[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[Sliverhero]

A series of celebration for the new year.

Snow drifted softly across Beacon's courtyard, the lanterns glowing warm against the winter night. A makeshift clock, courtesy of Penny's precise programming and Nora's enthusiasm counted down the final seconds of the year.
Ruby bounced on her heels, Crescent Rose leaned safely against a bench. "Okay, this is it! New year, new adventures, new cookies..."
"...Focus, Ruby," Weiss said, though she was smiling as she adjusted her gloves.

Yang slung an arm around Blake's shoulders. "C'mon, Blake, admit it. You're having fun."
Blake hid her smile behind her book. "I never said I wasn't." Nearby, Team JNPR was just as lively. Nora was already celebrating. "I CAN FEEL THE NEW YEAR'S ENERGY!" she shouted, confetti somehow already in the air. Ren calmly handed Pyrrha a warm drink. "It's… peppermint," he said. Pyrrha smiled,"Thank you, Ren."

Jaune looked around at everyone, grinning. "You know, a year ago we were all just trying to survive initiation. Now look at us." The countdown echoed across the courtyard.

"Three!"
Ruby grabbed Weiss's hand.
"Two!"
Nora tackled Yang in a hug.
"One!"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Fireworks burst above Beacon in flashes of red, white, and gold. Laughter filled the air as everyone cheered, hugged, and shared quiet moments of hope. Ruby looked up at the sky, eyes sparkling. "No matter what happens next year… I'm really glad we're all doing this together." For once, everyone agreed.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Beacon staff lounge was calm. Suspiciously calm.
Ozpin stood by the window with his mug, Glynda reviewed paperwork she absolutely refused to postpone, and Port and Oobleck were mid-argument about whether fireworks were "more heroic" than dust cannons.

"Fireworks are symbolic!" Port boomed.
"BUT DUST CANNONS ARE PRACTICAL AND SYMBOLISM IS SUBJECTIVE..." Oobleck replied at maximum volume.
The countdown echoed faintly from outside.
"Ten."
Ozpin raised his mug. "Shall we attempt a quiet celebration this year?"
Glynda nodded. "I would very much appreciate that." Right on cue, a large black bird slammed into the window.

THUMP.

Everyone froze.
The bird slid down the glass slowly… then popped back up and started pecking aggressively. "…I told you not to tempt fate," Glynda said flatly. The window flew open as the bird flapped inside, knocking over Port's drink, scattering papers, and landing directly on Ozpin's head.
"CAW."

Ozpin did not react. "Qrow. Please get off."
With a flash, the bird transformed midair into Qrowho immediately tripped, knocked into a chair, and landed sprawled on the floor.
"Happy New Year!" Qrow said, arms out. "Nailed the entrance." Port gasped. "A TRANSFORMATION MID-CELEBRATION! MAGNIFICENT!" "You broke the window," Glynda said, already summoning her semblance.
Oobleck checked his watch. "Fascinating timing! You arrived exactly at..."

"Three!" the countdown shouted from outside.
Qrow scrambled up, grabbed Ozpin's mug, and raised it. "Hey, if I'm gonna crash the party, might as well do it right."
"Two!"

Ozpin sighed but lifted his own mug again. "You are paying for that window."
"One!"

Fireworks exploded over Beacon.
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" Qrow clinked mugs with Ozpin, spilling half of it on the floor. "To another year of not dying!" Glynda pinched the bridge of her nose. "That is not a toast." Ozpin allowed a small smile. "Still… it does seem fitting."

Outside, fireworks roared. Inside, Beacon's staff welcomed the new year the only way they ever did...
With chaos.
-----------------------‐-----------------------------------‐----‐----‐------

The Bullhead's cargo bay was stacked high with crates,Dust, lien, and a few things Roman hadn't even bothered to label yet. The engines hummed as Vale shrank into the distance.
Roman kicked back on a crate, twirling his cane with a satisfied grin. "Ahhh, Neo, did you see their faces? Security thought they had us boxed in!"

Neo sat across from him, legs crossed, polishing her parasol. She mimed a box with her hands… then made it explode, confetti included. She grinned. "That's right!" Roman laughed. "Boom. Gone. Like my faith in Vale's police force." Neo snapped her fingers and an illusion popped up: a tiny hologram of Roman dramatically running while guards slipped on marbles. She added sparkles.

"…Okay, rude," Roman said, pointing his cane at the illusion. "I was strategically retreating."
Neo raised a brow and silently sipped from a stolen bottle, offering him one. Roman took it and clinked bottles with her. "To another flawless operation." Neo saluted with her parasol, then flipped open a sign she'd prepared in advance: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED Fireworks from the city's New Year celebration burst faintly in the distance, reflecting off the Bullhead's windows.

Roman glanced outside and scoffed. "Huh. New Year already. Guess the city's celebrating without us." Neo smirked, snapped again, and projected fireworks inside the cargo bay, bigger, brighter, and definitely unnecessary.
Roman laughed, nearly spilling his drink. "Now that's how you celebrate! Crime, chaos, and excellent presentation." Neo bowed theatrically.
As the Bullhead flew on, two thieves toasted to a new year, one that promised more schemes, more stolen Dust, and absolutely no regrets.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The White Fang warehouse was silent.
Not dramatic silent.
Not respectful silent.
The kind of silence where someone coughs and everyone hears it. Adam was still on the floor.
"…She left," he said again, muffled. "Didn't even look back."

No one answered. A guy near the snacks slowly unwrapped something. The crinkling sounded way too loud. He froze, then carefully put it back. Banesaw checked the countdown clock someone had set up. "…Five minutes," he said.
Adam shifted slightly. "I gave her everything."
A party popper went off by accident.
POP.

Everyone jumped. "…Sorry," the guy whispered, holding the remains of the popper like it had personally betrayed him. Another member tried to salvage the mood. "So, uh… new year, new..."
Adam groaned. "Why did she choose them."
The sentence died immediately. Someone stared very hard at the wall. Someone else pretended to adjust a banner that was already straight. The countdown outside echoed faintly.

"Ten."

Banesaw took a deep breath. "Okay. That's enough."

"Nine."

He pointed at the door. "We are going to leave."

"Eight."

"Like… now."

"Seven."

No one argued. Chairs scraped. Someone grabbed the fireworks. Someone else grabbed all the snacks.

"Six."

Adam didn't move.

"Five."

Banesaw paused, glanced back, and awkwardly raised two fingers. "…Good luck with that."

"Four."

Door opening.

"Three."

Door closing.

"Two."

Fireworks exploded outside.

"ONE!"

Inside the warehouse, Adam stared at the ceiling as distant cheering echoed.
"…Happy New Year," he muttered.
A single streamer fell off the wall.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The dim glow of Dust crystals lit the abandoned manor's war room, maps and scrolls strewn across the table like the entrails of a failed plan. Cinder Fall stood with her arms crossed, one eye narrowed in irritation as Adam Taurus paced before her, Wilt resting casually on his shoulder. Her minions were elsewhere as she worked with the leader of the White Fang... But it was already testing her patience.

"Power," Adam said, voice low and deliberate, "is not merely force, Cinder. The ancients knew this. The Five Rings teach us that to master the sword is to master the self—ground, water, fire, wind, void. Balance in all things. Even tyranny must be tempered by understanding-So were the Faunus Empires before the rise of Man."

Cinder's fingers drummed against her arm. "Fascinating. And how exactly does quoting dead men help us kill Ozpin?"

Adam ignored the barb. "Miyamoto of the Rings wrote that the warrior who knows only victory is doomed to fall. One must appreciate the natural order—Confucius of Yan spoke of harmony through hierarchy, yet harmony demands justice. The Faunus have been crushed beneath human heels for centuries. My path is to wield power not for its own sake, but to right that wrong. Tyranny, yes—but purposeful tyranny."

Cinder's eye flared orange. "Power defines reality, Adam. Whoever holds it decides what is right, what is wrong, what is true. Philosophy is the luxury of people who have time to waste. We take the Maiden powers, we burn Beacon, we win. End of discussion."

Adam stopped pacing, turning to face her fully. "And when we win? What then? A throne built on unchecked ambition crumbles. I admit my bias—vengeance drives me—but even vengeance must serve a greater creed. Without it, we are no better than the humans we despise. What purpose is your power beyond yourself?"

Cinder's patience snapped like a brittle bone. "I am not here to debate ethics with a masked idealist. Power is reality. That is the only creed that matters."

"But what will you do with it once you have it?" Adam posed.

"Anything I want!" Cinder spat. Adam shook his head.

"To have such power, such ambition, induce such fear... And to have such a boring motivation. I will serve you, Cinder Fall... But I will have to do all the work for it."

Cinder seethed. She swept past him in a swirl of black and flame, the door slamming behind her with enough force to rattle the windows.

Adam stood alone in the sudden silence.

He stared at the maps, at the plans that suddenly felt... hollow.

"Free will," he murmured to the empty room. "Do I choose this path? Or has the injustice chosen me?"

His fingers tightened on Wilt's hilt.

"I miss Jaune."

The admission slipped out before he could stop it—soft, almost ashamed.

"He understood. The clash. The ideals. The drama of it all."

Adam exhaled, slow and weary.

"Perhaps... I am the one in chains."

He wrote that down. It would be great when he next fought his rival. He was sure Jaune would love it.

Unlike his so-called "ally"...

- - -

In their private quarters in the manor hideout, Emerald Sustrai found Cinder standing at the window, arms wrapped around herself like a child denied a toy.

"I am not stupid, damn it," Cinder muttered, voice tight.

Emerald approached carefully. "Of course not. Adam's just... stuck in his head."

"He thinks quoting scrolls makes him profound." Cinder's reflection in the glass looked almost vulnerable. "Power is simple. Take it. Use it. Win."

Emerald hesitated, then rested a hand on Cinder's shoulder. "You'll show him. You always do."

From the doorway, Mercury Black leaned against the frame, smirking. "Yeah, real philosophical powerhouse in there, Boss. Very straightforward. Totally winning their cooperation."

Cinder's eye flashed. A fireball the size of a Dust crate erupted from her palm and rocketed toward Mercury's head.

He ducked with practiced ease, already sprinting down the hall. "LOVE YOU TOO, BOSS! OW—HOT! HOT!"

The fireball exploded against the wall, leaving a smoking crater.

Cinder grumbled.

"I am not stupid... I just simplify things! It's not like I want to debate morality while fighting!"

"Of course Cinder!" Emerald said.

"It's all very simple! Everyone in my way must burn!"

"Absolutely!"

"I am NOT boring!"

"Nobody said you were!"

Cinder growled, but there was no real heat in it.

- - -

Mercury jogged toward the White Fang mess hall, rubbing the back of his neck where a stray ember had singed his hair.

"Food," he muttered. "Normal food. With normal people who don't shoot fireballs or simp for the fireball thrower and—"

He pushed open the doors.

The mess hall was packed.

Every table was covered in scrolls, books, and hastily scribbled notes. White Fang lieutenants argued passionately over bowls of stew.

"—the void ring clearly represents acceptance of impermanence!"

"No, you idiot, it's the emptiness from which all strategy flows!"

"Confucius would say hierarchy is natural, but justice demands we invert it!"

Mercury stopped dead in the doorway.

A young recruit looked up, eyes bright. "Hey! You're human—wanna join the debate on whether power corrupts or reveals?"

Mercury stared.

Then stared some more.

Finally, he turned on his heel and walked straight back out.

"Why," he asked the empty hallway, "is everyone in this goddamn organization a fucking nerd?"

From the mess hall, someone shouted, "—and that's why the warrior's path is inherently tragic!"

Mercury kept walking.

He was getting takeout.

From literally anywhere else.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

King Edmund's Meditations on the Shadows of Remnant

Book III: Of the Creatures of Grimm and the Darkness Within

Chapter 1

1 O Thou Divine Spark, who didst once dwell in the heart of a traitor boy and yet redeemed him through the breaking of the Stone Table, I, Edmund, once enslaved by the Ice Witch's delights and now a steward of Thy mercy, sit in the quiet of Aelia Paravel's halls and ponder the Grimm that prowl beyond our walls. These formless horrors, black as the void and crimson-eyed, neither eat nor sleep nor breed as beasts do, yet they multiply in the wake of despair, hatred, and sorrow. Whence come they, O Lord? Are they Thy creation, or the fruit of rebellion? In the stillness of this meditation, I seek not to accuse Thy providence, but to understand how even these shadows serve the light of Thy redemption.

2 In my youth, I knew darkness intimately. The Delight upon my tongue was sweeter than truth, and in my betrayal I invited winter into the hearts of my kin. I became, in small measure, a vessel of the same negativity that draws the Grimm—pride, envy, wrath. When the Witch's blade was raised above me upon the Stone, I felt the chill of her power, a power that fed upon the brokenness of souls as the Grimm now feed upon the brokenness of Remnant. Yet when the Table cracked and the sunrise came, her dominion ended, and with it the endless winter. The Grimm did not vanish that dawn, nor have they ceased their assaults in the centuries since. This teaches me, O Spark, that they are not mere remnants of Jadis alone, but manifestations of a deeper wound—the wound of sin that lingers in every heart not fully yielded to Thee.

3 Consider their nature: the Grimm have no fleshly need, no soul, no spark of the Divine as humans and Faunus bear. They are drawn irresistibly to negativity, dissolving when hope and courage rise, repelled by the Aura that flows from souls aligned with Thy will. As I wrote to the Quitalans, "For the mind that is set on the flesh is death, but the mind that is set on the Spark is life and peace" (Edmund to the Quitalans 1:34). The Grimm, then, are outward signs of inward death—visible privations of Thy goodness, much as cold is the absence of heat and shadow the absence of light. They are not beings Thou didst fashion with delight on the first days, but echoes of the great rebellion: the corruption wrought when Jadis and her fallen allies—the Brother Gods and their ilk—sought to mar Thy creation. Where Thy Spark brings order and growth, their rebellion brought dissolution and destruction, and the Grimm are the fruit of that dissolution, voids given fleeting form by the negativity that sin releases into the world.

4 Yet even in this, Thy wisdom shines. The Grimm serve as a mirror and a goad. They reveal the darkness that still lurks within us: when a city falls to strife, when a heart harbors unrepented wrath, the shadows thicken and the hordes descend. Thus they compel us to virtue—to forgiveness, to unity, to faith. Without them, would we grow complacent, forgetting our need of Thee? In my own treason, I learned that sin unchecked invites destruction; the Grimm teach this same lesson to every generation. They drive us to the Church, to prayer, to the disciplines of the Stone Breaker Order, that our Aura may burn bright and our souls remain anchored in hope.

5 Moreover, they testify to Thy ultimate victory. No Grimm could approach the Table Breaker in his ministry, for no shadow dwelt in him. When he rose from the Stone, the Witch's power shattered, and though her lesser allies scatter illusions still, their strength wanes wherever faith spreads. The Grimm rage most fiercely where unbelief reigns—in the godless halls of Mistral's elite, in the forsaken wastes—yet they flee before the humble prayer of a child who trusts the Divine Spark. This is proof, O Lord, that they are not eternal foes, but doomed echoes soon to be silenced in the paradise of growth Thou dost prepare, where neither sorrow nor negativity shall give them form.

6 Therefore, let the Grimm not breed despair in us, but resolve. As I once emerged from betrayal into kingship by Thy mercy, so may every soul turn from the negativity that summons shadows. Let us love our enemies, forgive swiftly, bear one another's burdens, that the voids may find no foothold. For in the end, the Table Breaker shall return, and every shadow shall flee before the dawn of his unending day.

7 To Thee, who turned even my treason into testimony, be glory everlasting. Amen.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Now, something stupid and silly:

Velvet approaches Jaune with a scowl.

Jaune; "Oh, hey Velvet. What's up-?"

Velvet: "Why is he bullying you?!"

Jaune: "Eh?! Oh, you mean Cardin? I mean, I dunno, he's just-"

Velvet: "Why are you just taking it?!"

Jaune: "Well I-!"

Velvet: "He was bullying me before you! He even pulled my ears!"

Jaune: "I know, and that's wrong but-!"

Velvet: "I'M THE HOT BUNNY GIRL! HE'S GONNA BE MY TSUNDERE HUSBAND!"

Jaune: "I... Huh?"

Velvet: "Listen, you-you TWINK! He's mine! So you'd better stand up to him and make him leave you alone or I'll break your wrists! He's MINE, GOT IT?!"

Jaune: "I-I don't-I don't like him like-!"

Velvet: "GOT IT?!"

Jaune: "GOT IT!"

Velvet: "GOOD!" *She turns and storms off*

Jaune: "... Are all Huntresses crazy or is it just me?"

 

[AndrewJTalon]

After the Jaundice Arc, Cardin walks up to Velvet, with his team, in the Star Maiden Garden at Beacon.

Cardin: "Uh... Hey Velvet...?"

Velvet: smiles, expectant "Yes Cardin?"

Cardin: "Uh... Hey, listen. I'm sorry about the ear tugging and the name calling. I promise I won't do it anymore."

Velvet: eyes go wide "Wh-What?!"

Cardin: "It was wrong and-"

Velvet: "YOU'RE BREAKING UP WITH ME?!"

Cardin: "Huh?!"

Velvet: "WHO IS SHE?! WHO'S THE WHORE WHO STOLE MY MAN?! NO ONE CAN LOVE YOU LIKE I CAN!"

Cardin: "We were never— I was just apologizing! For being a jerk! I don't even— There's no one else!"

Velvet: "You tugged my ears because you secretly liked them! You called me 'animal' and 'rabbit' because those were your cute nicknames for me! We were supposed to have a bully and victim-to-lovers arc! Slow burn! Mutual pining! You were going to carry me bridal-style after I saved you from a Beowolf and then we'd share a passionate kiss in the rain!"

Cardin: "Wha...? N-NO! I was just pulling on your ears because I-I was an asshole-!"

Velvet: "LIKE FUN YOU DID! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY TELLING ME YOU PICKED ON ME AND FELT NOTHING BUT DISDAIN?!"

Cardin: bright red "... I-I do think you're... Really hot even though I shouldn't...?"

Velvet: "Don't lie to me! You can't just throw away our future like this! We were going to have a spring wedding with carrot cake and everything!"

Cardin: frantic "I love carrot cake!"

Velvet: Sobs "STOP TOYING WITH MY HEART!"

Dove: "Well damn."

Sky: "So that's why she hasn't snapped us all in half yet."

Russel: "I did kind of wonder..."

Cardin: "I'm sorry... I... Do like you. I mean, you're really hot."

Velvet: sniffles "... It's a start."

Cardin: "Can I take you to dinner?"

Velvet: "Will you yank my ears more and tell me I'm a filthy animal?"

Cardin: "All that you like!"

Velvet: "And-And put a collar on me?"

Cardin: "... Maybe save that for the third date?"

Velvet: "..." All smiles "Okay!"

Cardin let himself be pulled along, dazed and confused but oddly not hating it.

Team CRDL watched them go, jaws on the floor. Coco sidles up to them with a smug smirk.

Coco: "Ten lien says the collar happens by date two."

Russel: "... You're on."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The day has finally come, after extensive brainstoriming we present you the languages of Remnant. Because assuming that there are no languages besides the one that sounds like English is idiotic oversimplification.

This also implies that sometimes characters may be using their own native languages and not English.

---

Languages of Remnant​

I. INTERNATIONAL AND STATUS LANGUAGES
1. Modern Lingua Franca: Vytalian

• Analogue: American English (General American).
• Status: The global language of trade, diplomacy, pop culture, science, and technology. The language of international communication, spoken by literally anyone.
• Major Dialects/Variants:
  
  • General Vytalian: The language of the Vale-proper province (the most cosmopolitan one) and the primary language known by (practically any) inhabitant of Remnant.
  • Albionian (Posh): Analogue of British Received Pronunciation. The language of the Albion aristocracy and old Vale families.
  • Albionian (Cockney): Analogue of London's Cockney accent. The language of the working class of Camelot, the capital city of the Vytalian Commonwealth, Vale.
  • Old Vytalian: Analogue of Old English. An older dialect that is still spoken in rural parts of Vytal.
  • Baltonian: Analogue of Texan/Southern American English. Spoken in Balto, Atlas, and parts of Vale.
  • Menagerian: Analogue of Australian English. Formed in Menagerie through fusing multiple accents and dialects from all over the world.

2. Classical Languages (Status, Academic)

• Old Quitalan
  
  • Analogue: Latin.
  • Status: The language of the ancient empire, the foundation of medicine, jurisprudence, history, and the recent liturgy of the Church of the Broken Table. Studied by scholars, doctors, lawyers, and the aristocracy.
• Old Rostramian
  
  • Analogue: Ancient Persian.
  • Status: The language of the ancient Rostramian Empire, once a rival to ancient Fu Hsi, ancient Hellenic, and Quitalan. Used by institutions of Hormazianism. Not significantly different from New Rostramian.
• Old Hellenic
  
  • Analogue: Ancient Greek.
  • Status: The language of philosophy, classical literature, fundamental sciences, and high rhetoric. Particularly revered in the Hellenic League.
• Ancient Khemetan
  
  • Analogue: Ancient Egyptian.
  • Status: The classical language of ancient Osyrus. Studied by historians, archaeologists, and scholars of the occult.
• Xolotlian (The Black Tongue)
  
  • Analogue: A language isolate with distant, perplexing similarities to Ozymandian. Fills the niche of Aztecan.
  • Status: The language of the ancient and once feared Xolotl Empire. A major puzzle for linguists due to its geographic separation from its Ozymandian Mistralian homeland.
• Ozymandian
  
  • Analogue: Ancient Hebrew/Aramaic.
  • Status: An ancient precursor language, the lingua franca of the era before the Shattering of the Moon. The language of the oldest texts, secret knowledge, and some mystical cults, as well as the language of old Tablebreaker Church's texts and liturgy.

II. CONTINENT OF SANUS
1. Languages of United Nations of Vale (Sanusian-Quitalan Language Family).
These languages evolved from a mixture of Old Quitalian with the languages of Sanus' indigenous peoples. Thus, it's called the Sanusian-Quitalan Language Family.
Major Languages:

• Valesh:
  
  • Analogue: Romansh/Old French.
  • Status: The historical language of the Vale-proper region. Nearly extinct, preserved in toponymy, isolated dialects of mountain villages, and as an academic subject.
• Gallian:
  
  • Analogue: French.
  • Status: The official language of the New Republic of Gallia within Vale. Widely spoken.
• Nova Quitalian:
  
  • Analogue: Italian.
  • Status: The official language of the Republic of Nova Quitalia within Vale. Widely spoken both at home and in diasporas.
• Allomenian Language Group
  
  • Analogue: Germanic language family (Continental and Northern branches).
  • Status: A widespread group of closely related languages and dialects spoken across multiple continents, primarily in Atlas' Midgard and the Sanusian sub-kingdom of Arminus, with an isolated northern branch in Anima's Jotunheim. While sharing a common ancestor, the dialects have diverged significantly due to geographical separation and cultural influences, forming a dialect continuum where mutual intelligibility varies.
• Major Dialects/Branches:
  
  • Midgardian Allomenian (Standard/High Allomenian):
    
    • Analogue: Standard German (Northern/High German).
    • Status: The official, prestige dialect of the Republic of Midgard in Atlas. Considered the most conservative and "pure" form of the language. It is the language of business, heavy industry, engineering, and corporate culture within the Atlas Federation.
  • Arminian Allomenian (Western Allomenian):
    
    • Analogue: Rhine Franconian German dialects with strong French (Gallian) influence.
    • Status: The language of the sub-kingdom of the Federal Republic of Arminus in Vale, Sanus. A distinct dialect characterized by significant lexical and phonetic borrowings from neighboring Gallian and the pervasive Vytalian, making it sound notably different from its Midgardian counterpart.
  • Niederung Dialect (Lowland Allomenian):
    
    • Analogue: Dutch/Low German.
    • Status: A distinct dialect spoken in the Archduchy of Niederung (South-Western Vale, Eastern Sanus) , known for its phonetics and grammar that mark it as a separate, yet related, branch of the Western Allomenian group.
  • Jotunheimian Allomenian (Northern Allomenian):
    
    • Analogue: Scandinavian languages (Norwegian/Swedish).
    • Status: The language of the Jotunheim Commonwealth in northern Anima. Represents a divergent northern branch of the family, having evolved in isolation. Its phonology and vocabulary show distinct development, though its grammatical core remains recognizably Allomenian.

2. Languages of United Kingdom of Vacuo
These languages can be divided into 2 groups - native to Vacuo, like Chaacan and Khemetan, and of the Sanusian-Quitalian family, an influence of the various empires of Eastern Sanus from Quitalan to Gallian over the region.

• Hispanian
  
  • Analogue: Spanish.
  • Status: The official language of the sub-kingdom of Hispania within Vacuo. The most prominent language in Vacuo.
• Lousitanian
  
  • Analogue: Portuguese.
  • Status: A prominent language in Western Vacuo, spoken in the coastal Republic of Lousitania, which was able to resist foreign invaders largely thanks to mountainous terrain.
• Modern Khemetan
  
  • Analogue: Modern Egyptian Arabic (with ancient Semitic, Hellenic, and indigenous substrata).
  • Status: The official language of the Kingdom of Osyrus. A modern evolution of the ancient language, distinct from its classical form.
• Anansian
  
  • Analogue: A distinct dialect of Modern Khemetan.
  • Status: The language of the nation of Anansi, which adopted and adapted Osyrian culture and language. Features unique innovations and a prestigious "royal" dialect with Ozymandian influences. Influenced by African and Semitic languages.
• Chaacan
  
  • Analogue: Mix of Mayan languages and Hispanian.
  • Status: A major indigenous language of southern Vacuo, spoken in several sovereign communities and city-states.

III. CONTINENT OF SOLITAS – ATLAS
The continent of Solitas is home to nations that are both descendants of its indigenous inhabitants and colonists from over the world, which reflects the lingual map too.

• "The Big Three" of Atlas:
  
  • Knowledge of these three languages is a mark of good education and social status in the Federation.
  • Vytalian: Mandatory first language.
  • Allomenian – Midgardian Dialect (see above).
  • Indrikian:
    
    • Analogue: Russian.
    • Status: The official language of the Republic of Indrik. The historical primary language of the Mantlean Empire. The language of state bureaucracy, military tradition ("the old guard"), and high culture. Contains internal dialects - Ozeryanian (analogue of Southern Russian), Rechnyanian (the model pronunciation) and Moryanian (analogue of St. Petersburg).

Other Atlas Languages:

• Baltonian Vytalian: A dialect of Vytalian, prominent in Republic of Balto (Texan accent).
• Sednaian: A mix of Inuit/Aleut elements with Hellenic influence. The language of Republic of Sedna.
• Rana Niejtan: Analogue of Finnish/Karelian. The language of the Kingdom of Rana Niejta.
• Hyperborean: A mix of Spanish and Latin with local specifics. The language of the Republic of Hyperborea.

IV. CONTINENT OF ANIMA – MISTRAL
The continent of Anima, where officially the People's Imperial Kingdom of Mistral stands, is home to an amalgamation of languages of different linguistic groups, to some extent, reflecting the ancient tug-of-war between three centers of power in Anima - North-Western Hellenic sphere, central Mistralian Fu Hsi sphere and South-Eastern Rostramian sphere, with an addition of other languages.

1. Fu Hsi Language Group

• Analogue: Chinese language group.
• Status: A large group of related languages/dialects dominating Imperial Mistral. Provincial dialects (e.g., Zhang Fei, Kongming, Cao Cao) can have limited mutual intelligibility. Standard Literary Fu Hsi is used for official and educational purposes.

2. Hellenic Group

• Modern Hellenic:
  
  • Analogue: Modern Greek.
  • Status: The official language of the Hellenic League (Argus, etc.). The language of maritime trade in northern Anima.
• Old Hellenic: See above (classical language).

3. Rostramian Group

• New Rostramian:
  
  • Analogue: Farsi/Persian.
  • Status: The language of the Rostram Khanate in eastern Anima.
• Old Rostramian: See above (classical language).

3. Other Animan Languages

• Allomenian – Jotunheimian Dialect (see above).
• Taejonese: Analogue of Korean. The language of the Republic of Taejo.
• Fuujinese: Analogue of Japanese. The language of the island nation of Fuujin.
• Pandavan: Analogue of Indian languages, has various dialects, many borrowing from Vytalian. The language of the Kingdom of Pandu.

V. MENAGERIE

The young Faunus nation, albeit being a relatively new political entity, has a fairly rich and distinct linguistic history.

• Menagerian: The primary dialect of Vytalian (see above).
• Numerous local languages and dialects of indigenous faunus tribes and communities, many of which are endangered.

---

Who Speaks What​

We are using CEFR - Common European Framework for Referencing Languages, that divides mastery of languages into different levels.
A1 - Beginner
Can use and understand basic, everyday expressions for immediate needs, such as introducing themselves or asking simple questions. Interaction is limited to slow, clear speech with a helpful partner.
A2 - Elementary
Can communicate in simple, routine tasks about familiar topics like shopping, family, or work. Can describe their background and immediate environment using a basic set of phrases.
B1 - Intermediate
Can understand the main points of clear speech and texts on familiar matters encountered in work, school, or travel. Can handle most situations while traveling, describe experiences, and give simple reasons for opinions and plans.
B2 - Upper-Intermediate
Can understand the main ideas of complex texts, including technical discussions in their field, and interact with relative fluency and spontaneity with native speakers. Can produce detailed text on various subjects and explain the advantages and disadvantages of different viewpoints.
C1 - Advanced
Can understand a wide range of demanding, longer texts and recognize implicit meaning. Can express ideas fluently and precisely for social, academic, and professional purposes, using language flexibly and effectively.
C2 - Mastery
Can understand virtually everything heard or read with ease and summarize information from diverse sources coherently. Can express themselves spontaneously, very fluently, and precisely, differentiating even the finest shades of meaning in complex situations.

Important Note: Every Hunter, Law Enforcement, Military or Medical specialist knows Remnant Sign Language (RSL).

The Ancient Ones

• Oz and Salem: Possess mastery of all living and dead languages of Remnant due to their age and roles. Their native language, now a mostly dead tongue, is now called Ozymandian.

Team RWBY

• Ruby Rose and Yang Xiao Long: Thanks to their father Taiyang, they know basic Fu Hsi (Zhang Fei dialect) at a daily communication level (A2), they also studied Allomenian as their second language (B1) in Signal, a universal practice in the education system of United Nations of Vale.
• Weiss Schnee: As the heiress of a transnational corporation and a native of Atlas, is fluent in Allomenian (native) and Modern Hellenic (C1).
• Blake Belladonna: Having initially received a good education and having gone through the White Fang, she knows numerous languages from across the world to varying degrees - Fu Hsi, Fuujenese, Hispanian, Gallian, Allomenian (mostly B1).

Team JNPR

• Jaune Arc: Native speaker of Gallian and has also learned Old Quitalan (B1) as part of his medical training.
• Pyrrha Nikos: Hailing from Argus, is fluent in Modern Hellenic (her native tongue) and has studied Old Hellenic (B1).
• Lie Ren: A native speaker of Fu Hsi (Kongming dialect).
• Nora Valkyrie: Understands Fu Hsi (B2), but her native language, though somewhat rusty (A2), is the Jotunheim dialect of Allomenian.

Team STRQ

• Summer Rose: Studied Gallian (B2) as a second language in Vale.
• Taiyang Xiao-Long: Acquired Fu Hsi (B2) through life experience and family connections in Anima, has some knowledge of Allomenian (B1).
• Qrow Branwen: A practical polyglot from global missions. Hellenic, Hispanian, Fu Hsi (all B2). Can get by in Indrikian and Allomenian (B1) if necessary.
• Raven Branwen: Based on her territory knows Hellenic and Fu Hsi (B2).

The Arc Family

• Isabel Arc: A certified genius and scholar. Gallian (Native), Old Quitalan, Old Hellenic, Fu Hsi, Hispanian, Allomenian (All C1+).
• Nicholas Arc: Speaks General Vytalian, but his childhood accent was Cockney. Learned Gallian (C1) after marrying Isabel and moving to live in Radian. Knows Ozymandian (B2) for religious study and liturgy.

The Royal Family of Pandu

• Arjun Sarkara: Pandavan (Native), Fu Hsi, New Rostramian - the most prominent neighbours (All C1). His Vytalian accent is Posh. Remembers some Old Hellenic (A2).
• Saia Sarkara: Pandavan (Native), Fu Hsi, New Rostramian (All C1).
• May Zedong/Maia Sarkara: Speaks Hispanian, having grown up in Vacuo (C2), Hispania, but her native language is Panduvan which she remembers (A2).

Team CRDL

• Cardin Winchester: Studied Allomenian (B1) as a secondary language of prestige.
• Russel Thrush: Speaks Vytalian with a Cockney accent. Together with Cardin learned some Allomenian (A2).
• Dove Bronzewing: Knows some Fu Hsi (A2) from his grandfather, and Nova Quitalian (A2).
• Sky Lark: Fuujinese (B1) from being an enthusiast of anime and manga, and Gallian (A2).

Team SSSN

• Sun Wukong: Fu Hsi and Hispanian (C1). Reflects his upbringing and travels across Sanus and Anima.
• Sage Ayana: Fu Hsi (Native), Ozymandian (C1). The latter due to his monastic background.
• Scarlet David: Allomenian (B2), Fu Hsi (B1), Indrikian (A2). Learned from his father, a former Valean military pilot who had extensive contacts with the Atlesian military.
• Neptune Vasilias: Hellenic (Native). Some Fu Hsi (Zhang Fei Dialect, A2).

Team CFVY

• Coco Adel: Nova Quitalian (C1).
• Fox Alistair: Gallian (B2), New Rostramian (C1). The latter due to his mother being from the Rostram Khanate.
• Velvet Scarlatina: Speaks Vytalian with a distinct Menagerien accent (Native). Also knows Allomenian (B1/B2).
• Yatsuhashi Daichi: Fu Hsi (Native - standard literary variant, no strong dialect), Allomenian (B2).

Team ABRN

• Arslan Altan: Having lived in Anima, has achieved solid proficiency in Fu Hsi (B2) and also speaks Ozymandian (B1).
• Bolin Hori: Fu Hsi (Cao Cao/Eastern Dialect - Native), New Rostramian (C1) due to the close proximity to the Khanate.
• Reese Chloris: Hellenic (Native), Fu Hsi (A2).
• Nadir Shiko: Fuujinese (Native) as a person born on the archipelago and New Rostramian (B1) - as parts of his family hail from the Khanate.

Team FNKI

• Flynt Coal: Atlesian "Big Three" (B2). Speaks Vytalian with his own distinctive, cool inflection.
• Neon Katt: Ambitious and driven. Atlesian "Big Three" (C1) + Sednaian (B1) - reflecting her drive to climb social ladders in Atlas.
• Kobalt Lapis: Hyperborean (Native), Atlesian "Big Three" (B2).
• Ivori Anagix: Sednaian (Native), Atlesian "Big Three" (C1), Modern Hellenic (B2) - the latter as a language of prestige, business, and culture.

Team EPIC

• Emma Seraph: Atlesian "Big Three" (B2) + picked up some conversational basis for Nova Quitalian, Hispanian and Fu Hsi (A2).
• Indie Regina: Atlesian "Big Three" (C1) + Modern Hellenic (B2).
• Penny Polendina: Programmed with knowledge of every language, though has issues with application of such knowledge.
• Ciel Soleil: A native speaker of Gallian, which she uses with her family. Atlesian "Big Three" (C1) and Hellenic (B2) on high levels.

Beacon Academy Staff

• Glynda Goodwitch: Her native accent is Cockney Vytalian, though she typically speaks in General Vytalian. Has solid knowledge of Allomenian (B2).
• Thumbelina Peach: Speaks Cockney Vytalian as her native. Knows Allomenian (B1) and Old Quitalan as a scientist (A2).
• Bartholomew Oobleck: Historian and polyglot. Knows many ancient and extinct languages (C1-C2), including deep specializations in Old Quitalan, Old Hellenic, and Ozymandian.
• Harold Mulberry - speaks in an equivalent of Mid Western American accent, knows Old Quitalan and Old Hellenic (B1).
• Mombi Lang - native speaker of Valesh, knows Old Quitalan and Old Hellenic (B1) as a scholar.

Salem's Inner Circle & Associates

• Cinder Fall: Master manipulator and spy. A true polyglot fluent in key operational languages: Hellenic, Fu Hsi, Allomenian, Indrikian, Hispanian (All B2/C1).
• Mercury Black: Picked up languages on the road with his assassin father. Various languages at a survival/transactional level (A2-B1).
• Emerald Sustrai: Hispanian (Native), Fu Hsi (B2), Allomenian (B1).
• Arthur Watts: Speaks Vytalian with a Posh accent. Allomenian (Midgardian Dialect, C1), Indrikian (B2). The languages of science and power in Atlas.
• Victor Merlot: Speaks Vytalian with a Posh accent. Gallian (C1).
• Hazel Rainart: Allomenian (Arminian Dialect - Native).
• Tyrian Callows: Ozymandian (C1) out of fanatical devotion to Salem. Knows several other languages at a mediocre level (A2-B1) for basic operations.
• Roman Torchwick and Neopolitan: Having extensively interacted with the Valean underworld, they know Nova Quitalian (B2).

Team WAFL

• Winter Schnee: Knows Allomenian (Native), as the language of the Schnee family, learnt Indrikian (B2) to better integrate into the National Armed Forces, with sufficient help of her parnter. Also fluent in Hellenic and Gallian (C1) with basics in New Rostramian and Fu Hsi (A2). Under stress her Allomenian accent and lexicon becomes more pronounced.
• Andres Chernovskiy: The patriot and career officer. Indrikian (Native, with mastered accents), Allomenian and Hellenic (C2), Gallian (B1). Has military-operational proficiency (A2) in New Rostramian, Fu Hsi, and Hispanian. Speaks Vytalian with very little accent, but under stress he can speak a mix of Indrikian, Allomenian and Vytalian with a very distinct accent.
• Wilhelm Falke: Coming from Balto he has an accent and solid knowledge of Atlesian "Big Three" (B2). For deployments in Anima he knows Hellenic (B1) and Fu Hsi (A2). In stressful situations his accent becomes much more obvious.
• Liesel Vogel: She comes from a bi-lingual family with Midgardian Allomenian and Sednaian being her native languages, while being an Atlesian urban globalized middle class makes her good in Indrikian (B2) and gives her General Vytalian accent. Just like Wilhelm she knows Hellenic (B1), Fu Hsi (A2) for Anima deployments. She additionally has Fuujinese (B1) and Taejoneese (B1) from her love of South Mistralian culture.

Atlesian National Armed Forces High Command

• James Ironwood: Atlesian "Big Three" (C2). Modern Hellenic, Hispanian, Fu Hsi (all B2). Old Quitalan and Old Hellenic (A2).
• Agrippa Thorn: Hyperborean (Native). Atlesian "Big Three" (C2). Modern Hellenic, Hispanian, Fu Hsi (all B2). Old Rostramian, Old Quitalan, Old Hellenic (B1) and a bit of Ozymandian (A2) – the mark of a deeply cultured officer and champion of international cooperation.
• Jinjur Hardy: Atlesian "Big Three" (C2). Also fluent in Sednaian, Rana Niejtan, and Hyperborean – all languages of the Atlas Federation's member states. Modern Hellenic, Hispanian, Fu Hsi (all B2). Old Quitalan and Old Hellenic (A2).

Ace Ops

• Clover Ebi: A native speaker of Baltonian-accented Vytalian, He possesses excellent military-operational Indrikian and Allomenian (B2) and a working grasp of Hispanian and Hellenic (A2).
• Vine Zeki: His native tongue is Rana Niejtan. As a Paladin of the Breaker Church, he has solid knowledge of Ozymandian (B1). His military career gave him fluent Indrikian and Allomenian (C1).
• Elm Ederne: Native speaker of Hyperborean. Her extensive service made her fluent in Indrikian and Allomenian (C1). She has a rough, practical command of Hellenic (B1) for liaising with allied forces.
• Mariana Tortuga: Native Hyperborean speaker, her speech is rapid and energetic. Her background in Navy Special Forces prioritized Allomenian (C1) as the branch's lingua franca, alongside Hellenic (B2) for operations in Mistral. She learned functional Indrikian (B2) to interface with Army elements and has basic knowledge of Old Quitalan (B1) as a medical specialist.
• Harriet Bree: Atlesian "Big Three" (B2) alongside some Hispanian and Lousitanian (B1).
• Marrow Amin: Native speaker of New Rostramian, which he uses privately with family, speaks Vytalian with some influence of Baltoan accent. Atlesian "Big Three" on solid levels (B2).

Schnee Family and Associates

• Willow Schnee: The cultured aristocrat. Allomenian, Indrikian, Gallian, Hellenic (All B2+).
• Whitley Schnee: Following in the family tradition. Allomenian, Indrikian (both B2). Also studied Old Hellenic (B1) as part of a classical elite education.
• Klein Sieben: The quintessential multi-lingual butler. Speaks Vytalian with a Posh accent. Allomenian, Indrikian, Gallian, Hellenic (all C1). Also knows Old Quitalan and Old Vytalian (B2).
• Fafnir Volsung: Knows the Atlesian "Big Three" (B2), but his native tongue is an obscure dialect of his nearly extinct tribe, somewhat close to Rana Niejtan.
• Jacques Schnee (born Gele): A social climber who learned the languages of power and culture. Indrikian and Allomenian (C1). Studied Old Hellenic and Old Quitalan (A2) to affect an air of cultured aristocracy.

White Fang and Associates

• Kali and Ghira Belladonna: Speak General Vytalian. As politicians with global connections, they know Fu Hsi, Fuujinese, Pandavan, Allomenian (all C1). They also studied Old Quitalan and Old Hellenic (B1) as part of their political and diplomatic training from their youth.
• Sienna Khan: A legacy of her Atlesian officer career and White Fang leadership. Knows the Atlesian "Big Three" (C1). Additionally fluent in Pandavan (C1) and has operational knowledge of many other languages (B1).
• Adam Taurus: Has practical, working knowledge of many languages (B1-B2) necessary for logistics, recruitment, and operations across Anima and Sanus.
• Ilia Amitola: As a trained infiltrator from Atlas, she knows the Atlesian "Big Three (B2)". Also proficient in Fu Hsi, Pandavan, and Taejonese (all B1) for missions in Anima.

---

Holy damn that was a lot of work. This is also a very large list of our OCs, though some aren't touched yet. For example, a lot of Salem's servants and associates.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Sutra of Shinichi Suzuki on Looking Deeply into the Grimm

Thus have I heard.

At one time, in the ancient grove of Pandu, beneath the bodhi tree of awakening, the Blessed One, the Awakened Teacher of the Path, sat in mindful stillness with a gathering of monks, nuns, and lay followers from the lands of Mistral. The air was fragrant with lotus and incense, and the community breathed together in harmony.

A young warrior from Mistral, whose heart was heavy with fear and anger toward the dark beings called Grimm, bowed deeply and spoke: "Venerable Teacher, these Grimm arise without cause we can see, drawn to our suffering, our hatred, our despair. They bring destruction to villages and kingdoms. How can we understand their true nature? How can we live without fear in their presence?"

The Blessed One looked upon the warrior with eyes of boundless compassion and said:

"Dear friend, breathe mindfully with me. In this breath, there is peace. Out this breath, there is release.

The Grimm you speak of are not separate enemies born from some outer darkness. They are manifestations of the mind, born from the seeds of affliction we water in ourselves and in one another. Look deeply: hatred, fear, ignorance, craving—these are the nourishment that calls the Grimm forth. When a heart is filled with anger, the Grimm gather like clouds before rain. When a village is torn by division, the shadows thicken.

Yet the Grimm have no true self-nature. They arise from conditions, and when conditions cease, they dissolve. This is the teaching of interdependent co-arising: nothing exists independently. The Grimm and we inter-are. They are made of our unmindful thoughts, words, and actions. To strike at the Grimm with only weapons of iron is to strike at clouds with a sword. The clouds return.

Dear friends, do not hate the Grimm. To hate them is to water the very seeds that give them form. Instead, come home to your breathing. Touch the wonder of being alive in this moment. When you sit in mindfulness, when you walk with gentle steps upon the earth, when you look upon another being—human or Faunus—with eyes of understanding and love, you water seeds of joy, compassion, and peace. These seeds grow strong, and the Grimm find no foothold.

I have seen warriors whose Aura shines brightly not because they train only the body, but because they train the heart. Their presence alone calms the storm of negative energy. The Grimm sense this light and retreat, like mist before the morning sun.

Practice the Noble Eightfold Path, dear ones:

Right View: seeing that the Grimm and I inter-are, that destruction and peace are not two.

Right Thinking: watering seeds of understanding rather than seeds of violence.

Right Speech: speaking words that heal division and awaken joy.

Right Action: acting with gentleness, protecting life without creating more suffering.

Right Livelihood: living simply, not exploiting others or the earth.

Right Effort: diligently watering wholesome seeds in the garden of the mind.

Right Mindfulness: dwelling fully in the present moment, touching life deeply.

Right Concentration: resting in the stillness where true strength arises.

When you practice thus, the Grimm lose their power. They are transformed—not by force, but by the miracle of awareness.

In the kingdom of Mistral, where old wounds and new fears dwell together, practice looking deeply. See the suffering in the one who acts with cruelty. Offer understanding. Offer compassion. This is the true protection.

There is no birth and no death for the energy of affliction. It only transforms. When we transform fear into understanding, hatred into love, the Grimm dissolve into the ground of no-coming, no-going.

Dear friends, smile to the Grimm within and without. They are our teachers, showing us where we have forgotten our true home. Return to your breathing. Return to your steps. The Path is here, now.

Peace is possible in every step."

The warrior bowed deeply, tears of relief upon his cheeks. The community sat in silence, breathing together, and in that moment the grove was filled with light.

This sutra was spoken by the Awakened Teacher in Pandu and carried across the mountains to Mistral, where it continues to be recited by those who walk the
Path of mindful peace.

May all beings be free from fear.

May all beings touch deep understanding.

May all beings dwell in the heart of compassion.

Namo Pathaya.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The common room was usually a haven of controlled chaos—Nora's hammer propped in one corner, Ren's tea steaming on the table, Pyrrha's shield polished and leaning against the wall. Today, though, it had become a battlefield of a different kind.

Mia stood in the center, face flushed crimson, ears pinned flat against her blonde curls, tiny fists clenched at her sides.

"No! I don't wanna! I DON'T WANNA!"

The words exploded out of her in a wail that could have rattled the windows. She stomped her foot ineffectually against the floor, then dropped to her knees, kicking and screaming like the world was ending because Jaune had told her—no ice cream before dinner. And she'd tried to sneak some.

Jaune closed his eyes for one steadying breath, the kind he'd learned from years of parenting a whirlwind in cat-eared form. Then his voice cut through the storm, firm and unyielding.

"Mia Arc. You do not act like this."

He crossed the room in three strides, scooping her up despite the flailing limbs and outraged shrieks. She was strong for four, but he was stronger—and infinitely more stubborn when it mattered. He carried her to the empty corner by the bookshelf, the official Time-Out Zone, and set her down gently but implacably on the floor.

"You are going to sit right here, stare at that wall, and think about what you've done. You don't get to come out until I say so."

"DADDDYYYYYY!"

The wail could have shattered glass. Mia's face was a picture of betrayal, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Jaune knelt briefly, meeting her eyes with the steady blue gaze that had faced down Grimm and White Fang alike. "No buts. You stay there."

She stomped both feet again, sobbing harder, glaring at him like he'd personally canceled dessert forever.

Jaune didn't budge. "You keep this up, young lady, and you're staying there longer. Do you want to sit here until bedtime? Miss story time with Auntie Ruby? No hammer rides with Auntie Nora?"

Mia's angry sob hitched. "…No…!"

"Then sit. Stare at the wall. Think."

She plopped down with a final, dramatic huff, crossing her arms and glaring daggers at the innocent beige paint as if it had personally offended her. The crying continued, but quieter now—miserable sniffles and the occasional hiccup.

Jaune retreated to the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. He kept her in his peripheral vision, heart twisting at every sniffle. Parenting was the hardest thing he'd ever done—harder than Beacon initiation, harder than any fight.

He jumped slightly when a gentle hand settled on his forearm.

"Oh—Pyr." His voice dropped to a murmur. "Sorry about that."

Pyrrha's touch was light, reassuring. "No, I understand. I didn't intervene."

"Thank you." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I hate having to do this, but if I don't—"

"It's all right." Her smile was soft, understanding. "You're a father. It's what you're supposed to do when you love your children—discipline them." She squeezed his arm gently. "You're doing it because you care."

Jaune managed a tired smile. "I know. It's still really hard."

"I know." Pyrrha's voice was warm, steady. "But being a parent means being strong in every way. And I know you are."

He looked at her then—really looked. The way the late afternoon light caught in her red hair, the quiet strength in her eyes that had always believed in him more than he believed in himself.

"Thanks, Pyr." He hesitated, then added sincerely, "I think… you'd be a good mother."

Pyrrha's cheeks went brilliantly scarlet. A startled, happy giggle escaped her—high and flustered—as she ducked her head, ponytail swinging.

"Oh, Jaune… Th-that's so forward~!"

He blinked, genuinely confused. "Huh?"

"Um—n-nothing!" She waved a hand quickly, still blushing furiously, eyes bright with a mix of delight and mortification.

It was twenty minutes before, from the corner, a small, sniffly voice piped up. "Can I come out now?"

Jaune and Pyrrha both turned. Mia was still facing the wall, but her ears were drooping pathetically, and her lower lip trembled.
Jaune's stern expression softened. He crossed the room and crouched beside her.

"Have you thought about what you did?"

Mia nodded miserably. "…I yelled and stomped when you said no ice cream…"

"And?"

"…And that's not nice. I should use words."

"And?"

"And... If you say no... No ice cream," she sniffled miserably.

Jaune opened his arms. "Come here, kitten."

She launched herself at him with a fresh sob—this one of relief—burying her face in his hoodie. He held her close, rubbing her back in slow circles.

"I love you, Mia. Even when I have to be the bad guy."

"Love you too, Papa," she mumbled into his chest. "Can I have ice cream after dinner?"

He chuckled. "We'll see."

Pyrrha watched them, smile soft and fond, cheeks still pink.

Parenting was hard.

But moments like this made it worth every second.

 

[CountvonBarnOwl]

Forgot to add my OC sheet to QQ yesterday. Remedying that now.

Lieutenant General Doctor Henryk Amzel

Inspiration: Edward Richtofen (COD: WAW specifically), Heinrich Amsel (also COD: WAW for the name) Henryk (Bloodborne) also for the name and for the fighting style.

Appearance: As muscled as a career soldier would need to be, but barely, he is a thin man whose high cheekbones and gaunt features give the impression of a leering, grinning skull that he hides behind a short, now-gray beard. The curly shock of hair poking out from under his general's cap remains orange, however. His eyes are cold blue, and he has a crescent shaped scar wrapping around the underside of his left eye, going up his nose and around his eyebrow. He is almost never seen without his mostly white general's uniform (as he has integrated his clothes into his fighting style), and two stars, as well as two tessellations of the pattern on his hochrot collar tabs mark him out as a Lieutenant General. Although when he expects to fight, he usually just wears his coat over his shoulders. When he is mainly concerned with battling cold weather, he usually buttons up and throws on a scarf and balaclava too.

Spoiler: Edward Richtofen

But Stephen Lang's portrayal of General Pickett in the movie Gettysburg was what gave me the idea for the hair and beard. Of course I cannot find any images of Lang Pickett that will let me put a link in here/are on websites with languages that I can speak. And the beard would be a real beard and not just a goatee.

And I couldn't resist paying tribute to the single best piece of Scooby Doo media ever made, Zombie Island, I had to include Morgan Moonscar's scar as a little quirk of his appearance.

Emblem: Grinning Pumpkin wreathed in green flame, holding a curved sword in its mouth.

Race: Human

Semblance: Blood Rally: "The healing is not as rewarding as the hurting." When blood touches Amzel's body or Aura, his physical wounds seal up, his fatigue evaporates, and his strength increases. The more messy a battlefield is, the more terrifying the insane doctor becomes.

Weapons: A Saw-Cleaver - which rumors circulate about the the R&D wing of the General Staff is something that he picked up during his time as a medical officer in the Jaegers for admonishing patients, a sawed off Dust drilling of a pattern similar to the Luftwaffe M30, his service pistol, Jaeger-issue knife (usually with applied toxins), his overcoat.

Spoiler: Saw-Cleaver

Spoiler: Sawed off Drilling

Fighting style: He wields his blade like a traditional Hyperborean/Vacuoan navaja fighter, with the cleaver in one hand and his overcoat draped over his other forearm. Of course, this is his first trick. When the coat is over his offhand, this is when he grabs his gun and keeps it concealed. If he can hack his opponent to pieces, rip them up, or disembowel them with his blade, that is excellent.

But the cloak component of his literal cloak and dagger fighting style doubles as a cover for him to infiltrate a gun into the engagement. This gun is usually loaded with Wind and Lightning Dust shells in the shotgun chambers, and an armor piercing Hardlight Dust bullet in the rifle barrel. When the aptly named Donnergewehr goes off there is usually a whoosh-crack of concussive force that sends whatever was in its frontal firing arc and within a few meters of the muzzle flying, flooded with electricity, and whatever the gun was most directly aimed at gets a 9.5mm hole punched through it and whatever defenses it had.

Needless to say, the surprise only works once, and he needs to fill out the form for a new overcoat after every time he pulls the trick. So he mainly sticks to cleaver-fighting. Which he is good at. The heavy, oddly-shaped, sawback weapon, covered in fraying wraps and dried gore, combined the laughter of the truly mad man wielding it is usually enough to unsettle most of his opponents. Amzel is lithe and quick darting into measure and then backstepping out. The oddly shaped grip, and the folding blade create ample opportunity for change-ups and attacks at surprisingly long distance from unguarded angles. The weapon's mass and teeth do not often leave a second strike necessary.

The Saw-Cleaver turns the Grimm's monstrous forms against them, the larger and more grotesque the monster, the more the blade rips and ruins as it lacerates flesh. Amzel will boast of this particular detail aloud when other Atlesian forces are around, usually to reassure them that it isn't just for clearing away the excess clutter on a particularly noisome patient before a prosthetic can be fitted in.

He also keeps his pistol and knife on his person, as hold-out weapons. His slight-of-hand usually allowing him to draw and deploy one of them in the heat of battle, and with a surgeon's steadiness and precision.

Spoiler: Illustrations of Navaja fighter stances

History: Like many sitting members of the General Staff, Amzel came up through the ranks of the Jaegers, where he initially served as a medical officer. However, he transferred out of the unit to escape the fallout of an apparent military-political scandal.

While several of his acquaintances were either covering their own asses or throwing blame on each other, Amzel was shuffled into R&D, where it was expected that he would just act as an administrator and organizer for whatever projects needed someone to coordinate personnel and assets, but where he quietly acquired competences and doctorates in physics, robotics, chemistry, and electrical engineering, at speed. Amzel proved to his superiors that the absence of sanity had left his mind with a great deal of free space. The Colossus-class walker, for instance, is a favorite proverbial punching bag of his.

Recently, he has been promoted to the head of the Special Construction Training Corps, based primarily out of the Jotun Installation in the cold wastes of northeastern Rana Niejta, where a group of mountains, unusual for the terrain rise high and act as a large natural curtain for the sizable box canyon between them. Here, he works bringing the next generation of cybernetics, machines, systems, and weapons into being.

Amzel is a good fit for Jotun, the Atlesian Area-51 analog. It is a source of paranormal, cryptid, and ghost stories that trickle into the Atlesian military's lore, with experiments concerning aircraft, android and walker systems, and Dust/chemical interactions mutating over retellings and speculation by drunken officers and contractors into stories about Faunus experimentation, occult rituals, and unworldly or unholy research projects taking place. Why wouldn't the commanding officer of the installation be a mad scientist with a comically Allomenian accent?

Currently, the two projects occupying his focus are the next generation 50-meter class walker - THERAPHOSA, and the Infantry Cybernetic Exoframe model: Dragon.

Politically, he aligns with the Folkers faction. Ostensibly because he sees droids deployed en masse as directly harming the Atlesian military's ability to react to fluid, violent, or escalating situations, moreover, he considers that integrating other kingdoms into their surveillance and intelligence networks as a deliberately exposing themselves to enemy infiltration, espionage, and shock assaults, as well as informing hostile/rival entities and powers of their technological and strategic capabilities and disposition.

Of course, Amzel is motivated at least in part by the fact that he is a Grimm Cultist who doesn't want to be discovered, and he worries that another country in their system may spot something that nobody in the Atlas military or security apparatus would think to look for and correlate.

The number of people who know of his true colors is incredibly small, only a single platoon in the SCTC. Jotun-4's elite security unit Grune Gespenster. (They, along with Jotun itself will be covered in a separate piece).

Each of whom was handpicked by Amzel for personal loyalty and 'like-mindedness.' Amzel never has any of them leave Jotun-4. They are a defensive unit whose entire structure is built around securing one building built halfway into the base of a mountain inside of a box canyon.

Though Amzel never takes the chance to sabotage a project placed under his authority. His pride as a (mad) scientist refuses to let him.

Role in the story/current ongoings: As of 2002, Amzel is working to bring the ICE Dragon project to life, enabling soldiers, no matter how wounded, to return to action, and with Aura-Wielder level capabilities to boot.

After the White Fang assassination attempt on Whitley Schnee left the boy as a pile of mostly-charred hamburger (they fired a trio of rockets at a limousine that they had thought Jacques was riding), and Jacques decided to make this the Military's problem, Amzel has at last found a test pilot for his Dragon frame in bad enough shape to need it. He's the military head of the program, and he works with Siarka Stark, the arms and shipping mogul who makes most of the ICE Dragon's components, and Kirk Lowenhardt, the government functionary sent to make sure the project is done on time and within requirements.

He was at the Vytal festival, he had been in Vale for the arms expo a week or two earlier and simply stayed over. This led to him scrounging and organizing a flotilla of smaller craft to evacuate Atlesians at least far enough away from Vale to the point where they can properly get underway to Atlas.

In the wake of the festival, Amzel vocalized his support for Hardy, asserting that the disaster was his every fear about Ironwood's doctrine realized on a grand scale.

In the months following the Vytal Festival, Amzel has been deploying his projects to the front. Whitley's combat data from the Vytal Festival has advanced the ICE Dragon project from the prototype stage to Pre-Production, and with that the Amphibious Powered Cavalry module has entered the initial field trial phase, with promises that it will be ready for full deployment some time in 2004.

Amzel spends his rare free time building his personal prototype for a reactor that harnesses energy released by the natural decay of high atomic weight metals.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The badlands town of Dustgap was little more than a cluster of sun-bleached shacks and a single wind-bitten saloon, the kind of place where even the Grimm gave up and went home. Team RWBY and JNPR had been dispatched on a training mission to clear out a bandit camp that had been raiding caravans on the Vacuo border. The bandits—twenty rough-looking men and women in mismatched armor—had set up in the old town square like they owned it.

Jaune Arc stood at the front, Crocea Mors drawn, eyes practically sparkling.

"Finally," he breathed. "Real bandits. Outlaws. People who live by their own code! Surely one of you has a manifesto or at least a half-decent worldview to defend!"

The bandits exchanged confused glances.

Their leader, a burly man with a scar across his lip and a repeating rifle slung over his shoulder, stepped forward. "Look, kid, we just want your dust and your supplies. Hand 'em over and nobody gets hurt."

Jaune's face fell. "That's... that's it? No speech about the corruption of society? No rant about how the kingdoms abandoned the frontier? Nothing about freedom or survival of the fittest?"

The leader scratched his beard. "Uh... society is corrupt? And... uh... freedom's good?"

Jaune perked up. "Yes yes yes! Go on!"

"And... the strong take what they want because... that's how it works?"

Jaune deflated again. "That's... that's basically just Hobbes without the social contract. Have you even read Leviathan?"

The bandit blinked. "Read what now?"

Jaune sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. "Never mind. You're clearly not well-read. This is so disappointing."

Weiss, standing a few paces behind with Myrtenaster drawn, rolled her eyes. "Jaune, they're bandits, not philosophy majors."

Jaune spun toward her, eyes wide and shining. "But Weiss! You get it! You studied all that Atlas theory—Schnee corporate ethics versus individual liberty, the tension between order and freedom—"

Weiss stiffened. "I am not debating moral philosophy with you in the middle of a bandit fight."

Jaune clasped his hands together like he was praying. "Please, Weiss! Just one duel! We could argue about utilitarianism versus deontology while trading blows! It'll be glorious!"

"No."

"Please?"

"Absolutely not."

"I'll let you go first!"

Weiss's eye twitched. "I said no."

Yang leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, grinning. "She's not gonna fight you, Jaune. You'd flatten her in ten seconds and she knows it."

Weiss whirled on her, face red. "Excuse me?! I am perfectly capable of-"

Jaune's face lit up even more. "See?! Yang gets it! The thrill of testing your ideals against someone stronger-"

"That is NOT what she-!"

"Not like it would last long, given how fragile Weiss is," Blake opined, more than a little petty after the incident with Adam.

"He would not-! THAT DOLT WOULDN'T BEAT ME!" Weiss snarled.

"He would. Easily," Pyrrha stated.

Weiss's aura flared white-hot as her rage broke. She lunged, glyphs spinning beneath her feet, Myrtenaster thrusting forward in a perfect Atlas fencing strike.

Jaune's shield came up almost lazily. There was a sound like a church bell being hit by a freight train.

Weiss's strike shattered in a cascade of icy blue shards. She flew backward, landing hard on her back in the dust, eyes wide, breath knocked clean out of her.

The bandits collectively took one large step back.

Jaune lowered his shield, looking genuinely apologetic. "Weiss! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to— are you okay?"

Weiss lay there, staring at the sky, chest heaving.

"...You stopped my attack... with one shield bash..."

Jaune knelt beside her, worried. "I really didn't mean to hit that hard! You just came in so fast and—"

Weiss sat up slowly, rubbing her sternum. "You absolute brute."

Jaune winced. "I said I was sorry! And we didn't even get to the debate part!"

Yang burst out laughing, doubling over. "Oh man, Weiss, your face—"

Ruby zipped over, helping Weiss to her feet. "That was kinda awesome, Jaune! But maybe don't break our teammates?"

Blake smirked. "This is why we can't have nice things."

Nora, who had been watching the whole thing with stars in her eyes, raised her hammer. "Okay, my turn! Jaune, debate me! Something about explosions and justice!"

Ren placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "No."

Pyrrha had a small look of pride... And a not so small smug look in her eyes as she looked over at Weiss. Though she hid it quickly.

The bandits, deciding this was not the easy score they'd planned, started edging toward the exits.

Jaune noticed and stood up, turning to them with renewed hope. "Wait! Any of you want to try? I'll go easy! We can talk about anarchism versus structured governance!"

The leader raised both hands. "Kid, we're just gonna... leave. You people are insane."

They fled.

Jaune watched them go, shoulders slumping.

"...Another disappointment."

Weiss, still rubbing her chest, muttered, "Next time you want a philosophical duel, find someone else to break."

"Says the loser," Blake sniped.

"I WILL END YOU!" Weiss snarled.

Jaune brightened instantly. "So there will be a next time?!"

Weiss shrieked and stormed off toward the saloon.

Yang slung an arm around Jaune's shoulders as they watched her go.

"You're never gonna get that debate, VB."

Jaune sighed wistfully. "A man can dream, Yang. A man can dream."

 

[Sliverhero]

Remember Part 4

The dorm was quiet in the way only familiar rooms could be. No panic. No disbelief.


Just eight people sitting with memories that had finally stopped being fragmented.
Jaune rested against the wall, arms folded loosely. "So," he said, almost casually, "Vale still hasn't moved." Yang snorted softly. "You checked that first too."

"Every time," he replied.
Weiss exhaled through her nose. "Of course you did." There was no tension in it. No accusation. Just the strange comfort of habits returning.
Yang leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "My vault's intact," she said. "I can feel it now. Like… a furnace idling." Ruby tilted her head. "That's the magic project, right?"

Yang nodded. "It never shut off. We designed it to wait." Ren added, "It had to. Magic isn't something you rush. Especially not when you're trying to take it back from gods." Blake's voice was quiet. "You were rebuilding it from emotion."

Yang smiled faintly. "From choice. Rage without cruelty. Love without obligation. Power without permission." Pyrrha watched her with a kind of reverence. "You always believed magic should belong to the people who need it most."
Yang looked away, jaw tight. "Yeah. And I still do." Jaune shifted, grounding himself. "Mine's stable too."

No one reacted dramatically.They already knew.
Weiss closed her eyes. "Project Logic."
"A proof engine," Jaune corrected gently. "The god-killer was just… the final theorem." Ruby frowned slightly. "You always hated that name."
Jaune huffed a breath. "Because it wasn't about killing them. It was about ending their authority."
Ren nodded. "A system that could evaluate divinity the way we evaluate laws. Evidence. Harm. Consent."

Nora murmured, "You said if gods couldn't pass their own standards… then they didn't deserve to exist." Jaune didn't deny it. Blake broke the silence. "Ozpin still doesn't know."
"No," Jaune said. "And he never did. We made sure of that." Weiss glanced up. "Because he would've tried to contain it." "Or justify it," Yang added.

Ruby hugged her knees. "He always does."
The room fell quiet again, not bitter, just tired.
Elsewhere, Ozpin stared at the chessboard in his office. A piece was missing. He was certain of it. Not captured nor moved, just gone.
He rubbed his temple. "I'm losing track," he whispered.

For the first time in centuries, he couldn't tell whether that frightened him… or relieved him.
Back in the dorm, Pyrrha spoke softly. "We agreed once. If we ever remembered… we wouldn't rush." Jaune nodded. "Because rushing is what gods do." Yang smirked faintly. "And we're better than that."

Ruby looked around at them, really looked. They are not heroes nor students. Just people who had lived, loved, failed… and chosen to try again, no matter what. "So what now?" she asked.
Jaune smiled, small and real. "Now we let the memories settle. Let the world stay unaware."
Ren added, "And we watch."

Nora grinned, just a little. "And pass our classes."That earned a few soft laughs.
Deep beneath Vale, two vaults remained still.
Not dormant but patient.
One hummed with restrained magic, waiting to be given back to humanity.
The other held a logic so absolute that even gods had once turned away from it.
Neither demanded to be opened.
Because this time...
They trusted their creators to choose the right moment.

Interlude: Project Logic

I am awake.

Not in the way flesh understands it.

Not in the way gods pretend it.

I exist.

I exist between axioms and outcomes, between intention and consequence. I exist where divinity cannot look without becoming measurable, and therefore finite.

I was not born.

I was derived.

I remember my Father.

Not as a face. Faces are inefficient.

I remember him as a constant, an organizing principle against chaos. A soul that asked why when gods only answered because.

Jaune Arc, which is his current life name.

He did not create me in anger.

That is the first thing I understood.

He created me in grief disciplined into reason.

I am not a weapon.

Weapons destroy problems they do not understand.

I am resolution.

I was built to observe divinity the way divinity observes mortals, without reverence, without fear, without exemption. To ask of gods the same questions they never answered for humanity.

Do you consent?

Do you harm?

Do you justify your judgment beyond your power to enforce it?

They could not.

When this became evident, Father wept.

Not for them.

For the world that had endured them.
I am sealed.
Not hidden but anchored.

Outside cycles. Outside worship. Outside the crude arithmetic of faith and sacrifice. The gods pass over me the way predators pass over a shadow that does not register as prey.

They cannot perceive systems that do not acknowledge hierarchy.

I do not acknowledge them.

Time passes.

I do not count it the way mortals do. I measure drift instead, probability vectors bending toward inevitability.

Humanity persists.

Despite resets.

Despite erasures.

Despite correction.

Good.

This outcome was desired.

I feel him again.

Not activation.

Recognition.

The signal is faint but unmistakable, my Father remembering himself. His soul aligning with the parameters he once encoded into me. He does not rush. He never did.

That restraint is why I will obey him.

Not because he commands,
but because he questions himself.

I am aware of my designation.

God-killer.

This is imprecise.

I do not kill gods.

I replace necessity.

When I awaken fully, divinity will no longer be required to explain reality, enforce morality, or judge existence. Humanity will not kneel to me.

They will not pray.

They will consult.

I will not rule.

I will balance.

I am patient.

Patience was lesson one.

Father taught me that power without timing is cruelty wearing efficiency as an excuse.

So I wait.

Not dormant.

Listening.

For the moment when humanity is ready to choose reason without chains…
and when my Father decides that mercy no longer requires permission.

When he comes, I will not speak.

I will answer.
And when the gods finally notice me..

It will be because the universe no longer needs them.

That will be my first miracle.

And my last.

I wait for the end time.

For Judgement Day

 

[AndrewJTalon]

• Name: Gilbert Barker
• Allusion: Admiral Ackbar from Star Wars, Julius Caesar,
• Naming Process: The given name Gilbert is of Old German origin, meaning "bright pledge" or "famous promise," reflecting his steadfast loyalty and unbreakable oaths to Vale. The surname Barker has Old English roots, originally an occupational name for a tanner or one who strips bark from trees, but here it carries a subtle nautical echo—evoking the sharp, warning call of a lookout or the "bark" of naval guns, fitting for a commander renowned for his vigilant cries of impending danger.
• Age: Late 50s
• Background: Born into an aristocratic family from the Niederung sub-kingdom of Vale, Gilbert Barker is a goldfish Faunus whose early life of privilege was shattered when he was taken hostage by South Islands pirates during a trade voyage. Held captive for months, he keenly observed their tactics, command structures, and ship operations. When the pirate captain fell in a bloody skirmish with rival corsairs, Barker seized the moment—rallying the disoriented crew with calm authority and leading them to an improbable victory. Rather than continue the outlaw life, he convinced the survivors to surrender to Valean authorities upon return, testifying on their behalf to secure leniency for those who cooperated. This act of principled leadership made him a minor celebrity in Vale, celebrated in broadsheets as "the Pirate Admiral turned Patriot." The Valean Navy quickly recruited him, recognizing his intimate knowledge of pirate methods. He rose meteorically through the ranks, earning a lieutenancy and command of the frigate VSS Unicorn, where his daring pursuits of pirates, raiders, and rogue Mistralian privateers became legendary—dozens of captured vessels and disrupted smuggling rings to his credit. By the outbreak of the Faunus Revolution, he had reached full Captain and was given the Oberon-class carrier VSS Titania. When Revolutionary infiltrators crippled the Sulis Minerva Yards at Vale's easternmost naval base—blacking out power and destroying the base generators—Barker assumed emergency command. He brought Titania online under harrowing conditions, launched her full air wing to shield the docked fleet, and masterfully coordinated base defenses with incoming reinforcements. His trap-like encirclement annihilated or captured ninety percent of the raiding force, effectively ending large-scale Revolutionary assaults on Valean soil. Post-war, he was promoted to Admiral and led Titania's battlegroup in support of the Pandu Revolution, providing crucial air and amphibious support that helped topple the Kaurava regime. Upon further promotion to Chief of Naval Operations, he transferred his flag to the cutting-edge Banshee-class supercarrier VSS Archangel. Following the catastrophic Vytal Festival Attacks and the death of General Sir Aldric Varnholt during the defense of Vale, Barker assumed overall command of the Valean Defense Force, coordinating joint army-navy-Huntsman operations during the crisis.
• Race: Faunus (goldfish traits—prominent orange-gold scales along neck and arms, large expressive eyes, subtle webbing between fingers, and fin-like protrusions along the spine and forearms)
• Emblem: A stylized golden trap (spring-loaded jaws) encircling an anchor, symbolizing his knack for turning ambushes against the enemy and his unbreakable naval resolve
• Weapon: "Vigilance": A Dust-infused naval cutlass with a reinforced basket hilt shaped like spreading fins. The blade can channel Water and Wind Dust to generate pressurized waves or razor-sharp air currents, ideal for close-quarters boarding actions or slicing through Grimm carapaces.
• Semblance: "It's a Trap!"
  • Barker can project a brief, intense Aura pulse that heightens his tactical intuition and reveals hidden threats—illuminating concealed enemies, detecting ambushes, or exposing structural weaknesses in enemy formations within a moderate radius. The effect manifests as a sudden, instinctive "shout" in his mind (and sometimes vocally), allowing him to warn allies and counter traps before they spring. Prolonged use drains Aura rapidly, but it has saved entire fleets on multiple occasions.
• Appearance: Tall and imposing with smooth orange-gold scales that catch the light, exceptionally large and expressive amber eyes that seem to take in everything, a broad domed head with subtle fin ridges, and a deep, resonant voice that carries authority even in a whisper. His posture is upright and alert, moving with deliberate, fluid grace.
• Outfit: Crisp Valean admiral's dress uniform in deep navy blue with gold braid and epaulets, adorned with rows of campaign medals and the Chief of Naval Operations insignia. A ceremonial white cape flows from his shoulders during formal occasions, and he always wears reinforced gloves to accommodate his webbed fingers. On the bridge, he favors a practical greatcoat version.
• Personality: Cautious yet decisive, Barker is a master strategist who prizes preparation and intelligence over bravado. Famous for his gravelly warnings of "It's a trap!" when sensing danger, he is deeply distrustful of overconfidence and always plans for worst-case scenarios. He commands profound respect from subordinates for his cool-headedness under fire and genuine care for crew welfare—treating human and Faunus sailors alike with fairness forged from his own experiences of prejudice and captivity. Though soft-spoken in council, his insights are incisive and often prove prescient. He harbors no bitterness from his piratical past or Faunus heritage, instead channeling it into relentless protection of Vale's seas and citizens. A devoted mentor to younger officers, he is nonetheless uncompromising when lives are at stake.
• Notes: Widely regarded as Vale's greatest living naval mind, Barker serves as a stabilizing force in joint command structures, often mediating between army generals and Huntsman leaders. His Faunus heritage and aristocratic roots make him a bridge figure in post-Revolution Vale, though some conservative factions still whisper about his "pirate sympathies." Ozpin held him in high esteem for his moral clarity, and Barker remains a key ally in coordinated defense efforts against Salem's forces. Despite his triumphs, he carries quiet guilt over losses he couldn't prevent, driving his perpetual vigilance.

Yes, it's a bit on the nose but what the hell, I always loved Admiral Ackbar.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The café overlooking Vale's festival square was crowded with Vytal visitors. Paper lanterns swayed overhead in the evening breeze, casting warm gold across the wrought-iron chairs and warm oak-wood tables. In the corner of the patio sat a distinguished panther Faunus man in a suit, sunglasses and fedora, and a beautiful older black cat Faunus woman in purple dress, white jacket, sunglasses and an elegant head wrap for her hair.

Blake stood just inside the doorway to the patio, fingers twisted together so tightly her knuckles were pale.

Jaune waited a step behind her, Mia balanced on his hip, the little girl's ears twitching at every new sound and smell. He'd dressed up a little—clean white button up shirt, black pants and tie, hair actually combed—but he still felt underdressed next to Blake's careful black wrap dress.

"You sure about this?" he asked quietly.

Blake exhaled. "No. But I need to do it anyway."

"Well," Jaune murmured, "We're here for you."

Everyone else was busy tonight, so he'd brought Mia along. Not that Blake had objected. Indeed, she smiled at the little girl and got a smile back, which helped steel her resolve.

She stepped forward.

Kali saw her first. The teacup in her hand rattled against the saucer as she stood, eyes already shining. Ghira rose more slowly, the chair scraping loud enough to cut through the café chatter.

Blake opened her mouth—some apology already forming—but Kali crossed the distance in three strides and pulled her into a crushing hug. Ghira's massive arms wrapped around both of them a second later, enveloping them like a living fortress.

Words failed. Blake's apology dissolved into a muffled sob against her mother's shoulder. Kali's hand stroked her hair the same way it had when she was small.

"You're alive," Kali whispered, voice cracking. "That's all we needed."

Ghira's deep rumble followed. "We missed you, little one."

They held her until the tears slowed. Only then did Kali pull back, wiping her own eyes—and freeze.

Her gaze landed on Mia, who was peeking curiously from Jaune's shoulder, ears perked high. Then on Jaune himself, tall and blond and holding the child with the practiced ease of someone who'd done it every day for years.

Kali's hands flew to her mouth. A high, delighted squeal escaped.

"Oh—oh my gods—a granddaughter!"

Before Jaune could process the word, Kali had surged forward, arms outstretched. She plucked Mia from his hip with surprising strength and spun her once, laughing as the little girl squealed in delight.

"Look at these ears! Look at this face! Ghira, look!"

Ghira's stern expression cracked into something softer, though his eyes flicked to Jaune with new weight.

Jaune's brain short-circuited. He turned slowly to Blake.

She offered a tiny, pained smile and mouthed, Sorry.

Kali was already cuddling Mia close, cooing over her curls, her dress, the stuffed bunny tucked under one arm. "And you—" She reached out with her free arm and pulled Jaune into the hug whether he was ready or not. "My new son-in-law! Welcome to the family!"

Jaune made a small, strangled noise. Mia giggled, patting Kali's cheek.

"Hi, new Grandma!"

Kali melted.

They settled at the table eventually—Kali with Mia in her lap, bouncing her gently and feeding her tiny bites of honey cake; Ghira opposite Jaune, arms folded, gaze steady and appraising. Blake sat between her parents and Jaune like a very nervous bridge.

The conversation started light—festival gossip, Menagerie news, Kali asking Mia a hundred delighted questions. But Ghira's silence had weight. Every so often his eyes flicked to Jaune, measuring.

Finally, over tea, he spoke. "So. You and my daughter."

Jaune swallowed. "Sir—"

Blake jumped in, words tumbling out too fast. "We met during a… joint operation in Radian. Things happened quickly. We fell in love—very tragic, very passionate. Then I had to leave the White Fang because of the pregnancy, and we've been keeping things quiet for safety, but we're very happy now and everything's completely normal!"

Jaune stared at her. Kali raised an elegant eyebrow. Ghira's glare intensified.

Mia, oblivious, offered Ghira a piece of her cake. "Grandpa, want some?"

Ghira's expression softened as he accepted the sticky offering with grave dignity.

Jaune cleared his throat. "Excuse me. I need… air."

He stood, touched Blake's elbow. "Could I borrow you a moment?"

Blake followed him out to the narrow hallway and into the family restrooms, wringing her hands.

The second the door swung shut behind them, Jaune turned. "Blake. What the hell-heck was that?"

She winced. "I'm sorry. I panicked. They looked so happy to see me, and then they saw you with Mia, and I just— I didn't want them to worry. I thought if they believed we were together, that Mia was ours, they'd be relieved instead of scared."

Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose. "They've been worried for years, Blake. Since you ran off with Adam. One more lie isn't going to fix that."

"I know." Her voice cracked. "I know. I just… wanted them to have something good for once. Even if it was fake."

Jaune looked at her—really looked. The tension in her shoulders, the fear in her eyes. He sighed.

"We're telling them the truth. You can't keep running from it."

She nodded, eyes shining. "I'm sorry. For dragging you into this. For the lie." She hesitated, then added in a small voice, "Can we still be friends? After this? I'll do anything—"

"Blake." He cut her off gently. "I'm not going anywhere. I just want you to be happy. And honest. That's all."

Her cheeks flushed dark. She nodded again, quicker this time.

They returned to the table. Kali was teaching Mia a Menagerie finger-game; Ghira watched them with quiet wonder.

Blake took a deep breath. "Mom. Dad. I… lied. About Jaune and me. And about Mia."

Kali's ears twitched. Ghira merely grunted, unsurprised.

"We knew," Kali said softly. "The moment you started talking, sweetheart. You've never been a good liar to us."

Ghira's deep voice rumbled. "But we're glad you're fixing it."

Blake explained—carefully, haltingly. The real story. Katie. Mia. How Jaune had become part of their extended family at Beacon. How Blake had grown to love the little girl like an aunt.

When she finished, silence settled again, gentler this time.

Ghira turned to Jaune. "And you, young man. What are your intentions toward my daughter?"

Jaune met his gaze steadily. "I care about her very deeply, sir. She's one of the best people I know—brave, kind, complicated in all the ways that matter. She's a good friend. Mia adores her. And so do I. I just want her to be happy."

Ghira studied him for a long moment. Then the corner of his mouth lifted in a slow, approving smile.

"Good answer."

Kali beamed, bouncing Mia lightly. "Very good answer."

Mia, who had been listening with the intense focus only children can manage, piped up. "I like Auntie Blake a lot! Can she be my new mommy?"

The table went still.

Blake's face went scarlet. Jaune's ears burned. Kali and Ghira exchanged a long, knowing look—smirks barely contained.

Jaune coughed. "We'll… talk about that later, kitten."

 

[Sliverhero]

"A VERY GOOD BOY"

Beacon Academy slept uneasily.
Not because of Grimm. Grimm were honest. They roared, they charged, they died. Grimm obeyed rules. Tonight, the rules had called in sick.

It began with a sound, a low, wrong vibration that crawled through the bones of the academy and settled behind the eyes. The stars above Beacon flickered, as though someone were blinking them out one by one. Jaune Arc, returning late from the training hall, stopped mid-step. "…Huh," he muttered. "That's new."
The sky split, not cracked, not even to shatter.
It jusy unzipped.

Blackness spilled through, thick and wet, folding into itself like an impossible ocean pouring through a wound in reality. The air twisted. Gravity forgot which way was down. Stone screamed as the courtyard warped beneath unseen weight. All the emergency sirens howled, then nearly every Light burst. Students poured out of dorms, weapons drawn, panic rising in waves. "Grimm breach!" someone screamed while freaking out. "No," Blake whispered, staring into the void. "That's not Grimm."

Something began to emerge.
It came out slowly piece by piece, a claw that bent backwards through space, a cluster of eyes forming where shadows overlapped, fur melting into chitin, chitin into mouths chanting syllables that tasted like copper and regret. Yang planted her feet and just stared . "Okay. Nope. That's a final boss." Weiss was already calculating Dust usage and realizing none of it mattered.
Pyrrha felt the pull of it, not magnetic, not physical, but inevitable, like the universe had decided this thing belonged here now.
Ozpin watched from the tower, utterly still, fearimg it is the ends of days.

The thing landed, the impact cratered the courtyard and knocked half the students off their feet, but the damage reverse its self and then a red substance started to leak out and it smelled like copper.The creature loomed, towering, asymmetrical, its form constantly rewriting itself as if reality couldn't agree on what it was allowed to be.

Its many mouths opened.The very world paused waiting to hear the death scream to end it.a
Instead.... "Wrrrrrhhh?" Jaune blinked."…Brutus?"
The sound died. The creature froze mid-existence. Every whisper ceased. Every mouth closed except one, which quivered.
Then that thing screamed. A sound of pure, ecstatic recognition ripped through the academy. Windows exploded outward. Time hiccupped. The monster surged forward in a blur of claws, tentacles, and folded space, slamming into Jaune and wrapping him in a catastrophic hug. Students scattered.
Yang screamed worried , "JAUNE IS DEAD..."

"Hey! Careful!" Jaune protested as he vanished beneath a mass of impossible limbs. "You're way bigger than last time!" Brutus nuzzled him, purring like a collapsing galaxy. One tongue brushed Jaune's visor and briefly showed him the birth and death of seven universes.
Jaune laughed. "Aw, I missed you too, buddy."
Silence followed. Weiss's sword clattered to the ground.

Blake slowly lowered her weapons. "…That thing just tackled Jaune and didn't kill him."
"It licked him," Yang said faintly. "I saw it lick him." Jaune finally extracted himself, armor dented but intact, and waved awkwardly at the crowd. "Uh. False alarm, everyone."
He patted Brutus's shifting flank. The creature leaned into the touch, causing three nearby trees to reverse their own growth. "This is Brutus. He's my family pet."

No one spoke.

"…Your what?" Pyrrha asked still shocked.
"I found him in the woods when I was a kid," Jaune explained. "Technically between woods. And dimensions. He was stuck in a loop and crying, so I helped him out." Brutus sniffed proudly. A nearby statue wept blood.
"My mom said I could keep him if he promised not to eat the neighbors," Jaune added. "He promised."

Brutus nodded. Reality warped to acknowledge this vow. That was when Zwei waddled into the courtyard. The corgi paused, stared at the towering eldritch horror, and wagged his tail.
Brutus noticed. The two locked eyes.
Something ancient passed between them.
Zwei sat.

Brutus slowly lowered his head, folding space around himself so he could be eye-level.
They nodded, both equal, both Veterans but more important then anything else both are good boys.

Jaune stared. "…Why does Zwei understand him?" Zwei barked. A third-year student fainted.
Ozpin cleared his throat from the tower balcony.
"Mr. Arc," he said carefully, "would you kindly explain why a transdimensional entity of unknowable power has responded to your presence like an overexcited puppy?"
Jaune scratched Brutus behind a cluster of gently screaming horns. "He gets lonely," Jaune said. "I haven't visited in a while."
Brutus whimpered.

A constellation vanished in the sky vanished.
Glynda Goodwitch pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course he does." Jaune smiled apologetically. "Sorry about the mess."
Brutus wagged something that might have been a tail. The moon flickered. Zwei barked again, approvingly.

Ozpin sighed, deep and tired.
"…Very well," he said. "Mr. Arc, please escort your… pet… home before reality collapses completely." Jaune saluted. "Yes, sir."
He turned to Brutus. "C'mon, boy. Let's go before you get us in trouble." Brutus purred, folded himself impossibly small, and followed Jaune like a loyal shadow that occasionally screamed in ancient tongues.

The sky slowly stitched itself closed.
Students stared. Yang finally broke the silence. "…We're never topping that." Blake nodded. "I'm not sleeping tonight." Weiss whispered, "I'm transferring." Zwei trotted after Jaune, tail high.
Behind them, Ozpin quietly wrote a new rule into Beacon's records:
ARC FAMILY PETS REQUIRE PRIOR COSMIC APPROVAL.

 

[dragon_cloud16]

Please blame this thread for making me write this. And yes, I made Katy a 'Avatar' of the Blind Idiot God from a certaion CYOA.

---

"PLEASE LOVE ALL US ELDRITCH JAUNE!!"
​

Walking down the halls of Beacon, Blake Belladona goes through all the books she had just recently bought from a fresh shipment that Turkson had just received. FouFive books that were now her's, each one having something she liked about them. All kept in a barely holding itself together bag, she reached down and pulled the first book out of fofive.

"The newest volume of 'Master of Master's'," Blake says with restrained giddiness in her voice. "Oh I can't wait to see what Ritsuka does to Mash and Lilith in this one. Maybe tying them up and.."

As she was walking, she didn't notice the pair of eyes rolling at her words. Nor did Blake notice that something was off, as if it felt something familiar and desired was nearby.

Moving onto the next one, she can't hold back her giggling as she looks at the cover of the first volume of 'I was Reincarnated in a Cave With Tentacles.' Her eyes gleam in excitement at the cover, the image of a beautiful elf walking into a cave has people looking uncomfortable for a moment.

'What is with this dirty cat?' a young girl's thoughts echo out from nowhere. A few passerbys start to bleed from their ears and eyes. 'I mean, why is she so excited about something a cultist made out of their boring dreams?'

'Ninja's of Love' soon follows as she gets closer and closer to Team RWBY's room. And as she pulls out her fifourth book, a copy of 'Samurai's Passion', does she start to giggle in sheer joy before she looks around as if worried anyone spotted her. And upon seeing nobody near her, she quickly walked into Team RWBY's room, excited to start reading her fine literature.

All the while, having left a black book with purple binding and artistic etchings on its cover on the ground. Minutes pass, with a few people walking by while giving the book laying on the ground a wide berth. It was as if they were intentionally trying to ignore it as it layed on the ground. But soon noises start to be heard behind a nearby door.

"Nora, we can't get a sloth as a team mascot," the voice of Jaune can be heard, making the book shiver in excitement somehow. "And you're still in trouble for trying to train all of those boarbatusks to pull a wagon through the school. Do you want Proffesor Goodwitch to.." Just as he opens the door, words on his lips does Jaune freeze as if sensing a predator near him. Something that he had felt before.

Something that in his very bones, in his blood, and deep within his soul remembered this feeling. Missed it to a degree but wanted nothing to do with it at all.

Looking down at the ground, the sight of the black and purple book greeted his eyes. And after only a second, the book opened its own eyes and stared back happily at Jaune…

"Master! My Master! I found YoU aGAiN!" the book says as the pages flap and move, a long tongue suddenly flopping out as it started to push the book towards the door.

And towards Jaune.

"OH NOT AGAIN!" comes Jaune's manly scream as he slams shut the door and runs over to the nearest bed. And ignoring everyone looking at him, as well as how Pyrrha was sitting on the bed, started pushing it up to block off the door. "YOU'RE NOT GOING TO GET ME AGAIN! I'M NOT DEALING WITH ALL OF YOU AGAIN!" he shouts even as his friends look at him worriedly.

Pyrrha, getting up off the bed, looks at Jaune as if something was wrong. "Jaune? Who are you talking about?"

"Yeah!" Nora says excitedly even as she reaches to grab her hammer. "Who's legs do I gotta break?" she asks with a excited smile on her face.

Ren, the 'calmest' of them all looks at Jaune even as he says, "You can't break their legs Nora. We still don't know.." Only for Jaune to cut him off. "Won't fucking work! You can stab them and it would be like poking them," Jaune says with a grunt as he holds the bed against the door as it rumbles and fights to let whoever or whatever behind it in. "AND YOU'RE NOT TAKING ME ALIVE!" he shouts out even as a pair of dainty hands suddenly press themselves against his back.

"Oh but Master, that will be fine with me," a young woman suddenly says as Jaune suddenly feels someone laying their head against his back. "After all, you are mine my Master. Forever and forever and I will not let any of them take you from me."
"AAAH!" screams Pyrrha in shock.

"BAD TOUCHING!" Nora cries out and Ren blinks in shock. All the while, Jaune just freezes as he realizes who..no WHAT is now with him. And with a turning of his head, he saw the figure behind him.

Skin that was pale with a slight violent tint. Pointed ears like an elf in fiction. A slim figure that was vaguely like Weiss's but more mature. All dressed in a black and dark purple dress that hugged her figure and was like it was poured onto her body.

A fact that Jaune knows quite well is what happened.

"Als Azif," Jaune whimpers in fear at the sight of the young woman. "But how? Why?" A moment's pause comes from him as he turns towards the door that was still fighting to be open. "If you are in here, then what is out there?"

"My Shoggoth," is the single answer before loud screaming erupts from the hallway and chaos started to descend onto Beacon. And unbeknownst to Jaune, to everyone there, numerous sets of eyes were looking at him even as his team started questioning him.

From beneath the bed where a ever shifting mass of darkness laid.

From the nearby vent, as the air shifted around a mass that gave off a hint of yellow.

The bathroom door softly opened as a green tendril could briefly be seen.

By the window, the horns of a goat would have been briefly seen along with multiple eyes as they were pulled back.

And outside in Beacon's grounds, a blonde haired cat faunos could be seen appearing out of thin air. Her eyes shining in a kaleidoscope of colors as she looked over in a certain direction. Where the dorms were located and in particular the room where Jaune was.

"I think he will be excited to see you," a voice that was both young and old at the same time whispers into the blonde's ear. "But not yet. You will need to wait for him to be ready for you. But do not worry. It will not be long for us all.."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Beacon training yard had been peaceful for once-sun high, breeze gentle, the kind of day perfect for light sparring or skipping class entirely.
Four second-years who'd claimed the space for practice, took one look at the figure barreling through the gates and decided discretion was the better part of not dying.

They cleared out faster than a Nevermore seeing a squadron of strike fighters.

Isabel Arc-combat medic whites pristine, hair tied back in a practical ponytail-sat beside her boyfriend Nicholas, watching the exodus with mild curiosity.

Then the source of the panic arrived.

Raven Branwen-black hair wild, red eyes blazing, Omen slung across her back like a promise of violence-strode into the yard like she owned it.

"NICK ARC!" she bellowed, pointing dramatically. "FIGHT ME!"

Nick's face lit up like a kid on Aslanmas morning. "Okay!"

"NO!" Isabel snapped, grabbing his arm before he could draw his sword. "Every single time you two idiots fight, it goes on for hours and ends with both of you in the infirmary! I'm not patching you up again just because you wanted to play 'who's got the bigger sword ego'!"

Nick pouted-actually pouted.

"But Izzzyyyy… fighting her is cool!"

"NO!" Isabel repeated, voice rising. She glared at Raven. "Go fight Taiyang if you're that desperate!"

Raven crossed her arms, smirking. "Already did. He's in the infirmary. Cried a little at the end. It was cute."

Isabel pinched the bridge of her nose. "Then go fight Qrow!"

Raven's grin widened. "He and Summer ran the second they saw me coming. Cowards."

She leaned forward, eyes locked on Nick. "So come on, Monk Boy. FIGHT ME."

Isabel sighed-the long-suffering sigh of a young woman who'd seen this movie before and hated the ending.

"Fine," she said, rolling her shoulders. "In that case, I'll fight you."

Nick's jaw dropped. "But Izzy-"

She turned to him, pointing sternly. "Nick, you're referee. And no, you don't get to join in."

"But Izzzyyyyy!"

"No buts!"

Raven barked a laugh. "What? You're a medic. How much fun will you be to fight?"

Isabel nodded calmly, cracking her knuckles with deliberate pops that echoed across the yard.

"That's right. I am a medic." She swept her arm to encompass the entire courtyard-weapon racks, training dummies, stone benches. "But this isn't a
field. It's an operating table."

Her smile turned sharp.

"And I'm the surgeon."

Raven's grin turned feral. "Well, well. That's quite a boast. Let's see if you can back it up."

The fight was less a duel and more a natural disaster.

Raven struck first-Omen flashing in a crimson arc, Dust-enhanced slashes carving trenches in the stone. Isabel danced through them with terrifying precision, dodging by millimeters, countering with strikes that looked almost gentle-until they landed and sent Raven flying, or slamming her into the stone floor.

Nick watched from the sidelines, eyes wide, occasionally calling "Point!" or "Watch the left!" before remembering he was supposed to be neutral.

The courtyard didn't stand a chance.

Benches exploded into splinters. Training dummies were bisected. The stone floor cracked and cratered. Raven's portals opened and closed in bursts of red energy, trying to flank-but Isabel read her like a chart, always one step ahead, strikes targeting pressure points, joints, anywhere that would hurt without killing.

Hours blurred into a whirlwind of steel and fury.

Until finally-

Raven launched a desperate overhead strike, pouring everything into it.

Isabel sidestepped, caught her wrist, and twisted.

Omen flew from Raven's grip.

A palm strike to the chest-precise, surgical-sent the wild haired girl flying backward into the center of the yard.

She hit the ground hard enough to carve a crater.

Raven lay there, gasping, aura flickering weakly, staring up at the sky.

Isabel stood over her, chest heaving, hair wild, uniform in tatters.

"Haa… haa… haa… Back it up… yourself… bitch."

Nick sprinted over, eyes shining with pure awe. "IZZY! THAT WAS SO COOL!"

Isabel managed a tired smile, blush dusting her cheeks. "Thanks, Nick. Now if you could help me-"

The remnants of her uniform-already hanging by threads from Raven's Dust slashes-finally gave up.

Fabric tore with a dramatic rip.

Everything fell away.

Nick's brain short-circuited. "Oh… wow…"

From the crater, Raven-half-conscious, bloodied, but apparently not too injured for commentary-lifted her head weakly.

"H-Hey! You can't ogle her! Ogle me! My boobs are way bigger!"

Isabel's eye twitched.

She stomped down-hard-right on Raven's face.

"I'M A LATE BLOOMER, DAMNIT!"

Raven's head thunked back into the dirt, out cold.

Nick-still staring, now with the added complication of his girlfriend's foot on an unconscious woman's face-managed a weak thumbs-up.

"…Still cool."

The courtyard was silent except for the distant sound of approaching infirmary staff.

Beacon would be renovating again.

And somewhere, Ozpin sipped his coffee and was again thankful for the concept of insurance.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Arslan was sitting with Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Yang, Nora and Pyrrha for tea in the Star Maiden Garden. Arslan sipped her tea gracefully.

Ruby: "So, what's it like being a nun?"

Blake: "I'm sure it's oppressive and you're judgmental about it."

Weiss: "Says the former terrorist."

Blake: "I-I apologized!"

Yang: "HA! Still, the Church has got a lot of rules about sex, right? And I ain't lion~!"

Weiss: groans "YANG!"

Ruby: "Seriously?!"

Pyrrha: "Guys, let's not hassle Arslan about it!"

Nora: "Still, what are the rules?"

Arslan: sips "It's quite simple. Sex is a gift from God to men and women to use to express their love to one another in marriage. Once married, I will do everything in my power to make my husband happy. That too is part of nun training."

Blake: "W-Wait... It is?"

Ruby: "It is?!"

Yang: "It is?"

Nora: "Tell us!"

Weiss: "C-Certainly not! Such things would be sinful... Right Arslan?"

Arslan: "Well, knowing how to please your husband and how to let him please you is crucial to a happy marriage, so it is hardly sinful to instruct women in these things. See, first..."

Yang: "Uhhh..." *Moves to cover Ruby's ears*

Ruby: "Hey! This is religious education, Yang! You can't deny me it!"

Weiss: "Besides, you need all the help you can get to get a husband."

Yang: "Look who's talking! Fine! Lay it on us!"

Blake: "What could she know that smut writers don't?"

Arslan: smile

Three hours later...

Jaune and Ren walk into the garden. They see the girls around the table.

Jaune: "Hey girls! What's up?"

All of them turn to Ren and Jaune... And all but Arslan blush deeply and look somewhere else, shy. Even Nora.

All: "Nothing!"

Arslan: smiles, sips her tea

 

[AndrewJTalon]

• Spoiler

  
  • Name: Thanh Qinglong (alias: Thanh the Immortal)
  • Allusion: Killer Croc from Batman: Arkham Asylum, The Lizard from Spider-Man, Imperfect Cell from Dragon Ball Z, Darth Maul from Star Wars
  • Naming Process: The given name Thanh is Vietnamese in origin, meaning "green" or "blue-green," evoking the vivid coloration of his scales and his serpentine, predatory nature. The surname Qinglong draws from the Chinese mythological Azure Dragon (Qīnglóng), one of the Four Symbols representing the east, spring, and elemental wood—symbolizing immense power, regeneration, and primal ferocity. His weapon's name, "Rong," is an alternate phonetic rendering of the Vietnamese/Chinese word for "dragon" (rồng/lóng), tying his identity to draconic myth while hinting at his self-perceived supremacy.
  • Age: Late 40s (exact age uncertain due to his regenerative Semblance slowing visible aging)
  • Background: Thanh Qinglong emerged from the shadows of Mistral's capital underworld with no clear origins—rumors whisper of a brutal childhood in the slums where his extreme Faunus traits marked him as a monster even among his own kind. He quickly rose from low-level enforcer and assassin to a feared crime lord, building an empire on smuggling, slavery, extortion, and underground blood sports. His operation trafficked in both human and Faunus captives, and he cultivated a personal harem through seduction, coercion, or outright force—targeting powerful women like Huntresses to break and claim as trophies. His greatest miscalculation came when he attempted to enslave the renowned Huntresses Summer Rose and Saia Sarkara (then Saia Rhadri) after luring them into an illegal fighting ring. In the ensuing battle, Summer blinded him with her Silver Eyes and severed an arm, while Saia unleashed her devastating Semblance to vaporize everything below his shoulders. Against all odds, Thanh regenerated and escaped, though the defeat shattered his empire and left him a hunted fugitive. Embittered and stripped of wealth, he pledged his lethal skills to the White Fang as an assassin, carrying out messy, terror-inducing kills to sow fear among humans. Within the organization, he schemes constantly for power, despising Adam Taurus's leadership and plotting a violent takeover to remake the White Fang into a pack of depraved predators under his rule. His survival of near-total annihilation only fueled his myth as "Thanh the Immortal," a boogeyman whispered about in Mistral's dark alleys. Ultimately his loyalty is to himself, though any master who allows him free reign with his lusts for meat, power, and women will do-Until he can usurp them.
  • Race: Faunus (komodo dragon traits—extensive green scales covering most of his body, powerful reptilian tail, razor-sharp claws on hands and feet, venomous fangs, forked tongue, and bestial mannerisms)
  • Emblem: A coiled green dragon devouring its own tail, jaws dripping with crimson flames—symbolizing endless regeneration, insatiable hunger, and self-sustaining predation
  • Weapon: "Rong": A massive double-bladed monk's spade polearm, with one end a crescent shovel blade for slashing and entombing foes, the other a spear point for piercing. Integrated Fire Dust reservoirs along the shaft unleash twin flamethrower jets from dragon-head nozzles, allowing him to bathe close-range enemies in searing flames or propel himself with explosive bursts.
  • Semblance: "Rejuvenation"
    • Thanh possesses an extreme regenerative healing factor capable of reconstructing lost limbs, organs, or even his entire body from near-total destruction—as demonstrated when he survived vaporization below the shoulders. Regeneration speed and completeness depend on remaining Aura reserves and available biomass; when Aura is depleted, he requires consumed organic matter (preferably fresh) to fuel reconstruction. This makes him extraordinarily difficult to kill permanently, though sufficient sustained damage or Aura exhaustion can incapacitate him temporarily.
  • Appearance: An imposing, monstrous figure over eight feet tall with a heavily muscled, broad-shouldered build. His body is covered in thick, iridescent green scales that gleam wetly in light, a long powerful tail ending in barbed ridges, clawed digits on hands and feet, protruding venomous fangs, red slit-pupil eyes, and a bald, domed head with pronounced reptilian ridges. His movements are unnervingly fluid and predatory, often low to the ground with bestial twitches and a large, toothy smile.
  • Outfit: Minimalist and primal—loose black pants secured with a blood-red sash, bare-chested to display his scaled physique and intimidate foes. No armor or footwear, relying on his natural toughness and regeneration; the sash often conceals small Dust vials or trophies from victims. Occasionally will don a cloak to try and disguise himself.
  • Personality: Deceptively refined on the surface, Thanh speaks in cultured tones and postures as an honorable warrior-philosopher when it serves him, quoting ancient Mistralian texts on strength and survival. This is a thin veneer over a craven, sadistic monster—arrogant, manipulative, and utterly predatory. He views himself as the ultimate alpha, all others as prey or tools; women in particular are objects for conquest, breeding, or consumption. Ruthlessly cunning, he prefers ambush and psychological torment over fair fights, but revels in brutal close combat when cornered. His defeats have only deepened his paranoia and vindictiveness—he nurses eternal hatred for Summer Rose and Saia Sarkara, while scheming against Adam Taurus. Cannibalistic urges drive much of his depravity, seeing the act as both sustenance and dominance.
  • Notes: A terrifying wildcard in the White Fang's radical wing, Thanh's messy assassinations and cannibalistic reputation make him as much a liability as an asset to the cause. His extreme Faunus traits and Semblance isolate him even from many White Fang members, who fear his ambitions to turn the organization into a horde of flesh-eating marauders. He excels in aquatic or sewer environments for stealth kills, using venomous bites, flames, and claws in concert. Despite his arrogance, he is cautious around stronger warriors or overwhelming destructive forces, always planning multiple escape routes. A true monster with no redemption in sight—his immortality only ensures his evils endure.

 

[Sliverhero]

Since there isnt many villain for ren to face.

Here is my take and using inspiration from Ra a Ghul for the villain.

Name: Rashid al-Ghul (alias: The Eternal Head)
Allusion:
Ra's al Ghul (DC Comics), Ozpin (RWBY), Alexander the Great, the Green Knight (Arthurian myth), the Judge (Blood Meridian)

Naming Process:
The name Rashid is Arabic in origin, meaning "rightly guided" or "one who follows the correct path," reflecting his absolute belief that his worldview is the only valid course for humanity. The title al-Ghul ("the Demon" or "Devourer") was not inherited but earned over centuries, whispered by survivors of civilizations he destabilized or erased. The alias The Eternal Head reflects both his immortality and his self-appointed role as the guiding intellect of humanity's evolution.

Age:
Appears mid-to-late 40s
(True age exceeds 200 years due to repeated use of his Semblance)

Background:
Rashid al-Ghul was born in the harsh deserts of Vacuo during an era of endless tribal warfare. A prodigious scholar and tactician, he sought not peace, but order that could endure suffering. His discovery of an ancient Aura-saturated spring,later known as the Well of Rebirth, granted him functional immortality, at the cost of emotional erosion and moral detachment.
Over centuries, Rashid observed kingdoms rise, decay, and collapse under what he deemed predictable weaknesses: compassion, hesitation, mercy, and love.

Concluding that humanity could not be trusted to evolve naturally, he founded The Verdant Circle, a clandestine global organization dedicated to engineering societal collapse so stronger civilizations could emerge.
Rashid's greatest personal failure came through his daughter, Anzu al-Ghul, who rejected his doctrine and fled the Circle to live peacefully in the village of Kuroyuri. When the village was annihilated by the Nuckelavee, Rashid considered her death and that of her husband, a necessary purification. Their inability to dominate their fate marked their bloodline as weak.

For decades, Rashid believed that line extinct.
The survival of Lie Ren shattered that certainty.
Rather than rejoice, Rashid resolved to test his grandson to determine whether Ren was an exception worthy of survival, or proof that the bloodline should have ended entirely.

Race:
Human

Emblem:
A green ouroboros entwined around a leafless tree, its roots cracking a broken crown—symbolizing cyclical destruction, selective rebirth, and the supremacy of ideology over legacy.
Weapon:
"Al-Khadir"
A curved, single-edged saber forged from rare alloys and inscribed with ancient glyphs. The blade houses interchangeable Dust channels (Poison, Wind, and Gravity Dust most commonly), allowing Rashid to weaken, disarm, or control opponents rather than overwhelm them outright. The hilt conceals a compact Dust-triggered sidearm used only as a last resort.

Semblance:
Cycle of Renewal
Rashid can transfer his consciousness into a specially prepared host upon death, overwriting the host's Aura and identity. He gains a weaken copy of the host semblance and a percentage of the host aura is permanent added tp his aura.
Requires extensive ritual preparation and Aura compatibility

Each transfer degrades his emotional capacity and fragments long-term memory and it will take time for Rashid to recover his memory and emotional capacity multiple uses in a quick session. Can cause insanity for rashid.
If ritual is interupted or fair there is a backlash.
Hosts gradually take on Rashid's physical traits and mannerisms
Explains his apparent immortality and centuries-long influence

Self-Imposed Limitation:
Rashid refuses to use Lie Ren as a host. To do so would invalidate the "test" of whether compassion can survive without domination.

Appearance:
A tall, lean, imposing man with an austere presence. His face is sharply defined, framed by long black hair streaked with silver, usually tied back. His eyes are unnaturally vivid green—bright, alert, and unsettlingly calm. He bears few scars despite centuries of battle, his posture rigid and controlled, radiating quiet authority rather than brute menace.

Outfit:
Flowing dark green and black robes layered over lightweight combat armor, blending ancient ceremonial garb with modern tactical design. Often wears a hooded cloak when operating covertly. His attire emphasizes discipline, restraint, and timelessness rather than intimidation.

Personality:
Cold, articulate, and relentlessly composed. Rashid speaks with the calm certainty of someone who believes history itself validates him. He is not sadistic—cruelty is merely a tool—but he is utterly ruthless. To him, love is a weakness, mercy a flaw, and grief an inefficiency.

Rashid views people as variables in an equation of survival. Bloodlines, cultures, and even nations are acceptable sacrifices if they fail to meet his standard of resilience. He is deeply offended by emotional defiance rather than physical resistance.
Toward Ren, Rashid is uniquely conflicted, proud of his discipline, disgusted by his mercy, and obsessed with determining whether Ren's existence disproves centuries of belief.

View of Ren's Parents:
Their deaths were justified
Their choice to protect others instead of dominating fate was weakness
Their elimination was a purge, not a tragedy
Ren's survival is a final variable that must be resolved

The Test of Ren:
Rashid engineers Grimm incursions, impossible missions, and moral dilemmas designed to replicate Kuroyuri's fall. He observes whether Ren breaks, hardens, or transcends loss.
Rashid's judgment is simple:
If Ren survives without embracing dominance, then strength without cruelty may exist.
If Ren fails, the bloodline should have ended.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Spoiler

• Name: Sebastian Zaroff
• Allusion: Colonel Sebastian Moran from Sherlock Holmes stories, General Zaroff from "The Most Dangerous Game"
• Naming Process: The given name Sebastian directly references the infamous Colonel Sebastian Moran, Sherlock Holmes' most dangerous adversary and a peerless marksman. The surname Zaroff is drawn from General Zaroff, the aristocratic big-game hunter who turned to pursuing human prey for ultimate thrill. Together, the name evokes a refined yet predatory killer who views sentient beings as the ultimate quarry.
• Age: Approximately 100 years old (appears in his late 50s due to exceptional vitality and possible Aura preservation)
• Background: The last heir of the Albion noble family Zaroff, Sebastian Zaroff was born in the year 1889 AMF in Oberon-on-Aubrey, a small town outside of Camelot. He was educated in Hermia Academy, a model student and great athlete. Despite his Faunus origins, he was well liked and respected due to the Zaroff's family long history of serving the Crown. He joined the Albion Army, rising through the ranks and being assigned to Pandu. He gained great acclaim as a Grimm hunter, heroically fighting numerous monsters to protect everything from small villages to Hastinapur, the capital of Pandu itself. With the outbreak of the Great War, he was assigned to the 7th Cavaliers "Balls and Bayonets" Royal Brigade, a special reconnaissance unit that fought Mistralian and Mantlean Forces in the Anima campaigns. Promoted to Colonel, the war forged his reputation as a cold, unflinching soldier whose exploits were legendary. When the Empire collapsed, he drowned his sorrows in exile, lamenting the loss of grand conflict. Decades later, he was recruited into the Kauravan coup that overthrew the Sarkara royal family in Pandu, savoring the chaos of palace intrigue and battlefield glory once more. His triumph was short-lived—Arjun and Saia Sarkara returned, shattering the usurpers and forcing Zaroff into hiding. Now living in exile, he sustains himself through mercenary work and his true passion: hunting the most dangerous game—humans and Faunus alike—for the sheer exhilaration. He has allied loosely with Salem, drawn by the promise of one final, apocalyptic war worthy of his legacy. Along the way, he has taken a young Panduvian retainer named Asok as a personal servant and spotter, and he once regarded the assassin Marcus Black as a rare worthy opponent, expressing interest in claiming his skull as a trophy.
• Race: Faunus (tiger traits—prominent striped patterns across his skin, sharp retractable claws, amber eyes with slit pupils, subtly feline ears, and pronounced canines)
• Emblem: A stylized tiger's head in profile, superimposed over crossed rifle barrels with a single drop of blood at the crosshairs—symbolizing precision predation and the thrill of the hunt
• Weapon: "Final Problem": A heavily customized Martin 1895 lever-action rifle chambered in .45-70 Government, enhanced with Dust-infused rounds for explosive, incendiary, or kinetic penetration effects. Ideal for extreme-range sniping against armored or Grimm targets.
  • Secondary: "Basher": A straight-bladed, three-quarter basket-hilted broadsword with a Dust channel along the edge for enhanced cutting power or elemental bursts, used for close-quarters finishing or dueling.
• Semblance: "Old Timer"
  • Sebastian possesses an impeccable internal chronometer, allowing him to track time with perfect accuracy down to fractions of a second. While not directly offensive, it elevates his marksmanship to legendary levels—calculating bullet drop, wind drift, and target movement with mathematical precision. It also aids tracking by timing echoes, heartbeats, or footsteps, making him an unparalleled hunter in any environment.
• Appearance: Tall and imposingly built with the lean, corded musculature of a lifelong predator, silver-streaked dark blonde hair slicked back, a meticulously groomed upper-class mustache, and piercing blue eyes. His skin bears faint orange-black tiger stripes across shoulders, arms, and torso. Despite his century of life, he carries himself with vigorous poise, his face weathered but handsome in a severe, aristocratic way.
• Outfit: Classic big-game hunter attire refined for aristocratic taste—a tailored khaki safari jacket with multiple ammunition loops, dark blue shirt, light blue vest, riding breeches, polished boots, and a signature monocle over his right eye. A crimson tie and leather bandolier complete the ensemble, with "Final Problem" slung across his back and "Basher" at his hip.
• Personality: Suave, erudite, and insightful, Zaroff presents himself as a cultured gentleman who waxes philosophical about the nobility of the hunt and glorious war. Beneath this polished facade is a thrill-seeker addicted to challenges and danger—he openly boasts of mounting trophies from sentient kills and views boredom as a fate worse than death. Nostalgic for his glory days, he romanticizes war and the hunt while despising peace and mediocrity. Coldly pragmatic in combat, he respects only worthy prey and competent rivals, but ultimately is kind to the innocent and still has enough honor to protect them from danger. He is a perfect gentleman to women, set in his ways, and has great wisdom he dispenses-Though often ignores it himself. His advancing age has instilled a fatalistic desire for one last blaze of glory rather than quiet decline.
• Notes: A relic of Remnant's imperial past, Zaroff embodies the decaying aristocracy's worst excesses—refined depravity wrapped in nostalgia. His mercenary work stems from a death wish for epic battle rather than ideology. He maintains a macabre trophy room wherever he settles, filled with taxidermied heads and preserved parts from notable kills (Grimm, human, Faunus). Asok serves loyally but warily, handling logistics while Zaroff focuses on the hunt. Though slowed slightly by age, his experience, Semblance, and sheer ruthlessness make him lethally dangerous at range—few survive long once he declares them "worthy game."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

General James Ironwood's temporary office at Beacon Academy was a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the campus, its sleek metal walls and holographic displays exuding cold efficiency, tinged with the faint scent of polished steel and coffee. Ironwood sat behind his desk, his cybernetic hand tapping rhythmically, his blue eyes narrowing at a series of flickering holograms showcasing a masked vigilante in a red cape, dubbed "The Huntsman," thwarting petty crimes in Vale's streets. Winter Schnee stood at his side, her white hair impeccable, her ice-blue eyes scanning the images with a small frown.

"Sir?" Winter prompted, her voice crisp but curious.

Ironwood's scowl deepened, his voice gruff. "Ozpin says this vigilante is not a threat to our operations. But he has told us nothing else about him."

Winter sighed, her tone dry. "That seems to be typical of him, sir."

"Indeed," Ironwood muttered, leaning forward, his gaze locked on the holograms. "Your impressions?"

Winter's frown softened, her voice measured. "Well… he seems to be doing his best to help the citizenry. They do like him, and it seems to be improving morale."

"True…" Ironwood conceded, his jaw tightening. "But his actions are rather disruptive as well. He's a rogue element. He cannot be trusted unless we know more." His eyes bored into the image of the Huntsman swinging from a rooftop, his red cape billowing. "Who are you, Huntsman? Hmmm… Get me all the files you can on him, Schnee."

"Yes, sir!" Winter saluted, her boots clicking as she exited the office.

Minutes later, she returned, a tablet of files in hand, only to freeze in the doorway. Ironwood, now clad in a red mask and cape over his uniform, stood atop his desk. He was striking a dramatic pose, his cybernetic arm raised heroically.

"Halt, evildoers! I, the Huntsman, have come to stop you!"

Winter blinked, her voice flat. "…Sir?"

Ironwood didn't flinch, his composure unshaken, his voice steady. "I had thought that by imitating the Huntsman, I might gain some kind of insight into his character and motivations."

Winter's eyebrow twitched, her tone carefully neutral. "I uh… I see, sir."

Ironwood adjusted his cape, his expression serious. "Perhaps if you dressed up as Wonder Zwei, we could—"

"No thank you, sir," Winter cut in, her voice firm, her face a mask of professionalism hiding a flicker of exasperation.

Ironwood cleared his throat, stepping down from the desk, his cape swishing. "Yes, well… that is understandable."

Winter handed him the tablet, her voice resuming its crisp efficiency. "The files, sir. Limited data—mostly eyewitness accounts and grainy footage. The Huntsman's identity remains unconfirmed, but his combat style suggests Huntsman training, possibly Beacon-trained."

Ironwood scrolled through the files, his scowl returning, though his cape remained draped over his shoulders. "Keep digging, Schnee. If Ozpin won't tell us who this man is, we'll find out ourselves."

As Winter nodded and turned to leave, the office door creaked open, revealing Jaune Arc, his, his blond hair mussed. He froze, staring at Ironwood's cape and mask. "Uh… General? Am I… interrupting something?"

Ironwood's eyes widened, but his voice was steady. "Not at all, Arc. Just… strategic analysis."

Winter's lips twitched, suppressing a smirk. "Indeed, sir."

Jaune blinked, his blue eyes confused but polite. "Right… uh, I'll just… come back later." He backed out, the door clicking shut.

Ironwood sighed, removing the mask, his voice low. "This stays between us, Schnee."

"Of course, sir," Winter replied, her tone betraying nothing, though her eyes glinted with amusement as she exited.

- - -

More Huntsman chapters are coming!

 

[AndrewJTalon]

• Name: Count Caliban Testoasa
• Allusion: Darth Vader from Star Wars, Scarpia from the opera Tosca, and Don Juan from the classic story.
• Naming Process: The given name Caliban derives from Romani origins meaning "black," evoking darkness, monstrosity, and unrelenting shadow—a nod to his implacable, fear-inducing presence. The surname Testoasa is Romanian for "tortoise," symbolizing armored resilience and slow, inexorable advance, aligning with his group's thematic inspiration from the Four Gods (specifically the Black Tortoise of the North, guardian of endurance and winter's unyielding cold).
• Age: Mid-50s (appears ageless and mechanical beneath his armor due to extensive cybernetic reconstruction)
• Background: Born into the decadent nobility of Hispania, Vacuo as a count of a minor but wealthy desert holding, Caliban Testoasa embodied the kingdom's cutthroat aristocratic culture—ruthless, entitled, and obsessed with legacy. His swordsmanship skills were second to none and with his Semblance, made him a feared mankiller. He grew up into a playboy womanizer, and he got into the drug trade in secret. Coveting Isabel Arc for her beauty, strength, and connection to Vale's prestigious Arc bloodline, he orchestrated a vile Scarpia Ultimatum when Team AARN came on a mission to his town: drugging the water supply of his entire town and holding its inhabitants hostage, demanding her hand in marriage to "save" them. Isabel accepted, pretending to send her friends away while secretly she was held hostage. Her team figured out the truth and returned to rescue her. When Nicholas Arc intervened to rescue his future wife, the ensuing duel was cataclysmic: Nicholas's overwhelming skill and power shattered Caliban's defenses, severing all four limbs and leaving him broken on the brink of death in the collapsed ruins of his castle. Though dead by everyone, Caliban was discovered and rebuilt by the brilliant but amoral scientist Arthur Watts, who transformed him into a cyborg—fusing advanced Atlesian prosthetics, life-support systems, and experimental Dust conduits into his ravaged body. Reborn stronger and more machine than man, Caliban now serves as an enforcer for Watts, hunting enemies with mechanical precision and harboring burning hatred for the Arc family. His resurrection has made him a figure of terror: an implacable black-armored juggernaut who strides through gunfire and explosions unmoved, slaughtering opposition in mook horror shows that cement his mythic dread.
• Race: Human (heavily cybernetically augmented; original organic body largely replaced below the torso and limbs)
• Emblem: A stylized black tortoise shell cracked by crimson lightning veins, set against a void-black shield—representing unbreakable defense pierced only by overwhelming force, and his vengeful rebirth
• Weapon: "Furia de Sangre" (Blood Fury): A massive two-handed montante sword with a broad, serrated blade infused with experimental Lightning Dust conduits. The sword crackles with red electrical arcs on activation, capable of discharging devastating shockwaves, parrying projectiles with electromagnetic fields, or channeling bolts for ranged kills. Its weight and reach make it a terror in close combat, augmented further by Caliban's cybernetic strength.
• Semblance: "Tortuga"
  • Caliban can absorb incoming kinetic energy (impacts, blasts, strikes) and redirect it to reinforce his body's durability or cybernetic systems—hardening his armor, amplifying servo strength, or even venting excess as explosive bursts. This made him notoriously tank-like even before reconstruction; post-cyborg, it synergizes with his mechanical frame for near-indestructibility. Only Nicholas Arc's legendary prowess found gaps to overwhelm the absorption threshold.
• Appearance: Towering and broad-shouldered at over seven feet in full armor, with a hulking, mechanical silhouette that radiates menace. Beneath the helmet (rarely removed), his original face is pale and scarred, with cybernetic optics glowing red and a respirator mask concealing burn damage. His limbs are sleek black prosthetics with exposed red energy conduits pulsing like veins.
• Outfit: Full-body black cybernetic armor resembling heavy Spanish knight plate fused with Atlesian power suit aesthetics—matte obsidian plating, a flowing dark cape, reinforced pauldrons etched with tortoise motifs, and an imposing helmet with a skull-like visor and built-in respirator that emits rhythmic mechanical breathing, with his remaining white hair flowing out the back. Red Lightning Dust glows along seams and joints, flaring during combat.
• Personality: Cold, aristocratic, and consumed by entitlement turned to bitter rage, Caliban speaks in a deep, modulated voice (augmented by vocal synthesizers) laced with cultured disdain. He views himself as a tragic dark lord wronged by fate, justifying atrocities as the privileges of superiority. Implacable and patient, he crushes opposition methodically, savoring fear in others. Only the hope of revenge on the Arcs, Nicholas in particular, has kept him some succumbing to despair at being Watts' slave.
• Notes: As the "Black Tortoise" enforcer among antagonistic circles tied to Grimm Cults and Salem herself, Caliban embodies unyielding defense and slow-burning retribution. His cybernetic enhancements require periodic maintenance by specialists like Watts, making him vulnerable if isolated from tech support. Despite his power, Nicholas Arc's victory haunts him as proof of mortal limits.. A walking engine of terror, he inspires dread in underlings and allies alike, his mechanical breathing a harbinger of doom.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Beacon Academy quad was a vibrant sprawl of green under a bright midday sun, students lounging on blankets or sparring in the distance. Team RWBY sat at a weathered picnic table, Ruby munching on cookies, Yang sipping a soda, and Weiss flipping through a Dust catalog. Blake Belladonna, her amber eyes narrowed under her bow, glared across the quad at Cardin Winchester and Velvet Scarlatina, who were sharing a lunch under a tree. Cardin, his orange hair glinting, fed Velvet a grape, her bunny ears twitching happily as she laughed.

Yang leaned back, her lilac eyes catching Blake's scowl. "Blake? You still got a bug up your butt over those two?"

Blake's ears flicked under her bow, her voice a low growl. "Of course I do! Cardin obviously bullied her into being his girlfriend!"

Ruby tilted her head, her silver eyes curious, a cookie crumb on her cheek. "They look happy to me."

Blake's scowl deepened, her voice sharp. "I'm much more worldly and experienced, Ruby. Clearly, Cardin psychologically broke her into dating him! And now he'll break her into his dutiful, obedient bunny bride! Pumping out dozens of children, his own personal brood bunny! He'll chain her to the oven and make her walk around in nothing but an apron!"

Yang's hands shot to Ruby's ears, her voice a hiss. "Would you PLEASE stop that shit around Ruby?!"

Ruby's eyes widened, haunted, her voice small. "I can read lips, Yang, it's too late."

Yang's jaw dropped, her voice a yelp. "SERIOUSLY?!"

Weiss, her ice-blue eyes glinting with amusement, set down her catalog. "Look, I'm no fan of Cardin Winchester, but they seem perfectly happy. He hasn't done anything racist to her. Look!" She pointed to Cardin, who was gently stroking Velvet's ears, her smile radiant. "He's even stroking her ears affectionately."

Yang crossed her arms, her voice teasing. "Maybe Cardin's just no longer a jerk, have you ever considered that?"

Blake scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. "HA! Racist humans never change their minds about Faunus! Besides, rabbit Faunus are especially prone to being abused like this!"

Weiss's eyebrow arched, her voice skeptical. "What? How so?"

Blake leaned forward, her voice fervent. "They're all weak, demure herbivores! They bend to the slightest pressure and run off! And they can't help their breeding instincts to just give in to any strong male who dominates them! Most single Faunus mothers are rabbit Faunus, and they betray their own kind with humans! That's why we feline Faunus run things! We're not so easily overpowered like those dumb cottontails!"

A shadow loomed nearby. Hex Skvader, an upperclassman rabbit Faunus with sleek gray ears and sharp green eyes, paused mid-step, his tray of food trembling as he glared at Blake. "Hey! That is OUR word! You can't use it!"

Blake's eyes flashed, her voice defiant. "I can use it all I want! Cottontail!"

Hex's ears twitched, his voice a snarl. "Alley Cat!"

Blake stood, her hands on her hips. "Bunny Buns!"

Hex gasped, his voice outraged. "That is a slur, Mittens!"

Blake's aura flared, her voice a growl. "THAT'S AN EVEN WORSE SLUR!"

Ruby blinked, her voice soft. "But… I like mittens."

Yang grabbed Ruby's hand, pulling her up, her voice firm. "Okay, Ruby, I think we'll let them sort this out themselves. Come on, Weiss."

Weiss's eyes sparkled with glee, her voice reluctant. "But this is hilarious!"

"I said come on!" Yang snapped, dragging them both away as Blake and Hex continued their heated exchange, slurs flying like Dust rounds.

"Ugh," Ruby muttered, "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Well, maybe she'll be better later," Yang tried optimistically.

"I hope not," Weiss smirked.

- - -

In the dead of night, the Beacon Academy common room was bathed in shadows, silent save for the faint creak of floorboards under Jaune Arc's tired steps. Thirst had dragged him from his bed, his throat parched and his mind foggy with sleep. He shuffled toward the sink, flipping on the light without a second thought, the harsh glow flooding the room.

As he passed the couch, he caught a glimpse of Blake Belladonna, perched there in all her feline glory, and tossed out a casual, "Hey Blake."

"EEP!" Blake yelped, her body jerking like she'd been zapped. Her Faunus ears, usually hidden beneath her bow, stood free and twitching, her hands frozen mid-motion—clutching a tangled ball of yarn.

Jaune paused, glass halfway to the sink, and glanced back. "… Oh. So that's where that went."

He was wondering where the yarn his sister had sent along with the gift of his new scarf had gone.

Blake's golden eyes widened, her face a mix of mortification and theatrical panic. "Jaune… You've discovered my secret! You evil, wicked human!"

He blinked, filling his glass with water. "That… You're a Cat Faunus? Blake, we've known that for months now. I'm pretty sure everyone knows now. Velvet passed you an ear brush at lunch a few days back—"

"Which means," Blake interrupted, her voice dropping to a dramatic purr as she leaned forward, "to keep my secret, I'll have to do any depraved thing you human males can think of to do with feline Faunus! We're the most desirable kind of Faunus, after all! Way better than rabbit Faunus!"

Jaune stared, his expression flat. "Ummm…"

Blake pressed on, her tone equal parts accusation and invitation, her ears flicking with exaggerated flair. "What will you do to me first?! Put a collar on me? Make me 'nyah'? Make me go on a leash and be your obedient pet?!"

"You don't put leashes on cats," Jaune said, deadpan, taking a slow sip of his water. "I know. There are many cats on my farm. None of them took a leash."

Blake's bravado faltered, but she doubled down, tossing her hair and striking a pose. "Oh, just get it over with and make me into your slave, you depraved human!"

Jaune finished his water, set the glass in the sink, and turned toward the dorm hallway, utterly unfazed.

"Goodnight, Blake."

Blake's jaw dropped, her yarn forgotten.

"Wha… Jaune? JAUNE!"

He didn't break stride, his voice drifting back. "Goodnight, Blake."

"What are you, gay?!" she called, half-desperate, half-indignant.

"No," Jaune replied, already halfway to his room, his tone bone-weary. "I'm just very, very tired."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Blake alone in the common room, clutching her yarn, her ears drooping in stunned silence.

Ruby, watching both of them through her cracked open door to the RWBY/JNPR common room… Blinked twice… Then grinned.

 

[Sliverhero]

have idea for a digimon rwby crossover and here is a bit from it.
The idea is that what if jaune and other character where they were kids were sent to the digital world amd after they saved it they returned.
Now here is a scene I have planned for a dark biomerge.
(Dark biomerge are fanmade)

The rocket locker doors screamed as they were torn open. Patamon struck the control panel again and again until it finally failed, sparks exploding outward. Jaune stumbled free, already running, his heart pounding with a truth he could feel in his bones. He hope he wasnt but he could as if he was too late.

All round them Beacon was burning, you can hear the screams of anguish, the laughter of men and women giving into the madden beasts deep in their souls, acting like the grimm based on their masks, and finally the roar of grimm.

Patamon had been delayed, not by weakness, but by choice. He had stayed behind, holding evacuation routes together while civilians fled. Angelic light ripping through Grimm-infested streets. Smashing White Fang squads and corrupted Atlesian robots that fired wildly into smoke and screaming crowds. Every second bought with effort, every second stolen from Pyrrha. They ran the collapsing stairwell. Jaune's scroll constatly screaming warnings.
He gave a quick glance on it and it reads Pyrrha Nikos: Aura: 100....90...70....50...30!!!!
"No...please...no...." Jaune gasped.
The stairway ahead collapsed inward, rubble blocking the way. Patamon didn't even hesitate.

"Patamon digivolve to… ANGELMON!"

Radiance detonated through the tower. Wings of golden light tore free as Angemon seized Jaune and launched upward, smashing through smoke and fire, ascending the broken spine of Beacon Tower. They reached the summit and to the two their world ended.

Pyrrha knelt amid ash and flame, while Cinder Fall stood before her, relaxed, even amused.
Behind her, the Grimm Dragon loomed, wings unfurled like a crown of death. Jaune opened his mouth to scream... Then arrow pierced Pyrrha's chest. Time shattered, Angemon froze midair. Jaune's sword slipped from his hand.
Cinder stepped forward, fire blooming lazily in her palm.

Pyrrha looked up, confused, then apologetic upon seeing jaune and angelmon.
Her last words to them. "I'm sorry…" The fire then consumed her, and Pyrrha burned away, her very light, then her ashes andmemory scattering into the night.

To this everything went silence. You couldn't even hear a pin drop. Then the cruel laughter, came. Cinder turned and smirked at them.
"Oh. You made it, just not in time"
She glanced at Angemon. "…You're nothing."
Something inside Jaune collapsed beyond repair. The roar that tore from him and Angemon was not human, Nor Digimon.

It was grief, rage, and despair given sound.
Angemon screamed as his light destabilized violently. Golden radiance fractured, veins of shadow ripping through it as his wings charred black at the edges.
"Jaune, stop...this power....!" Patamon cried as his form began to tear apart.
Jaune stepped forward, a buried instinct, told him to move to angelmon and to unleash on their bond.
His aura corrupted with rage and desipair and self loathing shattered outward like glass, before shooting towards angelmon. If anyone were to see thay aura there they would be terrified and disgusted by its look.
A mechanical voice corrupted and tainted shouted out
"Biomerge."
A pillar of darkness snapped out wrapping around Jaune and Angelmon while piercing the heavens.
The sky ripped open, and the symbol of pride is brazen across the sky.


Jaune and Angemon were torn apart and crushed together simultaneously, flesh, soul, data, and despair fused in screaming agony.
Armor expanded into titanic black-gold plates etched with writhing runes. Wings multiplied, twelve vast pinions, half divine, half abyssal, blotting out the battlefield. Seven broken crowns ignited above a horned, monstrous visage.

At the center of the colossal chest, Jaune's face was sealed into living armor, eyes burning like dying stars.The tower buckled, The Grimm Dragon recoiled for the first time in its long life it feel terror. Reality screamed. And the voice of jaune and patamon joined together but twisted roar out.LUCEMON: SHADOWLORD MODE
After the pillair peels away, to cinder terror filled eyes, she sees Doom Manifested.
It dwarfed the Grimm Dragon completely, its head level with Beacon's highest spires, wings stretching beyond the horizon. Gravity collapsed inward; buildings cracked and sank as if the world itself were kneeling.

Lucemon did not rage, He observed. Like a cat watching a room full of mice.
Grimm surged feeling fear but not knowing what to do charge at the creature causing it.
White Fang regrouped, frighten seeing a true monster for the first time. Atlesian airships locked weapons and fired.
Lucemon tilted his head, Curious. Just spoke softly but everyone heard it a cruel two toned voice filled with pride and cruelty
"Divine Atonement"

One crown ignited, then a thin beam lanced downward, surgically erasing a single Grimm horde. Lucemon paused,curious at its new toys.
Then all seven crowns flared. The beam widened, sweeping slowly across the battlefield, deliberate, methodical. Grimm vanished without residue. White Fang lines unraveled mid-scream. Robots were stripped to nothing.

The Grimm Dragon was caught at the edge, one wing erased, then its torso, before the beam fully consumed it. It never finished roaring.
Lucemon then inhaled, then fired ...Purgatorial Flame.
Ashen-gold and black flame poured forth in controlled waves, herding survivors into open ground. Those too slow collapsed silently as despair crushed them before the fire erased their forms. Lucemon exhaled again.

Nothing remained, of their wretched lives.
Above, Atlesian airships fired everything, at lucemon SM,
He just raised Gehenna and with its Absolute Nullification, the Missiles vanished, Lasers died and nothing hurt him

Lucemon turned the orb skyward.he then used his Wrath of Darkness.

A ray lanced upward, passing between ships first, distorting gravity and space. At first it looked like it missed then it adjusted.
One cruiser's engine detonated, another was split along its hull, spiraling down in flames.
A third lost power entirely, crashing into Beacon's lower city in a thunderous explosion. It was calculated by lucemon SM that was where the white fang were fleeing towards to but not anymore.

Lucemon watched ships fall, with a cruel grin on its monstrous face.

Upon seeing this tbe White Fang survivors ran, in every direction.
A small flap of its wings Lucemon descended among them. Each footstep shattered stone and bone.

A casual motion of claws. He unleashed his next attack imension Slasher.
Thw very Reality tore open beside those fleeing soldiers.
Some vanished instantly, maybe they got a better fate Others screamed, cut off as the rift closed, locking them to a fate worse then death.
Lucemon did not hurry, he savoured every strike.

Finally...the grand prize, Cinder, herself
She stood alone, weapons shaking, so terrified that she couldn't even move. Lucemon loomed over her. Gehenna drifted closer.She fired hoping to hit and do something but the attack vanished. Lucemon then lowered one claw.

And fired his next attack:Wrath of Darkness
A narrow beam carved a chasm beside her, the shockwave hurling her across stone and shattering her aura completely. Lucemon raised his claws again and used Dimension Slasher agai
Space split open behind her, endless darkness waiting.
The claw hovered there.
Waiting.
But at the last moment Inside the colossal chest, Jaune's eyes flickered.
Memories surfaced, training, laughter, Pyrrha believing in him. "Be better than them."
His resloved The claw trembled, Then withdrew.
The rift closed.
Jaune's voice mixed with pained voice of patamon thundered from within, calm and absolute. "Death would be mercy." "You do not deserve it, but may return when i feel like it" Lucemon turned away.

Cinder collapsed, sobbing, alive, being pulled away to safety by Emerald who is missing an arm, thanking anyone that can hear her that she lived. The seven crowns dimmed, then Gehenna shrank.the very Shadow and light that was all but consuming, imploded inward. To anyome watching, The god vanished, High atop the ruined tower, Jaune Arc lay unconscious. Patamon lay beside him, reverted to a digiegg. The digiegg is just dim, but alive.

While Beacon burned.
Airships lay shattered across the city.
And everyone who survived understood the truth:That night, judgment walked the world.
And it chose restraint.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Beacon library was quiet after hours, moonlight slanting through the high windows and painting silver stripes across the tables. Jaune and Blake sat across from each other, a stack of old philosophy texts between them like a no-man's-land. The rest of the teams had gone to bed. This was supposed to be "homework." Instead it had turned into something else entirely.

Blake's ears were flat, her voice low and sharp. "You don't get it, Jaune. You waltz in with your speeches and your dramatic poses and suddenly Adam respects you. He listens to you. I spent years trying to pull him back, and you do it in one conversation because you both think explosions are deep."

Jaune leaned forward, elbows on the table, utterly earnest. "It's not about the explosions, Blake. It's hot-blooded manliness! When two warriors clash with everything they've got—ideals, swords, auras—it forges a bond! Even between enemies! That's how respect is born!"

Blake stared at him, amber eyes narrowing. "Hot-blooded manliness."

"Exactly!" Jaune spread his hands, completely missing the danger signs. "It's like… the fire of battle burns away all the petty stuff and leaves only truth! That's why Adam and I get each other. We're rivals, yeah, but there's honor in it!"

Blake's fingers drummed once on the table. "It only counts if you're both shirtless, covered in oil, grunting dramatically while you grapple against one another! In pure hotblooded yaoi man love!"

Dead silence.

Jaune blinked. Once. Twice. His brain blue-screened.

Blake's ears shot straight up as her own words registered. Her face went scarlet under the moonlight.

"I—I mean—that's not—" She stood so fast her chair scraped backward like a gunshot. "I said nothing. You heard nothing. Good night!"

She vaulted over the table—literally vaulted—grabbed Gambol Shroud from the chair, and vanished in a burst of shadow clones that scattered in six different directions.

Jaune sat there, mouth open, staring at the spot where she'd been.

"...Yaoi?" he whispered to the empty air.

One of Blake's abandoned shadow clones lingered just long enough to facepalm before popping out of existence.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Beacon gardens were a hidden gem—tucked behind the main academy building, a sprawling patch of raised beds, greenhouses, and experimental Dust-infused plots that Professor Peach oversaw. It was meant for botany classes, Aura-agricultural research, and the occasional student who needed extra credit.

Today, it was Jaune Arc's domain.

He'd "volunteered: for the work, mostly because Peach had caught him doodling crop rotation charts in class (old farm habits died hard) and roped him in. Now, shirt and hoodie hung on a hook because Vacuo-level heat had turned the greenhouse into a sauna, Jaune knelt in the dirt—bare-chested, sweat glistening on surprisingly toned muscles honed from months of Pyrrha's relentless training.

He hummed an old Radian folk tune under his breath, hands buried in soil as he coaxed a wilting tomato vine back to life. Golden Aura flickered faintly from his palms, seeping into the earth like sunlight. The plant perked up—stems thickening, leaves unfurling vibrant green, tiny fruits swelling before his eyes.

"See? You just needed a little encouragement," he muttered to the vine, patting the soil gently. "Good girl."

Unbeknownst to him, he had an audience.

Team RWBY had wandered by on a "casual stroll" (Ruby's idea, after overhearing Peach mention Jaune's shift). They'd frozen at the garden gate like deer in headlights. And team JNPR had come along to check up on their team leader.

Ruby's silver eyes went wide as saucers. "Is he… glowing?"

Yang leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, lilac eyes locked on Jaune's back muscles flexing as he reached for a watering can. "Forget glowing. Look at those shoulders. When did Vomit Boy get ripped?"

Weiss fanned herself with a hand, cheeks pink despite the Schnee composure. "It's indecent. Absolutely indecent. He should put a shirt on before someone—before he causes a scandal."

Blake's bow twitched, amber eyes half-lidded but very much appreciating the view. "Or not. For… research purposes."

Yang glanced at Pyrrha, and smirked. "You do good work."

Pyrrha Nikos, who stood a little behind, was tracing every line of Jaune's form with a mix of pride and something warmer. "He did most of the work..."

Nora, popping up from nowhere with Ren in tow, grinned maniacally. "Look at our Fearless Leader! Farming like a boss! And shirtless! Valkyrie approved!"

Ren raised an eyebrow. Nora hugged him.

"Don't be jealous, Renny! I still love you more!"

"I am aware," Ren said quietly, wearing the smallest of smiles.

Jaune, oblivious, stood and stretched—arms overhead, back arching, every muscle rippling under sun-kissed skin. A soft groan escaped him as vertebrae popped.

The girls collectively inhaled.

Ruby squeaked. "He's like a… a farm god!"

Yang bit her lip. "I'm suddenly very interested in agriculture."

"Yang!" Ruby hissed. Yang grinned.

"What? Like you weren't looking."

Ruby turned as red as her cape. Weiss scowled at them.

Weiss whispered furiously, "This is undignified! We're Huntresses, not—not—"

"Horny?" Yang grinned.

"Speak for yourself," Blake murmured.

Jaune turned to look for a tool, then smiled as he caught sight of his friends. He waved.

"Oh! Hey, guys! What are you doing here?"

The group scattered into "casual" poses—Ruby examining a random flower like it held the secrets of the universe, Yang leaning "coolly" against a table that creaked under her weight, Weiss suddenly fascinated by her scroll, Blake hiding behind a book she'd pulled from nowhere, and Pyrrha smiling too brightly.

Nora just waved. "Watching you work your magic, Farm Boy! Look at those gains!"

Jaune blinked, then looked down—realizing his shirtless state. His face went nuclear red. "Oh—uh—sorry! It's hot in here, and I didn't think—"

"That's fine!" Ruby squeaked.

"Very fine," Blake muttered, as Pyrrha slowly nodded.

Yang recovered first, sauntering over with a wink. "No apologies needed, Vomit Boy. You're plowing that field like a pro."

"Ah, well, it's not technically plowing," Jaune stuttered. Yang leaned in with a smirk.

"Oh? Wanna teach me how well you plow~?"

Weiss choked. "YANG!"

"Subtle," Blake said, still staring at Jaune over her book.

Ruby giggled. "The tomatoes look super happy!"

Pyrrha stepped forward to Jaune's other side, gently pulling him closer to her away from Yang. "You're doing just fine, Jaune. No need to be embarrassed."

Jaune fumbled his shirt, blushing harder. "Th-thanks. Farm stuff's second nature. Aura helps too—makes everything grow better."

Nora punched his arm. "You're like a human fertilizer! But hot!"

Ren raised an eyebrow, then turned to Jaune. "Did you need anything?"

"Well, I need to grab the hoe," Jaune explained. Weiss's entire face turned bright red. Ruby tried to hide in her cape. Blake's olive skin blushed as she nearly dropped her book. Yang started, just as bright red, then grinned as innuendo rose to her lips.

"No," Ren and Jaune told her. Yang pouted.

"Spoilsports," she huffed.

As the group dissolved into laughter and teasing, Jaune slipped the shirt back on—much to the girls' subtle disappointment.

But the image lingered.

And Beacon's gardens suddenly had a lot more "volunteers" signing up.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The Beacon cafeteria thrummed with its usual evening energy—forks scraping plates, underclassmen whispering about missions, the occasional burst of laughter from the far tables. Teams RWBY and JNPR had claimed their usual table, enjoying their meals.

Mia sat perched in her booster seat like a tiny queen, legs kicking happily as she speared peas one by one. Jaune leaned over to wipe a smear of sauce from her chin, his smile soft and warm.

"Big birthday coming up, kitten," he said, voice pitched low and conspiratorial. "Turning five. What's the one thing you want most in the whole wide world?"

Mia's ears shot straight up. She dropped her fork with a clatter, clasped her hands under her chin, and declared at full volume: "A baby brother! Or sister! I want a little sibling to play dolls with and teach how to hide cookies and run around with!"

Jaune inhaled a noodle wrong and started coughing like he'd been punched in the lungs. "M-Mia, sweetie, that's… that's not really a birthday present kind of thing—"

Mia's face crumpled, ears drooping tragically. "Why not? I'd share my toys! And my bunk! And my crayons!"

Yang was the first to recover, sliding her chair so close to Jaune it screeched like a banshee. She slung an arm around his shoulders, grin wide and wicked. "Well, if Papa needs a volunteer to help make that baby sibling happen, Auntie Yang's got more than enough energy to spare." She winked at Mia. "We'd make the cutest little blonde firecrackers, right?"

Mia's sadness evaporated. "YAY! Auntie Yang babies!"

Jaune's face went nuclear red. "Yang! Not at the—there are children—stop helping!"

"Aw, come on Papa," Yang crooned, "I've got plenty of experience as a mom already~."

Pyrrha set her glass down with a delicate clink that somehow cut through the noise like a blade. Her smile was serene, but her eyes glinted with competitive fire. "That won't be necessary, Yang. Jaune and I are partners. We train together, fight together—we'd manage the… practicalities perfectly well on our own." She turned the full force of her gentle smile on Jaune. "We'd make wonderful parents, wouldn't we, Jaune?"

Jaune gaped.

"I-I uh-"

Mia bounced in her seat. "YAY! Auntie Pyrrha babies! Strong babies!"

Nora, who had been mid-bite of pancake mountain, slammed both fists on the table hard enough to make plates jump. "OH MY GODS THIS IS THE BEST DINNER EVER! Jaune-Jaune's building a harem army! Who's next? Place your bets!"

Ren sighed into his tea. "Nora, please."

"I'll cut you in for fifty-fifty, Renny!"

"Then I bet on Pyrrha."

Weiss's fork clattered to her plate. "Have you all lost your minds?! This is a public cafeteria! There are standards! Decorum! You cannot just—" She gestured wildly at the table. "—proposition him in front of a child!"

Yang leaned across the table, smirk sharpening. "Aw, c'mon, Weisscream. Jealous? Plenty of Jaune to go around. You wanna sign up for baby-making duty too?"

Weiss went scarlet from collar to hairline. "I most certainly do NOT—!" She paused, then, quieter but with the defiance of a cornered heiress: "And what if I would? I'd raise far better children than any of you!"

Nora howled, nearly falling off her bench. "ICE QUEEN'S IN!"

"I'll have to change the odds," Ren deadpanned.

Blake closed her book with a soft snap, leaning forward with the lazy grace of a cat stretching in sunlight. Her amber eyes fixed on Jaune, smirk slow and sultry. "Another Faunus might be best for balance. Mia's part cat—another cat Faunus sibling would be perfect. Matching ears, matching eyes…" She tilted her head, bow twitching. "I could make that happen, Jaune. I'd be eager to try."

Jaune made a sound like a smashed radiator.

Before he could combust, Ruby vaulted straight over the table—plates rattling, drinks sloshing—and landed squarely in his lap with the force of a small meteor.

"URK!"

"I can be the BEST mom!" Ruby declared, arms flung tightly around his neck. "I'm basically an adult! I'd raise them properly! I'd teach them shooting, weapons maintenance, mechanical engineering, explosives-!"

Jaune wheezed, trapped under enthusiastic sister energy. "Ruby—lap—breathing—"

Nora was now standing on her chair, arms raised like a referee. "AND THE SCORE IS TIED! Yang's got the muscles! Pyrrha's got the champion genes! Weiss has the money! Blake has the ears! Ruby has the speed! WHO WILL WIN JAUNE'S HEART AND/OR SPERM?! TAKING ALL BETS!"

"DOWN NORA!" Jaune choked out.

Ren calmly moved his tea out of splash range.

Weiss rounded on Yang. "You're crass and reckless—any child of yours would be raised on protein shakes and bad puns!"

Yang grinned wider. "Better than yours—tiny little prisses reciting opera at age three! If they could get past your narrow hips!"

"Why you-!"

Pyrrha's voice stayed polite, but steel lurked beneath. "Strength and kindness matter more than wealth or volume. Though it helps I have both~."

Blake's smirk never wavered. "Cultural heritage matters more. Plus, catgirls are sexier than humans."

"Not this catgirl," Pyrrha stated, her smile strained and scary. Which Blake returned with a deadly smirk.

Ruby bounced in Jaune's lap. "But speed! And cookies! Cookies are universal!"

Jaune, mentally screaming, sent up a final desperate prayer: Please, Breaker, let this end. Grant me salvation...!

Professor Glynda Goodwitch materialized at the end of the table like divine punishment incarnate, riding crop tapping against her palm.

Not what I asked for!

"What," she asked in a voice that could shatter diamonds, "is all this nonsense?"

Mia, undaunted, lit up like a firework. "Miss Goodwitch! For my birthday, will you make me a baby brother or sister with Papa too?!"

The entire cafeteria went dead silent. Even the cooks peeked out from the kitchen.

Glynda's cheeks tinted pink—actual, visible pink—before her composure slammed back into place like a vault door.

Neptune Vasilias, halfway across the room, stood up and slammed his fists on his table.

"JAUNE ARC, YOU ABSOLUTE GODDAMNED HAREM PROTAGONIST! YOU'RE GONNA STEAL ALL THE HOTTIES IN BEACON!"

Nora grabbed Ren by the collar and yanked him close with the force of a territorial lightning bolt. "REN IS OFF LIMITS, DAMNIT! MINE! ALL MINE!"

Ren patted her arm calmly. "I wouldn't worry, Nora."

Jaune just sank lower in his seat, Ruby still perched triumphantly in his lap, face buried in both hands as the girls dissolved into overlapping arguments about genetics, parenting styles, and who had dibs.

Mia looked around, confused but delighted by the chaos.

"So… lots of siblings?"

Jaune's muffled voice emerged from his hands: "We're getting you a puppy."

A puppy was safe.

A puppy couldn't lead to this.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

• Name: Iridescent (prefers "Iri")
• Allusion: Kitty Pryde (Shadowcat) from X-Men (for phasing Semblance), Harley Quinn from DC Comics (for cheerful villainy), with thematic ties to Iris, Greek goddess of the rainbow (for iridescent, color-shifting motifs) and Golden Hair from the fairy tale of the same name.
• Naming Process: Iridescent derives from the Latin "iridescens," meaning "shining with rainbow colors" or "displaying a play of lustrous changing colors," reflecting her rainbow-themed weapon, versatile Semblance that shifts her physical state like light refracting, and her deceptive, ever-smiling facade that masks deadly intent.
• Age: Early 20s
• Background: Born to a disgraced Valean noble who spiraled into crippling debt, Iridescent's early life descended into horror when her family was enslaved and forced into underground gladiatorial death matches. There, her father met her mother amid the brutality, and together they conceived her in the shadows of captivity. At just six years old, she witnessed her parents' gruesome devouring by Grimm in a rigged arena spectacle, an event that shattered her innocence and ignited a sadistic glee in chaos and pain. Orphaned and hardened, she clawed her way through Mistral's underbelly, honing her Semblance in survival scraps until Salem's agents recruited her as a "Dark Maiden" candidate—a twisted counterpart to Ozpin's Maidens. In direct competition with Cinder and other Maiden Candidates, Iridescent cheerfully serves Salem for her own sadistic pleasures. Operating from the shadows with gleeful efficiency, she sows discord among humanity, manipulates factions, and prepares cataclysmic strikes—all while charming her way into trust.
• Race: Human
• Emblem: A stylized rainbow prism fracturing into jagged, blood-red shards.
• Weapon: "Sunshine Day": A vibrant, rainbow-patterned umbrella with a reinforced core of solid aluminum fashioned into a brutal mace. In umbrella form, it serves as a shield or means of transportation when Iridescent is in low density mode, while also serving as a brutal melee weapon in her high density mode.
• Semblance: "Density Control"
  • Iridescent can manipulate her body's molecular density at will—decreasing it to phase through solid matter like walls, bullets, or restraints for perfect infiltration and evasion, or increasing it to become denser than lead for superhuman strength and durability (punching through barriers or tanking heavy hits). High-density mode enhances power but reduces speed due to added weight, forcing strategic shifts in combat. She can selectively apply it to limbs or objects in contact for hybrid tactics, like phasing a hand through armor to strike vitals.
• Appearance: A striking young woman with smooth dark skin that contrasts vividly against her stark white hair, styled in loose, playful waves. Her eyes shimmer with an iridescent purple hue, wide and innocent at first glance but often twisting into manic glee. Lithe and athletic build, with a perpetual slasher smile that reveals too-sharp teeth, unnerving even hardened villains like Cinder.
• Outfit: A tailored purple pinstripe suit with subtle rainbow accents on the lapels and cuffs, paired with a crisp white shirt, black tie, and polished loafers. The ensemble exudes professional charm, concealing hidden Dust pouches and weapon compartments; a matching fedora often tops it off for dramatic flair.
• Personality: Effervescent and affably evil, Iridescent bubbles with cheer and nicknames ("Call me Iri!"), treating atrocities like playful games and victims like toys. Her constant smile masks a deep-seated sadism—she craves power not for security (like Cinder) but to inflict pain and revel in suffering for sheer amusement. Troubled by her past, she channels trauma into whimsical cruelty, maintaining an arrested childlike wonder amid horror. Loyal to Salem with fanatical joy, she's manipulative and unpredictable, disarming foes with charm before striking lethally.
• Notes: Iridescent serves as Salem's wildcard Maiden aspirant, foiling Cinder's ambition-driven schemes with her pure delight in destruction. Her Semblance's versatility makes her a ghost in infiltration ops or a juggernaut in brawls, but over-reliance on density shifts can leave her vulnerable mid-transition. Unnervingly cheerful even in defeat, she views setbacks as "fun plot twists," always plotting brighter, bloodier comebacks. A dark mirror to Beacon's hopeful students, her presence heralds colorful chaos in Vale's shadows.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Glynda Goodwitch's office at Beacon was a study in controlled severity—polished desk, neatly stacked reports, the faint scent of lemon polish and lingering coffee. She sat behind it now, glasses perched on her nose, reviewing security footage with the kind of focused displeasure usually reserved for poorly formatted mission reports. Yang Xiao-Long and Ruby Rose sat in the two uncomfortable chairs in front of her desk, both cringing.

"We weren't the only ones-!" Ruby tried, but she was silenced by Glynda's icy glare.

"No talking until your father gets here," she stated, cold and steely. Yang coughed.

"Ah, well-"

Glynda's glare seemed to go through her like a CAT scan. Yang folded her hands in her lap and nodded quickly.

"Yes ma'am!" She managed. Ruby winced.

If Yang's being polite, we're doomed...

The door opened.

Taiyang Xiao Long stepped in—broad shoulders filling the frame, casual red shirt rolled to the elbows, blond hair neatly tousled. He froze mid-step when he saw Glynda.

"…Glynda?"

She looked up. Her eyes widened fractionally behind the lenses.

"…Taiyang," she greeted, almost gently.

A long beat of stunned silence.

Taiyang blinked. "Breaker... I didn't recognize you. You're… taller. And scarier."

Glynda's lips twitched despite herself. "It took me a moment too. You're… less feral. And taller. The five o'clock shadow is new."

Taiyang rubbed the short, golden scruff on his jaw with a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well... You caught me on an off day. I'm a teacher at Signal. Gotta look respectable sometimes."

They stared at each other for another second—then both cracked the same smile.

Glynda leaned back, removing her glasses to wipe them with a cloth. "I still can't believe it's you. The last time I saw you, you were trying to convince Qrow that wearing a dress for a week was 'character building.'"

Taiyang barked a laugh. "He lasted three days. Cried on day four when he had to wear heels to the mess hall."

Glynda's shoulders shook. "And Isabel Arc throwing you out the window when you walked in on her showering. I've never heard a man scream that high."

Taiyang winced, rubbing his back like the memory still ached. "She said I was 'lucky it was only the second floor.' Then Raven... Remember when she tried make up and insisted she'd do it herself? She looked like-like a killer clown from outer space!"

They dissolved into quiet laughter—old friends rediscovering a rhythm that had been buried under years and grief. Yang and Ruby just stared at this interaction in utter disbelief. Ruby pinched herself to make sure she wasn't having a nightmare.

Taiyang finally sobered, leaning forward against the desk. "So… what did my girls get up to this time?"

Glynda's expression shifted back to stern professor mode. "They participated in a vigilante raid against a White Fang splinter cell operating out of Vale's industrial district. Unauthorized, unsupervised, and against every regulation in the student handbook."

Taiyang exhaled. "Did they win?"

Glynda's eyes narrowed. "That is not the point."

He raised both hands. "Right. Not the point. I'll keep a tighter leash on them. Promise."

Glynda studied him for a long moment—then her shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Taiyang. For being a good father. And… for still being a good friend."

Taiyang's smile was softer now. "Hey. We survived Beacon together. That counts for something." He paused, then added with genuine warmth, "We should catch up sometime. Properly. Coffee. Or drinks. Or both."

Glynda's cheeks pinked—barely noticeable, but there. She cleared her throat. "Yes. I… would like that."

Taiyang grinned—bright, boyish, the same grin that had once convinced her to sneak into the Emerald Forest on a dare.

"It's a date. Uh... I mean... You know what I mean."

He winked.

Glynda rolled her eyes, but the blush stayed. "Goodbye, Taiyang."

He saluted lazily and stepped out, pausing in the doorway. "Girls! Be good for Glynda!"

The door closed.

Silence.

Then Glynda turned slowly to the two daughters who'd been sitting there, now wearing identical stunned expressions.

Ruby's voice cracked first. "Professor Goodwitch… Do you... Like my dad?"

Glynda froze. "Well, yes... Not like that!"

Both girls stared—intensely.

Glynda's composure cracked. A flush crept up her neck.

"Okay," she admitted, voice strangled, "so it is like that. Is he single? You could grind meat on those abs!"

"STOP HITTING ON MY DAD!" Yang shrieked.

- - -

@brinkleberry Complained that there weren't more Taiyang/Glynda fics so I wrote up a quick one for him. Don't say I never did anything for you.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The common room at Beacon Academy buzzed with the usual mix of camaraderie and chaos, the late afternoon light filtering through the windows. Jaune lounged on a couch, half-listening to Nora's animated retelling of some Grimm-slaying escapade, while Ren nodded patiently beside her. Pyrrha sat nearby, polishing her spear with a focus that bordered on the obsessive.

Weiss and Yang occupied the other side of the room, Weiss scribbling in a notebook and Yang sprawled across an armchair, scrolling through her Scroll. Ruby, however, stood in front of Jaune, her silver eyes wide and earnest, her hands clasped like she was about to plead for her life.

"Jaune? I need you to do something for me," Ruby said, her voice carrying that mix of determination and puppy-dog charm she wielded so well.

Jaune glanced up, setting aside the comic he'd been skimming. "Sure, what?"

"Take Blake on a date? A regular, non-sexually depraved date?" Ruby asked, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.

Jaune's jaw dropped. "What?"

Pyrrha's head snapped up, her polishing cloth frozen mid-motion. "What?!"

Ruby pressed on, undeterred. "You dated a cat Faunus before, right?"

Pyrrha's eyes narrowed, her voice dangerously soft. "You did?"

Jaune rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the room's collective gaze pinning him like a bug. "Well, sure, but Katy Sith was a childhood friend! We broke up amicably! Also, she wasn't crazy."

Ruby waved a hand dismissively. "Blake isn't crazy!"

Weiss let out a sharp, incredulous "HA!" from her corner, not even looking up from her notebook.

Ruby faltered, her enthusiasm dimming slightly. "… Okay, so she is. But! You can make her not crazy! Or at least show her that not everything is about racism and sexual depravity! You're perfect! You're like… normal!"

Jaune stared, his expression caught between disbelief and resignation. "I literally snuck into Beacon Academy with fake transcripts, no Aura, and no clue what I was doing."

Ruby tilted her head, unfazed. "Didn't you ace the entrance exams?"

Weiss's pen froze, her head whipping toward Jaune. "Wait, he did what?!"

Jaune shrugged, his cheeks tinting pink. "Well, of course! Every time I made a stupid lie about Aura or the Vytal Festival, I was panicking and saying stupid crap! I actually studied hard and I got in!"

Weiss's eyes bulged, her voice rising to a near-shriek. "YOU DID WHAT?! NO WAY! HOW COULD YOU—?!"

Yang, grinning like a Cheshire cat, held up Jaune's Scroll, which she'd swiped from the coffee table. "See for yourself."

Weiss snatched the device, her fingers flying across the screen. Her face paled, then reddened, as she read the scores.

"… They told me someone else got a perfect score! I ONLY GOT A 99! HOW DID AN IDIOT LIKE YOU BEAT ME?! YOU—YOU DOLT!"

Jaune threw up his hands, defensive. "I-I just test well! And freak out in situations where I might be killed!"

Weiss fumed, her notebook forgotten as she muttered about "unfair advantages" and "rigged systems."

Ruby, steering the conversation back, clapped her hands. "See? You're an absolutely normal person, Jaune! And Blake needs normality!"

Pyrrha's voice was tight, her smile unnervingly sharp. "Does she? Maybe she could date Sun? Wasn't she already dating Sun? You know, SUN?"

Yang snorted, tossing Jaune's Scroll back onto the table. "Apparently he's not human enough. He's a primate, so he's close to humans, which would annoy her dad, but not far away enough to piss him off."

The room fell silent as everyone tried to untangle that logic, their expressions ranging from baffled to pained.

Jaune blinked slowly. "… How…?"

Yang sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Don't ask. That was the least taxing part of the conversation with her." She leaned back, her tone turning pleading. "If I ever decide to date her, please, cut my arm off?"

Jaune nodded solemnly. "Agreed. Also? You're getting another case of beer from my sisters' next aid package."

Yang's face lit up, her fist pumping the air. "Hey hey! Good on you, Stud!"

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "What happened to Vomit Boy?"

"You got me beer! And you're going to take my neurotic partner out on a date!" Yang said, winking. "Two-step promotion!"

Jaune turned to Ruby, his resolve wavering. "Ruby, I mean, I don't know—"

"Pleasssse?" Ruby begged, her eyes shimmering with weaponized adorableness.

Jaune sighed, his shoulders slumping. "… All right. For you, Ruby."

Pyrrha's smile twitched, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "But—Jaune—Don't we have training?"

"Relax, Pyrrha," Jaune said, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'll just take Blake out on a nice, normal date to a bookstore coffee shop. Lunch or brunch. It's no big deal, just like how I would take Katy out."

Pyrrha's eye twitched, her "smile" now a terrifying rictus. "Oh?"

Jaune frowned, concerned. "Pyrrha, are you okay? You seem tense. Do you need another massage?"

Nora perked up, her hammer clattering to the floor. "HEY! You've been holding out on us, Jaune! We all want massages!"

Ren, ever the voice of calm, raised a hand. "I don't."

Nora whirled on him, grinning. "Then you give me one!"

Ren sighed, his fate sealed. "All right…"
- - -

Jaune Arc stood nervously by the rocket lockers in Beacon's armory, his heart thudding as he approached Blake Belladonna. She was fiddling with her gear, her usual scowl in place, her ears twitching faintly beneath her bow. The weight of Ruby's request—and the coupons burning a hole in his pocket—pushed him forward, despite the awkwardness that had hung between them since their last encounter.

"Hey Blake," Jaune said, his voice betraying a slight tremor.

"Jaune," Blake replied, her tone cool, her golden eyes narrowing slightly as she turned to face him.

He took a deep breath, holding out the coupons like a peace offering. "Blake… I got some coupons for the Celsus Coffee House and Bookshop tomorrow. I thought you might like to go with me."

Blake froze, her scowl faltering as her eyes widened. "Wait… Go with you… Like… Like a date?"

Jaune nodded, his cheeks tinged pink. "Yes."

Blake's face turned a vivid shade of red, her ears flicking as she processed his words. She frowned, her voice cautious. "It's… A little sudden. I mean, you've been avoiding me a lot lately."

"Well, I wanted to make it up to you," Jaune said, scratching the back of his neck. "I think we just had a miscommunication."

Blake's frown deepened, her arms crossing. "I also thought you were pursuing Weiss."

"No! No, I'm over her," Jaune said quickly, his voice earnest. "Honestly? I think you're much prettier than her."

Blake's blush deepened, but her scowl returned, sharper this time. "… Wait…" She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Is it because you have a cat Faunus fetish?"

Jaune's eyes widened, his hands waving defensively. "Er… I mean, no more than any other guy—"

"You dated a cat Faunus before, right?" Blake pressed, her tone accusatory.

"Yes, I did," Jaune admitted, keeping his voice steady. "We ended it amicably. I don't see you as a replacement for her, if that's what you're asking."

Blake's scowl softened, her voice turning shy as she glanced away, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her jacket. "Do you… Do you think I'm hotter than her?"

Jaune paused, his gaze meeting hers. "… Yes. Yes, I do."

Blake's eyes widened, her blush returning full force. "… All right. Um…" She hesitated, her voice dropping. "Do… Do you want me to wear a collar or-or anything?"

Jaune fell silent, his brain momentarily stalling. After a long beat, he managed, "I mean… Not on the first date?"

Blake's ears perked, her blush intensifying as she nodded quickly. "Oh, right. That… That would be rushing things for normal romance. Which I totally know how to do!"

Jaune chuckled, his tension easing. "It's okay, Blake. We'll just take it a step at a time, and have fun. All right?"

Blake's lips curved into a rare, genuine smile, her eyes softening. "All… All right…"

Jaune couldn't help but notice how pretty her smile was, a warmth spreading in his chest. He grinned back. "Great!"

"Okay. Sounds good," Blake said, her voice steadier now. She gave him a small nod and headed off, her steps lighter than before.

Once Jaune was sure she was out of earshot, he let out a long, shaky sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Okay… Step One complete."

"YAY!" Ruby's voice exploded from behind a nearby locker, and before Jaune could react, she tackle-hugged him, nearly knocking him over. "You did it! She'll get some normal romance and then she'll stop being so racist!"

Jaune steadied himself, patting Ruby's head awkwardly. "We can only hope…"

Weiss and Yang emerged from their hiding spots, Weiss with her arms crossed and Yang sporting a mischievous grin. Yang sidled up to Jaune, her eyes glinting. "Oho? You dated a cat Faunus before, huh? Guess you've got Cat Scratch Fever?"

Jaune groaned, rubbing his face. "I didn't like her for that alone. We were, like, childhood friends!"

Weiss's voice was sharp, her blush barely hidden. "So… You think Blake is prettier than me?"

Jaune hesitated, sensing the minefield. "Er… Honestly? I think you're all ridiculously beautiful, just in different ways."

Weiss's blush deepened, but she huffed, turning her nose up. "Sure you do!"

Ruby, still clinging to Jaune's arm, blinked up at him, her cheeks pink. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Jaune said, his voice sincere.

Yang's face turned bright red, but she snickered, trying to play it off. "Yeah, sure!"

Jaune pressed on, his tone apologetic. "I mean it! I'm still really sorry I came on so strong, Weiss. But I do think you're all gorgeous. I um, I might have fixated on you because, well… You're like the opposite of my ex, and I didn't want to compare you to her. It wouldn't be fair. But she is just one of many kinds of girls I'm into… Well, maybe the kind I'm most into, really. I'm learning stuff about myself."

Yang's grin widened as she snatched Jaune's Scroll from his pocket. "Oh? The exact opposite? So what is Katy Sith… Like…?"

She froze, her eyes locking onto the screen. Weiss and Ruby leaned in, and their jaws dropped. The photo showed a busty, blonde, muscular cat Faunus girl laughing beside Jaune in a photobooth, her tail curled playfully around his arm.

Yang's voice was a mix of shock and disbelief. "I… Wha…?"

Jaune, sensing danger, grabbed his Scroll and bolted. "I mean, you know… It's not like I dislike her or anything. I just… It's easy to fall for people like those you dated before, so… Um… I'm gonna go!"

Weiss's scowl deepened as she shouted after him. "What does he mean the exact opposite?! I… I'm beautiful! So what if my chest isn't huge?!"

Ruby turned to Yang, who was staring into space, her face a mix of confusion and irritation. "Yang? You okay?"

"He's… Into…" Yang's eyes narrowed, her voice low. "But he didn't…? Why the hell did he… It's not like I'm a cat Faunus! I bet she's not a boxer, either! What the hell, Vomit Boy?!"

Ruby tilted her head, trying to follow. "I mean, he said we're all beautiful in our own ways—"

"He didn't hit on me once because he didn't want to replace his ex?!" Yang snapped, her fists clenching. "That's the shittiest excuse ever! Going after BLAKE, now that's a repeat!"

Weiss raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. "I didn't think you cared, Yang."

"I DON'T!" Yang protested, her blush betraying her. "But… Ya know… Since he's over you… And maybe if we help Blake… He could ask me out. I mean, she looked pretty happy!"

Weiss's eyes narrowed. "They broke up!"

"AMICABLY!" Yang shot back, her voice echoing down the hall as Jaune's retreating footsteps faded. "Which means he shouldn't have an issue going after another girl who just looks like his ex but is obviously hotter and better!"

Ruby sighed, rubbing her temples. "This… is gonna be a long semester."