[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[Gur40]

Since DC Santa Can go to Darkseid World Could He Come To Remnant To Stomp Salem Forces and leave her Coal? If Shirou and them are reincarnated they would know the legend enough to let him troll Salem?
Just For Fun What Other Morally Grey or Pure Good Characters From a Official RWBY Crossover could enter Remnant and Stomp Salem?
I Know Racheal Alucard Could because her dad's tools caused the crossover
maybe Philemon from Persona and ironically Nyarlathotep would either help or crush Salem... god forbid he chose another Sole Survivor Jaune timeline to fuck with Remnants own timeloop

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What If a SEW found the Blacksmith and was remade the ultimate human weopon with proper hax eyes for revenge and to protect his clan

Spoiler: Ruby Uncle

in exchange for Silver Eyes and Aura barrier he gets his kit. He's not evil, he just want to hunt down every criminal organization that took a hit on a SEW and wipe them off the map to the last child finishing with Salem Cult. On Remnant that makes him a honorary Ozluminati member

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Ruby and Yang as Moms/Aunties

Spoiler: sharing

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Seeing as RT are lazy Mistletoe would be a tradition on Remnant

Spoiler: Blake got ideas

Nora saw that look on her face and kept Ren away from Blake the entire week

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Ruby being Cute

Spoiler: adorable

Spoiler: and Yang

if you know, you know

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Schneeblings Counter

Spoiler: They Really Do

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Ironwood after a few beers

Spoiler: upgrades

after Glynda busted out the steal chair

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Katy giving Jaune hints

Spoiler: the hints

yes he was that dence

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The Holiday Lists from FNKI

Spoiler: they are funny

my favorites. check out the 2 sets on FNKI

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Jaune gets trained by his Aunt Mordred, and he develops a taste for a better kind of fighting...

- - -

The docks were a mess of overturned crates, scattered dust crystals, and groaning White Fang goons strewn across the concrete like discarded puppets. Roman Torchwick leaned on his cane, hat slightly askew, watching the chaos with the weary expression of a man who'd just realized his payday was about to evaporate.

Jaune Arc stood in the center of it all, Crocea Mors planted point-down like a victory flag, chest heaving with excitement rather than exhaustion. His team—and RWBY, because of course they'd all piled in—were finishing off the last few stragglers with casual, almost bored efficiency.

Nora launched one thug into a shipping container with a gleeful "HOME RUN!" Yang punched another so hard he skipped across the water like a stone. Pyrrha flicked her javelin and sent three more flying in perfect formation. Even Weiss was icing them in place with a sigh of "This is beneath me."

Blake stared at the carnage, ears flat. "We... we didn't even break a sweat."

Roman lit a cigar with trembling fingers. "Yeah, well, congratulations, kids. You win. Happy?"

Jaune turned to him, eyes shining with genuine disappointment. "That's it?"

Roman paused mid-puff. "...Come again?"

Jaune gestured dramatically with his sword, golden aura still flickering around him like a lion's mane. "Where's the passion? The conviction? The dramatic monologue about your twisted philosophy of crime and chaos? I was ready! I had counterarguments prepared! We could've debated the nature of power while clashing blades under the moonlight!"

Roman stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"You... you want to debate philosophy? While fighting?"

"Of course!" Jaune said earnestly. "What's the point of a battle if it's not about ideals? About proving whose way is right through strength and words and dramatic poses?"

Yang snorted, wiping blood off her knuckles. "VB's been like this since Auntie Mordred got done with him. Fights aren't fun unless there's speeches."

Roman took a long drag. "Kid, I'm a thief. I steal things. I get paid. I don't do... whatever this is."

Jaune's shoulders slumped. "But you're Roman Torchwick! Master criminal! You have flair! Style! That cane-gun thing is awesome! Come on, give me something! 'Society is corrupt and only lien matters?' 'The system keeps the little guy down?' Anything!"

Roman glanced at Neo, who was perched on a crate licking an ice cream cone she'd somehow acquired during the fight. She tilted her head, gave a tiny shrug, and made a certain gesture spinning her finger at her head to denote a simple message anyone could understand: He's crazy.

"Look," Roman said, exhaling smoke. "I'm not dying on some hill of ideology for minimum-wage grunts. You beat us. Great. Arrest me or whatever. Just... stop talking."

Jaune sighed, sheathing Crocea Mors with a dramatic flourish that would've made Auntie Mordred proud. "Fine. But you're really missing out. A good philosophical debate mid-battle is the best."

Blake muttered, "This is the weirdest night of my life."

Neo hopped down, offered Jaune a tiny thumbs-up and a silent slow-clap for the entertainment value. Then she grabbed Roman by the collar and started dragging him toward their escape route.

Roman yelped. "Hey! Gentle! I have a reputation—!"

"Reputation for running away without a cool speech," Jaune called after him, genuinely sad. "We could've been arch-nemeses!"

Roman's voice echoed back as Neo hauled him into the shadows. "Kid, you're a complete weirdo! I like my kneecaps unbroken and my flesh unburnt, thanks!"

They tried to charge after him, but they vanished as though an illusion was cast.

The Bullhead arrived minutes later, Vale PD swarming to collect the unconscious terrorists. The teams stood around, catching their breath.

Yang slung an arm around Jaune's shoulders. "Cheer up, VB. Not every criminal's gonna give you the epic showdown you want."

"I know," Jaune said mournfully. "But these guys were supposed to be hardcore revolutionaries! And they folded like wet paper! Where's the drama? The conviction? The 'you'll never understand my pain' monologues?"

Pyrrha's eyes were doing that thing that made Weiss edge away again. "You were magnificent, Jaune. The way you cleaved through three of them while declaring the righteousness of justice..."

Nora bounced. "And when you did that spin-slash thing and yelled about the warrior's spirit? SO COOL! I gotta do that, with EXPLOSIVES!"

Ren nodded. "Terrifying, if not the most efficient way to do it."

Ruby was staring at her scroll. "Guys... the internet's already calling him 'The Philosophy Knight.' There's gifs."

Weiss pinched her nose. "We're never living this down."

Blake just sighed, long and suffering. "I left Adam for this."

Jaune perked up slightly. "Hey, at least Neo seemed to enjoy it! She was smiling the whole time!"

Yang laughed. "See? Even the mute psychopath thought you were entertaining."

Jaune brightened. "Really?"

"Really."

As they boarded the Bullhead, Jaune looked out over the docks one last time.

"Next time," he said solemnly, "we find criminals with standards."

Yang patted his back. "Sure thing, Drama King."

Somewhere in Vale, Roman Torchwick nursed a drink and muttered to Neo:

"Next time we pull a job, we do it quietly. No speeches. No philosophy. Just in, out, lien."

Neo held up a sign: But he was kinda cute when he got intense.

Roman groaned. "Not you too."

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The dock at Mountain Glenn was a graveyard of rusted shipping containers and flickering floodlights, the perfect stage for a dramatic showdown. Adam Taurus stood atop a stack of crates like he owned the night, Wilt drawn, Blush sheathed, red hair whipping in the wind. Blake's team—plus JNPR, because of course they all came—fanned out below him.

Blake stepped forward first, Gambol Shroud ready. "Adam, this ends tonight."

Adam tilted his head. "Blake. Still running away from the hard choices, I see."

Blake used her clones to try and flank Adam, charging. He calmly deflected her strikes, and unleashed a red Moonslice, so artfully executed that Blake narrowly dodged out of the way... And the shipping container behind her split in two.

"I've stopped running!" Blake cried. Adam shook his head.

"You can't stop running from me, my dear Blake. I am your fears made manifest. You can't come up with the courage to face me on your own."

"I face you with my friends!" Blake cried.

"Yet all our true battles are within us," Adam spoke calmly, walking towards her, "And those battles are always fought alone. You can't escape this truth. All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks. But in each event—in the living act, the undoubted deed—there, some unknown but still reasoning thing puts forth the mouldings of its features from behind the unreasoning mask. If man will strike, strike through the mask! How can the prisoner reach outside except by thrusting through the wall? You remain a prisoner of your own lack of understanding, Blake!"

Then Jaune pushed past her, eyes sparkling like a kid on Aslanmas morning.

"Wow... That was awesome! So calmly delivered! And from Moby Dick, too!"

Adam blinked, a pleased look on his face. "You know it?"

"Totally! Also: Here's my Aura Slash!"

Jaune swung Crocea Mors in a wide arc. A massive golden crescent of pure aura roared out, carving a trench through the concrete and forcing Adam to leap aside with a graceful flip.

Adam landed lightly, mask hiding his grin but not the excitement in his voice. "Impressive... Golden Lion's Roar?"

Jaune beamed. "You know it?"

Adam spun Wilt with a flourish. "So, you're descended from Arturia Pendragon?"

"Yeah! She's my Nana! And my auntie Mordred trained me."

Adam actually paused. "...She was so terrifyingly cool."

"I KNOW, RIGHT?!" Jaune practically bounced. "You're all right, masked man!"

Blake's eye twitched. "HE'S A CRAZY TERRORIST!"

Jaune turned, frowning. "Blake! I am talking with him right now! Don't be rude!"

Adam nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Blake. Don't be rude."

"WHAT?!"

Adam sighed theatrically. "She's my ex."

Jaune's eyes went wide. "Oh wow."

Adam shrugged. "Does she still do that screechy thing when she's upset?"

"All the time!" Jaune said immediately. "It's really annoying!"

Blake made a strangled noise that sounded suspiciously like a teakettle about to explode.

Yang leaned over to Weiss, whispering loudly, "Ten lien says they become besties before anyone throws a punch."

Weiss rolled her eyes but didn't take the bet.

Adam hopped down from the crates, landing a respectful distance away. "You know, Jaune Arc... I've waited a long time to meet a human who understands. Dramatic battles. Debating the meaning of life. The philosophy of warriors."

Jaune nodded vigorously. "With massive explosions and super cool attacks!"

"YES!" Adam gestured dramatically. "The essence of a warrior's life is fighting for your ideals while making it look as awesome as possible! How else can you express yourself truly except in the crucible of battle and debate?!"

"TOTALLY!"

Blake threw her hands up. "I thought you wanted to liberate Faunuskind and rule over mankind!"

Adam waved a hand. "I can want two things at once! Maybe three." He paused. "Actually, I'm kinda hungry. Sandwich?"

Jaune perked up. "Ooh, me too!"

Adam looked at Blake expectantly. "Blake?"

Yang stepped forward instantly. "I'll get Jaune a sandwich."

Blake stared at her partner in betrayal. "WHERE'S YOUR SELF-RESPECT?!"

"What?" Yang shrugged, grinning. "I'm not getting your ex a sandwich."

Nora, who'd been vibrating in place the entire time, finally exploded. "Can we fight now?! Please?! I wanna see the cool finishers!"

Ren sighed. "Nora..."

Pyrrha had that look again—the one that made a starving tiger after meat take pause. Ruby was openly staring between Jaune and Adam like she'd just discovered a new weapon type.

Adam and Jaune ignored everyone else, deep in discussion.

"So," Jaune said seriously, "if we ever fall in battle against each other—"

"It has to be the coolest, most epic finisher ever," Adam finished.

"Yes! And whoever wins has to go, 'To the best enemy I ever had.'"

Adam snapped his fingers. "In front of a sunset!"

"Or a thunderstorm!"

"Thunderstorm during a sunset!"

Blake screeched, "ARE YOU BOTH TWELVE?!"

Yang nodded thoughtfully. "I dunno, that does sound pretty cool."

"YAANG!"

Adam turned to Jaune, completely sincere. "Your girlfriend has taste."

"She's not my—wait, really?" Jaune glanced at Yang, who suddenly found the ground very interesting.

Blake pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is not happening. This is a nightmare. I'm in a nightmare."

Weiss muttered, "For once, we agree on something."

Adam clapped Jaune on the shoulder—carefully, because even he could tell Jaune's aura reserves were ridiculous. "Tell you what, Jaune Arc. Next time we do this properly. Full dramatic showdown. No interruptions. Cool poses. Philosophical monologues. The works."

Jaune's grin could've powered Vale. "Deal! You're the best arch-nemesis ever!"

They shook on it like gentlemen.

Blake stared at the sky.

"Am I being punished for my sins?"

"We both are," Weiss sighed.

Nora raised her hand. "Can I be your arch-nemesis too?"

Adam considered it. "You have a hammer that shoots grenades. That's definitely worth a second glance."

"YESS!"

Ren dragged Nora away before she could hug Adam. He shot a glare at them. Jaune shook his head.

"Bro Code, Adam," he said. Adam hummed.

"Good point. Forgive me Ren. I did not mean to encroach on a fellow bro's girl."

Ren turned red. Nora gasped.

"REALLY?!"

"I-I didn't mean that-I..." He shook his head and sighed. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome," Adam said.

As Team RWBY and JNPR started herding everyone back toward the Bullhead (because apparently the mission was over?), Jaune waved cheerfully.

"See you next time, Adam!"

"Looking forward to it, Jaune!"

Blake trudged after them, muttering under her breath.

Yang slung an arm around Jaune's shoulders. "So... sandwich?"

Jaune lit up. "Yes please!"

Blake's ear twitched. "I hate everything."

From the shadows, Adam watched them go, a small, almost fond smile under his mask.

Finally. A worthy opponent.

 

[LordofBones]

*The Fall of Beacon*

*Yang's unconscious. Jaune is all that stands between Blake and Adam.*

Jaune: "Adam Taurus! You just want Blake for vengeance, all to fulfill your own sick desires!"
Adam: *scoffing* "You're a fool, human. Blake hides her guilt and her cowardice beneath a veneer of self-righteousness. Nothing has changed, eh my love? Accept your true nature and return to the fold."
*Blake shakes her head, trying not to cry, and tries to push Jaune behind her towards the door. Jaune's unmoved.*

Jaune: "Her true face, huh? We're her friends, Adam; we know what she's really like. Behold, Blake's real face!"

*Jaune flashes a picture of an openly smiling Blake in her yukata, hair damp from her bath, holding a steaming cup with her eyes closed.*

Jaune: "Yes! It's a photograph of Blake, fresh out of the shower and having a cup of tea!"
Blake: "Wha-"
Adam: "Hrk! How did...no, it doesn't matter! A picture will not save you, my love, nor will it save your little friends!"
Jaune: *nonchalant* "Guess you don't want it then."

*Adam yells in horror as Jaune casually sets the photo on fire.*

Adam: "What are you doing?!"
Jaune: *grins* "Got you."

*Jaune supercharges Blake's semblance. The room is filled with Blakes of different types as she stares in disbelief: gothic Blake, schoolgirl Blake, gyaru Blake, sukeban Blake, swimsuit Blake, maid Blake, playboy bunny Blake, kunoichi Blake, dancer Blake, princess Blake, geisha Blake, edgelord Blake, White Fang Blake, sultry secretary Blake, single MILF Blake, Taimanin Blake, and so many more.*

*Adam recoils, eyes wide. His nose starts bleeding."

Blake: "WHAT?!"
Jaune: "My semblance allows me to supercharge Aura and the semblances of others, Adam. Creating an entire world of Blakes is well within my power. A picture, you say? Even a mere copy can surpass the original. Let's go, Adam Taurus. Do you have enough Blakes in stock?"
Adam: "I...I....I...YOU WIN, ARC! TRADE WITH MEEEEE!"

*Adam lunges, drooling, and proceeds to get bodied by a glowing Blake, her eyes shadowed. He skids across the room and slams into the wall, passing out with that dumb grin on his face.*

Jaune: "That's done, let's go help the rest."
Blake: *eyes narrow* "Hold it right there, Jaune. What did you mean with copies being better than the original?"

 

[zMADLAXz]

Blake: *eyes narrow* "Hold it right there, Jaune. What did you mean with copies being better than the original?"

Click to shrink...

Jaune: Oh Breaker grant me patience- it was a cool ass line to disarm a chunni idiot! Now Hurry!

Blake: Why are so many of these just me but in porn tropes then?

Jaune:.....Look deep in your heart and may the Breaker grant you salvation when you find the void within.

I had Jaune go a little religious here because he was going through one of those days where you need 200 cc of "Father, Son and the Holy Spirit" to make sure your soul doesn't cosplay as a pimp named slickback.

 

[Gur40]

Episode 1 this is literally what happens to Ruby when the thugs tap her shoulder

Spoiler: her moment

the song is amazing, Ruby was riding that high all night

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Curse of the Eyes

Spoiler: Eye power

if Ruby had the power to change her eye color like Yang she'd fit right in! and does this mean Weiss needs to wear lipstick to summon spam?

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Bat Whitley Future

Spoiler: Work Alone

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Semblances vs irl

Spoiler: rock paper scissors

dropping a water tower on Cinder would be funny

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Future Jaune and Mrs Arc

Spoiler: Protect

Spoiler: future

Spoiler: winter baby

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The next Arc Clan chapters will feature Miyabi and Discord. But I have additional plans for all my fics next year. I intend to finish one of the big ones at least.

Probably one of the porn ones. Insert jokes here.

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

"Thunderstorm during a sunset!"

Blake screeched, "ARE YOU BOTH TWELVE?!"

Yang nodded thoughtfully. "I dunno, that does sound pretty cool."

"YAANG!"

Click to shrink...

The next person who's revealed to be *really* extra should be Winter.

The next Arc Clan chapters will feature Miyabi and Discord. But I have additional plans for all my fics next year. I intend to finish one of the big ones at least.

Probably one of the porn ones. Insert jokes here.

Click to shrink...

Weiss - "What do you see in that doofus?!?"

Yang - "He's awfully good about helping make sure a lady finishes things...."

Weiss - "Homework help from that dunce? Hah!"

 

[NightDranzer]

The next person who's revealed to be *really* extra should be Winter.



Weiss - "What do you see in that doofus?!?"

Yang - "He's awfully good about helping make sure a lady finishes things...."

Weiss - "Homework help from that dunce? Hah!"

Click to shrink...

Ironically?....Ruby understood the innuendo

Ruby - "YAAANNNNGG!!!!!"

 

[Sliverhero]

Remember part 5
Once the teachers put their notes together, they slowly to start to notice something, about the new rising stars of the new batch of students.
As such as they talk to eachother, the day unfolded in fragments.

Not as a single lesson, but as a series of small, quiet disturbances that settled into Beacon's halls like dust no one remembered stirring. For Port as he was watching he was impressive as
The Grimm was fell cleanly, too cleanly and sharp for a huntman's student to make on their own. It was too fine and perfect.

Weiss Schnee stood with her rapier lowered, breath steady, posture precise. The creature did not thrash. It did not linger. It simply ended, as if the fight had concluded long before it began.
Professor Port felt it then, not recognition, not memory but the odd sensation of hearing a melody played on the wrong instrument. As he watched her he started to notice things of her form and skills, they were familiar in shape and unplaceable to the source.
That step back, that slight The angle of the wrist. That very refusal to overextend.
All this put together are giving him deji vu of
Forms that were no longer taught., not because they were ineffective, but because time had moved on. Because wars had rewritten what "efficient" meant.

Port cleared his throat. "Well executed," he said, louder than necessary. Weiss inclined her head and returned to her seat. Port adjusted his mustache and told himself it was nothing.
Still, long after the class moved on, the motion lingered in his mind like a half-remembered drill.
Oobleck

The markings should not have meant anything.
They were old. Fragmented. Written in a dialect that predated standardization and favored implication over clarity. Professor Oobleck delighted in such things, puzzles were his joy.
But when Jaune Arc leaned over his shoulder and spoke, the delight stuttered. "It's a warning," the boy said gently. "Not to underestimate it. Bound prey remembers how to hunt." Oobleck stared at him, shocked.

That phrase had taken entire teams months to translate accurately. It required understanding context that no longer existed. "Oh?" Oobleck said lightly, though his fingers tightened on his cup. "And where did you learn that?" Jaune shrugged, embarrassed. "Family records."
Oobleck laughed a bright, quick sound and wrote the phrase down anyway, circling it twice.
He did not ask another question.

For Glynda, she decide to test things out as she wonder why ozpin is so weirded out by these students, so Ruby Rose and Cardin Winchester faced each other on the sparring floor. Glynda expected imbalance and she expected an easy victory for Ruby.

Instead, she watched two students adjust to each other with unsettling speed. Ruby fought close, slipping beneath strikes meant for taller opponents, turning her size into leverage. Cardin countered without rage, without excess, each movement measured, controlled. Then Cardin's weapon slowed, not from interference but from doubt. He released it mid-swing and continued bare-handed, stance shifting into something older, tighter, almost reluctant. The match ended without a victor.
Glynda dismissed them, eyes narrowing just slightly. Their Files did not account for their instincts, acting.

Now they are onto to Professor Peach first aid courses as the class went on. And peach is talking about the various ways to heal.
The room smelled of antiseptic and clean linen.

Yang Xiao Long raised her hand. "If you don't have Dust," she said, casually, "you can slow bleeding with ground silverleaf and sun-root paste. Keeps infection down too." Professor Peach paused. "Those plants," she said carefully, "are… difficult to acquire."
Yang tilted her head. "Really? They used to grow near riverbanks. You dry the leaves wrong and they lose potency, though." Peach thought on the way she used the words Used to. Peach made a note she would revisit later, heart beating just a little faster than before.

At the Mechashift class Nora is working on a present for jaune. Nora hummed as she worked, pieces spread around her like a puzzle already solved. "This one's for Jaune," she said cheerfully, fitting a gear into place. "It'll balance better if the rotation stays internal."

Mulberry leaned closer. "What design is that?"
Nora beamed. "Clockshift."
Mulberry just looked at her in silence and confusion. As Clockshift wasn't a category, It was a precursor. A prototype methodology abandoned when full mechashift proved more adaptable. "No one uses that anymore," Mulberry said. Nora shrugged. "Yeah, but it's really stable. Slower to change, but harder to break." Mulberry watched the mechanism tick softly into alignment. It was Stable, and hard to break. He said nothing more. Then it was the head librarian turn to talk and he does say whater is the next to talk as he meintion what he experienced.

The library was quiet, as it always was.
Blake Belladonna stood at the counter, hands folded around a list written in neat, careful script. "I'm looking for these," she said.
Osbuse adjusted his glasses, scanning the titles. His brow furrowed. "These volumes are… obscure," he said slowly. "Some aren't even catalogued." Blake nodded. "They're usually shelved under regional philosophy, but cross-referenced with pre-war political theory."
Osbuse stared at her.

"…You're correct," he said after a moment. "I didn't know we still had them." Blake thanked him quietly and disappeared between the stacks, moving as if she already knew where she was going. He remained at his desk, unsettled by the feeling that the library had just revealed something it had been keeping from him.

the next incident was when ren and pyrrha decide to build an old helper for them. During the class Ren and Pyrrha would worked in silence. Metal plates aligned, servos fitted. The beginnings of a structure rose between them, compact, purposeful, defensive. Professor Mulberry stopped in the doorway. "That design," he said carefully, "fell out of use before the Great War." Pyrrha looked up. "Yes, sir. Huntsmen made them redundant." Ren adjusted a stabilizer. "But they're good for holding ground." Mulberry nodded slowly.

Holding ground. A concept that had gone out of fashion. By evening, Beacon returned to its usual rhythm. Classes ended. Halls emptied. The day's small oddities dispersed, unremarked aloud. The teachers did not speak of patterns.
They did not share their unease.

They only felt it, a quiet pressure, like history pressing its hand against the present, not to warn… …but to see who would notice.
And outside, the leaves continued to fall.
Unafraid.l As if they remembered a time when the world changed not with monsters…
…but with people who learned, slowly and together, to stand their ground.

 

[LordofBones]

Imagine Jaune being trained by Agravain. He'd be the best damn bureaucrat and manager around.

He'd also pick up another famous trait of Agravain's.

Jinn: *reveals Ozma's backstory*
Jaune: *throws up his hands* "Of course, it was a woman who ruined it for the rest of us. Why am I not surprised?"

*Yang and Blake blindsiding Ruby.*
Jaune: "Ruby, you're being too hard on them. They're women, why did you expect anything else?"
Yang: "WHAT?!"
Jaune: "Fortunately, I prepared a counterplan that we can take to General Ironwood."

Ironwood: "...Okay, I'm impressed by the level of planning, but why is there an 'In Case of Women' addendum?"
Ren: "It's a long story."

 

[JerkRyanShadowWanker]

Ah competitive sexisim. Tho given the shit they've both dealt/dealing with it's an understandable stance.

 

[zMADLAXz]

Ah competitive sexisim. Tho given the shit they've both dealt/dealing with it's an understandable stance.

Click to shrink...

Man I really don't wanna sound sexist here, but they made a show where majority characters were women and responsible for things going wrong or right.

And it seems that only the villain the side got the competent ones.

Though Ironwood and Ozma fucked up ablot so I don't know how much we can blame them.

 

[Gur40]

Uncle and Niece

Spoiler: Ruby loves Roses

Qrow better pray Summer or Tai didn't overhearing that

---

Weiss and Ruby both

Spoiler: pats

Weiss and Ruby petting Zwei and getting pats is the ultimate wholesome moment

---

Gooner Blake

Spoiler: Drawing Arc

 

[The Brotherhood of Steel]

New ideas and expanding on an old one.

-Amber is able to fight off Cinder and company driving them away before a drunk Qrow shows up.

Tired of Ozpin's bullshit and wanting to take a break she fakes being in a coma.

cut to her in the pod while Oz checks on her. After he leave she hops out and wipes off the fake scar make up (draws a new pattern everytime Oz visits.) before walking into a side room where she has a setup for streaming shows and gaming. Throws on a familiar hoodie she stole out of student laundry room before sitting down on a couch.

Runs into Jaune while going on a snack run when he recognizes his favorite hoodie. They hit it off and start hanging out and eventually dating. Everyone assumes Jaune is pretending to have a girlfriend to make Weiss Jealous. Eventually they do meet her.

Meanwhile Cinder is pretending to have the maiden powers by using Dust and has Roman steal Dust in order to keep up the Charade while hunting for Amber.

Spoiler: Cinder and Amber

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=clIohctovqI

-Ruby has a history of accidentally ruining relationships.

Gave a fake valentine to teacher A from teacher B because she thought they were cute together. This ended with Teacher A leaving his family (Ruby didn't know he was married) and running away with teacher B.

Returned laundry that Zwei stole from the neighbors however she accidentally mixed in one of Yang's bras leading to the neighbor believing her husband was cheating.

Is the reason for Glynda breaking up with Ironwood.

Pyrrha ends up approaching Ruby for her help to get Jaune to notice her. Ruby is hesitant but after Pyrrha finds out about her history she gets the idea of Ruby to get Jaune with Velvet and after they break up she'll swoop in. Unfortunately this is the one time things don't go bad.


-Glynda ends up twisting her ankle and without hesitation Jaune picks her up and princess carries her through the school to the infirmary.

-Jaune is an Uma Trainer assigned to the most difficult student Coco

-Jaune ends up Handcuffed to Glynda for the week.

 

[Gur40]

Lancaster Family Photo

Spoiler: 3 kids

just for fun

---

Flirting one liner

Spoiler: Jaune being smooth

or Ren and Nora

---

Ozma must say this alot

Spoiler: seen it all

Man Must Be Done With 'Archaeologist' and 'Theorists'

---

Which Couple is 3rd wheeled

Spoiler: shared brain cell couple

 

[CountvonBarnOwl]

Right, I promised a Cyber-Whitley idea, here's my Cyber-Whitley story. I had written it with the intent of both showing off Whitley finally dipping my talons into the long-awaited world of Cold Colors. Personally, I think Frosted Pop Tart is a better pairing name for Whitley x Neon, because Frosted Strawberry Milkshake (a pop tart flavor) is a mouthful. And it is very rude to talk with your mouth full, so I probably won't be saying that too much. Nonetheless, I am personally open to alternative pairing names for Whitley x Neon.

Anyway, this is a sort of first meeting, a glance across the room when Neon first caught sight of Whitley. We've come up with some pretty wild stuff.

Spiel is over, on with the show.

Frosted Pop Tarts

Episode 1: Evacuation

Whitley had been packing up the SDC tent on the fairgrounds when everything went to pieces.

He had watched Pyrrha Nikos kill Penny Polendina. And he listened as some maniac hijacked every CCT frequency. Whitley cut his onboard CCT connection instantly, then he quarantined, and vaulted it and any ancillary programs that could be used as backdoors, all manually. A hack-job like this was not the sort of thing that a cyborg who wanted to keep living could take lightly. So he went in manually, from his organic brain, to the Cortical Control Module that served as the link between it and the rest of the Apogee System, before opening a three-layer digital machine and routing all of his network connections through the innermost, with containment and hard-kill protocols programmed into the other two.

The absoluteness of the isolation of the inner machines, the time dilation that he experienced to enter the myriad of individual command lines by thought, and the mild headache that it caused, put him out of any mood to pay attention to the substance of what the deluded idiot had been saying. He could always pull it from his black box if command was interested. His Scroll was also bricked. And he wasn't going to chance the virus getting into his body by connecting into any of the 200s. Anybody who could hack the CCT itself could probably make a 200's cybersecurity protocols look like a 130's. So he'd be relying on radio, if that.

Whitely wasn't worried. He had a gun, and beneath his glove of synthetic skin and hair he was a metal endoskeleton wrapped in a carbon nanotube musculature, both of which armored. Nothing compared to a true ICE Dragon frame. This body a fraction of the strength, inferior (albeit much more human-looking) set of optic sensors, and a radio communicator which, though it had zero profile, had only forty percent of the true unit's range. Still more than a match for most short of a Hunter, and he could still top a hundred and ten in a flat run.

And that left alone the ace he had up his sleeve. For an instant, an evil smirk formed on Whitley's face as he contemplated his masterpiece. If for whatever reason he was forced to make a career of the army, he would see it become the centerpiece of cyborg combat doctrine. And if not, he would see it done anyway, he was the premier test pilot for the ICE Dragon after all. This Whitley promised himself as he forced the servos behind his facial fibers to realign into a neutral expression.

Then he heard the commotion. The grounds had gone quiet in the wake of the broadcast, but suddenly they had gotten loud again. Outside of his tent Whitley saw a trio of unmarked Bullheads land in formation. As the doors of the Bullheads opened Whitley had already leveled Panzerstecher. He held his fire, leveling the forty-nine centimeter long pistol that looked and loaded more like a howitzer than handgun at the head of the Ursa Major that had begun scenting the now terrified bystanders. The doors opened completely. And alongside the Grimm, were Grimm-masked Faunus, armored and hooded members of the White Fang, armed with machetes, axes, and those blocky, piece-of-shit Dust-infusion guns that were popular with Vale's criminal element.

Whitley held for a split second longer. The Grimm in the bullheads we restrained, but the restraints looked weak. And they barely seemed to acknowledge the White Fang soldiers. He wanted to record every detail of what was happening before he zeroed in on the eye of the large Grimm.

And then he fired.

The 14.5 millimeter round, designed for use in heavy machine guns, screamed out of his pistol and crossed the gap between himself and the Ursa in hundredths of a second. One of the orange lights of its quasi-sapient malice burst and wept black ooze, and the other grew dim as the fiend slumped.

Other Grimm now emerged from the cargo bays of the Bullheads, and under the cover of gunfire that raked across the fairgrounds. 'Just when you think the people can sink no lower, they disappoint you.' Whitley snarled in his head. He didn't begrudge the White Fang his new body. Not with all of the good that had come of it. But if tonight's little stunt was their operation, they would answer for it.

He unlocked the breech block of his pistol, and let the spent shell fall out, before snapping it back into place before twisting the whole receiver a quarter-turn in the opposite direction. As he ran toward the Bullheads, Panzerstecher began to transform.

Being charged by someone with an obviously mechashift weapon shook the White Fang fighters from the stupor that came with their Ursa's death. The ones with rifles and pistols began to fire before they had fully aimed. Not that it would have made a difference if they had, Whitley didn't see any heavy weapons among them, and unless those infusion weapons were loaded with Hardlight or Gravity Dust, they wouldn't be getting through his frame's armor. Maybe enough Lightning Dust could short him out or slag his pseudo-nerves. Actually, the more he thought, the more scenarios he imagined in which those puny, clunky guns could overcome his defenses. Best not to chance it.

Whitley wove through the streams of gunfire. Perceiving reality through the Apogee system in its active state was like watching reality through an extreme slow motion camera. Whitley could sidestep each bullet individually, and feel each shift of Panzerstecher's servos realigning the hexagonal barrel into the edges of a blade, or unfold the grip into a guard along the gun's outer trunnion, exposing the trigger to access from the breech block, which now served as a weighty grip.

And he was using it to swing the blade in a wide arc into the head of one of the Beowolves that had come out of the bullhead that held the dead Ursa. He held the trigger and the HF blade - in the shape of an angular ikakalaka, - sung as it smashed its triangular head into that of the Beowolf. The beast died in an instant. Without breaking his stride, Whitley's arm snaped back and caught the other Beowolf on the backswing. The Grimm howled in rage and agony at the partial amputation of one of its limbs, and began chasing Whitley toward the Bullhead.

Dodging bullets up close was the same as dodging at a distance. His passive sonar showed that White Fang fighters had dismounted the other Bullheads to goad the Grimm onward, and the Grimm were already closing the gap with the panicked festival goers. Excepting that Beowolf with the half-severed arm, chasing him into the White Fang squad who had been too shocked by the death of their Ursa to dismount timely, and who were only now getting underway. The Bullhead's engine was now the only thing between them and a grinning cyborg. Whitley jumped and Panzerstecher took a bite of the Dust turbine, and a clean, timely, precise takeoff became a jerking roll as the pilot fought to regain control of the lamed aircraft.

Whitley landed in the midst of the White Fang soldiers and swung his humming blade once. As limbs, armor, and weapons part in its wake, he looked up at the bullhead, lurching above, about to fall on the White Fang squad, himself, and the Beowolf. He had already made his decision. He only wanted confirmation that the cargo bay door was still open before acting.

It was. And he jumped into it with his frame's maximum output. As he rose, he swung Panzerstecher wildly, scoring the plate of metal that made up the opposite door with half a dozen red-hot crosses, and gouging out uneven chunks from the panel. Momentum, mass, and acceleration carried him through through the wrecked door with ease, and the compromised Bullhead crushes what remains of his foes below.

Then, it exploded. The force of the blast caught up to him near the apex of his jump, further delaying gravity's attempt to wrangle the recalcitrant cyborg back into line. Righting himself in the air was no challenge. He was almost all machine and he had enough experience with Gravity Dust to know what physics would and wouldn't let him get away with. He twisted his upper and lower half in opposite directions like a cat, and no further, he wasn't going to rip his synthglove just to reorient his fall.

Whitley felt his full weight land on two shoes of fine Quitalan leather for the second time. With their expert craftsmanship, they held, but it was clear that they would not last the night. He stood up, and emitted another sonar ping. 'More than a few returns,' he thought, and visual confirmation that he had crashed the White Fang's party harder than expected. About a dozen stragglers stood at various distances ahead of him or off his shoulder, vengeful fury overwhelming their desires to continue inflicting their notions of justice on the festival-goers. And unsurprisingly, a few of the Grimm looked to be doubling back in their direction.

Whitley ran at them, and Panzerstecher sang anew. Whitley saw the terrorists raise their guns, point and fire. He saw where all of the bullets would be, and where the follow-up shots would be along their flight paths as well, assuming the fire of the guns remained constant. He saw his path through all of them, and that of his blade.

What the throng of Faunus in the armor of the White Fang saw, for a brief moment, was a short, scrawny teen with disheveled white hair and a frayed shirt and vest, barreling at them at speeds only their top fighters, like Adam Taurus could surpass, waving a sword and sporting the White Witch's own smile.

"Ein!" Whitley shouted as Panzerstecher came down on the closest of the Grimm-faced Faunus. Whitley may have been a brain in a case, but the dirty business of battle had gotten his blood up. "Drei," he stepped left of the fusillade and swung wide, through the midsections of two more of Menagerie's finest. "Vier," Panzerstecher rose again, and snagged another one under the chin with one of its points. "Funf," Whitley continued as he drove the HF blade into the head of another foe and ignored the sound of his synthglove tearing at the wrist when he spun his hand a full 360 degrees to do it.

A smaller, more tightly grouped cluster waited ahead of Whitley. They wouldn't have enough time to shoot at him very much, but a burst of gunfire was still a burst of gunfire, and he didn't feel like chancing it with only a ninth of his armor. He dropped low, his whole body below knee-level. He kept his head down, and relied on sonar to perceive his foes. His legs moved more like a rock climber's than a runner's, and he used his free forelimb to pull himself forward along the ground. "Acht!" Panzerstecher cut one's legs off at the thighs, bisected a second, and gutted a third on another sweep as Whitley pushed himself up into the air with his free limb. For less than a millisecond he was above the last of the White Fang fighters, "Neun!" He crashed like a meteor, Panzerstecher's head leading, into the last of the Faunus.

Whitley rolled to absorb the momentum. And he rose covered in enough grime to exceed the aggregate of his whole life prior. But he did not stop. Panzerstecher came up again, hooking a Creep in the jaw and ripping it in half as Whitley pulled the blade along its torso. An Ursa, not a Major like the one he had killed before, reared up to swipe him with sword-length claws. Whitley ran headlong into it. He spun his right wrist, like a propeller, and the Panzerstecher's vibrating blade pureed the flesh of the beast's right flank as he ducks under its paw and vaults its right knee.

Again, Panzerstecher rises and falls. Another Beowolf falls with it, and the fairgrounds go quiet. Whitley looked around, and then up. His optic sensors picked out innumerable flying Grimm swarming the Bullheads and Airbuses fleeing Amity Arena and Beacon's skydocks.

"That's right, I'm going to have to get out of here eventually." Whitley muttered, as the hot haze and fog that he had rode through that throng of foes cleared from his mind. He examined his blade briefly. Panzerstecher was clean, the heat and oscillations of the weapon kept it pristine. That was more than could be said for the rest of him. "And get out of these wet rags." His vest was shredded and frayed at the back from the exploding bullhead, his shoes would likely burst in a minute, his right sleeve was ruined, his left was covered in dirt, his tie was gone, and he was soaked crimson all over.

-

[Meanwhile, between Beacon's Sports Pitch and Training Halls]

-

"WORST VYTAL FESTIVAL EVER!" Neon Katt screamed as she narrowly dodged the sweep of an Ursa, and cracked its knee with her Nyan-chuku. She followed with a hip-check as she glided past it on her roller skates. "All yours Kobalt!" She shouted as she leveled out and rolled back around, as if he needed to be told. The next thing she heard was a shotgun blast followed by the racking of a fresh shell. The Ursa was dead. Unfortunately, the Big Ursa was alive and well.

'The Big Ursa,' as Neon had just dubbed it, was larger, covered in heavier pieces of bone armor, with more spikes and protrusions at a less regular pattern, and currently battering its way through the Bleachers.

She heard the crack of Ivori's rifle, and saw a breakage form along the thick plate of its skull mask below its eye, and noticed the way its shoulder began to leak black sludge. The beast staggered from the glancing blow, but it had been exactly that, a glancing blow. It regained its footing on the next stride and continued toward them.

"That wasn't its eye." She heard Flynt shout, as much as he could shout, exhausted as he was.

Team FNKI's leader had pushed both his Aura and his lung capacity to the limit, covering the team's northwestern withdrawal from Beacon's frontal courtyard. Now he was hunched, huffing and puffing, and had relegated himself to guarding their sniper, Ivori, from flanking or overhead Grimm with the occasional blast of his trumpet.

"I'm entirely aware," Ivori replied, cycling the action of his rifle and resighting the Ursa.

By the time he had fired again, the Grimm was already swiping at Neon.

She had known it, instinctively. They were only first-years, but Team FNKI already had enough practical experience to know each other's rhythms in the heat of combat.

Plus, Atlas' unique emphasis on small unit tactics forced every student to understand how quickly things happened in close combat, how to anticipate, think, and adjust in microseconds, as well as how to avoid forgetting the many constants and variables of the CQC equation, and how to hedge against yourself and others for when someone inevitably did.

Neon leaned back outward, maximizing the distance between herself and the trajectory of Ivori's 11.6 as it crashed into the Ursa's skull plate.

Neon committed further to the bend, not even stopping after the gangly, bladed bludgeon that was the Ursa's arm cleared her.

Only when she felt her hand touch the pitch did Neon tuck her legs in and turn her backbend into a balancing act. She used her tail to maintain equilibrium and let all of her weight push down on her left hand using her right to spin her nunchucks up to speed.

Then she sprang up. In a flash, she came eye-to-eye with the monster, the armor of it's right cheek reduced to a ruin of bony fragments that wept black ooze.

Her arm was already moving, her weapon crashed into the uneven arrangement at the apex of her swing. Its momentum vanished in an instant, depleted across too many uneven surfaces to channel the force.

Some fragments absorb and dissipate the impact, but others are pushed in, causing or widening half a hundred punctures across the right side of the monster's face.

The laws of physics assert themselves and the force of her strike throws Neon beyond the reach of the Ursa's retaliation.

By the time she came down, Kobalt had already came in to finish the Ursa in the manner that he dispatched its smaller cousin.

He awkwardly snuck his top-loader under the armpit of the Ursa's outstretched limb, pulled the trigger, and completely demolished that side of the Ursa's head from below.

The beast's remains began to evaporate as Neon lazily rolled back to Flynt and Ivori, and the fatigue finally set in.

"I'm not... fucking... doing that... again." She declared as she braced herself on her knees.

"Wouldn't get my hopes up." Ivory replied as he topped off his rifle.

"We're too exposed on the pitch, we need some mass and uneven terrain between us and the Grimm before they come again." Flynt surmised as Kobalt jogged up to the group, shaking the pain out of his right wrist as he did.

"What's that building there?" Kobalt asked, pointing over Flynn's left shoulder.

Any distinguishing markings that the rectangular, six story building could have had were collapsed, along with the building's right side. Right now it looked to be a burnt ruin. Like everything else in Beacon.

"That's the admissions and admin office, I think." Ivori started off slowly before snapping his fingers. "Remember, we got here and you thought it was one of the dorms and north was that way?"

"That wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that this place was designed like a funhouse for drunks?" Kobalt replied with a gesture.

Flynt and Neon both laughed, and Ivori smiled.

We'll hide up there, collect ourselves, and move for the skdocks, West-Southwest," Flynt iterated with a smile that was perhaps too wide, "during the next lull in the fighting. If we're lucky, something will still be there and we can make an escape. If not…" Flynt paused as apprehension settled over the whole team. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Move out." He finished, turning about.

They entered the building in standard formation. Kobalt led with his shotgun, identifying all potential lanes of fire before stepping out of line to cover one. Neon followed him, her weapon whirling, and primed with a Plant Dust crystal - she had been low already, and beggars could not be choosers - and in a low stance that would let her charge or dodge an ambuscade at less than a moment's notice. Flynt followed her, ready to give her a boost with his trumpet or to pick a corridor that Kobalt hadn't covered.

With Neon's "clear front," he chose the latter, sweeping right. Ivori hung back for a moment before following Flynt, ready to give a thirty six gram greeting to anything or any one that might pop out ahead of the group, or around their flanks. With Flynt's own report of "clear," Ivori moved in with a last 360 degree sweep before slinging his rifle and unlatching his whip.

"Room I'm facing, stairs right side. They look stable." Kobalt muttered, audible just enough for his own team to hear. "Good, we'll follow you up," Flynt replied. "Neon, Ivori, switch places." They nodded. Neon's Roller skates were a great boon for mobility, over even ground, but in too difficult terrain, or on stairs, they were an encumbrance, and Ivori's whip needed room. The best solution that Flynt had thought of, in their time together so far, was to send him up second and minimize his downtime.

By the time Flynt and Neon had gotten up, Kobalt and Ivori had already systemically checked every entryway into the room that they had entered. A feat in itself, considering this room that they were in was some inlet to the stairwell that could be accessed from six different hallways. "Up the next flight," Flynt commanded. Nobody questioned him. The process repeated, and repeated again when Flynt ordered the team up to the fourth floor.

"This way," Flynt picked a hallway at random and the team proceeded through it in formation. "Hold. Kobalt, room on your left. Everyone else, in after him."

The room was a mess of tipped over filing cabinets that had vomited their contents everywhere. Dossiers, files, grades, records, all and sundry carpeted the floor below team FNKI's feet. There were two desks in the room, set up to make it feel almost like a ticket booth, and made the room ideal for holding against intruders. The room was clear, fortunately, and its windows on the far side offered a view of the CCT tower complex.

Team FNKI collectively slumped to catch their breaths. "Kobalt, if anyone comes through the door..." Flynt did not even bother finishing the order as the fatigue set in. "No prob," Kobalt replied as he collapsed onto his backside, resting his orienting his body so he could both rest his gun across his legs in a safe orientation, and fire it through the door. He was rather exposed given the room's layout. But he could not bring himself to care further.

"When we get back to Atlas, I am seriously getting my gun rebored up half a mil, and seeing what I can do to bump the muzzle velocity." Ivori grumbled as he staggered across the mess.

"Why not just use an AM rifle instead?" Neon whined back at him.

Ivori answered with a single finger, "Different style of shooting, remember the leader of the team that took you guys out in the doubles round? I can't do that. I'd have to act like a long-range Kobalt."

"You're still overreacting," Neon answered back. "That Ursa Major had to be some kind of aberrant, maybe the precursor to a new variety." Her statement wasn't unfounded. 36 grams of metal at 820 meters a second could ruin a smaller Beringal's day. Two failing to shatter an Ursa's mask, even if one was glancing, was just bad luck. One could be understood. It had been a Major. But two? Nigh impossible.

Ivori would have retorted but he slumped and sank into a heap instead.

After a few moments of recuperation that had felt like hours, Neon spoke again. "Anyone got a spare Ice Dust crystal... I'm out."

Flynt pulled one from his pocket and wordlessly tossed it to her. Neon opened the breach at the base of her Nyan-chuku and dropped the crystal in.

"Right. Any other requests?" Flynt asked. "No? Alright, we're moving out." Sore joints whined as the Hunters-aspirant rose. "We'll drop out via the collapsed side of the building and make for the skydocks at full speed." Flynt explained, "Kobalt."

"Yeah?" The team's shotgunner responded.

"If you have any Barricade slugs on you, load them now. Nothing stops us." Flynt said, his voice hardened with a mix of fatigue and grim resolve.

Kobalt propped himself upright and began unloading his shotgun, collecting the shells, and reloading it with high brass hulls painted phosphorescent purple, and stamped with four arrows pointing at a circle. Wry smiles filled the room, seventy six grams of hardened steel with a liquid-state Gravity Dust surprise inside would be enough to send a Paladin packing.

The team exited in standard order, Kobalt's shotgun leading the way. He held the point as they walked through the increasingly unstable hallway. If it could hold him, it could hold any of the other three.

Then came the drop. Four stories was nothing with Aura. It was a straight shot to the arrangement of columns that marked off Beacon's grand entry causeway, but Team FNKI would be completely exposed.

Neon dropped first, she was the best suited for this specific sort of danger, and took off toward the skydock as soon as she hit the ground.

They were almost home free. There was just one last obstacle to overcome.

A Paladin-class walker.

Fortunately, it was facing away from her, and other students, so many that she had recognized from the tournament and from after, were swarming it.

'One final effort, then,' Neon thought, passing a girl on a hoverboard coming the opposite way as she struck the Paladin's ankle joint, encasing its whole lower leg in ice.

She spun backwards and let herself glide along her trajectory, partially to see her team hot on her heels, but mostly to see what the Paladin's guns were doing. Kobalt stopped for a second, and started running again, but in the interval, he fired a slug that crumpled a joint and ruptured the ammo feed. He was far from the only student to attack. The Paladin had received an encore for the whole tournament.

By the time Team FNKI completely rejoined the other students, the Paladin was wrecked.

Now, she could be exhausted.

"We... won..." Someone, Neon didn't see who, said from the battered crowd of exhausted students.

But that individual had spoken too soon. Three more Paladins emerged from the direction that Team FNKI had come from moments ago. And they had infantry support.

"Why? Why? Whyyyy..?" Tears began to well up. They had been so close. She didn't close her eyes. She wanted to see light for the last time, even if it was a line of flashing muzzles.

Strangely, the final hail never came. The White Fang platoon advanced on them slowly, methodically, almost like real soldiers.

"Any Faunus among you who puts their hands up and walks thirty paces into the grass to my left, your right, will be spared." A Paladin pilot announced over his walker's speaker.

Nobody moved.

"Again, we do not wish to kill Faunus. We are interested in justice, and liberation, not murder." The White Fang officer piloting the lead Paladin reiterated.

Neon caught his double-meaning and snarled. Huntsman Law was an upper year course, but she had seen enough crime shows to know the trick. Murder was not killing, murder - specifically - meant unjustifiable, inexcusable killing. Apparently, the White Fang did not think today's events qualified.

Again, nobody moved. Neon mentally prepared to raise her middle finger and tell that deluded cunt exactly what she thought of him. If she was to die, Neon Katt would die giving as good an account of herself as possible. And here, that meant dying defiant, wounds in front.

Three seconds passed. Then five. It made the White Fang's offer almost sound sincere. Neon would have thought more on it. Then a pair of rockets not slammed into the Paladin farthest to her right.

Then it happened, all at once, all in a flash. Two rockets tore out from somewhere, far and off to her left, and slammed into the leftmost Paladin. Neon turned toward the tree line about a hundred meters away as it came alight with muzzle flashes and tracer fire as the White Fang platoon fell like wheat before the scythe.

Perhaps not as totally, some of them miraculously found time to scramble for cover, any cover, either dropping prone or running for the safety of the wreck, or either of the standing war machines.

Then something emerged from the trees. Fast and low, but trackable for a Huntress Aspirant, it climbed across the ground, instead of running.



Snow white hair, glowing blue eyes, and ruined clothes, Neon Katt recognized the face from the recent run of Dust commercials, the SDC's head of both Marketing and Accounting. Whitley Schnee. In his hand was a spade-headed broadsword with a motor and matrix worked into the hilt and guard, telltale signs of an HF weapon.

She eyed him up more and more. As he jumped and corkscrewed through the crossfire, Neon noticed that she and the other Aspirants had been completely forgotten as the White Fang battled the enemy in the trees.

She reacquired the Schnee. He had reached the height of his jump, and was falling like a meteor, his leg already extended as far as it could go. But as he fell his leg began to spin, all the way around, and it began to blur, it behaved more like a drillbit than a limb.

'Cybernetics,' Neon thought. 'He's a cyborg. Unless he's a robot. Like Penny Polendina had been.' No, impossible. Someone would have found out something by now if a Schnee scion was entirely machine. Prosthesis? After an injury, perhaps? The world wasn't short on people who wanted to hurt the Schnees.

He came down on the leader Paladin like an axe, his leg cutting a molten gash that threw up splashes and globules of red-hot metal while he fended the machine's arms off with his sword. Another pair of Rockets struck the third Paladin, and unlike the first, it exploded spectacularly.

The explosion snapped Neon back to reality. She tapped Flynt, next to her, on the shoulder. "CHARGE!" He bellowed, and the aspirants took off as one for the White Fang infantry.

"CONTACTS RI-" a more adroit militant screamed.

He dropped in the next instant, three red trails following him down, as charging Hunters-Aspirant poured fire into their intended targets, but not before his own gun flashed. Neon didn't feel impacts deplete the remains of her Aura, and hoped that everyone else on her side still lived.

The momentum of the charge halted just short of contact when the students realized as one that their salvo had finished the White Fang forces off.

Then, Whitley Schnee bent farther back than a person should be able to as he wrenched a man in an up-armored pilot's suit from the red glowing gouge in the armor of the Paladin's cockpit.

The boy threw the man to the ground, and dropped in after him, landing in a hunch practically on top of the White Fang officer, before growling a lurid threat into his now-captive's ear. She didn't know what, but she, and the other students got a very good look at his cybernetic right leg, free of both clothes and a snythglove.

Then, Neon spotted movement in her peripheral vision. From the tree line came a number of decidedly worse-for-wear Atlesian soldiers whose uniform and kits marked most of them out as Aeromarines.

"Prisoner captured, as ordered, Captain." The boy said, handing a pistol and blade that he must have fished from the White Fang lieutenant. As the Schnee boy and the captain conversed, Neon's brain started picking out details

Not all of the soldiers were Aeromarines. Hangers-on and followers picked up on the way? Remains of shattered units?

Then Neon noticed their weapons. Some looked salvaged. Others, she had never seen before. And she saw more machine guns and rifles with underslung grenade launchers than anything else. It made sense, they must have come up from Vale, and fought every centimeter of the way. Their leader was a captain, who carried an MMG-98, but there was hardly more than half a platoon of men total, and that included the wounded being carried by their uninjured comrades.

The rest could comfortably be called the walking wounded, their bandages and wrappings reinforcing Neon's earlier conclusion. They must have come up from Vale. And Vale was likely in much worse shape than Beacon.

"Cade- Aspirants," The captain corrected himself. "Who is in charge here, who speaks for you?"

"Flynt Coal, leader of Team FNKI, Atlas. No unified chain of command established, we're just the students that have trickled and fought our way up to the docks so far." Flynt answered, giving the officer exactly what he was looking for.

"Disposition?" The captain asked.

"Five-six teams maybe, no casualties." Flynt replied.

"Right," the captain answered, "my men are almost all wounded, but we offer assistance holding the skydock." The captain continued.

Be our guest. We need every hand we can get." Flynt assented.

The now handcuffed White Fang commander was slung over the shoulder of the Schnee boy without ceremony. And Neon nearly exploded laughing, as the grown man vainly and valiantly struggled to wiggle-worm his way to freedom from atop the shoulder of a boy who she probably had seven or eight centimeters on without her skates.

As she held back her laughter, her brain worked all the while. 'His sword mechashifts into a large bore pistol, got it. Where does flesh end and the synthglove start? Where is his processing control implant? Are his eyes cybernetic too, or do they just sparkle like that? Damn, his bangs look cute over his forehead like tha- No, bad Neon…' She thought as she heard the whoosh of hot air and the roar of engines.

A flotilla of air-buses bullheads, mantas, dropships of a sort she hadn't seen before and other ships besides were docking wherever they had room. The back ramp of one craft slid down and a squad of men wielding more of those heavy next-gen bullpup carbines with the underbarrel weapons ran out and established a perimeter.

Behind them came a lieutenant general, by the two repetitions of the pattern on his hochrot collar tabs and pair of stars on his shoulder boards. Neon filed the rest of the details about his appearance away in her brain. His hair was orange and curly, but his beard had already gone gray. He had a crescent-shaped scar that wrapped under his right eye, up his nose, and over his eyebrow. At his waist a massive saw-toothed weapon with an S-shaped grip was hooked onto a customized sword frog along with a sawed-off shotgun, or obrez, of some kind.

His eyes, steel blue, flickered onto the aggregated aspirants and Neon felt herself stand up a little bit straighter.

Then the feeling was gone. So that was what aura, in the CCTnet sense, felt like. She had seen general officers before. Ironwood and a few other members of the staff had spoken at the Academy. But this was the second time one interceded in the field. The first had been Ironwood, a few hours ago, but this man had a thing for presence.

He approached the Aeromarines. "Warrant officer," he acknowledged Whitley, the junior officer, first, "Captain?" The intonation gave away an unfamiliarity that he lacked with Whitley. Whitley knew the general.

'What are the Schnees up to with the army? Or is it the other way around? It would explain the cybernetics.' More for Neon's brain to chew on over the course of the ride home.

"You have a prisoner for me?" The general's accent was Midgardian, comically so, as if he was a mad scientist from an old movie.

The White Fang officer would presumably have retorted when the general shoved him, or simply stuck a hand in his face, "And I see you have wounded. Tell me captain, are the men who cannot walk stable?"

"Yes, general." The captain's reply was short.

"Bring them aboard immediately, I was a medical officer in the Jaegers before I transferred to R&D." He supplied as he turned around, walked two paces, and turned around again. "Also, all Atlesian cadets are ordered to embark on the ships present to return home. They should get us to Flipper City, or at least some place where we can get to Flipper City from. Anyone not part of my remit, but wishing to evacuate is welcome aboard, anyone not wishing to come with us stay here. I know at least two other friendly flotillas are converging on this airspace."

"That's us. Team FNKI, let's move." Flynt directed, and they, as well as the other Atlesian students who were still upright began walking toward the ramshackle flotilla. But the battle had ended on an optimistic note. The sky now was largely clear and friendly forces were converging on Beacon from the air.

Only for Flynt to pause on the last step up the ramp of a dropship. "I am not looking forward to writing the AAR on this."

End

---

Would you guys believe that I had been writing this whole damn thing bit by bit since my last post on this forum? Finding a satisfying way to end things off was a pain in the ass. I went through two different drafts involving a third POV character (Captain Krasnukhin, 477th Aeromarines, Azure company), but his story is one I couldn't tell in the 1400 words that I allowed myself, or in the 1500 words I actually used. But, I have been convinced to write the story of Krasnukhin and friends as an interlude sooner or later, when I get around to it.

As always, writing feedback and criticisms are accepted, I want to improve. Especially with endings, I have a few ideas where my weaknesses lie.

 

[zMADLAXz]

Good morning everyone!


Ruby is a "6 7 zoomer",


Elucidate the consequences(150-200 words) [5 marks]

 

[Gur40]

SNIP

Click to shrink...

While the DC Crossover means they probably are on a scaling Timeline compared to our world i kinda get were your coming from
Counter Point since July 18, 2013 was the first trailer and Ruby was 15 meaning she more Gen Z! Also since the mange Ruby mentioned liked to watch dog videos and tinker with Crescent Rose and being anti social as stated by canon and the comic and V-tuber claimed Demi sexual so Ruby Rose is a Socially Awkward Gun Girl that bonds with people that share her interests!

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Stolen From Tumblr Wu_gang
Jaune: Why the fuck did you install red LEDs in Penny?! Did you know she'd get hacked and turn evil?! What the fuck?!

Pietro: I gave her every fucking color you bastard! She chose green!

Jaune: …

Pietro: Yeah. Stew on that.

and

Jaune: Vacuo is more democratic than Atlas because in Vacuo poor people can bribe the government whereas in Atlas only rich people get to do this.

Blake + Weiss: ???!!!

Blake: Weiss?! Make your toolbox boyfriend shut the fuck up!

Weiss: How?! How does one fix a brain this broken?!

Blake: I don't care about fixing him! I'm tired of listening to him talk!

Jaune: I'm literally right tho. Aren't I?

Yang: Yes. But you can see why being around you would drive them fucking nuts, right?

Jaune: Why else would I do it?

finally

Jaune: Are you autistic or are you sensitive and passionate?

Ruby: … Don't say… that… To me.


--
CRWBY writing romance

Yang: What color are my eyes?

Blake: D cups.

Yang: ??? Why is this working on me?

vs us
Ruby: Wait… you must have looked that up… You're actually interested in my hobbies?! You researched stuff by yourself just so you could talk to me?!

Jaune: *smiling at her softly in a way that finally reaches his eyes* Yeah. I am and I did. I think you have interesting hobbies and I adore you.

Ruby: *panting from arousal* …

 

[Suneagle]

the next incident was when ren and pyrrha decide to build an old helper for them.the two liked the
Ren and Pyrrha worked in silence.

Click to shrink...

Something seems to be missing here.

 

[Sliverhero]

Something seems to be missing here.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for that, I didn't notice. it was where I cut stuff from it

 

[Gur40]

Pyrrha at Jaune weddings to Arslan Winter Glynda Emarald and Cinder

Spoiler: twitch

though i see her seeing Jaune in Glynda Timeline forever changed with it being his 'destiny' atleast getting some personal closure her other selves probably lacked with how passive she is

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Rwby failed at 1 key thing

Spoiler: YOUR IN A SCHOOL

make them omakes or after credits or even plat images of the character models used for promotion material going up and down like puppets!

Spoiler: example

Pyrrha Ren and Nora giving Jaune 'basic' info everyone knows while they team study as after credits using stills of the team would have been a way to explain ANYTHING ! like Sonic Twitter take overs or something!

 

[zMADLAXz]

snip

Click to shrink...

Wait, what's the difference between Gen Z and zoomer?

And where do people before 2005 lie on?