#and celica’s not above doing that at the point of a sword! she goes out of her way to storm grieth’s citadel after all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nevervalentines · 4 years

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(went looking for) a creation myth [read on ao3 here]

With the Vytal Festival just weeks away, Yang is left looking for answers to questions she is too scared to ask.

***

Yang and Blake, before.

[7k words of a speed run enemies-to-lovers, roughhousing with bladed weapons, and sexually charged hair washing]

Blood is seeping through the fabric of her top, and her tan jacket is gritty with dust. It’s enough to staunch the tacky, rust-colored stain, but only just, and the cut stings with sweat and friction as Yang raises her forearm to run it across her brow.

She slicks her bangs out of her eyes, and reloads her gauntlets with a tight punch at her side, bracing her arms for the recoil as the shells drop into their chambers. Ember Celica is overloud in the sudden quiet of the clearing. Moss-dampened and studded with new spring growth, Emerald Forest is surprisingly silent, as if Yang hadn’t been booking it for her fucking life thirty seconds before.

Then, just there, through the trees – she sees it. Yang’s heart drops, and she risks a step forward, eyes scanning the mulchy cover of dead leaves and underbrush for a trip wire. There’s the potential for anything, from a steel-jawed bear trap to a cartoon-esque snare and net. She really wouldn’t put it past them.

She sees nothing and raises her eyes to scan the trees, finds only the pale underside of the arcing canopy and the gnarl of tangled vines. Grinning, she feels an early flush of victory, a rush of satisfaction that pounds like a second heartbeat. She might actually win this thing; the others be damned.

Bleeding side forgotten, fists held loosely at the ready, she is about to take the final steps toward her target when the metallic click of a safety releasing freezes her in place. Yang winces her eyes closed, breathes out shakily. She feels the mouth of a pistol nuzzle in between her shoulder blades.

Yang knows who it is without turning around. Which is to say: the worst-case scenario. She swallows, hard.

“You don’t want to do this,” she says. At a firmer nudge of the gun against her back, she raises her hands, obedient. “You can just pretend like I was never here.”

“And why would I do that?”

She turns slowly in place, arms still raised above her head, and finds herself face to face with her captor, finds narrowed, golden eyes, Gambol Shroud pointed squarely at her chest. Blake is wrinkling her nose in the way that means she’s biting back a laugh.

“Because you love me?”

Blake bites at her lip, considers. Shrugs. “Maybe. But not enough to let you take our flag.”

“I was so close,” Yang whines. She pivots her head over her shoulder, pouts in the direction of the blue fabric hanging from a flagpole just a few yards away.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Blake says, stepping closer, until the heat of her thigh presses against Yang’s, “you really weren’t. Pyrrha’s had you in her sights since you crossed the creek.”

“Have you considered,” Yang says, flattening her hands against the back of her head in a way that she knows pushes her chest out, in a way that, without fail, means Blake’s eyes will flick down to her cleavage, “that I was just a distraction?”

Blake hesitates for just a second, but it’s a beat too long, and Yang lashes out her leg, timing the strike perfectly with Weiss’s rush from the trees on the far side of the clearing, darting from glyph to glyph, a lightning-crackling Nora close on her heels.

Yang and Blake go down in an undignified heap, and Pyrrha’s shot spears the space she was in just moments before.

The scramble at the base of the flagpole dissolves into an all-out brawl. A petal-blurred Ruby drops from a tree and gamely tackles Weiss, and her subsequent shrill scream makes an entire flock of birds flee their roost from the above canopy.

More players from both teams race into the clearing, skidding through dead leaves and debris, pant legs flecked with creek water and mud, more roughed up than a 50-minute long, single class period game of capture the flag has any right to make them.

From her spot on the ground, the sky wheeling overhead, Yang distantly hopes some people stayed behind to guard their own flag, but the odds aren’t looking good.

At the edge of the tree line, Juane trips one of the exact traps Yang had been wary of, something rigged so quickly and neatly it has to be Ruby’s handiwork, and it hoists him overhead by his ankle. He dangles, looking resigned, sword sliding out of its scabbard and thunking Cardin squarely on the top of his head.

Cardin goes down like a brick.

Juane cheers.

They’re on the same team, but no one seems to remember the red/blue delineations at this point. The flag all but forgotten, Weiss and Nora are facing off against an odd match-up of Ruby and Ren, and Yang tries to clamber off the ground, ready to provide back-up.

But in the split seconds it had taken the feverish mob to descend, Blake has twisted on top of her, and is driving the hilt of Gambol Shroud down towards Yang’s face. Breathing hard, knees hugged tightly at Yang’s waist, she’s all lithe and muscle – completely unlike close quarter sparring with Ruby.

Yang catches her wrists and squeezes, and Blake drops the blade and scabbard, until the two of them are grappling like teenagers, pressed too tight for Yang to feasibly use her gauntlets, just adrenaline-flushed and tangled limbs, Blake’s eyes flashing, mouth open in an unexpected grin.

“If you wanted to wrestle,” Yang says, twisting on her back in the dirt. “We’ve got beds back at the dorm.”

Blake cuts her off with a forearm to her windpipe, presses down. “I want to do it here.”

Yang knows Blake can be playful – has seen her gloat after a long-fought evening of board games, or loopy with lack of sleep after a few too many all-nighters, pulling dry jokes that make Weiss cringe.

But this – the full weight of her levered onto Yang’s chest, bursting into a laugh as Yang’s hips jump, hands and legs meeting in a mishap of strikes and punches that would make Glynda weep – feels so young. It’s like the tether that tugs at Blake, forces her eyes over her shoulder, knots her brow with worry, has been cut free. Like just for a moment, just for now, it’s only the two of them tangled in the sun-dappled clearing.

They manage to roll to their feet, and Yang shakes her hair out of her face, cocks her fists loosely in front of her chin. Gestures Blake forward.

“Let’s see how nicely you play without your toys, Belladonna.”

Blake’s mouth pulls tight, and she drops into a crouch, leaving Gambol Shroud half-buried in the leaves.

Despite the weight of it, Yang barely remembers Ember Celica exists. It’s been an extension of her own body since her first years at Signal, but suddenly she’s much more preoccupied with how to best get both of Blake’s hands back on her.

“Yang,” Blake says. She flashes teeth. “Stop stalling.”

Behind them, Ruby and Ren are gamely losing, and Pyrrha melts out of the trees, cutting Juane down from the branch with a smile and a well-placed spear throw, catching him before he can hit the ground. All the partners had been split onto opposing teams, but Pyrrha leverages him gently to his feet anyway, backing up a few steps before gesturing for him to challenge.

Cheek smushed into the forest floor, Cardin has begun to drool.

With the full weight of Blake’s attention on her, Yang feels that same second-heartbeat-flush, better than any almost-victory. It’s a feeling she has been careful not to examine too closely for fear of what she will find.

They’ve been partners now for almost two full semesters, and she’s spent too much of it avoiding stating the obvious – avoiding the thing building in between them as if averted eyes will stop the pot from boiling over.

The few slip ups she chalks up to chance, to hormones, to a laundry list of excuses that Blake’s own silence seems to affirm.

It’s working, she tells herself. It’s working, it’s working.

Hair a tousled ripple down her back, Blake’s black cravat had dislodged at some point during the game, leaving her neck bare, skin shining with sweat, glistening in the hollow of her throat. She flicks her bangs out of her eyes and tenses under Yang’s gaze, firming her jaw until the muscle pops, half-smiles.

If Yang didn’t know any better, she would think Blake is enjoying this.

Blake moves on the offensive first, and it catches Yang off-guard, forcing her to step back to dodge a flurry of quick jabs before taking a fist squarely to the jaw. Blake flinches harder than Yang when she lands the hit, immediately backing off.

“It’s okay,” Yang murmurs. Her aura absorbs the punch, and she can feel her semblance simmer, heat lighting under her skin like the kiss of a match against a gas burner. “You can even go harder next time.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but acquiesces.

Even sparring, Blake is careful not to touch her hair – and part of Yang wants to tell her to stop taking it easy, to grab it, pull it. She wants to know what it feels like when Blake plays dirty.

Inevitably, always, Yang comes out on top, breathing hard, the both of them breathless with laughter – unsure what to do with her victory. She knows both of their aura levels are sinking, and Ruby – all but fleeing from Weiss across the clearing – has dropped dangerously low.

When a shrill whistle interrupts the scramble – the flag still dangling untouched, she and Blake immediately deflate, the fight going out of them as easy as it came. Yang heaves a noise of exasperation, drops her forehead onto Blake’s chest. When she lifts her head, Blake’s arms have wrapped loosely around her back.

“Call it a draw?” Yang says, digs her chin hard into Blake’s sternum. “I pretty much had you.”

“Nice try,” Blake says. Her words reverberate in her chest, and Yang feels every moment of their conception, the slight intake of breath into her lungs, the buzz of them as they carry through her throat.

Professor Port’s voice is like a bucket of cold water. He’s standing at the edge of the wood, brandishing a silver whistle, looking at them with ill-disguised exasperation.

“Class,” he says, “I believe the directive was to steal the other team’s flag, not to scrap like children on a playground.”

“Who won?” Weiss pipes up. She’s scraping her hair back into a neat ponytail, standing over a prone Ruby who must have fallen, and has wisely chosen to stay down.

“Everyone lost,” Port says, cheerily. “Back to the school. After that display, I don’t trust you all out here after dark.”

Despite the game’s failure, he seems in good spirits, clapping Juane on the back, and chiding Pyrrha about helping the opposing team mid competition. As punishment, Juane is saddled with Cardin, likely concussed, and directed to help him back to the infirmary.

Hauling herself off the ground, brushing clinging soil off of elbows, picking leaves out of her hair, Yang reaches for Gambol Shroud without thinking. It’s half-submerged in the close-knit groundcover, and she untangles it from curling tendrils of green, robotically sheathing the blade back into the blunt scabbard.

Only after, does she freeze, halfway to her feet. It’s an unspoken taboo to handle other huntresses’ weapons, certainly not without express permission, and here she had done it so casually, tactless.

But Blake, one arm stretched over her head, shoulder muscles rippling, doesn’t bat an eye. She accepts it from Yang gratefully, fingers brushing as it passes between them. She slings it over her back, and reaches toward Yang, pulls a twig free of her hair.

Wordless, they head toward the group, Yang trying to gauge if she’s going to have to piggy-back Ruby to the dorm room. Still lying prone, Weiss is poking at her with the toe of a boot.

It’s only then, so brief she almost misses it, that Blake reaches between them, brushes her fingers over the cuff of Ember Celica. It feels like the answer to a question Yang hadn’t known how to ask, and the last of the fight, the tension she didn’t know she was carrying, coiling at the top of her spine, ebbs entirely.

They fall into step easily, automatically, and together reach down to help Ruby off the ground. Like a top-heavy punching bag, Ruby lists once she’s on her feet, limbs weighted with exhaustion.

Though Yang reaches out, it’s Blake who steadies her, one hand brushing Ruby’s bangs out of her eyes.

“Reunited at last,” Yang says, laughs at Weiss’s pinched expression. “Can’t believe that game had the audacity to tear us in two.”

“Shut up,” Weiss grumbles, but she’s smiling, and half-heartedly accepts Yang’s high-five. Yang bullies them into a bear hug before they join the others, an eight-legged jumble of girl-sweat and protesting laughter, leaning so hard on one another that when they begin to fall, they topple in turn, like dominoes.

***

After Port’s dismissal, they troop back to the Beacon dorms leisurely. They have an hour of free period before dinner, and no one in seems to be in any rush to get to the dining hall, content to nurse bruises and grievances, ribbing each other good naturedly, flags forgotten.

Ren is quietly chastising Nora about what looks suspiciously like a human bite mark wetting the sleeve of his tunic, and Juane brings up the rear of the group, quietly sulking, a blessedly out-of-it Cardin’s arm slung over his shoulder.

The wooded forest bleeds into a scrubby grassland, and they wade through waist-high wheatgrass as the spires of Beacon come into view, dodging prickly burs and seedpods that cling stubbornly to their socks and hemlines.

Yang presses her palm to her side. It comes away tacky with old blood, and she grimaces. Her aura had strained to heal it, skin stitching together to staunch the flow, but the last of the fight had drained her reserves, and it reopened easily in the struggle. Catching the movement out of the corner of her eye, Blake grabs for Yang’s hand, frowns down at her skin like a disgruntled palm reader.

“How did that happen?”

What she doesn’t say, plainly written on the landscape of her face in a language Yang is just learning to read is: is that from me?

“My own fault, actually,” Yang says. “We really don’t need to get into it.”

She ignores the stinging pain in favor of Blake’s fingers, stroking carefully over the dips of her knuckles.

“She fell out of a tree early in the strategizing process,” Weiss says. She’s snuck up on them, appearing at Yang’s elbow, face drawn with disdain. Her voice lilts, obviously mocking. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Weiss. I’m just getting the lay of the land, Weiss. Those branches aren’t too thin, Weiss.” She sniffs. “You could have broken your neck.”

“See,” Yang says, slinging an arm around Weiss’s shoulder, pulling her against her side, “she does care.”

“I didn’t say it would be a bad thing,” she says. But Yang doesn’t miss the way she turns her face into her casual embrace, her hand coming up to tug at the back of Yang’s jacket affectionately, clumsy, like it’s an action she’s unfamiliar with.

Blake smiles, ducks her chin. “Don’t say that. I like having her around.”

Yang quiets her internal rejoicing to a silent cheer. She feels, helplessly, like a child picking petals from a wilting stem. She loves me. She loves me not.

She beams, bumping her shoulder against Blake’s. “From Blake, that’s practically a marriage proposal.”

Cheeks flushing, Blake tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, looks away. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Who’s getting married?” This from Ruby, fending off an assault from Weiss who is trying to pat down a stubborn cowlick in the tangled mess of her hair.

“No one,” says Weiss. “You need a haircut.”

“Me and Blake,” Yang says, cheerfully. “She was the one to propose and everything, it was super embarrassing.”

“Congrats,” Ruby says, batting at Weiss’s hands.

“Long time coming, really,” Yang says. She smiles at Blake. “I’m picturing a summer wedding.”

Blake rolls her eyes, but smiles. A rare one, with teeth. Yang almost stops walking, just to take it in.

Clearly over their antics, Weiss lengthens her stride to catch up with Pyrrha, Ruby trailing behind.

It leaves Blake and Yang alone, shoulder to shoulder, picking their away along the muddy, tire-rutted path that meanders toward the eastern portion of the Beacon grounds. In the distance, the colorful, striped tents of the Vytal Festival fairgrounds are just visible, the encampment half-pitched in preparation for the festival, mere weeks away.

The skeleton of a mostly-assembled Ferris Wheel crests over the treetops, like the pale, bleached bones of a Goliath, its mechanical frame at odds with the verdant landscape.

“Excited?” Yang asks. She bumps her shoulder against Blake’s, jerks her chin toward the pennants lethargically drooping in the stagnant spring heat.

“Hardly,” Blake says. She peeks at Yang out of the corner of her eye. “The tournament might be interesting, at least.”

“All the people, the spectacle, the fried festival food,” Yang reels off, ticking up her fingers, “it sounds like your –”

“—worst nightmare,” Blake says.

Yang laughs. “Maybe so, but,” she shrugs, “meeting new people, smashing their faces in, it’s the huntress way.”

“Now that,” Blake says, “I can get behind.”

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be trying to engage Pyrrha in an in-depth analysis of the capture of flag bout, looking seconds away from pulling out a notebook and taking notes on every one of Pyrrha’s absentminded observations.

“This is painful to watch,” Yang says, gleefully. “If Pyrrha touches her, she’s going to –”

Pyrrha sets a hand at the small of Weiss’s back, guides her around a rock pitting the dirt path.

“Oh, there it is,” Blake says. She’s actually biting her lower lip to hold in laughter, eyes squinting with mirth. “Someone check the girl’s pulse.”

Like this, sun-lit and flushed, wearing her in-on-the-joke smile, Blake is radiant. She’s a little roughed up from the fight, ribbon a dark, striped wreath around her forearms, her top mud-streaked, the single button of her vest undone.

Yang is enamored. She offers her an arm to use as a crutch, and Blake leans into, buries a laugh in her shoulder.

Ahead of them, Weiss seems to be staggering her way through a conversation about semblances, ponytail swishing. She only comes up to Pyrrha’s shoulder, and when Pyrrha pauses, blithely rubbing at a scrape of dirt on Weiss’s cheeks. Yang can see Weiss’s face blush and burn, even from ten feet away.

Ruby, lagging a few steps behind, looks chuffed to be the most intelligible person in the vicinity.

“Why don’t you look at me like that?” Yang murmurs. They’re winding their way through a spindly grove of peach trees, the last surviving vestiges of the orchards that used to grow on Beacon’s loamy, river-rich soil.

Unkept, the trunks fork and spur, rough bark splitting like over-risen bread, papering off in grey-brown patches. This early in the season, the fruit is small and green, but Blake pauses under the heavy boughs anyway, tilts her face upward.

“What?” she says, studying the waxy, canoe-shaped leaves, veins bleeding from the midrib in furrows. “Like I’m going into cardiac arrest?”

“No,” Yang says, teeth parting around a laugh, “like you adore me.”

Blake gestures Yang forward, touches a palm to her cheek, guides Yang to look up to the branches above where, inexplicably, Blake has spotted a single ripe peach.

Without needing to be asked, Yang knits her fingers at her belt buckle like a basket, offers it to Blake who leverages herself up to grasp a branch, just high enough to pluck the peach from the stem. She lands lightly on her feet, offers it first to Yang, who cups the fuzzed, sunrise-bodied fruit in her palms.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” Blake says.

Reaching out, she lifts Yang’s hands, brings the peach to her own mouth, and takes a bite. Juice dribbles from her lips, wets Yang’s knuckles, the vessel of her palm. Blake does not meet her eyes.

A world away, the dinner bell clangs on campus, and the sound reaches them across the grounds. From just ahead, Ruby yells for them to catch up.

Yang’s sweating again by the time they enter the Beacon courtyard, the sun creeping west across the sky. Already, the moon, in fragments, hangs low over the horizon like a coin toss, illusory and half-spun. Heat shimmers off the gray cobblestones, a sun-stoked haze that blurs the geometry of fountains to a mirage, and she wriggles out of her jacket, stripping down to her orange tank, hissing when the rotation of her shoulder pulls at her side.

Blake looks at her, and immediately cuts her eyes away. Looks back, lingers. She has an affinity for Yang’s freckled shoulders, has said as much, and Yang exposes them around her as much as possible.

Between them, Blake’s fingers brush the back of Yang’s hand. She thinks, for a moment, that Blake might take her hand in her own, and the idea alone leaves her with a wanting so keen it embarrasses her.

It’s compulsive, chemical, that Blake’s presence pulls her attention like gravity.

A touch curls at the inside of her elbow, and Blake tugs Yang gently toward her, sidestepping a water feature that looms, overlarge and obvious.

“You were about to walk into a fountain,” Blake murmurs. One of the loops of her bow flicks, a smile ghosts the corner of her lips.

Yang jerks her chin up, begins to apologize, and Blake shakes her head. “As fun as that might have been, I don’t want to miss dinner because I’m drying you off.”

“I think I could have handled it on my own,” Yang says, leans into Blake’s touch.

“What kind of betrothed would I be,” Blake says, releasing her elbow and moving toward the mouth of the dining hall, “if I left you wet and alone in your time of need?” She only spares Yang a glance before stepping out of the final slash of the sunlight, into the shadow of the doorway.

Frozen, Yang roots herself into the flagstone – tries to parse apart if Blake could have possibly intended that as – if she would have ever said something so – and no, right? No.

“Blake – ” she says, helpless. But Blake is already disappearing inside with a light laugh, leaving Yang to flounder in her wake.

In the early evening sun, buffered by classmates on either side, Yang stares after her, desperately trying to do the math, imagines petals shedding like snowfall.

It’s Blake who offers, which surprises each of them, but most of all Yang.

They’re scattered around the dorm room after dinner and a short stint in the library, Weiss pulling her pajama top over her head, Ruby dangling upside down from the top bunk, while Blake smooths a bandage over Yang’s ribs.

In just a sports bra, sitting on the edge of her desk, Blake’s hands trailing over her side, Yang feels like she’s lost control of the situation. Blake mistakes her shuddering breath for pain, and winces in sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” She presses down the adhesive of the bandage with her finger gingerly, nails skirting the rungs of Yang’s ribs, prodding the skin as she checks for inflammation. “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“All good,” Yang says, strained. She’s trying to decide if flexing her arms, like, only a little bit, is going to be a dead giveaway. “Take your time, really.”

Across the room, Weiss scoffs. Yang tries to pin her with a glare, but Weiss evades, busies herself tidying her discarded clothes from the day. Weiss must be the only person in the world who folds her shirts before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper. It causes Ruby endless amusement, and she swivels her head to watch.

Blake’s hands are cool, and Yang can smell the citrus-perfume of her soap, the soft cotton of her t-shirt rubbing against Yang’s bare shoulder as she leans closer to survey her handiwork.

“I think you’re going to live,” she says. She meets Yang’s eyes glancingly before her gaze drops down, hovers somewhere around Yang’s mouth.

Ruby clambers from the top bunk and comes up on her feet, shaking her hair out of her eyes. Weightless with static from the thick, wool blankets, it frizzes and wisps, too short for a ponytail, and too long to do anything but make her look like a disgruntled miniature pony.

Pulling away from Yang’s side, Blake turns to Ruby thoughtfully. Yang, immediately missing the warmth of her, falls back onto the desk, her muscles popping gratefully with the pull of the stretch. She examines the pulpy, drop-tile ceiling studiously, trying to calm her heartrate, embarrassed at the rush of longing Blake always seems to leave in her wake.

“You know, I could cut it for you, if you wanted,” Blake says. This to Ruby, whose eyes go wide, a little shy, a little pleased.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Yang turns her head, grinning again, shrugging the melancholy off like shedding a second skin. “Now this, I’ve got to see.”

***

Blake drags a desk chair from the bedroom, positions it in front of the sink. She’s spinning a small pair of silver scissors on her pointer finger when she ushers Ruby into the bathroom, and Yang and Weiss troop in as well, like it’s a given.

With the four of them crammed in the tiny bathroom, it’s a tight fit, and Yang leans with her back against the door, Weiss perched on the edge of the tub.

“I didn’t realize I would actually have an audience,” Blake says, quietly, but she isn’t successful in hiding her smile, mouth turning up at the corners.

The sink is running, and she dips two fingers under the flow, waits for it to warm, flicks water in Ruby’s face just to tease.

Shoulders relaxing, Ruby barely grumbles as Blake pushes her gently down into the chair, tilting her head back until her hair wets under the faucet’s flow.

“Too hot?” Blake asks. She cups water in her palms, diverting it until it wets Ruby’s hair to its roots, slicking her bangs out of her face with careful fingers.

Ruby shakes her head, bare feet swinging over the tiles. “S’nice,” she slurs, lashes fluttering against her cheek. “Mom used to do this, remember?” This to Yang, one eye cracking to look at her before closing again.

Arms crossed, Yang nods. “I do.”

Her voice sounds strange, swollen, even to her. She clears her throat, looks to Blake who is looking back at her, gaze soft and steady. The mirror over the sink is fogging with heat, and Yang is stupidly glad not to see her own expression reflected in the glass.

The memory is blurry with overuse, and she feels selfish for hoarding it, something she and Ruby talk about so rarely – the short window of domesticity, the four of them, together.

Blake must sense her discomfort and leans over Ruby, carding through her hair gently, warm water swirling down the drain.

“We’ll just do a trim, okay?” She tilts her head, considering. “Just enough to get your bangs out of your eyes.”

From her spot on the lip of the tub, Weiss is watching the them with open interest, dressed in her slouchiest pajamas, hair loose around her shoulders.

Blake looks back at her. “What do you think?”

Weiss looks surprised to have been asked to weigh in, and shifts unsteadily, pinning her hands under the backs of her thighs, lips tucked into her mouth.

“It will look nice,” Weiss ventures. Then, unsteadily, like she’s unsure if that’s the right answer: “Fine, I mean. It will look fine.”

“Weiss thinks I look nice,” Ruby says, dreamily, eyes still closed.

Yang laughs. “Anything to stop you from going into fights blind should do the trick.”

Blake is methodical and careful, her movements practiced, and Yang watches her hands closely, fascinated by the routine of her gestures. Her long fingers are sure as she brushes out Ruby’s hair, fixing the lengths of hair between two fingers, snipping, tendrils of dyed red spiraling to the bathroom tile.

“You’re good at that,” Yang says, careful not to pose it as a question, even if her curiosity is clear.

“After I left home,” Blake says, tilting her head to frown at Ruby’s hair, thoughtful, “there weren’t places where – well, there weren’t many places that would be willing to serve Faunus, let alone cut our hair.”

Focused on her task, Blake fits two fingers under Ruby’s chin, lifts until she’s staring straight ahead. She hums, approving. When she began to talk, Yang, Blake and Weiss each stilled, incremental, like curious children unwilling to startle a flighty bird.

It’s rare for Blake to offer much from before, even after all these months, and Yang squirrels away every piece of information she manages to glean, coveted closely in a well-hidden corridor in her chest.

“It was a necessity at first, we were moving around a lot, but I like it now,” Blake says. “It’s soothing.” She scrubs her hand under the fall of Ruby’s hair, appraising her work. “I wish we had some clippers, you would look really good with a, like, undercut.”

Tilting her head to look back at Blake, Ruby grins. “Yeah?’

“Oh, yeah,” Blake says. “Very edgy.”

Ruby’s eyes flutter closed again and she leans back into Blake’s hands, accepting the easy touch, pleased.

Watching her like this, the baby round of Ruby’s cheeks, her deep-set eyes, so like Summer, Yang’s heart pangs and pulls. She looks so young, and it’s been so long since she’s seen Ruby find comfort and closeness in groups like this. At Signal, she was always worlds apart.

Too young to hang out with Yang and her friends, and too buried in her comics and starry-eyed dreams of far-flung heroism to mesh easily with the other kids her age. Weiss is watching, too, almost hungry. She is starved, Yang has come to realize, in similar ways – for family, for acceptance, for the way Blake look back to ask her opinion, listening intently when Weiss ventures an answer.

“Okay,” Blake says, steps back. “All set, I think.”

Ruby pops up out of her seat, swipes a hand through the mirror’s condensation to look at her reflection, tilting her head this way and that, before grinning, bright.

“It’s perfect.” Then, shyly, “thank you, Blake.”

“Anytime,” Blake says. “We can pick up dye next time we’re in Vale, recolor the ends.”

Yang groans. “Don’t get her started, she’s been threatening more drastic dye jobs since grade school. I’ve had to talk her out of lime green more times than I can count.”

“The red suits you,” Weiss says, pushing off of her perch to more closely examine Ruby’s bangs. Ruby obediently stops fidgeting, submits to Weiss’s hands, but not before shaking her wet head like a dog, sending water droplets flying.

Aghast, Weiss hisses a chastisement, but cards her hands through her hair, all the same.

“I could cut yours,” Blake says to Weiss. Appraises her, head tilted. “It’s getting long.”

Weiss looks shocked at the sudden kindness, turning a gradient of shades, from a light pink to a dark red the longer Blake looks at her.

“Oh, no,” she says, haltingly. “I have a standing appointment at an Atlas salon but,” she trails off.

Blake nods, that tiny smile still evident on the puzzle-box mystery of her mouth.

Ruby looks on with interest, pokes at Weiss’s cheek, but knows better than to comment.

With a final thanks, the two of them troop out of the bathroom in a snippy caravan, Weiss already haranguing Ruby about an assignment due in the morning, Ruby loudly asking Weiss if she’ll brush her hair before homework, anyhow.

Their departure leaves a vacuum, a pocket of silence, just Yang and Blake, who both seem to realize how close they are standing at the same time, all excuses having fled the room on the heels the others.

“Thank you for doing that,” Yang says, quietly, she reaches out hesitantly and takes Blake’s hand, rubs her thumb across her knuckles. “It’s nice not to do all the mothering, for once.” She shakes her head. “I tried to cut her hair once, must have been about 13. Dad almost had to shave her whole head.”

“She would have loved it though,” Blake says. She doesn’t pull her hand away.

Yang laughs. “Yeah, probably.” She steps closer, emboldened by their hands clasped between them, by the way Blake tilts her whole body toward her, magnetic.

“It was really nothing,” Blake says. “Ruby restitched, like, four pairs of my leggings last week, anyway.”

“It was sweet of you to offer a trim to Weiss, too.” Yang lowers her voice, though the other two are well out of earshot, having closed the bathroom door behind them. “I don’t think she was ready for you to send her into a full-fledged sexual identity crisis.”

Blake throws her head back in a laugh, exposing the long line of her throat, cheeks dimpling. “Oh, no. That’s what Pyrrha is for.” A beat. “I don’t think I’m her type anyway.”

“How?” Yang blurts, clumsy and unthinking, tries to amend it with – “I think you’re everyone’s type,” which really just digs the hole deeper.

Blake looks at her steadily, in that awful way she does, and shoves a little bit at Yang’s shoulder, bullies her toward the chair.

“You should let me do you next,” she says. She must misinterpret Yang’s expression – which flatlines at an alarming speed, elevator music starting to play behind her eyes – and hurries to correct herself. “I mean, not a cut. I know how you feel about your hair, but I could wash it?”

“Wash it?” Yang looks at the sink, back to Blake. The air in the bathroom seems to be getting thinner, and she can’t stop looking at Blake’s forearms, the flex of them as she toys with the scissors, running her thumb lightly over the tapered point.

“You’ve still got leaves in it from earlier,” Blake says, words taut with amusement, “and if you lift your arms over your head, you’re going to undo all my hard work anyway.”

The cut is mostly healed, barely a pale scar at this point, and they both know it. Yang wonders how long they will continue to run round these excuses.

It’s working, it’s working, it’s – “Let me touch you,” Blake says. She presses down on Yang shoulder, guides her toward the chair. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

The chair creaks under Yang’s weight, and her outstretched legs butt up against the opposite bathroom wall. To maneuver around her, Blake has to step between her legs, her hips pressed tight against the inside of Yang’s bare thighs.

Unsure, Yang leans her head back, feels the porcelain cold against the back of her neck. “Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Blake turns on the faucet, and the lull of running water, the warmth of it, is enough to make Yang drowsy and pliant, hands clasped obediently on her lap.

“I love your hair,” Blake says, quiet, confessional. She runs her hands through it, pulls gently, the sensation sending tingles to Yang’s scalp. Yang’s eyes close, and she breathes out through her nose, shifting unsteadily in the chair.

She hears the plastic click of a shampoo bottle, and lavender perfumes the air. Yang thinks of gardens, of soft-petaled flowers, of sunlight and checkered blankets.

“We should have a picnic,” she murmurs. Her muscles feel putty-soft, and Blake’s hands, slick with water and suds, are drawing tiny circles under the fall of her hair, thumbs pressing ecstatically into the corded muscle at the base of her neck.

There’s laughter, barely hidden, in Blake’s voice. “Come again?”

“A picnic.” Yang doesn’t open her eyes. “Just you and me.”

“Did I knock you too hard in the head today?” Blake asks. “Give you a concussion?” Her fingers slip up to prod at Yang’s temples before her fingers firm, massaging there. Yang groans. For her sake, Blake pretends not to hear it.

“I’m not concussed,” Yang says. Against the back of her eyelids, there’s a constellation of color. Blake sluices warm water through her hair, washing out the last of the shampoo. Yang’s hand ventures from her lap, hooks her fingers in the soft cotton pocket of Blake’s shorts. “I just like you.”

She still doesn’t open her eyes, worried that if she does, reality will solidify, transport her away from the dreamy-liminal of this unspoken space, Blake’s hands in her hair, Blake’s body warm against her thighs.

“I like you, too.”

“Actually, I think you said you loved me earlier.”

Blake laughs. “I didn’t. You said I loved you.”

Yang does open her eyes now, finds Blake startlingly close, her gold-flecked eyes, the laugh lines that crease the corners of her mouth like the seams of a love letter, folded over, then folded over again. She steps out of the bracket of Yang’s legs to fetch a towel. Yang reaches to take it, but Blake pushes her hands away, preferring to towel at Yang’s wet hair herself, leaning across her body, her chest pressing against Yang’s shoulder.

Embarrassed now, Yang squirms, but submits to the attention, lets Blake dab away beaded water at her hairline, droplets dripping into her ears, wetting the shoulders of her t-shirt.

“But you were right,” Blake says, so matter a fact, Yang almost doesn’t understand her meaning. Comprehension pales in comparison to the sheen of water on Blake’s hands, her wrists, as she wipes them dry, her hair spilling long and dark around her shoulders, the ends wet where she had leaned over the sink. Blake tosses the towel underhand toward the hamper behind the door, reinserts herself between Yang’s legs. “I do love you. I really do. And yes.”

“Yes?” Yang asks, dazed, still stuck halfway inside the feeling of Blake’s body, pressed up firmly against her own.

“Yes to the picnic,” Blake says. “Just the two of us.”

She loves me.

Yang shifts to prop herself upright against the body of the sink and frames Blake’s hips in her hands, guiding her firmly into the V of her legs. Blake concedes, arms wrapping around Yang’s neck, petting through damp hair. The hem of her shirt scrunches under Yang’s fingertips, slipping up to reveal the unblemished hollow of her hip, the skin of her sides, goosepimpling under the duress of Yang’s touch.

“We should do that thing again,” Yang says, a wish, a confession. Said aloud, she’s worried, like memory, she’ll bleed away the magic of unspoken things, but it only seems to strengthen the energy between them, the accumulated weight of all that they never talk about.

Blake plays dumb, but she’s smiling, ducking close even as she asks, “what thing?”

Her breath is warm against Yang’s ear, and she presses her mouth just there, against the round of Yang’s cheek.

“Close,” Yang says. She exhales, grip tightening.

Blake drags her lips to Yang’s jaw. Then to the dimple of her chin.

“Closer.”

Blake kisses her, proper, all it takes is a tilt of her head, nose nudging into the plush-round of Yang’s cheek. They both breath twin sighs of relief, like the pressure of playing coy has been alleviated in a single moment. Blake’s hands knot in Yang’s hair, fingers threading.

Yang smiles, murmurs: “just like that.”

It isn’t their first kiss, but it’s close. New enough that Yang still isn’t used to the shape of Blake’s mouth, the rhythm of her kisses, or the taste of her breath. New enough that this alone is enough to alight a heady, perfect rush, the thrill of two whole, perfect things slotting into place.

Her hands slide to the small of Blake’s back, splaying wide across the ridge of her spine, and Blake whines low in her throat, tilting her head until their mouths catch in full, her teeth scraping against Yang’s bottom lip.

Blake swings her leg over Yang’s hip, then the other, settles on her lap. The warmth of her body like a weighted blanket, her chest pushed flush to Yang’s. Pulling back, breaths ragged, they survey each other, eyes bright.

Blake drops a kiss on the bridge of Yang’s nose. Again, on her mouth. Yang tilts her chin up, submits. Nods lazily into another kiss, rolls her tongue into Blake’s mouth.

They don’t talk about it, but they never do.

In the crowded, humid heat of the bathroom, the silence is enough, both smelling like the same shampoo, like lavender, trading kisses until their mouths are slick and pink, until Blake has a strawberry bite under the collar of her t-shirt, and there is no excuse they can make to Ruby and Weiss to explain the lost time.

Exiting the bathroom feels like stepping through a portal – the air of the bedroom is stale and cold, and tastes like the bitter-metallic spit of the cranky window unit that churns, futile and constant.

They shouldn’t have worried. Ruby and Weiss are passed out on Weiss’s bottom bunk, tilted into each other, Weiss’s head leaned up into Ruby’s chest, a textbook open on her lap.

Blake smiles at them, soft, and Yang presses a finger to her lips. Sound asleep, neither stirs when Yang removes the book or when she shifts both of Weiss’s legs to the bed, pulls the lip of the comforter up over their bodies.

Weiss does move then, but only to turn her face into Ruby’s throat, fingers curling into the sleeve of her shirt.

Across the room, Yang watches Blake walk through the final stages of her night time routine. Removing her rings, one-by-one, setting them into a china bowl at her bedside. Toeing off her socks – because anyone who sleeps in socks is a serial killer, yang – and turning back the cool underside of her covers.

Yang, suddenly shy, mythical, waits for an invitation.

“It’s only fair,” Blake whispers. She shifts over to make space against the hollow of her body. “Turn off the light.”

Yang does, the room plunged to darkness, and she feels that little-kid thrill in the few steps it takes her to cross to the bed. By the time she reaches it, she fears Blake will already be gone, leaving her only with under-the-bed monsters and grasping hands.

She shivers into the sheets, and it’s Blake’s warmth that accepts her, slinging a long, bare leg over her hip, claiming her cheek with a warm palm, stroking her bangs out of her eyes.

“We need to talk about it,” Yang whispers.

She can see Blake’s eyes gleam in the darkness, a flat sheen. Yang swallows, wriggles closer until she can insinuate her thigh between Blake’s legs, suddenly desperate to be close. She would swallow her whole if she could, sink themselves inside of one another, like nesting dolls, like palms cupped in prayer.

Yang’s eyes adjust in the half-dark in the time it takes Blake to answer, moonlight shredding through the parted curtains. When Blake opens her mouth, the wet of her mouth refracts light, the uncurling of her tongue.

“I know,” Blake says, voice small.

Their hips-stomach-breasts bully into one another, until every breath is a part of a cycle.

“If we don’t, we’re just going to keep colliding until something breaks.”

“I know,” Blake says, again. “There’s just so much I haven’t told you yet.”

Yang runs her hands up and down Blake’s side, slips her palm under the hem of her shirt to feel the blanket-heat of her bare skin.

“We have time,” she hushes. She tilts in, her lips find the corner of Blake’s mouth, press there. Retreat. “After the Vytal festival, then. We can have our picnic. We’ll talk about all of it.”

Blake nods, nose pressing into Yang’s. She giggles, readjusts, turns her mouth into Yang’s cheek. “Okay. After the festival.”

Pinkies twined under the covers, they seal it with a kiss. Blake nods more kisses against her mouth, slips a tongue behind her teeth, until the taste of her lingers well into Yang’s dreams.

Yang won’t remember falling asleep.

#janurwby #bumbleby #my beacon days prompt fill got a little out of hand #my writing #rwby #here's to overtly intimate hair washing

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airlock · 5 years

Text

airlock grades the Gharnef archetype

so, I got a random hankering to start a text post series where I launch myself off on reviews of each character from a certain villainous archetype in Fire Emblem -- and hey, it’s a reasonably nice time of the year to be doing posts like these, what with that new upcoming entry that we learn more about each day, isn’t it?

to kick off the festivities, I’m doing one of my favorites -- let’s see who wore the heavy robes better!

(do note: under cut are spoilers for... everything, and also a significant amount of me criticizing or blamming characters that you might like. you’ve been warned! but if you’d still persist, you childish sword lord, then come along and meet my challenge-)

the man himself

(6/10)

although the execution suffers from myriad flaws -- of which several can be touted to stem from storage space limitations in FE1 and FE3, but are inexcusably retained in the remakes -- it’s not for no reason that this fellow spawned a lengthy line of imitators.

the detail of his backstory and motivation is brillant; he’s a perfectly understandable villain without being remotely redeemable -- a much-needed class in antagonist writing for more recent entries of the series. he’s also effective as a terrifying, genuinely threatening villain, implacable and powerful.

unfortunately, however, his excellently written characterization is largely confined to flavor; it fails to inform his actions or the flow of the plot, and so, he tends to come across as a plot device instead of a character. even his takeover of Khadein is written very powerfully for something that isn’t seen and barely influences any of the game’s events. and although his sheer ambition in withholding Falchion to eventually betray Medeus ends up coming across as a plot action instead of something steeped in his essence. and this all to say nothing of his second appearance, where he fully forgoes being a character and behaves indistinguishably from a non-sentinent madness-inducing talisman.

overall, he’s a splendid concept for a villain that is ultimately laid low in execution, largely because, back in his day, the text wasn’t big enough to comfortably carry him, and the more recent incarnations were ineffective in expanding it despite having more than enough room to do so.

I also docked a point or two for being an antisemitic/anti-roma stereotype in his earlier incarnations, what with the hooked nose and rare darker skintone; the remakes thankfully eschew this by swapping out the nose and making the skintone outright inhuman, but the more recent Heroes design, while an improvement on many fronts, seems to roll back on this one.

church gharnef

(6/10)

unlike the above-mentioned, this one was in a remake that changed a lot of things; I mention this as a healthy preface to the fact that I am only familiar with his more recent incarnation!

like Gharnef above, he’s an unforgivable, but genuine villain; while a lust for power is hardly fresh as far as motivations go, the game does reasonably well at establishing that he’s already powerful and influential, and has fallen to cruel orthodoxy in a bid to eliminate threats to his power at all costs -- in other words, his characterization is timelessly realistic.

unfortunately, however, that much is all text, if not outright fanon; the story proper restricts him to behaving as an unconvincing cacklefiend playing at a kidnap-the-princess plot that the princess in question should’ve been too strong and too smart to fall prey to. making Celica a somewhat willing hostage instead of a helpless captive was a step in the right direction, but it doesn’t cover the distance; it would have been far more interesting if Jedah had gotten the chance to overpower Celica in the arena of genuine manipulation through theological debate -- and on the other coin of things, I’m sure his preying on Celica’s fears would seem a lot more organic if not for how dedicated the game is to telling her that she’s wrong before she even takes the steps across the point of no return.

he’s much like the original Gharnef in being an intriguing concept that falls flat on execution, although with both of those qualities amped up -- even more interesting in theory, even flatter in practice.

discount gharnef

(2/10)

sorry not sorry for nicknaming him that!

I believe I’ve said it a number of times and I’ll say it again: Manfroy is a manipulative villain in a setting full of people who don’t need manipulation to make bad decisions and ruin their own lives. he comes across as a plot device at the best of times, and as a null factor at the worst of times; he brings nothing to any cutscene that he appears in.

Seliph’s visit to the Yied Shrine alludes to his backstory -- that which he shares with the rest of the cult -- but this instance is even poorer than previous examples at establishing a plot presence; it not only fails to inform Manfroy’s choices in any interesting way, but it’s also outright contradicted by his actions sometimes (cfr: withholding the Naga tome, in a move that brings Gharnef’s playbook to mind but makes no sense at all for Manfroy).

points have been docked again for racial stereotyping, also; the sprite alone doesn’t make it very evident but he’s also got a face that can be used as a fishing pole.

irrelevant gharnef

(1/10)

Veld is a step beneath even Manfroy, as yet another pointless manipulative villain -- notorious for stealing a slice of agency from one of the far more genuine antagonists of the setting -- who doesn’t make his presence felt at all. I was halfway tempted to consider Raydrik the actual Manfroy here, even.

he retains one point only for not being a racial stereotype, for once.

the absence of a gharnef

(wha?/10)

Binding Blade, for all its highly repetitious usage of archetypes (being, in fact, arguably responsible for making them a thing in the first place, where they were previously just repetitive Kaga quirks), seems to have eschewed the Gharnef. this actually somewhat works in its favor; although the game’s plot is ultimately one of the shallower ones in the series, the lack of a core manipulative villain puts the focus on the self-interested factionalism that each country suffers from as they fail to mobilize a resistance against the primary villain. so, overall, an approach that would have worked out great in Jugdral.

monsterfucker gharnef

(8.5/10)

where Binding Blade had succeeded in building a plot that doesn’t need a Gharnef, its prequel was successful in the opposite: creating one of the most effective incarnations of the archetype to date, and making him front and center, to boot.

although all Gharnefs thus far have been manipulative villains, Nergal and his cronies are the first ones who show true skill in manipulation -- as in, conning people into acting against their interests, in situations where they otherwise would not have. through this, he cements himself as the primary antagonist and driver of the plot, where his predecessors were content, if dishonest, in serving a greater evil. and he brings very perceptible weight to the position, specially in the scenes where he presses the buttons of the heroes; although he fails to ultimately discourage them from defeating him, it comes across as a result of heroic strength, not of ineffective villainy.

that said, however he shimmers and shines as the heavy, he’s somewhat held back by his backstory -- one that only partially succeeds at informing his actions (however compelling it is when it does manage to do so), and worse, is largely locked to second-playthrough bonuses, where the story would’ve benefitted much more from naturally doling out his secrets along the way.

I also docked a half-point because the pseudo-turban and goatee arguably veer into the racial stereotype territory again, although he at least has the point-for of not having an outright gonk design (even when the turban goes off). I should be clear: it’s not that I oppose having nonwhite/nonwestern elements on an antagonist at all, it just comes across rather poorly when certain elements are only seen on antagonists, and especially if it’s always on the ugly ones.

twink gharnef

(10/10)

Lyon is the apex of plot-driving gharnefs, plain and simple. undeniably sympathetic, but impossible to save, whether he’s too far gone or was never redeemable to begin with -- and in fact, this ambiguity is easily the most brillant aspect of all of the writing in Sacred Stones.

he’s characterized effectively from wire to wire: his appearance, mannerisms and fond flashbacks do an excellent job of disarming the player while setting them up for a staggering plot twist, but the game is also not too hesitant to bring the plot twist to fruition and saves enough time to keep building on him past the point when the big secret is out -- sidestepping a pervasive trap that otherwise often causes plot twists to weaken stories. and all the way to the end, it’s difficult to narrow his character down to one narrative that doesn’t feel strictly like a personal interpretation; there are as many Lyons as there are players, right down to the point where he comes across differently depending on whether you’re playing as Eirika or Ephraim!

there’s also credit to be given to the remainder of the cast that effectively props him up; because he has underlings that behave strongly on their own motivations -- and sometimes beyond even Lyon’s control -- he spares himself from behaving as a plot device to focus fully on serving as the genuine core of the story as a whole. I suppose he’s a good delegator if nothing else, eh?

depression gharnef

(4/10)

unlike the above, Sephiran fails crucially in one regard: he’s set up as an extremely endgame plot twist, which, coupled with a frantic, breathless third act that insuffices to fully explore the implications of the reveals it dishes out, causes his reveal to land closer to shock value than to the completion of an arc.

while his backstory is breathtakingly fascinating, it serves exclusively as a footnote to eulogize him with; it’s not just that his actions don’t seem to be informed by it, but rather that his actions completely lack weight in the plot, making it even somewhat arguable to class him as a Gharnef at all. in Path of Radiance, he only appears as an irrelevant mystery, and Radiant Dawn coming out to accredit him for some number of Ashnard’s deeds fails to budge that one’s sheer weight and doesn’t change perspectives.

it’s quite a shame, because in concept, he could’ve been the next Lyon; but the execution is painfully fragile, and amidst the complex web of characters and plots in Tellius, his greater-scope motions fail to be felt whatsoever until the late chapters of Radiant Dawn’s Part 3.

DIWNLF gharnef

(0/10)

(that’s “dad I would not like to fuck”, incidentally)

it’s not for no reason that this guy is the only major antagonist that Awakening doesn’t let you trip over still alive and kicking somehow. he is 100% plot device, adds nothing to the story or to any single scene that he appears in, lacks in personality, doesn’t present any sort of challenge that isn’t erradicated without fanfare by the protagonists, and doesn’t even have any sort of a backstory.

and he’s a racist stereotype on top of all that, so he doesn’t even get a mercy point like his similarly irrelevant predecessor from Thracia 776.

I have not played the game with this gharnef

(??/10)

I don’t even know if he counts; I see a lot of back-and-forth in that regard.

anyways, what do you all think? “oh my god someone finally said it”, or perhaps “I will kill you but not as hard as you assassinated my favorite antagonist”? if the upcoming Three Houses is to have a Gharnef, do you have any hopes for what they’ll be like? this is all nice and open to replies and reblogs, folks! don’t be shy! yes.... do it... succumb to the temptation.......

#airlock grades the villain archetypes #Fire Emblem is tagged in this post

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fallwritesfiction · 6 years

Text

At Ease

Fandom: Summer Rose Court (RWBY) Pairing/Characters: Yang/Pyrrha Rating: Explicit Summary: Being around Pyrrha is easy. She doesn’t want anything, doesn’t expect anything. It’s exactly what Yang needs. Notes/Warnings: Summer Rose Court, flirting, manual sex, oral sex, first time, not quite canon for SRC even in YP savestates

Being around Pyrrha is easy.

Yang doesn't realize how much of a show she's putting on, how much she's playing everything up, until she meets Pyrrha with her curious eyes and her lack of expectations. She doesn't see Yang and expect her to represent Vale, or the tribes, or anything. She wants to know who Yang is. And Yang... likes it.

So she pokes at Pyrrha a bit. Flirts with the captain, winks and flashes her teeth and maybe even flexes a little. Pyrrha doesn't flirt back, but she smiles and laughs and watches when Yang shows off, and that's close enough.

"Hey there." Yang sidles on up to Pyrrha, watching the other girl watch the Xiao Long tribe. "Taking in the big tourist attractions?"

Pyrrha smiles, wry. "Just the little ones, so far."

After living in an underground cavern for years and having to fight every time she came out, yeah, Yang can understand taking time for the little things. She doesn't think she'll ever forget what happened in Spiritus Bellatorum, and she was only there for a few days. With everything that's happened since they left the desert, Yang's got a little bit of that, too. Feeling like maybe she should stop and look at what she’s got instead of running forward.

"How about a medium thing?" Yang offers. Pyrrha tilts her head curiously, and Yang grins. "A place we don't usually show people. It's not a secret or anything, just out of the way."

"Yes," Pyrrha says, "I'd like that."

They take Celica out, Pyrrha riding behind Yang and twisting this way and that. To Yang's eyes there's really only sand dunes, nothing special, but Pyrrha's paying attention like Yang brought her to a magical forest or something. It's kind of nice.

They come to a halt just outside of a cave about an hour away from the Xiao Long camp, Yang sliding off and offering Pyrrha a hand. The other girl takes it, somehow dismounting gracefully despite never having ridden before coming to Vale.

Inside there's a pool of water, gently steaming with a hint of sulfur.

"Hot springs," Yang explains. "These aren't big enough for more than a couple people at a time, so we usually take visitors to the big ones."

Pyrrha tilts her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. "I didn't bring anything to swim."

Yang grins. "I usually swim naked, but I brought something for you just in case."

They separate, Pyrrha to change and Yang to strip down. She sinks down into the water, propping her arms up on the edges and closing her eyes.

Yang doesn't hear Pyrrha walk up; for such a tall woman she's got a light tread. She steps into the spring, jaw dropping when she's fully in it.

"Oh! It feels wonderful!"

Yang laughs. "Oh yeah, great for relaxing." She shoots Pyrrha a wink. "Not my favorite way, but it gets the job done."

"Oh?" Pyrrha widens her eyes, painting on innocence. "What's your favorite?" Then, to Yang's shock, her voice shifts a pitch lower, suggestive. "Tell me."

Her mouth hangs open, and instead of responding... Yang squeaks.

She didn’t even know Pyrrha could go there. Yang’s been flirting with her for days and she’s just smiled and laughed, and now she just… that’s not allowed. Girls get flustered when Yang flirts with them! They don’t fluster her instead! She’s the smooth one.

Pyrrha grins. "I bet I can guess."

Yang squeaks again, bringing her hands up to cover her bright red face. She's very aware she's making a noise like a teakettle boiling over.

Gentle hands coax her hands downward. Yang swallows. Pyrrha is very, very close. And very, very pretty.

"I apologize," Pyrrha says, solemn. "That was too much."

Yang wills her face to return to normal. "It's fine." Her voice is too high and she's not fooling either of them.

The other girl moves away, relaxing against the back of the spring.

They spend the rest of their time there talking, telling stories, bantering. Yang teases Pyrrha a little, not quite daring to flirt after Pyrrha flustered her, and the other girl responds in kind. Yang can admit, her heart isn't in it anymore.

Because yes, she does fluster easily if someone flirts back. Most times, just having someone in her space like that makes her uncomfortable, especially when she doesn't know them well.

She's all about hugs or taking someone for a ride on her dragons, but Pyrrha was way within kissing distance and Yang's head doesn't even do that unless she really likes someone. It definitely went there with Pyrrha. And Yang's not going to pretend Pyrrha didn't notice; Yang isn't subtle, and Pyrrha isn't stupid.

But Pyrrha hasn't said anything, hasn't tried flirting or moving closer. She's either the most relaxed uninterested person Yang has ever met, or she's just... letting it sit. Yang has never met a single person who just lets stuff like that go.

She doesn't get an answer one way or another by the time they leave for Beacon. Yang decides if Pyrrha's alright with not saying anything, Yang is too. She'll just see where it goes, if anywhere. She can wait.

[*]

Back at Beacon, Yang doesn't forget but she does get distracted. Things with Ruby have been weird basically since they left the desert, and then she leaves with Jaune and doesn't even tell Yang. She has to find out from Glynda. Yang had hoped... well, it doesn't matter what she hoped. Ruby left and didn't take Yang with her, and that's the end of it.

She's in the stables when she gets a visitor. She's rubbing down Celica, scowling and forcing herself not to be too rough, when she hears footsteps stop outside the stall. They've been here too long for it to be a Valean gawker, so Yang makes herself look over to see who it is.

"Hello again." Pyrrha flashes her a smile. "I thought I'd find you here. Are you busy?"

Yang snorts. "No, not really."

"I think I found something you might like." Pyrrha's smile gets a little wider. "If you have a few hours free?"

"Sure." Yang shimmies out of the stall, and follows Pyrrha out.

Yang tries to tease out their destination, but Pyrrha teases her right back, not giving up anything. She's got a sword by her side, but only a little armor and a small bag on her back, so Yang figures they're not going too far.

"We're almost there," Pyrrha says, when they've slipped out of Beacon's walls and are heading towards the lakefront.

"So I have just enough time to get ready, if you tell me now," Yang says. At this point she's having more fun bantering with Pyrrha than actually trying to get answers out of her.

"Or," Pyrrha says, amused. "You could wait a little while and find out yourself."

She kneels in the grass just before it starts turning into reeds, probing the ground for something. With a pleased noise, Pyrrha pulls up an iron ring, which flips open a small metal hatch. The hatch leads to a ladder, stretching down deep enough that Yang can't see the bottom from here. Yang can't help but laugh. Beacon has so many crazy secrets.

"A light if you would, Yang?"

Yang conjures a small flame, setting it to hover above their heads, and follows Pyrrha down. The ladder ends at a small natural cavern, with gently glowing walls and a pool of water in the middle.

"You seem to like the water," Pyrrha says, "so when I found this, I thought of you."

Yang turns to see a soft smile on the other girl's face, and she tugs Pyrrha down for a tight hug. "I love it. I didn't bring anything to swim in, though."

Pyrrha lets her go, smile turning sly. "I thought you swam naked?" Yang's face turns pink, and Pyrrha chuckles, holding up her bag. "I did bring something extra just in case."

It turns out Pyrrha doesn't actually know how to swim, but like everything else she picks it up quickly enough. They play and roughhouse and throw each other around, and when they finally return to the surface, Yang has almost entirely forgotten about Ruby leaving.

"Thanks," she says, bumping her hip into Pyrrha's. "I needed that."

Pyrrha squeezes her shoulder, and doesn't say a word.

[*]

They've just gotten word that Ruby's on her way back to Beacon when Yang invites Pyrrha up to her room.

She's a little nervous. Basically all the rest of the Council have been in her room at this point, even Ren, but it's different when it's Pyrrha. She cares more what Pyrrha thinks.

While they've been in Beacon, Yang's filled her room up with little trinkets, things she picked up at the markets here, in Michglas, or Hépíng. A wooden frog, a metal bell, a handful of shells. There's a story to go with each one, and Yang loves that Beacon is becoming a place where so many stories can get told.

Pyrrha examines her shelves, sometimes brushing her fingers over this or that, but where she pauses is at the hand puppets.

"I've seen these," she says curiously, carefully picking up a dragon puppet. "Your tribe makes them."

"Yup," Yang steps up next to her, picking up a dragon in a different color. "They teach us to make them when we're young."

Pyrrha slips her hand inside, and clumsily makes it talk, laughing at herself. "Which ones did you make?"

Yang points out which ones she made, a couple that Ruby did, and the rest that she got from here or there. Kids tend to trade them, or trade favors for people who are good at them. Yang hasn't made one since they left, but she's sure she could pick it back up if she wanted. It's like riding a dragon; you never really forget.

"Thank you for showing me these," Pyrrha says, gently putting the dragon puppet down. She turns a warm smile on Yang, and there it is, that jolt she gets when Pyrrha's close.

Yang bites the inside of her cheek, then reaches up to frame Pyrrha's face with her hands. The older girl softens, her arms coming up to wrap loosely around Yang's shoulders. This is the point where the other person either says they're not interested, or pulls her in closer. Pyrrha just waits, watching. And keeps waiting. There's no expectation, no pressure. Yang leans up on her toes, and presses their lips together.

They kiss slowly, with closed mouths and shared sighs. Yang keeps waiting for her body to say stop, for fun to turn into run, but it never comes. She opens her mouth under Pyrrha's, and everything is fine. It's great, honestly. Pyrrha's a really good kisser. It’s… a little confusing, but she doesn’t want to stop.

"You're so tall," Yang laughs into Pyrrha's mouth, tugging her back towards the bed. "How do you kiss anyone without getting neck cramps?"

"I'm not usually in full armor," Pyrrha says wryly, sitting down next to her. "The boots add a little more height."

Yang grins, reaching out to trace Pyrrha's jaw with the tips of her fingers. The other girl closes her eyes, leaning into the touch. Yang explores the planes of her cheekbones, the column of her neck, then back up to trail down the bridge of her nose. No one has ever sat still for her like this, let her go at her own pace. Pyrrha's thumb swipes over the back of her neck in a slow rhythm, but otherwise she's still, just letting Yang touch her. Yang leans in for another kiss.

A second kiss turns into a third, and a fourth, and eventually Yang loses track. She runs her hands along Pyrrha's neck, her shoulders, getting more confident when Pyrrha sighs in pleasure. Her fingers find a patch of ropy scar tissue starting at Pyrrha's elbow and leading in under her bracer, and Yang pauses, curious.

"It was healed badly," Pyrrha explains, unbuckling the bracer and setting it to the side. "Training accident."

Tiny punctures along the edges tell of stitches, and Yang leans down to press her lips against the scar on impulse. When she looks back up, Pyrrha's eyes are soft, and Yang pulls her back in.

She's curious to see if there's anything on the opposite arm, and Pyrrha takes off that bracer too even though nothing's under it. That leads to Pyrrha being stripped down to the waist, and Yang reaches behind herself to unwrap her own chest.

"What happened?" Pyrrha traces light fingers down a series of four clawmarks leading from Yang's collarbone down towards her hip. They're silvery scars, so faint Yang can only see them herself from certain angles, in certain light.

"Drakes," Yang shrugs. "Baby dragons think they're cats until you train them otherwise, and they'll climb on you if you let them. I found that out the hard way. It barely even hurt, just happened to scar."

Pyrrha leans down, mirroring Yang's earlier kiss to her own scar, and Yang lets her eyes flutter shut.

By the time Yang has another solid thought, the sun has dipped down to paint oranges and reds across her room, and Pyrrha's in her lap, naked and kissing her with the same gentleness as earlier. The only reason Yang starts to surface from her haze is because she has one hand on Pyrrha's (amazing) ass and the other on her inner thigh, and she doesn't really know where to go from here. She's never gotten this far before, always bolted before the clothes started coming off. She's fine, but she's been running on some vague stories and instinct and now she doesn't know what comes next.

"Time to stop?" Pyrrha's voice has dropped, deeper and fuller, and faint red marks from Yang's teeth dust her shoulders. She's definitely enjoying everything - with where her hand is, Yang can feel it - but her eyes say she's ready to stop whenever Yang is.

"I don't want to," Yang admits. She's not chaste because she doesn't want, she's chaste because she hasn't been comfortable enough with someone to get here. Even though it hasn't been that long since they met, she's comfortable with Pyrrha. She wants this. She just doesn't know how. "Do you...?"

Pyrrha kisses her. "I want whatever you do."

Yang blinks. "I mean. You're naked in my lap, so I thought...."

"I would very much enjoy it if you touched me." There's a flash of hunger in her eyes, then it disappears as quickly as it came. "But more than that, I want your companionship. Whatever form that takes."

Yang searches her eyes, seeing only that truth: Pyrrha wants what Yang wants to give. "Show me how."

Pyrrha guides her hand, and Yang sinks inside her.

They move together, Pyrrha riding her fingers and Yang chasing down her quiet cries. She's so slick, hot and wet and perfect. She muffles herself against Yang's temple, arms wrapped around her shoulders and legs wrapped around her hips. Her voice rises in pitch, hips moving in jerky motions, and Pyrrha grinds to a halt, shuddering. Yang stopsr, breathing just as hard. She can’t help but look up at her in wonder, feeling Pyrrha’s pleasure like it’s her own.

Tendrils of hair stick to Pyrrha’s jaw, her lips parted as she gasps for air. Her eyes slowly open, unfocused and heady as she meets Yang's gaze.

Yang did that. Yang put that expression on her face.

Pyrrha eases her back against the bed. She moves Yang's hands above her head and laces their fingers together, heedless of the slick on Yang's right hand. Pressed together from shoulder to hip, Pyrrha slides her thigh in between Yang's, and starts to move.

Yang has touched herself, knows what orgasms feel like. She's never done this, had another person do this for her. She moans into Pyrrha's mouth, moves with her, chases down the pleasure. It unfolds in her, warmth rippling out in waves and the only things she's aware of are Pyrrha's body on hers and the way she's pressing into her.

Then Pyrrha leans down to whisper into her ear, "How do you feel about oral sex, Yang?" and electricity rips down her spine.

"Yes," she gasps out, wanting it, wanting Pyrrha so badly it's almost painful. "Yes, please."

Pyrrha lets her hands go, moves down her body, and-- oh. Oh, gods.

Later, Yang can only be grateful that Ruby and Blake are both gone, their rooms empty, because she's not completely sure the entire hall didn't hear her screaming Pyrrha's name. She's not sure if Pyrrha's that good or if Yang is that new to everything or both, but when Pyrrha finally stops, Yang feels like a limp noodle, tired and sore and feeling amazing.

Pyrrha pulls her in, lips brushing over Yang's forehead, and Yang cuddles in eagerly. Gentle fingers push her hair back from her face, and Yang floats.

"It's getting late," Pyrrha murmurs.

Yang screws up her face, protesting the fact. "Do you... are you gonna go?"

Pyrrha doesn't answer, stroking Yang's jaw. She waits, patient enough for Yang to sort her head out a little. Right. Companionship.

"You should stay."

"Then I will."

Pyrrha reaches over to rescue a sheet where it's nearly fallen off the bed, and tucks it around them both. Yang pushes her face into Pyrrha's neck, and drifts off.

#summer rose court #rwby #greek fire #yang xiao long #pyrrha nikos

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blahblahemblem · 7 years

Text

heroes barracks tour: infantry part 1 (colourless)

As infantry units are by far the most common, it only makes sense to split them up into several posts. I’m starting with colourless as that covers two different physical weapons and all of my army of healers.

But first, as usual, updates!

Armour update

Build improvements

Refined w!Tharja’s Candelabra for +def.

New units

+def –atk

I just pulled her this morning :D

The bane is really unfortunate; if my sources are correct it’s a superbane (-4 instead of -3) which frankly kind of sucks. That said, I intend on building her with Blarblade+ which would make up for the loss in damage.

Otherwise there’s nothing but great news here. I’ve completed the mage armours trifecta, got another unit with Armour March, and a 40% bonus for the upcoming Tempest Trials. The only reason I haven’t levelled her yet is that I refuse to do it in the Training Tower and today’s training maps (all fliers) are really not suited for –atk magic users with 1 movement.

Plans

Blarblade+, Moonbow, Draw Back for Lyn. I should have enough feathers for that fairly soon.

Flier update

Build improvements

1. Caeda now has access to a personal weapon, the Wing Sword, although I don’t have enough SP for it yet. 2. Gave s!Camilla Gronnblade+, Draw Back, and Darting Blow 3. 3. Inherited LaD3, Glimmer, and Reposition to Shanna (my free summon on Love Abounds was a 4* Sothe) 4. Gave Renewal 3 to Nowi 5. Beruka is now +4 and has Bonfire

New units

+hp –def

I got her from Love Abounds actually and not Sacred Memories, and also yesterday, which is why she’s still unlevelled. It’s kind of ironic; I tried summoning for her on SM and got pitybroken at 4%, then I summoned on a different banner and she pitybroke me at 4%.

-def is hindering to her as Great Flame’s effect relies on it, but oh well. It does make me consider giving her Lightning Breath+ instead. It would give me access to another DC flier at a relatively low cost, and I could refine it for more def. I still have that one Hector lying around, which is an option, but I don’t want to use him on yet another green.

Whatever I do with her, it’s awesome that I have her, as she fits two separate teams. On the one side, she provides Hone Dragons (although to be honest that’s not anything gamebreaking for me as all of my dragon builds rely on QR making the +6 speed boost rather pointless). On the other side, she is another source of magic damage for my fliers.

Plans

Nothing new short-term besides figuring out a B slot for Myrrh

Cavalry update

GUESS WHO’S BACK

yaaaaay i only waited like 9 months

Yes I got him this morning like everybody else and immediately levelled him I WAITED NINE MONTHS, I saved that PA Olivia and that 2* Subaki for ages, fucking FINALLY

I gave him one of my Wind blessings, largely because I just wanted the SP boost, but it doesn’t hurt that if I ever pull Gunnthra she’s likely going to be on the same team as him and he could really use the extra Res. Distant Defence helps, of course, but only so much.

I’m going to merge him later, obviously.

Back to infantry

Bows

+atk –def

I got her randomly from Rite of Shadows (Celica and co’s first banner).

This build is an absolute mess. I just threw together a bunch of scraps for her when she was a bonus unit in the second ever Tempest Trials. It functioned okay there but there’s not a whole lot she can do now. She’s just really not suited for her own default build, Firesweep weapons are for fast glass cannons while Faye is slow and bulky.

Usage: She has 3k HM. The bulk of it was from the aforementioned TT, and the rest I grinded out afterwards on autobattle just for feathers. Now with the rise of shit like Zelgius, Firesweep + Poison Strike can be useful in AA provided there’s a dancer (not a problem considering I have 7) and only one foe left.

Future improvements: I’m interested in a Guard Bow build. In fact that was going to be the next thing on my to-do list (chosen randomly), but V!Lyn’s arrival overthrew Faye there, sorry girl

+spd –def

Baby boy. Baby.

I got him on the first day I’ve had this account, with the 10 Nintendo Network gift orbs from a full colourless circle, and I love him very much. He was my summoner support for a while. Then he became overshadowed by a different unit I built who did the exact same thing as him but better and also I loved him more because you know who he is, but I’ve missed using him so I didn’t hesitate at all in feeding off the dupe Faye I got from Legendary Ike’s banner. Now he has a niche again.

Usage: Oh boy. I used him for the first four Tempest Trials, and those were a lot more difficult than the ones now and I didn’t autobattle, so you can imagine. He was one of the first units to max HM... twice... and he has 3500 HM again now and going to be a bonus unit in the new TT so lol. I’ve also used him to clear high-end content like GHBs many times.

Improvements: LaD3 as soon as I get another Sothe. I’m also going to start merging him. I got a ton of Kleins while trying to pull for NY!Takumi, and I have 3 in my barracks. I’ve decided that every second one I pull goes towards merges, so that’s one merge for now.

+hp –spd

From Fjorm’s banner.

Unbelievably shitty IVs, of course, but it doesn’t matter. I wanted her primarily because her art is amazing. I wasn’t going to build her with BB+ or Firesweep over Klein and my baby, so in a way I was kind of relieved she wasn’t +spd or +atk, that way I had a justification for prioritising them that wasn’t just personal bias :D

Usage: As you can see she doesn’t even have her default C slot learned yet. I’m planning on using her as a TT healer at some point (through BoL6).

I’ve said before how I feel about Corrin as a character, but Maiponpon draws him so cute I can’t stay mad at him. Look at his wittle face

Anyway, this is a very simple build, pretty much just his default set with Bonfire + Bowbreaker, to capitalise on his own bulk and the defensive buffs he provides to other units. Also, this screenshot was taken before I refined his Hama Ya (for +def).

Usage: He does stuff in AA sometimes, his primary function is to be a bow Lyn counter

+spd –res

The apple of my eye, my child whom I raised all these years etc etc. From Hero Fest 1 :D

All I ever wanted when Heroes was announced was to have a Takumi. Well, here he is with perfect IVs to boot. I love him so much. It’s impossible to tell from menu screenshots like this (unless you know the stats by heart I guess), but he’s my current summoner support.

Quad builds are very powerful; I know not everybody likes them but I do. Oh I do.

Usage: he has 9999 SP take a wild guess

Improvements: Threaten Spd isn’t really the best C slot, but I haven’t really figured out what it can possibly be replaced with

+atk –something, +9

I just realised looking at this that he has the same def/res as Takumi :D

He’s actually +10 now, I just didn’t bother taking the screenshot. Virion, similarly to Est, is a product of spite more than anything, but I do actually kind of like him as a character, so there’s that.

I don’t really have a lot to say about him, he’s just there. I’m going to merge 4* Virions I get instead of sending them home, so that maybe one day I can upgrade him from here to a 4*+10.

Daggers

+hp –res

Got her on the first day of Performance Arts.

Honestly there’s not much to say, she’s a dancer and does dancer things with her dancer build. And her chibi sprite is unbelievably adorable.

Usage: dancer tier

+atk –hp

Apparently I pulled her at 4* on the first day, so when I switched mains and looked at what I had it was a pleasant surprise. I’d had great experiences using a +atk Kagero on my other accounts by then, so it wasn’t a difficult decision to promote her.

Usage: I actually don’t use her all that much outside of AA because she doesn’t do very well against non-infantry teams. Still, I’d say she’s worth the investment even in the current meta.

neutral

mochi baby

The other day I was reading my old comments on the FEH subreddit and found this gem in a thread that was about which characters you wanted to be added drawn by which artist:

Naturally I had to do everything in my fucking power to get him and at 4,50% (...after another 4% broken by Airzura) he came home <3

I don’t know what this build is supposed to be. Antimage, I guess? The double BoLs are because I used him as a combat medic in the two TT minis. He also has Iceberg learned but for TTs a big nuke with Glacies is better, considering Kagami Mochi has a killer effect anyway.

Usage: See above, combat medic for TTs. I’ll probably continue to use him to fill an extra slot and cover healing until he maxes HM (although for the next TT the main team slots are all taken, sorry boo)

Improvements: Desperation is kind of silly now that he no longer has boosted stats from being a bonus unit and I should replace it with something but I haven’t decided what. I might also throw him a Sothe at some point for a neat 51/41 offensive spread.

+1 iirc, +spd –something

This is a consideration more than anything. I don’t really like Gaius’ art but I do love Gaius, and daggers are in a marginally better place than before or at least more interesting, so if I get more 4* copies of him I might build something out of that, probably with a Smoke Dagger.

Staves

+spd –hp

Free summon from Maria and Minerva’s BHB banner, and my only 5* healer, lol.

I have the exact same IVs on a 4* copy, which is now merged to +4. My plan with all healers (that aren’t 5* exclusive, not that I have any of those) is to make them 4*+10s with 5* unlocked staves, so I guess once I get 3 or 4 more Marias I will merge this one into the 4* copy as well. I like the golden sparkles and everything but stats are more important, and I’m just not willing to work on 5* merges for healers on my main.

Since healers don’t really differ that much from one another, at least not when they’re 4*, here’s the rest of the ones I have. I’m not going to look up their IVs because who cares. Most of them will have theirs changed before I’m done with them.

(both +4)

(+2)

(+1 iirc?)

That’s pretty much all. I’m going to promote a copy of Azama/Serra/Wrys/Lissa/Clarine (who’s a horse but I didn’t talk about her or Prissy last time) once I get them to a high merge level to unlock their staves. As for Sakura/Lucius/Lachesis/Priscilla I’m probably just going to wait until they inevitably pitybreak me so I don’t waste my feathers.

Part 2 will cover tomes and also probably V!Eliwood!

#heroes rambles

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mewmewchann · 7 years

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RWBY: Y.v.S - The Fight

It’s finally time for the one-on-one finals. The intensity goes through the roof in the first match, but once the fight is over, everything goes horribly wrong...

(Here we are. The moment that kicked everything off.)

(I’ll finally be able to post the chapters in order after this! Yay!)

(If you have any questions about this AU, feel free to ask! Comments and feedback are appreciated!)

“Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for! The one on one finals!”

The finals had only just started, and the audience was already going crazy. After the intensity of the team rounds and doubles rounds, they were expecting an exceptional show from the one on one finals.

“Barty, why dont’cha explain the rules?”

“Ah, it's quite simple, Peter! Instead of a bracket system, the rounds will be decided IMMEDIATELY before the match takes place!”

Emerald, who was in an area of the audience with Cinder, looked uneasy.

“...Is this part of the plan?” She asked.

“Don’t worry,” Cinder replied calmly. “This is what they were going to do all along. Our little 'adjustments' won't be changed a bit.”

Cinder had access to the randomisation system of the tournament, so she had the entirety of the finals planned out. First would be a match between Yang and Mercury, where Yang will hallucinate Mercury attacking her (courtesy of Emerald) and attack him for seemingly no reason. This will cause negative tension in the audience, which will start to attract Grimm to Vale. Then would be the match between Penny and Pyrrha, where Pyrrha will see something which will make her attack with too much force (once again, courtesy of Emerald) and “accidentally” tear the robot girl to pieces. This will cause more negativity to spread, which will attract even more Grimm to the city.

This plan was perfect. There’s nothing that can stop it.

The hosts – Peter Port and Bartholemew Oobleck – continued their commentary.

“And what an exciting night we have ahead of us!”

The finalists were standing in the centre of the arena, waiting to be picked. Cinder could only remember a handful of names – Yang Xiao Long, Scarlet David, Pyrrha Nikos, Mercury Black, Penny Polendina and Crimson Foxx were the only ones she could remember. But the names didn’t matter – all that mattered was what was happening next.

“Indeed! After fighting through the qualifiers and doubles, these competitors stood out on top! So it's obvious that each team has picked the best of the best!”

“Let's begin the randomisation process, shall we?”

“Yes! Let's see who our first matchup will be!”

The randomisation system on the huge screens positioned at the top of the arena walls began to whir. Everyone was excited and wondering who the first matchup was going to be. All except Cinder, who was positive that she knew what was going on.

Then, after a few seconds of anticipation, the first matchup was revealed to be…

“Scarlet David of Haven and Yang Xiao Long of Beacon!”

“WHAT!?” Cinder leapt out of her chair in shock. This wasn’t supposed to happen, it was meant to be-

“Huh? Is something up?”

Cinder noticed that she had gotten the attention of another student – who just happened to be the girl that Emerald took out in the doubles.

“What? No, I’m just, uh, a little surprised with the matchup.”

The student – Cinder was pretty sure her name was Coco – adjusted her sunglasses and replied before walking off. “Well, duh. It's called a 'randomisation process' for a reason.”

Cinder sat back down in her chair. What the heck just happened? She was pretty sure that she rigged the matchup that afternoon…

Emerald had similar questions. “I don't get it! Isn't Yang supposed to be paired with Mercury?”

“Dammit!” Cinder muttered, before giving out an order in Emerald’s general direction. “...Go along with the original plan anyway.”

“What!?”

She nodded emotionlessly. “You heard me. Go along with the original plan.”

Emerald didn’t want to go along with the original plan, so she protested. “I can't! This 'Scarlet' guy – he isn't like Mercury. I can't hurt an innocent person!”

Cinder groaned angrily and clicked the fingers on her right hand. A small flame appeared above them. “Do it, or I WILL leave you on the streets to rot.”

Emerald had no idea what to say. She didn’t want to hurt someone innocent, but she didn’t exactly want to go back to living on the streets, either…

She finally made up her mind.

“...I will.”

“May all other combatants please leave the stage?”

Yang watched the other students leave the arena stage one by one – Penny held back a little to give her a high-five for good luck – and turned to face her opponent.

She had only seen Scarlet fight in the teams and doubles rounds, so Yang had never had the chance to fight him herself. Judging from his and Sage’s doubles round, this was going to be tough, but she never backs down from a challenge.

Yang could already hear the rest of her team cheering for her from the audience, and it didn’t take her long to realise who was saying what:

“Break a leg, sis!” (Ruby)

*sigh* “Why does it always have to be a leg? Why can’t it be, I don’t know, an arm?” (Weiss)

“That’s...Just the way people say it, Weiss.” (Blake)

“Okay, Uh...break an arm, sis!” (Ruby)

“It seems the audience likes you already.”

Yang was so enveloped in listening to the rest of team RWBY that it took her a while to notice that Scarlet had said something.

“Seems so,” She replied with a quick chuckle. “You’d better not go easy on me.”

Her opponent replied with a condescending laugh. “Took the words right out my mouth!”

Yang double checked to make sure Ember Celica was loaded. It was.

“Three!” Port called down from the commentator’s booth. The fight was going to start soon.

Yang looked over to her team in the audience. Blake and Weiss looked hopeful, but Ruby looked extremely excited. Well, of course. Yang thought. Rubes loves these fights.

“Two!”

Scarlet looked over towards his team. Sun and Neptune also looked pretty hopeful, but Sage was a completely different matter. He looked very worried.

Scarlet clenched the handle of his cutlass. Don’t worry, guys. I won’t let you down.

“One!”

The audience went silent. The combatants were ready. The show was just about to start.

“...FIGHT!”

Yang started charging as soon as she heard the word ‘fight’. She jumped towards her opponent, right fist raised for first blood.

Scarlet, however, was prepared. He parried the attack with his cutlass, took out his pistol and fired a warning shot into Yang’s face.

“AGH!” Yang staggered backwards. Scarlet wasn’t using any of his dust yet, but that shot still would’ve blinded her if wasn’t for her aura. Speaking of which…

She checked one of the nearby screens. That shot caused her aura level to drop by 3 points.

So he managed to get the drop on me first… Yang thought. This is gonna be a lot harder than I-

“I’M NOT DONE YET!”

“Huh-!?” She felt a sting of cold steel strike her on her right hip and send her backwards. He was using her distraction as an opportunity.

Damn! I need to stop getting distracted… Yang thought as she recovered from the attack. She fired a few shots from Ember Celica to stop him in his tracks.

He managed to dodge almost all of them, his aura level dropping by 5 or 6 as a rogue shot hit his arm. The other shots went flying into the protective shield, some of the audience members crying out and running for cover when a shot hit an area in front of them.

Scarlet seemed unaffected by the attacks and retaliated almost immediately with a few shots of his own. This time, Yang wasn’t so lucky. She tried to dodge, but she kept getting hit and her aura kept dropping. -2 points. -3 points. -4 points.

Yang glared at her opponent, her usually lilac eyes now a glowering red.

“Nice colour, Xiao Long!” Scarlet said condescendingly. “You know, you suit red a lot.” He readied his blade. “Mind if I add some more?”

Yang was so tired of hearing his stupid comments that she charged straight at him. She grabbed his cutlass by it’s blade and was prepared to tear it straight out of his hands.

“SHUT UP!”

“So, you want to fight with semblances, huh?” He asked nonchalantly, gripping his cutlass tightly. “Well, let’s see what happens when I turn up the heat.”

The sword’s blade suddenly began to glow a hot red exactly where Yang was gripping it. Something on the sword was burning her hands to a point where they could catch fire, so she released her grip and tried to ease the pain. There was a quick, resounding gasp around the audience as Yang let go, and her eyes faded back to their usual lilac.

“Wh-” She started, confused. “What the hell did you do!? The...The blade is too hot for me to hold!”

The two commentators seemed to be answering her question.

“I think that the audience have been waiting for this for a while!” Dr. Oobleck announced from the commentator’s booth. “This doesn’t seem to be the work of any dust! It seems that Scarlet is finally revealing his semblance!”

“What!?” Yang started, but then all the pieces began to fly together in her mind. The rest of team RWBY realised this too, so simultaneously, they all exclaimed:

“HE HAS A FIRE SEMBLANCE!?”

Scarlet gave her a quick smirk. “You catch on pretty well. It’s a shame you gave up the red, though. You really suited the colour.”

Yang looked over at the audience. They were all either startled or excited by this new revelation, and were anticipating her next move.

She turned towards her team. Blake and Weiss were both shocked and impressed, but Ruby was ecstatic after finding out his semblance. If Ruby’s crush on Scarlet wasn’t obvious before, it definitely was now.

Yang didn’t realise that she was being distracted for too long until it was too late. A white-hot burst of energy struck her on the back.

“AAGH!”

Her aura level dropped by 8 points. It didn’t take long for Yang to realise what hit her.

Scarlet was using his fire semblance again. He was grinning maniacally and had a glowing red fireball in his left hand.

“Can you at least give me a few seconds to breathe!?” Yang called out desperately and breathlessly.

Scarlet shrugged. “No can do, Yang. Last time I checked, you personally requested that neither of us would hold back.” He spun the fireball in his left hand like a basketball. “Looks like you aren’t keeping your end of the bargain.”

Yang got up, caught her breath and charged at her opponent with her fist raised. “You god-damn son of a-!”

Scarlet dodged the blow with ease and elbowed her in the lower back. Hard. Yang managed to recover from the attack, but she realised that it was only to make her an easier target. The fireball that he was holding earlier was now flying towards her at breakneck speed.

Yang cursed under her breath and fired a few shots from Ember Celica to try and dissipate the attack. It took at least twelve shots before the incoming attack exploded into a blazing inferno. After the smoke cleared, Yang fired a shot directly at her target.

Scarlet managed to dodge it before it did any critical damage to his aura, but it still managed to scrape off 3 points. He readied his cutlass and flintlock pistol and tried to decide what to do next.

Damn…He thought. She’s going to be a lot harder to put down than I thought. My semblance is managing to do some damage, but it won’t hold her down for long. And besides, if what Ruby said about her semblance is true, then I’m done for. Unless…

He realised that there was still a sure-fire way to beat her.

What if I- No. Sage doesn’t want me to. Sure, it scored a victory last time, but it doesn’t just cause critical damage to the target. I’m hurting myself enough already. I can’t just- Oh, to hell with it! I can’t restrict my abilities forever! I have to do this for my team!

He gripped the handle of his flintlock tightly. It was already starting to hurt.

I’m sorry, Sage. But I have to win.

An icy-blue light spilled into the patterns carved on the pistol and Scarlet aimed it directly at his enemy. Yang was startled, but realised what he was doing a second too late.

HIS DUST! SHIT!

He fired a bullet from the pistol. It exploded out of the barrel in a shower of blue-white sparks and hit Yang hard in the stomach. The bullet dissipated, and freezing cold ice crystals began to form across the lower part of her jacket.

He’s trying to slow me down! I have to-

She didn’t notice that he was preparing an attack with his sword. He slashed a crescent-shaped fire attack towards her. Because of the weight of the ice, Yang wasn’t able to move away in time, and the attack struck her directly. It felt like having a red-hot slab of iron being forcefully pressed on the centre of her chest. Luckily, though, the heat of the flame attack managed to melt the ice weighing her down.

The attack managed to daze her, but she found the time to catch her breath and ready her gauntlets. She desperately looked around for her opponent, but found that Scarlet had seemingly vanished from the arena.

This is the same trick he pulled in the doubles round, She thought. I have to be on my guard.

She looked around for him. Then, suddenly, Scarlet reappeared and kicked her in the ribs. The kick sent her flying upwards, then he reappeared above her and kicked her downwards, sending her crashing to the arena floor.

“My word!” Port commented into the microphone. “This is probably the most brutal match we’ve had in the Vytal Festival Tournament yet!”

“Yes!” Oobleck seconded. “Scarlet is gaining the upper hand! Will Yang be able to recover from that combo?”

The audience applauded excitedly, and awaited the next move eagerly.

Yang tried to pull herself upwards from the floor and coughed desperately for oxygen.

He must be using gravity dust to gain that level of speed. He’s accelerating his own personal level of gravity to get to me quicker.

Scarlet walked nonchalantly towards her and readied his flintlock.

“Give it up, Yang. The fight’s over.”

She got up and gave him a red-eyed glare. “Sc- screw you! I’m not giving up!”

He laughed condescendingly and pointed his cutlass toward her, it’s blade glowing a white-green. “Thought so.”

A drill-like tornado suddenly started spinning around the blade.

He’s using wind dust…Yang thought.

After spinning around the blade for a few more seconds, the tornado suddenly leapt off of the blade and charged at light-speed towards Yang, the pointed edge spinning like a drill.

Yang tried to dodge it, but the attack struck her in the centre of the chest and refused to stop spinning. It sent her flying backwards and shoved her against the arena’s protective shield, forcefully drilling her body into it.

The audience gave out a collective gasp as Yang screamed out in pain.

“YANG!” Ruby, Weiss and Blake called out from their position in the audience.

Yang couldn’t do anything to stop the tornado-drill from spinning. The protective shield was starting to crack and her aura level was getting lower and lower.

She noticed the cracks in the shield and suddenly had a wild idea. Unfortunately – by tournament rules – it would prevent them both from using range attacks, but this was her only option.

With the last remnants of her strength, Yang aimed both of her gauntlets at the disintegrating shield and punched.

The shield shattered with a sound that someone could hear from as far away as Vacuo. The audience gazed on in shock as the barrier separating them from the contestants’ attacks disintegrated.

“What’s this?” One of the commentators announced. “It seems that Yang has broken the arena’s protective shield!”

Yang, still on a high note after getting rid of the barrier and finally gaining some space to breathe, completely forgot about Scarlet.

A thin wire suddenly wrapped around her left arm and brought her crashing back to the arena floor. Scarlet retracted the grappling hook from his pistol and walked up to her.

“Impressive.” He said to her mockingly. “You destroyed the barrier. But – here’s the catch – you can’t use range attacks, either. You’ve limited both yourself and your opponent. Do you really think you’ll win under these circumstances?”

Yang looked up to her opponent, with a menacing smirk and her eyes a blazing red.

“You dumbass,” She managed to say with only a fraction of breath. “Did you seriously forget what my semblance is?”

Her aura suddenly began to glow with a blazing heat. Scarlet backed away a little and raised his sword.

Yang charged towards him relentlessly, right fist aimed directly for his face. Scarlet managed to parry her blows with his cutlass. An icy blue light began to fill the patterns on the sword’s blade. Yang realised what he was doing and kicked the blade out of his hand. The cutlass went flying to the other side of the arena.

“DAMMIT!” He said bitterly. Before he could retrieve his weapon, Yang approached him again, her fist aimed in his general direction.

Desperately, Scarlet whirled out his flintlock pistol and fired it’s grappling hook at Yang’s arm. Yang managed to grab the wire and yank the gun right out of his hand, also sending it to the other side of the arena.

“Wha- SHIT!”

He’s unarmed. This is my chance!

Yang charged straight at her opponent and struck him with a flurry of direct punches. His aura was dropping bit by bit, and getting lower and lower. Scarlet managed to dodge one of the attacks, but Yang managed to retaliate with one last punch. She felt the protective shield of Scarlet’s aura shatter and dissipate. He crashed to the arena floor as the buzzer sounded.

“What a way to kick off the finals!” Port announced.

The audience suddenly exploded into an uproar of applause.

“After that brutal match,” Oobleck continued. “Yang Xiao Long is victorious!”

Yang, after the fight, finally got her breath back as her eyes faded back to their usual lilac. She raised a victorious fist into the air. “Yeah!”

“Yay!” Ruby called out from the audience. “You did it, sis!”

Yang sighed and turned towards her opponent.

“You were amazing out there, Scarlet.” She said, before starting to walk away. “Better luck next time.”

Scarlet was in pain and struggling to stand, but managed to give her his signature condescending smirk.

“...Yeah.” He responded breathlessly. “You were pretty good, too.”

Yang was satisfied with his response, and continued to walk away. Besides, she had a team to celebrate her victory with.

But, while she was leaving, she realised that Scarlet apparently wasn’t finished with her yet.

“But...” He said, stopping her in her tracks. “Who said we were done?”

Yang, now terrified, turned around. WHAT!?

Scarlet had somehow retrieved his cutlass, and was now charging at her with it.

Yang was in shock. The fight was over! You aren’t allowed to attack at the end of a fight! What the hell are you doing!?

So, without thinking, she immediately retaliated with a punch to his right arm.

SNAP.

“AGH!”

There was a resounding gasp across the audience as Scarlet fell to the arena floor, clutching his arm. The audience started crying out angrily and booing.

Yang looked down at him with a sliver of sympathy. Did I...Break it? She then remembered what happened and her look of sympathy shifted to a rage-filled glare. He attacked me first.

“My word!” A commentator exclaimed in shock.

His partner turned over to a member of staff and gave the order to cut the cameras.

Over in a far-away part of Vale, a Beowolf that was sharpening it’s claws on the remains of a building suddenly felt a strong surge of negativity from another direction. It turned around to investigate. A large knot of negative energy was radiating from a colosseum flying over the city of Vale. The other Grimm around it took notice of this and began to head towards the city.

The audience was in utter shock. They couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Agh!” Scarlet clutched his now bleeding arm. “Why- Why did you-” He struggled desperately to stand, but the pain was too much.

Yang glared at him coldly. “THAT’S WHAT YOU GET, YOU LITTLE-” She was interrupted by the sound of multiple guns cocking. “Huh?”

She was surrounded by Atlesian soldiers. All of their guns were aimed at her.

“Yang Xiao Long! Stand down!” One of them ordered.

Yang looked at them, confused. They were supposed to be surrounding him, not her.

“What!?” She protested. “Why!?”

“SCARLET!”

Sage immediately arrived on the arena stage, rushing to Scarlet’s side.

“Wh- why did she do that!?” Scarlet’s eyes were now filling with tears. “WHY DID SHE ATTACK ME!?”

Sage desperately tried to comfort his teammate. He looked up at Yang and gave her a disgusted glare.

Yang, confused and scraping for answers, looked up to one of the screens on the arena wall to see the footage.

The screen showed her walking away from Scarlet like she had done – but at the part where he attacked her, Scarlet just nonchalantly walked up to her. Then, on the footage, she raised her fist and-

Yang, in horrified realisation, found out that he hadn’t tried to attack her. He wasn’t the one the audience were mad at. She was.

She looked over to her team, who were gazing at the arena in wide-eyed shock. Yang finally turned over to her opponent. Sage was desperately trying to get help as Scarlet had blacked out from his injury.

Oh my god...I’m so sorry...

#rwby yvs #rwby au #rwby fanfiction #fanfic #rwby #sssn #team rwby #team sssn #rwby yang #rwby scarlet #yang xiao long #scarlet david

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