowling, she turned on the Berserker. "You good now, or do I have to hold your hand all the way to the pisspot?"

She expected a sullen grunt, the most she'd ever gotten from the Monster, but it seemed even that was too much. The girl had hardly moved, still slumped over the crates, eyes hidden under her bangs. Her shoulders shook with each ragged wheeze, like an old dog on its deathbed.

"Tch. If you can't fight, say something. Don't wait til Master makes me rescue your sorry ass."

The wheezing paused before a low growl rumbled from the Monster's throat. Then she grit her teeth and straightened, grabbing her club and stepping out from behind the crate. She swayed unsteadily on her feet, but her jaw was set wire-tight and her club dragged a trail in the cinders as she stalked among the ruins.

The corner of Jeanne's lip lifted in an understanding the saint could never claim. Pain always hurt a little less when you could pummel it into someone else. Too bad for the Monster that the remaining pirates had already fled for their lives.

Sneering, Jeanne fell into step behind her. "Too slow. I had to kill them all for you. Next time, don't fuck up."

The Monster growled and crashed her club into a window with a loud screech of shattering glass. Then raised her weapon for another blow, only to stagger and catch herself on the wall.

"Dipshit. Why'd you even come out if you were hurting this bad?"

Panting hard, the Berserker pushed past her. Despite her attempts at recovering composure, Jeanne could see weakness in the exhausted slant of her shoulders.

The Avenger puffed out a breath and sheathed her sword. "You make no damn sense."

Chaldea's ranks included plenty of Servants drunk on bloodlust or blinded with duty, but despite her Madness Enhancement, the Monster never struck her as either. Nor was it pride that drove her—whenever they came back triumphant from a mission, the Monster always slinked away, as if the cheering staff's eyes could burn her. So what the fuck was wrong with her?

Huffing, Jeanne turned away and walked idly through the ruined docks. If the Monster was so dead set on suffering, let her. Jeanne didn't give a fuck about her. Jeanne didn't give a fuck about anything, and that was just how she liked it.

It's easier that way.

Ignoring the churning in her stomach, she stalked over to where Master was talking to the smartass kid in the red cloak. The girl glanced towards her and smiled, while the kid merely sighed as she approached.

"Well? Got enough dust for the pretty boy, or do we need to hunt down some amazons too?" said Jeanne contemptuously. "At least they put up a bit more fight."

"No, I think that's enough. Thank you, Jeanne." Master looked impassively over the wreckage and its dying fires, a marked contrast to the days when her mouth would twist after each battle. "Where's Fran?"

"Still alive. Just like you asked for, Master." Jeanne sneered around the word. "I don't care what happens to her after."

"Jeanne…" said the girl tiredly, with just a hint of warning.

She shrugged dismissively. "She's over there breaking things. What did you expect from a Berserker?" The smirk sharpened into a predatory grin. "Why not put that energy to use and find something else to kill? Get some feathers or whatever."

"Please no," groaned the boy. "Not until I've gotten a cigar and some bourbon in me."

"I think I'm gonna need to check your ID before I can serve you," Master said with some humor.

"I am over forty years old," the boy stated, "and we've been at this for hours. I have earned my goddamn drink."

"Fuck you and your booze problem, kid," Jeanne spat. "I'm not ready to call it quits. My hatred hasn't even begun to cool."

Killing the pirates may have been a fleeting pleasure, but it was still the best Jeanne had felt all week. Their blood had quelled the roil in her stomach from biting agony to a dull ache. She needed more to dissipate it entirely, so she could finally focus on her manga.

"You obnoxious, bloodthirsty—"

A loud scraping sound made them both swivel back towards the blackened street. The Monster walked towards their Master, dragging her club listlessly behind her. A trembling arm was clutched around her stomach, until she noticed the eyes on her. Then the arm dropped away and she stood up taller to meet Master's gaze.

The Monster nodded and gave a small grunt, and Master replied with a tentative smile.

"You doing okay, Fran?" she asked.

A deeper nod, a more insistent grunt. The Monster plastered on a smile that sent the fury boiling in Jeanne's blood. Five seconds ago she was barely able to pick herself off the ground to find someone else to kill, and now she was beaming at Master like a fucking flower girl.

Stop pretending you're fine, bitch. You think that rage's just gonna slide off when you get back? Think you can just smile the pain away? At the end of the day, you're still just a monster.

"Good," affirmed Master. "I think we'll call it a day."

"Thank God." The boy let out a long sigh. "If I'm really lucky, maybe I'll even make it back to my room before someone grabs me again."

Jeanne bit back a snarl. This wasn't anywhere close to enough, but going against Master's orders was too troublesome to deal with right now.

Guess the simulators will have to do again. Even if massacring pixels did little to satisfy her hatred, at least she wouldn't have to look at the Monster's stupid face there.

The holographic screen popped up. Master and the shield girl—former shield girl, she snickered to herself—chattered pointlessly for a few moments, before announcing the Rayshift back. Jeanne held her breath as she fell backwards into the Rayshift coffin before kicking it open. No matter how many times she did it, the nausea and tight space of the coffin always sent a small panic through her.

Fortunately no one seemed to notice. Master was too busy with the shield girl cooing over her (disgusting), the kid was fucking smiling as he took a bento from the stupid fox (even more disgusting), and the Monster was already halfway to the door. Her gait was stiff and her movements heavy, but a pained smile persisted on her face.

Most disgusting of all.

Sneering, Jeanne turned her back on the whole scene and let her feet carry her down the hallway towards the training rooms. It was established routine at this point, the one place that could offer her a sliver of satisfaction when a mission left her hungry. And they always left her hungry.

And yet, she couldn't get that fucking smile out of her head. How dare she look like that, how dare she act like she could hold herself above the rage and the fear. Like there was peace on the other side, if you could just bear through it.

Like there was paradise just beyond the pyre.

A snarl ripped from Jeanne's mouth. Spinning on her heel, she stalked back down the hall. In her anger, she scarcely noticed the few staff and Servants flattening themselves against the wall to let her through. All that mattered was catching up to the stupid bitch and…

Actually, she wasn't sure. But whatever it was, she'd damn well make it hurt.

But God must have been laughing at her particularly hard that day, because she'd lost track of the Berserker in the few pathetic moments she'd wasted watching the others. Who the fuck lost track of a Berserker? It should have been impossible, yet here she was.

Her gauntleted fist caught a technician who'd had his nose stuck in his tablet a second too long. His face paled when she hauled him up by the collar, his feet flailing helplessly in the air.

"Where is she?" the Avenger growled.

"S-s-she's leading prayers in the chapel!" the technician stuttered out.

Jeanne shook him violently, and he made a noise like a terrified puppy. "She can barely talk, you stupid sack of shit! Now where is she!?"

"Y-you m-m-mean Fran?" he said pitifully. "I-I-I think she's in the arboretum! I-I think—"

She let him drop so he wouldn't waste her time with further incoherent blabber. Even if she rarely set foot in the place—once the greenery had proven as worthless as everything else—she still knew the way. Her heels clicked in the now-empty corridors (save for the old fart in the ridiculous butterfly cloak, but he didn't count) before she burst through the glass doors of the arboretum.

The artificial sunlight prickled unpleasantly over her skin as she charged down the cobblestone path of the flower gardens. There was nobody on the benches, and nothing near the dolphin-themed fountain that the saint lost her shit over last month when they installed it.

If that vermin lied to me and she isn't here...

The grounds were vast enough that Jeanne might've given up if not for the sharp taste in her mouth spurring her on. The flowerbeds gave way to a canopy of trees as she followed the path, eyes scouring the landscape for any sign of pink hair.

By the time the path ended at the foot of a small grassy hill, Jeanne was pissed. Luckily she could just make out a wisp of white veil next to the tree at the top. An angry grin spread over her face as she strode up.

The Monster sat with her back to the tree, her head buried in a book. Not a comic or a board book, but a real novel. From the placement of the pages, she was near the end too. Envy flared sharp in Jeanne's breast, before she took in the fingers clenching and unclenching on the cover with a trill of cruel satisfaction.

Yeah, that's right. Hurts, doesn't it?

She came to a stop a few paces in front of the girl. It didn't take long for the other to glance up from her reading, her mismatched eyes just visible under the fringe of hair. They widened as they took her in, then narrowed in suspicion.

A breeze rustled through the fake grass as the two stared at each other. Then Jeanne's lips curled into a sneer.

"So this is where you go to lick your wounds after you've had your ass handed to you? Pretty pathetic."

The Monster's mouth twisted, but her eyes hardened as she held the Dragon Witch's gaze. Deliberately she set down her book, tucking a feather into it as a bookmark.

At least she isn't playing at shy maiden, thought Jeanne, then her scowl deepened.

"The fuck happened out there today?" she demanded.

The girl frowned, then raised her hands. Her fingers made a series of rapid movements, little twists and lines drawn through the air, before stopping abruptly.

Jeanne's brow furrowed. "What the hell? You having a spasm?"

Her gloved hands slowly settled back into her lap, clenching at her dress before she drew in a deep breath.

"M... mak... ing words... is... hard." Her quiet voice audibly struggled around every syllable. "Sign... ing... ea... easi... er."

Jeanne blew out a breath. "Fine, let's make it simple. Just nod or shake your head. You can do that much, right?"

A nod, and she met Jeanne's gaze once more. The smile that spread across her face was a cracked thing, reflexive rather than heartfelt.

"Stop that," Jeanne snapped. "It looks disgusting."

The other's face fell, and her hands clutched at the white veil to pull it close.

"You don't have to cry over it either," said Jeanne impatiently. "Don't smile at assholes. Tell them to go fuck themselves instead."

After she didn't receive a response, she sighed and crossed her arms, glaring down at the girl sitting in front of her. "Ready?"

The Monster picked a bit at the grass, then nodded.

"Still hurts, doesn't it? Don't even try to lie to me, it's obvious."

A shrug. That was close enough to a yes.

"And it makes you want to fuck shit up. I saw you back at the docks."

No response this time, except the untimely deaths of a few more blades of grass.

"Then why aren't you fucking shit up now?" demanded Jeanne, leaning over to force the girl's eyes back on her. "If you can't be assed to drag yourself to the simulator, at least smash some of these stupid trees."

The Monster tensed and dug her fingers into the soil. Her gloves were stained black when they rose to make a few more of those weird gestures before she sighed in frustration. Then she reached behind her and pulled out a clothbound notebook and fountain pen from the folds of her dress. She flipped through a few pages before beginning to write in it.

The envy rose in Jeanne's throat again, black and bitter, as she watched how gracefully the pen moved between pained trembles.

Scowling, she cut a hand through the air. "Never mind, I don't care. Did you fuck up today because those weak-ass pirates actually hurt you?"

The pen stopped, and the Monster shook her head.

"Okay, so you were hurting before that?"

Nod. She tucked the notebook and pen away once more.

"And for some reason, you thought it was a good idea to fight anyway? You could've gotten me or that stupid Master killed."

The girl's hands furiously flipped through more motions.

"I can't fucking understand that, remember?" Jeanne snarled.

The Monster made an angry grunt and clenched her fists so tightly they shook. "C... ca... n't... let... p-pain... win."

That made Jeanne pause. Her stomach ached in unexpected—unwelcome—sympathy. Before she could think on that too much, she reached out and grabbed the book from where it rested on the grass.

"This part of that?" she sneered. "Does reading kiss the aches away?"

A pointed comment danced on the tip of her tongue as spite coiled in her gut, but she bit it back. As satisfying as it was to slosh the hate around, getting an answer was more important right now.

"I... like... it," the girl replied defiantly, even as her eyes nervously tracked Jeanne's grip on the book. The Avenger flipped through the pages with forced idleness, not bothering to try to read any of the text. Openly struggling in front of the Monster was an unacceptable weakness.

"Bullshit," she said, closing it and staring at the title.

Anne... of... Green... is that Gables? What the fuck is a Gable?

She huffed and shoved it back at the Monster, who accepted it with a degree of relief.

"Whatever. If you wanna torture yourself, go nuts." She coldly met the Berserker's gaze. "Just make sure that, next time, it's on somebody else's team. I have enough fuck-ups to deal with. If you get in my way again, I'll burn you."

The Monster slowly nodded.

A heavy silence descended for a moment, as if they both were waiting for the other to say something more. But Jeanne had said everything she had come to say, even if she felt no wiser than before, and she didn't want to waste any more of her time here.

As if you have such a busy schedule that you can't afford it.

Shut the fuck up.

She turned around and left without anything more. Maybe that stupid hound guy was up for a few rounds in the simulator. Or maybe she could finally catch that fucking slave trading bastard and rearrange his internal organs.

Anything to keep the hatred at bay for a little longer. Even if it was only a couple hours, that was enough.

It had to be.


"Hello friends," said Minerva, "and welcome back to Yuri Rarepair Hell. I'm your host, Pallan Minerva, and joining me is of course the lovely TungstenCat."

"Fuck you, this is your fault," grumbled Tunko from the tacky red leather seat. "As usual, I might add."

"It is indeed all my fault." Minerva nodded with a smile. "I won't bore you with the details of how it came to be, but basically, three and a half days ago I messaged her 'anyway jalter x fran' and things kind of spiralled out of control."

"All your fault," came the petulant reply.

"You cannot escape the fact that you instantly started to unspool extremely angsty ideas," countered Minerva.

"I like it better when it hurts."

"And this is why we're friends. Anyway, this is set in the same setting as Two Sides of a Sesterce, though you are not required to read it to understand this. I would advise that you prepare yourself, though."

Minerva's grin split his face in two.

"This is going to hurt."

"Without even any character deaths," said Tunko. "Just on the sheer brokenness of these two. It's impressive in an awful sort of way."

"Quite sad, really." Minerva shook his head in solemnity. "We'll try our best to update this every two weeks."

He waved a hand and threw a YouTube link at you.

"Your ending theme today is the LinMeringue cover of Crocodile Skin by Cepheid. And as always..."

That smirk sent a chill down your spine.

"Thanks for reading."