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junie-bugg · 4 years ago

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The Heartrender - Chapter One: Ashes

Hey everyone! Here’s my latest Enemies to Lovers Everlark fic. It’s a fantasy AU inspired by Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows duology, more specifically Nina Zenik and Matthias Helvar. You don’t need to have read Six of Crows to understand this story since I took ideas from Bardugo’s world and then made it my own. It doesn’t take place in the Grishaverse but is heavily influenced by it. I came up with countries, parts of a new language, and backstories for my witch!Katniss and witch-hunter!Peeta.

All four chapters have been written and I plan on uploading every Friday:)

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary:

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter One: Ashes

Peeta had imagined his death many times. A slit throat or an ax in the chest. Perhaps run through with a sword and thrown from a cliff. A warrior’s death, a man’s death, as was expected of him in his service to Sjorkden. Never did he think he’d pass bloodlessly and without a foe to fight. Yet here he was.

Drowning.

The frigid water wrapped around his body like a salt casing, water-logging his shoes and pulling at the cloth of his uniform. He imagined clammy hands latching onto his limbs, dragging him down, down, down. In the harrowing moments before he ran out of air, he watched dreamy streams of moonlight filter towards the black bottoming out of oblivion that was the ocean floor. Below him gaped miles and miles of seawater, and he would be lost to it.

He prepared himself for what was to come, slowly counting down the seconds to when he would snort salt water into his lungs and end it. No use in prolonging the inevitable, though his dreams lay like air pockets in his stomach, lifting him to hope there was still time for him to change things. To achieve something with the life he would have had if not for this stroke of bad luck.

Water pressed at his lips like an unwelcome guest. He was truly out of air now and the suffocating vacuum in his chest was enough to burst him apart from the inside out. The tips of his fingers began to tingle painfully, oxygen deprivation or the effects of cold, he couldn’t tell.

His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of the countdown to drowning himself.

Three… two…

And then nothing.

Peeta awoke to an embrace. Thin arms twined about his ribcage, hoisting him above the frothy crests of waves.

His people believed in Gratka, the valley of heaven, the holy place of worshippers, warriors, and the most pious of women. A divine world spun from light and cloud, flowing with rivers of honey wine and heavy with the scent of eternal orchards. Peeta was not sure if he had been worthy of Gratka, but surely the chasms of hell would have been hotter than this.

He jerked his head about, trying to get his bearings back. His lips dripped with saltwater and his lungs burned with every ragged inhale.

He and his companion were bobbing on the frigid waves. The sky wheeling above was full of black, ominous storm clouds and the ship, The Bloody Rose, was on fire.

He hadn’t meant to, but he must have let out a cry because suddenly the arms tightened around him and a pair of lips pressed against his ear.

“You can’t save them. Just help me swim.” Then a strangled grunt and a: “Gods, you’re heavy. What do they feed you? Horses?” The words were choked, spoken in the voice of someone who had swallowed too much seawater and was struggling against the current. She spoke in Krellian, a sharp language of hissing consonants and hard breaks, only punctuated by the occasional swooping vowel. He twisted to face her, his lip curling in disgust when he saw those flashing silver eyes.

The witch.

How had she gotten out of her cell?

Her eyes bulged in panic as he kicked away, ripping himself from the circle of her arms.

“No!” she screamed as she grabbed at him, but without her there to buoy him, his head quickly slipped beneath the waves once more. His arms felt sluggish and he realized with a paralyzing rush of cold that she had been keeping his blood warm with her magic.

He struggled to break the surface, coughing up a mouthful of seawater and thrashing about as he tried to find her once more in the dark. “Witch?” he sputtered, ashamed of the sharp edge of fear in his voice. They reached out for one another, barely holding on by their fingertips as a wave crashed overhead, but then it passed and they were righted once more. He didn’t try to get away this time, afraid of his dipping heart rate and the hazy rush of dizziness that quickly abated with her touch. He didn’t feel warm, but the numb ache in his limbs lessened. He pulled her to his chest, locking her body within his arms like a vice.

“We can make it to shore, but I need you to kick. I can’t swim and keep both our hearts beating.”

He blinked the water from his stinging eyes, already exhausted.

She pressed the back of her head into his shoulder in frustration. “Jųlaik, ” she begged.

Please.

He grunted in reply and then started swimming. In return, she kept their hearts beating despite the cold. They weren’t sure which way the shore was. For all they knew, Peeta could be bringing them further out to sea, but with every passing minute the blazing ship they’d escaped from grew smaller and smaller until it collapsed in on itself, a charred heap dipping below the waves.

Not only had Peeta’s brothers in arms been on that ship, but Peeta’s future had been on that ship. Seventeen witches, four of which he had captured and that he could claim, all dead, except for one.

In his service as a witcher, he had brought forty-six witches to court and he had witnessed them all, his bounties, burn at the stake. The sweet stink of smoke and the way that charred flesh falls away from bone were all too familiar. This was his country’s way. This was justice. Four more would have won him his freedom, his manhood, his honor. Four more witches and he would have held the world in his palm like a flowering bud ready for plucking. All the blood and sweat and sleepless nights spent scouring the wastelands of countries far from home would have been worth it.

Hours passed. The storm clouds released their last torrents of icy rain and then cleared to reveal a bright purple smattering of stars above, carving their ancient celestial paths across the sky. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the sloshing of waves. Peeta’s legs felt as if they were going to fall off, both burning from the physical exertion and freezing in the arctic water. His nerves didn’t know what sensation to succumb to, retreating into numbness. He felt as if he were kicking around two logs.

The witch hadn’t spoken since the ship disappeared, but Peeta could tell by the way she was gritting her teeth that it was taking everything in her to keep them from freezing to death. He almost laughed at the irony of the situation. The witch and the witch hunter. Not a pair destined for groundbreaking teamwork.

So why had she saved him?

Dawn peeked over the horizon, pulling it’s smoldering pinks and oranges upwards until the stars faded and the moon was just a paling ghost of its nighttime brilliance.

“There,” the witch whispered through chattering teeth, her voice weak with exhaustion. Peeta turned his head to see what she had gestured to.

A coastline with tall cliffs crusted in ice and snow, and there at the shore, a black stretch of beach. Peeta swam on against the surf, the waves pushing them back out as if the ocean wasn’t quite ready to let them go. Finally, Peeta touched bottom and they crawled to land, collapsing on the sand with water lapping at their ankles. The two were heaving and freezing and giddy with the fact that they were alive, against all odds they had survived, though the silent celebration didn’t last long. The air was bitter and their wet skin puckered beneath its needle-sharp caress. They needed to find shelter, and fast, or the witch’s magic wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive.

Movement was hard. Peeta’s body felt as stiff as a piece of plywood and each attempt to stand left him trembling under his own weight. He looked back at the witch lying prone in the sand. Her hair was a tangled mess and clung to her face in dark, wet clumps. He almost thought she wouldn’t make it, that she’d just stay collapsed and never get up again. But she managed to rise onto her hands and knees, and then slowly to her feet.

They didn’t talk as they climbed a narrow pass up the cliffside. The rock was black and smooth, flowing magma that had cooled, dotted here and there with the greenish-brown blooms of lichen. Perhaps the land had once been volcanic, but that must have been a very long time ago.

As they reached the top of the cliffside, they found themselves marooned in a land of winter. Sharp white mountains jutted up in the misty distance and the foothills that spread out before them were dotted with boulders and stretches of snow and the shrubby, paling vegetation that hinted at a short growing season. It was a harsh land where only the most adaptable species could survive, and Peeta knew if they didn’t find a cave or some sort of outcropping to huddle in soon, they’d be done for.

Luckily, they stumbled across a cluster of circular lodges at the top of the cliff. The witch, shuddering so violently Peeta almost thought she could be seizing, disappeared past the thick curtain that acted as a door, shuddered one final time, and then collapsed onto a pile of discarded furs.

Peeta limped inside and scanned the den. It had been constructed and then abandoned by a whaling expedition, which were common this far north, though whaling was only done in the spring. The walls were layers of tanned animal skin and were held up by thin ashwood beams running from floor to curved ceiling. They looked like the bones of a rib cage bleached chalk-white in the sun. A thick column stood sentinel at the structure’s center so the roof wouldn’t sag and beneath it lay a small fire pit with a few half charred logs. The lodge was designed to house upwards of fifteen people, whalers with thick cloaks and packs full of food and supplies, but now just sheltered two shivering, salt-crusted water rats with nothing. The whole place smelled of wet fur and welcomed Peeta with open, shadowy arms.

“We should start a fire,” Peeta croaked, his throat ravaged by salt and exertion. He nudged the witch with the toe of his boot when she didn’t respond. “Are you dead?” A part of him wanted her to be. He hated owing her for his life, a debt he knew he would have to repay before this horrible nightmare was over. But if the swim had killed her, he wouldn’t have felt a shred of guilt.

As he circled around he saw that she was in fact very alive. Her eyes were propped open, wide and glassy, as if she didn’t have eyelids, shot through with red where there should have been white. She was chanting he realized. Praying perhaps.

It scared him.

“Hey!” He kicked her shoulder and the witch’s eyes cleared as if they were rising above a cloud line. “Stop that, it’s freaking me out.”

She glared up at him. “Never disrupt me again.”

“Why?" he sneered. "So you can curse me? Blind me or make me impotent? Cast a horrible death upon me and all my descendants?” Witches were known for curses. Pregnant women whose unborn babes had offered strong kicks days before, born bright blue and as limp as dead worms. Men cursed to wander the forests until they clawed out their own eyes and died of blood loss. Children swallowed up by thick mountain mists, never to be seen again. Death. Woe. Suffering. All at the hands of a wretched few.

“I have not cursed you. Your allegiance to a false god has done that.”

“And yet, we’re in the same predicament. Seems your gods have doomed you as well.”

This struck a nerve. Perhaps the same thought had been pressing on her mind. She narrowed her eyes, bunching her fists in the fur she lay atop of. “If I had the strength I would burn that blackened heart of yours right out of your chest.”

“Should I be worried about tomorrow then?”

“Very.” She rose to face him, hatred pouring forth from her eyes and twining about her head like a poisonous snake baring its fangs. He met it with a hardened look of his own.

“I’m still waiting on a ‘thank you’ for dragging you out of the ocean,” he said.

“And I’m waiting on a ‘thank you’ for keeping your tiny heart from shriveling up. Trust me, it was no easy task.”

He smiled coldly. “My, you have a big mouth for someone so small.”

“And you have a big head for someone with such little brains.”

He almost laughed, but they had been through a lot and Peeta was tired of arguing. He crossed to the fire pit and ignored the eyes boring into the back of his head.

“What? No response?” she goaded bitterly, but Peeta didn’t rise to her bait, focusing instead on starting a fire. After scraping two jagged rocks together, there was a spark. Thankfully the kindling was dry and after a few harsh blows and a prayer, Peeta was successful. The fire was delicious, like a tiny heart slowly beating life back into his frozen fingers.

He realized that this was the first time in weeks that he and the witch hadn’t been separated by iron bars.

As if in response to the shameful flush of heat that had radiated through his body at the thought, he heard a muffled sound, like a bird’s wings rubbing together, and turned his head.

The witch’s dress was off, her body bared to him. Her small, rounded breasts and jutting hips shone like caramel in the soft light.

Peeta’s cheeks flamed, afraid that he had been caught staring. “What are you doing?” he sputtered as he moved to shield his eyes.

She turned to pick her dress up off the floor and shot a look over her shoulder. Her very bare shoulder. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to spend the night in a wet dress, do you?”

“But you’re naked!” He winced at how petulant he sounded, how very much like a child he still was in some ways.

She rolled her eyes at him, but he was too focused on avoiding the very sight of her that he didn’t notice. “You’ll get naked too if you have any sense. No use in wearing wet clothes when you can let them dry.”

“You’re perverted.”

“I’m being practical.” She twisted the seawater out of her dress and then snapped the damp fabric at his back. “Now strip.”

He had to admit, shucking off his wet uniform and wrapping his body in a pelt had made him feel much better, though he was careful to cover the flesh between his legs when he did.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” she laughed. The sound set Peeta’s nerves on edge. The witch lounged near the fire pit on a nest of pelts she had constructed, wrapped in a glossy black fur that reflected threads of reddish-gold in the firelight. As she sat, the weak glow of the flames cast her features into warm relief, deepening the shadows under her cheekbones and darkening her lashes. Her salt tangled hair was as ebony black as a night sky with no stars and her skin was flawless, the color of water beaten clay beds.

“Come here,” she beckoned.

Instead, Peeta took a step back. “I do not take orders from witches. Even naked ones.”

“It’s like you don’t want to survive the night,” she scoffed. “See this?” Her furs shifted as she reached out a hand, allowing a dark sliver of her inner thigh to catch the light.

Peeta tried not to stare.

She pointed a finger towards the dwindling fire. “We barely have any wood left, and when the fire dies while we’re sleeping, the only thing keeping us warm will be each other. Now get over here. I don’t plan on freezing to death when I have a big lump of muscle to keep me toasty.”

She made a good point, but still, Peeta hesitated. What if this was just a trick? A lure to get him close enough so she could pounce and gouge his eyes out. Or maybe she’d wait to finish him off when he fell asleep, his beating heart ripped from his chest while he cradled her against him.

In the end, he decided there was little chance of them surviving out here with no food and only three measly logs to keep a fire going. If he was going to die, he’d rather die warm. Besides, having his heart ripped from his chest would be over faster than starvation.

He moved towards the nest, and only after he had discarded his pelt and shimmied under hers did she speak.

“Closer, lieutenant,” she urged in a singsong voice.

He growled in response.

“Seriously, you’re acting like a blushing schoolboy.”

“I do not wish to lay with a witch.”

“This is not laying. This is surviving. If you had any experience pleasuring a woman you’d know the difference.”

Peeta’s body stiffened behind her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by it,” she chuckled meanly. “I thought the whole point of your pious Order was that you prided yourselves on being virgins. That and murderers.”

He ignored the word murderers. Only a witch would consider what the Order did murder. Everyone else considered it justice. Shearing the rot riddled branches off the tree that was the human race. Magic was a disease, nobody should have that kind of power over another. It was unnatural and the world was better off absent of her kind, but he didn’t expect her to understand.

Monsters were always blind to their own evils.

So instead he addressed her derisive use of virgin. “We marry only when we’ve proven ourselves worthy to the Order.”

“Shouldn’t you only have to prove yourself to your wife?”

What a silly notion, Peeta thought. “A man does not have to prove himself to a woman. He has responsibility over her. Nothing more.”

“How romantic.”

“Do not mock me, slum scum.”

“I think I like ‘witch’ better,” she quipped. She was infuriatingly quick-witted and Peeta seethed in silence, unsure that he could contend with such a sharp tongue.

“Whatever,” she said after the silence grew too long. “Just know that there’s nothing to worry about. Even if I wanted to, I would never defile my body with the likes of you.”

“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.

Despite her declaration, the witch drew nearer. The goose flesh of her back felt clammy against his chest, but soon their body heat melded and all he felt was radiating warmth prickling against the chill that had settled into his bones.

“Why did you save me?” he asked lowly, unable to quiet his racing thoughts. A part of him wanted to keep her talking so he wouldn’t have to close his eyes and picture Yasser’s bloated body lost at sea.

“Because you’re a human being,” she murmured, her voice saturated with drowsiness. “And because I knew if you survived I’d have someone to cuddle with at night.” Suddenly, and with a rustle of fur, she turned to face him. He scooted back. “Relax, lieutenant. This isn’t where I have my way with you. I just prefer to sleep with my back to the fire.”

“Are you always so lewd?” he asked, the disapproval in his voice as clear as a church bell ringing across a courtyard.

“If you knew me you’d know the answer to that is yes.”

“I do not wish to know you, witch.”

“Good. You don’t deserve to.”

With these terse versions of “good night” exchanged, they settled against one another, though Peeta was careful to avoid the brush of her breasts. She smelled of sea and sweat and the musk of fur, but something sweet lay underneath all that. Lavender milk. A chamomile bath. Medicinal salves. Jasmine blossoms suspended in freshwater. Long tumbles downhill.

The smells soothed him, until he remembered she’d been locked in the brig for a month and shouldn’t smell anything but horrible. A spell then. He was surprised. He thought all Krellian magic was blood rituals and sacrifices, not a spell in place of perfume.

Despite himself, his eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was of slinging an arm around her waist.

#everlark fanfiction #everlark fanfic #everlark smut #witch!Katniss #witch-hunter!Peeta #Fantasy AU #I finally got around to editing #posted on AO3 #enemies to lovers #The Heartrender

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cupsofsuga · 5 years ago

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𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ━ 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐓𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 *:·。.

{ ⚠️} WARNING - This is a yandere au, meaning the following may be triggering to some viewers. I am not trying to discriminate the boys in any way, this is for entertainment purposes. Viewer discretion is advised!!!

{ ☕️} NOTE - this is in the order of the member’s obtained! thanks for the request, daisy! also, creds for idea goes to @bangtans-apollo!!!

{ 💐} ANON ASKED - ❝ Headcanons on how the fanclub discovered each other and reacted to each other’s obsession for YN? ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊𝐉𝐈𝐍

ah, the melancholic suffering of a lovelorn teenager

how he holds nothing but an eternity in the crevices of his heart

the serene sunlight, words dripped in saccharine, cloyed gestures

nothing hurts more than praying to whatever god truly exists that you’ll return the adoration but finding the fatal fate of no response

and that leaves jin now, seething with envy that could intimidate a pack of wolves

how dare the teacher not pair you up with your soulmate!? it’s just blasphemy!

someone gets to soak in the glitter of your presence, they get to bathe in the rain after a century in sunlight

all while he has to waste precious hours of his time with some plastic nobody

he has to waste time with bland, boring kim taehyung

he’s a dull star amongst a million planets, a saturated wasteland amongst an oasis of color

and how jin’s blood burns seeing that you flash that summer smile to someone who most certainly doesn’t deserve it

ditching the dinner date with his soulmate, jin is forced to work on this godforsaken project with the loner

if only you two had run away when you got the chance, relishing in each other’s warmth as he holds the privilege of looking into your eyes, which he finds resemble dewdrops held upon spider’s silk

that is the honeyed heaven he so badly craves to taste

and as he stumbles around taehyung’s adobe, the curiosity held within jin get’s the best of him as he stumbles into his bedroom

and oh god, what secrets did he uncover

your face, his lover’s face plastered all over the walls and ceiling

some even had his face punctured out of them, some taken without your consent, one’s that jin even took himself

and there’s that one sweater you once ranted to jin how you swore it vanished into thin air, and how he teased that ghost in your attic probably snatched it

if it was physically possible, there’d be steam seeping out of jin’s ears

he clutches his fists so tight, there would most likely be blood drawn; he clenches his teeth so tightly, he fears they might crack under the pressure

but, before jin turns tail, he then sees taehyung as fear swims in his irises

and then jin feels it,

a revelation, an act of generosity

❝ i think you could be useful… ❞

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐆

with every breath he takes, there lies humiliation

shame, a ruthless emotion he swore he’d never live to see the depths of

the summer amongst the dark clouds, all lied on a silver platter for your supposed boyfriend to see

but there is kindness in jin’s eyes, a sliver of evil dripped with every word he speaks

and therein, we have witnessed the blooming of the “writing club,” whose only members were lovelorn kids who’ve infatuation got the best of them

with some sugar-laced words, jin had managed to maintain a room for their meetings after school, taehyung quickly ditching his art club for these fleeting moments spent with the man closest to his love

no, taehyung had never been fond of jin, but, holds undying respect for him, anyways

his heaven lies in his words, his sunlight is seen in his eyes, the fate he craves so desperately is clutched in his hands

and it’s only so long before his grip weakens, and taehyung can rob jin of his pleasures in his moment of vulnerability

but, that future must wait as it frolics in the back of taehyung’s head

he must gain the trust of your childhood best friend before he catches his infinity like a firefly in a jar

but, with that being said, taehyung doesn’t mind all the hours he spent huddled in the tree outside your house, hiding behind a canopy of leaves as he admires the dream before him

he’ll sketch your face (which he can now draw from memory) in his notepad, ethereal poetry and doodles held around your sparkling face

he’ll snap a few photos, catching the fireworks and shooting stars in the purity of the fleeting moment

to simply have the privilege to love you silently holds the light of a million stars

oh, how he loves you…

how the earth bruises your cheeks, the moon litters your skin, the stars possess your eyes and the rings of saturn held in your touch

there’s pure bliss within every heartbeat lept

and there’s only so much time before he has you all to himself

he just hopes no burden will stop him from such…

━━━ 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐊𝐎𝐎𝐊

the student’s that litter around these halls resemble parasites

all feeding off the others, annoying them with their deafening disunity, and all trailing behind others like burdens

but, there’s always been that one, that one that stands out like a sore thumb

bland, boring kim taehyung

a boy capable of summoning enough envy and rage within jungkook to crumble planets to nothing but ashes floating throughout the galaxy

how he denies his infatuation for you with red cheeks, but anyone with eyes can see those “adorable” dimples puncture his cheeks whenever he sees you in the halls

how he isn’t burdened by the overwhelming fate of unrequited love, drowning in his jealousy when you simply look at someone else

how he stalks in class you like a hawk would to prey, probably undressing you with his eyes like the freak he is!

how he simply exists, and how it makes jungkook churn with rage

and that leaves him now, dodging students as the race out of the school, hot on the tail of his rival

he must end him before he could potentially hold your heart in his hands

that single idea makes jungkook gag…

he hears taehyung’s voice, shoving a scoff back down his throat that could potentially jeopardize his identity

there’s another voice, too, but, jungkook assumes it’s another one of those art freaks who’s also pretentious with coincidences

then there’s your name, and it would’ve sounded like it was dripped in gold if it didn’t leave the mouth of his sworn enemy

and then he hears of this writing club, and jungkook seethes

these lowlifes get to breathe in the fragrance of those fleeting moments, which is a fate jungkook whose he is well-deserving of, not them

to simply touch the crevices of your soul carved in silk for just a mere second is a privilege

and letting these cretins possess that opportunity is simply unholy

despite holding a burning hatred for the rest of the memories, for you, jungkook would drag himself through the depths of hell

he just prays that the club members don’t pray too far under his skin

he doesn’t know if he can control himself.

━━━ 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍

oh, y/n l/n…

an angel in the purest form, a humid june afternoon

they are a touch softer than autumn’s breeze, their word’s sharper than winter’s embrace, eyes starlit like the dreamy land of springtime, their presence like the bliss of summer and the melancholic longing after it’s demise

they hold within them the entire galaxy and namjoon can’t help but stare

but, there’s another pair of eyes

and they are burning bullet wounds into his soul with a craving to mutilate him swimming in their irises

as the bell rings its tumultuous song and deadbeat kids begin to litter the halls, namjoon is suddenly shoved against the locker by no other than the modern-day jeffrey dahmer

jeon jungkook, dust amongst a field of flowers

his sadistic pleasures and his lust for blood, the holy scent of iron that smoothes out all the creases

❝ if i catch you staring at my Y/N like that again, i’ll tear you apart limb from limb. ‘got it, dipshit? ❞

he is in all means terrifying, but, is nothing but a little boy to namjoon

time has passed, a damn near million tabs are held upon the screen all containing the history of namjoon and his family’s wealth

jin, who had been reported the incident by a fuming jungkook had found an opportunity in the depths of his teenage angst

he’ll feed into namjoon’s desire to touch you across hundreds of separating years

he’ll pray into his craving to kiss you as the naked moon sets for the final time

he’ll reach into his heart and use namjoon for his benefit

and how the rest of the members all fed off of his wealth like parasites

anything their little heart desired, they’d hold in their possession

as much as namjoon longs to deny them pleasure, he had been threatened to lose his place in the club and every inkling of access he has to you if he dared disobey

and namjoon would rather die than lose his love to the eternal night

the strange and enigmatic masterpiece, the ancient moon across a sea of stars

his violet lover has been sawed through by nostalgia, and his infatuation glows harder than a summer sunset

although jin’s intentions have a mile or two to run before they stab him in the back, namjoon still has a clear vision of his goal

and there shall be no burden before he meets his longed fate.

━━━ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐊

you, a flower itself, flood his brains like a tsunami to a pitiful city

you, a strawberry in winter, hold sly ways of slithering your way into the recesses of his heart once more

that leaves jung hoseok here, letting the teacher’s words fade to white noise as he doodles your name adorned with hearts on flowers in his notebook

there is distant gossip and whispers that echo from afar, which hoseok picks up due to his childlike curiosity

it begun with useless chitter-chatter, then dissolving to the melodic sound of your name which tumbles from their lips

he listens as the two boys curse the teacher for giving you a D on your exam, them mentioning this supposed ‘club’ that circled everything around you

hoseok was smart, he could raise your grade!

oh, how hoseok would just die to help you with your studies!

with a paradise sparkling in his eyes, he sparks up a conversation with the group, also known as kim namjoon and jeon jungkook

but, the doe-eyed teenager hisses at him, barking at him to ‘keep his fucking mouth shut’

he takes the hint, leaving the conversation with a silent ocean welling up in his eyes

but, this is the embodiment of hope that sits in this dull classroom

he’ll crawl around the corners of his soul till he’s enervate to retrieve what he has longed for

and that leads us up to now, as hoseok stalks to the two from a safe distance, watching as they disappear to the writing club

and just before the door closes, hoseok peeks through the crack of the door and finds the identity of kim seokjin, a boy he’s seen accompany you multiple times

the following day, while the students all stare in confusion for the small boy walking through the halls, hoseok finds him and confronts him

by the look of purified fear, this ‘writing club’ was a hushed secret, and him knowing of this secret was dangerous enough, as it is

after negotiating about how he’d contribute to your satisfaction, jin had no choice but to accept his offer

he doesn’t want this loud-mouthed kid to run up and down the halls preaching about their sins, anyways

the rest of the club members didn’t favor his arrival, all shooting looks of envy and hatred

but, there was no other choice

their fate is written in the stars and complimented with a wax steal upon an envelope.

━━━ 𝐏𝐀𝐑�� 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍

opening his locker, jimin finds a taste of eden’s garden as he finds your face strung upon the wall

there’s irises, rivers, fairies, and peaches within the single picture cutout from the yearbook as he sighs dreamily at the sight

his daydream of honeyed days is quickly disrupted as his best friend, hoseok interrupts his thoughts with stars circling in his eyes

before he can find the words to scold him, hoseok begins rambling about this ‘club’ at a rate to fast for jimin to decipher

he hears tales of his dreams, a chance to taste your beauty

this most definitely sparked his undying interest, ushering his best friend to continue with his intentions to get the boy warped in this world

thus, we are taken to the night where the clock reads 3:38 AM in it’s bright, neon hues

the boys would never dream of staying up this late, especially on a tuesday night as the fear for the scolding of their parents’ echos, but, the adrenaline that seeps through their veins serves as a protection

because of the prophecy of this new club, they are rebelling

and as a new day rises and the sun shimmers in all of its celestial beauty, the boys have come up with a plan

every club needs a mission manager!

and who else would be perfect for this job no other than park jimin…? right?

well, let’s just say, despite his unreasonable, childish, and almost dangerous plans, the rest of the boys weren’t happy upon his arrival

the sighs of annoyance to his careless nature, the scoffs of envy when he speaks words of poetry about everything as little as when you made eye contact that one time 2 months ago

jimin’s contribution isn’t favored, but, if it’s for you, all 6 boys are willing to drag themselves through hell and back

every member holds an undying love for the god/goddess themself, all possessing a wild heart that they’d bled dry if you asked

and jimin is just one branch of the group who also holds an intense infatuation

the water to his parched heart, the flowering spring in a winter haze

he has found the sun as it shimmers against the snow

and nothing is as holy as this.

━━━ 𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐈

another dull day at the café, yoongi listens to his longing for spring’s voice

his hatred for this place burns bright and softly, as he dwells in the anger held within his small body

the college kids, the early morning joggers, all possessing ways of churning yoongi’s anger, one-by-one

obligated to put on a plastic smile for their sake has wars prancing through his head

but then, there’s you

oh, and those lively eyes he craves to gaze into for eternity and the soft furrow in your brow when you stare at the menu

he is mesmerized and listens to the songs of summer as he drowns in your stare

you haven’t taken notice to the hearts that swirl within his eyes as you order, unfortunately, and therefore leave a boy longing for a taste of the sun

during this fit of a daydream, 6 boys stumble in, all conversing at abnormally obnoxious levels

yoongi has to shove a scoff back down his throat and bring a halt to the urge to roll his eyes and dresses himself in the facade

as they all order and then continue their chatter elsewhere, yoongi can resume his illusions about your sparkled presence

whilst in the process of finishing a cappuccino, he hears the sugary melody of your name

he freezes, then concludes he must be hallucinating, resuming the process of the drink in his hands

after all, spending hours upon hours in this sacred place causes his mind to go hazy at times

the lilied waters of your eyes, skin like roses in the evening

you are so, so very loved by the boy at the café

starting up the hot chocolate with “extra sugar,” he hears it once more

does he need to stretch out his sleeping schedule or was this real?

were they truly speaking of you, or has he truly gone insane in the late afternoon?

peeking over his shoulder, that’s when yoongi sees it

your face was drawn upon a notepad, all fluttered hearts and empty petals around your face

the soul of the planets, the green pigment of the gardens, all held in this stranger’s arms

with determination, yoongi is required to learn more of this guest who spoke hushed tales of you

he’d do anything to know more about the star who enlightens his grey days

and now, the club is complete.

272 notes · View notes

littlemisssquiggles · 7 years ago

Text

RWBY Musings #46: A Smaller, More Honest Soul. Is Ruby Rose the key to stopping Salem once and for all?

@stuck-up-snowflake asked“ I've seen your thoughts and theories on Oscar Pine's future character growth and I personally agree with them!

But I was wondering if you had any thoughts on Ruby's personal growth for the future volume(s), considering that there are many fans clearly bothered by the fact that she hasn't had any sort of character development since the first 3 seasons or so(?) compared to Weiss, Blake, and Yang. If you had already addressed this, I would love to see that post about it. Thank you! “

Squiggles Answers:

@stuck-up-snowflake

Salutations Snowflake! Firstly, let me thank you for reading my musings. I’m happy that you read the ones on Oscar, because those were some that I enjoyed writing the most, and that you even agree with them. That’s awesome!

Now to answer your question. Well I did share one or two theories for Ruby’s story arc before. I believe it was in RWBY Musing #18 where I shared an unpopular opinion about wanting Ruby and Oscar to both be captured by Salem’s forces only to daringly escape and then be forced to survive the trek through Salem’s Domain; depending only on their skills and each other as they try to escape the Grimm-infested wasteland and make their way back to their friends.

To be honest, I haven’t really shared much about Ruby beyond shipping related stuff. But since you asked me and I’ve had more time to ponder on it, I do have two main hunches for her character.

Disclaimer: This is yet another LONG musing post folks. Ya’ll are probably used to this from me by now but out of common courtesy, I still feel it necessary to give you the usual heads up.

Crimson Spark

My theory is that��Ruby Rose is the aforementioned key to everything. From the start of the series, the narrative has placed great emphasis on the importance of hope and how mankind’s greatest strength lies in their ability to derive power from their sentiment. The way how I see it, Ruby has two major roles in the upcoming story. As the fragile peace Ozpin and his forces so desperately fought for ions to uphold is tethering to its breaking point, like Katniss Everdeen in The Hunger Games, Ruby will become the Crimson Spark---a symbol to inspire humanity and reignite the flare of hope in the masses during such dire times in Remnant as an impending Second Great War looms around the corner.

Beyond that, Ruby is the key to finally ending Salem and possibly the Grimm too, because of her hidden power as a Silver Eyed Warrior. The next chapter in her story arc would involve her learning what that means as she trains to hone her skills as the last living Silver Eyes; a title that I believe holds a much deeper symbolism with its connection to the Creatures of Grimm that the series has yet to enlighten us on.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Before I get into the meat of my post, let me just say this here. Not to sound nitpicky but when I consider it, I don't understand why the CRWBY Writers felt the need to even make Ruby a Silver Eyed Warrior in the first place.

Did they really need to introduce this concept into the story lore? Especially since they then followed up with two whole seasons that barely gave any further insight into it. When you think about it, there really wasn’t even any actual build up to Ruby possessing this kind of power in the first place. We get one throwaway line from Ozpin in the very first episode of the series and that was the closest thing to introducing Ruby’s eyes as some special trait that we got until V3. Almost as if the writers themselves are still planning out what this power will mean in the long run of the story.

But Ruby was already established as a good character before the series decided to slap her with this mystical power she allegedly inherited from her deceased mother.

Ruby was endearing, somewhat fearless, a bit ditzy at times which added for some genuinely funny moments with her, loyal but most of all what makes Ruby so great is her willingness to help others and how much her drive to become a strong huntress fuels her every decision.

She may not be the strongest or smartest. She isn't exactly a perfect rose. Even the most perfect rose has thorns.

As Ozpin so rightfully stated in V5 Chapter 5, Ruby has her fair share of faults that may cause her to falter at times but beyond those quirks, she also possesses something unquantifiable. She has an inspirational spirit and charm about her that is able to motivate those around her in ways that managed to even impress an old soul such as Ozpin who has probably met a ton of inspirational folks in his lifetime. But none as unique as Ruby, apparently. And as an audience member watching this, it is this trait that truly makes Ruby a good protagonist and a good hero to me.

Each time Ruby gives a speech that forces the villains to question their motives; I kinda wanna stand up and give her a small salute for being a true trooper I mean it ain’t the brightest move to make in the heat of combat. But it does display Ruby's humility. She wants to understand the people she meets and this even includes the villains.

Some folks might find this annoying about her personality but it's why I like her. The best kind of heroes to me aren’t the ones with a lot of power or brains but those with a lot of heart. Now Ruby isn’t the first hero character to display this kind of virtues. She’s isn’t the first humble, hopeful hero with a heart of gold that is able to connect with others that I’ve stumbled across in my favourite media. But dammit, I’ll be lying if I said I’m not a sucker for those types of heroes.

In a way, why I like Ruby as a hero is for the same reason I adore Steven Universe. At this point, you might as well make a drinking game out of how many times I compare RWBY to Steven Universe.

Steven and Ruby are both the type to want to understand others. This same trait can also be said of Sora, the hero of my favourite videogame of all time: Kingdom Hearts. It's that level of compassion for their fellow men that warms my heart about all three of these young heroes. While Ruby wasn't as sociable in the beginning, she eventually came out of her shell and started communicating and forming bonds with other characters.

The story building up Ruby as the kind of huntress who chose this career path because she wanted to help others was already great from the start. This selfless need to do your duty for the well being of others is what made Ruby a great heroine.

Since Ruby mentioned wanting to become a huntress like the heroes in the bedtime stories from her childhood, I wonder if there’s any particular book or fairytale that Ruby loved as a kid that first inspired her love of heroes?

Was there ever a moment where Summer Rose used to read Ruby those same fairytales of heroes and monsters too? The interesting part about Ruby is that she wanted to become a huntress despite her mother perishing from this lifestyle. You would think that her beloved mother being killed as a huntress would deter a young Ruby Rose from pursuing this similar career path.

Imagine...if Summer Rose started reading the fairytales to Ruby first and young Ruby’s desire to become a huntress stemmed from a combination of aspiring be like the heroes of her favourite stories and her mother, her hero in real life who was living the dream she longed for?

Imagine... if once Summer passed away, for a while, Ruby lost her drive to become a hero and it was actually her big sister Yang, picking up one of the old stories Summer would read to her sister that brought Ruby out of her slump.

Perhaps it was Yang who renewed Ruby’s ambition to become a hero, reassuring her that Summer wouldn’t have wanted her death to cause her to be any less courageous than she already was at such a tender young age.

Summer and childhood fables may have ignited Ruby’s inner spark but it was the support of those who loved her, like her sister that has kept that spark burning, making her believe in heroes once more.

I actually want the story to touch upon just how far would Ruby go to be a hero. In V3, Torchwick told Ruby that if she wanted to be a hero then she should do her part and die like every huntsman and huntress throughout Remnant's history.

‘...Ya got spirit Red. But this is the real world! The real world is cold! The real world doesn't care about spirit! You wanna be a hero? Then play the part and die like every other huntsman in history!'

If it boiled down to the point that Ruby needed to sacrifice her life to save Remnant, would she be willing to do it? No trickery from others trying to deceive her into believing this resort is the only way to put an end to things. But of her own free will, would Ruby Rose give her life to save the world? Would she give her life to become the hero she desired to be and what the story has been foreshadowing her to become in the long run?

Will the story ever play with the concept of Ruby becoming so broken that she loses her resolve and gives up being a huntress entirely?

After all, even the most optimistic of heroes eventually go through a breaking point that tests their belief in the things they’re fighting for. The question is, will Ruby Rose ever go through such an obstacle?

I know Ruby gave that magnificent speech about moving forward to Oscar in V5 Chapter 5 but, I don’t want to be naive and assume that that’s the writers’ way of slapping her with impenetrable plot armour that shields her from facing any kind of true struggle.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that Ruby hasn’t suffered loss or faced any kind of emotional hard ships throughout the current story because she has as evidenced by the past three seasons. But has she hit a low point? Has Ruby Rose hit a low point in her story arc that has backed her into a corner, challenged her as a character...maybe even changed her in a way that differs than how she was when the series first started? Made her question her own self? Forced her to question her own motives and outlook on the world? Perhaps even scarred her, both physically and emotionally for life? Has she? I don’t think so. Not yet at least.

Of the four main members of RWBY, Ruby herself is the only one to have not suffered a low point.

For Weiss, her low point was being dragged back to Atlas; back to the frostbitten, lonely cage that her tyrannical father had a built around her---a sheltered yet domineering life she had willingly abandoned the first time in order to forge her own path only to be sadly taken back there following the events of V3. For Blake, her low moment was returning to her old habits of running away; leaving her loved ones behind despite promising that she wouldn’t instead of staying and fighting with and for them.

And for Yang, her low point was when she had lost her fire---lost the thing that made her who she was and had to learn to pick herself back up after going through an immense lost---not just physically but mostly emotionally after watching everyone she knew leave and move forward without her during a time when she may have needed them the most.

When her teammates’ heads were forced down under the weight of their own troubles, Ruby was the only one to keep hers up high and look towards a brighter outcome even if things seemed bleak at the time.

Even when her team was divided, her school and previous home fallen into chaos and the deaths of former comrades still fresh in her memory, through it all, Ruby was more or less the one to remain hopeful and keep moving forward.

Even in the face of loss, Ruby has never lost her spark. But how long can that spark truly last though?

The Unsolved Murder of Summer Rose

At first I figured that Ruby’s story will involve her learning more about her lineage but what I didn’t realize is that there is an underlying mystery to Summer’s death.

What do we know about Summer Rose? Well according to Yang during the events of V2, she described Summer as being a wonderful mother to both Ruby and herself, despite not being her biological mother. Summer was portrayed as being a warm and caring person, no different that her daughter Ruby. In terms of a career, Summer was a huntress just like Tai Yang who took on missions around the Kingdom of Vale while Tai doubled as a teacher over at Signal Academy. One day, as Yang justified, Summer went on a mission and never returned.

That’s the only explanation we have for Summer’s death. That she left for a mission one fine day and the next thing everyone knew, she was dead. And that’s all we’ve known because that’s all the story has disclosed thus far.

But doesn’t that make Summer’s entire death sound odd? There are so many questions that arise from this unfortunate circumstance.

What were the details Summer’s mission? Where exactly did she go? Who delegated that specific mission to Summer Rose? Was it a case where she went off on said mission and upon returning met her unexpected demise? Or was the mission in fact a ploy to lure out the key target: Summer Rose in the first place?

How did Summer die exactly? How was she killed? Was she ambushed by an onslaught of Grimm and died valiantly in the line of duty or...was she slaughtered in cold blood by an unknown assailant? Was it a combination of both where Summer was laid in wait against an army of Grimm, in a similar fashion to Ruby Rose during the VI Red Trailer; and by the time Summer had finished taking out the monsters, her strength was too depleted that she could’ve barely defended herself against the assassin sent to kill her.

If Summer was indeed killed, then how was she found dead? Who found her dead? How did the other learn that she had died? Was Qrow sent to find her after she hadn’t returned from her mission and discovered her corpse? Or did the two run into each other while on their respective missions and Qrow happened to have been present during the time when Summer was attacked?

This brings me back to one of my previous questions. Who gave Summer that particular mission? Was it Ozpin? It would make sense if it was him since according to Raven Branwen in V5, Team STQR were basically Ozpin’s go-to team during their years at Beacon and it wouldn’t surprise me if each member, with the exception of Raven, kept on doing missions for the old wizard well into their adult years.

After all, Qrow still performed private missions for Ozpin so it wouldn’t surprise me if Summer was also involved with him at some point in that regards. So, if that’s the case, does Oz know the truth about Summer’s death?

Did he have a part to play in its occurrence and has been sitting on that secret from Ruby and...perhaps Tai Yang and even Qrow as well?

There is no doubt that being a Silver Eyes means something important in the plot and will play a detrimental part in the next stage of Ruby’s development as she delves deeper into the origins of her mysterious powers and its purpose.

By learning more about the Silver Eyed Warriors, Ruby will in turn uncover the truth about what really happened on the day her mother died and why she was targeted. She’ll learn how Summer was killed and more importantly, she’ll learn who killed her mother.

How exactly does one kill a Silver Eyed Warrior? If the Silver Eyes are unstoppable against the Grimm, mankind’s greatest threat and adversary next to Salem, that means that Summer must’ve been a very powerful huntress. So how was she taken down?

Ruby will learn how this all happened and once this is out in the open, how Ruby chooses to react to this news will hint at another subplot for her character arc. Possibly avenging her mother by defeating the one solely responsible for taking her mother away.

As I mentioned in my last RWBY Remarks, the show itself has unfortunately done very little to actually demonstrate how much Summer’s death has affected Ruby emotionally. The only times we’ve been given some semblance of the harsh reality of Ruby’s feelings surrounding her mother has been in the OST, Red like Roses Part II and I even heard that the RWBY Red Like Roses manga, which is Ruby-centric, gives more insight on that as well.

It is alleged that Ruby was devastated; perhaps even broken by her mother’s passing. I really wish the show would show this kind of emotion from Ruby. We’ve heard Yang’s perception of Summer Rose. I want Ruby’s now. I want flashbacks of Ruby together with her mother. According to the lyrics for Red Like Roses Part II, it definitely hints that the mother and daughter shared an unbreakable bond that was only thwarted by her passing.

Remember how in Avatar the Last Airbender, during its third season, it touched on an episode where Katara got to avenge her mother by hunting down the Fire Nation general, then retired, that caused her death. From this development, she was able to finally put to rest her feelings of anger and resentment over what the Fire Nation did to her, her mother and their people of the Southern Water Tribe, and in doing so, learnt to finally understand and trust Zuko as he joined Team Avatar.

Perhaps RWBY will take a page from Avatar’s book and give us a similar story. A story where Ruby, desperate for answers surrounding her mother’s death goes in search of answers and this journey brings her much closer to understanding things about her mother that she didn’t as a child. Such as her reasons for committing the actions she did leading up to her death.

‘...I know you’re broken down by anger and by sadness, You feel I left you in a world that’s full of madness, Wish I could talk to you, if only for a minute, Make you understand the reasons why I did it.

I wanna tell you that you’re all that ever mattered, Want you to know that, for eternity, I’m shattered, I tried so hard just to protect you, but I failed to, And in a prison of abandonment I’ve jailed you...’

Perchance, in her searches, Ruby learns something along the lines of, Ozpin being partially responsible for what happened to her mother. What if... Ruby ends up blaming Ozpin entirely for what happened to her mother and all the pain she endured from losing her mother to his schemes. Ruby then loses trust in Ozpin and in turn, this puts a big damper on her relationship with Oscar.

Seeds of Doubt

As a RoseGarden shipper, as much as I’m anticipating the two becoming a couple sometime later in the series, I also expect that their relationship wouldn’t come without its fair share of complications. Not just from Oscar’s shared body and mind with the old wizard but more so for what Ozpin’s previous ties with Ruby’s mother can bring up.

I have a hunch that Ozpin had some involvement with what happened to Summer and for the RG-shippers, if the two young heroes were a couple at this point, this is the kind of thing I would expect to cause them to either break up entirely or at least put an uncomfortable strain on it. More so than Ozpin’s presence just presiding inside of Oscar.

Imagine how detrimental it would be if Ruby discovered that Ozpin caused it all. He was the one that sent his mother on the mission that eventually killed her. After hearing so many lies masked as clever excuses, Ruby would reach a point where she’d grow tired of Ozpin’s guilt. After all, how much genuine remorse can one truly feel from the consequences of their past crimes if they keep returning to the same poor methods?

The RWBY OSTs sung from the perspective of characters distrustful of Ozpin, like Sacrifice (RWBY V2 Credit theme) and Divide (RWBY V3 ending credit theme) almost seem to mock Ozpin, bringing to light the cruel penalties of what his actions have cost those who chose to follow him blindly out of an obscure sense of loyalty.

These themes paint such an ugly portrait of the darker impressions to Ozpin’s character and what starkly contrasts this is the way how the characters surrounding Ozpin, such as our heroes, still continue to trust him despite learning of some of the skeletons from his pasts. Our heroes still place their trust in Ozpin. More notably, Ruby still trusts Ozpin.

But, what would happen if the silver-eyed girl did lose this trust? I’d imagine that if any other character should begin to distrust Oz, conspiring a divide and mutiny amongst the team, Ruby would be the one to turn in order to rebel against this; serving her purpose as the Crimson Spark to convince the others to rethink their feelings about Oz.

However; what if...Ruby’s the one to first have misgivings about following Ozpin and it is her own distrust that slowly begins to sow seeds of doubt in the others. It would be the complete opposite effect to the character Ozpin had been wordlessly breeding her to be which would make for a nice twist. Wouldn’t it be quite interesting if Ozpin had been so concerned about Salem being the one to snuff out his spark of hope that ironically, he becomes the culprit to do it himself?

And in light of this, if Ruby loses hope, then who would be the one to reignite her trust in Oz? Would it be Oscar? Poor Oscar would be caught in the middle of it all. If Ruby shuts Ozpin out then that in turn could spell her shutting Oscar out.

After all, whether they’re lovers or close friends at the point of this change, it would be discomforting for Oscar to know that Ruby only trusts half of him. Volume 5 established how Oscar now thinks as Oz and himself as one being. He and Oz are now like Eddie Brock and the Venom Symbiote. Instead of he. They are we. We are Ozpin.

And due to their joint partnership, to Ruby’s dismay, Oscar might not be too quick to take her side all the way. On the contrary, Oscar might oddly remain loyal to Ozpin because in his heart and mind, he both knows and emotionally understands the truth behind what Ozpin did with Summer. He may even try at times to convince Ruby to hear the truth from his perspective. However it would be a truth that Ruby would unfortunately not want to hear. Not even in his words because she’d be too blinded from the pain of knowing that a man she trusted so much sent the most precious person in her life to her grave for a cause that he had acknowledged time and time again was all his doing.

I think having Ruby, of all people, lose fate in Ozpin would be a nice turning point in the story. Up until this point, Ruby has always been very trusting of Oz because he’s shown to be the one teacher from Beacon who’s shared the most interaction with her; secondary to Dr. Oobleck in V2.

From their very first encounter to their conversation at the ball to even their momentary exchange of dialogue in Chapter 10 of V5 when he was OZ-Car, Ruby and Ozpin have always been in good standings with one another. Even when the other has faltered. But what if that is shattered.

Seeing Ruby lose trust in Ozpin, which in turn causes a rift in her relationship with Oscar (y’know technically half of Ozpin) but then slowly learn to regain her fate in him through Oscar would be nice. I want for a moment where one of Ozpin’s many mistakes finally causes him to break down. I want to see him react to it in a more emotional way. Meaning, I wanna see Ozpin cry. I want to see him really, really torn up about a mistake he’s made.

Up until this point, the impression that I get is that Ozpin has made so many mistakes that he’s almost numb to the emotional consequences of it all. This doesn’t make him uncompassionate. On the contrary, Ozpin does care a lot but I imagine that he’s been wearing his mantle as protector of Remnant for so long and has faced so many years of trials and tribulations that at this point, he’s become somewhat detached even in the face of true loss.

He’s so used to putting on a brave face and remaining calm to maintain his optimistic disposition and fairly naive perception of fate in humanity, that he’s lost sight of his own emotions in a way; if that makes a lick of sense.

All living things have thoughts. We all have things that come to our mind and possess the understanding to comprehend the positivity and negativity in those said thoughts. But what is the element that exists within mankind that drives us to comprehend the difference between the good and bad?

The answer is our feelings.

It is our emotions that work hand in hand with our thoughts to help us to fully grasp the world around us. What makes the difference is that some people are driven more by their thoughts and simply commit the first action that come to mind where as others are driven more by their emotions, going with the flow of things depending on what feels just in the moment rather than whether or not it’s rational.

In the case of Professor Ozpin. He’s worn so many faces---both literally and figuratively, that you can say he’s almost forgotten how to, I guess, feel. Don’t get me wrong, Ozpin isn’t unnaturally stoic. He’s not a robot. He has his moments of feeling but there usually kind of short-lived, replaced by a more solemn undertone.

This is why I appreciate the contrast in personalities between Oz and Oscar. In my opinion, Ozpin thinks more with his mind---he’s intelligent, tactical and more careful in his actions because he bares a deeper understanding in the value of everything including how actions can cause ripple effects that can prove either rewarding or catastrophic.

Oscar, on the other hand, based on what I’ve observed about him so far, thinks more with his heart. He’s definitely more emotional than Ozpin, usually trusting his gut even if those feelings may lead to senseless actions void of proper thinking. Remember what Oscar told Ozpin when the two finally left his aunt’s farm? I find it interesting that when Oscar finally succumbed to Oz’s influence, his sole justification was, not because he thought it was the right thing to do, but because it felt like that it was the right thing to do.

‘...Y’know, the weirdest part is how it feels. Leaving home is crazy. Going to the city is crazy. Everything you’ve told me is completely crazy. But it doesn’t feel crazy anymore. It feels like I’m doing the right thing...’

Another clear example is during Oscar’s fight with Hazel. Despite Ozpin begging him to let him take over because it would’ve been the smarter move, Oscar refused to do so. Why? Because in the moment, he wasn’t thinking with his head. He was thinking with his heart. Even though the smarter option would be to let Oz, the more experienced soul, handle everything, Oscar rebelled against this choice because in the moment he felt he needed to prove himself---to prove to Ozpin that he can fight on his own without him even if it wasn’t not the wisest option.

Not to sound harsh with Oz’s character, but I’m anticipating a future episode where the full weight of everything he’s done over the centuries will all come crashing down hard on him and for the first time, he breaks down over it.

Perhaps he needs a jilting tongue lashing from his smaller, more honest soul to put him in his place to realize the truth of what he’s done---all that he’s done---not just to her but to Summer and everyone else who’d fallen victim to his past blunders.

A Whole New World

‘You're special Ruby... And not in the 'Daddy loves his special angel' kinda way... You’re special the same way your mom was. Remnant's full of legends and stories. Some of them true, some made up.

...But there's one Oz told me a very long time ago... Back before huntsmen, before kingdoms. It was said that those born with silver eyes were destined to lead the life of a warrior. You see, the creatures of Grimm---the most fearsome monsters mankind had ever encountered---were afraid of those silver-eyed warriors. They were the best of the best. It was said that even a single look from one of these fighters could strike a Grimm down.

It's a ridiculous story...'

According to Qrow based on what Ozpin told him, the Silver Eyes existed before the huntsman and the kingdoms and were feared by the Grimm. Do you understand how deep that is? The Creatures of Grimm; monsters that have existed since the dawn of Remnant’s humble beginnings and are a known symbol of fear were afraid of the Silver Eyes.

The Silver Eyes sound like a power that has existed long before even Remnant. As a matter of fact, this makes me think of something interesting. Readers, do you all recall what the very first line muttered in RWBY was?

' ...Legends; stories scattered through time. Mankind has grown quite fond of recounting the exploits of heroes and villains; forgetting so easily that we are remnants, by products of a forgotten past...'

By products of a forgotten past.

Could the forgotten past that Salem was alluding to back then, a past involving the Silver Eyes and the Creatures of Grimm?

Think about it. The Grimm were created as a result of the God of Darkness’s desire to obliterate all the wonderful and beautiful things his brother had created in his new world. So did the God of Light create the Silver Eyed Warriors to counter the Grimm?

Were the Silver Eyed Warriors in fact the first group of beings to walk the World before mankind was born?

Did The Grimm and the Silver Eyes then waged war against each other? A war which destroyed the First World in the process. Was the war between the Silver Eyes and the Grimm, a symbol of his and his brother’s conflict, destroying the very beautiful world he sought to protect what inspired the God of Light to cease this divergence and call a truce with the God of Darkness so that the two could salvage what was left of the Firstborn World?

Suppose...the shattered moonscape that we commonly see in Remnant is what’s left of the First World that was ultimately destroyed by the war between the Grimm and the Silver Eyed Warriors. Though it was never confirmed by Qrow in his rendition of the Tale of the Brother Gods that they recreated another world together that became Remnant, it would make a lot of sense if Remnant is actually a broken piece of the First World.

And it is this broken piece...this remnant that the brothers then decided to populate with mankind---their first collaboration. Seems legit, am I right?

Though mankind was a symbol of the Brother Gods’ harmony, leftovers of their previous feud still managed to makes its way into Remnant in the form of the Grimm returning to be mankind’s greatest adversary. However, just as the Grimm survived into Remnant, so did a piece of the Silver Eyed Warriors.

While not as prominent as the Grimm, this tiny legacy of the Silver Eyed Warriors still managed to thrive in this new world down through the ages to its current successor---Ruby Rose.

It all makes sense now! If my theories here are proven correct then everything we’ve seen thus far regarding Remnant, the Grimm, the Brother Gods and the connection with the Silver Eyes will all make perfect sense if they’re all connected. But that’s only if I’m proven right.

If my assumptions are true then this would explain why there are no more living Silver Eyes and why only someone like Ozpin, who has lived many lifetimes and was probably the First Man of Remnant, is the only one to know of their existence.

It’s because the Silver Eyes were before the current Remnant. They were probably created as beings to counter the Grimm. For all we know the Silver Eyes weren’t practically human. Just raw light in the shape of something human, if that makes sense.

But unlike the Grimm who survived and relished in the current Remnant, the Silver Eyes probably all died out during the First War against the Grimm. It’s why they’re only just a story. A tale. A legend lost to time.

Or...possibly...there could actually be more Silver Eyes still thriving on the moon we see in Remnant. I once made a throwaway comment about there being a connection between the moon and the Silver Eyed Warriors. Perhaps what we perceive as a moon is in fact the original world of the Silver Eyes. I stand by my hunch that the Remnant Moon is actually the God of Light’s first attempt at a perfect world that got wrecked as a result of his and his brother’s greatest creations clashing in their conflict.

Either way, the Silver Eyes were an ancient race. An ancient force from a forgotten era where they were the sole protectors. An ancient force that Oz probably learnt of after the Gods first cursed him and it is such a power that he discovered reborn in the likes of Summer Rose and eventually her daughter, Ruby Rose.

Like Mother, Like Daughter

‘....I never planned that I would leave you there alone, I was sure that I would see you when I made it back home, And all the times I swore that it would be okay, Now I’m nothing but a liar, and you’re thrown into the fray.

This bedtime story ends with misery ever after, The pages are torn, and there’s no final chapter, I didn’t have a choice; I did what I had to do, I made a sacrifice, but forced a bigger sacrifice on you...

I know you’ve lived a nightmare, I caused you so much pain, But baby, please don’t do what I did, I don’t want you to waste your life in vain...’

The lyrics to ‘Red Like Roses Part II’ really got me thinking. When I first listened to it, I thought the song was implying that Ruby had witnessed her mother being killed as a child and had suppressed those memories from childhood. Now in reading through the lyrics, this song implies so much more that I didn’t realize. It implies a lot about the internal conflicts Summer went through as a mother and a huntress as well as foreshadowing the true nature of what the fate of a Silver Eyed Warrior really is.

The song is written with words that give me the impression that perhaps Summer was the one who introduced Ruby to fairy tales and used to read them to her when she was a little girl before Yang took over after she passed away. The lines that got me the most were ‘I didn’t have a choice. I did what I had to do. I made a sacrifice but forced a bigger sacrifice on you’.

These lines are meant to be seen from Summer’s perspective, right? These are her feelings as she’s singing in response to Ruby’s or at least that’s how I’m going to look at it.

What did Summer mean by she didn’t have a choice? Is she talking about her fate? Is this line foreshadowing a darker fate for the Silver Eyes?

Is it implying that it is the duty of a Silver Eyed Warrior to die and it is a fate they cannot run from?

It would make complete sense if Summer Rose was sacrificed to stop Salem. What if that was her last mission.

Like what if...Summer’s final mission was to go to where Salem was and use her Silver Eyes abilities to put an end to Salem. Since Salem is technically what seems to be a Grimm-human hybrid and has been believed to be unstoppable for years. Perhaps the closest key to stopping her would be the power of a Silver Eyed Warrior.

So when Ozpin found Summer, he believed her to be his one shot at stopping his arch nemesis once and for all. I believe that Ozpin gave Summer her final mission and sent her after Salem to put an end to her. But the plan didn’t work out the way Ozpin had hoped.

What if...Summer was originally Ozpin’s chosen one. The key piece in his plan to finally ending his greatest adversary. But Summer failed Ozpin. I don’t even think it was a case where the Silver Eyed power didn’t work on Salem either. Perhaps even Summer Rose was inexperienced in her abilities as a Silver Eyed Warrior and when the time came for her to use it for the cause she’d be fighting for, she failed and was killed in the process.

Her sacrifice was in vain because Salem is still alive. And now that it’s been realized that Ruby has the same power, she too is probably heading for a similar fate.

Hence the line, ‘forced a bigger sacrifice on you’. The bigger sacrifice being that Ruby must now pay the repercussions of both her mother and Ozpin’s failures. Summer Rose couldn’t fulfil her destiny to stop Salem and now that burden has been unwillingly passed on to her daughter as the one living Silver Eyed Warrior left standing.

I think it is Ruby’s fate to stop Salem once and for all with her Silver Eyed power. But what will make Ruby different and far superior than her mother is that she will fully realize the potential of her abilities and learn to hone it in ways her mother never did.

Did Ozpin force Summer to go on that mission? Was Summer an inexperienced Silver Eyed Warrior? Was she no different than Ruby was in V3? Did Ozpin, out of his desperation to stop Salem, send Summer to complete the job believing that she was ready. But as it turned out, he had been over his head and Summer was unable to use her power in the time it was needed?

Y’know what I wonder about the Silver Eyes? Imagine if Summer’s powers were at its peak when she was younger but the moment she became a mother, she lost half of her power’s strength as it was unknowingly passed on to her daughter during childbirth. If Summer Rose attempted to face Salem at only half the strength, it would make sense for her to lose since her power wouldn’t have been at its most potent. This is just me trying to give justification to my own throwaway hunch. Was Summer reluctant about facing Salem but Ozpin baited her with the promise that they could finally put an end to Salem; using the love Summer had for her own daughter to push her into going into a battle she was doomed to lose from the start? To the Ozpin fans reading this, sorry if I might be painting your guy in a bad light here. It’s just that I really feel there is a connection tying Oz to Summer’s death that’s not going to be pretty once uncovered. Other characters have accused Ozpin of being both deceitful and arrogant; among other not-so-nice adjectives. I’m just still waiting here for the show to prove it with moments of the past that demonstrate these negative traits about him. I think there could be one that ties Ozpin to Summer’s death. I strongly believe there is a hidden moment in Oz’s past where he allowed his own desperation and pride to get the better of him and he messed up big time by sending one of his greatest assets/allies to her grave. But who knows.

Fallen Angel

‘...Close your eyes now, time for dreams. Death is never what it seems. Take things you thought you should, All the things they said were good...

All your faith in ancient ways, Leaves you trapped inside a maze, Take the lives of those you need, Sow the death and reap the seed.

Reap the seed! Born an angel, heaven-sent Falls from grace are never elegant...’

What if...in the past, Ozpin was meant to nurture Remnant’s first Silver Eyed Warrior reborn into the new era and his failure in stopping Salem began with her.

In the OST Sacrifice, Ozpin was described as an angel. Of all the things that Oz could’ve been compared to, why an angel of all things? Was Oz’s original role to be the Guardian Angel of Remnant’s first Silver Eyed Warrior? To teach and help them hone their powers so that when the world falls prey to the darkness again, they would be ready to fulfil their destiny to save it.

Was that it? Was a Silver Eyed Warrior reborn into the new world of Remnant and it was Ozpin’s job, as First Man, to nurture and guide her. Let’s say, all things considered that the Silver Eyes were all primarily women. And this Silver Eyed Warrior was a young girl and as her godly appointed guardian, Oz possibly shared a relationship with said girl akin to that of a big brother or even father figure. Think Terra and Aqua from Kingdom Hearts: Birth by Sleep withVentus or Garnet and Pearl with Steven from Steven Universe.

The Gods probably foretold Ozpin about another Silver Eyes to come in time and he probably spent years searching for her. He was probably beginning to lose all fate when he found Summer Rose. Summer Rose was probably the first Silver Eyes Oz encountered in years and following many lifetimes of fighting an immortal, unbeatable foe, he found his trump card in Summer Rose---another Silver Eyes.

However, Summer ended up making the same mistake as Ozpin did years ago. She too ended up failing in her mission to stop Salem. It’d probably be easier to assume that Ozpin was once a Silver Eyed Warrior himself in a past life; probably even his first life. I like the concept of Ozpin originally being born as both the First Man to walk Remnant but he could just have easily been a Silver Eyes as well.

It would make his failure to stop Salem in the past and his descent from power even greater. Imagine being the sole person born with the power that could’ve ended the greatest evil known to Remnant. But then you fail your mission and die only to be brought back in another life, completely void of that all important power. It would be interesting if in addition to working to reform the world; Ozpin also spent countless lifetimes simultaneously searching for another Silver Eyed Warrior---the only being with the power to stop Salem. I like the idea of Oz being an Silver Eye for this particular reason.

However I don’t want to jump too much on this theory bandwagon because Oz being a Silver Eyes in his past life could additionally spell Ruby unwittingly being a descendent of his. I’d rather not have that. I much prefer the concept of Ozpin formerly being a guardian angel blessed with the knowledge of the Silver Eyes, created to be the mentor and protector to Remnant’s first Silver Eyed Girl who he previously shared a close friendship with.

Could even play with the notion of Ozpin formerly being in love with a Silver Eyed Warrior . Would add for a nice parallel with history repeating itself as the same thing is happening with Oscar and Ruby. Just an idea to toss out.

Y’know what’d be cool too, though? If Ozpin, the First Man of Remnant along with the First Silver Eyed Warrior to be reborn in Remnant and the woman who was Ozpin’s Eve who ultimately became the vessel for Salem were all close friends at some point. I’m thinking something akin toTerra, Aqua and Ventus from Kingdom Hearts.

Salem’s former form---the Eve to Ozpin’s Adam who I dubbed her Ales in my musing on this topic; is Terra, the one who fell to the darkness and became the main villain of the story. This would make the First Silver Eyed Girl Ventus, the youngest of the three friends whose existence was the catalyst to everything meaning she was the reason why Salem’s original self was driven to darkness out of possible jealously for her bond with Oz and the reason why Oz was cursed in the first place. Lastly, Oz is Aqua, the only one left who must now try to repair everything.

Though my theory is that Salem’s former self used to be Ozpin’s lover and companion, I definitely love the concept of Ozpin’s best friend in his first life time being a Silver Eyed Warrior. And her demise at the hands of Salem; probably sacrificing herself to save him, was probably one of his first failures before he became cursed. I’m liking this because it’s a cool way to connect everything; tying both Ozpin and Salem sharing a history with a Silver Eyed Warrior whose origin can probably date back to the Dawn of the Creatures of Grimm and the destruction of the world whose corpse now hangs in the night sky as a permanent reminder to world of Remnant in the form of the moon. Though only theories, it kinda makes sense, right?

All in all, I’m banking on Ozpin becoming Ruby’s mentor for her Silver Eyed powers; hopefully. I mean, unless there are more Silver Eyes living in secret somewhere in or outside of Remnant, who else is it gonna be? He’s the only one that has any prior awareness regarding their existence as he was the one to pass this info onto Qrow. Whether he was originally a Silver Eyes himself or the appointed Guardian to them, I’m definitely anticipating Ozpin teaching Ruby about becoming a full-fledged Silver Eyes.

Not sure how much longer Oz will be in the story though. He is technically already dead and though his soul is attached to Oscar; we all know this is going to be temporary thing as Oz will fuse with Oscar someday. However, if Oscar ends up gaining Oz’s memories and thus the knowledge about the Silver Eyes then that could lead to moments of Ruby training with Oscar to control her power; further developing their friendship. I quite like that idea very much but again, these are all just my theories. Up to the series canon to prove me right or wrong.

So to conclude...

Whelp. This turned out longer than I was gearing for.

I know I shared some decent theories in this post but the gist of what I said can be boiled down to this. There is no doubt that the biggest part of Ruby’s journey will involve her learning more about her heritage as a Silver Eyed Warrior. I’m actually glad that the story hasn’t been focusing much on Ruby these past few volumes. I didn’t even notice for the most part and even when I did, it wasn’t that big of a deal breaker. I feel like the majority of the Beacon Arc was from Ruby’s perspective so it’s good that the Mistral Arc cleared the way to develop the other characters in the main and supporting cast.

Though the show is called RWBY and Ruby Rose is our main heroine, she isn’t the only character in the series. This isn’t just the Ruby Rose show. The other characters and their individual story arcs matter in hindsight as well and help to pave the way for the full narrative just as much as Ruby’s would.

However I do agree with folks that the story needs to start steering back towards rekindling Ruby’s story arc. It needs to have Ruby start asking questions about her lineage. I understand why they wouldn’t have Ruby ask more about the Silver Eyes since the focus of the story and thus Ruby’s focus has been protecting Haven from falling like Beacon. To be honest, Ruby asking about her powers during the events leading up the Haven Battle wouldn’t have been an appropriate time to bring it up regardless of whether or not us as fans wanted it to be that way.

However the time for that has come now. Now that the Battle of Haven has been won and the Mistral Arc is slowly drawing to its epilogue to spearhead the jump into the Atlas Arc, this will be a good time for the series to finally have Ruby desiring to learn more about her powers.

She did accidentally use it again during the Haven Battle. So I figured now that the pressure of defending another academy is out of the way, Ruby now has a clear head to think about other things. Like her powers. You guys have heard me voice before how much I strongly want V6 to just be another character building season where the volume’s main focus is to tell tales that would give focus to certain individual characters and allow for the story to flesh them out and answer unanswered questions the audience have been waiting to see.

Personally, I need V6 to set up the gang going to Atlas but not necessarily taking them there just yet. This will give the series a chance to give us episodes that develop the characters. This can give Ruby time to finally ask Qrow more about the Silver Eyes and/or discuss the implications of her power with other members of the cast.

Who knows? Maybe Ozpin isn’t in fact the only character to know of the Silver Eyes? Perhaps Oscar remembers his aunt or biological parents mentioning the Silver Eyes to him as a kid as an old Mistralian farm tale or perhaps Blake read about a character with Silver Eyes in a book series she read? Either way, it’s a chance for the story to make Ruby want to know more. It doesn’t necessarily have to answer everything right away cause I figured the key to learning about the Silver Eyes lies with Ozpin who I believe may be out of commission for V6.

What the Silver Eyes are. What it truly means to be one of these warriors. And what the past and final destiny for this race of beings and their descendents is still remains a mystery and I’m interested in learning what the CRWBY Writers has in store for us in that regards. Whatever it is, I just hope it’s properly written and the writers do a proper job at addressing it in the series, both literally and visually.

Until such a time comes to pass, I’ll just stand by my theories. As a Silver Eyed Warrior, I do believe Ruby is the key to putting an end to all this chaos. Her journey ahead---whether she rises up to the challenge or falls into despair will be what drives the major plot going forward. The story began with Ruby Rose debuting as a hero and it will surely end with her as the hero.

That’s my view on it. I hope this helps answer your questions Snowflake. Sorry if this answer was more padded than you’d probably expect. I couldn’t give you an honest response without unleashing pretty much every idea I had on mind about Ruby. You asked if I had any theories for Ruby’s story and I think this best summarizes all the ones I thought of. Any more, I’ll just share in future musings. Let me know what you think of this post if you can. In the meantime, as always I hope you and any other loyal reader enjoyed this musing and see you for the next one.

♦ More RWBY Musings by Squiggles

~LittleMissSquiggles (2018)

#stuck-up-snowflake #squiggle answers #ruby rose #oscar pine #rwby theories #professor ozpin #summer rose #ruby and summer #rwby musings #rwby #rwby salem #squiggles answers: rwby

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rockynottheboxer-blog · 7 years ago

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Chapter One

His final heartbeat. He dwindled into the void, yet he felt... not dead? Everything was an inky darkness like some corner at the darkest edge of a black hole. Was this what death felt like? He was gonna be seriously peeved if this was what came after life. He could barely stand ten minutes in this darkness much less eternity. Then he realized; He was still breathing, yet when he felt for a pulse or a heartbeat he had none. Weird. After getting a feel of his surroundings, he saw a glow of silver in the.. distance? Still weird. He.. walked? No. He felt less stable than he would feel on the ground, this was as if there was a balanced air pressure under his feet. As he moved toward the moonlit glow, it began to get brighter, so bright that even as he shielded his eyes the light pierced through, making a feeling like having his retinas removed. He didn’t even think that was possible, but if it was, this was surely what it would feel like. He tried to stop, to turn, but when he tried to step back, his body and his mind seemed to separate and he took a step forward, and another, and another. He couldn’t control his actions but as he took the final step he could, the light brightened one final time, and everything became pitch black once more. As his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden darkness, he tried to shake off that remaining after image of the searing light, he realized that the glow that remained was from one single candle lighting a small cozy room. As he examined his surroundings, two things occurred to him: The ground felt completely solid, no longer the balanced air pressure. Also, the candle burnt with a silver flame. Again, weird. He moved closer to the candle until he heard a slight rustle behind him. He whipped his body around, only to see a mirror. He stood straight and slowly moved toward it. He was half expecting the reflective glass to reveal a portal to another dimension, or some otherworldly being, but all he saw was the reflection of himself and the room behind his as it should have been. He continued to move toward it, as he came close enough he reached out and tapped the glass. It was solid, surprisingly enough, he’d slightly expected there to be some rip in the space time continuum or something along those lines. With a start he realized.. he should be dead. In the reflection he saw the effects of the last thing he remembered, a gash in his chest, the skin on his arm half corroded from road rash and bent in three different places, his other arm dislocated and bleeding heavily. His stomach region was scratched up but otherwise fine, his legs were scraped and bleeding, one twisted almost completely around. He looked back up to his face.. no… this wasn’t here before… his face was a desolate wasteland of something that once was.. half grinded and completely skinless, ragged flesh hanging off, his cheekbone appeared to have been partially ground off, his scalp bleeding on one half on his skull, the hair on the other side matted down with blood. He reached up tentatively, and found smooth skin, where his reflection showed the destroyed side of his face. He looked down at his arms, where the mirror showed the breaks and rips, they were his regular arms, the same for his legs and chest region. Just as he began to wonder if he was in hell or some nightmarish afterlife that would’ve made him regret not praying more in life, his reflection spoke. Weird. Terrifyingly and nightmarishly weird. “This is how your body appears, or rather what is left of it, appears to be in the physical realm,” The… thing... in the mirror spoke in a ragged and torn version of his own voice. “You have perished, and as we speak, others from the living try their final measures to bring back your torn form, and they will fail, and you will never walk another day amongst them... unless you accept my proposal…” Everything that had just happened... it was insane... this was a nightmare… a really screwed up nightmare. He was going to wake up next to his fiancé, they were going to eat breakfast, he would go to work. He would come home and talk to her about his day. He would fall back to sleep. Everything would be okay.. but something inside told him he was wrong. This was all somehow real.. the thing in the mirror, the weird silvery candle, the fact that he was indeed dead. He took a deep, shaky breath and managed to speak, “What proposal?” His voice was his regular old voice, not the terrible ruined one in which the beast spoke. The thing responded “You will be my elite soldier, you will have enhanced speed, strength and healing.. you will have power over darkness and the entity of the Umbra Gladius itself. A great evil is soon to arise, one like your world has ever seen and it will destroy all that you know and love if you do not choose to fight it.” He pondered this.. this was something that would change his life.. an offer he could not refuse, he would survive and emerge with powers he could only ever dream of possessing and yet he hesitated. Maybe it was because something that looked like it had been dragged through hell had offered him it. The wretched figure spoke again and said, “Perhaps a glimpse of the future would aid your decision? The outcome if you do not choose to accept” What the creature did next was truly horrifying: it reached up, gripping the upper side of its mouth and the lower jaw, and began to pull them apart, tearing the skin and sinewy muscle of his cheeks until the two inner sections of its mouth were completely vertical. All he could do was watch horrified as this desolated reflection of himself pulled itself apart. and even worse, at the center of the red body matter an image flickered and he saw fire, heard screams, the smell of fear in the air. Suddenly he was there, he saw his family running in terror, his father ready to defend as some demon like creature approached at the speed of lightning, he tried to intercept but the demon passed through him as if he were an illusion. He turned and could only watch, helpless as he saw the people he loved were ravaged by a creature from hell. Then, the ragged voice of the thing in the mirror “This is what will happen if you do not choose to accept. Your loved ones ripped to pieces, your enemies torn to shreds, those you never spoke to... all slaughtered because of you.” He couldn’t stand to think of this. But he had to, he spoke only two words: “I accept.” The glimpse of the future swirled away into some center point, making him dizzy until everything went black, then clarified and he was back in the room, the mirror creature now showing as a perfect copy of him, no longer desolated by the crash, stepped out of the mirror into the room, causing him to take a nervous step back. “I will call upon you when the time is right”, its voice was the same when it spoke however, “We will meet again, Shadow,” And the thing grasped its hand on his shoulder, causing a painful, burning sensation in his shoulder, then it released its steaming hand and stepped back into the mirror. The entire room appeared to be vortexed into the silver candle flame, and after a second, even that flickered out. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his heart, and he realized it was painfully beating again and his eyes flashed open, everything around him fuzzy and bright in comparison to what he just experience, the beat of his own heart feeling strange and painful in his own chest, he lifted his head, everything clarifying a little, but still out of focus. He looked down at his body, a huge gash in his chest, flowing with fresh red crimson, when he tried to reach up and attempt to stop the flow, he couldn’t move his arms, he shifted his broken gaze towards his them, seeing what he saw in the hellish vision shown in the mirror. As he began to try and find his voice to cry out, a concerned face loomed above him saying words he could not make out. He began to make out other details at the sides of his vision, the lights flashing red and blue, the yellow flashes from the tow truck that arrived on scene, the lights catching in the shattered glass, sprinkled on the floor. He zeroed in on an ambulance, and saw a body being raised into the vehicle. Then he finally began to take in everything, and who that very well could be. No, he wouldn’t begin to think like that, not now. His mind flashed to before the crash, him and his fiancé driving, on their way to the store for groceries, something they did every two weeks. He was in the driver’s seat, his anger and frustration building up. Now, after everything in that strange place, seeing his mangled body, he couldn’t even remember what they were arguing about. All he remembered her saying was: “Why the hell did I even accept your sorry ass.” Everything that had happened and now this. He opened his mouth to speak but never got the chance, a large truck ran the light at the intersection and slammed into the driver side of their car, everything became a blur. All he remembered was the sound of glass shattering, metal tearing, sharp pain in his chest, his leg, the side of his head, and the darkness that followed. His mind returned to the present situation. Someone was trying to tell him something, asking him a question? He saw the woman’s lips moving but all he heard was muffled sound. He parted his lips and in a shaky, barely audible voice, said “Where...?” But that was all he could manage, everything fading to black.

#writer #writingcommunity #story #Shadow #hopefullynottrash

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shintaroux · 7 years ago

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YOU CAN HAVE THE MIDDLE FROM MY BONE

Akashi took him away when he was only one year old and named him Midorima, because his small, round eyes were as green as meadows used to be before they got torn down for the sake of a concrete wasteland. When Akashi saw him carelessly resting in the baby carriage on the street, Midorima didn’t shy away from his stern voice or his harsh stare but embraced them with a curious glint to his eyes. Akashi was never surer of finding the one.

Midorima started devouring books as soon as Akashi taught him how to read, and Akashi’s library was vast and smelled of history and decay, decay and history. It was cosy, thick-walled, lined with fine, ancient furniture and Midorima meandered among the labyrinth of its shelves with grace and prowess that could’ve saved Icarus from his tragic destiny.

The first time Midorima didn’t want Akashi to read for him, Akashi wondered if this was where their paths would diverge. Midorima was six and a half and he put away the book Akashi’s planned to read to him. If Akashi’s heart was still functional, it would certainly be pounding against his chest in a violent surge of emotions as he watched Midorima disappear between the shelves.

When Midorima came back, he was holding a different book in his hands, the one he chose himself. He walked to the couch on which Akashi sat and gracefully climbed onto his lap.

“I will read for you, this time,” he said in a small but assured voice.

Akashi leaned back and listened to the story he has already heard countless times before.

III

“Are you a vampire?”

Midorima was nine and he was waiting for Akashi to correct his test. So far, all his answers were correct. It was, in fact, way past Midorima’s bedtime but Akashi allowed for deviance this once as their study session wasn’t as intense as usual.

Akashi didn’t lift his gaze from the test he was grading as he answered: “And what if I was?”

A brief moment of silence was followed by a pair of small, shaky hands placing themselves on the surface of the table: “Can you make me one too?”

The tip of the pen Akashi was holding tore into the paper.

“Go to sleep, Shintarou. You shall not mention this matter again.”

Midorima was only fifteen but he has already outgrown the lithe frame Akashi that stopped developing decades ago, both in height and weight.

“You’ve grown taller again,” Akashi said as he fixed Midorima’s tie. Usually, Midorima was prim and proper in everything he did, just as Akashi’s taught him, but tying a tie seemed to cause him great distress. Akashi found it oddly endearing.

“Soon, you won’t be able to do this for me,” Midorima said and fixed his glasses. His hair was longer now and it did for his face what a frame did for its picture – made it more prominent and… beautiful – and his bottomless green eyes held silence Akashi could no longer understand if it wasn’t accompanied by words.

Akashi brought his heels back to the ground.

“Unless you stand on a chair,” Midorima added as a shadow of a smile touched his lips.

With a practiced simper, Akashi grabbed Midorima’s tie and yanked it downwards. He took pleasure in watching Midorima’s eyes widen in both fear and anticipation.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Shintarou. I can always pull you down.”

Akashi rose with the sunset and lied down with the first crack of dawn so when Midorima entered high school, they barely saw each other anymore.

Midorima attended classes during the day and slept or studied during the night; that’s how it should be, that’s how Midorima was supposed to grow. Akashi has cultivated him until now; he gave him nourishment when he couldn’t provide it for himself, and now it was Midorima’s turn to pave his own way until he reached the destination, the purpose Akashi had for him.

But each day he awoke to the sound of Midorima closing the doors to his room, he had yet another reason to curse his immortal existence. He quietly strolled to Midorima’s room and peeked into it to find Midorima studying at the table. Akashi saw the shadow Midorima’s long eyelashes cast on the bags under his eyes and he knew he shouldn’t disturb him.

When the morning neared, Akashi was already laying in his bed with darkness surrounding him in a thick veil. That’s when the door of his room opened with a shy crack. A small echo of tiptoes neared his bed and then his bed moved under the weight of this very intruder as he slid under the covers, as close to Akashi as he presumed was allowed.

“What is the meaning of this, Shintarou?”

“I’m tired.”

“You have your own bed.”

“I’m tired of being alone.”

Akashi pondered for a moment. “You may stay, then.”

On the night of Midorima’s prom, he walked into Akashi’s room with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He stood before Akashi, who made no effort to move as he observed the fine man Midorima’s grown into, the honour student, the captain of the basketball team, and then he kneeled.

Wordless, Akashi grasped the tie and folded it neatly and tightly. Such a simple task, yet Midorima still couldn’t do it.

Or he pretended he couldn’t.

Akashi smiled at himself for entertaining that thought. He had picked up a wine glass of scarlet liquid and brought it to his lips when he noticed Midorima’s eyes following his every move.

“Is something the matter, Shintarou?”

Midorima didn’t bat an eyelash. Akashi noticed the quiver of his lip – a sign that he was brainstorming through possible replies.

“I’m of age now, you could turn me.”

“I told you to leave that matter be,” Akashi replied curtly.

“Why? Together, we could—“

“That is not the purpose I have in mind for you,” Akashi cut him off. Midorima pressed his lips together, his brows knitted tightly together.

“Purpose? Am I just a tool to you? After everything, you only plan to use me and then dispose of me?”

“I would never dispose of you.”

“Then why can’t you tell me what it is you want from me? I never complained once even after I realized that I’m not yours. I’ve let you teach me, make me just the way you wanted me to be without asking questions because I thought you wanted someone, me, by your side. Forever,” Midorima paused and, even during the longest rant Midorima’s ever made, his pristine composure never slipped. “I would do anything for you, if you asked.”

Akashi took a sip from the glass, swallowed the thick liquid and smiled as he said: “That’s exactly why you’re the one.”

VII

To Midorima, it must’ve been a long struggle but to Akashi it was over in a blink of an eye; and there he was, standing before a twenty-five year old Midorima who had a college degree and an internship, connections in the right place and a promising future. He had all those things Akashi had always wanted to, not just obtain and hold onto because he had no other choice, appreciate because they weren’t eternal.

Midorima wore a black suit, custom-tailored, whose fabric clung to his sinewy, powerful frame; he looked like a man who could stir the world and then leave it to churn once he’s had enough of it.

Akashi couldn’t.

“You look beautiful,” Akashi said as he watched Midorima descent from the marble staircase of their home. Midorima needlessly adjusted his glasses, a nervous habit if he had any.

“Thank you.” When Midorima reached the bottom of the stairs, he pulled out a ring of silver colour with a crown of blue forget-me-nots embroiled on its surface. He put out his hand for Akashi to take and Akashi knew there were only two ways this could go, but he opted for one he normally wouldn’t have.

He put his hand in Midorima’s. “You shouldn’t have,” he said as he carefully studied the way the ring slid on his finger.

“I wanted to. Happy birthday, Akashi.”

Akashi smiled a genuine smile that touched his eyes, the kind of smile he thought his face had forgotten to imitate. He took a step back, spread his fingers and looked at the ring.

In that very moment, he realized that Midorima really didn’t know a thing.

VIII

“Come,” Akashi said with his arms spread as if he was welcoming an embrace, “I want you to think of me as you would an enemy.”

Midorima clutched the item in his hand – a stake – and met Akashi’s unrelenting gaze. That very gaze spoke volumes of what was about to transpire and Akashi didn’t want to Midorima to look away.

“Why?” Midorima whined. He never whined, but he’d never been told to kill someone either; especially not the person who had raised him.

“Everything was for this moment. When I first saw you in your carriage, alone, outside, I thought I’d scare you a little, children dislike me after all, but you weren’t afraid at all. And then I knew. I knew I could make you into someone who could put me out of my misery.”

Midorima all but snarled. “Misery? What misery? You have it all!”

“I never asked for it.”

Akashi noticed that the hand clutching the stake was starting to turn blue.

“Midorima,” he said, in his soothing voice, the same voice he used to read stories to him, “right here.” He pointed to his chest and smiled once again. But this smile was old, tired, and he felt it leave hollows on his face that burned.

Midorima shook his head so violently that his glasses slipped halfway down his nose. He didn’t bother fixing them. “You’ll make me do this even though you know how I feel about you?”

Akashi took a few steps forward, Midorima’s shoulder slouched. He stopped in front of the taller boy, no, a man and gently placed his hand on top of the one holding the stake.

“That’s exactly why I’m asking you. I wouldn’t be able to go by the hand of somebody I didn’t love.”

Akashi heard Midorima’s voice get stuck in his throat. His hair fell over his beautiful, so-very-green eyes as he leaned towards Akashi. Akashi took this moment of human weakness to lead Midorima’s hand towards his chest. Midorima didn’t protest. He kept lowering his head, lower, lower, just a bit more and then—

Cold and warm lips, soft flesh and hard stake met at the same time. The air around them ceased to flow, time might as well have stopped. Akashi’s lips danced with Midorima’s until his body sagged, his limbs growing heavier by the moment.

If it weren’t for the piercing pain of the stake in his chest, dying would’ve felt like having your life spill from your lips into somebody else’s mouth.

Akashi wondered why he ever thought he wanted to leave as Midorima’s enemy.

How foolish.

Midorima played with the ring around his finger. It was an old ring; a ring of silver colour with a crown of blue forget-me-nots embroiled on its surface. That ring has been nervously twirled around his finger for way too long. That ring burned his skin, but he wore it every day.

Like a reminder. Like a scar.

He still didn’t understand.

Years have passed but they haven’t given him wisdom. Money, success, friends – yes, but those were a distraction, not a cure.

In the morning he’d wake up from a nostalgic dream that smelled of red hair and old books.

In the noon he’d forget to eat.

In the afternoon, he’d fall asleep on the bed that didn’t smell like him anymore.

In the evening, he’d read a book he knew by heart until he fell asleep.

Rinse and repeat.

And, sometimes, he’d look in the mirror and remember he was called beautiful in a suit.

He stopped wearing a tie.

#midoaka #knb

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thirst-order-confession · 7 years ago

Note

so, like regular hunter!hux is cool n all. it was cute. but... like... monster au hux. with how much he hates witchcraft? i feel bad for the witch who tries to help him. he would be such an ass to her. but... kay... you typically write strong scary female characters? there needs to be a witch who is just as strong willed as him, doesn't deal with his snooty shit. yet is kind to creatures. shows him the craft can be helpful. nsfw or sfw? i just want some lovely badass witch to kick his ass

This got really long and out of hand. Was way overdue time wise. There was supposed to be a lot more to this story but I felt like I needed to stop somewhere before it was a novel. There could be more story if you guys wanted there to be some but otherwise, we can just leave it at this.

The air was biting as it nipped the skin of his face, pale skin turned pink from the exposure to the cold. Eyes narrowing as he peered through the trees ahead, he cursed quietly as he slipped in the snow, nearly falling over as he clutched tightly at his rifle as he struggled to regain his purchase on the uneven ground.

Eventually, he was able to steady himself on a nearby tree, hand braced against the pale bark.

When stable once more, he took a steady breath, the vapor from the heat swirling up into the air around him.

Hux’s eyes scanned the forest around him, feeling both unsettled and wary of the woodlands. However, he suddenly caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned, a very human-like shape moving through the snowy landscape.

Narrowing his eyes, he took a few steps closer and stepped around another tree to watch as the huntress moved easily through the glade, back heavy with supplies, faithful horse trailing behind her by the reins.

Grip tightening on his gun, he moved forward once more through the trees, careful to hang back so as to alert her of his presence.

She had been disappearing so often lately. For days at a time sometimes. In the dead of winter.

And actions like those had made Hux highly suspicious of her actions. Perhaps in the spring or summer, it would be reasonable. But during the harsh winter, temperatures would drop to deadly lows in the night. So he had followed her.

If anything, to see where she held up during the night for future reference.

Yet, as he watched her move through the trees, rounding a bend of a rocky outcropping that led into a small fissure in the mountainside, the barest hint of a valley of sorts… he lost her.

The tracks she had been leaving behind in the snow seemed to slowly disappear, as did the horse’s hoof prints. Seemingly having vanished in this fissure.

Frowning softly, Hux proceeded forward in search of her before he retraced his steps, thinking that perhaps he had missed a turn off they took or a different route.

What was even more unsettling was the fact that when he returned to the tiny valley, the tracks were gone entirely.

And it had failed to snow since then.

Was he… going mad?

Was the endless white wasteland of the Glade getting to him? Was he just being paranoid? Was he dreaming?

He knew that there were wards and magic that could make such things possible, disappearing.

Yet Miss Kalliope said that only the strongest of witches could make them. Could make a charm that could essentially erase people’s presence.

When he had first met the huntress and she had shown him around the woods, he first believed he was a witch. Threatened to kill her if she was one. And this strange behavior now was only reaffirming all those assumptions.

No wonder she was one of the best hunters in the village.

And yet, the sun was sinking lower in the sky before he knew it, the trees and mountains around him unfamiliar in the darkness settling in. It became harder and harder to tell which direction was which, where he had come from and where he had already been.

His only salvation was the full moon in the sky, its rays reflecting off all the snow and giving him some sort of torch to chase away the shadows. And despite that it was the dead of winter, the woods around him seemed to be full of life. Seemed to whisper. The trees around him creaking in the cold winds as if communicating with one another.

For every step he took, the grip Hux had on his rifle tightened.

The further he went, the more lost he seemingly became.

Still, his surroundings were hard to distinguish from each other despite the darkness.

When he attempted to circle back around to the fissure where he saw the huntress disappear, he found that his own tracks had vanished, the snow seemingly undisturbed by his earlier arrival.

Turning sharply, he felt suddenly as though eyes were upon him. Watching him. Embracing his panic and fear. His paranoia.

And then he was striding quickly through the fissure, further into the dark woods in hopes that he would stumble upon his female companion.

Hux wandered for a long while, the cold slowly settling into his bones and still biting viciously at his face and lips.

He only stopped when he heard a crash in the distance, the sound similar to that of a tree falling over to lay in its final resting place. His heart pounded in his chest, his body automatically dropping into a defensive stance as he gripped his gun tightly as he listened to the sounds of a struggle, heavy thuds on the ground and the terrible sound of flesh tearing followed by a horrible shriek of pain that could have maybe been a rabbit but it sounded far more foreign than that.

And then he heard nothing.

Not a sound. Not a single breath of wind.

And then there was a near deafening roar that sounded ahead of him in the trees and Hux was automatically clicking the hammer of his gun back, finding that he was shaking no doubt both from the cold and in response to the bodiless beast that just screamed out their want for blood.

He felt his eyes grow wide, though, as a massive form came crawling over the hillside before him, pale shaggy hair blowing in the cold wind as the beast snarled down at him, all lanky limbs and a burly chest.

The werewolf’s eyes seemed to glow amber in the moonlight, their lips pulled back in a snarl, muzzle coated in blood and gore from their recent kill. The nostrils on its glistening nose flared, drinking in the scent of its next supposed kill.

The North didn’t have werewolves but Hux had heard plenty about them. Knew that the huntress of the village had enough experience with them, was in fact the one the Guild sent out to hunt down the beast if one became a problem. And now he stood facing one, teeth the size of daggers and no doubt the claws on the paws sunk into the snow were just as sharp, if not more so.

Armitage didn’t remember any of what the huntress had said about fighting a werewolf. Only knew that silver was effective against them.

However, as he watched the beast sit back on it’s haunches, raising up and standing to an above human height above him, Hux felt he should run. He knew he shouldn’t, that would only egg the beast on.

But that’s what he wanted to do.

And despite not running, the burly beast threw its head back and howled, low and guttural into the night air. A shiver had never ran faster up and down his spine before.

Despite not running, the beast charged down the side of the hill.

Armitage’s adrenaline kicked in and his instincts sprung into action in that moment, taking aim and firing at the man-wolf. The bullet hit it square in the shoulder and yet it only yelped, stumbling sideways a moment but it was undeterred, still thundering toward him.

Hux didn’t have silver bullets.

He fired twice more in rapid succession, the bullets only deterring the wolf a moment longer, the man’s feet carrying him unknowingly back away from the approaching beast.

However, knowing that werewolves could rapidly regenerate and heal their wounds, he instead chose to turn and run as fast as he could, the ginger man spraying up snow behind him as he barreled back through the little valley, rifle still clutched tight in his hands.

Unfortunately, Hux could only get so far before he was being tackled to the ground, slammed down with his face buried in the snow that burned unmercifully at his bare skin.

A strangled, pained scream seized a moment in the hunter’s chest before it erupted into the empty forest air as he felt dozens of those dagger like teeth sink into his shoulder.

The weight of the beast upon his back was seemingly suffocating as it bore down upon him, the only reprieve in the experience being that the werewolf was at least a warm invitation to keep away the cold. However, Hux disregarded that idea when the beast decided it wanted to try and start ripping at him, sharp claws raking into his back as it began to shake its head with the want to rip him to shreds.

This is where he would die, Hux was sure of it.

There was little he could do besides squirm; scramble for purchase in the loose snow in hopes of getting away.

He could already feel the uncomfortably warm trickle of blood down his arm and back, the sticky liquid already saturating his clothes, making them stick to his skin.

Perhaps it would hurt less if he didn’t struggle.

Still, despite him resigning himself to his fate, the pain was immense and fat, hot tears of anguish poured down his face. He was sure he would pass out soon from the overwhelming and continues stabbing at his already fried nerves.

Release would come soon, he hoped.

And then all of a sudden, it did come. And yet the pain still lingered yet the incessant tearing of the wolf had stopped. The beast’s weight was still on his back yet it had stopped and in the silence of the woods around him, Hux could hear the beast sniffing the air suddenly.

Without warning, the werewolf was bolting so suddenly off of him, jostling the half-dead man’s wounds. Hux could only lift his head in confusion slightly, some snowflakes clinging to his lashes as he watched the blurry form of the wolf dart off through the dark trees, its tail held between its legs as its low whimpers reverberated off the trees.

Somehow over the roaring of blood in his ears, he was able to hear the soft crunch of snow behind him and sluggishly looked the other direction, a shadowy form having appeared behind him through the trees.

And yet, Hux found that he was too tired—to in pain— to care, his cheek once more resting in the snow as he felt himself drift under into unconsciousness.

He first registered the near blindingly bright sunlight shinning down into his face, the pain from the assault causing his face to scrunch. He made to lift his arm to block out the sunlight but instead found his nerves strung out and a soft groan of pain left him as he felt his wounds pull taught, threatening to break open once more.

Suddenly, there was an audible smack smack and the sun was disappearing altogether. Now no longer in such distress, he allowed himself to fall back into the warmth surrounding him, his hand dropping weakly back to his side. Beneath his palm, there was fabric, weighted and warm. A quilt perhaps draped over him and — wait… where was he?

He couldn’t be home nor at the Guild, there was too much of an herbal scent lingering in the air, a hint of flowers — maybe lilac? — accompanied with earthy undertones of soil.

Out of habit, Hux decided to flex his feet, the pads of his toes rubbing against a strange softness that lay just beneath the quilt. Silk… perhaps?

He found that the same fabric also seemed to drape over his chest — his bared chest?! Well, considering the pain, he supposed treating a patient would take extra effort if he was closed.

There was also the faint snap of a fire somewhere near his head, the heat from the flame delightful. There was also the gentle murmur of something bubbling but what broke through the lingering haze in his mind was the sound of boots moving across a wood floor.

Miss Kalliope?

“Close but not close enough,” an unfamiliar voice came suddenly, startling Hux into a more awakened state.

His eyes, however heavy they may be, peeled themselves open and once more, he tried to sit up, startled. Again, he hissed in pain, the thought of his wounds now refreshed in his mind as he eased himself back down.

Almost immediately, he was able to find the owner of the new voice, for you stood just across the room for him, hair loose and free as you faced away from him, her shoulders hunched slightly as you leaned down and read over something in a large book that was laid out on a table before her.

Hux attempted to speak but instead paused to clear his throat, finding it to be very dry, his voice hoarse with disuse.

“What?”

“You’ve been sleeping a very long time Mr. Hux,” you turned a page, still with her back to him. “Or would you rather I call you Armitage?”

“Uhm. Just… Hux is fine,” he narrowed his eyes slightly, once more trying to sit up and failing, groaning once more as he held his shoulder as he dropped back down onto the padded cushions.

“It would be in your best interest to stay still. Or you’ll rip yourself open. Again.”

Hux hissed slightly, face still contorted as the pain took its time fading from his nerves.

“Again?”

“In the beginning, I think you were having nightmares. Tossed and turned a lot in your sleep. At one point you were bleeding almost as much as when I’d found you lying nearly in pieces.”

“You’re the one who saved me?”

“Mmm, well, no one else was going to. And you were certainly doing a fine job of it yourself. Flopping about like a dying fish,” you glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and he could almost sense her rolling them. “You’d think that one of the infamous hunters in the Guild would have come more prepared for something as mundane as a werewolf.”

Hux scowled over at her, “It was supposed to be a simple day trip. If I knew that I was going to be gone longer, I would have brought my supplies with me.”

“Or should you always be prepared instead?” you were suddenly walking over to the fireplace. You had what looked to be a small glass bottle in her hand and you uncorked it before dumping a hint of its’ contents into the pot that was hung over the flickering flames. “Just like that… mmm, girl… running around the forest. Or the Glade as you call it?”

“You’ve seen her about? The huntress?” He got no response. He slowly narrowed his eyes then, “What about her?”

“She’s an intriguing little thing, really,” the lady straightened and finally rounded on him, leaving him with a firm stare. “Impressive, really. Observant. She learns about the animals — about the monsters — and doesn’t kill them unless they do harm to your people. It’s admirable really, how she comes and goes so easily. You’d think she would have been snared in by now. Seduced so easily like others.”

“What do you mean?” Hux frowned, “Seduced by what?”

For a moment, the female said nothing, your hands folding in your lap as you stood before him, proud and unwavering.

“That’s really none of your concern, now isn’t it?” You turned away from him then, heading back to her book and her table. You faced away from him a moment more before you picked up a vile filled with yellow powder and a bucket with a ladle in it.

Approaching him now, he only stared suspiciously up at her, worry furrowing his brow.

“Hold out your hand,” fixed with a hard glare a moment after he failed to comply, he slowly extended his his. You sprinkled some of the powder onto his palm. “Lick this and then drink some water. It’ll help with the pain and to help you sleep.” For a moment, he again looked skeptical and you sighed heavily and rolled you eyes, shifting your weight onto her other hip. “If I wanted you dead I could have so easily left you to bleed out in the cold so for the love of the Gods lick your damn palm.”

His hesitation slowly passing, Hux did as he was bade and licked at the powder, his face scrunching up at the surprisingly bitter taste assaulting his taste buds. A moment later, he reached up the short distance for the ladle of water, mindful of his wounds.

He lifted his head, craning towards the promised drink when he suddenly felt a hand cup beneath the back of his skull, careful fingers aiding him as he touched his lips to the wooden ladle and drank. Evidently he did not realize how thirsty he was before, taking down the first portion in a few sips before he returned the ladle to the water twice for more.

When he was finished, he set the ladle back down carefully and you eased his head down carefully, back onto the warmed surface of the pillow. And he only could stare up at you, suddenly so baffled at the surprisingly gentle touch. His eyes scanned your face a moment, gliding over your features as your fingers slipped from beneath his skull to pull the old quilt further back up higher on his chest.

“It will help with the pain so you can sleep easier. You’re still very weak and there’s still chance of infection. You need to be strong if you’re to fight off the coming fever.”

“Fever?”

You nodded, meeting his gaze a moment as you crossed your arms and leaned against the edge of the bed, “You were bit by the wolf multiple times. Surely you know such bites left untreated turn you into a wolf yourself?”

Hux nodded slightly, brow furrowed.

“I think I’ve managed to contain the infection for now though my methods will bring forth a terrible fever to sweat out the beast that wants to fester inside you.” You turned then, walking back across the room to busy herself with other things, a few pots clinking softly as you opened a cupboard and rummaged inside. “You’re not entirely out of the woods yet. I’ve seen many good people succumb. You’ll be fortunate enough to survive it.”

His eyes widened, “What?”

“Enough. You need to regain your strength. Sleep.”

Hux felt himself bristle then, his confusion leading him more down the path of fear the more cryptic you became, “No. I demand to know what you’re talking about. What do you mean—”

He never finished his sentence as you turned towards him, your hand extended in his direction and he only barely registered his eyes shutting before he was pulled beneath the black haze of sleep.

When he next awoke, it was to the rumbling of his stomach and the parched burn of dryness in his throat. Peeling his eyes back, he registered the gentle humming that filled the silence of the small cottage.

For awhile he just lay there and stared into the fire, the flames snapping across the way, nighttime having fallen across the land who knows how long ago. The orange glow of the flames cast interesting shadows throughout the modest room, illuminating the face of woman across the way, busy at work stirring something in the pot hung in the fireplace.

The winter winds whipped outside, howling through the cracks in the widows nearest him and yet somehow, it was a comfort. All of it was more comfortable to him now. At least somewhat familiar.

“You’re hungry,” it wasn’t a question that you asked him. “And thirsty.”

“Yes,” he said softly, taking a moment to clear his throat, his voice still rough with disuse.

“As I heard.”

You left the food to cook then, fetching the bucket of water once more, the pale refilled with the cool liquid.

Just as before, you helped him to lift his head, her touch surprisingly careful in comparison to her brash attitude when he last awoke. He drank once more from the offered ladle, the water easing the dryness in his throat.

When he was finished, you went to move away again, “You’re welcome, Hux.”

For a moment, the man debated on responding, realizing his misplaced manners but something in him refrained, soured by it all.

“How is it that you know my name but I don’t know yours?”

You picked up a bowl from the table and approached the fire before you ladled some of the contents of the pot inside it.

“It was not important at the time. But if you must… Y/N will do fine, I suppose.” you said.

The man watched as you spooned some liquid into the bowl, some of it dribbling down the side. After replacing the ladle into the pot, you swiped your finger up the side and stuck it into her mouth, cleaning it of what Hux imagined was soup.

After setting the bowl aside a moment, you grabbed a few cushions from a chair across the room and approached him.

Hux himself seemed to have read your mind, gritting his teeth slightly as he tried to sit up. Everything hurt and burned, his skin pulling taught as if it wanted to shred itself. Instead, you were quick to adjust his pillows as he moved, stacking the extra cushions behind him, your hand on his shoulder to guide him to lay back again when you were finished.

The pain slowly began to fade from his nerves once he was relaxed back, the quilt slipping down his chest to expose his bared torso to the warmed air in the room. Even still, he could finally look down and examine the bandages spanning his chest, most of them old in appearance and stained with discolored liquids.

“We’ll change those in a bit. Here,” you handed him the bowl of soup, a wooden spoon resting it it. “Eat first.”

It looked highly appetizing, he decided. Rich and thick. Full of potatoes, beans, and herbs.

It reminded him of his mother’s cooking.

He lifted a spoonful to his lips to blow on it.

“You shouldn’t need to blow on it,” you said suddenly, causing Hux to look up at you. You were facing away from him, getting her own bowl. How did you know he was even going to eat some already? “It won’t burn you.”

Cautiously, he took the spoon into his mouth and oddly enough, it was the perfect temperature. Warming and filling yet it didn’t burn his mouth.

Strange.

He felt his brows raise, “It’s very good.”

“Thank you.”

“So… where are we? Technically speaking?” He looked up at you as he spooned another portion into his mouth. “Close to Occult?”

“Mmm, no. Pretty far actually. Hours from Occult.”

Hux’s brows raised, “What?”

“You’ve somehow seemed to wander pretty far then, Mr. Hux,” you explained. “Occult is hours from here.”

The man frowned softly and blinked at you, “How… is that possible? I-I mean… it’s not.”

“The Glade is a strange place. Dangerous. Sometimes, when people are never found, they were not eaten by anything that resides here in the trees. Instead, they only lose their way and are left to wander for the rest of their days.”

“How do you know this?” Hux was suddenly suspicious, eyes narrowing slightly. Regardless, he continued to eat his food.

“I’ve seen people come and go. I’ve helped to send them back to where they belong.”

“Like the huntress?” He took another bite.

“No,” you explained. “She comes and goes as she pleases, unhindered by this anomaly in the woods. It’s as if there is nothing stopping her.”

“But it stopped me?” you nodded in answer and he watched you as he ate more soup. “What could be the cause of this?”

You spooned some soup into your own bowl and sat down across from him, slipping some past your lips as you ate, debating how you would answer.

“Could be a number of things. Someone doesn’t want you finding them, doesn’t want to be disturbed. Could be some sort of… I don’t know… a witch…?” you ate another spoonful, “…or a monster of some sort, perhaps?”

“She’s a witch then?”

You snorted softly, “Gods above, no. The little huntress is no witch. Just… favored… by something.”

He took a moment then and looked down, his bowl of soup empty. He felt surprisingly good, a little more human now that he had food in his system. Regardless, all of what you were telling him was troubling news to be heard. His mind was racing with the possibilities. Still, he didn’t protest when you took his bowl from him and refilled it for another portion, almost as if you had read his mind.

The two of you ate in silence after that.

“We need to change your bandages,” you said suddenly, causing Hux to look up at you. You rose, finishing the last bit of your own meal just as the man finished his own.

Taking his bowl from him, you walked over to your table and set them down, pausing a moment as you focused.

Without warning, the bandages wrapped around his chest loosened significantly, almost falling open slightly. What had done that? They had been so secured before he was sure.

You were approaching him then, quiet as you began to unravel the dirty bandages, mindful of the stitched up wounds and the bits of dried blood and puss that came away with it. There was sign of infection but that was to be expected; the wolf still needed to be pulled from him.

You would need to start the fever soon if it didn’t start on its own. The next full moon was not too far off and starting the fever yourself would make the procedure that much worse. That much more painful.

Behind his back, you held out your hand and the pin once in place flew carefully through the air to settle into your palm. Setting the bandages aside, you took a moment and seated yourself on the edge of the bed, your hands going to his shoulder to check him over. Your fingertips were light as they pressed over the rows and rows of stitches, your work only messy because of the overlap in the wounds. There hadn’t been much flesh left of his shoulder by the time you got to the scene of the attack.

“Gods… it’s so ugly.” Hux breathed, looking down and over at his shoulder, at the angry flesh and the mess of stitches holding him together. No wonder there was constant pain niggling at his nerves.

“I will do my best to keep most of it from scarring,” you said quietly, understanding his concern. He hadn’t seen the extent of it all yet.

“How, though? Nothing on Earth could fix this.”

You laughed softly, moving your hand up further to rest over the majority of the wound. Hux hissed as you lightly rested your palm over the bulk of the stitches, eyes scrunching shut for a moment. And then there was a calming warmth spreading through him, soothing his fried nerves and the ripped tendons.

“Why are you so upset, hmm? Scars are nothing to be ashamed of. They tell stories of all sorts. Stories of our lives. Of our mistakes and of our triumphs. Or are you afraid you won’t be such a pretty boy after this?”

Ignoring your last remark, Hux allowed his eyes to slowly open and he found that there was a soft, golden glow that filled the room. For a moment he met your gaze, the gold glowing in your own irises. And yet, when he looked down at his shoulder, he found the source of the glowing. Your palm upon his shoulder; upon his angry wound.

For a moment, he didn’t understand what was going on, the relief brought onto his shoulder making him lightheaded. It was so sweet suddenly, the lifting of his pain. Of all his pains ailing him. The slight crick in his back that was seemingly always there was gone as well, vanished.

And then all of a sudden, he was realizing what was happening. What you were doing. What you were, evidently.

Haze clearing from his mind, Hux was grabbing your arm at a near frantic rate and wrenching it off of him. The look he gave you was one of disgust, a sneer distorting his features.

“I knew something was different about you,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “Something… wrong. And here you are, a bloody witch.”

“The bloody witch that is helping your ungrateful hide.” You tore your hand our of his grasp, his healing muscles stretching painfully. Hux hissed and reached for his own shoulder as you sat, leveling him with a hard glare. “It took you long enough, you naive child.”

“Get away from me, you hag.”

A humorless laugh escaped you, “Mmm, how original. Do keep trying though. Your insults may start to improve.” You stood up then and moved away from him. While approaching the table for herbs to lace his wound with, you extended your hand and the dirty bandages floated towards you through the air, slowly twisting towards you and around Hux. “You humans are horrible ungrateful, do you know that?”

However, for a moment, Hux felt fear fill him as he watched your back. Of what you may have done to him. Of what you would do to him.

“Take me back to Occult.”

You paused a moment and looked back at him, “Pardon?”

“I want to return to my village this instant. And you will take me there.”

“And if I don’t?” You muse, grinding a handful of herbs thrown into your mortar, pestle in hand. “What shall you do to me, O Great and Mighty Hunter?” You smirked to yourself. “You’re going to crawl home then, tear open your wounds? For I have no horse. And by the time you’ve reached Occult, crawling, spring will nearly be over with and something else scarier than a werewolf will have eaten you by then.”

The ginger just continued to glare at you, quiet now as you returned to his side. However, when you reached out to touch him, he grabbed your wrist; your eyebrows lifted into your hairline.

“Don’t touch me.”

Unimpressed, you rolled your eyes, “And if you refuse treatment, you will die, if not become one of the werewolves. But please, be my guest. If you wish to be so horribly asinine, it would leave no mark on my conscience to just toss your rotting body out into the snow until the woods thaw in a few days. And then the animals can have you, pick you clean. Or, if you’re lucky, you can be hunted by your own people? I’m sure the huntress wouldn’t mind tracking down your sorry hide, pin your furry ass on her wall.” You stood a moment, your brow set in a hard line over your eyes as you glowered down at him now.

For a moment Hux continued to glare up at you, eyes ablaze as he internally struggled against his hatred for you. Because he wanted to live. Wanted to see the huntress again.

Now quiet, he turned away from you, his hold on your wrist loosening. His shoulders drooped slightly in defeat. You couldn’t help the soft curl of your lips as you stepped forward once more, victorious.

“That’s what I damn well thought.”

You finished your work swiftly, having called the mortar of crushed herbs and bandages over to you. The man was silent the entire time, unmoving and breathing slowly as your hands carefully worked over his wounds. For a moment, he found himself spacing off, eyes staring unfocused across the room, mind in a lull for a moment. He forgot for a moment what you were and instead found his eyes almost drifting shut as your hands flitted carefully across his chest, the man only reawakening slightly when your chest was suddenly close to his back as you wrapped fresh bandages around his torso, winding them tight to keep pressure on the herbs placed there.

Then without a word, he eased himself back onto the bed, rolled onto his side, and slept without a word of thanks given to you.

You shook your head softly, turning away with a quiet sigh.

You’re welcome, Armitage Hux.

Hux didn’t feel the pain until it was too late.

He only awoke to the searing pain, the seemingly suffocating grip on his lungs. He remembered waking up, eyes shooting open as his nerves lit on fire once more, pain streaking up and down his body.

A choked gasp left his taught body, his back bowing off the bed as he writhed, eyes slamming shut.

And Gods above, he was hot. It was as if he was being held over an open flame and the fire was licking through his very soul.

When another wave hit him, a strangled shout left his lips, his hands curling into taught fists beyond his will as he felt parts of his muscles spasming and twitching.

What is happening to me?

He could only think to himself, the pain leaving him beyond words.

Hux was so far gone, he couldn’t feel the cool towels draped over his feverish skin, the fact that you cut the legs of his trousers short to help remove an extra layer of clothing from him while maintaining his modesty.

There was little you could do besides stand beside and watch from across the way. The day passed quickly enough, Hux’s grunts and cries soon falling to the back of your mind as you went about taking care of things around your home. And this continued to well into the night.

Still, you always brought him damp towels, wrapped snow in a few of them and laid them across his skin in hopes of cooling the fever. You wondered how long it would take to break; the tome you read said it varied from case to case. It could range anywhere from two days to two weeks depending on the infected person.

At one point during the night, though, you realized that your house had grown quiet. Fearing for the worst, you returned to the man’s side… only to find that he was still breathing. Just unconscious from exhaustion and the pain, no doubt. The human body can only take so much.

You wondered when next you could properly sleep and sighing, crossed the room to mix something up for yourself to help you through the long days and nights coming.

Having been busying yourself with washing and boiling the old bandages, sorting through more of your ancient tomes for something to help, and making dinner for yourself, the cries began again.

And no matter how rude he seemed to be to you, you couldn’t help but feel pity for the man as he once more began to writhe, his skin seemingly always glistening with sweat as the fever took its time working through his system.

For a long while, again, all you did was stand there and watch him, a disturbed and uncomfortable look upon your face as his choked sounds continued to pervade the air. Still, you let him be, helpless really for the time being.

It was when the man finally was able to speak up, the sun setting on his third full day of the fever that you hesitated.

“P-P-Please,” he sobbed out, if barely able to do that. “K-Kill me.”

You rose from your place where you had been tending to the fire, brows lifted nearly to your hairline in surprise.

When you approached, you weren’t surprised to find his cheeks tear-stained and his eyes red from the agony he was going through.

“Just k-kill me,” he begged you suddenly, his eyes screaming shut again as another wave of pain washed through him. “Please… Please e-end it. E-End my s-suffering.”

That would be too easy. And in his desperation, you knew it was not what he truly wanted. He wanted to live and you would grant him this.

He just had to be strong enough to get through it.

“No.”

You turned to walk but was once more surprised when Hux lashed out and there was a tight grip upon your wrist, holding you back. When you did turn back to face him, you found that the ice in his eyes had melted as if the fever had thawed him out. Instead, you saw desperation and need for relief.

It had been a long time since you had seen anything so pitiful.

Sighing and resigning yourself to your fate, you took hold of his hand and pried it off you, just the barest hint of your own strength enough to overpower him.

But unlike the other times, you did not leave to sit back across the room.

Instead, you sat on the bed beside him, your hands cradling his head as you placed it into your lap. Evidently, the man couldn’t find it in himself to care that you were a witch anymore and instead accepted his fate as your hands brushed his sweat-slicked hair back from his forehead.

He let out a physical moan of relief and even pleasure when your hands, chilled with your magic began to stroke across his face. Your finger tips were light as they danced across his heated flesh, pausing at his temples to massage some of the tension away from there.

Hux, in his fever haze, lifted a hand and once more held your wrist. Not moving it, just holding on as if it ground him to reality.

However, another wave of pain spiked through him and he cried out once more, body twisting almost unnaturally a moment and yet you continued to soothe him as it passed.

“Hush,” you cooed, your thumb tracing down the side of his cheek. “You’ll be alright.”

Whether it be by your command or by his own accord, the man did indeed grow quieter. Though Hux was loath to admit it, your gentle caress was grounding him back into his own body, beyond the pain. And he craved for more of this relief.

As if in a dream or trapped within his own subconsciousness, he nuzzled further into your cool, calming touch.

Your own eyes widened when your hand left him for a fraction of a moment to itch a scratch on your nose and the hunter whimpered, brow furrowing not from pain but from your fingers’ absence.

So, you stayed and sat with him, unable to truly move away. At one point, you were able to get him to drink a bit of water to help keep his system hydrated.

You also found yourself wondering when the last time was that someone had even touched Hux like this. Touched him… in any manner, really.

For with the frantic way he would act when your hands left him, his lips, at one point, seeking out your chilled palms, you were apt to believe that it had been a very, very long time.

And at one point, you came to realize that Hux had grown rather quiet. Before you looked back down at him, you would have assumed he was asleep but felt your own face growing a bit warm upon the realization that the ginger man was instead staring up at you from your lap.

His eyes, though hazy, seemed to be studying your features, his lids blinking slowly with contentment as your thumbs continued to absentmindedly stroke his red cheeks. His irises seemed to glow in the dying light of the sun, ablaze with the orange and pink hues of the winter sky.

How… beautiful. The train of thought coming out of nowhere, catching you entirely of guard. How unlike Hux typically is.

As if to further comfort him, you once more brushed his hair back from his face, the man’s eyes slipping closed as you continued to pet his hair long after your first brush of his forehead.

His breathing evened out after a long while, no longer so haggard for the time being. However, he was still worryingly warm from the fever. He wasn’t out of the woods yet.

Lightly brushing against the edge of his mind, though, you found he was drifting off to sleep and that he very much liked your gentle stroking of his hair. And just before he disappeared beneath the black comfort of sleep, his voice, hoarse from yelling, could be heard.

“Thank you.”

#Mod Kay #SFW #Armitage Hux #Hunter!Armitage Hux #Witch!Reader #Badass!Reader #Monster AU #Body gore #Blood

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