#the maidens wander around remnant and help those they come across

[strqyr]

if summer, like the warrior, had her family / town murdered by other people and 'the judge, the jury, and the executioner' has anything to do with her character...

"but then why do you protect others?" / "because i can. because no one else will. and because some people are good, like you. and that gives me hope." <- it's about the benefit of the doubt; some people are good and those people deserve protection BUT

what if it's someone who has killed people? what then? if summer feels strongly about this because of her own personal experience and raven is someone who was taught to kill and did so to survive, would that be something they clashed over? would the circumstances of raven's childhood make a difference, or would the judgment be immediate à la rhodes?

because i can. because no one else will. and because some people are good, like you. vs. i beg your pardon sir, but we did not do these things for you because you were special. we do what we can for everyone, because we are able. <- silver eyed warrior vs the maidens.

something something if this is "let's not repeat the mistakes of the past" with summer & raven / ruby & cinder i will dig a hole for myself to scream in

[laserdog10]

Loneliness

”It’s not so bad not being in a league that suits me.”

It was a personal mantra that she told herself every day, even if it did kind of hurt. Citrus was born as both a Rose and an Arc, two powerful family bloodlines that were well renowned on Remnant by now, thanks to the defeat of Salem. However, Citrus’ elder siblings Garnet and Blossom, have been shown to be marginally stronger and almost gifted...or actually gifted. Garnet had inherited a portion of Ruby’s Spring Maiden magic on top of Jaune’s hefty Aura with the addition of a strong Semblance, while Blossom was a Silver Eyed Warrior, the greatest of all destined to slay Grimm and be the heroes of humanity. While Citrus was...just normal.

Yep, no insane powers, no off-the-wall weapon that has multiple transformations, no fancy Semblance (other than the ability to talk to animals), she was a normal girl who wanted to be a Huntress, like everyone her generation. However she felt an odd lonesome feeling inside her, when her brother and sister went off to Signal for the first time, Citrus was alone at home with her aunt Yang, grandpa Qrow, uncle Tai, and aunt Raven. If that wasn’t enough her Semblance let her speak to the family dog Zwei and the five wolves Ruby adopted, Drei, Vier, Funf, Sechs, and Null. And yet...she still had this emptiness in her heart. Well unlucky for her it was about to intensify that feeling tenfold as she was about to head to Signal tomorrow, the day after her siblings and cousin graduate. Right now it was well into the evening, the sun setting on the horizon, rays of light beaming down on the Rose-Arc & Xiao Long-Branwen residence, Citrus leaning against the railing, teetering her weighted collapsible scythe, Soulful Reave, back and forth, her emerald green eyes staring off into space, tangerine curled hair catching the wind.

Jaune: Someone’s a little broody.

Citrus: Hmm?! Oh, hi dad!

Jaune: Is Qrow’s mysterious edginess rubbing off on you or am I just reading too much into this?

Citrus: Pffft, nooo dad, I’m fine, thank you. Just...thinking, deep contemplation about the future.....

Jaune: Excited you’re going to Signal tomorrow?

Citrus: Heheheee, not really...?

Jaune: Why not?

Citrus: *stops teetering her scythe* Dad, do you think I’m...special?

Jaune: The “daddy loves his special girl” kind of special or...

Citrus: The special that’s meant for amazing things, I don’t feel like I am.

Jaune: Woah woah woah, what brought this on?!

Citrus: Nothing, I’m...*sigh* Dad, compared to Garnet and Blossom, I’m so bland! I have nothing truly remarkable about m-* her shoulders are held as she faces her father*

Jaune: Citrus, tell me what’s going on, is everything okay?

Citrus: I don’t think so...have you ever had the feeling of overwhelming loneliness and that you’re far behind people close to you?

Jaune: More than you could fathom, sweetheart. But that was a long time ago, and with a little bit of time, and the love from those people around me, it eventually went away. Why, is it the fact that your brother and sister are way ahead of you getting to you?

Citrus: *tears form in her eyes* Y-yeah, a lot...

Jaune: Oh, sweety. *he brings his small daughter into a huge hug* Believe me when I say that feeling is completely normal, your mother and I had this lonely, by-our-selves spell when we first went to Beacon.

Citrus: I just feel so out of place. I hear about all these kids who were raised by amazing Huntsmen, their amazing transforming weapons, and their powerful Semblances, then there’s me. Swinging around a simple scythe and talking to animals, no Maiden or S.E.W. powers...

Jaune: Citrus, look at me. *his gaze is met by the distraught, teary-eyed face of his daughter* All these feelings, all these issues you’re feeling right now are completely normal for a thirteen year old to experience! Think it like, you’re still going through your “character arc,” which always starts just as you turn thirteen. You’ll get to that important “climax” of your story some day.

Citrus: *sniff* R-really...?

Jaune: I know so. Now let’s go inside, dinner’s almost ready!

Citrus: I’ll head in a second, gotta go put Soulful Reave back in in the shed.

Such an action to her weapon would make her brother, proverbially, lose his mind, but she took good care of her scythe, occasionally but primarily leaving it in the room she shared with her siblings, like they do with their weapons. Tomorrow would be the first step into this “character arc” of hers, and she would tackle it however she could!

-The next day-

Strolling down the halls of Signal wasn’t so bad, she was old enough to be by herself while her parents weren’t too far off. Ruby had gone with the many other parents of new students to a little meeting, confirming their classes and whatnot, meanwhile Citrus wandered around Signal, her orange cloak flowing as she strolled along, seeing big metal lockers to hold plenty of supplies, classrooms, a library, and the cafeteria. What she didn’t expect to come across was a large crowd of kids clamoring around a board with a myriad of papers on it. Among this crowd the youngest Rose-Arc saw the red-patched blonde hair of her sister.

Citrus: Blossom? *she called over the talkative graduates*

Blossom: Hey baby sis! You here on your intro tour? *the blonde side-stepped through the moderate sea of teens, a few of which turned heads to the younger teen*

Citrus: Yep, mom just went with the other parents to that meeting! What are you doing over here with everyone?

Blossom: Seeing who got their academic success title.

Citrus: You’re what?

“An awesome title for how well you did in your classes!” chimed a female student.

Citrus: Oh, cool!

Blossom: Wanna guess what I got?

Citrus: I...don’t know what they are.

Blossom: Oh, well come look.

Taking a closer look at the board, Citrus saw this hefty list of names that made her head spin. So many names, numbers, scores, classes.

Citrus: This makes my brain hurt...

Blossom: Same here, and could you help me find my name, I’ve been helping everyone here find their’s for a while n-

Citrus: You got Salutatorian, Garnet got Valedictorian, and Lea’s below both of you!

Blossom: I’M WHAT?!

The students: THEY’RE WHAT!?

“I’m what now???” came a familiar voice behind the girls and the crowd. They turned to find Garnet himself, in the midst of eating a roll of cookie dough from the cafeteria. Without thinking the students swarmed him, barging questions left and right; “How are you so smart,” or “Please teach me your ways,” and “You’re amazing Garnet!”

Garnet: Woah, slow down guys, I’m not that great honest! I just studied and practiced like anyone else would.

“But you got Valedictorian, dude!!!” exclaimed a male student with very punk-rock hair.

“That’s an achievement in and off itself!” cheered a preppy looking girl.

“You’re a freaking prodigy, bro!!!!” cried a sporty, muscular lad.

Garnet: Alright, listen up everyone, I’m gonna give you some life advice you all need to hear. Trying to be like me is impossible, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m a prodigy. Yes I have powers of a Maiden inherited from my mother, yes I have a massive amount of Aura and strong Semblance to boot, yes I also have multiple weapons and am highly skilled in using all of them. However that doesn’t place me above the rest of you, nor should it make you all downplay yourselves! You all have your strengths and weaknesses, but you shouldn’t strive to become like me, because I’m not perfect. Imitation is the cheapest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay in greatness. Don’t strive to be me, strive be a better you, because their can only be one of us in the world! And if you do find someone like you later in life...*claps hands* Then I got nothing. *awkwardly smiles*

His audience applauded, but mostly laughed at the perplexing finish to his speech. His sisters had their own reactions, Blossom shaking her head and smiling in a way that conveyed a “The fact I’m related to you is astonishing” feel, Citrus on the other hand was captivated. “Strive to be a better you,” this phrase alone struck many chords in her, to the point that the lonely feeling of hers dissipated somewhat...

“Ohhh yawn-a-fuckin’-rama! That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard, One Armed Arc!”

The students instinctively winced at the sound of the boastful and snarky voice. Collectively looking to the source, a tall girl with long burnt-orange hair and indigo eyes, clad in gray armor with a gold trim, a jet black waist cloth on the tool belt around her. Strapped to her back in a sheath was a morning star mace, the signature and feared weapon wielded by Signal Academy’s tyrant.

Blossom: Carly Winchester...

Citrus: ...

Garnet: And why are you here?

Carly: No reason, except I just heard a one-armed loser spouting some bullshit and being humble. Face it, you could be running this school! And yet you choose to be weak, lumping yourselves with these peons who could get their asses reamed by you.

Blossom: Garnet isn’t weak!

Carly: Aww look, little Ms. Self-loathing wants to act all big and tough! Why don’t you can it and go cry on the roof like you always do.

Citrus: *grits teeth and clenches her fists*

Garnet: What I do doesn’t make me weak Carly, I-

Carly: OH FUCKING SPARE ME! Hearing your high and mighty “holier-than-thou” bullshit makes me sick, you have the powers of a damn GOD and look where you are!

Citrus: ...hat’s it to y... *mumbles*

Carly: Hmm what’s that Shorty, got some shit to say? If you don’t then butt the fuck out, the adults are tal-

Citrus: WHAT’S IT TO YOU!? All you ever do is hurt and scare people, that’s not power, that’s being a jerk!

Carly: You-!

Citrus, standing in front of Carly now: My big brother is more of a Hunter and leader than you could ever hope to be! All you are is a bully, a coward, and an absolute BITCH!!!

Everyone present gasped, Garnet and Blossom were shocked into silence. Calling Carly a bitch was something else entirely, but hearing it from Citrus, someone who had never sworn in her life?! Surely they must’ve been dreaming, right??? Obviously they weren’t, for Carly had looked around incredulous, thinking she had heard the orangenette right.

Carly: The fuck did you just say to me you little shit...?!

Citrus: You heard me, you’re nothing but a BI-!

Carly: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!

The warrior girl screamed in tandem with swinging her mace directly down onto the smaller girl. The motion happened at such a speed, all that was seen was a shiny, gray blur kicking up dust and debris when it landed.

Garnet/Blossom: CITRUS!!!

The youngest Rose-Arc braced for the impact beforehand...but it never came. Instead when she opened her eyes, she was in a dust cloud, embraced by her cousin, Lea Xiao Long-Schnee, her giant gauntlets blocking the crushing blow.

Lea: Might I ask why the hell you are attacking my cousin, Carly? *she said in a low tone, pushing the warrior girl back a good few feet*

Carly: Mind telling me why your brat isn’t on her child leash?!

Lea: *eyes turning lilac, blue fire adorning her hair* I think Citrus is going to be the least of your worries right now...

Citrus stepped back, knowing full well what was coming next. Garnet walked past her but not before looking at his baby sister.

Garnet: Might wanna go get mom and the principal, this courtyards about to become a war zone. *he winked*

Carly targeted him first, her mace colliding with the boy’s head and sending him staggering. He regained his footing, readying his own gauntlets as Lea pounced on Carly, throwing her into one of the support columns in the courtyard, Garnet running up and landing jab after jab upon Carly. Blossom held Citrus’ hand as they ran off to find their mother before the situation got worse, as they ran they heard the unmistakable sound of the Maiden powers flaring from their brother and cousin.

Blossom: We’ll leave it to them to kick Carly’s butt.

Citrus: ...

Blossom: You okay?

Citrus: Yeah yeah, just thinking.

Blossom: You narrowly avoiding getting brained by an amazon brute???

Citrus: Well...besides that, but what Garnet said earlier.

Blossom: Oh that.

Citrus: It stuck with me, and...and I think it should solve all my problems.

Blossom: ...if you say so!

Seems her father was right, today was when her character arc would begin, and now she would walk through it with her head held high!

[noodlerooster]

Rwby Au - The Fallen Maiden Au; Beacon’s Fall

Just a phone blurb of a AU for Rwby

[Beacon Tower] 

Pyrrha and cinders fight is the same, but Ruby shows up on time and lands a near fatal blow on Cinder. In shock Cinder tries to recover, Pyrrha uses this opportunity to also land a blow but leaves herself open to an unseen attack from Cinder. An arrow from behind forming from thin air.

Weakened And enraged Cinder only thinks of Pyrrha and killing her for her plan. “SHE MUST DIE, HER,HER,HER. THIS ONE. PYRRHA NIKOS!” Her arrow plunged into her chest , but now it’s slowly inching further in her body. The pain grows stronger and surges through her body, pain never felt before, almost burning pain. Ruby watches on, eyes overflowing with white tears that resemble star light. Cinder not realizing the wave of energy coming towards her screams: “what?!”

A flash overcomes them, Pyrrha and Cinder now engulfed fall to the ground. Beacon tower stops, everything around it stops, the crumbling tower is no longer falling but suspended in the air. Any Grimm in range trapped, no longer living nor dead. In a state of frenzy Ruby takes one step towards the two, eyes set on Cinder, but unaware of the immense power she too falls to the ground passing out.

—

[Back in town]

Students of all years are mixed with the screams of townsfolk and soldiers. Amongst the crowd there’s one body that is still, unmoved, he’s staring at the tower where the light now glows white. “Juane!” A hand grabs him awake, and turns him around. “Come on! We have to help these people! Who knows how many Grimm there are!” She readies her grenade launcher just in case of a preemptive attack. “Team RWBY is MIA, And the other schools are spreading their teams all over town! Get yer’ head in the game!” Ren stands in his vision, and places a hand on his shoulder, a calm washes over Jaune and he takes a deep breath. “Juane. People need us right now, we took an oath as team members and students of Beacon to help those in need, and as our leader we need you more than ever.” Jaune open his eyes and looks at Ren. His most closest friend in the team and one of very few words, and if he talks you know he means every word. He’s was right, what would Ozpin be thinking if he saw him like this, a coward? No. He was a leader, a fighter, a huntsman. Amongst the screams a loud gutting roar is heard, almost deafening. Grimm flood in like a black wave, their air putrid with fear and hate.

The team readies their weapons and step into the running rows of people heading away from the danger.

——

[Mid-Town]

Ironwood’s robots are strewn across the streets, mangled bodies and parts fizzing.

Remnants of Grimm disappear in the air in black strands black as the creatures it comes from.

Cardin kicks something metal, an arm away from his walking path. This side of town is oddly quiet, no surprise though this was a dropping sight for big Grimm and an Ursa flood.

Ugh Ursa.

Memories flooded in from that day like an electric surge. He flinched the gigantic Ursa stood in front of him again, his body towering over him casting a shadow. Cardin reached for his weapon instinctively, but his fingers reached for nothing, fumbling for the hilt he heard a clang of heat pressed metal crash on the ground. Cursing his body he didn’t loose sight of the hell beast as he scrambled for his weapon. Where is it dammit? The beast lunged towards him claws shining in the moonlight. Ready for the impact he dared not close his eyes in fear.

Nothing.

There was no beast, just shadow.

His eyes still not blinking transfixed on the shadow, his body refused to listen. He’s was safe, at least for this moment. A cold slow chill creeped in his body, first from his chest and slowly down his limbs to his finger tips. His heart pounding now a soft beat as he took a shaky breath. He looked at the ground where his weapon lay, only a step behind his foot.

Idiot.

Why? It was like this the first time. But the first time that blonde was there, and he froze weaponless, a damn coward.

Lost in thought Cardin patted for his phone. Did he lose it? No it was right here, cracked but still functioning.

He called out to his team, not remembering last he saw them or if they were even ready to fight. No one did, this was a surprise attack, an ambush.

Ringing....

Ringing......

Ringing.......

Click.

Noise, jumbled frequency and nonsense.

Sky’s out. Possibly dropped the damn thing again.

Next in the team chat: Dove.

Of all of them at least he’d keep his scroll in tact.

One ring and he hears him.

“Cardin?” It’s Dove.

The voice sounds tired and alert, noises behind him almost drowning out the call.

“Dove! Sound off where are you?”

Crackling a skipped reply.

“Can’t ..... nothing.... again.....Boss...”

“Sound off!”

“Dove! Sky! Russel MIA! Sir!”

Crystal clear. Cardin heard every word.

Russel’s missing. Before he can let his mind wander he snapped back.

“Get your asses here now sending a echo finder and a flare.”

Cardin lifted his mace, from it’s red dust crystal a puff of ember and smoke rose in the air.

“Your orders?” Dove switched to a camera view, Sky was visible on the screen both worn and tired. On their belts a green metal hung, it flashed in the nearby flames. Cardin looked away from them and surveyed their surroundings. They were near the housing districts and shopping center. Cardin couldn’t think fast, before he knew it a slender hand grabbed the scroll.

“Your’s is working good.”

Glynda fixed her glasses, a crack in the lenses. Behind her Cardin’s savior of the day: Ironwood. His chest exposed showing off his metal armaments.

“You boys need to meet us here, the Grimm have diluted and are manageable, any civilians and stray students you see. Bring. Them. Here. This is an order. Relay this info to everyone you see. Be safe team, prove yourself worthy of the Beacon name.” Ironwood coughed after his speech. The dust around the area tampered with his breathing.

The two boys stand straight, readying themselves for the mission. The flare floated in the sky, glowing red and shown no signs of stopping.

Glynda chimes in: “maintain communication and-“ cut off. The scroll went dead. “Stay alive” She whispered in the screen now reflecting her image.

{End}

(Idk I worked on this months ago give me criticism and thoughts I’m still tying to find time to draw this comic when I get free time)

[fractaele-m]

[ read ] r,,, reverse? im,,, im begging u latte this gives me life

act. my muse reads something to your muse. 

            how had she out of all her friends ended up taking care of an old bird ? maybe it was a precaution because of her injury or it could have been that they had often assumed that she was no fun. the snow maiden preferred quieter things anyways. wiping the counters , her feet ached as she put on the kettle on the stove. the tick of the clock was musical accompaniment to silence of the night. a cough rang out just as the tea pot screamed. taking it off quick , her dainty handles fumbled with the lid. tipping it over , piping hot water poured into the mug that had a lemon slice with ginger tea. just the way klein would have prepared it. a generous dollop of honey was the finishing touch to klein’s cold remedy ! trying on a smile , she could hear the butler’s rolling laughter within a crevice of a memory. ( he would be so proud ———  ahh ! ) glancing down , her fingertip had touched the side of the cup , sending burning sensation through her fingers. spilling some of the brew onto clean table. maybe , she was not meant to take care of people. cursing under her breath , she wiped it up quickly. there was no point in meandering on that fact. he was waiting. 

           careful not to touch the ceramic again for a repeat offense , she carried the beverage to the room where the burst of coughing had come from. bags &. supplies stacked about , it was more a maze than an apartment. teetering on her heels , the girl became aware of how dangerous it was. why had she never noticed how hard it was to balance in these things ? heart thumped , as nervous crawled up her spine. ( weiss , it is no time to feel vertigo !! ) pale hand reached out to twist knob , the tray almost threw off balance.  saving herself from a spill , she blew puff of air in thankfulness. wisps of white bangs flew in response. ❛     i made tea.     ❜ the voice strained , the girl entered the room to face a sorry sight indeed. sniffles &. groans replied. setting the tray on bedside table , she stared down at ruby &. yang’s uncle. scruffy chin , groggy eyes , but always a faint smile adorned his lips. pink irises flecked with a humorous glint as he opened his mouth. rolling her eyes , she couldn’t help but paste a grin of disbelief in return. ❛     if you are going to say a remark about me being in the kitchen , save your breath.     ❜ blue irises caught a small cup filled with pink liquid. ❛     i don’t want a word out of you until you have taken your medicine &. drank this entire cup of tea !     ❜ pout with scrunched nose made her joyous reaction turn to frown. 

           picking up cup , she handed over to him. what steel laced lungs had been rusted over. he had been worn thin , right through his facade of togetherness. his body could not take much more of a beating. &. so it reacted in the only way it could. it forced him down , to sickness so that his lids would finally shut. watching him take a sip , expectantly … she turned away in the last moment in case his expression turned sour. the girl was a mess of glass fractals but underneath those , she wore softness as a second skin. no , she could not meet rejection so close from him.  ———  if she could not brew a proper cup of tea , what good was she ? feet began to wander about as she stayed behind to ensure he drank the tea &. the medicine she had dosed out earlier. 

            head turned to scan her surroundings. the room was humble , not as furnished as the rest of their’s. there were scraps on the wood flooring … indicating that there once had been more furniture in here. but then curious gaze fell upon a few books on a shelf. they were covered in dust , prim hands examined them after strong breath removed the layers. a book of remnant fairy tales … it took her back to a fevered memory of her sister reading to her. she was a frail young thing at that time , collapsing only after a few days of going from concert to practice to lessons. it was too much for a child so young. no wonder her brilliant blues had lost their luster at the optimism of a world filled with possibilities. tired breaths expired from tiny lungs as she got lost in the stories of knights defeating monsters &. princesses falling in love. carrying the tome , she scooted chair close to the bed. 

             fairytales were meant for children yet what the common folk tucked away within their homes did not know … is that fairytales were magical stories to young ones &. lessons for old. everyone could benefit from being told dark lessons shrouded in whimsy &. magic. maybe qrow &. she could both learn something. more likely then not , he would fall asleep to the boring sound of her voice. opening the pages , she found a tale she herself had cherished. it was an odd one in that it did not follow the usual pattern of a fairy tale. clearing her voice , she swallowed down bile to get up enough courage to read it out loud. ❛     once upon a time … a dragon was held captive by a beautiful princess in the forests of forever fall. the dragon had beautiful rubied scales that blended in with the leaves there , deep within the trees … to keep him from common sight. everyday he begged the fair maiden to free him …      ❜  weiss did not stop reading until her voice grew faint , her eyelids tired. lancing over at the sick patient , she saw the steady breaths , &. lashes shut. covering her mouth , she stifled a small laugh , beaming at the sight of two empty cups. the crow was on the way to recovering. pulling up the sheets around him , she felt good. ———  these hands had taken care of someone &. see it through to fruition. with that , heels whispered across planks to shut the door. under quiet chimes of the clock , she expired ,❛     get better qrow , you might not think it but we need you.     ❜   

@qrwvviid. dominant acts. ——— a. 

[ekebolou]

New Book: Chapter One

The hits just keep on coming.  I should probably warn everybody, as might be expected, there’s a lot of trauma coming, of various flavors, that I will endeavor to tag in some manner.  I think the first chapter is fine, although, of course, it doesn’t go well. 

Prelude

Chapter Two

Chapter One

“If we are so terrible, then why are you here, eh?”

“I am where I am,” Rev said.  Like the lap of water at the edge of the sea, he felt it now: the stroke of his callused palm up Rev’s arm, bringing it to his chest, bundling him in warmth.  Only he remembered it warm and close, and felt it chilled.  “There is no meaning to it.”

He laughed; Rev shivered.  “Why do you keep coming, then?  Why make here where you are?”

‘Here’ he made clear by pulling himself close, tightening legs around legs, pressing torso to back, putting lips to the hollow at the back of Rev’s ear, stretching hands tight over his chest.  Once begun it was difficult to stop, but Anik kept his thoughts.

“If we are all so terrible, stay in the Sivery camp and stop visiting me.”

‘I can’t,’ formed on Rev’s lips now, dry and cold, but that was only what he should have said then. He should have been truthful, or if not truthful, at least poetic, but instead he felt himself settle into the enfolding embrace, burrow into touch to make plain the lies he was telling.  Or if not lies, what he wanted to be true, and was not.  By the Chosen, was it not.

“It doesn’t matter – here or there.  We are all lost.  Sivery, Baath – well, Baath is worse – but at the end they’re all the same.”  Anik was trying to laugh, at least a little, but this was serious, oh, so very serious underneath it all, and Rev was afraid, Rev was afraid, he might not. “It’s like hell.  In Baath, hell has levels,” he stacked his hands, “so, so, so – that’s wrong.  Sivery’s Hell is true.  Sivery’s Hell is flat plain full of nothing but the wandering dead.”

Sivery’s Hell was also cold. He was shivering.  He strove harder for the feeling of it, the warmth, the softness – but it all was turning cold and hard.  He should have felt the soft warmth of Anik’s thigh here, but it was cold stone, he should have felt the jut of a collarbone here, but it was crumbling dirt, he should have seen the faint yellow glow of the lantern they lit just a moment ago, but it was washing out to a gray dawn...

“It sounds very simple,” Anik was saying, brushing lips over Rev’s ear but Rev couldn’t feel it. He didn’t believe – he never believed things were as bad as Rev said they were.

Well, what did he know?

He knew nothing of Rev, who had told him nothing, and Rev knew nothing gof him, because he asked nothing. It was only by being nothing they were anything, but if he said that, Anik would deny it.  Anik would make something of them; and he could, easily. Rev knew enough of him to know that. He could not be stopped, and why, why would Rev ever want to stop him?  Anik could make them something, no matter what was in the way, and Rev wanted that more than anything, but feared it like mad dogs feared water.  No— they would be nothing, nothing, only nothing, as he was nothing…

Rev floated on the edge of Anik’s fingers, the tip of his tongue, the weight of him made meaningless by that barest touch.  Rev floated, his own words sounding distant, pulling away as did the warmth of the dream.

“It isn’t,” he said to himself.  “It isn’t simple.  Life is complicated when it’s short.”

Rev woke.  In his memory, Anik laughed.  Why did everyone always laugh when he said that?  It was true.

He opened his mouth to breathe and fell into a fit of loud, dry coughing.  The sign of his sickness – the sickness that was going to get him killed, if it didn’t kill him.  He pressed a mittened hand over his mouth and tried to calm it, but ended up curled into a ball, everything from his throat down burning with either fatigue, emptiness, or raw exhaustion. 

The fever had broken; he knew because he had slept, and now he was awake, and he hated it. 

He glanced up at the burnished sky until he stopped coughing, reflecting that it seemed like it was the same sky he had seen just before he fell into fevered hallucinations. Pulling to his heels, he seized his short sword (not his, a dead man's – haha, so his, then?) and rocked himself until it felt as if his limbs would work again, reflecting that it was uncommonly quiet for a battle, if that sky was the same sky, but sometimes battle was like that.  Perhaps that battle was yesterday, and now it was clearly today, and that could mean anything. 

He didn’t stand, but began the painful walking crouch that had marked the last week of his life, and reflected that it might really be the last week of his life.

The only way to really tell would be to ask an officer if he was supposed to be charging to his death right now, but if he asked an officer, the officer would go tell him to do something that would get him killed, so there was no reason to go ask an officer. If he could find one.  It was strange, how they tended to disappear when things got bad.  He stopped, leaning on an interestingly-colored brown-and-gray dirt berm, poking his finger into the soil, and tried to make sense of the stillness for a moment.  If he lollygagged, it was sure to bring out an officer – they were like elves that way – but nothing happened. 

Well, holding still was a good way to get shot, so he started moving again, and tried to remember if there was reason it was so still out here.  Some days ago, it had been because they were waiting (to die).  He was the last scrap of a scrap of a unit made from scraps of the regiment that had been left as scraps for the enemy to pick at while the main army regrouped – or, more likely, retreated completely.  He didn’t actually know.  Nobody told him things like that.  They told him to stand here, and not let any Baathians by, and also dig a pit, and stand in that, and see you in the morning maybe (don’t let any Baathians by). 

They had all known they were going to die; anyone who didn’t was either a fool or planning to desert, which just meant they would die a little more towards the coast when the main army caught them.  They were all, in fact, rather looking forward to dying, because the only other option was worse (that’s when you get the best out of your soldiers, the officers would say.  He sort of hoped they were all dead, although it would honestly be nice to have orders right now). 

They were fighting the Baathians, and Baathians didn’t take prisoners, Baathians took slaves.

Without orders, Rev had nothing to do but his routine.  Running in his crouch, Rev went to the checkpoints that would have been watch stations were anyone there to watch them but corpses.  While he did it, he kept a running stream of curses for the officer who thought up trenches.  He’d prepared the curses back when there were fifty of them busting blisters on their palms digging them.  Briefly, he acknowledged the short period of the first day and a half of the assault, before they had begun to run out of ammunition, in which they’d blessed all forms of earthworks while enemy artillery showered dirt on their heads more often than it obliterated them.

All the corpses were making him nervous.  He was noticing there were not so many alive things where he was.  Some of the fever’s urgency seemed to fill his lungs.  He stopped to push down the corpse of a woman he was sure somehow was still moving, sure her vacant-eyed stare was visible across the field, sure somehow the dead soldier was betraying him to the enemy (the enemy knew, pretty reliably, that behind the earthworks, where all the gunshots were coming from, there were enemy soldiers).  A surge of fear almost brought him to the point of stabbing the corpse, but he was as certain this was a remnant of the hallucinations brought on by his fever, in which an elf inhabited the body and taunted him with the notion of calling to the Baathian troops so they’d come kill him horribly while he was sick.  Also, he didn’t have a bayonet. 

He pushed the body down anyway.

Round and round the trench, cursing and twisting through the dead and the destroyed.  He determined there were no alive things.  The burning in his lungs told him he was maybe not an alive thing.  Or not for much longer.  He was back at the elf corpse, which had had rolled and was now staring at him.  He might have passed it more than once; it was hard to think.

This wasn’t good.

He put his back to the berm and it was as if the cold dirt stung him again.  Why had he had that dream?

He had colder memories, worse dreams.  They were more usual before he thought he might die.  This hurt.  Deep in his body, like a stitch in his soul, and he pretended it was the sickness. 

Really, it was because Those Who Choose had tried to show their favor, demonstrate that he was meant for a glorious death in battle.  The War-Women, Maidens of Battle, attempted to console him for their honoring choice, because it was too painful to know, finally and irreversibly, he would die without having seen Anik again.

Well, it was how he always thought it would be.  As usual, knowing didn’t really help.  Was it not a gift, then, the dream?  He should thank Them.  It had to be Them; like all Their gifts, it was paid for with pain.

Maybe he dozed a little; it was hard to tell.  He opened his eyes to the sky again.  The fact that he could see the sky at all was Bad.  During battle, he only saw smoke. 

He threw himself to his feet again, heart pounding.  Everyone here was dead.  Battle was over.  How long had he been out?  Heat once again fled down from his skull through his bones and he started running the checkpoints again.  His feet hitting the mud – the mud, the still hands and tripping legs of corpses – became a cacophonous horror.  That was not the clean earth into which the glorious dead were buried.  If he fell there, the War-Women would not choose him.  He must die in battle, he must die racing at an enemy. Like, apparently, everyone else in his regiment.

He must finally die.

He was running now, upright, running for the pathway between this trench and the next.  He hadn’t left this place in the last week (was it a week? Earlier he’d thought it was yesterday, so, hard to tell).  His ragged breath and squelching, crumbling steps brought noise, but only noise that made him more aware of the quiet.  Maybe… maybe the Baathians were running out of ammunition, too.  In Baath.  Sure. Or maybe it wasn’t worth it to shoot what remained.  A sharp memory, saved from the fever, struck him, and he knew they only held out so long (how long, though?) because the Sivery that were left made them pay for their avarice, laid traps of black powder and shaved spears of beams and spokes and saved final bullets.

That’s why it was Rev, Rev’s people – they were not just soldiers, but grenadiers, and his unit were Psi Dziwonovi, and they didn’t die easy. They had been told to hold off the armies of Baath, so Baath would go no further while they lived. 

The path was exposed, but he had heard no shots.  He leapt up and over as if he had heard thousands.

This berm had a deeper trench behind it (cowards – or smart people – or just not as lazy – either way). He stumbled down the sloped dirt and briefly blessed that maybe the cowards lived.  Shaking knees almost brought him down, and he he pressed a hand to his stomach, aware now that the blood rushing to his head was full of the weakness of hunger.  If he did not keep moving it would make him faint, or sit, or both, and if he did either, he wouldn’t get up.

How fucking long had he been sick?  Panic could only take him so far, and his moments of clear thought were more troubling than helpful.  He needed Those Who Choose to bless him again, and reached for it as if he could seize his own heart in his chest to make it beat.  A wash of cold from the core of his body threatened to drop him to the dirt as he moved, only to be swept aside by a gratifying warmth.

It was warm, deeply warm, in air the color of blood.  Half of him ran through the trench, arms brushing dirt off the walls.  He no longer coughed, but laughed, loud and calling.

The other half lay calm, motionless, trapped in a moment of heat so close he couldn’t breathe, because there was no time on either side in which he might fill his lungs.  A crystalline memory, etched in hot glass.

They screamed through the sky, They Who Choose, and waited to see what he, one lone Sivernisat, would do.  They waited! They would wait all damn day for him! He was hallucinating gloriously and he wished the rest of his sickness had had the decency to be so rewarding.

In real life, he turned the corner of the little square trench, chanting honor to the Battle Maidens, and saw a block of standing bodies – alive things.

In his dream – the real dream, not the hallucination-dream with the real things in it – it was as if he’d never left; there was Anik, all around him, and the still and joyous night, the light of the flame, beyond all reason, completely still. 

Switching his sword from one hand to another, he brought it up, the thump of his heartbeat itself now the prayer for death, the greeting of the gods.  They hadn’t seen him, but in the very moment he thought so, they did. Surprise ruined, he charged.

He felt Anik’s breath against the back of his neck, though nothing moved.  It was still as a painting.  It was not real, but he curled up in it.

They did not get weapons up fast enough.  None of them had pistols in hand – not even cartridge belts.  Rev could take down one, maybe, before the other two got out of the way to get room for a counter-attack.  That was only if the fourth continued to do nothing, as she had the most space to move.  There wasn’t space for Rev to slash, which was what his blade was meant for, but it had a decent stabbing point, and if he threw himself behind, his whole weight was too much to stop.  In the seconds of his approach, he saw the whole of it play out to his death, where, panicked, they would run him through.

This is not the end, eh? Never the end – as long as you live, never the end.  

He promised to live, and then he said, “I’ll find you,” and Rev wasn’t sure that was any better of a lie. 

Well – dreams hot and dreams cold – in the end they were both wrong!  Both failed him, then and now.

Now he was laughing and crying, because he – or half of him – would get to die in this dream.  The other half recognized that he was riotously hallucinating at possibly the worst moment ever. 

The two Baathians didn’t get out of the way, but moved in.  He drove towards the third, the one in the middle, but that man backpedaled furiously, nearly tripping over the fourth in his haste to get clear.  Arms crossed Rev’s chest; the tip of his sword slid fruitlessly to the slide, making a great, bloodless gouge in the leather breastplate of the third. 

The two to either side crushed in, leaving him no space to maneuver his sword, which the third then beat against the wall with his own.  The impact was enough to shake the weapon from Rev’s weak grip.  A hand fisted in the hair at the back of his head, an in the close confines of the trench, they dragged him bodily to the ground. The third pounced on his legs as soon as they had him on his back, while the fourth picked up his sword and started to evaluate its workmanship.  (Ha! It was shit, terrible spoils – fuck her anyway).

The ones to his sides sat on his shoulders, and the one on the right put a hand over his mouth, all the while painfully wedging a knee under Rev’s back, so they could force his arms behind him.  The one on the left pulled a ready-made leather thong, just one of many, from his belt and cinched his cramped wrists together.

The fourth one decided his sword was acceptable to take (fine, she could have the bits it’d fetch, the bastard) and moved back to looting the bodies of others.  Rev stared, thrashing and fighting, as they went about their work with practiced ease.  Though Rev wasn’t shouting – just laughing hysterically – they rustled up a cloth to stuff in his mouth, then exchanged relieved chuckles and some Baathian words. By now, Rev’s dream-half had woken, and could reflect on the oddity of the way his hallucinations of glory and winged horses continued despite all this. 

The two to either side pulled him to his feet, which left him lightheaded, then divested him of anything they thought he might use and anything that they wanted.  Stripped signs of rank (he had none, assholes), pulled off anything, whether clothing or simple adornment, that wasn’t necessary, like thieves would strip jewelry of its gems.  The third and fourth exchanged a glance, then the stepped forward and crammed a hand down his pants, perhaps to see if he was a eunuch (who knew what Baathians expected – anyway, he wasn’t).  Stepping back, the fourth raised her shoulders, nodding, which seemed a little ambivalent to Rev, even in his fevered state, for a complete set of – in his opinion – rather nice man-parts. 

It had all been terribly easy, of course – and fast – and once it was over everything seemed to leave him.  Almost fainting, his knees collapsed him further into the Baathians’ arms cradling his elbows.  He took the moment to try to flee – find that part of him in the dream, stay with it, bring it forward – but this time he couldn’t find it.  It was there, but the part of him that wasn’t wholly consumed by sickness, the soldier part, that he’d worked so hard to train into doing just this sort of thing, kept him focused on what was going on, cataloguing it, marking details, behaviors, keeping him awake to danger.  As if he could anything about it.  That part was an asshole.

But the dream had fled, and now, but for weird auras of red and purple and white, lingering after things moved, he no longer hallucinated. 

Rev’s sickness, lucklessly, had kept him from great harm for the last few days, meaning he was fit. He would remember this later, when they were leaving the trenches, when he saw similarly stripped Sivery soldiers laying against the walls with their throats slit.  An uncommonly peaceful death for war.

It would stay, too, in his memory, the precise order of it: a short exchange of phrases, one seizing him firmly by the jaw with one hand while the other’s fist closed over the bangles in his ears, the sign of Sivery at war.  A couple more curt phrases, an evaluative shrug – he would think, damnation, are they that cheap? And of how much it would hurt to have the holes torn – but he’d forget to think it when the one holding his chin fixed him with that frank, estimating gaze, eye to eye.

They left the earrings in, and only then did one of them stuff a hand into pants.

It all made sense, later, when he was slightly less mad.  It was then he should have known – predicted... well, known, but he was still seeing the shadows of flying horses at that point.

Two stayed, two escorted him through the conquered trenches, out into the open, where the search for injured soldiers and corpses to loot was slowly beginning.  He stumbled along between the two Baathian soldiers, who kept their silence but for stray comments to each other, and thought about throwing himself in a trench, any trench.  His thoughts of the unfitness of that dirt for burial faded as he shivered with fearful exposure, the openness of the flat earth grown unfamiliar in so short a time. 

He didn’t do it.  He didn’t know why he didn’t do it.  Weirdly, he no longer felt as if he were dying. He felt better.  It had been hard to walk – now it wasn’t.  It had been hard to think – well, and it still was, but now he didn’t have to.  Maybe because the officers were back, for all that they were Baathian.  No more dreams prompted, stabbed or soothed him.  No more rhythms spoke from his blood.  He was alone, and alive.  Again, and still.  At least he was no longer among the dead.

He realized that he kept expecting himself to pass out.  Now was the time for dreams; now he could use it.  What did he need to see this for?  Why did he need to watch the fire, heating the brand?  Why did standing make him want to fall but the screaming pain of branding leave him loosely awake.  Why did he get to mark it all, with a fighter’s eye for detail and the body’s talent for remembering the way things felt. 

They should have blindfolded him, to keep it secret.  They should have knocked him out, to stop his weak jerking and flailing.  The dream should have come down and swept him into death, whether a glorious one in battle or the simple giving out his heart. None of that happened. 

He didn’t want to see the pulled ears, the miserable stripped, the huddled angry and ashamed and yet still alive, wondering why the lack of battle made death suddenly strange and frightful.  He didn’t want to be among them (and he wasn’t quite, but he didn’t know that then, and he would wish otherwise later).  He waited and waited for the moment when he would surrender to the dark and simply wake up enslaved, when he would have neither sight nor choice.  He wished for even a waking blankness, like a man deafened by cannon shot and not yet realizing he wasn’t dazed but would never hear again – anything that would make him not walking towards this.  Even his sickness abandoned him (he would be well, in a day or two).  Darkness ought to come, as death should have. 

Both failed him there, too.

Chapter Two

[spitfirerose]

RWBY OC: Gwenna Hearthspring

Member #3 of SUGR. “G” has changed a ton since the start of the team idea.

Gwenna Hearthspring: A seventeen year old female and sole human of the team. Gwenna is quite shy and timid at first, complying to whatever anyone says and tries not to be a burden to others. She’s enrolled at Beacon to be a Huntress, but is poor at combat. It’s hinted that she was accepted because of the Headmaster (like Ruby was), but she doesn’t know why. Gwenna uses twin tonfa that double as guns, utilizing different dust clips located on the back of her belt. Her semblance is dubbed the ‘Maiden’s Eye’, an ability that allows her to hit her target even if it has moved since firing. She can manipulate the bullet’s path with her eyes, but this can backfire if she looks at a teammate whilst using it.

Ironically, she is a Maiden, too.

Gwenna was born in a small village, her mother a Huntress and father a gardener. There were always flowers around. Things were always so nice.

But then the Grimm happened, and that wasn’t very nice. She doesn’t remember much after that, and was taken in at a nearby town’s Orphanage, known as the very shy and quiet girl who was fixated with flowers, as that’s all she really can remember of home. Little Gwenna tended to wander off, wanting to go back home though she didn’t know where it was. Time after time, she’s harshly told that the village is gone, and if she keeps acting like she is, that no one will adopt her.

Hana, the current Spring Maiden, and young Ardilla arrive at the town, here to help however they can before passing through, requesting that for their safety, that no one mention them. Hana reminds Gwenna of home, and of her mother by how kind she is. Like Ardi, the Spring Maiden sees potential in her, and so she asks the pure soul if she wishes to leave this place.

She does. The Orphanage easily forgets her face.

They reach the ruins of Gwenna’s home village next, and while she doesn’t find the remains of her parents, she does come across her mother’s weapons, the twin tonfa. Hana promises that she’ll teach her how to use them when she gets older, if she so wishes. Ardi is trusted to look after their newest member as Hana summons flowers for unmarked graves as a sort of Sending to the lost souls.

Along the way, they all bond with one another, and Hana asks them what they would do with great power. They’d use it to protect each other and be kind, and Hana foreshadows that she wishes she could see it. Because she knows she won’t. They’re being tracked by Salem’s minions, and their time together is running short. They’ve been together for about a year, Ardi a month longer. The girls get along pretty well, with Ardilla being the more adventurous and chatty, and Gwenna shyly hiding behind her. They’re like sisters.

The trio travels throughout Remnant. They reach ‘Mother Goose’s Tales’, a traveling theater of performers that strive to bring light to a dark world. The Maidens’ Tale is their most popular story. Hana, ironically, played the role of Spring, and was the best. Analise, Annie, a dashing rabbit faunus, runs the troupe, and calls Hana ‘Rosie’. They have history. Hana requests that Annie look after the girls, as she has business to attend to, and she won’t be returning. Annie calls her out that she can’t do this, just showing up only to leave again.

Hana leaves in the middle of the night, and Gwenna follows her. She worries because Hana leaves her bag behind. Gwenna takes both hers and Hana’s.

Hana confronts those that have been tracking them all this time. She knew they were close by, and it’s now that she deals with them. The two children, those she has chosen as her successors, are safe with the troupe that will be moving come morning. The Spring Maiden will hold these monsters off and hold nothing back.

Except Gwenna is there, hiding beneath brush and witnessing this go down. Hana is pinned beneath one of them, and it’s then that she sees her. Gwenna’s name is shrieked, a warning for the girl to run.

Hana is slain in that next second.

Gwenna’s gifted her powers, being her last thoughts.

She screams with grief, and everything is consumed by furious mother nature. All that Deus Ex Machina goodness. Stricken with loss and fear, Gwenna is too afraid to go back to the Troupe because she thinks this all her fault. She pulls a Simba, hearing voices in her head telling her to run.

Hana’s body turns into a mass of flowers. Roses.

Since no one knows that Hana was killed, Salem probably just thinks her minions fucked up. Gwenna is safe, for the moment, and continues running away and hiding, afraid of her new power that she suppresses. She survives off of what rations were in the bags, and fumbles to use her mother's weapons. She's saved a lot by passing Hunters and Huntresses, and is reminded of Hana saying to protect others. She knows she's not strong enough, and so she goes to Beacon. Completely inexperienced and totally unqualified, she performs terribly at registration. The lowest of low scores, and makes a fool of herself despite trying her best.

Ozpin knows what she is, because he knows everything, and has her accepted into the school regardless, much to Glynda's disapproval. Gwenna is quite literally launched in. It's not until much, much later does Oz explain why he let her in, and that he knows she’s a Maiden--which she didn’t even really know, because no one bothered to fill her in on where her power came from. Like literally almost two school years? Ozpin, the fuck. It’s like you just threw this plotline in last second. And even then, she’s told that she’s getting transferred to Atlas, as bad guys are afoot in the school and it’s no longer safe for her here. Gwenna begs to stay until the Festival is over, as she doesn’t want to leave her team just yet, can’t bring herself to say goodbye. He allows this, warning that the longer she takes, the harder it will become to leave. She can’t tell them why she has to go, or her secret identity. Then Ardilla shows up, and things get more complicated.

But that’s all future stuff. Back to Team Building.

After recovering from her landing strategy, or rather lack thereof, Gwenna comes across Renari. He is immediately unimpressed, and completely abandons her seconds later, as it’s clear she can’t do jack against a few meager Beowolves. Suddenly alone, she uses a tree to hide behind when Sven comes to the rescue, taking out the Grimm with ease. He knows she’s there with his faunus hearing, and says that it’s safe to come out now. Gwenna comments that he’s strong, and now that they’ve made eye contact, he acknowledges that they’re partners now, yes? Her previous partner of five seconds has abandoned her, so she nods in agreement, feeling more at ease with him than that mean guy. Being the Maiden of Spring, the forest and its flowers whisper to her where the goal is, and so she uses this to guide them. He just thinks she’s really good with directions, and trusts her completely, boosting her poor confidence.

They make for a good pair, and to her worry, is paired back up with Renari and a very bubbly, excitable girl. The fox is incredibly mean to her, whereas Una is superbly nice.

When they train as a team, Renari belittles her, scoffing at her incompetence and that she shouldn’t be here. Her existence generally pisses him off, even though she is kind and tries too much to be helpful. It’s not that he hates her personally, but rather that she is at an Academy to be a Huntress, but can’t even do the basics or knows anything at all. Una defends her, as he’s being really mean to her regardless if she...isn’t as good a fighter. There’s an incident in a training simulation that reminds her of Hana’s last moments, and Gwenna straight up panics and flees the room. Renari has had enough and lets it be known, and Sven informs him that he’s just as bad. He’s not helping at all. Teammates help another, and he’s been nothing but an ass to this girl.

Sven finds her and has her breath to calm down. Her immediate words are that she’s sorry about what happened, as Una had been in peril, to which he replies that she’ll be okay. He’s here for her. She wants to be here, wants to be a Huntress, but never learned how to use her weapons, and she can’t talk much about her past without crying again. So. Sven chooses to focus on that, offering to teach her how to use the tonfa guns.

With the much needed one-on-one time, Gwenna learns. Her semblance kicks in, and she’s actually a pretty good shot. If she can see her target, she can hit it. Also her teammates if she gets distracted and they end up in her vision. It requires concentration and lots of breathing to keep calm and focused. Gwenna also picks up on self-defense, able to defend some attacks with the tonfa. If Sven is unavailable, Renari takes over training. It’s good practice for her, as he can mimic about any weapon, adding to her range of how to deflect attacks. Though he’s not about to give up his grumpiness, he does admit that she’s improved. He’s not as much of an ass.

Misc. Facts: Una uses Gwenna to win prizes at the Festival. Anything involving shooting a moving target. Gwenna does a lot of shopping for supplies on her own, as she doesn’t want to be a bother to the others. She has frequent nightmares about Hana and those minions finding her. Flowers always perk up around her, reading her moods. Ren is lowkey jealous that the plants in her room are livelier than his. Conveniently, her eyes flash green when no one is looking, and she panics whenever someone mentions them, though they’re referring to her semblance. They’re violet! Always have been! During the Festival, she had recorded messages for her team and Ardi on her scroll, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye directly. However, Beacon falls and they find her scroll, but no Gwenna. Where has she gone?