#their ship name should be cinder

[mothiir]

all is fair in love and war, part i

In which our favourite diplomat faces an assassination attempt, and Sicarius and Roboute must address some feelings.

Cw: gore. No sex. That’s in the next part.

—

—

An Inquisitor is aboard the ship. An Inquisitor is aboard your ship, in your space, they are here. Fear pulses through you; the instinctive dread of a prey animal learning that the wolf is just around the corner. You have no firsthand experience of the Inquisition, but by the Emperor you have heard stories — colleagues who were threatened into taking part in the cruellest of traps, luring rebellious worlds into an accord, only for the Inquisition to burn the planet to cinders. Worse than this: you have heard stories of those who refused — lobotomised, servitorised, and not just them but their families, their friends, punishment that runs along the most tenuous of connections until everyone who heard the name of the would-be hero was dead, or wished they were. It cannot be chance that the Inquisitor has arrived now, when the Primarch has taken all of the battle-ready ships and most of the men to deal with a section of the webway benighted by daemons, coming to the assistance of their Eldar allies, a comradeship that you were instrumental in brokering. Aboard the diplomatic vessel the Hestia, with nothing more than a barebones crew, sheltered deep in Ultramar’s space you thought yourself safe. And you are — but only from external threats. 

The rot within the Imperium still finds you here, apparently. 

As the most senior civilian official here, you join the welcoming party, standing beside Captain Icarus, a now-retired guardsman who — having served decades on the frontline of the Imperium’s battles — knows the ways of the Inquisition all too well. There are no Astartes aboard the ship, only baseline humans — formidable foes, practiced veterans all — and yet as the Inquisitor and her retinue board your ship (the continent-sized bulk of her ship dwarfing your own, blotting out the stars) you find yourself possessed by the mad urge to gather the men beneath your non-existent wingspan, to shelter them. 

“My lady Inquisitor,” you say, with a deep and respectful bow. “It is an honour —“

”Are you really the most senior diplomat here? Hm. I suppose you will do, until the senior officials arrive,” says the Inquisitor. Oh, what a promising start. What a truly excellent start. You straighten up immediately. “I am Kagha, of the Ordo Xenos. I was under the impression that the Lord Primarch was resident here and came to offer my services.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, trying your utmost to keep your eyes fixed on Kagha — and not her Deathwatch bodyguards, looming like obsidian-wrought gargoyles; nor the cherubim hovering behind her, fleshy abominations with blank, unsettling faces. The other woman is a little shorter than you, hard-featured and haughty, but possessed of an ageless, sharp beauty that speaks of those rejuve treatments the upper-classes so love. Her copper hair is swept up in an elaborate braided style, ornamented with gold skulls with glowing red eyes. You would wager your life’s savings on those hairpins being secret, deadly weapons. Her outfit is equally impressive: a long black leather coat, embroidered with a motif of heretics burning in a flaming pit while an impassive angelic figure watches; skin-tight trousers; an elaborate lacy blouse that closes at her throat with a ruby the size of your fist.

She’s wealthy. Well-connected. Experienced. And yet there is something not right; an itch under your skin. 

You look to the Deathwatch marines, as briefly as possible. There are five of them — more than enough to annihilate the paltry crew here, should they wish — and all are helmeted. Two carry shields slung over their shoulders; huge oblongs of metal longer than you are tall, ornamented with strange milky stones, like opals, and yet somehow familiar —

Your blood turns to ice. Spirit Stones. The funerary custom of Craftworld Eldar is to keep the souls of their dead in these psychic tombs, thus preserving their fallen comrades, and keeping them safe from the endless maw of She Who Thirsts. To break a Spirit Stone is to send the soul contained within to eternal damnation; it is one of the cruellest fates you can imagine. And to decorate your weapons with them — and to bring these weapons to the ship of a diplomat you know brokers peace with the Eldar —

You know then what is happening, and you would laugh at the flagrant arrogance of the Inquisition, if you were not so fearful. They are so used to having nothing stand in their way — why would they be subtle about an assassination? You make a quick gesture with your right hand, keeping it pressed tight to your side. In battle-cant it means call the Primarch. Bring him back. We are in danger. 

To Kagha, you beam, trying to appear every inch the young idiot she appears to think you are. “Would you care to join me in my quarters for tea? I can send a vox to my senior — he is currently aboard a ship in the Ultramarine’s fleet, and will answer as soon as he can.”

A bluff, of course. You have no senior. And yet Kagha — arrogant, stupid Kagha — nods tersely. “This is acceptable.”

—

You do not think it arrogant to claim that you are more that a little adept at the finer points of conversation — it is, after all, much of your job to be personable and engaging. Indeed, this talent is in such short supply across the Imperium that you sometimes wonder if you count as a prodigy, just because you can engage in small talk without threatening anyone, or going on a half hour diatribe about the Emperor’s endless benevolence. You once even made a Harlequin laugh! Yes, it was because you fell over — but it still counts. 

And yet Kagha is a brick wall — no, that is an insult to masonry. She either does not answer your questions, or does so in a way that suggests she considers you the stupidest woman alive for even raising the point. Still, she is kind enough to pour the second round of tea, so you sip, and resign yourself to silence. 

After around twenty minutes, the ring on your index finger — a nondescript circlet of silver, set with a tiny little sapphire — tightens minutely. Thank goodness for that. You offer Kagha a bright smile. 

“If I were you,” you say. “I would have a word with your sources.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

”Well — they’re clearly quite out of date. I did have a superior diplomat overseeing my work here — her name was Sara Buchanan, and she was wonderful — but she returned six months ago to be with her grandchildren. I’ve been running the show here ever since.”

Kagha’s brow furrows. “If you are suggesting —“

“I am not suggesting. I am telling. Do you really think you are the first member of your Order to come calling to the Primarch’s fleet, thinking that they can disrupt our mission here? Granted, you are the first one to approach myself directly — but we know your sort. The arrogance of you! You’d see the Imperium remain steeped in shadow and ignorance if it kept your position safe.”

Genuine anger bleeds into your voice, and your throat tightens. You cough into your hand, cursing the sudden flare-up of — what? Allergies? Gunshots echo outside; lasgun facing lasgun. The Primarch has returned home, and is not best pleased with what he finds. 

Kagha’s lips skin back, showing her teeth. “You stupid xenos loving bitch — you have no idea what you are doing here.”

”I know exactly what I am doing here. Following my Lord Primarch’s orders. You are the heretic who claims to know better than the son of the God-Emperor —“ you break off into another bout of coughing, this time more strenuous. It feels like something is clawing up your throat. The door to your chambers crashes open, Cato Sicarius storming in, wreathed in smoke, spattered with blood. 

“Careful!” you yell out at the gunfight outside. “Don’t break the stones on the shields!”

”We know that,” Sicarius snaps at you. “We are well-aware of the Deathwatch’s tactics —“

Whatever he was about to say is amputated as you double over and vomit. A dark grainy substance puddles at your feet, like recaf-grounds. Behind you, Kagha sniggers. 

“So, so clever — but didn’t think to check the tea, did you?”

Oh for the love of the Emperor’s left bollock — you curse your oversight. She’d poured the tea. Ample time to slip poison into it, even though you had been watching her the whole time, because Inquisitors are nothing if not swift with their petty, lethal blows. You choke on another upsurge of bile, pain now radiating from your stomach, and collapse onto the floor. 

The next two things happen so swiftly as to be synchronous. Kagha reaches for her hairpin, presumably to activate some kind of suicide device, and Sicarius leaps towards her. Before she can complete whatever last-ditch resort she was planning, Sicarius has flipped her upside down, holding one scrawny ankle in each of his gauntleted hands. Kagha shrieks in astonishment — a shriek that soon turns to a wordless, senseless wail of agony as the Astartes moves his forearms, just a little, and rips her in half. Gore showers him, and you avert your eyes, but you can still hear the wet slop of organs falling to the ground in a bloody puddle; the popping and breaking of bones, rent apart like matchsticks. 

“That is my woman,” growls Sicarius — or, at least, you think he does. The world is starting to blur at the edges; the pain is receding — or perhaps you are receding, falling away into the dark. Your last image is of Sicarius bending down to you, reaching out. And then it is all black, as black as the void between stars. 

—

You blink awake to cool white light, and soft white linen. For an absurd moment you think you’ve perished, and this is the Emperor’s rest — an endless bed, where you can sleep as much as you wish (sleep being the one resource you were always so scarce of). 

Then —

“Ah, the wench awakes. Good. I was getting sick of looking at your sleeping face.”

Cato Sicarius sits by your bed, a paperback book open on his knee. The title reads Duty and Love: The Steamy Romance of a Kriegsman and a Sister of Battle — but before you can comment on it, he’s whisked it away, hiding it in one of his armour’s many compartments.

”How long — how long has it been?”

Your voice is rough; your throat aches. Sicarius tosses you a canteen of water. 

It’s metal. It’s Space Marine sized. You can’t catch it; it hits you in the chest and bounces off, leaving another bruise to deal with. 

“Next time, catch better.”

You have no idea how to respond to that. With shaking hands, you unscrew the lid and gulp at the icy water. 

“The poison ate through your oesophagus,” says Sicarius, conversationally. “Just as well it spared your tongue — a mute diplomat is no use to anyone, and we would have had to get someone new aboard. Can’t be doing with that.”

Perhaps it is your drug-induced delirium, but you smile at him. “Are you saying you’d miss me?”

”Absolutely not. Give me that.”

He snatches the canteen back, spilling water over you both. It’s his canteen. There’s a jug of water on your bedside table, and he gave you his canteen — but before you can dwell on that , Sicarius is back to grumbling. 

“We had to divert our entire mission because of you. Lord Gulliman was not best pleased that the Ordo Xenos was causing trouble for him and his, so we had to go halfway across the galaxy to Kagha’s home base. He’s spent the last five days putting every Inquisitor he can find to the sword. Burned a couple of planets that were still perfectly useful just because they wouldn’t tell us what we needed to know.”

There is far too much there for your sluggish brain to process. You manage: “Five days?”

”Yes. You’ve been out for six. That poison almost killed you. It didn’t. Fortunately.”

You stare down at your hands. They are almost as pale as the sheets: sunless, drained. “And the Primarch —?”

As if in answer to your question, the door opens, and Roboute himself enters. You immediately try to greet him properly — stand, curtesy, even salute — but your body won’t obey, and you just manage to tangle yourself up in your sheets, tumbling from the bed. The Primarch catches you before you hit the ground, swaddling you up in your linen like a newborn babe, settling you back onto the bed. His armour is tarnished, swathes of it stained rusty with old blood, and he reeks of smoke. Deep shadows hang under his eyes. He looks like he has come fresh from the battlefield. 

“There,” he says. “Better? Glad to see you with us.”

Your arms are pinned to your sides, which is just as well, since you suddenly want to stroke his tired brow, comb your fingers through his hair. 

Roboute looks over at Sicarius. “Thank you for your watch, brother.” To you, he adds: “Sicarius stayed —“

”Here because I was ordered to, and now I must leave to attend to proper business,” says Sicarius, all in a rush. 

Gulliman stares at him. And stares at him. Then looks at you. Then back at Sicarius. 

“…is that really what you want to say,” he says, in a tone of infinite, weary patience. “Really. After all this. That’s your parting riposte.”

Sicarius stands up straight, throwing up a parade-ground salute. 

“I fulfilled your orders, my lord. Watched her for the five days and nights. But now I have to return to my battle brothers for my actual purpose.”

Gulliman stares at him for another long, long moment. You twitch in the cocoon that Gulliman has forced you into, feeling deeply awkward but not entirely sure why. 

“Last chance,” says Gulliman. Sicarius frowns. 

“Not sure what else I should say, Lord Father.”

”Right,” says Gulliman, and sighs, turning back to you. He tucks you in more firmly — clearly intending it to be a comforting gesture, but managing to strait-jacket you to the point where you think your fingers are going numb. “Theoretical: the potential of losing you drove me to depths of fury that I had not felt in quite some time. This was in part due to the Inquisitor’s meddling, but largely to do with the prospect of not having you by my side.”

He strokes your hair gently.

”Practical: when you are well enough to stand, you will come to my quarters and we will have nice non-poisoned tea. And we can talk. And enjoy one another’s company.”

You squeak. “S-sounds like an excellent strategy, my lord. Yes. Please. Would like to play my part for you and the Legion and —“

”Perhaps not the entire Legion,” says Gulliman. “Not yet, anyway. Oh, and Sicarius? Why are you still here?”

Sicarius’ face is frozen in a rictus of pure, delirious rage. “No — no reason at all Lord Primarch. I will…I will take my leave.”

No one can say Gulliman did not give his idiot son a chance. He leans forward and kisses you gently on the forehead, pausing to inhale the scent of air. It smells of home. 

[sirazaroff]

In one of your recent things you said you were only on vol 7, if that's still the case it's up to you if ya want to keep reading my nonsense since it might be a little bit of a spoiler.

But have you drawn any blake and yang? And or plus others?

If you have, apologizes, I am dumb as rocks, and have the brain power of a toddler.

Hey new friend! Welcome to my lil town of art :D

Yeah I’m still on V7 LOL, my reluctance to see Penny get her ass beat is crazy. I recently started IQ tho and that’s been real fun. Hoping to continue watching rwby again when work dies down…

As for your question, yes I have! I’ve drawn a few characters already including them, Weiss, Ruby, Velvet, Coco, Sienna, Jaune, Ilia and Pyrrha. I wanna draw more soon~ Neons been on my radar, and I’ve been asked to make Cinder and Neo so they’ll eventually appear too.

Now if we’re talkin Bees™️, I have also dabbled in it, just not as much as some other ships cause I am biased to my bunny.

If you search their names on my blog, you should find some art to consume. I’ll leave this here so that there’s some immediate Yang and Blake for you as a lil gift.

Thanks for stoppin by!

[canonical-transformation]

Genshin ships: stock market update (Natlan Act 1+2)

(Warning: May contain spoilers for character appearances and dynamics in [Chapter 5 Act 1–2] Flowers Resplendent on the Sun-Scorched Sojourn and Black Stone Under a White Stone. Previous entries here.) This is for entertainment purposes only and is not financial advice: consult with your ship financial advisor before you invest.

4.0 has landed, and our analysts have been watching with interest as Natlan characters have started listing on the Genshin ship market. Here's our recommendations for the weeks ahead.

---

Citlali/Mualani is held together by a single drip marketing quote, but what a quote. BUY OR HOLD.

Mavuika/Xilonen, on the other hand, does not have a proven profit model. No, the potential for a ship name that sounds like "melanin" isn't reason enough to invest. SELL

(Note: Since Xilonen's drip marketing has landed, let's take a second to examine all the cat themed ships. Xilonen/Dehya and Xilonen/Kirara are too hard to call this far out. Xilonen/Lynette and Xilonen/Diona have boring chemistry, SELL / don't bother. And Xilonen/Keqing... oh Keqing would hate her. Hmm. Watch this space, HOLD OR BUY.)

(No, not all cat related ships find success. The recent bankruptcy and dissolution of Osse/Neko should be proof enough.)

Kachina/Bennett — ⚠️ we typically don't cover selfcest ships because there are too many of them. In this case, we'll make an exception to note it's extra unlikely. They're both too busy having coming of age stories and joining each other's teams (not a euphemism) to have any chemistry. SELL.

Kachina/Lumine, Kachina/Aether — sorry, the Traveller is already too busy being the Wise Old Mentor in the first book of Kachina's YA trilogy. SELL— wait does that mean Traveller's going to die 😐

Mavuika/Lumine, Mavuika/Aether — Constantly inviting us to drinks, her shout or Traveller's; long private chats about the family she never talks about to anyone else; giving up her antiques collection as a show of commitment: that is textbook mid-40's cool aunt flirtation. BUY BUY BUY.

Kinich/Mualani — our analysts describe this as "the equivalent of buying the first thing you see in the store", which I think means SELL.

Atea/Mavuika — There's definitely a little chemistry there, but we're unlikely to see further developments. HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Aether — HOLD OR SELL

Atea/Lumine — HOLD OR BUY. If haircuts had sexualities[...]

Small cap market ("rarepairs")

Mualani/that one bandit in her character teaser: nah, no chemistry, she's like that to everyone who tries to rob her. SELL for two-sided, HOLD OR SELL for one-sided.

Tenoch/Tupac — yeah that's been solid enemies to lovers ever since Talking Stick dropped in 4.0. The character model reveals for both of them have only increased the quality here. BUY

Chaac/Waxaklahun Ubah Kan — SELL. Way too early. If you're interested in obscure antiques maybe try Alain/Rene or Marfisa/Parsifal instead?

On that note, our analysts were intrigued by the Heroes of Cinder City. “It's an OT5 RPG adventuring party!” they explain, “like all those tabletop podcasts!” They were, however, quick to note that this was in the same potential rocky area as all Cataclysm-era ships, so HOLD at best.

Little One/Ushi — yeah sure why not. BUY

But coverage of the world quests will have to wait for a future report. In the meantime, let us know what your market predictions are!

Sidebar: phonetics

Wikipedia provides charts for converting writing systems (e.g. romanisations of languages) into the international phonetic alphabet. Below are examples for a couple of languages found across the Pacific Ring of Fire.

May your phone calls with your ship stockbroker be tienari-free!

[choccy-zefirka]

Six of Swords

Hello, I was possessed to write some V/Takemura this afternoon! Note that I am playing the game for the first time, mostly blind, so the fic is based on the events that have happened to my V so far (she just met Panam and is in the middle of investigating Evelyn's employers), and was an outpouring of my love for the ship that I had to get out of my system before I properly finished the game. Hence, it may not be quite accurate/in-character!

I also planned to continue the story further, to the point where V and Takemura have their adult choom-choom time, and then their pillow talk involves 1. The talents they would have pursued in another, more peaceful life (cooking for Takemura and art for V); and 2. What Anders Hellman revealed to V regarding her condition. However, given that I have immersed myself in pretty harrowing irl news tonight, that extinguished my inspiration spark for the time being, so I kindly ask you to enjoy the story for what it is!

As usual, my writing contains certain undesirable traits (repetitions, tangents, purple prose etc.) but I had fun with it, and so might you!

Also, this is the V in this story! Idc what CD Projekt says, her full name is Vita XD She belongs to the same character archetype as Una Cadash, Naali Adaar and Cinder the Tav.

"Greetings, V. I do not intend to offend, but it appears that you are forming a behavioral pattern."

The dulcet robotic voice — so familiar — sends ripples across the sea of hissing, crackling, acidic turquoise stripes and squares that have been biting at V's eyes, until she felt like her burning, veins eyeballs were dripping blood.

She blinks, once, twice. The blood turns out to have been tears. Just tears. Once a beast she thought she'd conquered triumphantly at the age of twelve; and now, a more annoying recurring guest than a celebrity on Stan's show.

She wipes them off, in a swift, almost violent motion. Gotta destroy those fuckers.

The ringing in her ears subsides, and the floating turquoise shapes shift and condense into a face. A very distinct, plasticky white face, speaking to her from an overhanging monitor. Her tear-damp fingers twitch, and she spreads them out, still half-blind, feeling the creaky leather. She is on the back seat of a taxi. The taxi, she should say.

"Hey, Del..." she croaks weakly. "How... How did you get here?"

Seriously, though. How?

Her thoughts and memories set in like a broken nose. The last thing she can recollect is the muted orange blur of the desert highway, beyond the Sunset Motel, and a biting-sharp stench as she slumped over the upper-floor railing, heaving her guts out.

"Mr. Takemura hailed me with instructions to take you home," Delamain explains, courteous as ever. "I made certain to send out a reliable cab, whose AI is completely in line with the Delamain Corporation standards."

Through the last dregs of her wooziness, V cannot help but snort (a mistake, as it makes her inhale the lingering aftertaste of her own vomit). Yeah, reliable cab. Unlike those rogue ones. Ugh, she still has to finish chasing them down.

"You were in poor condition — though thankfully, not as poor as when I previously did this for you. Still, this was already happened twice. Hence my remark about the pattern."

"Mhm. If you had an eddie for each time, you'd have two eddies, which is not much, yada yada..."

V sighs.

"Man. Sorry, Del, I... I had a shitty couple of days."

The words scarcely leave her flaky, terribly dry lips — which she just barely saved from splitting into bloody cracks by taking a huge swig from a branded water bottle, graciously provided in the cup holder by her seat — when all of these days' shittiness hits her. At once. Hard, fast. Like crashing your motorbike into a septic tank.

She's seen so much. Way too much for one lifetime,even if hers is supposed to be jam packed into a few weeks.

The dark green mire of the snuff film brain dances, contrasted against the explosion of the searing thermal orange — that fucking ripperdoc chair where some unlucky gonk was melted into a sticky, none-beef-all-soot carcass, for sickos to get off to his final agony.

Evelyn's limp body against her chest, so small, so bare, all that glitz and sass and mystique gone, like she was a little girl V was tucking lovingly into bed. And dark, dark smears everywhere: blood in the bath, smudged makeup on Judy's ashen, hardened face.

Then, the desert, just today. Blood-red through the lens of a drone, no signs of life among the dust and brittle grass. Just the scattered bodies of the nomads — Panam's people, good people, who had nothing to do with this mess, who only wanted to help, to rescue survivors from a downed AMV. The AMV *she* was hunting; the AMV *she* roped Panam into helping her with.

V presses her hand against her eyes. Johnny is quiet for now; she must have taken the Omega blockers back there, at the motel, without knowing. One small blessing, at least. His voice chiming in with her own is the last thing she needs right now.

Shit, shit, shit! She's supposed to be better than this. She was always the tough, competent one. The one to pull her chooms back from the brink, whether it's a younger street kid, years ago, wanting to swim in a canal supposedly infested with brain-eating amoeba (so this is what it feels like), or Judy staring into nothing, with a cigarette weeping ash in her shaking hand, or Panam clutching her wound, screaming the name of the man who offered her to run away together. She — V — was supposed to hold them, to tell them it's gonna be okay. We did preem, fellas, we lived to see another sunrise. Look sharp, look ahead, look at V.

...Who would look at her now and be inspired to push on?

When she lifts her hand again, her face is wet. A-fucking-gain.

And deep inside her — a quivering cable line pulled taut from her gut to the back of her throat — there is a strong, overpowering longing for... For something terribly stupid. And right now, with her legs still numb and sick still drying up on the front of her shirt, she is too weak to stop and make sense of it, much less resist. So she just goes with it, and says what it wants her to say.

"Del... Can you call Takemura for me?"

Delamain obliges,  blue lips sculpted into an impeccably professional smile. The glowing white monitor turns bright orange, and another face emerges from the static. Making the sensation within V cut into her insides even deeper.

"V! I was just finished with Hellman."

V exhales a short laugh. She is still drenched in all that metaphorical shit, but there is no better distraction from it than her favorite pastime. Testing the limits of this old man's stoicism.

"Did not kill him, did you? Or is he still walking around like in those ancient samurai movies — you know, where a guy slices another guy up and he feels just fine, and then suddenly falls apart into neat chunks of meat?"

Takemura holds her gaze, very unimpressed. But she has come to recognize that little tug at the corners of his mouth. She won't go as far as to say that this is also his favorite pastime... But he is not *not* enjoying this.

"You certainly flatter my technique, but... No. Hellman is still alive. I simply obtained all the information I needed from him."

He pauses, and suddenly, his face softens even further. By about 0.01℅, but still.

"I am glad you are awake, V. I heard you screaming in pain on the balcony of that so-called... motel," his lips curl, and he spits the word out like moldy food. "But I could not attend to you for long. You understand."

"The interrogation, yeah."

The conversation lulls, and in the silence, the longing takes over once more.

"Listen, Goro..."

She catches a moment to savor the feel of his first name in her mouth. Since she's started doing stupid things, might as well go all in.

"Can we meet? I'll ask Del here to redirect the car to the marina. It should be deserted at this time of night; I wanna talk in person."

Takemura nods. Somehow, his lack of hesitation sends heat rushing up her windpipe.

"Once, I would have wondered if you were going to waste my time, but now I know better. No meeting with you is ever a waste of time, V."

"Even if we are just eating horrible street food?"

She can swear she's never seen the corners of his lips tilt up this much.

"Even then. Is that why you wish to seek me out on the marina?"

"No, not exactly..." for a fraction of a second, V feels rather sheepish, sobering up from the longing. But Takemura himself does not allow her to backpedal.

"Very well. I will see you there," he says — and disconnects.

By the time Delamain glides onto the marina — smooth as a drifting cloud compared to the mad race across unpaved rocky hillocks and through dingy Raffer tunnels with Panam — it starts to rain. Or, well, drizzle. The wet mist hangs in the air, scented with something fresh for once, and the city lights color it with a peculiar mix of emerald and purple. The palm trees sway quietly, slender silhouettes against the almost trippy watercolor swirls. Deep down, at the same hidden core of her heart that's being pierced by her stupid longing, V wishes she had her drawing tablet with her.

Useless gonk, that. Such a pointless thing to have bought with the eddies from one of her very first gigs. Only really good for designing bike decals for your chooms, and even those would probably have come off just fine if you'd asked one of Del's artist cousins to generate them for you. But sometimes, V cannot help but notice how blue the sky looks when the smog clears, or how vivid orange the rocks by the dam are when the sun hits them, or right now, how those palms look.

And hey, some drawing tutorials on the net are free, and you can't spend every single evening between heists knocking down shots or diddling joy toys. Sometimes you just wanna... meditate.

Jackie had his dumbbells, Misty has her crystals and shit, and V has her silly little tablet. Not enough to turn her into anything more than a Heywood thug, not enough to make her stand out here or in Atlanta... But just right to capture the little splashes of color she spots here and there, so that they leave her head and stop fucking bothering her.

"V. You have no umbrella."

She's been so lost in thought, staring up at the dancing palms, that Takemura's voice makes her jump. Yeah, she has no umbrella — she has no shirt underneath her trusty leather jacket either. Left it crumpled up in the back seat of the taxi, next to the empty bottle she'd gargled to clean her mouth. Kind of felt awkward wearing that vomit-soiled mess to meet Takemura. Especially with what she's about to do.

She freezes in front of him, filling her lungs with the damp seaside air, and filling her mind with the sight of him — a solid, dignified figure amid the rainy blur, worthy of an artwork of its very own... And next, without warning, she takes off: dashes forward and wraps herself around him in the tightest embrace she can muster.

This is the closest she's been to him since he hauled her unconscious mess of limbs to Vik's... Aside from a few brushes of her hand against his: over the condiment bottles on a stained diner table, arranged to represent whatever shit they were making plans about; over shared binoculars at a stakeout; or over a slice of quickly cooling pizza that she playfully shoved at him and he rejected, in utter disdain. All brief, all fleeting, all signifying nothing — as each of them insisted inside their own mind, even as she slanted her eyes covertly to watch him watching her, when they both were supposed to get the lay of the land.

Fuck, he smells so good. He has no right to smell so good for a man on the run, slumming it among cockroaches in some hidden basement. She thinks she can hear a crisp, starchy crunch when she presses against his shirt. Last time she felt something like this was when she and Jackie got dressed up in corpo fits for that fucking mess of a heist.

That reminder adds another droplet to the overpouring tank of shit, and she instinctively clings to Takemura even tighter, a noiseless sob, her third in what, an hour, racking through her.

Of course, it is at this moment that Johnny decides to blink into existence again.

"The fuck?!" he calls out, parting the streams of rain like a bead curtain as he struts up to her. "Did you shut me up so you could get high without me?"

Takemura, ironically, echoes the sentiment.

"V? What is this? Are you still delirious... or perhaps intoxicated? Once more?"

He is not aggressive when he pries her away from him; but still firm. V staggers back, wincing at this painful reminder of their very first rendezvous. She stumbled off to meet Takemura straight from Jackie's ofrenda, who knows how many shots in, head swimming with far too many feelings all at once, and straight up called him "heeey gorgeous". Which he was. Which he *is*. But like... Time and place.

"I am sorry," she blurts out. "I should have asked if you were okay with me getting into your space like that. No, I am sober, it's just... Goro. Listen."

She clenches her fists, chipped-up nails cutting deep into her callused palms. Here it comes. The talk she wanted to have with him.

"I'm no stranger to losing people. Comes with the territory. But ever since that chip mess, it's been happening at a breakneck speed. I meet someone, we choom up, I get them to see that I'm someone they can trust, depend on — that's my whole thing, always has been — and the next time they call me, someone has died. Brutally. Even by Night City standards. It just keeps piling up and up, till I can barely take it... But the one constant in all of this, has been you."

"No fucking way you are saying this to a Saka goon!" Johnny throws his arms up in anguish. "What did I tell you: he's not your friend! He can't be your friend! I don't think the word is in his fucking vocabulary!"

V knits her eyebrows as tightly as she can, as if that will keep him under lock and key, and forces her focus back onto Takemura. He, too, is frowning... But not in anger, she doesn't think. He is giving her his full attention.

"Whenever I call you, I trust that you will answer. Alive. Annoyed with me, but alive. Your texts, your weird parables, even that one time you like... confused the messenger with the search bar and sent me all that WHERE TO FIND GOOD RAMEN stuff in all caps... It's a wonderful pick-me-up when I'm wading through... whatever sludge the city dumps of me. I just wanted to.. I guess... Thank you for that. And to let you know that I'm... I'm still thinking about everything we said to each other on that roof. It meant a lot. You were right; we may butt heads, and argue our different philosophies, but... It makes each of us a bit less lonely."

"It does," Takemura says softly. His voice has dropped a few octaves, and flows more... freely, in a way? As he goes on speaking, the sentences sound less measured, less pre-calculated... It takes a couple of confused blinks for V to realize that what she still perceiving in her head as English is actually Japanese. He has switched to his native language, and her translator implant has kicked into gear.

She mentioned having that implant to him once, even back before Judy had updated it with the Haitian Creole language pack.

"You can speak to me in Japanese if you'd like," she said.

That offended him, as he assumed his English was not good enough for the ignorant American merc. And to be fair, compared to his near-fluency in a second language, and how knows, maybe a third and fourth, all she can boast parroting without a translator are a few curses in Spanish.

But what she meant — and what she hurried to explain to him — was, "You say sometimes that you are homesick. I figured... Using Japanese might ease that feeling."

At the time, he acknowledged her intentions with a polite nod, but insisted on English — perhaps as a sign of respect. And now, here he is. Stepping forward to close the gap that had formed between them. And also, stepping over the language barrier.

"At first, you were an asset to me. A thief that could be of use in avenging Arasaka-sama merely because she was at the right place and at the right time. But then you asked me, again and again, how I felt. Whether I was well. I told you before it was a question I am not accustomed to in my line of work; but it was far from unwelcome. This city is like a stone box filled from within with heavy black smoke, yet with your simple, genuine question, you gave me a lamp. And it lit up brighter and brighter with every new text message, every new call, even with every outrageous joke. You actually coaxed confessions about my childhood, my foolish visions of another life, out of me. These are secrets I grant to very few people. No-one in the past decade. Yet you..."

Slowly, rather clumsily, as if he were replicating the motion after observing other people do it — a silent guardian, a soldier of steel, not allowed such expressions of tenderness himself — he reaches forward and cups the side of V's face with his hand.

"You gave me an all new reason to be grateful that you did not die."

"Oh shit, are you gonna — " Johnny chokes somewhere out there, in the damp haze.

V is not sure if she intended to; she's been too lost in taking in Takemura's quietly sincere expression... But now, of course, she has to.

She tugs at the front of that pristine shirt to make him bend down slightly. She is pretty confident that this low cut collar is precisely where the cybernetics end and the soft, warm, human skin begins. His lips, too, are soft and warm when she meets them with her own. It almost feels too much, too far, tasting him like this — Arasaka's most fearsome enforcer, who is *supposed* to work with her on a very professional, very dangerous mission... But he is the first to slip in his tongue, and the moan that he makes sounds like a sigh of relief.

Now he is the one pulling her in, merging their personal spaces into a single whole. The hand that was resting on her cheek drops to her waist to keep her close. His fingers — a delicate masterwork, whether implants or not, so mesmerizingly beautiful compared to her clumsy, always bloody-knuckled mitts — travel over her jacket... and then pause, when he realizes that this is her only outer wear.

She breaks the kiss and opens her eyes just in time to spot the exact moment when his astonishment gives way to a wicked smirk. Much like the face of the fox from all his parables. He peels the jacket back a little, revealing the muscles and the scars on her abdomen...

"Oh, this corpo fucker thinks he can treat my host — my host! — like a fucking Jig Jig doll!"

If Johnny were corporeal, V would surely have felt angry spittle flying into her face.

"Stop it!" she hisses... Out loud.

Takemura's features instantly set into the mask he wore so beautifully when he was trying to detect the intruders inside his master's walls.

"Of course," he says, returning to English. "We should know our limits. Our partnership has already become all that more complicated."

"No!" V gasps, desperate to outrace the broken-elevator plummet of her own heart. "It's the engram acting up again! I... I can handle this kind of complicated. I *want* this kind of complicated."

The mask begins to crack.

"You are very open about what you want," Takemura muses, eyebrows half-raised. "I am not certain if I can... relate to that, as my wants are the wants of the Arasaka lineage, but it is oddly admirable. Still — "

His hand is on her waist again, but this time it's to steer her to the taxi.

"If you are unwell, it is best that you return home. I will remember this, V. Most warmly."

"Wait!"

She weaves their fingers together, the refined elegance of Tokyo and the rough edges of Heywood becoming one.

"Come with me. We still have so much time to while away before the parade. I have to meet this guy for deets on the Voodoo Boys, but that's not until the day after tomorrow. And at least I have running water at my place. And no cockroaches. That I know of."

He shakes his head, but does not let go of her hand.

"You know I am a marked man, V. Losing ourselves in crowds together is one thing, but..."

"Come on!"

She beams at him, and the wider the grin, the clearer the realization: her pain and guilt have subsided. For the time being.

"This is a Delamain cab. And I have, well, inherited the Excelsior package from Dex. Top notch security, isn't that right, Del?"

She pokes her head through the car door to ask the question, and the AI responds affirmatively.

"Indeed. Delamain guests are guaranteed full privacy aboard this premium vehicle. No security specialists, even those as formidable as the employees of Arasaka Corporation, will be able to breach inside throughout the entire route from here to your garage."

"And the building itself?" Takemura persists — even as the tip of his thumb begins to unconsciously run over V's cracked knuckles. She thinks he finds the motion soothing.

"The elevator cameras?"

She beams again.

"I have these neat little optics that turn my face into a blur in any security footage. I believe..."

She plants another kiss at the corner of his mouth, inciting a blissful little sigh.

"If our faces are pressed close enough, the effect might extend to you."

With that, she yanks at his arm, ever so slightly, teasing as always.

He follows readily, finally convinced.

They unlock their hands and duck through their respective passenger doors. V finds the back seat thoroughly cleaned of the dirty shirt and the water bottle. She would not be surprised if Delamain had a whole recycling station somewhere underneath. Great for corpse disposal too — no, better not think of it now.

Takemura leans back, rolling his tired shoulders.

"This thing is quite nice to ride in when you are not bleeding to death, isn't it?" V chuckles, and Takemura hums contentedly in agreement.

"Thank you for the feedback," says Delamain. "I shall now turn my attention strictly to traffic, to allow my guests the promised privacy."

"Much appreciated, choom."

The upholstered back of the front car seat carves itself into luridly textured blocks before V's eyes. Next thing she knows, Johnny is lounging next the non-existent driver — not buckled in, obviously.

"Don't do this," he warns her through his teeth. "You are getting your perspective skewed. And turning yourself into a loose end that this fucker and his big mommy Hanako will cut just like that..." He is crammed between seats now, right in front of her, snapping his fingers. "The moment you are no longer useful."

V remembers to keep her voice inside her skull, this time around.

"I am not taking relationship advice from a dead guy who keeps calling one of his closest associates a cold bitch every five seconds."

"You don't know fuck about my relationships!" Johnny seethes, but V is no longer humoring him. Takemura has pulled her into his lap and is kissing her again. And again. And again. On her lips, her jaw, along the side of her neck.

Now, there is a deep, ravenous force brewing behind every stroke of his tongue, every half-bite of his teeth. He locked eyes with her briefly when she straddled his leg, asking for permission ("Like the loyal dog that he is," Johnny would have sneered, but honestly, fuck Johnny). And when she granted that permission with a gleeful nod, the force was fully unleashed. How long has this been building up? How long ago did he let himself go last, if ever?

He answers at least one of her unsaid questions the next time he surfaces for air.

"I have a confession," he murmurs in Japanese, gazing at her half-lidded through a silky veil of salt and pepper.

V has, once or twice, seen his hair in a "shamefully disheveled" state (which is Takemura-speak for one strand being slightly loose because he had no time for a full morning routine in his hideout). Now, though, it is almost completely undone, a messy dark frame for his fine-cut face. V laces her fingers through it, nigh reverently, and it is with the same reverence that he kisses the inside of her wrist, before continuing.

"Do you remember how I asked you to hack a camera for me, and as you sneaked towards it, you forced a back door open with your bare hands?"

Just as it mysteriously vanished, V's shirt has been mysteriously returned by Delamain. It lies neatly folded next to her on the back seat, but she couldn't be further from trying to put it on. On the contrary, her leather jacket has now slid down her shoulders, and her torso is on full display, every marking, every groove of embedded cybernetics, every bump and curve of her musculature.

She is no Jackie, of course. She will never be Jackie, for all her attempts to clumsily rest her hand on top of Mama Welles' and do her duty of comfort and protection... No, not now, please not now!

She is no Jackie — but she could easily do pull-ups hanging off a metal beam at an abandoned construction site, twenty feet off the ground and with badges swarming underneath, sirens blaring. In fact, she just might. Especially if Takemura were watching.

"Suppose I do."

"You were in a short tank top; I could see your back move, your arms strain. Your strength was brute and raw, untrained... But so beautiful. At that moment, I wanted you so much that I almost forgot myself. A..."

His chest heaves. Through the loosened hair cascade, V watches the glaze of desire clear from his eyes. If it were not for the state of his hair, the flush on his face, the nanometers separating him from her, and the fact that she could slide her hand down his pants at any moment to check if he had an extra gun or... If it were not for all of that, he could almost have been the ruthless, efficient, unshakable Goro Takemura she first started working for.

"A lapse in sanity that I am repeating now."

Fuck. Forget the extra gun then.

She has not realized, until now, how cold it is without her jacket, despite Delamain best attempt at the most agreeable climate control. How the air prickles at her exposed skin.

"When you thought I was telling you to stop, it really was just the engram..." she says, her voice deliberately, carefully slow. "But if you are done now, then no problem."

"Thank fuck!" Johnny cheers, his voice muffled but full of what V believes is called schadenfreude.

"It would have been a good decision, but..." Takemura shakes his head. "But I still want you. I never stopped wanting you, from that moment since. Despite my obligations, despite the burdens we both carry. I just..."

"You are not used to having wants of your own. Outside of Arasaka."

V whispers her guess with a gentleness that almost makes her shudder — to herself, she sounds too much, *way* too much like that fucking doll in the Clouds.

"It's all right. I won't tell anyone. Honor among thieves, remember?"

She rests her forehead against his and smiles to mirror his own smile — which is quivering and uncertain; but still there. Still back on his lips.

"I am sure Hanako-sama will be too busy thanking you for bringing her brother's crimes to light, to notice that you've been going around getting horny for random mercs. Now come here. We're almost at my place."

Her next kiss is more of a breath, a fleeting promise than an actual touching of the lips. But Takemura's eyes darken again. Heavy. Ravenous.

She feels a bump against her thigh that is certainly not acting the way extra guns do.

"Anything for you, V."

[caliburn-the-sword]

winter thoughts chapter 14-25

still not enough scarlet. miss marissa meyer why would you do this to me

"she’d also noticed how Thorne stood a little straighter in Kai’s presence, like he wanted the emperor to be impressed by him" back on spreading my bisexual thorne agenda again LMAO

now why do i suspect that cress will end up back with the shells at some point??? it would be interesting to see her since they're like kin to her, especially since she was spared/worse off than them. i'd LOVE to see her perspective

cress' development from pretending to be brave to BEING brave <3 fake it til you make it queen (she's just like me fr)

damn thorne is like actually self conscious

kai is such a dumb bitch WHY WOULD HE LEAVE ALL HIS ANDROIDS BEHIND??? he should have brought a reprogrammed escort droid as a bodyguard for when levana inevitably does something horrible. in fact ALL of the earthen leaders should have escort droid bodyguards

omg does anyone other than scarlet know wolf's name or do they all straight up think that fresh out the womb his parents just named him wolf LOL (given the names of the girls that might just be a regular name. but then that begs the question: is wolf choosing wolf as a wrestling name or whatever the equivalent of a wrestling champion going in as "kyle" and nothing like going in being called skullcrusher???)

excited for winter to meet kai. these royal kids are interesting

okay after the bleeding walls winter/jacin scene i understand why one would be a fan of the hurt/comfort trope. that was very tender and sweet

DING DING DING DING DING ALARM BELLS GOING OFF IN MY HEAD WHY IS AIMERY CLOSING THE DOOR JAIL JAIL JAIL

EWWWWWW someone play sixteen by ayesha erotica. YIKES. DUDE SHE IS 17. I'M 17 AND CAN'T IMAGINE GETTING MARRIED. ESPECIALLY TO A HOWEVER OLD AIMERY IS. EWWWWW

got it, marissa meyer!! huge age gaps are only bad when it's a character we don't like. seriously i'm trying to figure out the range where meyer goes okay this is creepy af. because 4 years between cresswell is fine by her standard, but 10 years between levana and evret is not. i'm not too sure about the gap between winter and aimery but i'm assuming that aimery's gotta be more than 4 years older than her as according to these arbitrary rules. yikes (this isn't anti marissa meyer because she CLEARLY decides to be better judging by renegades which didn't have any weird age gaps from what i can remember)

it's okay kai we're all captivated by winter

WINTER WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT. SO completely icky that levana is marrying someone her own stepdaughter's age. but now i think it would be hilarious for kai and levana to get married, just so that i can call him a dilf

i hope that it takes them a while to clear up that jacin is actually on the rampion's side. just because i like drama. would like to see someone punch him in the face ~as a treat~ (this makes it sound bad but i SWEAR i don't hate him, it's just like i said for kai i like a man that's battered and bruised)

thank GOODNESS levana is searching the ship. i would not have had respect for her as an antagonist if she would be this easily fooled by a group of teenagers. i can't wait to see how they get out of this pickle

i love to see cinder as confident in her identity as a cyborg <3

damn thorne took all that "be the man cress wants you to be" shit seriously. self sacrificing bastard. hopefully he gets thrown in with scarlet

nevermind thorne is back lol

I KNEW IT. SEPARATED FROM CRESS. CRESS IS GONNA END UP EITHER WITH SCARLET OR WITH THE SHELLS

i LOVE how winter uses the fact that people underestimate her to her advantage. i honestly thought she was gonna have cress turned into another pet. this was nice as well. she must have quickly realised that cress was a shell and that was the only form of protection that she could afford her

because wolf's home has flowers planted outside it, one or both of his parents are gonna die to be all symbolic of how he can't reclaim his past and needs to move on with his future

was gonna make a "marissa meyer stop holding scarlet hostage i need another appearance of her immediately" and realised oh wait scarlet essentially IS being held hostage LMAO. if i don't get a scarlet pov chapter soon i'm gonna make like thorne when the soap got replaced and RIOT

@eddisfargo @francforever @winterrhayle @winterpinetrees @shellyseashell

[divinecomedyproductions]

Unpopular RWBY Opinions

Some of these things are incorporated into my reimagined RWBY AU(not all of them) and my original stories

1. Arkos, BlackSun, Iceberg, and Renora should have survived and get a happy ending, I don’t give a damn about Pyrrha’s name or allusion.

2. RWBY didn’t have to be a super dark epic, it’s become pretentious. Maybe more akin to Star Wars or Justice League Unlimited

3. Adam should have just been an initial antagonist who doesn't commit super horrible things, the psycho abusive ex was melodramatic and dumb. Wether he joins the good guys or ends tragically is up to anybody.

4. Maybe we were better off without the Salem/Ozma conflict and have WTCH as individual arc villains with their own minions

5. I think Roman, Cinder, and their gang should have been just morally grey found family characters like Boba Fett, some kind of gang of thieves akin to those in Baccano or something and just help or hinder the cast like Team Rocket or something but not as silly. 

With Cinder and Roman becoming a couple and kinda like a "Gomez and Mortica" pair and Emerald and Merc hooking up, and Emerald and Neo would be like their daughters and Merc the son-in-law. I might recycle that idea for one of my original stories thats inspired by Skullgirls and Baccano who's protagonist sis something of an Anti-Cinder and an Anti-Torchwick with a ragtag gang fighting against a corrupt government run by a demonic-powered mafia.

6. Maybe RWBY could have been more like a Dragonball/Fairy Tail universe instead in terms of tone and narrative structure, and that wouldn’t have been a bad thing.

7. At the very least, Ozma and Salem could have been an explanation of the origin of the world and just something that would be rediscovered overtime and Ozpin and his circle are some keepers of ancient myth or something. Like The Jedi Order or The Time Lords or something idk.

8. Kinda feel Oscar wasn’t necessary, as much as I like him

9. Maybe the corrupt SDC and Bad Dad Jacques was also needless, maybe just one of the few good underdog companies in Atlas and Jack being initially a bit too hard on Weiss due to upholding the family’s honor and chivalry but means well and initial harsh nature involving his wife, a scientist who worked with Dr.Watts and Dr. Poldenia, being murdered at the hands of an anti-Faunus milita group and Watts having some role in it. Mostly because I'm just exhausted of the "Bad Dad" trope

10. Have Watts have a megacorporation and be the corrupt company in Atlas instead who’s responsible for their tech and uses unethical Faunus labor in his factories(even though in secret Watts just hates everybody) instead and have a bitter rivalry with Jacques and The SDC, especially due to Jack and Arthur’s personal history regarding Mrs.Schnee.

11. Hazel should have just been a Meta-Knight like character, a good guy but on nobody’s side with a grudge against Ozpin for understandable reasons, he has bear claw-like gauntlet weapons, and becomes a rival to Yang seeing his sister in her and is the “Papa Bear” to her “Goldilocks”

12. Bumbleby is a bad ship and it’s fandom are filled with bitter shrews who use it as representation despite how toxic it is.

13. Disagreeing with Monty’s vision isn’t inherently malicious.

14. I agree with @sytokun making Blake basically a Princess and have loving parents who are also influential was also dumb. Make her an Orphan with the WF/Team RWBY her found family instead. Or I would at least give her a “dead dad” with her Mom living in Menagerie but not as a “Chieftess” aka a QUEEN. They called themselves Cheiftan and Chieftess because it sounded cute.

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 1: slow knife

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

check it out on AO3

It seemed fitting that Irileth should return to the world surrounded by violence and smoke. Her rebirth went much like she assumes it had before: with her kicking, screaming, and covered in blood.

The nautiloid, the mind flayers, the cambions—all of it felt like a too-vivid nightmare. When Irileth first surged back into consciousness, sodden on the shore of the ravaged beach, she’d nearly mistaken her time aboard the illithid ship for a vicious hallucination.

But sure enough, the wreckage is there, spread out on the beach below her, a heaping mass of smoke and cinder. The rubbery material that made up the entire structure of the ship juts out in jagged ends. It is the vivid purple of a fresh and perfect bruise, but as Irileth stares down at the ship, a different memory comes to mind: glossy white peaking through shimmering red, like a pearl embedded in sumptuous, briny flesh. Cartilage.

The nautiloid is a beast, some organic monstrosity, that carried her, screeching through the Hells. It has been two days since the crash, and still, it moves below, massive tentacles twitching in the shallow sea. Irileth will be glad when it’s finally dead, if such things can die, although it fills her with an almost glib satisfaction to see it slowly burn. 

Perhaps death can take its time.

Irileth reflects on the chaos, the catastrophic event that marked the beginning of her new, wretched life. Somewhere below is the pod that held her captive—for how long, even now she cannot say. When she roused to wakefulness sometime after the tadpole insertion, she threw herself against the pod door until it gave way and, all flailing limbs and atrophied muscles, she struck the floor of the nautiloid with a pathetic thud. 

The scent she remembers well: the acrid tang of smoke in her throat, the sulfur-stink of burnt hair filling her nose. The memory alone nearly makes her gag, the sense of revulsion at odds with the almost pleasurable shiver that runs down her spine.

How her head had pounded! Blood loud in her ears, it drowned out the din of a nautiloid under siege. In it, she heard the only scrap of self that remained in this strange, empty body.

Irileth. My name is Irileth.

By comparison, camp tonight is quiet, although not quite at peace. They are camped in the mouth of the overgrown ruins they cleared out that afternoon, not far from the Druid’s Grove they plan to enter come morning. Nearby, Gale broods by the fire, studying the scrolls he found in an ancient study in the depths of the temple below. Shadowheart has retreated to the furthest corner of the pavilion, her makeshift tent conveniently planted on the exact opposite side of the site from Lae’zel, who is silently polishing her armor with a near religious zeal.

And Astarion—well, Irileth tries not to look at him too much.

She can sense him though. The tadpole has made them all too aware of each other’s presence these past few days. Irileth knows the elf is sprawled out by the fire on the only decent bedroll they’d managed to recover today. And of course, he’s reading—of all things—one of the books they’d found in Withers’ chamber. 

As if this were some sort of vacation, not an abduction. Absurd.

Although, he hasn’t turned a page in quite some time. Either it’s dense reading, or, Irileth has the uncanny feeling that he is watching her too.

Astarion is clever. And obviously, a performer. From the very start, he tried to deceive her, claiming he had “one of those brain things” cornered, before pointing a dagger at her throat. Yes, clever indeed. Nevermind the fact that she’s fairly certain her own blade would have found his sternum first.

Irileth holds one of her daggers now as she thinks, cradling it with one hand while its point presses into a fingertip of the other, the pressure just shy of breaking skin. 

She quickly discovered that she is remarkably skilled with a blade. It was an easy thing, to sever the wings of an imp, to sink the blade into the gelatinous bodies of the intellect devourers that scuttled among the wreckage. Pale pink cerebrums quivering, the foul little beasts died shrieking—one, two, three, went the simple beat. What her mind forgets, the body remembers.

Even Shadowheart seemed impressed.

“You fight well,” the cleric had said approvingly, tossing her head back, black braid swaying like a pendulum. She held herself with pride, chin tilted up, and motes of golden light still fluttered around her fingertips. Behind her, ribbons of smoke curled up from the lumpy body of a charred devourer. “Perhaps our survival isn’t such a distant prospect.”

But the intellect devourers were one thing. The bodies in the temple behind her… Irileth shivers in remembrance of the way they fell beneath her blade, how each little death spurred her on, left her craving more.

Where did she garner such an affinity for weapons? (For death?) Any will do, but daggers, she thinks now, must have always been her favorite. Why else do her senses jump to attention with such fervor? The weight of them are familiar in her hands and Irileth feels that this knowledge is intimate: the sting of a slice, the pressure under which skin will give, part, and burst.

When she reaches out for the how and why she knows these things, there is only blankness. A void where the whole of her used to be. It makes her shudder with apprehension when she thinks of how little she knows of herself.

A breeze flutters up the cliff face where Irileth stands vigil, bringing with it the still glowing embers of the wreck. From this distance, the stench of the illithid ship is nearly diminished, mostly smothered by the freshwater earthiness of the River Chionthar and the surrounding flora.

“It won’t be long now,” a voice croons to Irileth’s right and she startles, suppressing the urge to glare at Astarion as he sidles up beside her, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. 

“For it to die, I mean,” he adds, glancing sidelong at her. “That’s what you’re waiting for, isn’t it?”

Quiet, too, Irileth thinks with an almost bitter admiration, adding onto the list of things she needs to be wary of around him. When he wants to be, at least.

There’s a certain curl to his lips, just visible in some turns of the firelight, and she knows he enjoys having the jump on her.

“Do you think it can?” she asks, lifting a brow. “I’ve been wondering.”

“All things do,” Astarion replies lightly. “Or at least that is my hope.”

“I think I’ll rest easier when it does,” Irileth admits carefully, well aware of how his crimson eyes, just a shade darker than her own, seem to pierce right through her. As much as he likes to feign indifference toward her and the others, Astarion is searching for something, always. Information, perhaps, to use or to be wary of.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly on that front, my dear.” He sounds almost somber, Irileth thinks, as his attention lingers on her for a moment more. But then Astarion shifts back to the nautiloid, where his edge whets once more. “But I certainly won’t mind if it suffers a little while longer.” 

It unnerves Irileth, how open Astarion is with his casual displays of cruelty and violence. It feels perverse, like he is, albeit unknowingly, making a mockery of the restraint she so desperately clings to. Just last night, he’d asked her how she’d like to be killed, should ceremorphosis finally take place. 

Knives, poison, strangulation—whatever you’d prefer.

She’d nearly laughed at his question, ruled by her giddy madness. As if she could really pick just one.

But in some part, Irilieth is relieved and grateful to know that this well of violence she seems to carry within her is not so singular. How odd, the things that bring people together.

“Then we are in agreement on that as well,” she confesses and Astarion barks out a laugh. His laugh is harsh and startling, and it might just be the realest thing about him so far.

“You know, you’re quite fun when you want to be.” He hums, amused, and returns her stare with a look of appraisal. “That is, when you aren’t playing the hero, I mean. Watching you fuss over our friends is so sweet, it’s sickening.”

“I try,” Irileth replies dryly and Astarion’s mouth curves in amusement as he steps forward, pressing into her space. Stubbornly, Irileth forces herself to stay put, which only seems to add to his interest. She is starting to understand his game—how he likes to pick her brain, make her react to him. Like he’s testing how far he can push.

“I mean it. It was a spectacle, darling,” Astarion continues, his voice dropping to a near-conspiratorial purr. The tone of it sends a sweet trill through Irileth’s bones. “Watching you dispatch those bandits today with such a flourish! It really makes me wonder who exactly you were before all of this.”

The laugh Irileth releases is rueful. 

“You and me both,” she mutters and Astarion rewards her with one of his coy little smiles. (How many men and women have fawned over that smile? He offers it like a gift, like a treat, like a trap. She wants to take it.)

“You must admit, it’s a fascinating little mystery,” Astarion drawls, tilting his head as his eyes roam over her. “Very intriguing, your memory loss. Perhaps you were a bard? No. A thief? An assassin? Hm, yes, that would track.”

Irileth’s stomach twists at that and she fixes him with a look. “You’re teasing.”

“I am,” he admits, white teeth shining in the firelight. His smirk is in full bloom now, and those red eyes, so magnetic, narrow. “It’s too much fun with you. But I might be right. You’re quite the punisher, after all.”

Irileth’s mouth dries, even as her grip on the dagger firms and the tip presses harder into the pad of her forefinger. Any more force and it will burst skin. “It was just battle, Astarion. They would have killed us if we didn’t fight back. Nothing more.”

Astarion grins like they both know she’s lying.

“Of course, darling, of course. It all worked out in the end. We got into the temple and picked up our very own magical skeleton as well,” he says flippantly, brandishing his book through the air toward Withers. His expression turns sly as he thumbs his chin innocently. “But there’s nothing wrong with a bit of pain for those who deserve it.”

A shudder passes through Irileth, and the sensation is not entirely unpleasant. She wants to agree, wholeheartedly. It almost feels as if her very marrow calls for it.

But Irileth reins in the impulse. There is a feeling in her gut that makes her hesitate. Perhaps it is the phrasing she takes issue with, or the intent, but she is… conflicted. That familiar headache is starting again, a throbbing at the base of her neck that sparks through her temples.

“And who,” she asks, rolling the hilt of her dagger in one slow circle, “decides who deserves it?”

She has surprised him with this question. Astarion’s brows lift and his eyes dart across her face, searching. He has the same look about him, Irileth thinks, when he’s scouting an area and checking for traps. 

(What a cautious life one must lead, to be constantly anticipating that which would hurt you.)

“You really are asking, aren’t you?” Astarion huffs, drawing back. “It is up to the powerful, my sweet,” he answers as if it is obvious. “He who holds the cards decides how they are dealt. Today, that was you.”

A thrill runs through Irileth at that, one she quickly tries to tamp down.

“Don’t look so scandalized,” Astarion tuts and he grazes the back of his hand down her arm. His fingers are cold and dry. 

Like death, Irileth thinks, suppressing the urge to shiver in delight.  

“I quite like a bit of power,” he says softly, and gods above, he is laying it on thick tonight, this seduction. “It’s… alluring, especially on you.”

Hells. Astarion truly is quite a vision, even when he’s looking at her like she’s something to be toyed with. Perhaps especially then. 

Irileth is overcome with the sudden desire to smile back at him. It’s adorable, she thinks, brazenly, madly—the notion that he could pose a real threat to her (Hah!). Astarion could never truly harm her, but maybe… Irileth’s blood burns hot. Oh, maybe he might bite back.

Wretched thing , Irileth admonishes herself, for that idea should not appeal to her so. But she has lost the run of herself, now. Emboldened and a little incensed, Irileth finds that she wants to indulge him in his little game.

“Power,” Irileth says softly, and she is surprised by the silkenness of her own voice. It sounds like it comes from another person, another life. “Is that all you like about me?”

Astarion’s laugh is a sultry and wicked thing. “Darling,” he croons, and with his free hand, he reaches out to twirl a lock of her white hair around his slender finger. “There are a great many things I like about you.”

Ah. She wonders just how much he would like it if she told him what a pretty corpse he would make.

Irileth jerks away, her heartbeat suddenly thunderous in her ears as her hair snags around Astarion’s finger, then gives and uncoils. Revulsion and shame roll through her at such a depraved thought— where had it come from? (Inside, inside!)

Hastily, she shoves her dagger into her waistband, struck with the irrational fear that her own hands might act on their own accord. Something stings, badly, though she’s not sure what it is, nor does she care.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s voice is still a sugary drawl, but there is alarm, no doubt on his face. Irileth can tell he is suspicious of her behavior; his gaze was magnetic before, but now it pierces, as if he’s found a gap in her defenses and plans to twist the knife in. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

“I’m fine,” Irileth says hastily, taking an unsteady step back as she feels her head pulse and a cold sweat break out across her skin. “I’m just—tired. I think I need to rest.”

“Yes, of course you are. It’s been a long day,” Astarion replies mildly, although there is a sudden rigidity about him as he looks her over. He swallows, flickering shadows contorting across the long pale column of his neck. “You go rest, I’ll keep watch tonight.”

Irileth nods gratefully, desperate to get away from him, to put space in between him and her depravity.

Though she doesn’t get far. With a sharp yank, Astarion pulls her to a halt. Those crafty fingers—the same that delicately twisted her hair only moments ago—are now wrapped around her wrist like a vise. Irileth is surprised to find that it hurts.

Then gently, as if to make up for startling her, Astarion lifts her hand up between them.

Her finger, the same one she’d held against her dagger’s point, is a bloody mess. Crimson slides down the length of her forearm and drips off the end of her elbow. The droplets strike the earth with a soft pat, pat, pat.

“I think,” Astarion says slowly, his voice thick as he stares steadily at her face, unwavering, “you should get that patched up.”

And then he releases her. 

Irileth merely nods, thinking nothing of the ache she feels in her wrist, or how her wicked heart races at the sight of blood, even her own. She stumbles toward Shadowheart and thinks nothing of the way Astarion’s pupils have dilated, nearly dwarfing the red of his irises, until much later, in the dead of another night.

Shadowheart is not amused.

“You should reserve your knifeplay for the battlefield,” the cleric chastises with a disappointed sneer. “Next time, I might not be so gracious.”

Irileth sits quietly, watching as Shadowheart drags a wet rag across her forearm and all around her hand, wiping away the blood that spilled from her newly healed finger. The remnants of Shadowheart’s magic still linger, a pleasant coolness that has washed over Irileth, soothing all of the aches she’s collected throughout the day, save for the incessant beating against her skull. 

It feels… familiar almost. Like she’s been in this position before, pliant beneath a healer’s hand. But when Irileth reaches out to grasp it, the memory slips away.

“I’m sorry,” Irileth mumbles, curling and straightening her finger. “My hand slipped. I’ll take care of it next time.”

“Will you now?” Shadowheart scoffs, affronted, as her grip on Irileth’s arm tightens. “And do you know how to stitch a wound?”

Irileth bites the inside of her cheek and thinks that she just might. She doesn’t say this though, simply shrugs.

“Just as I thought,” Shadowheart huffs, shaking her head. “‘Next time’… Spare me.”

But despite her chuffing, Shadowheart’s hold eases and her last few strokes of the rag are nearly gentle. She likes this, Irileth realizes. Not just being the healer, but taking care of people.

Not that she would ever tell Shadowheart that.

Irileth gnaws on her cheek a little while longer, feeling the flesh turn raw and metallic before she asks, tentatively, “What do you think I was? Before all of this?”

Shadowheart’s green eyes flick up to meet her. Usually so guarded and flinty, they search Irileth’s face, slowly scrutinizing, and come away with something akin to… pity. She sighs and sits back on her knees, laying the rag in her lap. 

“It still bothers you, your memory loss. Well,” Shadowheart sighs, moving her gaze over the campsite in a long drag. “I suppose I understand that. Though it’s not as uncommon as you think.”

Irileth raises her brows, but the cleric doesn’t elaborate. 

“I don’t quite know who you were,” Shadowheart admits after a few moments have gone by. She plucks at the rag as she considers, the perfect white crescents of her nails pulling reddish brown threads free. “You remind me of—” 

Her voice breaks off suddenly, and Shadowheart’s expression turns stricken with alarm, then confusion. 

Irileth frowns. “Shadowheart?”

The cleric blinks, then shakes her head, pursing her lips. “I’m—sorry. I thought you reminded me of someone, but the name escapes me.” Her smile is tense and bitter. “You might take comfort in knowing that you are not the only one who is missing memories. Though, before you start to wonder: our afflictions are not the same. Mine was… voluntary. For my mission. I can say no more than that.”

“That sounds…extreme,” Irileth observes. It seems unfathomable, to choose the endless void that sits at the center of her. The yawning emptiness of self.

“It is.” A certain steeliness returns to Shadowheart. “It is not a sacrifice undertaken lightly for—for my Lady.”

Irileth, unsurprisingly, does not know much about the gods that govern Faerûn beyond what she has recovered from one of the books they found in Withers’ tomb. Right now, all she has is guesswork regarding which altar Shadowheart worships at.

“The gods seem to demand a lot,” Irileth muses and Shadowheart laughs, a soft little sound that dies quickly in the air.

“You’ve no idea,” Shadowheart replies with a surprising weariness. Then she straightens up, eyes narrowing, and tosses the rag aside. “But back to your original question. There’s something about you that I recognized. When you killed that mind flayer in the wreckage.”

Irileth remembers the event well, the creature pinned beneath the rubble, purple flesh shining. Glittering orange pearls of malice. They’d found it on the first day, she, Shadowheart, and Astarion.

“It was going to die anyway,” the cleric continues, and although her hands twist about, fingers running over the plaits of her hair, her gaze is steady. “But you still killed it. You were so… gentle. Like a lover.”

Irileth swallows, dread unspooling in her stomach even as her heart thumps with glee.

“You cradled its head as you pushed your knife through its skull.” Shadowheart’s voice was flat and almost ponderous, but here, it inflects with unease, “You were slow about it. You needn’t have been.”

Irileth’s mouth feels dry. She hadn’t realized it looked quite like that. She remembers only that she’d wanted it to suffer, for what it had done, for what it tried to do to her.

It tried to command her to love it.

“It captured us. It wanted to control us,” Irileth replies, defensive.

“Yes. And I am glad it’s dead.” Shadowheart is unwavering. “And still, you were unnecessary.”

“What did it remind you of?” she asks, nails biting into her knees as she presses her hands into the tops of her thighs to hide how they shake. “You said you recognized something.”

“Yes.” Shadowheart frowns. Looks away. “You reminded me of myself. When I pray.”

Oh.

Irileth pushes herself to her feet. That is… She doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t know what it means, but whatever it is, she doesn’t like it.

“Thank you,” she says, and if she sounds a little winded, Shadowheart doesn’t comment on it. “For the healing.”

Shadowheart merely nods. “Just don’t expect me to heal you every time you prick your finger. Next time, try asking Astarion to stitch you up. He seems to know how to use a needle.”

Irileth huffs out a breath that she thinks might be a laugh. She remembers the squawk Astarion let out when his clothes snagged on a bramble, how he mended them the moment they set up camp last night. 

So careful with himself and his things, Astarion is. Like he has lost both before.

“Speaking of,” Shadowheart adds before Irileth turns away. Her voice drops, just loud enough to pass between the two of them. “You should be careful around Astarion. I saw the two of you, standing by the cliffside. Don’t be fooled by his pretty looks.”

“You don’t trust him?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Shadowheart corrects, as if this is an important distinction. “But especially not him. He wants something. I just haven’t figured out what.”

Astarion has returned to his spot by the fire, his book spread out in his lap. Irileth watches as he slowly moves the page with a perfect, practiced grace—a performer through and through—and thinks that Shadowheart might be right.

The next morning, the nautiloid dies.

Once more, Irileth watches from the cliffside as the massive tentacles undergo their final death twitches, then fall still amongst the waves. Behind her, the rest of her companions pack up their tents. Today, they will enter the Grove to finally find a healer and hopefully get their cure.

Last night’s sleep found Irileth in fits and starts. No dreams, thankfully, just red smoke and metal. Her perpetual headache has subsided, or she has grown to tolerate it, and it has resolved itself to a dull pulse at the base of her cranium. Overall, she feels… better. More in control of herself. She just prays that her clarity of mind will persist.

It has to, Irileth vows to herself. It will. There will be no repeat of what happened last night. She can master her perversions. If her companions knew what rot festers in her jellied brain, they would surely cast her out.

 “Hm. Pity.” Astarion appears by her side once more, the scent of bergamot fresh in the air. There is a whine in his voice as he hums in displeasure. 

Speak of the devil. Irileth raises her brow at his dramatics and Astarion glances at her out of the corner of his eye, putting his palm to his cheek as his bottom lip juts out in a perfect pout.

He sighs with all of the grandiosity that only he can master. “I just hope it hurt.”

Then he walks off, swaggering and elegant. Irileth’s eyes catch on the back of his doublet as he goes, where a row of fine stitches crawl up the hem, just along his ribs.

Irileth presses her thumb into the pad of the forefinger she pierced last night. She won’t hurt him—she can’t. Nor any of her other companions. They are her only chance of survival; there will be no tadpole cure without their help.

But anyone else—their enemies? Irileth glances back at the ruined mind flayer ship one final time before grabbing her pack and checking the daggers hilted at her hips. 

For them, she can make no promises.

[billerak]

RWTC

As in rewatch get it because it's like team names and this fandom is obsessed with four letter acronyms and-*gets shot*

...

So… I once fixed hyperfixation by rewatching a show and taking notes about it, so imma try the same with RWBY as it's currently taking over a lot of brainpower just existing in my consciousness. I reckon if the rewatch itself doesn't remind me of how much of a mess this show is, taking notes might. Also I really wanna examine the 'Bumblebee was set up from the beginning' allegations. I'm 99.99% it wasn't but I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. Just to make it clear for any bumblebee fan who may be reading this expecting me to be converted into loving the ship: Even if there are hints this early on, their development later would still be a goddamn mess. And just for the record: I will only be taking as 'hints' things that are undeniable. The show is very explicit with its hetshit, I won't take less than that for queerness. (Don't expect this to be an essay I'll just write down whatever I wanna say at any given moment and it will be awful to read, it's basically a diary for myself).

V1: Trailers: Honestly, they're bangers. Music's great. They set up characters. If I had to rank them I'd say R-Y-W-B but I only put Black below the others because I simply like the other fights better. I know why Adam is there with Blake but it kinda feels like he steals a bit of hte spotlight. (And the Dempsey Roll reference in Yellow cannot be beaten, sorry. Well except by Ruby's sheer fucking awesomeness but ykwim). Though tbh ADAM STANDING THERE AWKWARDLY INSTEAD OF JUST JUMPING IS INSANE. YOU CAN CLEAR THAT GAP MY GUY. Also the moon is, well, inconsistent across the trailers. Like you'd think maybe there was something going on with it breaking a bit more each trailer but, no, it jumps from barely broken to even more broken than in the show in Black, then stays the same in Yellow. Which. You know. It's the little inconsistencies that make RWBY, aren't they.

On the Bees: Someone pointed out to me that 'Red like Roses' implies Blake/Yang as the beauty and the beast. I… will grant it the benefit of the doubt in this case. I mean, Monty didn't even fucking know Ruby was standing by her mother's gravestone when he did this I seriously doubt he'd thought that much ahead. But RWBY is inspired by fairy tales, so the use of beast and beauty isn't likely to be coincidental either. This is the only instance where I will grant a 'benefit of the doubt'. I'm more inclined to believe it's actually a coincidence that neatly fit into it later. Blake/Yang have absolutely nothing of the beauty and the beast in their dynamic.

Ep 1: The dust speech at the start feels a bit odd in retrospect. Dust ends up being kind of underwhelming if we look at what it actually does for the plot, it doesn't feel more important than Aura and Semblances. I'd reckon all three could have been mentioned. Is… is that moon transition at the start meant to imply the moon's been breaking off over time? Honestly the creation myth of RWBY is one of the few things I do believe was at least mildly planned from the start so I find it mildly surprising. Maybe they planned for it to break more over time but forgot about it by volume 6 and just had the gods break it all in one go? The rest of the episode is ok. I won't be commenting on the voice acting too much—this was a bit of an indie production, after all. If any particular lines are too awful maybe I'll point them out. That being said, Glenda's semblance is awfully the fucking same as magic. Cinder is using literal magic so that's ok. It really never is quite explained how or even why dust interacts with semblances, is it?

On the Bees: Nothing this ep.

Ep 2: Should I mention the fact that the show never stops to breathe, especially this early on? I guess I'll do it because then when I can be positive about a scene it'll stick out. So… yeah, the whole introduction of Team RWBY is kind of all over the place in terms of pacing. Could ahve used an extra minute or two to make the conversation a bit, well, better paced. Also do Yang's friends ever show up again? I don't think so. And I know it's meant to be comedic but Weiss just swinging about a bottle of dust feels kind of… strange. She should know how stupid that is. That aside, there's a lot of expository dialogue that probably could have been shoved into the classroom scenes. The dust, weapons, etc. Leave room for the characters to actually speak instead of explaining things everyone present should know.

On the Bees: Nothing this ep.

Ep 3: Comedy is VERY hit or miss in general, so I'll just state I… don't really find most RWBY humor funny. I see the intent and I won't criticize it, it's just not for me. On another note: White Rose is my go-to ship in the early volumes. The writers clearly got scared of how much chemistry Ruby and Weiss had so they sort of… barely interact one on one again in the future. Did you know I like Diakko? Because I like Diakko. A lot. Check my AO3. Iykyk. Anyways I don't think the sleepover scene thing is too bad. Could have made Weiss interact with Blake a bit but eh whatever.

On the Bees: So, Yang makes a very pointed comment about being into boys! Very explicit and with no interpretation required! Let's see if we can see similar hints of her bisexuality at any point prior to V6. And on the off chance a bumblebee shipper is reading this: I don't really care how much these minor instances 'don't matter'. If they're such small things, why not have them go both ways? Like, say, the perfect chance that comes up right after with fucking Blake. Which isn't taken. "noo but she says she likes her bow' it's all literal pleasantries to try to get her to talk to Ruby and the second she isn't responsive Yang's like "Nah fuck her." There's more of a romantic interaction here between Ruby and Blake than between bumblebee ffs. Also Yang so far has only shown interest in boys, as evidenced by her trailer. 'nooo she was just pretending' she wasn't pretending here now was she. Anyways if it really was planned this early on what stopped the team from just showing a bit of her bisexuality. Because she also didn't have much of a 'gay awakening' thing moment. Which you'd think they'd give her. Or Blake for that matter.

Ep 4: Nora and Ren are introduced and it's clear Nora's in love with Ren from second 1. Even if it's unclear whether Ren reciprocates or not (And I'm gonna say unclear because dude's kind of very non-emotive in general). I think it's a fine enough introduction to the characters. Weiss is VERY gay towards Pyrrha you cannot convince me otherwise. (just for clarification's sake: I mean it in a shippy way, I know it's not intentionally queer, I'm a yurifag it's what I do). Oh hey look another character getting to be very explicitly heterosexual I'm sure queer folk will get the same treatment in this incredibly inclusive show! Idk if I like Pyrrha's introduction. I guess it's efficient but… well, like everything in this scene, really it coudl use some time to breathe. I could get nitpicky and complain about a lot of things with the 'team selection process' like, uh, the fact that some students have to have died or how there has to have been some terrible teams because of the random nature of it all. And I guess I just did. But I'll also say I'm gonna let it pass because, in the end, it's funny. Also Blake didn't speak a single word this episode. Or get like. Any focus. Like idk a shot of her reacting to other people's shenanigans at least. One of the 4 mcs guys.

On the Bees: Nothing this ep… Like with Blake.

Ep 5: AU where Pyrrha misses her shot because Ruby dodged that bird, and Pyrrha's weapon struck the bird instead of Jaune and Jaune fucking dies. (<- when I say these notes are for me I mean it this is the sort of shit I think about when watching episodes of anything) Like u get what I mean? Ruby and Weiss just have so much chemistry man. I don't get what Pyrrha saw in Jaune acting like a prick back there but idk straight people are weird. And… pretty much that's all I have to say about the episode. There wasn't much of a pacing issue here because it was like, 3 scenes altogether.

Ep 6: So, Yang's supposed to absorb damage to use her semblance. At least in the later volumes. Here she just… Uses it. The trailer version had been fighting and took a few hits so it made sense there but here? And don't tell me it had no effect because she used it to obliterate that bear Grimm. Anyways I think it changes a few times through the volumes I'll be on watch for that. Yang and Blake's meeting is… fucking nothing. More at the end. The, uh, 'fight' with Ruby and Weiss wasn't animated the best. That's all imma say about it. Ok so, Aura is a manifestation of the soul and it can coat yourself and your tools for protection and presumably also enhances attacks and provides healing. Simple enough. But… the thing about understanding light and dark or whatever? Shit never comes up again. Also I seem to remember this is retconned but we'll get there when/if we get there. I don't hate the concept of Aura. Hell, it's almost exactly how I handle at least 2 magic systems I'm currently working on (sans details). I just think it's poorly utilized, being almost always just used as a magical coating and little else. The whole 'manifestation of the soul' thing rings hollow. Also does anyone else ever do the shield-aura thing Ren did here? Leaving aside my problems with Aura in general, Pyrrha's whole thing about helping Jaune manifest Aura: W H A T. T H E. F U C K. Like, did anyone on the team pause to think of the implications of this? Probably not. Definitely not. Just think about it for a second. This implies that it's possible for people with aura to help people without it manifest it. Whether the speech is important or not is irrelevant, let's say it's just something to help someone focus. That's not the freaking point. WHY woudln't they do this to everyone? If Pyrrha could do it with Jaune, who is pretty much a normal ass dude, why not do this for every citizen? It literally takes like a minute. Sure it tires the person who does it but like, what's stopping that person from turning around and doing it to someone else? Let's say it requires training to do it: Why not train people for the explicit job of unlocking other people's auras? And yes, they very explicitly state everyone has an aura, whether it's unlocked or not. Listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. You live in a society where a negative emotion will attract the monsters trying to kill you. Do you know how much safer people would feel if they knew they'd survive at least one or two hits from a Grimm? The panic you could help avoid? Grimm have this thing where they retrofeed themselves, causing panic which attracts more of them which causes more panic etc. By unlocking everyone's Aura you could help avoid or at least severely delay that problem. I don't think this is ever done again. But even if it is, the point would only get stronger, because it's clearly not something only Pyrrha can do. Anwyays back to our regular content, fight scenes with Monty are pretty good most of the time. Ren never uses his bare fists to attack again I don't think.

On the Bees: Every other pairing formed in these episodes had like. A proper exchange when they met. To show what chemistry they had together. Whether it be Weiss ignoring then coming back to Ruby, Pyrrha making a wisecrack at Jaune or Nora's and Ren's whole thing. Yang and Blake? Blake doesn't say anything, she just smirks (I think it's meant to be a smirk anyways). Yang just boasts. I understand Blake's not a very talkative individual but this tells me nothing of what their dynamic's gonna be.

Ep 7: Weiss and Ruby having really fun interactions here and then Yang and Blake have a nothingburger of an interaction. Actually, make that 2 nothingburger interactions. Jaune and Pyrrha get to be comedic here. And that's basically the episode really.

On the Bees: I don't care if bumblebee shippers read a million layers of meaning into Blake not saying shit when they first interact this episde. Fine. But Yang doesn't even have a reaction to it! She doesn't act annoyed or intrigued she literally does fucking nothing about it. Then the pony thing is like… ok. What's their dynamic here? Weiss and Ruby have a really strong dynamic already in place. Jaune and Pyrrha are building one that's at least starting to make sense. Nora and Ren had one from their first seconds together. Seriously. You wanna argue they were planned from the beginning? Well they sure seem like people who ended on the same team and shrugged and said 'whatever' and kept moving without further interaction, unlike fucking EVERYONE else. It pisses me off because you can 100% play Yang's hotheadedness against Blake's more calculating nature, but they don't fucking do that. 'Planned from the beginning' my ass, mfs couldn't even figure out how to squeeze some characterization out of their interactions.

Ep 8: The start of this episode is another case of RWBY humor not really hitting home for me. Another case of Yang just using her semblance for a tantrum. Seriosuly White Rose gets a fucking moment every episode. Yang and Blake barely fucking interact. I'm going insane. The rest of the episode is basically one big action scene, and well, it's RWBY at its best, so no real complains here. Roman is kind of awfully underutilized, isn't he.

On the Bees: I'd love to go on a rant like last episode but honestly shit still applies. The only actual interaction Yang and Blake have here is when Yang is feeling proud of Ruby, and it speaks nothing about their dynamic.

Ep 9: Last episode Blake wasn't saying shit and now she's suddenly a huge part of the redecorating efforts. The problem isn't that I think she should be a loner or aloof, the problem is that it doesnt' feel too consistent. She starts being like "leave me alone I wanna read", she barely exchanges a word with Yang later, and now she joins in on the fun? idk, maybe she could've joined in a less overt way. Other than that it's a fine scene, though it goes too fast for my liking. The classroom scene is amazing because it teaches us basically nothing, other than the mention of the 4 kingdoms. Like it says a lot of shit about 'true huntsmen' which ends up proving mostly untrue through the rest of the show. Which would be fine if it was like, a point made, but it's not really.

On the Bees: N o t h i n g.

Ep 10: More White Rose people really trying to tell me not to ship them because the bees are canon but fuck you THEIR DYNAMIC IS THE BEST PART OF EARLY RWBY. Always with the caveat of 'pacing could be better' ofc. Anyways what the fuck was up with professor moustache flirting with Yang what were they thinking. I think the Weiss/Ruby conflict could have been stretched a bit. Rather than a day, make it a week or something. Still, this is one of the better episodes of the season, iirc.

On the Bees: Nada. Zero. Nanai. But we keep getting fuel for White Rose DO YOU UNDERSTAND MY FRUSTRATION HERE. LIKE SERIOUSLY I WOUDLN'T EVEN MIND THE ABSOLUTE LACK OF ANY EXPLICIT QUEERNESS IN THESE EARLY VOLUMES IF THEY AT LEAST BOTHERED TO MAKE THE SUPPOSED 'PLANNED FROM THE BEGINNING' COUPLE INTERACT PROPERLY. NOBODY WOULD BE CASTING DOBUT TO THE CLAIM IF WHITEROSE HAD ENDED UP BEING CANON.

Ep 11: Ok, here's the thing. Aura is a manifestation of the soul. I can accept it can be measured somehow. The question here is, what exactly happens when it breaks? Like, what happens to your fucking soul? Really, I would just make it vital energy the same way ki or chakra works, because tying it to the soul like that just leads to questions. Anyways this episode is just the setup for the "jaune gets bullied arc". I'll actually not say too much about it because my own thoughts towards bullies are rather… extreme (as in, I would kill them all without hesitation were I given the chance sort of extreme). So instead of commenting on how absolutely terribly I think this arc is handled, I'll… not do that. That being said, none of team JNPR or RWBY standing up for Bunnygirl is kind of bullshit. Also, we know there's cameras everywhere on beacon, so why don't the teachers do shit? Though to be fair, teachers not doing shit about bullying is the most realistic part of this whole thing.

On the Bees: Still nothing.

Ep 12: Ok so the discussion of "making up new races to be racist towards" has been ongoing for as long as the internet has existed, probably earlier than that too. I am white, and I'm not from the US. In my country I'd say we have far more xenophobia than we do racism, and we didn't have a civil war over the the concept of freeing slaves. We just sort of did it. All of this to say: I'm not really in a position to give too pointed an opinion on the whole 'racist towards faunus' thing. With that and my refusal to speak on hte bullying topic, that kind of leaves me with little to say in general about the rest of the volume, huh. That being said, while I don't mind the Jaune/Pyrrha thing, and I do like the idea of Jaune somehow faking his way into beacon… how? How exactly does he do that? Like, think about all the security shit we've seen over the years. How does anyone create fake transcripts? Woudln't Ozpin or Glynda call the schools of their students to make sure their records are correct? idk. Maybe Ozpin just found the idea funny.

On the Bees: Knees.

Ep 13: I like the conversation between Jaune and Ruby, though it feels a bit… random for Ruby to be saying this? I guess the idea is she matured a bit after the conversation with Ozpin but it doesn't really feel like she's at the point where she should be saying stuff like this yet. I think she and Jaune should've played off each other, instead of Ruby acting like she's experienced about this.

On the Knees: Bees. Or, actually, I think it was wasps in that box.

Ep 14: Pyrrha's semblance is later treated as though it were secret (iirc) but she certainly doesn't seem to care too much about it right now. Wouldn't it be a matter of public reacord, anyways? Like, if you go to a fighting school, I'd reckon they want to know what their fighters' semblances are. Wouldn't want to have Gorey McBloodhands walk into the next sparring session and make someone explode from the inside, know what I mean? I suppose the existence of Salem could work to explain the masking of this but… They put up public tournaments where the best fighters are literally shown to the whole world anyways, and most semblances aren't as subtle as Pyrrha's so, you know. Anyways, that moment when Jaune's aura glows… Is… that supposed to be his semblance? I think it was more just that thing Pyrrha said about Jaune having a lot of aura, but if Jaune can use his semblance on himself, well… Fuck, the implications. Jaune could be the most broken character of this cast. Should be, even. Only semblances like Tyrian's should be able to counter him.

On the Bumbles: What happened to the box of wasps anyways.

Ep 15: Ok, so the only thing I will say about the racism arc: It makes sense Weiss would be racist, I just think it comes out of nowhere, when they had at least 2 other chances to show it in the past to build up to all of this. First thing Sun does when he shows up: Flirt! With Blake! More at the bottom Anwyays previous to final episode of the volume and… we introduce 2 random ass characters out of nowhere. And no, this wasn't planned from the beginning, this was done in haste because Monty thought it'd be cool to have them in a fight scene, and it shows. Monty was a genius animator but the guy could have done a little consulting with his team, really. THAT BEING SAID. I kinda think like they did the best they could. For all my complaints, using Sun as the trigger for Wiess's rampant racism (even though it could've been built up to) is effective enough. And… Ok Penny is a bit superfluous and she… doesn't really add anything to the scene other than being a literal obstacle, but, uh, could be worse really. I didn't much care for penny back in the day, but I do love Penny after V7-8, much as her revival bothers me (I remember when they claimed that no, Penny couldn't be brought back to life despite being a machine. You really want me to believe their claims about other stuff when they pull shit like that? You know the whole racism argument could have been a moment for Yang and Ruby to actually partake in the conversation. Especially yang since, you know, they were totally planned as a couple from the beginning.

On the Bees: Nothing! But Sun had a moment with Blake! Two, actually! And Sun's gonna be the one getting the infodump first. Like, dude's really gonna connect more and more deeply with Blake over a cup of fucking coffee than Yang has in literal months- "But no guys you don't understand there was never anything going on there clearly it was nothing it had no narrative impact it was meaningless fr fr" I'll say more about this over the volumes because holy fuck the level of cope is amazing here. I know I'm gonna sound like a goddamn hetfag complaining about this but you seriously need to understand I'm a yuri connoisseur I fucking hate heterosexuality (in media. real heterosexuals are ok sometimes) (this is a joke but only if the previous comment offended you if not it's real)

Ep 16: Well I already said my piece about Blake telling her backstory to Sun rather than her teammates. Way to go Yang, sticking up for Blake in the face of Weiss's continued racism. How effective is it to hold someone at gun/knifepoint, given the existence of Aura? If Blake tried to slit Roman's throat, even with a shot, its unlikely she'd be able to pierce through the aura, right? Cool fights are cool. Ok, racism arc aside, I do think it's kind of a problem that Weiss just… solves her racism because she 'thought about it'. Like, bitch wasn't even confronted about it, you get me? I like the idea of the 'reunion', the problem is… it doesn't feel earned. Pacing issues, like usual, but especially awful here.

On the Bees: N O T H I N G BLAKE WAS MISSING FOR HALF A DAY AND WEISS HAD MORE OF A REUNION WITH HER AND RUBY HAD MORE OF A REACTION.

Anyways, V1 finished. Veredict? It's a mess. It's RWBY. Despite all the criticisms I've thrown its way, I believe I enjoyed it more this second time than the first, to be quite honest.

And no, this volume did absolutely nothing to convince me that Bumblebee was planned from the start. In fact it kind of pushed me in the opposite direction. Like, the VA's really shipped this from the start? Fucking why? They barely interact, when they do it's fucking dry, and Blake has deeper moments of connection with the other two members of RWBY than with Yang. I am genuinely astounded anyone would believe the claims the bee's were always meant as endgame. Fucking hell.

On a completely separate note: Pyrrha doesn't pass the Bechdel Test for volume 1. Yes I kept track of this.

RWTC 2

[iamafanofcartoons]

Coco, thinking: . . . I can fix her. Cinder, thinking: . . . I can make her worse. Coco: Hey there hot stuff~ Ruby: Coco you idiot, she's going to kill you!!! Cinder: W-what are you doing? Coco: Not used to people flirting with you? Cinder: *blushing and getting flustered* Ruby: Holy shit that actually worked? Coco Adel: you like what you see, hot stuff Cinder: I will INCINERATE YOU! Coco: I love it when they talk dirty Cinder: what is WRONG with you!? Fox: You should have seen her when she saw Emerald Velvet: And Carmine Yatsuhashi: I’m beginning to think Coco has a thing for evil girls Coco: You guys don’t get it, sometimes all they need is to get laid! Cinder: I need to get what!? Coco: read my lips, sweetheart. You. Need. To. Get. Laid Cinder: arent you in a relationship?! Coco: does being a polycule count? Velvet:Wait a minute doesn’t Emerald have a crush on her Ruby:Oh yeah I guess she does or well did considering she joined our side https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/130ldy1/leave_cinder_to_coco_she_can_fix_her_michumi/ https://twitter.com/FadedNeonzZz/status/1651565507386941443

Ship name: Hot Chocolate

[onewomancitadel]

Should I change my habits and be tagging other names for Knightfall and Jaune x Cinder on my posts. Or am I just going to be obstinate forever.

I regularly post about Jaune/Cinder as it's my OTP of all time and I write fanfic about it. I exclusively ship it though and don't tolerate other ships involving them not with each other (and especially don't tolerate wooby baby/d*minatrix characterisation). That's kind of why I avoid those other tags because I get the feeling an enthusiast will be the one looking for, well, an enthusiast.

[weatherman667]

Rare Jaune Ships

Velvet:  The primary purpose people use her is either a breeding fetish, as part of a Faunus harem, or as a closet key for Coco.  Most fics forget that the only characterization we get out of her is that she’s a shy photographer.  Not saying don’t make spank fics about it, but she is a shy if kinky photographer.

Coco:  Coco is a right royal bitch, and should be primarily used as a way to teach her a lesson.  Luckily, this is what most fics focus on.

NDGO:  Primary useful for a quick way to bang a squad of teen idols.

Glynda:  The best for a transgressive power/exchange relationship, where Glynda learns it’s not always appropriate to be - proper.

Cinder:  A great way for a hate fuck / high-heel-face-turn.  This brings out incredibly raw emotions.

Neo:  While Cinder brings out a lot of raw emotions, both positive and negative, Neo is more about having a little goblin girlfriend who just needed hugs, (and frequent reminders that killing is bad).  RWBY Chibi has shown us that Neo is more than willing to use her powers for kinky purposes.

Emerald:  Emerald is a character who wasn’t really given a chance.  She had little characterization, until post-Haven, at which point she still had little characterization, just now being portrayed as a woobie.  She is great if you want to do a non-Cinder/Neo redemption arc.

Neon:  People only really use her to round out a Faunus harem, and that is pretty much the only good use for her.  Still mad at her for calling Yang a fat slut.

Sienna:  A right royal bitch.  Even more so than Coco, but unfortunately, most of the fics about her don’t punish her in turn.

Winter:  Seems to be a consolation-prize Schnee.  Good to punish Weiss and/or make her Jealous.  Would rather pair her with Ironwood.

Willow:  Diametrically opposed extremes of wholesome and kinky.  Extra points if it give the Schnee kids a proper father figure and/or brutally cucking Jacques.

Ilia:  The quickest redemption arc in Human history, because she’s a lesbian, and you can have lesbians do bad thing.  This said, I LOVE her with Jaune, to the point it’s become my favourite ship.  I just absolutely hate her in RWBY, because they try to put her on a bus by making her in charge fo the White Fang.  Leadership is not he strong suit, and she literally has no idea what she should be fighting for.  Okay, yes, they wanted to sink her ship with Blake to focus on Bumblebee, but maybe have someone else going through the same problems as she is?  Have them grow together for mutual support?

Kali:  The best part of the Black Sun fauxmance was Kali being a little baby crazy.  I find Sun a flat, boring character, but that doesn’t mean she’s not baby an/or blond(e) crazy.  She wants Grandkittens, damnit.

Raven:  Brush with your wild side.

Vernal:  They never met except in the middle of the battle, and didn’t actually meet.  You have to bend the story quite a bit to get them together.  But yeah, nothing wrong with a little teaching a lesbian another way.

May Zedong:  She is cute.  We know nothing about her.  Should be good, but I just can’t get over the fact she’s named after Mao Zedong.

Happy Huntresses:  I disavow and repudiate the Happy Huntresses, in their entirety.

Arslan:  I have no emotional connection whatsoever.

Summer:  Despite the fact she’s dead, doesn’t seem to cause any barrier.  No one even tries to justify it.  Jaune’s Aura control lets him touch ghosts.  See?  Easy.

Nora:  Nora would do ANYTHING Jaune told her to.  Anything.  Anywhere.  With anyone.  Luckily for her, Jaune is both jealous, and careful in deciding what/when/who to do.  That said, he sometimes has to get a little creative, as she’s REALLY energetic.

Ren:  The biggest problem with Nora’s Arc is what to do with Ren.  Turning him into a femboy concubine definitely solves that problem.

Whitley Schnee:  If anyone deserves to be forcefully feminized for the purpose of humiliation, it’s him.

Oscar:  I liked Rose Garden, briefly, and then have since become completely against it.  How dare he try to get between the glory that is Lancaster?  He needs to be punished for it.

PENNY:  Really interesting idea.  Except they never actually met before she was killed.  He did meet her reincarnation, only to be forced to kill her with his own hands.  Other than that, sure.

Ciel:  They have little to no chance to interact.  But, if she tagged long with a reincarnated PENNY, then fuck yeah.

Salem:  The FNDM have weirdly decide that Jaune is Salem’s heir.  Luckily, this has been kept out of most of the Jaune x Salem fics.  Someone needs to teach her the value of life and death, afterall.

Malachite Twins:  No reason to, but no reason no to, either.

Terra and Saphron Cotta-Arc:  The most boring characters introduced, with no one possibly being able to say anything against them, (like one of the more socially awkward ones asking where Adrian came from).  The FNDM then said, fuck this, if you give us boring characters, we’ll make them more interesting, and that was apparently Jaune being Adrian’s father.  Adding Saphron makes it even more interesting.

Momma Arc:  She wants grandbabies, even is that means she has to grease the wheels a bit.

[strawwritesfic]

Ryohei Sasgawa x Female!Reader: Cootie Catcher [Ch. 1]

Summary: You liked it better in the old days, when boys had cooties and didn't talk to you.

Challenge: “What to do, oh, What to do?” by crimsonxtearx5 on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings/Tags: T (Friends to lovers; idiots to lovers; childhood friends; happily blended family; embarrassing parents; civilian!reader; bookworm!reader; opposites attract; Namimori Middle School; TYB!KHR Cast; no honorifics)

Relationships: Ryohei Sasagawa/Reader; Original Character/Original Character; Kyoko Sasagawa & Reader; Ryohei Sasgawa & Kyoko Sasgawa; Tsuna Sawada & Hayato Gokudera & Takeshi Yamamoto)

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Master List

Note: Book quotes taken from The Two Princesses of Bamarre by Gail Carson Levine, one of my all-time favorite books.

Chapter 1: Should Have Had a Staycation

“My tattered skirts caught fire, and I screamed. Vollys spat and put out the blaze. ‘Ah, you have a voice.’

I bit back another scream. Half my skirts were cinders, through which I saw bright-red skin. My left thigh roared with pain.

‘Now speak.’”

“[Name]?”

“‘When will you kill me?’”

“[Name].”

“‘Vollys wagged her head. ‘That is not a fit subject for conversation between us. It cannot—'”

“[Name]!”

“Huh?” Returning to the real world never failed to leave you disoriented. Only a few minutes before your mother shouted you name, you’d been lost in a world of princesses and child-eating dragons. Now you stood on the deck of a gently rocking cruise ship with an entirely different terror staring you down: Your mother’s glare. You remember all at once where you were—and that, unfortunately, this place had exactly zero dragons. “Did you say something, Mom?”

Your mother sighed and shook her head. “Young lady, need I remind you what you’re supposed to be doing?”

The honest answer was no, but you knew she wouldn’t want that answer. Your eyes drifted around the massive boat as you fought for time to let your brain catch up with you. Chlorinated water sloshed in the pool nearby. Tourists made their ways to seats while carrying trays piled with artery-clogging food. Sunlight beat down so hard from above that you had to squint to see even that much.

When your gaze found your mother again, her frown had grown larger.

“Relaxing?” you finally guessed.

“[Name].” Your mother dropped into the seat next to you. You could tell by the way she wrapped her arm around your shoulders that you were in for it. That the heat had turned her skin warm and sticky didn’t make you feel any better. Knowing that it would hurt her feelings if you scooted away from her, however, you remained motionless. “Yes, I want you to relax, but come on. You can read at home. Katsuro went to all the trouble to get you your own room so you could come along with us on this trip! Can’t you at least try to enjoy the cruise?”

And there it was: the “your new stepfather loves you” guilt-trip. Being used every hour or so only made this argument more ineffective as time went on.

“Enjoying things isn’t really my…thing, Mom.”

You ducked your head and fingered the page in your book. What other argument could you make? She didn’t want reminding that you hadn’t asked to come along on her and Katsuro’s honeymoon, or that you hadn’t wanted to come along on her and Katsuro’s honeymoon in the first place. Fortunately, this thought didn’t seem to occur to her.

“That’s not true,” she said. “I’ve seen you get excited with your friend…what’s his name…Ryoto?”

“Ryohei, Mom.”

You shifted back in your seat and lifted your book again. This was partially in the hopes that she would give up and go in search of another ice cream come, and partially to hide your rolling eyes. Trust your mother to constantly forget the name of the one best friend you’d had since the beginning of middle school.

“That’s the one! The Sasagawa boy. You always seem excited when he comes over after a soccer match.”

“Boxing, Mom.”

“Right, right. Oh, Katsuro!”

“Hey!” Katsuro himself plopped down on your other side, and his arm joined your mother’s around your shoulders.

You gave him a watery smile, or as much of one as you could muster. Didn’t they know they were slowly boiling you like a frog?

“How are my two favorite girls?” he asked.

“Great!” your mom chirped. God, she was so embarrassing. You’d have thought finally marrying the man of her dreams would make her act a little more her age, but so far you had had no such luck.

“Fine,” you answered. Honestly, though, all you wanted right now was for the two of them to go away so you could get back to your book.

“That’s wonderful!” Katsuro threw his arms up and, much to your relief, got up. “Because guess what?”

Your mom squirmed happily. “What?”

“I got us a trip inland for some zip lining!”

“Oh, my gosh!” Your mom practically squealed as she shook your shoulders. Your book fell off its perch on your lap and landed with a soggy thunk on the slat flooring. “That’s so exciting! Isn’t that exciting, [Name]?”

Both she and Katsuro grinned expectantly down at you. You forced yet another smile as you bent to retrieve your paperback before it got too wet. “The best.”

“That’s the spirit! Let’s go! We leave in ten minutes! Come on!”

“Yay!” A quick ruffle of your hair, and your mom took off after him.

You shook your head. You didn’t dislike Katsuro, but hanging out with her and him at the same time felt more like babysitting than family-bonding time. You could understand why they were head over heels for each other, but you’d rather they just let you stay in your room and read. Socializing wasn’t exactly your forte.

By the time you made it downstairs to the ship’s exit, a long line of day-trippers already stood waiting for permission to leave the boat. In the center of it all, of course, were your parents.

“[Name]!” They waved as soon as you appeared. You made a beeline for them despite the grumbling of those behind.

“Katsuro forgot his backpack,” your mom said upon your arrival. “Could you stand in line for two minutes while we run back to the room and get it?”

“Sure.”

“That’s my girl!” The two of them stepped out of line. Your mom flashed a smile at you before she disappeared, apparently having forgotten the most important bit, because she shouted over her shoulder, “And try to talk to some of the other kids, okay, honey? Don’t pick up your book again!”

After that stunningly kind reminder, she and Katsuro both vanished. You looked around the crowded area. No one looked to be about your age, and those that didn’t seem like someone that would want to talk to you. Only a few screaming toddlers toddled about, but other than that, you couldn’t see any children. Well, this was a honeymoon cruise, but far be it from your mother to listen to that line of reasoning when you were arguing for staying in Namimori on your own.

So far be it from you to listen to her line of reasoning about being social. A quick look at the glass elevators showed Katsuro and your mother already busy making out on the way up. There was no telling if they’d be back in time to leave. Your money was on probably not. Instead of skulking off somewhere to hide like you wanted to, you simply dug around in your backpack until your fingers found your damp book again. You’d hardly found your place again when an overly-chipper ship worker bounded up to the front of the group to perform some sort of cheerleading routine as she spoke.

“Alright, everybody! We’re going to be opening the door in ten minutes! But before we do, there are some rules we need to go through!”

You’d already stopped paying attention. Her words became nothing but a low buzz in your ears. You peeled the wet page away from where you’d left off, and began to read once more.

“[Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame]!”

Shrieking, you threw your book in the direction of the sudden noise. The source of that noise easily blocked your projectile. Your heart pounded inside your rib cage as you watched your poor, soggy projectile, slip out of sight. Only once it vanished from sight did you think to find out who it was that had screamed your name so hard your ears still hurt.

“Hey, [Name]!” said the boy.

You stared, then blinked, then blinked some more. Standing right in front of you was a muscular young man with short, silver hair and the widest grin you’d ever seen. But surely, surely it wasn’t who you thought it was. What were the odds of ending up on vacation with someone from school? Especially this particular someone?

“Ryohei?” you said.

He laughed and clapped your back. The force propelled you forward a few feet—not that he noticed. “I thought that was you, [Name]! When Kyoko saw someone with [color] hair and her nose buried in a book, I knew!”

“Yeah.” You took several wobbly steps back toward him. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re on an extreme family vacation!” he shouted. You didn’t even wince; two years with Ryohei had probably damaged your eardrums for good. “I was extremely surprised to see you! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, Mom and Katsuro just got married…” Now you winced. Ryohei already knew that. He’d been your guest to the wedding, even if the pair of you had spent more time eating than paying attention to the ceremony.

“And?”

“It’s their…honeymoon…”

“Oh! Right! How extremely awesome of them to bring you along!”

“Yeah,” you said, because there was no way that Ryohei of all people would understand how much you didn’t want to be there. Then something even worse occurred to you: “Wait. Ryohei, you’re not going–”

“Zip lining? Of course I am! It’s an extreme sport!”

You were pretty sure it wasn’t, but there was no need to burst his bubble.

“Why? Are you going zip lining?”

“Katsuro signed us up.”

“Where are your parents? I should give them an extreme congratulations for getting married!”

“I don’t know,” you answered weakly. The one time you’d like them there to save you from this mortification, they weren’t there. How very typical. “They went up the elevators and I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“Huh? Why not?”

“I saw them…” For some reason you could not bear the thought of telling Ryohei that you’d caught your mother and Katsuro with their tongues in each other’s mouths. Strange. Normally you would say it anyway and laugh off an explanation when your friend voiced his confusion. All you could do manage just then was shaking your head. “Just intuition, I guess.”

“That’s great! Kyoko always says that women have an extreme intuition! I’m glad to see that yours is developing!”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome!”

The two of you stared at each other in mutual silence. Ryohei’s expectant grin did not fade one bit. Meanwhile, you continued to shift awkwardly from foot to foot. Why was Ryohei being here making you so nervous? You didn’t know the answer, but it was clear to you that it was time to bail.

“Well, I guess I better go make sure they’re okay. Have fun zip lining!”

Without waiting for him to respond, you turned around and attempted to force your way through the now-moving crowd. Something large and warm wrapped around your wrist and pulled you backward before you could get very far. The force of the yank upset your balance, and you flailed desperately to avoid falling to the ground and getting trampled.

Instead of the floor, however, you hit Ryohei’s chest.

“Hey, I have an extreme plan!” he said.

Did he see your obvious blush as you pushed off of him? You busied yourself pulling at the clingy tank top and shorts you wore over your swimsuit so that he wouldn’t get a chance to notice your face. “Plan? What plan? We don’t need a plan!” And your voice didn’t need to go so high either!

“Sure we do! You wanted to go zip lining, right?”

“Not re—”

“So you should come with me!”

“What?” No! No! Really, I should go find my parents and—”

“Call them!”

“Eh?”

“Call them!” He shoved his cell phone at you until you lifted your hands to take it from him. “Just ask if you can come! Your mom is extremely cool! I’m sure she’ll let you come on this extreme trip!”

“But…” You trailed away, then heaved a sigh and dialed your mother’s number. With Ryohei looking down at you like that, so excited, you just couldn’t tell him no. His grin widened as you lifted the phone to your ear. It rang six times, but just as it was about to go to voicemail, someone answered.

 “Hello?”

“Mom? Are you okay?” The dreamy quality of the female voice was throwing you off.

“O-Oh! [Name]!” Something that sounded an awful lot like bedsheets rustled in the background. “What’s the matter?”

 “We’re starting to set out. Where are you?”

“Oh! The trip! I’m sorry, honey, we won’t be able to make it!”

“Why?”

“Katsuro is…sick!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said in a tone of forced patience. “Is there anything I can bring up to you guys?”

“No! You just go find something to do and have fun. I’ll come find you later, okay?”

“Okay.” Ryohei flashed you two thumbs up. No way were you getting out of this. “Hey, Mom, is it okay if I go zip lining anyway? You know, without you and Katsuro?”

“Well…I don’t know how I feel about you going that far by yourself. You don’t have a cell phone. What if something happens?”

And she thought you were calling her how? “I ran into Ryohei. He says I could come with him.”

“That’s different.” Oh no. She sounded thrilled. “Have fun, honey!”

Before the word “bye” even formed on your lips, you heard the telltale beep of your own mother hanging up on you. You hit the end button yourself and, defeated, look up at Ryohei.

“So?” he asked, hands clenched up by his chest.

It pained you to admit it a little, but “I can go.”

“Extreme! And it’s our turn to leave! Come on!”

The last you saw of your book was it being trodden to a pulp as Ryohei tugged you down the rampart.

[justmightyshadows]

Chapter 4 is finally done! I was moving a bit slow trying to get the dynamics of Muira and Minthara right. Two nobles who are both kind of power hungry but are on opposite sides of luck at this point. I don't think I could make all the chapters this long though, hopefully it pays off with showing their bond.

Minthara slowly poured over a thick tome of the complete history of the city of Selkanarth that she had stolen from one of the shelves in Shar’s library. At the time she was amazed to see it sitting in the stacks of texts forgotten to the world, she had waited until the others were preoccupied with tending to Shadowheart and slipped it into her bag. Now that so many of the others were out of camp scouring for the last orb in this never-ending temple she finally had time to search its contents. Within the pages of detailed and tedious city construction was a small image of the cities founder - a short, tan woman with bushels of curly brown hair, adorned with glyph like tattoos. An arrow pointed to another image which showed the same woman supposedly, this time covered with dark obsidian scales and holding a golden trident. Minthara looked up and saw the golden trident that rested at the edge of Muira’s tent, the glow of its point made it feel as if it were watching her. ‘If she was the founder of this city - she was not hiding it, or she was unaware that anyone had written of her at all.’ Minthara thought. She placed one of her ribbons to mark the page and rested it at the edge of their bedroll -‘Her bedroll’. Minthara corrected herself. Though they had come to be quite close the thought of being one still gave Minthara pause. There seemed to be much to learn about her lover if this book was to be believed and much they still had to decide.

“Minthy! Come join us for dinner. I made your favorite, mushrooms!” Karlach stood by the fire showing off an array of mushrooms each more charred than the next as she dished out giant servings to Lae’zel, herself and Minthara. She ignored the nickname, it was useless to get Karlach to stop and did nothing to better their ties. “I will partake, though it seems you cooked them to your internal temperature. In the Underdark we usually barely kiss them with flame.” “Yeah I guess they are a bit over - but better than eating ‘em raw!” Karlach responded with a large smile. Lae’zel sneered at the dinner before looking around the camp for any sign of protein. “Minthara - I know that Muira keeps fresh and dried fish at all times. Where is it?” Lae’zel snapped locking her eyes on Muira’s tent “If she has not told you - it is not for you to know.” Minthara teased, wagging a finger towards Lae’zel. “She would not want the warriors by her side to eat only dirt outgrowths. I need more to fill myself.” She showed off the plate of burned mushrooms and made a disappointed face at its contents. Minthara chuckled lightly - she had to admit that both her and Muira shared a soft spot for Laezel. They tended to her growth and imparted any wisdom they could unto her. Muira had said many times they should groom her to be a captain of one of their raiding ships when this was over, ensuring her the chance to etch her name among the legends of the astral plane. Rising from her seat she retrieved two large fish for the camp to share, which were hidden on a small drying rack behind Muira’s tent. Lae’zel’s eyes widened and she seized the fish, determined to cook them before Karlach could torch them to cinders. “You’ve done enough; let me show you the skill of a Githyanki chef.” Lae’zel said confidently towards a seemingly dejected Karlach. Soon dinner was ready and they quietly went about eating, none among them wanting to bring up the passing of time with no words yet from their companions.

The unspoken weight hung in the air as they shared the silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Karlach jumped to her feet seemingly unable to endure the stillness any longer - shifting nervously around and fidgeting with the silver necklace Tav had given her. “Seems like they’ve been gone a long time. I should have gone with her.” She said to her seated companions, turning to each for looks of reassurance. Minthara watched her with a look of mild disgust and chided her swiftly “Have faith in our warriors, Karlach. I cannot think of a mortal alive who could best Muira in battle and they have the overly emotional cleric with them as well. She should be able to at least heal minor wounds in between her brooding. Speak of it no more, words alone can allow what we feared to become what is reality.” She tried her best to settle the rising emotions around her but speaking Muira’s name only caused her to think uneasy thoughts herself. Raphael had warned them of an ever lurking danger within the temple, could it be this beast had bested them, even Muira? Impossible, and even if it had come to pass she would seek revenge throughout faerun. She could see Muira’s face even now, hear her voice “Do not let them see you weak. We must lead at every moment until we have won them to our side.” She steeled her face and made herself seem immune to worry in the eyes of her companions. She could feel Lae’zel’s watchful glances probing her as if checking that she was maintaining her composure. She refused to look pitiful, particularly with her pupils eyes on her.

The immense stone doors that lead to the rest of the shrine suddenly began to move and open. Out of the foreboding darkness stumbled in Shadowheart, Gale and Tav. Each appearing more battered than the other. Their bodies bore the story of their battle on them - covered in burn marks, dripping blood from various slashes and Tav even sported a stray arrow through the arm. Shadowheart was holding up Tav gingerly under the other arm, who seemed to have a broken leg as well. “Hells” Karlach said through a choked voice. She rushed over, traversing the room in what looked like one very large step and lifted them all into her arms, hurriedly placing them by the fire. Gale and Shadowheart were closest to Lae’zel who begrudgingly began to bandage up the wizard, he leaned his head into her shoulder causing her to scoff loudly. She made a motion to bandage the cut on Shadowheart’s hand, holding her wrist softly until Shadowheart felt the others eyes on her and pulled away. Instead she asked for more healing powers from her God. While everyone was taking the time to heal Tav nestled into Karlach’s lap and took a large healing potion from her hands, drinking it back so violently that some dribbled out the side of her mouth, and down her chin. She lowered her head with a gasp her body unaccustomed to the air it was suddenly receiving.

The fire crackled in low pops and ebbs of wood as silence once again settled over them. Lae’zel shared expectant glances at the other companions before becoming frustrated and blurting out “Where is Muira?” The questions hung in the air between them as the survivors looked down at the ground. Only Tav dared answer, albeit with an air of feigned confidence. “Didn’t make it. We were ambushed trying to find that powerful cambion or devil by about 20 of Hell’s soldiers. I called for a retreat pretty soon in but she couldn’t get out of the fight I guess. Siffi*.” She shruged her shoulders and leaned into Karlach who looked troubled by the statement, but wraped her arms around her nonetheless. Minthara was the only one besides Shadowheart who would know the insult for what it was - ‘idiot’ Tav had called her. Idiot, she dared to say, when the one down a soldier and without the final orb sat in front of them. She clenched her fists but held her ground - the squabble would have to wait. “Tchk! So you’re a coward?” Lae’zel responded loudly before Minthara could inquire further “You’d leave her to die to save yourself?” Minthara interjected before Tav could respond “She would leave her behind without any cause at all, Lae’zel. There is no love lost between them, Muira believed them at least united in the same cause, she will not make the mistake again when she returns. Do not worry yourself with this one’s honor. She has none.” She rose to go to her tent, her head spun and the ground seemed barely able to contain her, the darkness suddenly seemed to be the only comfort she would be able to find. To her departing back Tav launched another quip. “When? You mean if. She wasn’t smart enough to run away and I am not sure in her prowess to fight her way out. She has been only words and broken promises since she arrived here!” Karlach lifted her and breathed a quiet “That’s enough.” Before carrying her back to their tent her eyes full of worry at the changes happening before her.

Minthara fell to her knees behind the velvety curtains of her sanctuary and began to frantically look for a stray spider. She saw one dangling from a frayed edge and cupped it quickly in her hand. “Find her.” She whispered to it as she placed it down - where it scuttled off into the darkness. ‘It’s useless’ she thought. Lolth would not heed her call and the spiders would no longer do her bidding. Her mind flooded with visions of Muira bleeding out in the hallways of the temple with no one there - with no one even looking for her. She reached out for her weapon and called for Lae’zel to come to her. “Lae’zel, Waelin uss**, to me.” Her young warrior appeared quickly kneeling softly at her side. “We should look for her - she could still be fighting.” Lae’zel nodded and they rose in unison picking up blades as they headed to the entrance of camp. An almost violet raven fluttered down in front of them in the corridor outside, it landed urgently on a small ledge and spoke with Muira’s strained voice freezing them both in their tracks. “On my way back, moving slowly. I return with our victory. Ultrinnan!***” The raven flew off just as quickly as it came - hurtling into the dark mist of Shar’s embrace. “I did not know she knew raven magic. Is it not a forgotten art here?” Laezel inquired “also I am pleased to know she lives but I must confess I am disappointed my blade will not know flesh today.” Minthara grabbed the shoulder of her companion and responded “She has lived a long life and I’m sure knows many arts we have not even heard of. Do not worry, that long life will know the way into many more battles.” with a reassuring squeeze, she motioned for her to return to the camp hall. They turned around and sat close to the fire their eyes pointed to the door - waiting until they could hear the slow footsteps of Muira making her way into camp.

The other companions stood sleepily by the entrance of their tents amazed at the sight of her. Muira, adorned with arrows, a leg slashed to the bone and a deeply burned right arm, carried the evidence of a fierce battle on her body. It seemed she had taken most of the fighting on alone. In her blood stained hands however, she carried a small purple orb which she tossed at Tav. “You forgot something elf.” Tav caught the orb with a surprised but eager look on their face. They nodded curtly then headed back into the tent without a word. “Not even a thank you these days.” Muira mulls to herself but the sound carries to the ears of all who are awake. Minthara watched with pride as Muira made her way into camp, suppressing the urge to carry her or even run to her, understanding the necessity to show strength, particularly in the face of Tav’s cowardice.

Approaching Minthara, Muira allowed her smile to fade into a grimace. Sensing the change, Minthara lowered her voice, whispering “Our tent is ready for you. Come, your wounds need tending - immediately.” Lae’zel stood by Minthara and leaned in urgently “I will assist you. She is filled with arrows.” There was a moment of shock on her face, quickly masked. “True, but I will heal her tonight.” She reached up a hand to cup Lae’zel’s face. “You must rest - I believe we will be called upon tomorrow.” Muira grinned handing a fiery crossbow to Lae’zel “Would that you were there young fighter - there was glory to be found in the battle today. I will tell you of this devil Yurgir, his displacer beast and the infernal legion tomorrow.” Lae’zel’s eyes brighten with admiration as she takes the crossbow. “I will rain fire upon our enemies tomorrow.” “Yes, yes. Tomorrow, tomorrow But today- now , you will go into our tent ussta velve****! I will not suffer another foolish act.” Minthara moved Muira towards the tent and called out a farewell to Laezel “Sleep well, little blade.”

After finally getting her into the tent Minthara seated her onto a stool and started to take the arrows out of her. “I can’t even have you lay down with all these arrows. You look more like a pin cushion than a warrior.” She joked, her voice trembling - she made a small cut extending each arrow wound and then pulled them out forcefully before cauterizing the flesh back together. She counted 10 arrows in the back and 6 in the front, anyone else would have passed out from the sensation of the arrows being ripped out of their body but Muira barely flinches, simply steadying herself with her hand on the back of Minthara’s leg, teasingly rubbing her head into Minthara’s hip “You may lie down now. I just need to heal your arm and attend to that gash on your leg.”Minthara said, avoiding eye contact with Muira. She feared that looking into Muira’s eyes would complicate things further. Her voice was already catching, and she could sense Muira searching for her gaze. Muira laid down, her exposed body covered in healing slits. The leg wound had stopped bleeding but still needed stitches to mend the flesh. Threading the needle, Minthara’s hands shook , ‘no’ she told herself. ‘You cannot fail now, you’ve made it so close.’ Her nose became hot and tears threatened to follow. After three shaky stitches Muira shifts uncomfortably. “Look at me - ussta ilindith.*****” she reached out and tried to grasp her hand but Minthara pulled it out of reach. “Keep moving and I’ll sew your hands to your side.” A tempered voice responds with a pained look in her eyes.

Muira reached her hand out and placed it gently on Minthara’s face. “Look at me.” Minthara glanced up, her red eyes meeting the dark brown pools of Muira’s. “I’m here - I’m fine. I could not deem myself worthy of your love if I did not triumph over our foes.” She leaned her head against Muira’s hand and felt the white hot flash of tears budding to her eyes. “You live, but you should not. You should be dead - tell me how you sit before me now. I have pulled more arrows from you than are shot in most of our battles.” Tears fell unchecked and Minthara allowed them. She did not want the attention on such useless emotions. Feeling helpless either the sight of Muira’s body covered in arrow marks and burns enraged her. She should have been there - side by side with Muira. They would have made it out together with far less wounds. Tears splashed onto Muira’s chest as she sat up.

“I guess it is time you knew all, love. I cannot expect you to run into battle next to someone who you do not know fully. I am a child of the god Umberlee, I am without age but I believe not without death.” She laughed and showed off her razor sharp teeth. “It might not seem it today but I do not like to test the limits of my mortality. I do know that It would take more than this” She motioned at the arrows, cuts and burns “To fell me.” Muira wiped Minthara’s tears with a small silk fabric and goes on. “You know where I am from and seeing from your reading you know who I am. This is the whole of me.” Pausing, she observed Minthara’s red-tinted face “Will you stand beside me now, knowing that to be close to me is to be in danger? Many have tried and will try to take my crown, my kingdom, my immortality and even my life.” Minthara took the small napkin and cleaned some of the dried blood from Muira’s body absentmindedly . “I am yours, my blade. We will face many battles but I will be by your side and if you fall in battle I will be the sword that avenges you.”

Muira attempted to rise, but Minthara pushed her down forcefully “You have damaged MY body enough today. Lie there and rest.” Muira closed her eyes and placed her hand on Minthara’s hip “Join me then, I battled without you by my side for a day. I long for your closeness.”Smiling, Minthara reached past her, retrieved her reading, settled into a pile of furs and allowed Muira to rest her head on her lap. “Rest, my love. I have much to learn while you do.” Minthara allowed her to sleep - engrossed in another book of aasimars and god relatives that Gale kept in his mobile library, no doubt thinking of a life with Mystra. The pages gave way to her and she saw the fate of many of their kind end in tragedy - let down by their god parents or unable to deal with society in the world they were thrust into. She found no mention of Muira or Umberlee but did find many mentions of a paladin of Selune that had fought in this very area.

Muira slept for about an hour before the change of her breathing alerted Minthara to her waking. Setting aside the book, Minthara lifted the covers to inspect the healing process. The arrow wounds were almost nonexistent, but the gash on Muira’s leg and the burn remained raw, possibly due to infernal weapons. “You will remain at camp tomorrow and heal my love. Allow me to carry the burden for a day.” Minthara said before Muira could even protest. She glanced at the book beside Minthara and her face became steely. “What is it?” Minthara said tensing up as if preparing for an attack.

“Tomorrow I believe you will find the god child I search for, Aylin. Everything at this place has led me to believe they, well Ketheric is harnessing her immortality. I warned her long ago when I visited, I had heard she’d fallen in love with a mortal and had come to share my insights with her. I believed that she could share her immortality with a bit of bond magic, extending the life and power of her fragile lover. She would not listen to me, in fact she fell into a rage and called it a cursed power, an affront to her mother.” Shaking her head to dispel the idea, she continued, “What weak thinking! Is our purpose not to gain power, to survive? In the end, it seems I was not the only one who thought this was a possibility. If she had bound herself to her mate - she would not be open to the whims of a foe.” Muira grimaced and Minthara soothed her with soft strokes of her head “It is not your fault that she was too cowardly to take the opportunity in front of her. We will not be so passive, once we have slain the absolute we can look into a bond of our own.” Minthara’s face curls into a twisted smile as Muira grabbed her hand and pulled it into a kiss. Muira sighed but then let out a satisfied, toothy smile. “You must not let the Sharran kill her - it is vital that I know all that has transpired, for our sake. It will lead you one step closer to immortality.” Minthara stared into the eyes of her lover and answered with great authority “It is done. No one will get in my way.”

[fan-tav-stic]

Name: Kairius

Nick/pet names: Lover (Shadowheart), My Heart (Halsin)

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Bisexual

Race: Mephistopheles Tiefling

Class: College of Swords Bard

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Titles: Life-Chanter

Love Interest: Shadowheart + Halsin (Ot3)

Ship names: HeartBeat (Heart- ShadowHEART, Beat- he's a bard) + UrsaMajor (Ursa- Halsin's a bear, Major - Major chord cause he's a bard)

Family: Bio Parents: Doesn't remember his mom, BARELY remembers his dad other than the faint smell of cinders and the sound of an old violin.

Adoptive Parents: Rosie (half-elf) + Cecilia (halfling)

Siblings: None

His mom died in childbirth and his dad was killed when he was 5. He landed himself in an orphanage and with a small band of kids was an absolute menace. He was adopted by a pair of women after he ran away at 15 and became a busker at a local farmer's market. They helped put him through Bard College when he asked to go. They're an incredibly close-knit family and would do ANYTHING to protect each other

Personality: Aloof, weird and outgoing, very flirty except that's all a mask he puts on. In reality, he's insecure and anxious about almost everything. Despite being a bard who can charm the pants off of almost everyone he comes into contact with, when it comes to true genuine feelings he struggles.

Anything else we should know?:

He mainly plays the violin but he also knows the lute and the lyre!

He writes his own music!

He sings but he's a bit self-conscious about his voice

++Character Playlist + HeartBeat Playlist + Fic Series(NSFW)++

[marrow-minded]

you want rarepairs/crackships? i'll name you some of mine, so enjoy my long ramble:

-ironhill (Ironwood x Robyn) - HEAR ME OUT! i know Ironwood is disliked in rwby fandom while Robyn is, i'll safely say, unpopular in rwde community, BUT there's a certain charm of shipping disliked character with a liked character, especially when the views of the characters differ in different fandoms. Romeo & Juliet who?/j

But joking aside, i started shipping them when Robyn was like "i thought you were a jerk & didn't care about others, but i was wrong.". Call me basic but i like when two characters find a middle ground/realize they're not what they thought the other one was.

In all honestly their relationship was such a wasted potential and yes i am also saying it because i ship them, but with the theme of trust going around it would have been cool to have Ironwood & Robyn team up and become allies - with Ironwood representing Atlas & Robyn representing Mantle. Not to mention, BOTH care about their Atlas & Mantle and want the best for it's people. Just two leaders who didnt see eye to eye, only to realize both have the same goals in mind and are not each others enemy (it's Jacques)

Right now i can't name other reasons why you should like my ironhill propaganda, but consider this - they both hate jacques so that should be a sign they're soulmates/j & they both having shooting type weapons.

But even if you don't ship it, you have to admit their relationship was a wasted potential :/

-invisible poison(?) (Tyrian x Fiona) - HEAR ME OUT...it is mostly centered around them being Faunus, BUT the thing is Fiona is a sheep Faunus and Tyrian is a scorpion Faunus. Sheeps in general are seen in a positive light, while scorpions are seen in a negative light.

It's hard to put in words, but it would be interesting to explore how these two, while being Faunus had different experiences with how others treated them due to what type of Faunus they are. (Not to say Fiona never got discriminated against for being a Faunus in general).

Both are also very loyal to their leaders (Salem & Robyn), so yeah parallels...sort of. And my mind then came up with a scene where they fight and Fiona questions Tyrian on how he could be loyal to someone like Salem and he answer with that Salem is the only one who accepts him fully, never treating him badly due to him being a Faunus, UNLIKE certain other leader who called a dog Faunus "Waggs" & just makes Fiona question her role in HH and if she would have been treated differently by them if she had been a "dangerous" type of Faunus (but let's be honest he would mostly say this to mess with her)

There's the whole aesthetic/tropes with them too - short x tall, good x evil, kind x terrible etc. And I once decided to search them on google in case I find something, and while it wasn't a fanart, I did found a drawing of them together, so that's something.

-firewall/electric fire (?) (Watts x Cinder) - they hate each other and that whole balcony scene of Watts calling out Cinder's bullshit. Also unlike Ironwatts & Ironwood x Jacques, instead of them having divorced & sick of each other exes vibe, they rather have two people who refuse to get a divorce because they're petty af and want to see the other sufer. Next question

-target practice/pvp (?) (Penny x Pyrrha) - i might not ship it as i used to, but i think it started when i thought about how Pyrrha died thinking Penny is dead (which she was and will be), while Penny got brought back, not knowing Pyrrha is dead (does she know it is unknown but for the sake of angst im chosing this option) and then my mind thought of PvP Childhood AU, where Penny got the chance to travel around the world years ago and befriended Pyrrha with them keeping in touch over the years and getting to see each again other at the Vytal festival.

And yes that does make their fight a lot more devastating because now Pyrrha dies feeling the guilt of killing her best friend and Penny comes back only to learn her best friend is gone and died not knowing she's alive (if we assume bringing Penny took a lot of time).

Aside from the angst, I think they could have had a cute dynamic :)

-envy zinnia (Emerald x Ren) - it's the "because she's scared just like us" for me (dont remember if he said that because he used his semblance). It's the way Emerald reacted to his words and denied them. It's the way Ren looked at Emerald while others were arguing about her joining the team (i think it was Yang who mostly against it).

It's the idea of Emerald assuming Ren can read her well because of his semblance and trusts her based on that, only to learn he had never used his semblance and trusts her, because he wants to and sees good in her for me.

It's the idea of Ren feeling complicated about his feelings about Nora, because he feels like he should fall in love with her given she's his best friend and had always been by his side, only to fall in love with his former enemy. (nooo, i did not drop the summary of my wip here, nooo)

There isn't much with this ship, for me this mostly being "hey this is a neat one" only to then imagine Emerald getting flustered over Ren holding her hand or looking at her with a soft gaze in his eyes.

OKAY YOU SENT ME A LOT (WHICH I LOVE THANK YOU SO SO MUCH) so im gonna put my responses under a readmore bc i do actually wanna put thought into each of these

okayyyyy lets start with IRONHILL: well i think ironwood is a whole gay man but thats just MY hc so like. of the female characters u can ship him with its not the WORST option? like i 100% totally get what u mean that sometimes theres so much wasted potential or a better story hidden behind a dynamic that you either dont get to see on screen or doesnt get nearly enough to work with that u kinda end up shipping them just bc u want more of them. im not sure i see any romantic or sexual chemistry between them personally so i feel like i would "ship" them as like Business Partners. like

robyn: would you like... to form an alliance with me

james: ... yes, yes i would

robyn: EXCELLENT >:333

NOW TYRION/FIONA. This Interests Me. like i love corruption type romances, where the innocent or happy or naive one gets a dark or bad boy or straight up evil lover. some real hades/persephone type shit. ive said before that i love angel/demon imagery and u cant get more heavenly than a lamb. also i do agree that i think their parallels of their roles are very interesting and i also dont like robyn so anything that gets fiona away from her is good with me! i feel like i would really love like almost a roleswap of them? like a fiona slated to be a maiden candidate for salem, on the bad guys side, and a tyrion that was still fucked up but he is like on ironwoods payroll as a ace-op special assassin or something, like i feel like that would be really fun LOL or like a tryion that was just SLIGHTLY less insane and not on salems side but like is still a bad guy and he gets wounded and fiona finds him dying in the woods or something and brings him back to her little cottage and fixes him up and they bond as he recovers like THATS TASTY

cinder/watts im not a fan of. i do get what u mean about them having toxic divorced exes energy but i feel like watts/ironwood does that in a way sexier and fun way and i dont want to subject cinder to that sort of vibe tbh (i have another cinder-centric rarepair thats genuinely my cinder otp so theres also that)

TARGET PRACTICE IS A FUCKED UP NAME FOR PYRRHA/PENNY SKCBSODBSPEHEJ but pvp is deffo something i get... in a completely au context. like nothing about their canon vibes click for me? but with ur whole childhood friends thing i get it; i think like if somebody told me to outline a pvp fic, i would like. okay pyrrha is brought to beacon on a special recommendation and before she even starts the school, shes brought in and told about the maidens and magic and penny and the proposal to make her the next autumn and penny the next winter and ironwood and ozpin ask if shes willing and if she is, will she work with penny? and the two of them are assigned as partners (meaning jaune gets a new partner which according to canon would be WEISS so hello thats fun) and they bond and struggle with making friends and being 'normal' with these pressures and its quite bittersweet and emo and cute i like it

NOW YOU HAVE TOTALLY SOLD ME ON EMERALD/REN. i love putting ren with literally any other character and i feel like emerald has such a simple but good character that she can fit with a lot of people and tbh u really have sold me on them. i really like the imagery of like ren and emerald both having this barrier for whatever reason that prevents them from being open and honest with their feelings but using their semblances as different private u iqie communication that just WORKS for them they are both autistic and hot and i think they should kiss also their shades of green being complimentary and ren and her just having this really fun dynamic of them both being really snarky and sassy but quiet and observant and they just VIBE im highkey lowkey obsessed with the idea... ren and nora are side characters in my fic but they are on a team with merc and emerald (trust the process) and the plan is currently actually emerald/neon but... somethings may have to be rearranged bc im actually really REALLY into the idea of ren and emerald... SHIT YOU ACTUALLY DID IT YOU ACTUALLY SOLD ME ON REMERALD.....

[everafterfrisk]

Rwby isn't Pandering to the Audience's Desires

Whether it's youtube,reddit or Twitter,it's always the same thing

So let's go through each of them one by one

Bumbleby discourse

Claims I've seen thrown around are

"Blake and Yang only became Canon because of its toxic Fanbase" and queerbaiting

This conclusion has no real leg to stand on. While there have been toxic fans of the ship, not everyone who supports it acts this way.Also these people just completely ignores the clear slowburn love trope is prevalent with these two after the multiple hurdles the girls went through before coming back together.

•Like Nora compares her relationship with ren to Blake and Yang

•Adam claims "what does she even see in you" to yang

▪︎ Weiss's About time in Vol 9 Chapter 2

▪︎ In Vol 8 C10, Yang and Blake are shown with a soft blush before putting their heads together

If yall think that's queerbaiting

Then I guess the Earth is flat I suppose

The show only cares about Shipping

This is simply untrue

Especially when we go through so many different plot threads outside of that

Just to name a few

▪︎ Nora finding her self worth

▪︎ Qrow's Crippiling Depression

▪︎ Blake's self depreciation and discrimination

▪︎ Penny's themes of Choice and choosing it for herself

Jaune's the Show's Self insert

I've seen this being claimed alot within the reddit community.

What's my thoughts?

This has like zero merit

Just because one of the showrunners voices him doesn't automatically mean he's a self insert.

If anything Fanfiction make him as such as Battling Gods with ease or hell even being connected to them.

What would the show look like if the Series did what the fans want

White Rose becoming a thing in Vol 4 and onwards(No shade to people who ship it, just that the Narrative paints them more as friends compared to say bumbleby or Renora)

Ironwood would be excused for letting mantle's citizens live and perish in dangerous conditions

Adam would get redeemed in the way I've seen most people write it

[Blake talk no Jutsu Adam into giving up via because he had a hard live then redemption is viable which just doesn't sit right with me]

Ruby would kill Cinder or something and go on this whole "The world sucks and I was wrong to think there is any good" type mentality

Roman becoming a Good guy and Become Oz's Host as well [and yes I checked out the rewrite, the execution is lacking]

Pyrrha comes back from the Dead and everyone just acts like nothing happen

Ozpin wouldn't be held accountable by the Rwby gang and will suffer zero repercussions

Cinder would get killed off for being "a idiotic villain"

The Everafter Plot would not exist

Yang would rush through her recovery Arc and "act like her old self as she's now grumpy and an asshole"

Ilia,Maria and Oscar gets erased from the Narrative entirely

Jaune gets the most overpowered Semblance in the show and sidelines the main girls

Weiss would have made up with whitley immediately without build up cuz "Weiss should know that he suffered too"