RWBYFanon v5

RPG Social => RPG Discussion => Topic started by: Dr. Gustave on July 08, 2018, 12:02:07 PM

Title: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 08, 2018, 12:02:07 PM
The prompt this week is "My legs felt numb." You can write in first person, third person, or whatever you want and you can change around the tense of the sentence but some form of this sentence has to be somewhere within the story.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you can only use your own characters for PoV, however, you can have NPCs or other characters of yours in the story as well though you need permission to use others' characters. What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There won't be any winners for the first three weeks as we try out different kinds of prompts.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

"My legs felt numb."
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Glow on July 08, 2018, 07:32:15 PM
Canon: Lynn Aubin

Little ripples spread out across the pool, the small splashing of water being the only noise in the otherwise empty room. Lynn’s legs felt numb, though at this point, that was more the norm than anything else – mechanical implants and a freezing semblance lead to anyone getting fairly cold a lot of the time, aura be damned. But the sensation did feel a little different than usual; created more of longing, of ever so slight fright – and more realistically, the result of her dipping her legs into an unheated swimming pool during winter.

Hey, she was a big girl, she could do what she wanted.

The wolf faunus gave a quiet sigh, the air forming a faint ghostly mist as it left her mouth. Much as she’d like to just leap in like she used to, she weighed about three times as much with her module. She enjoyed swimming, not so much sinking. Diving was never her strong spot.

Though, to be fair, having the ability to freeze the world around you made it a bit difficult already; after the third time she’d nearly caught herself in a crystal tomb when her semblance first quite literally flared up, she laid off the hobby for a while. The woman already had a packed schedule, and she could do without having to be fished out of water like a treasure chest. She considered herself a good catch, but that was a bit too literal for her liking.

Of course, the thought got her to take a glance down into the reflection of the pool. Seeing herself in atypically light clothing was a strange experience – 'light' still being a fairly modest swimsuit, her third-favourite scarf, and an unbuttoned jacket. Honestly, not the worst idea considering the temperature, but it did look a tad odd. Well, at least it matched her theme.

No, instead of hopping in, she sat on the rim of the corporate-provided swimming pool, her expression hard to read under the metallic visor as her legs made little circles in the water. One great upside about losing part of your head and getting it replaced? A legendary poker face. Thinking about it, if she ever got some time, she should definitely get some cash on the side that way. Wasn’t like she could do any of the modelling stuff some other hunters did for extra income, despite still keeping up her form. Giant claws on your back didn’t tend to fit the latest trends, but that was neither here nor there. Would give her a hobby that didn’t involve becoming a popsicle, too. Then again, that was part of the reason she did this. Reminded her of home - shit, frozen-over place as it was.

Grumbling to herself in frustration at the memories springing up, she leaned backwards, her arms propping her up as she let her mind go blank to just enjoy getting her feet wet for the first time in what felt like forever. It was more like a week, but the local Shard Inc director gave them all a little bit of leeway; they all had their own hobbies stuck down here at this point in the test program. Robin liked gaming until 3am, Hazel made to-scale drawings, Ivy enjoyed loading as many explosives as she could onto her module before using them all at once to see what happened – you know, the usual.

Honestly, a few magazines of, uh, various PG-ratings and the opportunity to occasionally dip her feet into cold water was comparatively inexpensive to how much some of them spent staying sane. Well, relatively sane, considering their occupation. She, at least, had the excuse of being a former huntress; not many were quite all there in the head once you got past a certain point. That being when you signed up to fight creatures literally from people’s nightmares.

So right at the start.

The sharp static of one of the speakers blaring to life brought Lynn out of her internal rambling, blinking before looking up at the source of the noise. Hearing she was needed, the woman let out another quiet grumble. She brought her legs out of the now frosted water, getting to her feet just that little bit unsteadily. She took one last glance back at the undisturbed surface of the pool – pausing for just a second longer than necessary - before moving away and towards the changing room.

'Progress never stops', after all, or whatever inspirational quote the director was parroting this week.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 09, 2018, 11:08:09 AM
What-If: The Smell of Kerosene and Lilac

I lifted my nose to the air and inhaled deeply, the twin scents still lingered on the faint breeze as it made its way lazily through the forest. My nose was better than most, even within my family and they had noses much older than mine. The source of the scents was still out of reach, frustratingly, I’d been chasing the scents for what felt like days now. The scents had a strange pattern, they were strongest during the day and almost entirely disappeared at night, I didn’t understand how or why but I assumed I’d find once I found the source. There were other scents mixed in with the pair, of course, there always were.

The kerosene was surrounded by pleasant smells, a faint metallic aroma, an old cave that hasn’t been touched in ages, the smell of freshly fallen rain, they all swirled around the kerosene, adding to it and making it more than just what they were individually. I could almost describe it as divine, it was the kind of thing you searched for your whole life and when you finally find it you can’t ever let it go.

The lilac, on the other hand, was surrounded by pleasant smells but only muddied them. The faintest hint of sweat mixed with dried tears. By themselves they would be amazing, not as good as the kerosene of course, but still amazing. The strength of the lilac that covered them, though?

Disgusting.

It was like trying to cover rotted flesh with berries, it only made everything worse, less appetizing. I really hoped it wouldn’t be a problem for long though, the scent was strong today, if I kept pace I might finally be able to catch up with it.

I lowered my nose and began making my way through the trees and bushes of the lush forest, making sure to keep my body low to the ground as I began to move faster and faster. This was always my favorite part, the moving. Feeling like I can go as fast as I want without having to worry about anything else in the world. It wasn’t a chase, not yet anyway, and it wasn’t an escape, it was just free. Just me, the plants, the animals and the scents.

I followed through and around trees, into bushes and over a small stream, up to the tree tops then down again, it was getting stronger and stronger, more and more pronounced. I finally ended up at a small encampment, two tents, one small and one large, sat under the shade of a tree.

I slowly made my way to the smaller tent’s entrance, the smell of kerosene was almost overpowering. I slowly reached out toward the tent but as soon as my claw brushed the fabric, a fist cloaked in a blue mist shot out and slammed against my arm, causing it to go limp. As it fell uselessly to my side I raked against the tent with my other arms, ripping open the entrance and being met with another fist coated in the mist.
I jumped back and away with my only working legs as the woman, a human, stepped out of the tent. The smell of kerosene was even stronger than before, the smell of rain had even been replaced by the scent of heavy sweat. It was delicious, the very thought of the scent made me rear up on my hind legs and let out a deep yell. The smell of sweat from the larger tent grew stronger but I could wait for that, right now I was completely focused on the kerosene.

The woman yelled something I couldn’t understand to whoever was in the larger tent and I took the moment to leap forward, mouth wide open with sharp, pointed teeth and bit down on the woman’s shoulder. She screamed and the scent of kerosene and sweat grew.

A punch to the side of my head causing my jaw to hang limp, another to my gut as I fell, two more to my hind legs as I lay on the ground. My arms, my legs, my face, my whole body felt numb.

I couldn’t feel or move anything, I couldn’t do anything, but I needed to I struggled and squirmed with what little parts I could still move and quickly I was able to lay my head on its side.

I looked up through my bright red eyes just in time to see the metallic weapon plunge down into me, breaking through me.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Kingnoname1 on July 13, 2018, 07:46:51 AM
Canon: Birthday Presents. Calen Shrike (Recommendations are for losers)

Fwoosh.

Swash. Grunt. Clink.

Thump. Klump.

Clang…...Slap


For the fourth time in as many minutes Calen was face down, sprawled out in the rain and mud with one of his elder sisters standing over him. And for the fourth time Calen got up. Slower this time, his head was spinning and mud soaked his clothes but still he pressed onward. In the morning his father would be furious with him, for making such a mess of his clothes, but for tonight he watched passively with the rest of the Shrike clan. Tonight was special, Calen’s fourteenth birthday and he like the previous two years asked only for one thing. A chance.

Slap. Thump. Clang.

Fwoosh. Thud. Clank.

Thump……..Crump.


Five times. Even slower to his feet this time, Calen’s aura flickered as it faded but that didn’t slow his opponent. His sister, Halath, would only accept two outcomes and moved like lightning flashing bright amongst the pouring rain. A harshness and an elegance which put Calen to shame when fresh and now he could only try to defend against the coming onslaught. The Shrike’s continued to watch silently as their youngest attempted more and more desperate techniques to turn try to gain some sort of advantage. Blood starting to pour from Calen’s growing collection of wounds, adding a small bit of colour to the mostly mud brown boy, sapped more of his strength leading to even more desperate techniques and even more mistakes.

Klang. Clank. Swoosh. Thump.

Wheeze. Thud.


Six times. The Shrike family fetishised strength and skill far beyond more traditional hunters. To them all life could ever be was a constant search for a superior opponent, human or Grimm, someone who their attacks would bounce off like waves breaking against the cliff face. And it seemed the young Calen had again found his cliff face, barely getting to his feet before Halath was on him again. To call it another round would be generous, two strikes and a scream and Calen was again in the mud. The pain was muted by exhaustion and Calen couldn’t even feel is legs as his life blood spilt out onto the mud. ’Yield.’ Calen only barely managed to whisper out before consciousness left his collapsed body.

It took four days for Calen to regain consciousness and he found himself in the house alone, everyone else had left on their own missions or errands. Rising slow Calen tested out his movements, more stiff than anything else which meant his father must have used the ‘good stuff’ on him. That would be the closest thing to a compliment Calen would get after his failed challenge, failing to prove himself equal to his family and worth of joining them fully in the hunt. It hurt more than his scars, the sense of failure, but Calen knew he couldn’t mope around when there was chores to do and training to continue. ’Next year.’ Calen promised to himself.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Moth on July 13, 2018, 04:08:48 PM
Canon: Improvisational Pillows - Prism Skylark

Feathers falling through the air, swooping to catch that weird gun, mouthing run and then windnothingbutwind-

There’s a sudden breathless gasp as Prism jerks back to consciousness, startling herself awake. The room around her isn’t quiet - there’s papers rustling, utensils rattling, and a cool breeze blessing her face despite- despite-

Prism blinks another couple times, taking deep breaths as she mentally tries to repress the urge to flee. She’s somewhere, but she doesn’t know where, it’s dark so it’s night and there’s no lights on where she is but there’s light reflecting, so she’s near civilization- One step at a time Prism. One step at a time. Backtrack. Think about the last things you remembered. She’d just finished a mission with the rest of Casanova, but it’d been late at night and they’d only just managed to get back into town. The school would’ve been another long ride or two via Bullhead, but Prism could barely manage to keep Coconut conscious, and based on the way Jocelyn was yawning she would’ve followed soon. Thankfully Amane’s apartment was significantly closer, so after some quick discussion that ended in a unilateral decision, the team decided it would just be easier to crash there for the night.

Right, Amane’s apartment. Somewhere familiar, and safe. The breeze at least dies down, but here breathing is still coming in quiet gasps. Keep remembering things one step at time. Step-by-step until you reached the present. Use it to force the other thoughts- memories- thoughts out of your head.

Prism had barely gotten everybody up the elevator to Amane’s apartment. Coconut immediately crashed onto the couch, Jocelyn had settled on the far side. Amane had muttered something about having a drink after a day like that, and she’d disappeared towards the kitchen - Prism had closely followed, raiding Amane’s kitchen for something that looked like food. She’d stuffed her mouth full of crackers, followed Amane back to the couch, and had collapsed in between Jocelyn and the unconscious Coconut. Amane had put on the television as some sort of background noise while you all just decompressed, some black-and-white soap drama, so she’d kicked off her heels and snuggled into the sofa to just relax, taking a breath and leaning back against the comfortable cushions, only just closing her eyes for a little bit-

She must have fallen asleep.

Prism blinks again, and her breathless gasps finally calm to heavy, but steady breathing. She tries to test her limbs from where she’s fallen asleep on the couch, sitting up from the feel of things - there’s a weight on her shoulder and something’s gripping her left arm, and her left wing is pinned to the couch cushion by something heavy. Her legs are numb as well - something heavier than the thing on her shoulder is laying across them. Her right arm is free though.

Prism gropes through the darkness in the last direction she remembers her scroll being. Deft fingers navigate the blind landscape until the faithful device is plucked from the depth between two couch cushions, and Prism squints as she whacks the stupid thing against her leg to get it to turn on, filling the darkness with clean white lights. 3:17 am, apparently.

The first thing she sees is the shock of blond hair and crooked glasses that’s sprawled across her lap. Prism blinks a few more times in shock, and tries to raise one leg slightly - the teammate in her lap murmurs slightly in protest and winds his arm around her waist a little tighter, snuggling into the makeshift pillow of her thighs. Prism raises the scroll to look at her left shoulder, where another teammate has decided her arm is the appropriate thing to cuddle while her head rests on Prism’s shoulder. Long blonde hair half-covers her face and is tickling her collarbone, but the sight gets a half-smile out of the exhausted hummingbird faunus - and as she casts her gaze to the last place she remembered her third teammate, it seems even their lightest sleeper was tired enough to pass out on the couch. The scotch glass dangles a couple of inches off the floor where her arm is draped over the edge of the couch, her head resting against Jocelyn’s leg as she breathes evenly.

Somehow while he slept, Coconut had managed to maneuver himself into Prism’s lap. One of his arms had wrapped itself around her waist, while the other cushioned his head - he’d curled into the fetal position, his head facing her stomach. Jocelyn seemed to have fallen asleep shortly after she herself did, and had tilted sideways - commandeering Prism’s shoulder as a pillow and her arm as a teddy bear. Even Amane hadn’t been able to make it to her bed, probably with thanks to the alcohol she drank earlier - Jocelyn wasn’t the only one who’s lap was commandeered as a pillow.

The entire sight brings a sappy smile to the hummingbird faunus’ face. Placing her scroll face-up just a little past Coconut, her free hand goes to gently tug the glasses from his face, before folding them up against his shoulder and setting them in a safe spot atop the couch cushion. She can’t really do anything about the scotch glass from her angle, so she’ll have to leave it until morning, or until it hit the floor - whatever came first. Thankfully Amane had at least emptied it, so nobody would be cleaning up spilled alcohol first thing in the morning.

Prism takes one final breath, and lets it out in a sigh of relief. The panic of the nightmare has passed, her winds have died down. Nobody would be waking up to her screams tonight, or the sound of shattering glass as she blew out the window, like that one time. She lets her head flop back against the cushions again, staring at the ceiling. Numb limbs be damned, she couldn’t wake up her teammates seeing them like this. Looks like she’d just need to deal with it.

Prism closes her eyes again, her breathing even. Not the worse problem to face.

Spoiler: ShowHide
The rest of Team Casanova was used with their creator's permission. Coconut Cream belongs to Walter, Amane Petrichor belongs to Inexhaustive, and Jocelyn Antiqua belongs to Monstermanic.

Title: Week 2
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 16, 2018, 04:57:55 PM
The prompt this week is a first line prompt, you can change around the tense or perspective or whatever but some form of the line has to appear as the opening line.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you can only use your own characters for PoV, however, you can have NPCs or other characters of yours in the story as well though you need permission to use others' characters. What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There won't be any winners for the first three weeks as we try out different kinds of prompts.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

"The sound of the alarm was the first thing I heard in the morning, it was the first thing I heard every morning."
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 17, 2018, 07:22:06 PM
Canon: Chitin

The sound of the alarm clock was the first thing Malina heard in the morning, it was the first thing she heard every morning. Its unending low-pitch beeping that could rip her from the comfort of sleep like a gunshot was sudden, loud, and pointedly not enjoyable to listen to. She hated the sound, hated waking up in the morning and especially hated getting out of bed. She imagined most people did, that she wasn't anything special, who would want to leave the comfort of a heavy comforter and fluffy pillows after all?

That was probably why it worked though, she thought as she reached out, slapped the night stand once before finding the offending alarm clock and tapping the snooze button, resetting the alarm to go off in another five minutes. Then, what felt like five seconds later, the electronic beeping resumed. It only took her one slap to hit the off button this time followed by a loud, drawn out groan as she picked herself up off her stomach and sat up onto her knees.

The low light of the room still managed to make her flinch as she opened her eyes but after a few tough attempts to rub the sleep from them, she opened her eyes and looked around the room, trying to do anything that might delay moving from the bed. It wasn't a well kept living space, that much was certain.

On her nightstand, next to the old fashioned digital alarm clock, was a small paper plate with the remnants of a turkey and cheese sandwich that Malina had picked at as her midnight snack two nights ago, leaning against a tall but thin locker on the far end of the room, next to the door, was her staff and beneath it, curled in a heap, was Manticore. A few papers were strewn on the floor next to a nice looking wooden desk on the left wall while on the right, the door to the bathroom beckoned with its promise of warm water and a fresh face.

With one last rub of her eyes, Malina slid over and hopped down off of the bed, her bare feet meeting the cold wooden floor with a bit of hesitancy before firmly planting themselves and allowing Malina to stand up, stretching her arms up above her head as she sleepily walked through the threshold into the bathroom. She lifted off the oversized and baggy “I <3 Vacuo” shirt with two palm trees forming the heart and tossed it into a small hamper next to the sink as her reflection caught her eye.

She took a step toward the sink and leaned in toward the mirror as she pulled down the skin under her eyes, trying to get them under the right light. She sighed and quietly resigned herself to the dark circles under her eyes that felt like they were becoming more apparent every week as she slipped out of the comfortable pajama pants and tossed them into the hamper as well.

A small frown crossed her face as she looked at the shower. It wasn't bad by any means but it wasn't nice either. It was almost as if someone had taken a shower from a locker room and replaced the curtain with a foggy glass door that didn't even reach all the way down, letting water splash out onto the bathroom floor almost every time she used it.

As was routine, she moved to pick up two towels off of the rack near the entrance to the bathroom and set one on a hook just to the side of the shower door and laid the other out flat on the floor in front of it before stepping in and turning the knob almost all the way to the left.

Malina shuddered from the initial blast of cold water but quickly found comfort in a rapidly increasing warm stream, perks of the job at least. She splashed the water on her face and let it run through her shoulder length hair, pushing it back against her scalp and down her body. Not wasting any time, she began to rub shampoo through her hair, followed by conditioner after she'd washed it out, and rounding it out by washing the rest of her body and face with soap. As she finished cleaning herself she hung her head beneath the steady stream of water to let the suds flow off of her and down the drain, allowing the streams if water to take the suds from her body instead if standing directly under it. She stayed there for a moment, hands pressed against the wall supporting her and watching the water flow down into the black hollow of the drain.

Malina took a deep breath in and a long exhale as she closed her eyes and focused on the water hitting her body, paying attention to a single stream of water out of dozens as it made its way from her shoulder, down her back, onto her side, along her hip, down her thigh and the rest of her leg, off of her ankle and finally to the side of the arch of her foot where it joined the rest of the water and washed away. She did this again and again, focusing on the water first and her own body as simply an object that the water was traveling across. Several moments passed before she very slowly pushed out with her aura.

Though her eyes were closed, she knew what the sight looked like. A faint raspberry glow emanated from her and mere centimeters from her skin, the water droplets splashed against some invisible barrier, rolling down the contours of Malina's body but offset from it just slightly. Despite the water no longer touching her, she could still feel the water, feel the heat in each drop and the sensation of watching a single stream make its way from shoulder to foot, all through her aura. She pushed further with her aura, sending it inches off of her body, a foot, a foot and a quarter. It wasn't so different from her semblance, just slower and more controlled.

She pushed further, spreading her aura thinner and thinner until the boundaries of her aura pressed against the edges of the shower, causing the water to spill down the walls and out onto the floor in front of the door, soaking the towel. She felt the coldness of the tiled walls, the moisture that had been built up then was dispersed by her aura. It felt, in a weird, roundabout way, like a hug. All the walls pressing against her but not in a claustrophobic sense, in a comfortable, but cold, sense.

As she maintained the aura pressing against the walls around her, she could feel two distinct shifts inside her. First, the loss of a part of her, part of her personality.

Comfort.

She mentally groaned. It wasn't the most common loss or the worse whenever she went through the process, but it still felt like a punch to the gut to know she was giving it up for eight hours. It wasn't just the loss of feeling comfort, if it was as simple as that she might be able to deal with it better. It was the loss of being able to comfort others, feeling safe under blankets, being able to comprehend comforting others or others comforting her. To her, for the next eight hours, the entire idea of comfort was going to be an alien idea.

As she felt it slipping away, bit by bit, she could feel the second shift, more pronounced now. With the idea of comfort removed from her, aura was almost immediately sent outward at a slow and steady pace to replace it and join the rest in pressing against the walls. Malina didn't feel that it was like the rest of her aura though, it felt like a mockery, artificial. It rose to the front lines of the aura, pushing the natural aura back to be saved from any harm by the artificial. It was a strange feeling to undergo the process, it was almost like covering a warm sweater with a thin, plastic raincoat. It was comfortable but it was undercut by knowing the comfort was only a barrier.

Malina's focus slipped for barely a fraction of a second and she relapsed back into thinking of comfort.

Malina sat on one of the many metallic benches that littered Beacon’s campus. She had to sit with her back toward the arm of the bench to allow her tail to slip through the gap between arm and bench so it was far from the most comfortable position but it was still leagues above sitting on the ground or standing up. She had her eyes closed and rested her head on the lip of the backrest as Carmine and Aurelia sat to her right, chatting about some class or another while Candida stood behind them, her arms folded against the lip of the bench next to Malina's head.

Usually, Malina would be hounding them to focus on studying for the upcoming third year exam but they had all just returned from a mission the day before and, despite successfully completing it, it had taken a lot out of all of them. They could all use some time to relax.

Malina let out a content sigh as she opened her eyes and looked at her teammates as they chatted away. Maybe the bench didn't feel very nice but everything else about the moment did. Here, with her looking toward her friends, as a far off sunset framed the sky behind them a bright pinkish purple, she felt…

That fraction of a second of thought was enough to break her from her trance and she felt her aura snap back to her, clinging to her body as tightly as a diving suit before fading away.

As the water droplets hit Malina's now dry body, once again sending a small shock through her, she swore under her breath and slammed a fist against the tiled wall. It was always like this, she got closer and closer every day, every week, and every time one stray thought would make it all come crashing down.

She pushed out with her aura once more, only reaching a couple centimeters off of her skin but now much more dense. She paused for a moment, focusing on the aura. If she was being generous, it was probably about a quarter-or-so thicker, meaning a quarter-or-so drop in her ability to understand… that nice feeling… Maybe she was underestimating herself.

She pursed her lips and tried not to utter a string of swears. It wasn't as good as the day prior, she didn't think, but it was as good as two days ago and better than a month ago. It was progress, sure, but it felt like she spent every morning pounding against a brick wall with her bare fists and only coming away with broken, bloodied knuckles and a single chip of brick.

She tilted her head back and let the water run down her face, trying and failing to visualize the stream washing away her stress before shutting off the shower and shaking the water from her hair.

Malina shuddered as she stepped out of the shower onto the now damp towel and comparatively chilly air of the bathroom, quickly wrapping the towel she had placed on the hook around her body, the normally soft fabric now feeling as though it was grating against her skin. She took a moment to find a dry spot on the towel on the floor and dry her feet before walking to the sink and grabbing the blow dryer. She blinked quickly as the hot air kicked on and started to blow through her wet hair, sending a couple drops running down her forehead and into her eyes. Her mouth bent into a frown as the condensation was gradually fading from the mirror in front of her, revealing the continued existence of the dark circles under her eyes. She had hoped the shower would freshen her face up enough to get rid of them but apparently that wasn't the case.

With a sigh, Malina finished drying her hair and set down the blow dryer, replacing it with a dull red toothbrush with a swirling blue and white spritz of toothpaste. She never really liked brushing her teeth, the feeling of the bristles constantly moving back and forth against her teeth and gums always made her squirm just a little bit. She did it anyway, though, it was important not to miss a day. You miss one day and the next day it's harder to pick back up.

As she began to brush her teeth, she thought forward to the coming day with a dejected sigh. It was the last day under Titania as the combat class assistant. Starting today until the end of the spring semester she'd be studying under Dr. Sophos as the aura class’ teacher assistant.

Truth be told, this is what Malina really wanted when she became a TA. To study under Dust and Aura professors and learn more about the craft and, hopefully, be able to keep studying under the acclaimed Professor Neelabadri at Shade had been her goal since being more or less coerced into becoming a huntress. This was her element, after all. As accomplished as she was in combat, study was where she felt most at home, most herself.

She supposed it made sense, as she spit out her toothpaste into the sink and replaced it was a cup of water, being a scholar was always what she wanted to be, it's why she's at Beacon now and not off hunting Grimm. It wasn't really in the cards for her though, she'd already been set on the path of a huntress for seven years, the most she could do now was transition to a studying position and do her best to keep out of strictly combat classes.

She spit the water from her mouth and looked up into the mirror, meeting her own eyes briefly before looking away and moving back into the main room of the renovated dorm to get dressed. She was still a huntress, underneath it all. That would never be stripped or taken from her, even if she ever wanted it to be. At the end of the day, even if what she wanted was to learn, she still had to protect the world from Grimm. It was a blessing, then, that she could convince herself that teaching the hunters of tomorrow could count for that.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: NotSurprised on July 17, 2018, 07:37:01 PM
Canon: Do What You Have To Do - Hunter d’Azur

The sound of the alarm was the first thing he heard this morning.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

He groaned as he lifted his head from his pillow. Glancing at the entrance of his apartment, he began to fumble for the weapon that rests at his bedside. Firmly grasping the handle, the sleep-addled mind cleared as one thought surfaced.

Ah. The alarm is going off again.

As if he was a predator rising from its resting place, Hunter calmly got up and stalked towards the entrance to his apartment. His hand on the door handle with his weapon ready on the other, and he quickly swung the door open ready to attack the intruders. However, there were no intruders to be found. With a sigh, Hunter propped his weapon next to the doorway and quickly left the safety of his home so that he can investigate. Upon turning around, Hunter could only groan about more work due to the vandalization of his doorway.

Animal. Faunus scum. A long time ago, it would've gotten his blood boiling. Nowadays, Hunter doesn't even acknowledge the insults anymore since it could’ve been someone waiting to attack him instead of cheap talk. Hunter went back inside to grab his painting supplies so that he can paint over the door once again. He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself, so he made it quick. Once the door's paint job was finished, Hunter would go through his usual routine again. He would start brushing his teeth first while he approximates the amount of food left behind in his worn-down fridge. Noticing the lack of food, he notes that he’ll have to be out for longer than usual to go grocery shopping. Hunter finished brushing his teeth and started taking out temporary hair dyes for the day. Dyeing his hair red for today, Hunter would also apply makeup while the dye dries so that he conceals the small, black, and prominent ring around his eyes. Usually, he can pass it off as baggy eyes, but it’s better to be safe than sorry for today. Putting on a medical mask, Hunter quickly put on a pair of jeans and a hoodie. Grabbing his weapon and concealing it the best he can, Hunter left for the day.

Fortunately for Hunter, he avoided most of the humans that would recognize him regardless of the actions he took to disguise himself. As for everyone else, Hunter would get away with strange or even dirty looks, but that was okay for him. They won’t find him next time. Like every other day, Hunter went through his routine. For him, it would be earning money from odd jobs, buying instant noodles from the nearest convenience store, and immediately returning home. It’s a little disheartening Hunter couldn’t spare time for other outdoor activities, because after all...

His home wasn’t the best, but then again, when has it always been better than something like this? His home had always been small and empty, with signs of wear spread throughout the apartment. Even then, something about his apartment being so barren makes his heart sink every time he comes back. With a tired sigh, Hunter moved to place the instant noodles in his “kitchen” - and calling it a kitchen would be generous. Making sure that he had the water boiling, Hunter went back into his bathroom to wash out the hair dye. While he does so, Hunter couldn’t help but think as the water ran through his hair.

Why am I still here?

Hearing the familiar sound of boiling water that is ready to be poured into an instant cup of noodles, Hunter shakes his head to clear his mind as he returns the kitchen. Getting a cup of noodles open and applying the seasoning, Hunter pours the boiling water into the cup. Once that’s done, Hunter sits down on the floor as he stares at a clock and waits. And then he would wait even longer. Once three minutes passed, Hunter quickly jumped up and got eating utensils for his meal of the day. Like every other day, the room would be silent except for the sounds of messy eating. Most of the time, this would begin Hunter’s end routine for the night, where he’d clean up after himself, brush his teeth, wash the makeup off, and getting into bed with his weapon near.

Tiredly staring at the ceiling, Hunter could only wait for sleep to claim him, but today, he can’t help but think. Think of a more innocent but brighter past. Think of a girl that brightened his world when he didn’t understand why it was dark in the first place. Most of all, he can’t help but think of a promise. A promise that maybe someday, they’ll find each other again and be something more. He had to admit, that was quite a silly and far-fetched thought. They were children then. They couldn't predict the type of people they would become.

But maybe…

And like that, Hunter fell asleep, his weapon on standby.



Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

His grip tightened on his weapon.

The sound of the alarm was the first thing he heard that morning, it’s the first thing he hears every morning.

Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Kingnoname1 on July 18, 2018, 08:10:41 AM
Canonish: Basic Training. Saffron de Cortez (Maybe one day I can write one of these without using combat as a plot point.)

The sound of the alarm was the first thing I heard in the morning, it was the first thing I heard every morning since joining Atlas Academy. 'Basic training' they called it, I couldn't help but cringe at the thought, If this is what they call basic I can't imagine what the academy proper will be like.' It hurt to move but punishments for being late to mess would hurt more and they would be applied to our entire room some, to put it lightly weren't thrilled to be bunking with a Faunus in the first place. Appeasing racists and minimising pain weren't originally my reasons for joining the Academy and it was soul-crushing how quickly they had risen up the list.

Mornings started with breakfast and a briefing of the days activities, a good mixture of complex carbohydrates, proteins, healthy fat, and fruit keep the would-be-students on their feet until lunch, I ate slowly having learnt early on the dangers of going into combat exercises with an overfull stomach and that gave me plenty of time to talk to my newly made friends. Quite a few Faunus had originally joined this three-month program but with all the dropouts only a handful remained. 'More empty seats.' I remarked as I walked over trying my hardest to inject some degree of positivity in the words. It seemed to work, earning a few weak grins as one of the only pleasures we had left was surpassing our human fellows. Particularly those who didn't think we belonged. the thought pervaded my mind unbidden, the previous weeks had made me bitter and I could only hope it was temporary, it wouldn't do to become a specialist and lose myself in the process.

'Including that jack off from dorm three, handsy motherf---' Iolanthe, a wolf Faunus, began with a little too much glee before I interrupted her with a stern glance. There was an understanding of the racial split, why it occurs, and what was probably said behind closed doors but carrying on in public wasn't a good idea considering how outnumbered we were. Huffing the younger girl tried to explain herself while at least lowering her voice to lessen the chance of discovery. 'Well it's true. And it's not like any of the instructors will miss him either, he was the only one slower than Gradon.' Gradon, a dove Faunus sitting at the end of the table, didn't like the comparison regardless of how correct it was considering he couldn't reply with his mouth too full of food. 'Fast enough to slip through your guard Iol, now if that was an Ursa you wouldn't be so mean hearted.' I responded food, coffee, and company had managed to lift my spirits back to banter level. Iolanthe could only stick out her tongue in response getting a louder than it earned burst of laughter. 'If you are still standing after today I could help you cover that, I can promise I... have a more considerate touch.' I kept going keeping our little island of laughter alive regardless of how obnoxious it became but Iolanthe nodded much to the dismay of both of us knowing how exhausted we would be by the end of the day.

The main doors slammed open with an echoing bang silencing all talk in the hall as the head instructors entered and starting giving the outline for today. More of the same really, two hours of brawling, three hours of running followed for a break for lunch then finishing with two hours of theory, aura training, and weights. Hardly the hardest day in the five weeks I have been here already, shuddering at the memory of a twelve-hour super session purely focused on cardio. Small injuries mounted up quickly though, an 'overly passionate' sparring partner left my arm throbbing after she had already yielded and I sprained my ankle on the first turn of the running course. Stopping would have meant my fellows would have to carry me and I would rather hop along on one leg than face that embarrassment. The theory provided some degree of rest but I could hardly afford to slack off as lessons where frequently rolled into the following day's physical activities. And then came the draining aura and weight training, never too exhausted to complete the activities I sadistically enjoyed these last sessions when everyone else was giving up or at least not giving 100% gave me more time to shine. Not that I shined particularly bright at the best of time but I was getting noticed, sometimes even in a positive manner.

I met up with Iolanthe in the hour after dinner but before curfew, free time and we were using it to beat each other up, I'd laugh if it didn't hurt. Starting with a few basic grapples to loosen ourselves up we moved into open brawling. Iolanthe was quicker but dealt with the exhaustion worse leaving me with a pretty big advantage but the wiry wolf Faunus had caused more than a few upsets since basic training started. As we continued Iolanthe started better able to predict my moves, not exposing herself instead of exploiting weaknesses in my own form as I tried to establish grabs. It will always be a humbling experience being knocked down by someone you have half a foot on but in the end, stamina won out. We called it there, I had snuck some snacks from dinner down here to make sure we would go to sleep with something in our bellies. After a few failed attempts of conversation I resigned to let the half-meal pass in silence, we could talk once we rested.

Content to give the wolf Faunus the lion share of the spoils I got up to leave, I could almost hear my bed calling me through the exhaustion haze which had well and truly set in. 'So why are you here?' Iolanthe asked spread out like a starfish. The question threw me, I had an answer or at least I thought I did but it was far more personal than our usual fare. I...I believe in Atlas; it's the future, the only way we are going to survive and I want to be apart of that, I want us to be apart of that.' I responded slowly brushing my quills before walking back over to Iolanthe and sitting next to her. 'What about you?' I asked awkwardly not sure if that was how one of my few friends wanted to conversation to go. 'I think I forgot.' The wolf Faunus responded lethargically, fidgeting slightly against the metal floor.

I took her hand in my own and cradled it close to my chest as my mind whirled thinking of a proper response. 'Your parents are miners in Mantle right?' I began and Iolanthe gave the smallest of nods, it wasn't a big guess considering I was the only Faunus I knew who wasn't. 'For them then, we could make their lives better and repay them for the sacrifices they have made.' I reasoned. Not getting a response I assumed I must have said the wrong thing and got up to leave but Iolanthe didn't let go of my hand. 'Can you stay? Just for a little longer.' She asked barely audible. Settling back down I pulled the limp girl into my lap and started to sing softly trying not to notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. There had been a mine accident a few days ago and it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

We must have sat like that for hours, luckily I had mountains of songs to pull from including sagas of fallen heroes my father taught me, lullabies my mother once sang to me, alternate songs which had caught my fancy over the years and more. I don't know at what point Iolanthe fell asleep but she looked so peaceful I couldn't stand the thought of disrupting her. So I sat there through the night on the rigid cold floor, the worse night of sleep I had ever had but I felt more rejuvenated in the morning than I had in a long time. When Iolanthe finally awoke she was very apologetic but I waved it all away explaining that she had helped me as much as I her, she didn't understand of course but that was OK it was for me. We sparred together several more times throughout basic training and beyond, more often than not ending with me singing Iolanthe to sleep in my arms. Even after her late growth spurt caused Iolanthe to eclipse me in size much to the wolf's taunting and my dismay. Rumours abound, of course, it's impossible to keep a secret with people you spend every waking moment with but they are only that, rumours.

As the years pass we have less and less time to ourselves but we always try to keep the second Tuesday of every month free. There is a small cafe with a little-secluded alcove and live music, after our fight, we would have a meal then I sing along until the musicians retire for the night. Then I would I play Iolanthe whatever I had learnt in the previous month as well as a few old favourites. The owner is a friend and enjoys closing to the sounds of music letting us leave whenever we are ready, normally in the dark hours of the morning. Iolanthe having one of the best nights of sleep she has ever had and me with a renewed sense of purpose.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Inexhaustive on July 18, 2018, 05:01:26 PM
Canon: "Move..." (Amane Petrichor, 'My legs felt numb')

My legs feel numb…

Amane looks down at her body as she lay on the medical examination chair. She attempted to strain the muscles in her legs but they just felt nonexistent under the effects of the curarine.

Move... Her legs did not budge.

Straining herself, she managed to utter out a word. “Move...” Again, her legs did not budge as she continued to try and move them.

“Don’t strain yourself too hard. We’re only on the first trial.” Iris stood to the side while closely monitoring Amane’s health on a set of screens.

Amane slowly looks at her sister, a determined glint in her eye behind her usual poker face, then slowly looks back at her foot. Concentrating. She was using a more focused approach now, trying various mindsets to try and regain control of the muscle that just wasn’t there. “I... said... move... damn. it.” A brief sense of connection which quickly disappeared, and Amane saw her foot twitch. Just a little bit.

A blip of activity on the screen, as Iris continues to monitor with an amused expression.

“MOVE…” Amane was determined now, to find that sense again. A few seconds later, another twitch, this time more noticeable than the last. Refreshing her memory of the sensation and her determination, Amane focuses on it and begins straining. Her leg moves a bit.

“You want to take a break now?” Iris asks, picking up the antidote. “You’ve done enough for today.”

Amane shoots her a look that conveyed a glare through her eyes before giving the same look to her useless foot. That was the last straw. She was going to do it. Today. Right now. “MOVE!!” Her leg suddenly lifts up off the examination chair, despite still feeling dead and numb. Straining, Amane slowly continued moving it, planting it on the ground as her body and her other leg followed. Now in a sitting position, she plants her hands on the chair and slowly pushes her body up, standing for a split second before stumbling forward. Her hand manages to shoot up and support her against the wall as she attempts to walk, taking a few stiff steps forward before feeling Iris’s arms around her. She relaxes, letting her weight be supported.

“I did it…” she said, as her sister helps carry her back to the chair.

“Yes you did. That was incredible.” Smiling fondly, Iris injects the antidote into Amane’s leg.

As its effects begin taking over, Amane’s legs no longer felt numb anymore.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 22, 2018, 03:38:49 PM
The prompt this week is a general writing prompt, write about whatever comes to mind when you view this prompt.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you can only use your own characters for PoV, however, you can have NPCs or other characters of yours in the story as well though you need permission to use others' characters. What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will chose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

Tell me about a time your character was beaten, broken, defeated, or failed.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Kaliot on July 26, 2018, 02:09:46 PM
Canon: Rough Start

His entire body was numb. The thumping of his soles against the wet pavement reverberated throughout his body like molasses rather than the jolt that his usual spring had. Rain pelted the ground and the wind, made stronger by the surrounding buildings, jerked his umbrella too and fro, and he let it all happen.

Aside from the occasionally, impressively-lit signage, Mao wasn't paying attention to much of anything except for the contents of a letter tucked away in his backpack.

Quote
We regret to inform you that, due to sub-standard performance, Mao has been held back one year...

There was obviously more to the letter, but that was the only bit that mattered. His mind turned to his family back home. He couldn't go back. How could he face them? His sister, Sophea, even moved into the city with him to give him support. He was not looking forward to returning to their apartment. And then there was his profes-

The collision of umbrellas shot him back into reality. Only a few inches in front of him was a dapper young man, taller enough than Mao that there should've been no contact, but the man had purposely brought his umbrella down to meet his.

"Hey kid, pay attention to where you're going," the man said. The look on his face was neutral; Mao couldn't read him.

"Oh, uh! S-sorry sir," Mao stammered out. He gave a small bow. "I..."

"What, do you have a reason for almost running into me?"

Mao straightened himself out. "No, I don't. Sorry."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Just spit it out," he said, his voice slightly deeper than before.

There were a few seconds of silence as Mao decided whether or not he should. "I uh, failed my first year at Signal". His voice became noticeably quieter as the sentence ran on.

The man's face twitched for just a moment, and if about to burst out laughing, but he remained silent. Instead, he sighed. "Tough."  He stepped around Mao and continued toward his destination. "Follow me."



As they neared their destination, the quiet yet forceful ripples resounding through Mao's body became stronger and stronger, and as he walked through the door of their destination, the music hit him like a tsunami. Mao had never been to one before and he couldn't his agape expression. The man turned to him, tossing Mao a quick "Don't look so surprised" before continuing on into the club.

At first it was dark, but as the space began to open up, strobe lights started to fill the air. The music became louder, impactful enough that it might as well take the place of his heart. As to be expected, the place was crowded. The pair made their way along the perimeter of the room, avoiding the dance floor in the center. They soon came upon a staircase with a burly man near. The bouncer extended an arm, stopping them in their tracks. "Who's the kid?" he asked.

Mao's escort patted Mao on the shoulder a few times before bringing them shoulder-to-shoulder. "Found him on the street this morning. He seemed like he could be helpful so now he's my lackey," the man responded. The bouncer simply nodded and stepped aside. The man nodded back and made his way upstairs with Mao in tow.

The second floor of the club was slightly quieter and slightly more well-lit. There was a dance floor as well, but it was smaller and more vacant. Instead, the main attraction of the floor were the booths along the perimeter along with a dedicated serving staff. Instead of taking Mao to one of them, the man instead took him to a table nearby a balcony overlooking the first floor. "Have a seat," he said and so Mao did; the man remained standing. A waitress soon arrived to greet them and the man ordered a drink for him and a soda for the boy.  Waiting for their drinks to arrive, they opted to sit in silence until Mao finally broke the ice.

"Who are you and why'd you bring me here?" he asked bluntly. "My sister would kill me if she found out I was here."

The man crossed his arms. "And yet here you are. I didn't force you to follow me. What're you, a little duckling following around the first thing you set your sights on?" He let that hang in the air for a few seconds.  "Actually, don't bother answering that. I'm Johnny. I work in this joint. Who are you, kid?" Mao told him who he was and that he was from Plains. Johnny got a good laugh out of that. "You're from all the way out there? What the hell are you doing wandering the streets by yourself?" The waitress returned with their drinks. Johnny thanked and tipped her. She bowed and went on her way. "That's pretty dangerous, you know." He took a sip of his drink. Mao did the same: it didn't taste that great.


"You still didn't answer my question. Why did you bring me here?" Mao asked. repeating his question.

"I brought you here to see that there is a life past failure. My crew and I, we've all had a rough upbringing. We've gotten past hardships, and now here we are, still kickin' and having the time of our lives." Johnny took another sip of his drink. "I guess what I'm saying is: remember your past, but don't let it drag you away from your potential, and whatever comes your way, don't frown and don't shy away. Smile. Accept the fight. That way, you'll be better off."

Mao took a moment to let himself metabolize Johnny's advice. Mao tried, but it wasn't something that could happen overnight. Instead, he forced a smile. "Okay. Got it."

Johnny returned the smile with a grin of his own. "Okay?" He downed his drink. "Alright," he said, making his way to the party below, "let's go have some fun."
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Moth on July 27, 2018, 09:00:53 PM
Canon: Snapping Memories - Prism Skylark

Melonia Saphron had built her life from the ground up. The daughter of a widow who’s husband died during the Faunus Rights Revolution, the family had emigrated from early-day Menagerie to the city of Vale in order to try and find, and fund, a better life. The woman was made and molded in tense tolerance between human and Faunus in the early days afterwards, when Faunus were officially equals in the eyes of the law, even if they weren’t in the eyes of most humans. After a rough childhood on the streets learning to brawl and defend herself, a harsh breakup with her human boyfriend that cast her out onto the streets, a brief stint as part of a lesbian wrestling troop that would travel all over the continent (she still fondly remembers her days spent in Vacuo) where she went by the nickname “Bouncin’ Betty”, Melonia had eventually found her calling working at a bar in the shithole side of Vacuo - making drinks. It started with a love of fruity cocktails and the fun show of mixing, before it progressed to her fascination with the art of making drinks themselves - especially smoothies. Before long, she’d started attending a regional drinks class (with night classes taken at a cooking school) in order to teach herself the skills she’d earned, packed up all the money she made from tips, and bought a one-way ticket back to the city of Vale. Buying a rundown shop in faunus quarter of the city was a gamble, but it was a gamble that paid off after a couple of years - the derelict shop, after two small loans and a fuckton of TLC, had become one of the most popular spots for humans and faunus alike in search of delicious drinks.

The shop was Melonia’s pride and joy. Growing up in the bloody aftermath of the Revolution, she understood how hard it was for most faunus children to make a livelihood of themselves - and made a point to hire an all-faunus staff who she saw the potential in, whether they were 15 or 40 years old, high school students to ex-cons. She’d recently taken a particular gamble on one of those high school students - a tiny thing by the name of Prism Skylark, who’d marched into her shop on the day for interviews and had answered every single one of her questions with a vivacity that was usually reserved for the most hardened of hunters. Melonia could see the same young faunus she once was in the teenager, only with more purpose and direction than she’d ever had at that age - it was obvious who her next worker was going to be. And indeed, it was a gamble that quickly payed off - the hummingbird faunus worked twice as hard as nearly any other worker with a speed and efficiency that was simply alarming. Constantly showing up 10 minutes early, working every bit of available overtime and going up and beyond the necessities, she was single-minded, consistently focused, constantly professional - Melonia couldn’t help wonder what could drive such determination. To put it simply, the teenage faunus had become an invaluable part of the workforce nearly immediately.

So why, she couldn’t help but wonder, was her star employee late? Prism Skylark didn’t do late - as far as she knew, it was a physical impossibility

When Prism stumbled through the door nearly fifteen minutes late, looking like she’d been through a hurricane and back to get there, not even in uniform and her face streaked in tear marks, the kangaroo faunus waiting just inside the doorway knew something serious went down.

“Prism, can I ask why you’re late, sugar?” She carefully said, soft but stern.

Prism had taken one look at her stern-but-concerned boss, and had immediately burst into tears.

Melonia spends a moment, then two staring in shock; before morphing from stern boss to worried guardian in a series of seconds. Her arm’s around the tiny girl, guiding her back towards the office, barking at her staff to give them a few minutes while shielding the distraught hummingbird from view, and finally shepherding her into the office. Prism is immediately sat down in the folding chair across from her desk as Malina rapidly shoved papers to the side to find her buried tissue box, giving it to Prism before plopping into the rolling chair across from here. She leans back and lets Prism sob for a solid five minutes as the sobbing turns to sniffles, before she blows her nose - and finally looks up towards Melonia.

“...What happened, sugar.”

Prism can’t physically answer, but her hands fly to the drawstring bag she always carries. Carefully reaching inside, she withdraws something wrapped in a handkerchief, setting it on the desk between the two as if it’s made of the most fragile china. Melonia glances from it to Prism where she quietly nods, before pulling the handkerchief towards her. Large hands very carefully undo the knots, pulling back the fabric one layer at a time, until the inside reveals-

...A metal slingshot with a snapped elastic?

Prism takes one look at it, before tears start to leak from her eyes in abundance again as she buries her face her hands. Melonia lets her quietly sob as she very carefully picks it up, turning it over to observe the broken tool. It’s rubber handle is worn but in good use, and the metal seems solid, other than the occasional scratch. The elastic strap is beyond well-used, and there’s stress marks where it’d finally snapped, presumably under Prism’s usage. It’s most peculiar attribute where feathers strapped to one side of the slingshot by a worn rubber band. There were three - one in yellow, one in red, and one in pink. They were all fairly long, and surprisingly excellent shape, not even bent or broken. Melonia raises one hand, going to stroke one of the feathers between her thumb and forefinger-

“Don’t.”

Melonia almost starts, so focused on the slingshot in front of her. Prism’s gone from quietly sobbing to practically staring daggers at her boss, no trace of sobbing in her voice beyond a tired strain with the threat of Melonia touching the feathers. The kangaroo faunus replies, carefully nodding and setting the slingshot back on the desk. 

Prism takes a few fragile breaths before sighing, dry-swallowing as her eyes are cast to the ground. “The elastic snapped when I was practicing my aim before work. It was something my dad made, so-” She doesn’t finish, her voice cutting out as chokes on her own words.

Melonia blinks at Prism’s explanation. “Isn’t your guardian like, Madame Bernard or somethin’?”

Prism’s quiet for another moment, and Melonia wouldn’t have even heard her if it weren’t for the second pair of ears atop her head. “...I’m a part of Vale’s fostercare system. I’ve been since- since-” She doesn’t finish again, tears starting to leak in abundance once again.

Oh.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out context. Melonia reaches across the desk to take the hummingbird faunus’ hand, but Prism practically flinches away. “I- I might b-be pitiful, but I’m not a charity case, Melonia.”

Melonia simply gives a quiet sigh and nods in understanding, lacing her hands together and resting her chin on them. “We can count this as one of your sick days, and I won’t penalize you for being late given the…” she gestures to the rest of Prism, still an absolute wreck with feathers all askew. “...circumstances.”

Prism simply nods, reaches out to carefully retie her slingshot, and gets up to leave. Melonia carefully watches her as she leaves, and she has one wing out the door before she turns to poke her head back into the office. “...thanks, Melonia.”

The kangaroo faunus waves her hand nonchalantly. “Go feel better, m’kay P?”

“...yes, ma’am.”
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: NotSurprised on July 27, 2018, 10:58:19 PM
What-If: End of A Beginning - Sovereign LeBlanc

With a gasp of pain, Sovereign jolts awake as he was greeted with the familiar sight of his room in the LeBlanc residence.

Lying as still as he could so that the pain could go away, Sovereign could only tear up and quietly sob. As the pain calmed and his eyes, Sovereign gently moved his arms to sit himself up. Tearing up once again at the initial pain, Sovereign was finally able to sit up through the pain.  Looking at his heavily bandaged arms, he could see that they were bleeding again. Usually, Sovereign would replace the bandages himself, but after what happened...

"Mother!"

He didn't want this. If he had suffered alone, his heart wouldn't be hurting so much. After all, a mother shouldn't have to see her broken child in so much pain... Was it wrong for him to do what he did? He wanted to protect those he cared about! Sovereign couldn't simply just wait and watch people suffer! It wasn't fair! Sovereign never expected another gang to show up after his fight! As Sovereign struggled with his thoughts, a creak in the doorway interrupts his thoughts.

His mother's tear-streaked face broke his heart all over again. Sovereign could only stay quiet as he raised his bleeding arms for his mother to see. Her eyes teared up even further as she went to replace the bandages on his arms. At that moment, there was only silence except for the quiet sobs of his mother. As his bandages were completely replaced, Sovereign's broken voice broke the depressing silence in the room.

"I'm sorry I was such a disappointment."

His mother suddenly hugs Sovereign as if he would disappear if she didn't hold onto him tightly. The sound of her sobs grew even louder as Sovereign could only hug back as he repeats "I'm sorry" over and over again. Sovereign could only think about how this could've been avoided if they had come...! Sovereign shakes his head. That wouldn't be fair to her. Neither of them could have expected another gang to stumble upon him. Neither of them would have expected this. Wiping away his mother’s tears, he gave her a look asking her to leave and recover emotionally. As his mother left him alone and her quiet sobs recede deep into the residence, Sovereign went back to looking outside the window in his room.

Atlas was pretty. The snow outside sent a perfect trickle down the window, almost as if it was something from an artistic masterpiece. Standing up with his arms limp, Sovereign went over to the window, eying what seems to be flowers being covered under the snow. Snorting, Sovereign realizes the awful comparison between the flower and himself. As Sovereign quietly watched the snowfall, his thoughts had finally gathered about for his situation.

He should never use his arms again. That's what the doctor told him.  Sensory nerve damage. Heavy scarring. Shattered bones. Fortunately, the bones will heal in time and the scarring he'll have to deal with later, but that's fine. If those had been his only injuries, he could still fight. The real killer is the nerve damage. As a result of his victory against the two gangs, he'll always be in pain from the slightest amount of pressure. Fighting had become impossible. Sovereign’s eyes tear up as he reached the same unpleasant thoughts he’s been having ever since the diagnosis. Dropping into a fetal position against the window, he lets out the loud sobs that he’s been holding in for a long time.

He can never be a hero again.
Title: Week 4
Post by: Dr. Gustave on July 29, 2018, 12:06:05 AM
The prompt this week is a general writing prompt, write about whatever comes to mind when you view this prompt.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you can only use your own characters for PoV, however, you can have NPCs or other characters of yours in the story as well though you need permission to use others' characters. What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will chose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

Tell us about a time your character fell in love. With anything - an object, a hobby, or even a person.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: MonsterManic on July 31, 2018, 12:10:35 AM
Canon: What is Love - Jocelyn Antiqua

Team CASA’s medic had spent the entire day submerged in thought. After the events that had transpired that morning on the rooftop, she’d been unable to tear her mind from replaying that one particular scene over and over. It was serious enough that her normally deft fingers kept fumbling and dropping the surgical needle she was practicing with that day to close wounds, so much so that her medical instructor simply sent her back to her dorm and clear her mind of whatever lingered within.

It hadn't been long since the day her teammate had helped her come to the realisation that she wasn't heterosexual - the news broken in the most blunt way she could imagine. All her life she'd lived without ever once realising who she truly was underneath her everyday facade - so natural to her that even she'd found it life-changing. It'd taken her a while to come to grips with who she was then, but with the help of her teammate she'd been able to take it well in stride. At least, that's what she thought.

Now, though, her fears were becoming less and less unfounded.

She'd become aware of new feelings and sensations since. Feelings which since hadn't died down over time, but rather built itself up stronger and  stronger, like a spark of life emerging from whence there once was nothing but a void. It had subsequently grown ever stronger by the day, transforming from a flickering, dim ember into a roaring inferno. Strangely enough, she hadn't found it unpleasant - it was just that she couldn't place where it was coming from or what it even was.

Throughout her life she'd had to deal a wide range of emotions. Fear early on in her life as she'd looked helplessly at those razor-sharp claws bearing down on her, then sorrow and regret as she realised people were hurt because of her. A repetitive enervation as she undertook rigorous training to ensure that she'd never ever put anyone in that same position again. A sense of loss as her career took her to battlefields small and large, orderly and chaotic, but all full of the horror called death. Equally, she'd had her share of joy as she passed her Beacon Entrance Exam. A unshakable determination and ardour as she threw herself into her studies. A sensation of achievement when she'd completed her team's initiation, exhilaration at their success.

None of that even came close to being what filled her heart.

The girl opened the door to their dorm, being greeted with a familiar view of her teammate's possessions, living spaces and the comforting scenery of Beacon's campus grounds beyond the wide-open windows. In contrast, all the girl's conflicted mind registered was the plain, delicate vase on the windowsill and the exquisite hyacinths resting within. Crossing the room with dainty, light steps, it was as if she was a bee drawn to the sweet nectar of the flower, or a person attracted, irresistibly, to their loved one -

Jocelyn was snapped out of her dream-like trance. Looking down at her hands, she'd cradled the vase to her bosom with all the tenderness of a new-born baby. The delightful smell of the flowers drifted upward, aided by the soft gust of wind - drawing memories from within Jocelyn's mind to the forefront of her conscience - their first intimate contact during their initiation - how addictive it felt to be cushioned while flying by her - the day when she was gifted with these flowers by that certain someone - the sun bathing her in a goddess-esque glow like a halo, illuminating her like a heavenly apparition -

The faintest of smiles floated to her soft lips, accompanied by a zephyr-like breeze caressing her cheek.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: NotSurprised on August 03, 2018, 01:54:56 PM
Canon: A Blooming Flower - Hunter d’Azur

Shit.

Halfway through his taxi ride, Hunter had just received lots of colorful texts from his beloved team leader. The message was simple: when he’d come back to his team’s dorm, he’s 90% sure that he’s going to end up dead. Was it his fault though? He felt hungry and decided to take an unsolicited excursion, so what? Yeah, the assignment’s due tomorrow and all, but there’s really no need to rush. After all, he’s pretty sure that he can get it done and still get a passing grade. As he pondered about how dead he’s going to be, his taxi finally parked right next to the market he always visits.

Roaming the aisles for what he wants, his thoughts couldn’t help but come back to his team leader. With his body on autopilot and grabbing a grocery bag that will soon be stuffed with instant noodles, Hunter started thinking more and more about his team leader and their current situation. He’s not sure why their partnership is functional as it is. She’s strict and he’s easy-going. She’s always angry and he’s usually calm. Most of all, she’s kinda racist and he’s a faunus, albeit he is disguised at the moment. Honestly, Hunter’s not too sure why he’s so caught up with his team leader when he can just leave Atlas after they graduate. Yet he couldn’t help but feel pain when he considered that option. In fact, now that he thinks about it, he noticed a lot of other things. He couldn’t stop his fluttering heart whenever they’re together. He couldn’t stop his quivering voice whenever they’re talking. Truly, he couldn’t help but be nervous when she’s with him. Shaking his head of silly and embarrassing thoughts, he notices that he had fully filled up his grocery bag with instant noodles while he was thinking. Hunter should really return some of them but in the end, his desire for instant noodles won over his reason.

Moving to checkout with his cheap items, Hunter’s thoughts returned to his stupid team leader. Why hasn’t he been antagonizing her back for all the pain she’s causing him? He’s the one that never starts the problem but she always ends up ragging on him for it. In fact, he shouldn’t like her! He doesn’t like her stupid smirk whenever she outdoes him, or her stupid prim and proper uniform that fits her in every way. In fact, he doesn’t like her stupid chestnut hair that accentuates her beauty and makes him want to- Wait a second. With a suddenly red face, Hunter tries to clear his thoughts as best he could and goes to finish up his checkout before noticing some flowers nearby. He really should just leave before making a mistake...



”How much are the flowers?”



If it was anyone else, Hunter would laugh. Unfortunately, Hunter is the current laughing stock. He's blushing and full of nerves as he's holding a bag full of instant noodles in one hand and flowers in the other. In fact, getting back into the taxi was a little more embarrassing with the driver smirking at him the entire time. Scooting into his seat and trying to make himself look as small as possible, the taxi starts driving back to the academy. Looking out the window and wishing that he’d disappear because he can’t deal with all the embarrassment, the taxi driver’s rough yet teasing voice cuts through his thoughts.

”Hey kid, you in love?”

Hunter’s face got even more red as he thought about it. Is he in love? Even if he WAS in love with her, it wouldn’t work out. Hunter wouldn’t want to hide anything from her; in fact he’s pretty sure he can’t hide anything from her. Even if it’s the fact that he’s actually a faunus. It would hurt him to hide that from her, but it'll hurt him even more when the fact that he's a faunus destroys their relationship. But maybe it'll work out. In fact, they can even take it slow, maybe to the point where being faunus or racist doesn’t even matter anymore. Finally knowing how to reply, the redness in Hunter’s cheeks faded only to be replaced with a silly looking grin.

”Maybe.”

Returning to the team’s dorm was interesting. Prim looked ready to murder him on the spot until she got flustered when he presented the flowers. In fact, she told him that it was sweet of him to do that! That was a win in Hunter’s book until she forcefully put him into a seat and started lecturing him about the importance of work ethics and properly doing your assignments. As for the rest of his team, they were laughing their asses off at the two with their shenanigans until Prim directed her death glare at them too. Finally, the lecture and death threats were over as the night quieted down once more so that they can finish their assignments…



For the next few months in the team dormitory, Hunter would see the flowers in a rather ornate and charming vase. If you asked him, Hunter wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the flowers and Prim.

Silly Little Bonus: ShowHide
Canon: Stupid Butterflies - Sovereign LeBlanc

Sovereign couldn’t help it when his heart flutters with Airi around. Her personality is manageable and her appearance isn’t too bad either!

Then she would glare at him and he’d feel like he’d be dead within the next week. Maybe he should just digest the butterflies and look elsewhere for love.

Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Moth on August 03, 2018, 03:35:12 PM
Canon: A Change in Perspective - Jima Purpora

This isn’t how field trips are supposed to go.

It’d started as a sniffle in the back of the class as their tour guide recounted the story of the battle that once took place on the hollowed ground they’d deserved. It’d been the Greyed War nearly 70 years beforehand, a particularly vicious battle where Grimm had decimated nearly half of both opposing forces before they were able to resume battling. A particularly sensitive classmate of Jima’s had begun to sniffle and cry at the thought of so much death. Her crying had gotten to the boy next to her, eventually forcing the young man towards tears. The overly-enthusiastic tour guide had continued onwards with his particularly gruesome description of the events without concern, and the teacher themselves was too enraptured to notice and put an end to things - so before long, over half the class was quietly sobbing to themselves as they learned of the stories of their ancestors.

And then they’d heard the first howl.

The entire class turned almost-comically to face the far-off woods in the distance. Jima can vividly remember the way all sound was suddenly sucked from the class - the sobbing stopped with shock, the over-enthusiastic tour guide’s babbling had ceased, and even the wind died down. It was like the class had been put into bubble, just listening to that singular, lone howl.

Then the girl who’d originally started crying had started to scream, the hunters-in-training had deployed their weapons, and the rest of the class scattered in a desperate frenzy as they realized it was time to run for their lives.

Some shot off towards the buses that’d taken them there, some towards theles of  building where they’d registered, and some towards the battlefield themselves. There was no strategy or thought to where they ran - the little animal inside all of those eleven year-olds only screamed away, so away they ran.

Then the Grimm came upon them.

Beowolves, Creepers, Ursas, even an absolutely-massive Deathstalker in the distance. The fledgling hunters were fighting with everything with they had, but their inexperience was apparent. They could cut through the Beowolves and Creepers like butter, but the Grimm kept pouring in after the initial wave. And there was only so much ammo, and so many fledgling hunters, and too many of the massive beasts to steadily hold their ground and prevent them from nearing the fleeing school children.

And in the middle of it all stood Jima.

Jima, having already read everything the tour guide had talked about, had been bored out of her mind. Who’s face had gone pale with the first howls, but stood on tippeytoes to crane her neck out over the other children, trying to catch a glimpse of the creatures that were coming. Who’d stayed and stared instead of as they broke from the treeline, running full-tilt towards terrified schoolchildren as they ran every which way. She was vaguely aware of the catastrophic nature of the even as she watched the beginning hunters disappear under piles of Grimm, only to barely be saved by their comrades - the screams of her classmates as a Beowolves’ loping gate caught up to 11 year-old legs. Teachers desperately attempting to herd her classmates, hunters fighting for their lives to defend the innocent, Grimm crawling out of every nook and cranny as they kept coming and coming and coming -

Is this what being in the middle of a war felt like?

She hears a roar, much closer than all the others, and turns to face a massive Alpha Beowolf staring her down. It doesn’t waste a second, diving in with it’s claws outstretched. As Jima watches, motionless, the loudest thing amidst all the chaos her own heartbeat, all she can think is one thing-

This is gonna be the coolest way to die.

And then something without claws collides with her from the side, she catches the flash of a weapon as the Alpha’s decapitates, and as she hits the ground, the world goes black.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 03, 2018, 10:55:09 PM
Canon: Nest

Malina was afraid of a great many things, though she would never let anyone know that. Being found out for the a coward was chief among them but her own death was very rarely far behind, she hadn't wanted this life of violence in the first place after all, why would she want to put her life on the line every day for people she doesn't know. People she'd never meet. They wouldn't know who protected them, who saved them, they'd facelessly thank her regardless, of course, it was what we are supposed to do when someone else helps us.

She was, truth be told, fine with fighting for the faceless masses but the idea of her losing her own life for them was horrifying to her. The idea that her entire life was all leading up to her bleeding out underneath the paw of some horrid Grimm in the middle of nowhere was… She hated even thinking about it. She didn't want to end her life like so many hunters and huntresses before her, in pain and with no one to save her. She wouldn't end like that, she couldn't, she would live a long life and learn about the mysteries of aura and dust, she would be content with her place in life, not this, not training every day three years into a school designed to turn children into warriors.

“... Malina?”

Aurelia's soft voice cut through Malina's haze and she blinked twice in quick succession to try and reorient herself. She was in her dorm, safe. Her team had just returned from a mission to the southern Sanus shores, they were supposed to defend the village from a Grimm horde that was spotted nearby.

They had survived but there had been more Grimm in that single night than Malina had seen in the rest of her missions combined. They just… they never stopped coming. They had survived, yes, but they failed. The village was lost, only three others had made it off on the bullhead that her team had called in to escape. Everything about that mission only reinforced the feelings Malina had been bottling up prior, she didn't just think think she would die because of this job, she knew she would. And yet…

Her eyes glanced over the room. Carmine, a wrapping of bandages ran up her right leg. Just beneath the surface of her bubbly, overly cute persona was someone who cared deeply for Malina, someone who had stayed up late into the morning talking her through another panic inducing nightmare.

Candida, a wrapping spun around her head and just barely covered her left, silvery eye. She was abrasive, full of herself, and constantly butted heads with Malina for reasons Malina just couldn't understand but at the same time she was the person who had stood up for Malina's leadership and choices when Beacon interrogated them about the mission. Before that, even, she had been the only member of the team to consistently double check Malina's poor choices, helping her fix them and working with her.

Aurelia, she had it the worst. A wrapping ran down her left arm, leading across her back, and circling back across her chest. She was soft spoken, never made a point to speak her mind unless she needed to but she was one of the two genuinely good people on her team. She had assisted her sister in mostly harmless pranks at Malina's expense, maybe, but she would never push it too far and tried her best to reign Candida in.

“... Are you okay, Mal?”

Aurelia spoke again, seemingly worried at her prolonged silence. Malina broke eye contact for only a split second and looked to the floor. She was the only one with no injuries. It was something she would normally be proud of, being able to avoid every strike from the enemy, it was something a professional did. The others had all taken their licks protecting Malina or the people of the village, protecting people that mattered.

As she locked eyes with her teammate once more, a thought crystallized in her mind. They were willing to put themselves in harms way to keep her from getting hurt not because she was their teammate or their leader or even their friend. It was because they loved her. They were willing to lay down their lives for her because thought of Malina as more than a friend, more than family. As the thought became fact in her mind, another thought came into focus. She loved them too.

It wasn't romantic or sexual, but she loved them. She would do anything for them to keep them from harm. She needed to do everything in her power to keep them safe.

She would kill for them.

“Yeah,” Malina said, “I was just thinking some things over. I think… Yeah, I'm fine.”

She would die for them.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 05, 2018, 02:40:14 PM
The prompt this week is a general writing prompt, write about whatever comes to mind when you view this prompt.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you need to have it either be from the perspective of your own approved character or an NPC where the focus of the story is on your approved character. An example of this would be if I had a specialist character and wrote a story from the perspective of their CO about how they keep messing up. Additionally, you may have other characters or NPCs in your story but if they're other's characters you must have approval from the user.

What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will choose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

Tell me about a time your character broke a promise.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Walter on August 06, 2018, 01:30:47 PM
What-if: A Promise Is A Promise

"As long as I'm standing, you're not getting hurt. That's a promise."



The roaring of grimm, the sound of gunfire and the members of team CASA shouting. Everything around Coconut appears to be a blur, the boy dazed from being struck by an Ursa Major. It's all just a nonsensical mess of color and noise. Then the noise stops as a scream is cut short.

The only thing Coco could see clearly was the falling of blue-green feathers before him. He couldn't tell what had happened. None of them could. Almost mere seconds later, two of them could hear the chilling sound of twisting metal and a crash sending their healer through a tree. The gunfire would halt soon after.

Coconut was still confused. What had happened? How could it end this way? This had to be some cruel joke. A nightmare of sorts. He wanted it to be over already - he could barely lift O.T.N. anymore. This whole thing was just a bad training session or something, he just needed to get some help...




A drop of cold water falling on his nose awakened Coconut.

His eyes fluttered open and the boy looked around in confusion. It took a moment to remember where he was. He had taken refuge under a particularly thick layer of canopy during a rain storm. Despite his better judgement it appeared that he had fallen asleep. The rain had slowed down to a light drizzle. It was time to keep going anyway.

Coconut rose from his position, checking to make sure O.T.N. was still where it should be on his back. He then stepped out from under the tree he had been leaning against, splashing mud over his pants and cloak. That was hardly the worst his clothes had seen.

It would take an hour of walking to get out of the forest. A disused path appeared to be leading to a small collection of cottages. A village. Coconut stopped, checking his coat's pockets; he was running low on food supplies. Risky or not, he needed to make another stop.

As he approached the village he noted the villagers frantically running around, collecting their things and throwing them haphazardly into several carts lined up near the edge of the settlement. They were evacuating.

One of the older men was seemingly overseeing the process. He snapped his head towards the newcomer, a terrified expression on his face. Upon seeing Coconut's gear, a gleam of hope appeared in his eyes.

"A-a huntsman! Thank the heavens! We were just running out of hope!" the man uttered in a raspy voice. "A scout reported a horde of grimm heading this way, and it will be here in an hour at most. None of us are fighters, so..."

"How long do you need?" Coconut asked.

The man blinked and looked back at the villagers. There appeared to be about forty in total. "We will finish packing up soon, but we need more time to get enough distance between us and the horde. Maybe an hour or..."

"I can get you two. Leave some food and supplies, and whatever else you're willing to pay in that house over there," Coconut plainly instructed as he took O.T.N. off of his back and made a couple of practice swings with one arm. He was a bit sore from his troubled rest from earlier, but he'd have to make do.

"...And how will you escape?"

Coconut momentarily stared blankly at the man. He was going to say 'Either I do or I don't', but realized that it was probably not the best move.

"Fair point. If you have a spare horse, just strap the supplies onto it and set it on the far side of the village. Point to me where the horde's coming from, first."



Coconut spent the next twenty minutes setting up his defenses. He hadn't done anything like this in a long time, but he recalled his first mission with CASA. He first utilized his sword as a make-shift shovel, digging out small holes in the dirt, before 'borrowing' some of the fence posts around the village to be used as makeshift spears. It wasn't particularly elegant, but it would buy him time in his retreat never the less.

As he worked, he was approached by a girl - rather, a young woman. The fluffy ears on her head gave away that she was a faunus right away. Although dressed in a somewhat ragged skirt, a dusty beanie upon her head, she was rather cute - caring purple eyes, a slightly angled face making it hard to tell how old she truly was and shoulder-length, blonde hair peeking out from her headwear.

She smiled, giving Coconut a slight curtsy as she approached. Slightly flustered, the boy was unaware of how he should respond, though it didn't seem like she was expecting him to.

"Thank you, hunter. What you're doing is most admirable," she said. The girl was short. Though Coconut was crouching, she was hardly taller than he was - or, maybe, Coco himself had grown quite a bit in the past two years. "Could I know your name?"

Coconut blinked and stood up, towering over her small figure. "Coconut. Coconut Cream."

The girl nodded. "A pleasure, Coconut. I know this may seem odd... But promise you will make it back?" She asked rather sheepishly, looking down. "That... All of us will?"

"As long as I'm standing, you're not getting hurt. That's a promise."

There was a moment of prolongated silence. Finally, the boy spoke up.

"I promise. You can count on me."

The girl nodded again, turning on her heels and skipping towards the carts. Coconut reached a hand out towards her: "Hold on, you didn't tell me your name!"

The girl peeked over her shoulder and gave Coco a cheeki smirk. "I'll tell it  to you the next time we meet!"



The villagers had left little over half an hour ago. Coconut now stood a good ways away from his makeshift defensive line, near the forest he had come from himself. The horde would be upon him any minute now. He was ready, grasping O.T.N. in both hands as he began to feel the ground under his feet tremble. A sensation he had been getting used to - after all, he had become a grimm magnet, plagued by the events of his past. He had become all too familiar with the way Prism had felt - and, for that matter, with Prism's sleep schedule.

The first grimm emerged from the treeline. A row of beowolves and the smaller ursas which had made it to the front of the pack. No more than vermin to Coconut. As the first trio of beowolves pounced at him they were sliced clean in half even with just O.T.N.'s long sword form at play. The following two ursa were skewered upon his blade and used as meat shields against the charge of the third. A swift kick to free his sword, then another set of slashes and the first wave had been cleared.

Then the next wave came. And the next. And the next after that. Five minutes passed, then ten, then twenty, until Coconut couldn't even fathom how long it had been. Each line of grimm was harder to deal with, but it was not as if he hadn't trained for it. If it were just the smaller ones, he could keep the fighting up for at least an hour more.

But it couldn't just be the smaller ones, could it?

As if on que, the treeline began to fall apart as the next wave approached him. Coconut knew he was in for trouble, stepping back and guarding his face as the trees were smashed apart by the massive claws of a large deathstalker. The thing was about the largest he had ever seen, its tail nearly the height of a four story building. Even Golden O.T.N. didn't stand a chance against that thing. It was time to fall back.

A screech from above raised concerns, however. Coconut turned tail in hopes of outpacing the grimm while he still could, but a rain of sharp feathers caused him to go back on guard. Four relatively small nevermores were circling above the village, seemingly taking turns at peppering the ground upon which Coconut stood.

Things were looking grim. If he couldn't make it to his horse, his entire plan from there on would fall apart. He should have pulled back sooner, prepared better - but as always, he had gotten too cocky. That was always the reason, wasn't it? It was always his fault...

No. Fuck that, he thought. He had made a promise - and this time, it would be different. The deathstalker still on his ass, Coconut slapped O.T.N. onto his back and twisted the handle, transforming the blade into its Golden O.T.N. form. He then raised the weapon above his head, grunting as the arrows continued to rain - but few of them could now strike his body.

He leapt over his spear wall, and just in time - the deathstalker had gotten close, but the grimm following it had already passed it. Soon, however, they were met by the fence posts, colored to blend in with the ground around them. At least a dozen perished, trampled by the creatures following them.

The deathstalker did not care, however, as it crushed through the spear wall as if it was no more than just a couple of branches on the ground.

But that was not the only trick Coconut had learned from Amane. With his free hand, the boy reached into his pocket and flicked his scroll.


The beast reeled back as it passed the first pair of cottages, the explosives which Coconut had lined their walls with going off at once, sending rubble and fire dust its way. While it killed a few of the other grimm, the deathstalker might as well had not been harmed at all. But killing it with that wasn't the idea - stopping it in its tracks was.

Coconut used an undisturbed fence post to hop onto the low roof of one of the cottages. He was struck by another barrage of feathers, but that was not a major concern to the lone huntsman. He raised O.T.N. and focused his thoughts, the weapon glowing cream for a moment. He then swung at the air, letting out a powerful slash of aura towards the large grimm. The slash didn't penetrate the armor, but it did exactly what it was supposed to.

It cracked it.

The deathstalker barreled towards the cottage, crushing nearby grimm in its rampage. Cream waited, ignoring the seering pain in his back from the nevermores' constant attacks. He had to hold out just a moment longer...

Cream roared out as he raised Golden O.T.N. over his head and jumped down from the roof just before the deathstalker crashed through it. A downwards stab, if he had aimed it just right... Coconut felt a tremor go through his entire form as the blade sunk into the beast's skull, the creature releasing one last screech before collapsing.

As its body faded, Coconut glanced ahead to see another part of the horde emerging from the woods. The boy was near the horse already - he returned his weapon to its long sword form and cut the leash holding the animal where it was before checking the time. He still had an hour to hold the horde in place and his aura had already dropped below half.

He hopped onto the horse and rode out, holding his blade out in one hand. The nevermored had run out of feathers to shoot - it would be only a matter of time before they would swoop down. Going back into the thick of it would be suicidal.

But a promise is a promise, is it not?



It was late in the evening when Coconut stopped the horse and fell from it onto the ground. His side would be bruised from it later - his aura was completely depleted, as was any energy he had left in him. From a practical point of view, it hadn't been worth much - the villagers hadn't had much supplies to give.

And yet, as he laid there and attempted not to fall unconscious, he saw the girl from earlier before his eyes. He wondered if he would meet her again - if he'd ever learn her name.

No. Suppose it would be better that he didn't.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Ordelis on August 06, 2018, 10:17:36 PM
What If: Always - Lumiere-Sans Abril

  "We're friends right? You'll always protect me right?"
The little girl with the pink beanie asked.

We were kids back then, barely knew from right from wrong, completely blind to the cruelty of our choices and what they could do. But that doesn't change what I did.
     Lumiere-Sans Abril, 13 years old. Creative, happy, and carefree, no different to any other child his age. A happy family, plenty of friends, and his first crush. Why was he so smitten by the new girl wearing the pink beanie? Was it the smile? Or the weird flowery smell she wafted? He couldn't explain why but he just wanted nothing more then to be with her.
     So it came as a shock when she asked him "Hey what's YOUR name?"
"L-Lumiere" he never stuttered before. "Can we be friends?" She asked so casually without a second thought. With the initial shock over he replied "Sure!" With a feeling he only felt on birthdays.
     Being so young the boy didn't know what he felt for the girl with the pink hat, but he didn't care, all he wanted was to be with her. They played, they frolicked, and they argued, but they were always together.

"We're friends right? You'll always protect me right?
"Always!"



A mean spirited boy got curious one day, and removed the pink beanie she never took off. Ears, a pair of droopy dog ears, there was no hiding them for all of the world to see, and for them to turn on her like beasts on prey. Atlas, of the four kingdoms the prejudice on faunus run rampant and unashamed. Animal, mutt, savage, disease ridden monster wearing human skin. The scarred girl in pink only looked to the boy for help, it was obvious what the eyes pleaded without words.

  "We're friends right? You'll always protect me right?"

Her pupils shrunk and her mouth hung agape in horror as she realized what he was going to do, nothing. Despite what the boy's heart said, he was only a child, a boy that was raised like any other child of Atlas, a child that didn't know enough about what he felt, a child that simply followed an angry herd that all told him the same thing. They are less then human. She lied to you, she never told you what she was, she is beneath you. These were the beliefs that were fed to him since birth, but an itch in the back of his mind never left. He believed what he did at the time was right, but this is only what he was told. It was if there was something he forgot and the boy was so desperate to remember what it was. And by the time he knew what it was, it was far too late.

     The boy would look over to his right where he would usually find a girl with the pink beanie, only to find an empty seat. A hole in his stomach opened up as a feeling of dread took him. He filled the hole with thoughts of 'good riddance' and 'the liar is gone' but the hole was far too deep. Days went by and it wasn't until the seat was taken by another student did the boy snap. Sudden panic and anger made him push the confused student out of the seat in an explosion of fury. "That's not your seat, what if she comes back" the class only looked to him in confusion and the boy only apologized for his sudden outburst. "She's gone, I don't know where she went and now I'll never see her again, and it's my fault"

  "We're friends right? You'll always protect me right?"

And I did nothing, when she wanted to prove her family wrong, that there was hope, that there were those of us that could be trusted, that were different. I broke her dreams, our promise, something that could've been amazing. I was weak, I only did what I was told, I was too cowardly to go against what was normal, and now I'll regret it until the day I die, no, until I find her. Now I know better, now I know what I felt when I first met her, now I know what the words that come from me and not from everyone are. I'll find her again so I can keep the promise we made.

  "We're friends right? You'll always protect me right?"

Always
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Moth on August 10, 2018, 10:38:13 PM
Canon: A Painful Eventuality - Azre and Erza Sundown

You’re only 6, and you’re watching your twin sister literally wilt before your eyes. Daddy been gotten for the better part of a month, and you two had been left with the maids at home. He’d only just come back, and you two had rushed to greet him - only to be pushed to the side as he dropped his suitcase, barking that you were going to wrinkle his suit. He’d dropped his briefcase and had immediately gone towards the master bedroom, leaving the two of you to sit, dejected, in the entryway.

“Hey, Erza?”

“Yeah Anna?”

“What do you you think we did wrong?

“You know Daddy, he’s a Very Important Businessman.” You enunciate, repeating the words the butler had told you when he’d explained Daddy would be gone for an entire month. “I guess hugs aren’t proff- proffesh- fancy enough for him?”

Anna sits quietly for a minute, pondering the idea, before she suddenly lights up, turning to you with bright eyes. “I know! How about a tea party?”

“...a tea party?”

“Yeah! What’s fancier than that!? Daddy will definitely want to attend a tea party!”

“...I guess.” You reluctantly agree, and Anna immediately springs into action. She’s calling for butlers, ordering them to make sandwiches and the sweet drink that you two love so much. The dining room table is quickly prepared, covered in a fancy linen cloth while the maid places down silverware. Anna trails behind, her mouth running endlessly as she has her tweak the silverware just so, or how to arrange the flowers. She even doesn’t let the maids touch the fancy china she demanded with a pout, being the one to carefully place the plates onto the table, arranging all the silverware just like they taught you two - and then when the butler comes out to place cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches on the table, you can’t help but let a small smile bloom on your face.

Daddy comes back downstairs nearly 45 minutes later, dressed in a new suit and headed directly for the front door. He picks up his briefcase, and he’s opening the door just as-

“Daddydaddydaddy!”

Anna rushes your father, immediately gripping his pantleg and giving him her best puppy eyes, the ones that always get that nice kitchen made to give you an extra cookie. “Daddy, don’t leave yet, we set up a tea party because we thought you’d like it and-”

Your Dad responds by patiently jerking his leg, causing Anna to hold on even tighter. When she doesn’t let go immediately, he reaches down and grips her head, forcing her backwards off his pant leg, and she gives a small cry before she falls backwards, landing on the tile floor with an oof. You rush forwards, kneeling next to your sister, helping her lean back up as she starts to snivel, clutching the back of her head.

“Anna, not now. I’m having a very important dinner with a client in just an hour, I have no time for your silly games.”

He just leaves after that, paying no mind to the crying child floor or the fact you’re giving him your best death glare. The quiet thud of the door shocks Anna out the beginning of her crying fit, staring at the door with wide eyes as tears still stream down her cheeks. You’re less concerned about your father and more concerned about your sister, but the fact her cheeks puff out and she starts to glare at the offending wood panel tell you she’s fine. “Fine, you weren’t going to be invited anyways! It’ll just be the two of us, right Erza?”

You don’t answer immediately, helping your sister to her feet and giving her a hand as she determinedly wobbles into the dining room. “Right Anna.”

You two are quiet then, taking up seats on opposite sides of the massive dining room table. One of the maids comes out with an icepack, and Anna accepts, but she shoos them away before they can offer her any further treatment. Your twin is unusually silent as you much away at cucumber sandwiches and lukewarm tea, before she finally speaks up from her end of the table. “Hey, Erza?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“You’re not going to just like, leave me like Daddy does right? You’ll never leave me, right?”

“Yeah, Anna.”

“Promise, Erza.”

“I promise, Anna.”

Your twin seems satisfied, and she goes back to happily munching on her sandwich. You reaffirm your promise to her as you stare into her tea, thinking about how your father just discarded you two, like you were trash, like you were- were- nothing!

Yeah, you decide. You’re never going to leave her.

You’re 11, and you can’t find your sister anywhere. Father dragged you to one of these fancy charity balls, the 3rd this month, and at some point during the night your twin sister somehow slipped away from you. Which is weird in all honesty, because you two usually stick together - there’s barely any kids your age at these things, and Father usually makes you socialize with all of his older friends. They find it interesting to talk about their businesses, or fancy alcohols, or the latest women they’ve conquered, whatever that means. You’re barely noticed, except when Father calls on you to agree with a point he made, or has you stand up and spin to show off the fancy clothing you’re forced into.

Needless to say, it’s always horrifically boring, and you and Anna usually spend most of it playing Gin Rummy under the table with the pack of cards you sneak in inside the little clutch purse you’re allowed to carry.

At some point however, they’d called people onto the dance floor, and Father was drunk enough to start missing the mother you never met, and had asked for you two to go dance with him. Anna had gone first, spinning away into the crowd while you sat on the sidelines clutching a drink, before he’d whirled her off to one of his friends to dance with and come to grasp your hands. You hadn’t been worried initially until after five minutes of awkward ballroom dancing with your father, you noticed you couldn’t see Anna anywhere on the dance floor.

You’d pulled away from your drunk father with an excuse of using the bathroom, slipping away. You two always had a spot to meet up if things got too much, the handicap stall in the women’s room, where you’d hide until the ball was over, and you could find your dad to go home. Sometimes one of you crept off, and the other would follow a few minutes later to keep it on the downlow - but you always agreed ahead of time that it should happen. So by the time you finally reach the women’s room and peak into the largest stall, you see nothing but a bottle of champagne left on the floor, alongside some woman’s high heels.

Something’s definitely wrong here.

So you went wandering. Up the grand staircase that served as an entryway, checking the surrounding hallways. You’d poked your head into the other ballrooms and interrupted some fancy meeting, checked the other bathroom, and had even sprinted past a waiter carrying a tray full of martinis to explore the kitchen and servant’s passages, in case Anna had decided to go exploring for some reason.

You’d nearly given up hope of finding your sister yourself, and had started wandering back towards the ballroom to try to rouse some sense out of your drunken father when you’d heard it.

”Heeelp!”

Anna

You’d taken off sprinting in the direction of her voice, backtracking down the hallway you’d just come through, before taking a right down a hallway you know led to the coatroom. There she was, but she wasn’t alone-
The man your father had passed her off to earlier was with her. Some old businessman you couldn’t remember the name of. One of his hands was pinning hers above her head, while the other covered her mouth and noise, preventing her from yelling out again. He was pinning your sister to the wall with his bodyweight, nearly suffocating her, and- and-

And she’d looked over his shoulder, away from his face, and locked eyes with you for several terrifying seconds. She was desperate, pleading for rescue. You could yell, but nobody would be able to hear you over the ballroom music, and if you went to go get help who knows what else he might do, or where he might take her-

The terrified look of shock on your face stills as you press your lips together. You get one chance at this, and your sister is depending on you. You silently nod, before placing your finger over your mouth in the universal sign to hush, and her eyes widen in understanding before she tears her gaze from you to look back up at the old man. He’s facing away from you, pinning you to the far wall, and you’re so glad you wore flats instead of high heels today, since that means you’re silent on the carpeted floor as you approach-

And kick him between the legs from behind as hard as you possibly can.

His deep wordless murmurs to Anna suddenly go high-pitched, and he whirls around, clutching at his groin. Anna’s on the move in an instant, running towards you, and you grasp her hand as you begin to pull her away from the man, who’s too busy doubling over in pain to follow. The only thing that matters is her high-pitched “RunrunrunrunRUN” and moving as fast as your legs can carry you, bursting back out into the lobby before sprinting down the staircase, crossing the ballroom along the edge, until you can pull her into the woman’s room.

You two automatically go to the furthest stall, the handicap one. Regardless of the champagne bottle next to the toilet or the pair of high heels scattered on the floor, it’s where you two can safely sink onto the ground. It’s where Anna can curl up into a ball against the wall, it’s where you can sit next to her, and it’s where she can safely burst into tears and ruin her mascara as buries herself in your shoulder and starts to sob. She’s clinging as tightly as a bure, but you're not going to pull away - you just wrap your arms around her in return, and bury your face in her red hair, letting your own tears come to the surface as you remind yourself she’s still here, and she’s safe in your arms.

You can hear the music wrapping up outside by the time her sobbing slows and she extracts herself from your shoulder, sitting back against the cool tile to stare at the ceiling. You let her, going to fetch paper towels and wet them in the sink, before returning to the bathroom stall to start to clean up you two’s ruined makeup.

You’ve successfully wiped away her ruined mascara, but can’t quite get the lipstick stain off her dress when she finally speaks up.

“...Hey Erza?”

Her voice is quiet, restrained, careful - nothing like the bossy, arrogant, confident musician you love. You quietly seeth inside for everything that man did to her, but push it to the side for now. This isn’t about you, it’s about her.

“Yeah, Anna?”

“Don’t ever leave me.”

“I promise I won’t, Anna.”

She’s suddenly hugging you again, and you reaffirm the promise to yourself. You won’t ever leave her, ever again.

You’re 15, and in the span of a single afternoon your life has taken an incredibly new direction.

You sis- brother had come out onto the set having nearly shaved herself bald except for a dark-red fuzz atop her head. The director’s jaw had dropped, the set had gone silent, and even you had stared almost unbelieving, until you’d been dragged to the trailer your father occupied. You’d quietly sat in the corner as Father chewed him out for shaving head. You’d pulled out your scroll and cued up the first social media platform you’d come across, tagged every noisy reporter and news outlet you could think of, and had started to type out the announcement of the Sundown Twins as a brand name, when you realized you didn’t know your brother’s name.

“Hey, what’s like, your name and pronouns and stuff now?”

“Uh… he-him, and call me Azre.”

You’d added the announcement of Azre’s transition, and sent off the text to announce to the world who the two of you were now.

You father’s jaw had dropped when he read the messages, rendered speechless by the clever act of rebellion. He’d kicked you from the room, told you to get out, go anywhere, the shoot was canceled-

So you’d wandered back to your own trailer, sitting in the chairs outside as your Father argued with the director, sending orderlies scurrying as they hurried to pack up the million-dollar photoshoot that had taken the entire morning to set up.

You and Azre had been silent since that exchange. You couldn’t help yourself from shooting glances at his shaved head, still decked out in a bright-pink sundress with a bikini underneath for your “Playful Summertime” fashion line. He’d eventually caught you staring, and you’d whipped your gaze away as if stung, before you heard him heave a massive sigh-

-And it occured to you you should really make it clear you accepted him.

“So, uh- how’s your name spelled?

He turned to carefully observe your sheepish look, your usually perfectly-composed voice stuttering. He’d stared for a quiet moment, before a small smile graced his face. “A-Z-R-E. Azre.”

“...isn’t that, like-”

“Yes, yes it is. We’ve always been through everything together, and well- I doubt you’re going to leave me now.”

You spend your own moment staring, before snorting in disbelief, and then beginning to laugh. After all the stress, the tense situation, the threat of being seperated, it all boils over in an insane moment of hilarity - and after staring at you like you’ve lost your mind, he begins to crack up to.

After a laughing fit that lasts a solid five minutes, he reaches for your hand for the first time since you were kids, and you let him hold it. Yeah, together. You did promise after all, so it’s not just like you could leave him now.

You’re 16, and you didn’t think you’d be learning to run a business so quickly.

It had been Azre’s idea, really. A makeup line built especially to help trans youth accentuate their feminine or masculine features to help them pass more easily. He’d pitched the idea to you the day after he got his binder, when he was figuring out the best ways to accentuate his form to make him appear more masculine - facial features played a big part in passing, and the tricks he’d learned in emphasising his eyebrows or creating the outline of an adam’s apple on his throat actually really worked, letting him pass as a young male teenager. You never would’ve thought you’d hear him curse his cheekbones, but after crying frustration for the third time over a misalignment of his foundation, he’d turned to you and ranted how much easier it would be if it all came prepackaged-

And then it’d occurred to him, and even you had to admit it was kinda genius.

You had a new title, but nothing to show for it yet. The makeup line would be a perfect debut, cementing your new status as a brother-sister duo, instead of a pair of daughters to some rich entrepreneur. It’d give you a platform to stand on, but more importantly, give Azre a must needed confidence boost-

So you had agreed right away, and then started regretting it just two weeks later.

Azre might be able to dazzle the crowd with everything he did, even when the tabloids were a mess with the announcement of his transition and their brand separation from their Father, but that’s what he did best - dazzle. He was a massive extrovert, putting on a show that nobody could keep their eyes off of, with the ability to dazzle their pants off, but all glittery words were simply those - words.

You were the quick one, the clever one, the brave one. The one who’d come up with a way to keep you two together on the spot, who’d helped him locate his first binder and had spent the entire night awake after he first came out finding the best resources for someone who just came out as transgender. You’d told him off for binding with ace bandages despite his desperation, you where there to help him order his first binder, and you were with him when he went for his first doctor’s appointment, to find out how he could start on HRT, and had sat patiently in the waiting room as he spent hours with a voice coach. You’d done your best to help him grow from the shaky unsure mess he became when he first came out, to the confident, charismatic teenage idol you knew he loved to be, because he was your siblings no matter what happened, he was your brother- and you loved him, because he was all you had left in this world.

So you decided to pour your all into this.

You’d sat down with your manager and had pitched the idea, pushed it through their hesitance for such an ambitious idea after your hectic debut, but you argued that’s what your new brand name was built on - bold, bare-faced ideas. That even become your tagline. You’d collaborate with multiple makeup brands, find the cruelty-free brands ones you knew he’d prefer that still met his impossible standards. You’d reached out to the other celebrities you knew would help promote it. You’d set up the website, put out the announcement, handled question after question and meeting after meeting, where you’d organize Azre’s hastily-explained ideas into tangible realities, when he’d freeze under the judgemental gaze of your manager’s contacts while you forged ahead, all for him.

He’d had a ball of a time promoting it. TV interviews, promotional photoshoots, billboards, fan meetups - he got to dive right back into the fame he so craved, the celebrity lifestyle that you know he lived for. You let him handle that part, and resigned yourself to the seemingly endless meetings - because honestly, it was the first time since he’d come out you’d seen him smile like that. The exhaustion, the arguments, the everything - it was all worth it for that smile.

And then you’d planned the premiere.

It’d be a standard red carpet appearance. The glittering red dress you’d picked was sheer, clinging to every fragile curve you possessed, matching the black stiletto heels and the smokey red eyeshadow you’d carefully applied. The first-ever suit he wore, the one he let you choose for him, was white, but patterned with twisting golden roses, shimmering faintly in the light every which way he turned. In place of a hankerchief tucked in his pocket he’d decided on tucking a small version of the trans pride flag, refusing to let go of that piece of his identity You’d worn each other’s colors, a simultaneous announcement of independence and solidarity as the Sundown Twins had finally separated from their parent company. You two were going to flawless and perfectly in sink, ready to debut your makeup line at that night’s venue.

So when you’d stopped out of the limousine behind him, reaching to link his arm with yours as you had planned to do, only have him surge ahead to greet fans -

You’d swallowed the pang of hurt that rose up, got out of the limousine, and joined him in the classic smile-wave-selfie routine you’d perfected long ago. You let him get crowded by paparazzi, reveling in the flash of lights and the yells of his name as you stood off to the side, making polite conversation with the other celebrities who’d shown up to support Azre’s new makeup line.

...that smile was all worth it. After all, you might do everything together, but this was for him.

You’re 17, and Azre’s being an idiot.

“Hunters.” You say, your voice dripping with disbelief. He nods eagerly, and you find it necessary to fold you book up to look him square in the eye.

“Think about it, Erza! Hunters! There’s nobody more popular, no more well-respected than the hunters of Remnant! Huntsmen and huntresses are the greatest celebrities there are, valiantly defending innocent citizens from the greatest threat of humanity on the face on the planet! There’s no better way to claim fame, imagine if I- if we became hunters!”

He’s obviously excited. That devious, determined twinkle that’s been the same since childhood is in his eye, and from the way he’s bouncing in his seat it’s obvious he’s been waiting to strike her blind with this idea.

“Azre, are you sure?[/[] I mean, we’ve never gone to combat school-”

“We both know how to fight!”

“I only just figured out my semblance-”

“You punched a man through wall!”

“I only made a crater! And besides, you had those movie plans, and I’ve already lined up the director and started auditions for-”

“That doesn’t matter!”

You stare at him incredulously. He’s not kidding, he’d never kid about something like this. He’s serious. He’s completely serious.

“...which school are you thinking of?”

“Atlas is to far north and too cold. Beacon’s a solid maybe, but I’ve never been the biggest fan of Vale. Haven’s a certain possibility, but I was thinking we should go to Shade!”

“Shade? The school in the middle of Vacuo, the desert wasteland?”

Azre nods in enthusiasm. “It’s perfect, the Sundown Twins venturing into the desert wasteland to become the protectors of humanity? What could be heroic!? Besides, we both know Zanzabar would never want to step foot in such a place. ”

“...I suppose.”

Azre fistpumps to himself, giving a victorious “Yessss!” He looks back to you, giving you a grateful smile. “I knew you’d love the idea. You’d have to follow me, I just knew it! That’s the Sundown Twins to you - they do everything together, and now they get to save the world together!”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fond smile on your face. “Sure, Azre.”

“Erza?”

You crack your eyes open, coming face-to-face with the familiar brown eyes of your brother kneeling next to your bed. You start and jerk backwards, flailing dangerously on the side of the bed for a second before you manage to right yourself. You glance towards the alarm clock on the side of the bed - 2:43 am - and sigh to yourself as you stare down your brother. “What, Azre?”

He sits back on his own bed, biting at his lip. You’re used to Azre needing your attention at all hours, you’re used to him bugging you for inane ideas and waking you up at all hours, but like- you’d just gotten back from your mission, you’d been fucking exhausted, and you had a 8:00 am exam tomorrow morning.

“I’ve been thinking, about like. Why we enrolled at Shade, and decided to become hunters, and stuff.”

“Mhm?”

“It’s… it’s hard.”

You blink at that, take a moment to consider his words, and rub the sleep out of your eyes before asking him to repeat that.

“It’s hard!”

“Well- well, what the hell did you expect, of course it’s going to be hard. We’re training to kill Grimm and save people, this wasn’t going to be a cakewalk.” It’s hard to keep your voice low and impartial, glancing over your shoulder to where your teammates slept.

“Well, yes! But-”

“Shhh. Don’t wake anyone.”

He glares at you, before dropping his voice back down to a whisper to continue the quiet argument.

“I- I didn’t think it’d be this hard. Like, we were good fighters and stuff, but it’s constantly exhausting. I barely have time to relax anymore, we haven’t gone to a premiere in months, we have to spend all our time in classes and like- I can’t do it anymore!” There’s a desperate, exhausted note to his voice, giving you pleading eyes.

You hate the fact you know he’s serious.

“Erza, I think we should just… quietly drop out. It wouldn’t be a big deal, with your PR connections you should easily be able to cover up. Ramalia probably wouldn’t miss us, I mean, I love the woman and god bless her, but-”

“No.” The words fly from your mouth without thought, without planning, just your purely instinctual reaction to the concept of leaving. “I’m not dropping out.”

Azre looks on in disbelief as he’s not only disrupted, but denied. He stares at you as if he couldn’t fathom what’s happening, opening and closing his mouth several times like a fish on dry land, before putting on his best puppydog eyes. The puppydog eyes that haven’t changed since childhood. “B-but, Erza, you promised! You’d never leave me, we’ve always done everything together, we’d always do everything together! So why the hell are you saying no to me now, of all times? What’s possibly changed!?”

“...I want to become a huntress.”

“So did I, but it simple isn’t worth all the-”

“All the what, Azre? The hard work, the hours spent studying and training and everything? What you can’t fathom doing because it’s not immediately paying off like you expected it to? Azre, I’ve spent the past 18 years doing everything you wanted, organizing and writing and creating  so you could reap the rewards and go off and celebrate the fame it brought you, and we’ve jumped from idea to idea constantly and now that I found something I want, that I can use to make a real difference in people’s lives, you just want me to quit it just like that, because you’re tired of working hard? Have you gone batshit insane?”

“Erza, I cannot believe-!”

You cut him off halfway through his high-pitched reply by rolling over and covering your ears with your pillow, effectively blocking out any argument he could muster. “Goodnight, Azre.”

Azre lets himself wilt after the sudden retaliation, giving you a pitiful look you ignore. He’s at least dropped back to a whisper, but you can tell he still wants to argue. “But Erza, you promised you’d never-”

“Goodnight, Azre.”

You lay back down, and bury your head underneath your pillow. You hear Azre whine, before the rustling of sheets signifies that he’s layed back down - and secretly, under the cover of darkness, you let yourself smile.

You were going to let yourself have this, even if it meant you weren’t always going to be together.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 12, 2018, 12:16:34 PM
The prompt this week is a one-line prompt, the prompt has to appear somewhere in the response to be counted as a submission.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you need to have it either be from the perspective of your own approved character or an NPC where the focus of the story is on your approved character. An example of this would be if I had a specialist character and wrote a story from the perspective of their CO about how they keep messing up. Additionally, you may have other characters or NPCs in your story but if they're other's characters you must have approval from the user.

What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will choose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

"In that moment, (I/he/she/it/they/we) knew that (I/he/she/it/they/we) had fucked up."
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 19, 2018, 09:38:37 AM
No one posted because we're all failures.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 19, 2018, 09:40:35 AM
The prompt this week is a one-line prompt, the prompt has to appear somewhere in the response to be counted as a submission.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you need to have it either be from the perspective of your own approved character or an NPC where the focus of the story is on your approved character. An example of this would be if I had a specialist character and wrote a story from the perspective of their CO about how they keep messing up. Additionally, you may have other characters or NPCs in your story but if they're other's characters you must have approval from the user.

What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will choose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

"What are you gonna do, shoot me?"
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Walter on August 25, 2018, 03:28:46 AM
Canon: Lesson Learned

Another early training session on yet another saturday morning. Silica must have lost her mind - a man of Reginald's standing had no place being treated this way, unable to take a well-earned rest. After all, he could certainly use it with the Vytal festival approaching fast. Of course, Reggie had no doubts that he and Shiroe would win - he was that much of an overly confident prick.

He wandered into the training hall to find Silica sitting on one of the benches in her usual attire - short shorts, tank top, purple hair. Reginald had become used to this outfit meaning one thing and one thing only - he'd get treated like shit.

"Yo, shitstain! You're late." The woman called out. She was holding an apple in one hand but what caught Reginald's attention was her other hand sitting atop of her revolver which was laying on her lap. That was not a good sign.

"Well, perhaps if you were to provide a more reasonable time for-"

"Can it, dickweed, you'll do as I say and when I say it. Now, you and that Shirley dude are taking part in the tournament, correct?" She asked, cutting the boy off.

"Wha- His name is Shiroe, but, yes. We- I intend to win. Maybe then father will come to his senses."

"Only took you a year to remember someone's name. I'm impressed. Well, whatever, what I was going to say is that you won't win." Silica added, crunching into the apple in her hand.

"And why is that, exactly?" Reggie asked, crossing his arms and glaring at the woman.

"Because you're shit, Reginald," Silica responded as she hopped up from her seat, stepping closer to the boy. "You always have been. Useless in melee, incapable of dodging or blocking at range. When your dad was your age he was soloing giant nevermores and you'd die to a fucking boarbatusk sneezing at you."

The shock in Reginald's expression upon his assistant's barrage of insults was soon replaced with rage. "How dare you talk to me like that? Superior to me now or not, you can't-"

"Oh, shut it. You think your old man was a beast from day one? Fuck no. He put in work because he knew that's what he wanted to do. To be a huntsman. What do you want?"

Reginald was taken aback by her question. There was a short moment of silence before he spoke up again. "I want to prove myself, damned crone! You know that already. I'm not the weakling you try to make out of me with your serpent's tongue!"

"Fancy way of calling me a bitch," Silica said before tossing the half-eaten apple at Reginald. Surprised, the boy was struck square on the forehead. He reeled back, rubbing the impact area.

"What the fuck was that for?!" he shouted.

"You haven't improved much over the year. Not by a long shot. Still awful in melee, still terrible in a one-on-one. You're not any stronger, faster or any more clever than you were when you first applied to Beacon. But if you want to win this damn tournament, you better learn to at least dodge a whole lot better than that."

With that said, the woman raised the revolver in her hands and aimed straight at Reginald's chest. The boy stumbled back further, a terrified expression on his face.

"What are you going to do, shoot me?"

"Bingo, dingo."



Every part of Reggie's body was sore. His aura was barely holding up and his limbs still occasionally twitched from the electricity which had coursed through him just minutes before. He was beaten.

Silica wandered over and poked his side with her foot. "You almost had something going at the end there, fuckboy. Figure it out and get here same time tomorrow."

With that, the woman was gone - a bottle of water left at the boy's side. It took a solid ten minutes for Reginald to force himself up on all fours, and ten more for him to stand up. He groaned and kicked the bottle, sending it flying across the room.

Figure it out?

By god, he'd figure it out - and then he'd show that crazy bitch what for.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Siuwa on August 25, 2018, 11:34:11 AM
Canon: I said I'll never allow that

Two students in the Beacon stadium are duking it out. Water is wet, the Kingdoms Series does not invite teams from every Kingdom, sparring is one of the most common single activities in Beacon Academy. Especially true here as this is a training session held by the school. However this match today is... more than a little unorthodox.

The boy opened the match with a left straight at the breast of the girl. No, he was not aiming at the heart, which would require him to punch at her left with a right punch. The girl snarls at the punch before it connects and her expression turns pained as it does. Catalina read this one online and at lessons.  That general area is more sensitive than other, and especially so for females than to males.

The girl retaliated in the form of point-blank pistol shots,  but they missed and the assault on her continues as the boy secures the tempo of the fight by the first attack and will go on to win the match by finishing it with a kick in the crotch doubling her over.

While the better part of other students grasped at the attack in either fascination or horror Catalina was seething. And the triumphant boy wasn't ignorant of this. "It's not like I pulled any punches; isn't that what you advocated?" Cat's activism isn't exactly unknown to the class, so he added that. "Plus if it works, what are you gonna do, shoot me?"

Calen might be right just two days ago when he stated how every little edge in combat should be stacked to his advantage, after all, your opponents might just not care, and can not care if they are the creatures of Grimm. But that is the very thing Catalina stands for.

How could he? Not because she was a girl, Catalina was never about that. It's that... what? Catalina can tell it's definitely a direct violation of his principles, but what exactly is it? Cat have to find out or he can't rest comfortably, for something threatening his very identity is right there and he can't meaningfully resolve it.

At the sparring session the next day Catalina challenged him to a match. He is going to prove that it simply doesn't work. The professor also sees through what's bothering him, and as he is the combat teacher he realizes he should probably counsel him after this, but he didn't stop Cat for now.

The match was opened with another debilitating groin attack. Cat simply uses his semblance to block it off. But that reminds him: He was exploiting her sexual traits, and that is unacceptable. It doesn't matter if it's a male or female if he wants gender equality he'll practice it. With this renewed determination Catalina began his volley of semblance-aided piston punches only to be stopped when he decided to tank a punch. It hurts. The pain just doesn't match the strength behind the hook. No wonder he fights like that, he had a pain amplification semblance. Does that make his moves justifiable, hair pulling and all that? Probably from a pragmatic perspective, but this fight is already on.

So Cat went ahead and carried out his barrages of punches punctuated by the occasional sledgehammer swings and rifle shots. One such attack went for his adversary's head and he flattened his bunny ears to avoid a grab, but Cat reveals he aimed for the temple with a dazing jab. And so it went back and forth with neither side having the edge, and the proactive side changes hand over and over. Cat sends a spike straight at the target but is blocked by the arm, which Cat proceeds to wrap around and pull but was used to boost a punch.

Catalina extended his hand. He didn't think he'd be so eager to do so but he learned. To each their own: if someone uses a fighting style it's because it suits them. It doesn't really interfere with his agenda, after all, it's just that Cat would never sink to using those moves.
Title: Re: Weekly Writing Prompts
Post by: Dr. Gustave on August 27, 2018, 02:00:24 PM
The prompt this week is a general prompt, just write about what comes to mind.

200+ word count (Just don't write a novel.)

At the start of the story indicate whether it is a Canon or What-If scenario. Canon means it happens within the canon of the site and you need to have it either be from the perspective of your own approved character or an NPC where the focus of the story is on your approved character. An example of this would be if I had a specialist character and wrote a story from the perspective of their CO about how they keep messing up. Additionally, you may have other characters or NPCs in your story but if they're other's characters you must have approval from the user.

What-If means it's basically an alternate universe or timeline, this allows for a stronger focus on writing because you aren't constrained by site rules or RWBY, you can have anyone or anything as the PoV but you still need permission to use others' characters. That said, What-If scenarios, while no being canon on site, can still say something about the character PoV it follows if the character itself is effectively unchanged from canon, it's just that the events never happened on site.

There will be a winner this week, the prompt is open until midnight on Friday, going into Saturday, EST. After that, voting will be open for the entirety of Saturday and the winner will choose the prompt for the next week and their submission will be loved to a winners thread.

The main focus of all this should be on writing itself with character development as a beneficial side effect, we should be striving to write something that we can look back at and think, "Yeah, I'm actually proud of that." This is an excellent chance to improve your own writing as well as give criticism to or get criticism from others.

If you have any questions, do not post here, talk to me on the discord server. Only writing can be posted here, anything else will be deleted.

Describe a situation that fills your character with determination.