[RWBY] RWBY Shorts

[AndrewJTalon]

Synopsis: The Tragicall Historie of Camelot or King Arthur

Written by the great playwright Billius Schakkenspell, this is a romantic historical tragicomedy in five acts, set in the past of Albion, whose eternal capital remains the gleaming castle of Camelot — a bastion of chivalry and ancient magic perched upon misty cliffs and surrounded by enchanted forests filled with Grimm and other dangers.

Principal Characters (with their Shakespearean correspondences)

• King Arthur Pendragon — The noble but grieving monarch of Albion (Cymbeline)
• Queen Morgause — Arthur's ambitious and treacherous second wife, a sorceress of subtle poisons (the Queen)
• Prince Mordred — Morgause's arrogant and brutish son by her former marriage, covetous of power (Cloten)
• Princess Guinevere — Arthur's virtuous and courageous daughter by his first queen, named for her (Imogen/Innogen)
• Sir Lancelot du Lac — A valiant knight of humble origins, raised at court and secretly wed to Guinevere (Posthumus Leonatus)
• Sir Agravain — A cunning continental knight from Gallia, sly and boastful (Iachimo)
• Sir Bedivere — Lancelot's loyal companion and servant (Pisanio)
• Sir Belinus — A banished lord, living as a hermit in the wilds of Albion (Belarius)
• Sir Gawain and Sir Gaheris — Belinus's adopted "sons," brave young warriors unaware of their true birth (Guiderius and Arviragus — in truth, Arthur's long-lost sons, kidnapped in infancy)
• Merlin — The enigmatic prophet and advisor, appearing in visions (Jupiter/the Soothsayer)

Act I: Courtly Intrigue at Camelot
In the grand hall of Camelot, King Arthur mourns the disappearance twenty years prior of his two infant sons, taken in the night. Influenced by his cunning second wife, Queen Morgause, he seeks to secure his line by wedding his beloved daughter Guinevere to her son, the vainglorious Prince Mordred.

Yet Guinevere has secretly married Sir Lancelot du Lac, a peerless knight of mysterious low birth raised at Arthur's court. Furious at this defiance, Arthur banishes Lancelot to the continent. Before departing, the lovers exchange tokens: Guinevere gives Lancelot a sacred bracelet woven with her hair, and he bestows upon her a ring bearing the Pendragon crest.

Queen Morgause, plotting to elevate Mordred, feigns support for the lovers while secretly brewing poisons and schemes.

Act II: The Wager and Deception
Exiled in Gallia, Lancelot boasts of Guinevere's unmatched fidelity among the knights there. Sir Agravain, a smooth-tongued Gallian, wagers a fortune against Lancelot's ring that he can seduce the princess. Lancelot accepts, staking his honor.

Agravain travels to Camelot bearing gifts and flattery. Failing to woo Guinevere openly, he hides in a great chest delivered to her chamber (under pretense of safeguarding treasures). By night, he emerges, memorizes the secrets of her room — including a mark upon her breast — and steals the bracelet from her arm as she sleeps.

Returning to Gallia, Agravain presents the "proofs" to Lancelot, convincing him of Guinevere's betrayal. Maddened with jealousy, Lancelot orders his servant Bedivere to slay her upon her arrival in the wilds.

Act III: Flight and the Wilds
Guinevere, warned by Bedivere of the order, disguises herself as a young page named Fidelio and flees Camelot to seek Lancelot. Prince Mordred, enraged at her rejection, pursues her clad in Lancelot's armor.

Lost in Albion's ancient forests, Guinevere encounters a cave dwelling where the exiled lord Belinus lives with his two valiant "sons," Gawain and Gaheris. Touched by their noble bearing, she joins them as Fidelio. Unbeknownst to all, Gawain and Gaheris are Arthur's kidnapped heirs, raised in rustic honor.

Mordred confronts the brothers; in the ensuing duel, Gawain beheads the prince. Guinevere, taking a potion from Morgause's physician (believing it a restorative), falls into a death-like sleep.

Act IV: War and Vision
Gallia's King Josef Arc in Lutetia demands renewed tribute from Albion, refused by the King's nationalist fervor. Gallian legions, led by Caius Lucius, invade. Lancelot, repentant yet despairing, returns disguised to fight for Albion but is imprisoned, as he is seen as a spy.

In prison, Lancelot dreams a vision: the ghosts of his ancestors beseech Merlin, the then deceased wizard and advisor to Arthur, who descends in thunderous glory, promising that the lion's whelps shall reunite with the Pendragon and bring peace.

Act V: Reconciliation and Revelation
In a fierce battle near Camelot's walls, Arthur is captured — but rescued by Belinus, Gawain, Gaheris, and the disguised Lancelot who escaped from his prison to save his King. Albion triumphs.

Captured Gallians are brought before Arthur. In a cascade of revelations: Guinevere awakens and is reunited with Lancelot; Agravain confesses his deceit; Queen Morgause's poisons and plots are exposed (she commits suicide, unrepentant); Belinus reveals the true identity of Gawain and Gaheris as Arthur's sons.

Mordred's headless body confirms his fate. Merlin interprets the prophecy fulfilled. Arthur pardons all, restores tribute to Lutetia in a gesture of wise peace, and blesses the unions of Guinevere and Lancelot, welcoming his lost sons home.

The play ends in Camelot's great hall with feasting, forgiveness, and the promise of a renewed golden age — though shadows of future strife linger unspoken.

Notes:

This play, one of Billius Schakkenspell's later works, is difficult to categorize. It is technically a history but alters the events so dramatically from what was commonly believed at the time to have been the true events of Arthur I's reign as the first true King of Albion it hardly qualifies, even compared to liberties taken with plays such as Lūteus Imperator. It has comedic elements but these are also accompanied by significant drama and tragedy. It's slightly rushed third act is also a rarity for the great playwright, though as it was a commission from Lord Ozymandias of Furth-on-River who insisted on being present at every step of the play, it is understandable. It was one of Schakkenspell's most ambitious undertakings, though this would pale next to his later play (also commissioned by Lord Ozymandias) entitled The Witch and the Knight, based upon a play by an ancient Quitalan playwright known only as "The Pale Scribe".

OOC Notes:

Well you gotta have a Shakespeare equivalent if you have a British Empire equivalent, right? So here's a take on Shakespeare's Cymbeline, featuring many of Arturia (and subsequently Jaune's) ancestors. And yes, the names were so legendary people still kept getting named them and ending up in somewhat similar positions, though they often had much happier endings.

 

[dogbertcarroll]

An naruto crossover but its just naruto and Sauke from at the valley of End in part 1when the got transport . So for this when they havent had the 3 year time slip.now they are forced to cork together to survive as the grimm would be attracted to them especially with how they are at this point

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Attract? Sasuke's entire personality is trauma and Naruto carries an endless engine of rage in his stomach. Grimm would kill each other to reach the pair.

 

[Sliverhero]

Attract? Sasuke's entire personality is trauma and Naruto carries an endless engine of rage in his stomach. Grimm would kill each other to reach the pair.

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Thats the point its to forced the two to work together in thos crazy world.

 

[Gur40]

If Adam Meet A Human Girl That Wants To Burn The SDC To The Ground

Spoiler: Meme

Never Ask A Racist His Wife Race

---

Which Couple Is This

Spoiler: Snarky To Lovers

Or Duel Confession

---

Christmas Colors

Spoiler: Getting The Star

Sorry For The Quality found it like this

 

[The Brotherhood of Steel]

-Someone spikes the eggnog at the Aslanmas party at Beacon. Hoooo boy.

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That night Jaune finds out how assertive Velvet can get with liquid courage.

Spoiler: Pic related

 

[Sliverhero]

Time for some forbidden history.

An Extract from the Annals of Unclean Faiths and Calamities Upon Remnant

Collected and transcribed in the later Age of Kingdoms, from fractured testimonies, censored monastic records, and the words of those who did not long survive the telling.


On the Sect Known Only as the Drowned Star

Let it be stated plainly, before ink is committed too deeply: much of what follows is uncertain, contradictory, and drawn from accounts twice or thrice removed from the event itself. No scholar has claimed direct observation and lived. Those who insist otherwise were found raving, or were not found at all.

The sect is referred to in scattered records as the Drowned Star, the Congregation Below, or most commonly in warning edicts simply as the Forbidden Cult. Its true name, if such a thing exists, is not written here. Where it has been written elsewhere, the parchment has rotted black, or the eyes of the reader have failed soon after.


Of Their Nature and Practices

Unlike the common heresies that plague frontier villages, this cult did not seek power, wealth, or even dominion. All surviving testimony agrees on one point: they sought remembrance by something vast and ancient, a presence not native to Remnant, yet aware of it long before humanity learned to fear the Grimm.

Witnesses describe their rites as slow, patient, and performed in places where the land itself seemed old and wounded, coastal chasms, drowned cities, caverns beneath stagnant seas, and ruins that predated recorded history. They wore no consistent symbols, only scars, brands, and masks that suggested not beasts, but depth. It is said they did not pray in words, but in waiting.


The Behavior of the Grimm

Here the accounts grow most troubling.

Multiple military logs, village records, and Huntsman testimonies, later sealed by Kingdom decree, describe Grimm behaving in ways that defy all known instinct. Rather than attack nearby settlements, caravans, or even manifest Maidens, the Grimm would divert, converge, and hunt the cultists themselves.

One account from the Vale frontier states:

"The Beowolves did not howl. They did not rage. They moved as if drawn by a current, ignoring us entirely. A Nevermore passed overhead without striking. It followed the chanting."



Another record, attributed to an Atlesian observer centuries later, notes that Grimm would circle cult sites but not cross certain boundaries, as though fearful of what the cult sought rather than the cult itself.

This alone caused early Huntsman orders to classify the sect as Extinction-Level Heresy.


The Account of the Storm-Woman

A single ancient chronicle, heavily damaged by water and salt, tells of an event now considered apocryphal but repeated too often to dismiss.

It speaks of a woman of great power, unnamed, who stood upon a coastal rise as the sky tore itself apart. Thunder bent to her will. The seas rose and fell at her command. Many later scholars believe this to have been an early Maiden or something akin to one.

Yet when the cult emerged from the black surf below, chanting in rhythms that "hurt the wind," the Grimm did not turn upon her.

Instead, they turned away.

The storm broke around her, but the Grimm surged past, heedless of lightning and wrath, to descend upon the robed figures below. The chronicle ends with the line:

"She was mighty. They were expected."



Of Giles and the Warped Flame

In later centuries, fragments of the cult surfaced within human history itself, most notably through the infamous Giles, remembered in common texts as a murderer and war criminal, but named in suppressed archives as the Drowned Flame.

Giles was not alone.

He served a master whose name has been struck from nearly every surviving document, though marginal notes describe him as learned, charismatic, and unafraid of the deep places. This master is believed to have introduced coastal rites, star-aligned calendars, and the practice of "answering dreams."

Giles, it is said, did not understand the full scope of the cult's purpose. He merely believed he was preparing the world for a cleansing fire. His master knew better, and vanished before judgment could be passed.




Final Warnings and Suppression

All records agree on the cult's ultimate goal only in the vaguest terms. They did not seek to control the Grimm, nor to destroy the Kingdoms directly. They sought to call something awake.
Something that even the Grimm: creatures born of endless hatred, refused to stand near.

The final sealed edict of the old Vale Council ends with a warning never meant for public eyes:

"Whatever name they whisper into the abyss, it is not a god that answers.
The Grimm fear it.
And the Grimm are not known for fear."


Thus ends this extract. May it remain forgotten.

 

[ExFelineServer3]

Okay, very Lovecraftian!

 

[Sliverhero]

Okay, very Lovecraftian!

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That's the idea as if there is the brother Gods exists who know what else exists.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Bubble Towns in Remnant

Definition and Origins

Bubble Towns (sometimes derisively called "Grimm Bubbles," "Wall Blisters," or simply "Outskirts") are formal and semi-formal satellite settlements that form adjacent to the primary defensive walls of Remnant's major cities and fortified towns. They are constructed in many ways, from scavenged materials—leftover Dust-mining slag, ruined stone from abandoned outposts, broken airship hulls, corrugated metal, or local rock quarried from nearby terrain. These communities "bubble" outward from the main city's perimeter, often connected by narrow gates, elevated walkways, or long walled corridors reminiscent of ancient historical designs (e.g., the Long Walls of Athens, which linked the city to its port).

The phenomenon has existed throughout Remnant's post-Moonshatter history, but emerged most prominently in the post-Great War era, as populations swelled due to migration, refugees, industrial booms, and better Grimm control technologies. With main city walls already at capacity and expansion costly (requiring massive expenditures of labor and resources), authorities often turned a blind eye to squatters building just outside. Over time, some Bubble Towns have been retroactively incorporated during city expansions, becoming new districts (e.g., the lower terraces of Mistral's capital or suburbs and industrial fringes of Vale).

Types of Bubble Towns

1. Organic/Squatter Bubble Towns: Informal settlements inhabited by the poor, immigrants, refugees, outcasts, and day laborers. Walls are patchwork and hastily built, offering minimal protection.
2. Corridor-Linked Towns: Purpose-built extensions connected by long, fortified roads or walls to the main city, allowing safe transit for workers or trade to smaller communities near the major cities.
3. Planned Industrial/Expansion Zones: Government- or corporate-sponsored bubbles for factories, mines, or housing booms, often starting as temporary worker camps.
4. Penal Bubble Towns: Deliberately isolated prison communities, designed as "Grimm traps" (detailed below).

The Penal Bubble Town Strategy: "Bait Districts"
One of the most controversial applications is in penal policy. Certain Kingdoms (notably Atlas, Vacuo, and some Vale and Mistral sub-provinces) construct prisons as isolated Bubble Towns far from core populations but linked by guarded corridors. The rationale is coldly pragmatic: concentrated negative emotions—despair, anger, regret—from prisoners act as a powerful Grimm attractant. This draws hordes to the site's walls, where automated turrets, Huntsman patrols, or military/paramilitary forces can cull them efficiently.

• Mechanism: Grimm are lured in predictable waves, preventing scattered attacks on civilian areas. Prisoners are told this "serves the greater good" by thinning Grimm numbers.
• Examples: The infamous "ICE-17" outside old Mantle (now destroyed) was a walled compound where inmates mined Dust under guard; Grimm sieges provided "live-fire training" for Atlas cadets. In Mistral, remote island-like bubble towns off the coast or in grasslands serve similar roles. Some high security prisons in Vale and many normal prisons in Vacuo are kept outside the main walls of major cities and act in this capacity,
• Ethical Debate: Officially framed as utilitarian defense, critics call it state-sanctioned cruelty, exploiting prisoners as bait.

Societal Implications
Bubble Towns can be a sign of class divides across Remnant, while simultaneously enabling survival in a Grimm-dominated world.

• Economic Role: They house the labor force for undesirable or dangerous jobs outside the city walls (mining, waste processing, menial services). Incorporation brings taxes and infrastructure; neglect breeds black markets.
• Demographic Concentration: Many have high Faunus populations due to discrimination pushing them outward in some provinces of the Kingdoms. Many White Fang recruits emerge from these areas. Most however are a reflection of the demographics of their cities and reflective of their roles.
• Grimm Dynamics: Proximity to walls offers some safety, but overcrowding and poverty generate constant low-level negativity, attracting smaller Grimm packs. This creates a feedback loop: more attacks → more fear → more Grimm.
• Political Tension: Councils debate "cleansing" vs. integration depending on the type of bubble town. Radical voices (e.g., hardline White Fang) view them as proof of systemic oppression; more pragmatic voices see them as necessary to allow the population to expand, vital resources to be exploited, or defense in depth against Grimm incursions.

 

[Villuviel]

A mission goes wrong when JNPR goes to a large settlement to conduct a routine check up.

Nora accidentally triggers her hammer too close to Jaune. He starts crying and yelling desperately to run away. They don't get it, there were only 7 people in their group, why is he crying about missing people?

Wait, why are there 12 sleeping bags in their campsite?

Please, roll initiative

Grimm Idea: False Hydra - Calliope

 

[Sliverhero]

@AndrewJTalon just wondering if you forgot to add my snip to be bookmarked.

Time for some forbidden history.

An Extract from the Annals of Unclean Faiths and Calamities Upon Remnant
.

Click to shrink...

 

[zMADLAXz]

Duel Confession

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My first instinct was to correct "Duel" to "Dual" but upon further introspection, Duel is correct in this case.

 

[Blackicefox]

A mission goes wrong when JNPR goes to a large settlement to conduct a routine check up.

Nora accidentally triggers her hammer too close to Jaune. He starts crying and yelling desperately to run away. They don't get it, there were only 7 people in their group, why is he crying about missing people?

Wait, why are there 12 sleeping bags in their campsite?

Please, roll initiative

Grimm Idea: False Hydra - Calliope

Click to shrink...

You are EVIL

 

[Sliverhero]

Time for even more Forbidden history this time with Giles master.

A Composite Extract from the Annals of Unclean Faiths and Calamities Upon Remnant

Black Archive Concordance — Cross-Era Suppression

Recovered from multiple sealed repositories beneath Vale, Mantle, and old Mistral.
Compiled by unknown hands across millennia.
Annotations attributed to at least nine separate authors—some contradicting, some continuing one another mid-thought.
All copies ordered destroyed. None fully were.


On the One Called François Prelati

Where Giles burned, another watched.

This is the enduring failure of common history: that Giles was the architect of the Drowned Flame, that his madness was singular, and that with his death the heresy ended. Suppressed records disagree. They insist quietly, insistently, that Giles was never more than a vessel.
Willing. Devout. Replaceable.

The name that surfaces beneath scorched margins, ritual erasures, and sigils of interdiction is always the same:

François Prelati.
No birthplace is agreed upon.
No kingdom claims him.
No era contains him.

He appears suddenly in records that should not intersect: a scholar of forbidden astronomy in pre-unification Vale; an itinerant mystic along Mistral's drowned coastlines; a court thaumaturge dismissed from Mantle long before Atlas named itself, cited for "unsafe inquiries into Aura persistence beyond mortal continuity."

Each time, the descriptions align.
Soft-spoken. Educated. Unhurried.
Eyes that did not rest on people, but on what stood behind them.

On the One Who Preceded the Kingdom of Steel

Long before Atlas rose, before Mantle armored itself in iron and certainty, proto-Mantle engineering logs speak of a figure known only as the Consultant.

He advised against deep bore drills near the northern coasts. He warned that certain pressures, once relieved, could not be resealed.
He spoke of Aura theory with a fluency that would not be formalized for centuries.

The logs note no accent.
No origin.
No aging across decades of appearances.

When Mantle's council demanded lineage and credentials, the Consultant simply ceased attending meetings. Construction continued.

Test sites were later abandoned, not due to revolt or collapse, but because Grimm descended directly into the excavation shafts, ignoring surface settlements entirely, as though responding to something beneath the worksite.

Only much later were these logs cross-referenced with cult annotations and a single recurring name scratched into the margins:
François Prelati.

His Teachings

Prelati did not preach worship. He discouraged it. What he taught instead was attunement.
Fragments of his instruction describe the world as layered: stone upon memory, memory upon thought, thought upon something older still.

He taught that the Grimm were not Remnant's greatest calamity, but its immune response, violent, blind, and terrified. "They do not hate us," one fragment attributes to him.
"They hate what notices us."

It was Prelati who formalized the cult's calendars, aligning rites not to moons or seasons, but to stellar occlusions, tidal irregularities, and periods of collective dreaming. It was he who taught the discipline known as answering dreams: the controlled surrender of Aura during sleep, allowing something vast to brush the soul without fully entering.

Most who attempted this went mad. Some did not wake. Those who succeeded were never the same.

On the Matter of Continuance

Here the annals hesitate. Ink thins. Margins fill with warnings. There are repeated, heavily disputed rumors, never confirmed, never fully erased, that François Prelati did not fear death. Not as zealots claim to transcend it, but with the familiarity of one who had already crossed it and returned… sideways.

Contradictions persist:

A man burned at the stake in Mistral, Prelati confirmed dead, followed decades later by his appearance in Vale, unchanged. A drowned corpse recovered from northern waters, face matching contemporary sketches, while records place Prelati alive elsewhere at the same time.

A Huntsman report declaring a successful kill, followed weeks later by an addendum:
"Correction. The body was his. The voice afterward was not."

One marginal note, written in a steadier hand than most, reads: "He does not move from body to body. He teaches bodies how to let go."


Whether this implies possession, succession, or something more profane is unresolved. The annotator vanished soon after. His chambers were found empty, smelling faintly of salt and ozone.

On the Multiplicity of Claimants

Across centuries, at least five individuals, three women and two men were executed, imprisoned, or erased under the charge of being François Prelati.

Each claimed the name without hesitation.
Each demonstrated identical knowledge of forbidden stellar cycles, Grimm avoidance thresholds, and the rites of the Drowned Star.

Descriptions conflict: A silver-haired woman in Vacuo who laughed during immolation.
A Mantle archivist who corrected his interrogators' dates. A Mistrali priestess who stated under truth-binding Semblance:
"I am not him. I am where he was needed."



Autopsies, where permitted, show no shared physiology. Grimm behavior, however, was identical.

The Pattern of Grimm Response

Initial sightings of a Prelati claimant do not provoke attack. Grimm avoid the region. Lesser Grimm fail to approach. Mid-tier entities circle but do not engage. Only with prolonged presence do heavier manifestations appear.

Ancient Nevermore variants.
Leviathan-class entities.
Forms without modern classification.

Not to destroy the claimant. To contain the location. Multiple military analysts, separated by centuries and unaware of one another, reach the same conclusion: "The Grimm behave as if awaiting authorization."



If the claimant is eliminated early, escalation ceases. If the cult's activity deepens, if rites near completion, then Grimm no longer hunt the person. They hunt the ground.

Of the Hunters

It is often said that great men have hunted François Prelati across history. This is accurate, and incomplete. Kings ordered his death.
Huntsmen swore oaths. Scholars turned executioners. All failed.

Names are redacted, erased, or lost. Deeds survive without authors. Yet one fragment recurs across eras: a record of a lone hunter, appearing again and again at the edges of Prelati's movements.

The name is never fully written. Only two letters persist.

OZ

In the oldest strata, he is described as "the first Huntsman, though the title did not yet exist."
In later accounts, he appears as a counselor, a general, a headmaster, a man who arrives too late yet somehow always knows where to look.

Marginal notes suggest he has pursued Prelati longer than any Kingdom has existed. One damaged entry reads: "He has killed Prelati before. It did not end."

Another, written centuries later in a different hand: "OZ hunts not to win. He hunts to delay."


Of Nearing Completion

Several records agree on one final terror: the most dangerous phase is not Prelati's rise, but the moment when he or they, is no longer required. In regions where cult activity ceased without suppression, Grimm numbers dropped to zero. The land did not recover.

Aura destabilized. Dreams synchronized.
Navigation failed. Children spoke words they had not learned.

A pre-Atlas tablet recovered from a collapsed coastal vault bears a final carving: "When the door remembers itself, the key may sleep."


Closing Censure

Let this be written only once more.
If Giles was the flame, then François Prelati was the oxygen, patient, unseen, and essential.

He does not seek thrones.
He does not command the Grimm.
He does not fear death.

He prepares.

And when it finally stirs..

The Grimm will already be waiting.
And so will OZ.

Thus ends this concordance.
May its authors remain unknown.
May its subject never be found.

 

[Gur40]

From Tumblr BY notmaplemable - May 28, 2024

Jaune: *Steps over baby gate*

Weiss: *Still on the other side* ...

Jaune: ...I can take it down.

Weiss: No... Uppies, please.

 

[LordofBones]

Everyone finds out that Whitley built a hugging machine. Nobody knows what to think when Ruby and Jaune make liberal use of it too.

Ren: "...Out of curiosity, what else did you build?"
Whitley: "A machine to tuck me in at night and make hot cocoa, a machine to tell me 'good job, bro', a mother-bot that asks me how my day has been and says 'I love you', a robo-butler that's also a master assassin-"

 

[Ardrianian]

a robo-butler that's also a master assassin-"

Click to shrink...

HK-47 has entered the chat.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Der Vampyr von Albion

A grand romantic opera in three acts. Music by Himmel Marchener. Libretto adapted from ancient Albion chronicles and the mythic tales of the Joestar bloodline. Premiered in Kölln's Royal Theatre, circa the 1900s of Remnant's calendar in Arminius.

Principal Characters

• Sir Jonathan Joestar – noble young lord of the ancient Joestar house, baritone (Ruthven/Johann von Wohlbrunn analogue)
• Lord George Joestar – Jonathan's honorable father, bass
• Erina Pendleton – Jonathan's pure-hearted beloved, soprano
• Dio Brando – ambitious orphan taken in by the Joestars, powerful tenor (the Vampire Lord)
• Sir William Zeppeli – eccentric Quitalian master of mystic Aura arts, tenor
• Robert E. O. Speedwagon – loyal street-born ally from the rough districts of Camelot, baritone
• Lady Malham – high priestess of a secret midnight coven, mezzo-soprano
• Chorus of Albion nobles, villagers, coven members, and spectral undead

Setting
The misty isles of Albion, in the grand estate of Joestar Manor outside eternal Camelot. An age when Dust technology was new, and Aura is commonplace but many ancient arts of that great power are now but whispered of in legend. And ancient stone masks of forbidden power lie buried in forgotten crypts before the Moonshatter.

Act I: The Oath and the Mask
In the great hall of Joestar Manor, Lord George Joestar welcomes the orphaned Dio Brando into his home to repay an old life-debt. Dio, burning with ambition and resentment, bows outwardly while inwardly scorning the noble family. Jonathan, honorable and trusting, offers friendship, but Dio humiliates him in a public duel, stealing a kiss from the gentle Erina Pendleton to wound Jonathan's pride. Jonathan fights back, and Dio is humbled... For now.

Years later, Dio and Jonathan are practically brothers. Jonathan is close with Erina. Dio is outwardly planning on becoming a lawyer and going into politics. All the while, he plots to steal the Joestar fortune. During a storm, Dio unearths a sinister stone mask in the family crypt. When blood from a minor wound touches it, the mask awakens, driving bone spikes into his skull. He rises transformed — a vampire lord, immortal, thirsting for blood and dominion.

Lord George discovers Dio's dark experiments. In fury, Dio strikes him down, draining his life before the horrified household. Chaos erupts; Jonathan swears vengeance. Dio flees into the night, abducting Erina as leverage and prize.

Act II: The Midnight Coven
Jonathan, driven by grief and love, pursues clues through Albion's shadowed moors. In a ruined abbey, he interrupts a midnight rite led by Lady Malham, high priestess of a secret vampiric cult. Dio has joined her coven, promising them eternal night in exchange for loyalty.

Jonathan is captured and brought before Dio, who gloats over his newfound power. Erina, imprisoned yet defiant, refuses Dio's seductive offers of immortality. As Dio prepares to turn her, Jonathan is rescued by the mysterious Sir William Zeppeli, a wandering Quitalian master who teaches the ancient Aura art of Ripple breathing (Hamon) — channeling the soul's life-energy through the body to combat creatures of darkness.

Together with the rough but loyal Speedwagon, who has witnessed Dio's horrors in Camelot's underbelly, Jonathan trains in secret. Zeppeli warns that the battle will claim a sacrifice.

Act III: Dawn Over the Manor
The final confrontation returns to Joestar Manor at dawn. Dio, now commanding an army of ghoulish thralls, prepares his coronation as eternal ruler of Albion. Lady Malham and the coven chant infernal hymns.

Jonathan, Zeppeli, and Speedwagon storm the manor. In a series of blazing duels lit by Aura energy:

• Speedwagon holds off the undead horde.
• Zeppeli faces Dio directly, transferring the full mastery of the Hamon School to Jonathan at the cost of his own life.

Jonathan and Dio clash in the great hall. Dio's vampiric strength and regeneration seem invincible, but Jonathan's Ripple — pure as sunlight — burns through the darkness. In the climax, Jonathan drives a Ripple-charged sword through Dio's heart as the first rays of dawn pierce the windows.

Dio's body disintegrates in golden flames. Erina is freed; the coven scatters. Jonathan, gravely wounded, collapses in her arms as Speedwagon kneels in respect.

The opera closes with a solemn chorus at sunrise: though evil is vanquished this day, the ancient mask endures, and the Joestar bloodline must forever stand vigilant against the night.

NOTES:

Naturally this one is based on JoJo Part 1, and Der Vampyr by Heinrich Marschner. Arturia was a fan of it in her youth.

 

[Sliverhero]

A Redacted Addendum to the Common Histories of the Great War
Filed under: Irregular Influences, Suppressed Causes
Circulation Prohibited Beyond the Academies


Most citizens of Remnant know the Great War as it is taught: a clash of ideologies, of crowns and councils, of color and culture. Textbooks speak of Mantle's rigidity, Mistral's excess, Vale's reluctance, Vacuo's abandonment. Dates align. Banners fall. Treaties are signed.

This version is true. It is also incomplete.

What follows is not taught because it cannot be neatly diagrammed. It does not fit into speeches or memorials. And those who first attempted to record it often did not finish.

Of the Hands Beneath the Table

Before the first mobilizations, before the embargoes and conscriptions, there were smaller movements...quiet ones.

Fraternal orders that were not fraternal. Study circles that met at odd hours. "Philosophical societies" embedded within officer corps, trade ministries, and cultural councils across every Kingdom. They did not fly a single banner. They did not agree on symbols. They agreed only on direction. These cults, if the word applies, did not command armies. They advised them.

A recommendation here: escalate rather than withdraw. A suggestion there: suppress negotiations, for weakness invites annihilation.
A forged report. A delayed message. A general reassigned at precisely the wrong moment.

None of these acts alone caused the Great War.
Together, they ensured it could not end quickly.

Of Influence and Atrocity

Later analysts would note peculiar consistencies across all fronts: Orders that resulted in mutually assured devastation, issued without clear strategic value.

Entire battalions deployed into terrain already marked, quietly as compromised. Cities evacuated after supply lines were cut, rather than before. Witness testimonies from veterans describe moments where commanders spoke words that did not sound rehearsed, nor wholly their own. Moments of unnatural certainty. Of decisions carried out with reverence rather than reason.

There are sealed medical reports of soldiers who survived battles only to later insist they had agreed to die, but forgotten why. These records are fragmentary. Many were burned. Others simply stop.

Of Mantle, Before Its Breaking

Before Mantle fell, before its allies fractured under the strain, there was a final convergence.
The cult networks had grown bold. Their rites, once scattered, began to synchronize. Observatories reported anomalies dismissed as equipment failure. Aura researchers recorded fluctuations attributed to battlefield stress.

It is now believed the primary locus lay far north, beyond sanctioned borders, at a site whose coordinates are still classified and whose name has been scratched out of every surviving map.
And toward that place went a single figure.

Of the One from the Arc Line

The records do not agree on how the unknown hero arrived. Some say he walked alone through blizzards that should have killed him.
Others claim he was escorted by Huntsmen who later could not recall his face.
One account insists he was already wounded when he departed, and never slowed.

What is consistent is what followed.
That day, the sky was said to bleed, not rain, but color, staining clouds as if the world itself had been cut. Across Mantle and its allied territories, people reported hearing voices that were not carried by air. Some wept. Some screamed. Some laughed until their throats failed them.

A percentage of the population, no two sources agree how many, simply broke. They raved of doors opening the wrong way. Of stars pressing too close. Of something vast rising, unfolding, reaching...

Several witnesses swear they saw a silhouette climbing into the heavens, so large it might have brushed the shattered moon itself.

And then...

Nothing.

The pressure ceased. The voices ended. The thing was gone.



The Final Report

A later communiqué, released only in part, states that the young man from the Arc family sacrificed everything to disrupt the cult's designs. Not merely his life, though that too, but his name, his place, his memory's anchor in the world.

The report's author admits something unusual:

"I cannot remember his face.
I cannot recall whether I loved him, followed him, or was born of the same blood.
I know he mattered to me.
I know that I knew him."



Every attempt to reconstruct his identity collapses into uncertainty.Son or daughter.
Brother or sister. Lover. Friend.

The only artifact that remains verified across multiple independent recoveries, iis a shield, battered beyond recognition save for one mark:
The Arc symbol.

No initials.
No inscription.
Just the crest.

Of What Followed

Within weeks, cult communications across Remnant fell silent. Several high-ranking officials resigned without explanation. Others vanished. Grimm activity along certain fronts dropped sharply, unnaturally so.

The Great War continued.
But historians note that from that point on, escalation slowed. Plans unraveled. Catastrophes that had seemed inevitable… did not occur. The war still claimed millions.

It simply did not claim everything.

Closing Annotation

Public history teaches that the Great War ended because the Kingdoms learned to listen to one another. The suppressed records suggest something else intervened first. Someone stood where the world was thinning. Someone paid a price no ledger could record. And in doing so, ensured that when Remnant remembers the Great War, it remembers survival, not extinction.
The shield remains in storage.

No one who studies it too long can quite remember why they started.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Anyway, a slightly less serious idea: Glynda has decided that if Jaune wants to stay at Beacon, he's gonna prove it. She sets him up against all seven of his friends (and Blake) in Combat Class with the intent of making him so frustrated he quits voluntarily when he can't get even a single win. Not that they are aware of this.



Jaune however isn't giving up. CRWBY said they wanted Jaune to be their Sokka. Let's let him be Sokka. He pulls out all the stops, comes up with every trick and tactic he can to even the odds as his only advantages are his mind and his huge Aura. And he aims to win.



This lets you explore all the RWBY main cast via combat. Gives you avenues for exciting action, drama and character work.



Naturally, by the end of it Glynda is impressed enough with his progress, even if he loses most of his bouts, to encourage him further. And to consider him a proper student.

 

[TheFabulousCustodes]

Anyway, a slightly less serious idea: Glynda has decided that if Jaune wants to stay at Beacon, he's gonna prove it. She sets him up against all seven of his friends (and Blake) in Combat Class with the intent of making him so frustrated he quits voluntarily when he can't get even a single win. Not that they are aware of this.

Click to shrink...

Jaune wins the match against Blake by using Zwei, who because of his aura being unlocked, technically counts as Huntsmen equipment.

How else does Jaune win by using his wits?

 

[dragon_cloud16]

Jaune wins the match against Blake by using Zwei, who because of his aura being unlocked, technically counts as Huntsmen equipment.

How else does Jaune win by using his wits?

Click to shrink...

When he fights Ruby, he throws a sack full of cookies into the air. Leading to her to pause long enough for him to get a ring out.

 

[Frakir's brother]

I've got a idea for adoption too. Jaune, instead of being Random Idiot A, has the basics of sword and board along with his Aura unlocked. This comes from a former teacher of his, Gila Blueberry who also was in a illegal relationship with him, how does this change things? Beacon is an elite school and so more than the basics are needed, but it means people aren't all that suspicious that the born Tank got in.

 

[Sliverhero]

Anyway, a slightly less serious idea: Glynda has decided that if Jaune wants to stay at Beacon, he's gonna prove it. She sets him up against all seven of his friends (and Blake) in Combat Class with the intent of making him so frustrated he quits voluntarily when he can't get even a single win. Not that they are aware of this.



Jaune however isn't giving up. CRWBY said they wanted Jaune to be their Sokka. Let's let him be Sokka. He pulls out all the stops, comes up with every trick and tactic he can to even the odds as his only advantages are his mind and his huge Aura. And he aims to win.



This lets you explore all the RWBY main cast via combat. Gives you avenues for exciting action, drama and character work.



Naturally, by the end of it Glynda is impressed enough with his progress, even if he loses most of his bouts, to encourage him further. And to consider him a proper student.

Click to shrink...

he accidentally seduces yang as he main goal was to piss her off so much she charge at him and he dodge roll at the last second to get the ring out. Instead she leaves because she is too embrass.
Pyrrha he hugs her and lifts her up and drop her out the ring. weiss goes to use dust against jaune just tanks it fully and takes her down.when she is exhausted just to show how tanky he is.


Also on a different note how do people feel about my take on lovecraftian cults in remnant

 

[zMADLAXz]

For Nora, he uses the good old Airbender Avoid and Evade.

When she launches a rocket, Jaune get's lucky enough to catch the rocket on his shield just before it had built enough inertia to detonate, and as Nora charges in he hits her with it, the pink smoke blinds her temporarily.

Jaune closes in knocks her off her feet, and grapples her, dragging her outside the bounds.

It almoat worked with master Piandu, it should work here.

 

[Handspan]

Anyway, a slightly less serious idea: Glynda has decided that if Jaune wants to stay at Beacon, he's gonna prove it. She sets him up against all seven of his friends (and Blake) in Combat Class with the intent of making him so frustrated he quits voluntarily when he can't get even a single win. Not that they are aware of this.



Jaune however isn't giving up. CRWBY said they wanted Jaune to be their Sokka. Let's let him be Sokka. He pulls out all the stops, comes up with every trick and tactic he can to even the odds as his only advantages are his mind and his huge Aura. And he aims to win.



This lets you explore all the RWBY main cast via combat. Gives you avenues for exciting action, drama and character work.



Naturally, by the end of it Glynda is impressed enough with his progress, even if he loses most of his bouts, to encourage him further. And to consider him a proper student.

Click to shrink...

I think having him consistently lose, but always get back up for more would be more in character at this point. Jaune is absurdly tenacious and fairly ingenuitive. He's going to use everything to his advantage. He's going to tank hits from Weiss and Blake so he can get into a grapple. He's going to distract nora. He's going to piss off yang. All he needs to do is disarm Ruby and then it's game over for her. He probably will end up kissing pyra just to fluster her enough to give her a hug, pick her up and walk her out of the ring. The one person amongst his friend group that he doesn't have a trick to pull on is going to be ren. He might not win these bouts, but he's going to give a much better showing than anyone anticipates every time. And every rematch he's going to do better and come closer to winning.

 

[AndrewJTalon]

Weiss Schnee, assigned as Jaune Arc's bodyguard for the day, stood rigidly in her tailored Huntress gear, her rapier Myrtenaster at her side. Today was no ordinary assignment—Jaune was meeting Jacques Schnee, her father, to discuss contentious tariffs on the Schnee Dust Company. The weight of it pressed on her, her usual poise strained by the looming confrontation with the man who'd shaped her childhood into a cold, calculated game.

Jaune, in a sharp navy suit that made him look far more authoritative than his usual scruffy self, adjusted his tie nervously behind the desk in his office.

"How do I look?" He asked.

"... Adequate," she decided on. Jaune nodded.

"Anything last minute I should know about him? Any strategies he uses?"

Weiss snorted, her voice sharp but controlled. "He's a manipulative, lying snake who only cares about his money. He'll say anything to get you to believe he's on your side, and then slowly, he'll take, and take, and take… until you have nothing left to give. He has his Dragon Faunus enforcer, Fafnir, he'll use to make himself look more intimidating."

Jaune nodded, unfazed. "Gotcha. Just like Tangy coached me."

Weiss blinked. "Tangy?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it," Jaune said, waving it off as his Scroll pinged, signaling the meeting time. He glanced at it, then casually scrolled through a food delivery app. "So, what would you like for lunch, Weiss? I have to order in after the diner."

Weiss's jaw tightened. Her entire life with Jacques had been about punctuality—being early, never late, always on his time. "What are you doing? He's ready for you!"

Jaune didn't look up. "Nah. We're going to be late on purpose."

Weiss's eyes widened. "I… why?!"

"My sister's a business major and runs her own PMC," Jaune explained, still scrolling. "She gave me some advice: whoever makes the other party wait has an advantage over the other. This is a show of dominance, Weiss. We can't let your dad think he can order us around."

Weiss froze, realization dawning. Her father did make others wait—a power play she'd never questioned. "That… bastard…"

Jaune grinned. "So! We're going to let him stew for an hour and then come in. Sound good?"

Weiss hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. "I… suppose so…"

"Great!" Jaune said, tapping his Scroll. "Schwarma, maybe? You said you wanted something greasy and messy once, right?"

Weiss, still rattled, muttered, "…Honestly, given the situation… Yes, the greasiest, messiest food available."

They ordered, ate a leisurely lunch, and an hour later, strolled into the conference room on the lower levels of the Government Tower. Jacques Schnee sat at the head of the table, flanked by his tall, ominous bodyguard, a dragon Faunus with a cybernetic mask, red eyes, and large, ominous wings wrapped around him. His expression was unreadable, but Jacque's was: a mask of barely concealed irritation. His chair, subtly shorter than standard, forced him to look up at Jaune—a detail Weiss noted with a flicker of amusement.

"Well! It's about time, Councilman Arc!" Jacques snapped.

Jaune stood casually at the opposite end. "Oh? Was it?"

Weiss stood behind him, nodding curtly. "Father." Her tone was ice.

Jacques regained his composure, his voice oily. "Weiss… I trust my daughter made the time of the meeting known to you, Councilman?"

Jaune shrugged. "Hm? Yes, but I had other matters to attend to."

Jacques's eyes narrowed. "What matters?"

"Matters of state, Mister Schnee," Jaune replied coolly.

"I have been kept here for over an hour, Councilman!" Jacques barked.

"Then I'm sure you're ready to talk. Shall we?" Jaune said, unfazed as he sat down.

Weiss stepped forward, her voice sharp. "Please, Father. Refrain from shouting at the councilman again. It is… unbecoming of you." She inspected her nails, feigning disinterest.

Jacques bristled. "Why is my daughter here anyway?"

Jaune leaned forward. "If you feel alarmed with her here, we can send her away. Along with your bodyguard. Just one-on-one."

"I am not alarmed!" Jacques snapped. "I am here to discuss these tariffs being unfairly placed upon my company by your government! And I will not be insulted by a mere councilman—!"

Jaune stood, slamming his hands on the table, making everyone but Jacque's bodyguard jump. He took a deep breath.

"I can see you're not interested in having a proper conversation, Mister Schnee. The utter contempt you've shown me, my people, and your own daughter has made clear no negotiations will take place! We won't have any discussions until you're ready to act like a civilized human being! Good day, sir!" He stormed out.

Jacques gaped after him, speechless. Fafnir, his bodyguard, stared after Jaune with his usual inscrutable expression.

Weiss raised an eyebrow, her voice cool.

"Well… it seems that will be all for today. Have a pleasant day… Father." She bowed curtly and followed Jaune. Inwardly, she was frantic as she hunted her charge down.

In a sideroom, Jaune was pacing, taking deep breaths but grinning like he'd just won a spar.

"Phew… okay… that was a rush… Hey, Weiss."

"What was that?!" she hissed, torn between awe and frustration.

"Phase One," Jaune said, still grinning. "I need you to wait ten minutes, then go back in and say I'm a loose cannon, totally unreasonable, but you managed to talk me into resuming negotiations. Emphasize that I'm unpredictable, crazy even. Can you do that?"

Weiss's mouth opened, then closed.

"What?! Why?! Why don't we just leave now?!"

"Trust me," Jaune said, his eyes steady.

Weiss grumbled, "Fine! I'll wait…"

Ten minutes later, she re-entered the conference room, looking put-upon. Jacques was on his Scroll, frustration etched into his face as Fafnir continued to loom. Weiss cleared her throat.

"Father…" she said, her voice troubled.

Jacques looked up. "Weiss! What are you doing here?"

"I've successfully convinced Councilman Arc to give you another chance. Just one," she said, side-eyeing him. "Though I warn you, he's not happy right now, and not in a particularly understanding mood. Quite unstable, actually. One minute he was throwing a chair against the wall, the next asking me what I'd like for lunch. Please… try not to screw this up a second time. For our sake, of course."

Jacques looked surprised but nodded. "No… of course. I had no idea what you were putting up with here among these people, Weiss."

Weiss ignored him, leaning out the door. "He's ready for you."

Jaune strode in, still looking cross. "Just so you know, Mister Schnee, I am only here because your daughter pleaded your case. Remember that."

Jacques, now cautious, nodded. "Yes… of course… If you would please sit down, Councilman Arc?"

They sat, Jacques turning on his slick charm. "These tariffs being applied to my company… it seems counterproductive, Councilman. After all, the SDC is a global company, making anyone and everyone rich who invests in it—"

"Save for the locals, of course," Jaune cut in.

Jacques started. "I-I assure you, those are exaggerations—"

"Mister Schnee, come now. We're both men of the world, are we not? I may be young… but I'm not stupid," Jaune said with a small smile. "Clearly, things have been going badly for your company in the PR game… and it can't all be due to your rivals, can it?"

Jacques gritted his teeth. Weiss, feigning disinterest, flicked her eyes to her father's frustration with quiet satisfaction.

"That said," Jaune continued, "it's a massive company. You can't be responsible for all of it, can you?"

Jacques hesitated. "…Yes. I am only one man."

Jaune nodded. "Of course… If the locals decide to use slave Faunus labor outside of Atlas's ability to enforce the laws, well… that's hardly your fault, is it?"

"Yes, very much so," Jacques said quickly. "I am, after all, only a businessman."

"But you can understand our reluctance to allow your further expansion in Vale, correct?" Jaune pressed. "These things keep happening anywhere your company sets up shop. It's a very bad pattern, you see. I do have to look to the interests of my constituents. Nobody will vote for someone who lets their relatives become slaves."

Jacques flinched. "Slaves is—is a harsh word—"

"Yes, it is," Jaune said, unyielding.

"You see, Jacques, your company has become indispensable to Atlas… but it is not indispensable to Vale," Jaune continued. "Your patents on many of your technologies have either expired in Vale or have been duplicated or improved upon, and are being used by our local companies. A tariff on you may cause us some short-term pain… but it will let our industry catch up. And then… what will you do?"

Jacques looked aghast. "You… you can't be threatening me, Councilman Arc."

"Threatening? Hardly. I'm just telling you what will happen," Jaune said coolly. "Nationalism can be dangerous, but no less than your own. The SDC is functionally a part of Atlas's foreign policy now, and we all know it. At present, I see no incentive to letting the SDC continue to do things as they always have. Do you? Would you take such a deal?"

Jacques swallowed. "…I suppose I wouldn't."

"Then why should I?" Jaune asked, leaning back.

Jacques's eyes gleamed, shifting tactics. "Well… there are other forms of deals one could make… between the two of us. Why, we should be friends, do you not agree, Councilman? My lovely daughter is already close to you."

Jaune raised an eyebrow. "Hmmm… I do like her more than you, Mister Schnee."

Weiss stayed silent, her jaw tight, but her eyes flicked to Jaune with a mix of gratitude and tension.

Jacques pressed on. "After all… the two of us could come to some reasonable arrangement, through my daughter…"

Jaune's expression darkened. "I'm sorry… this negotiation is worth marrying your daughter off to me?"

Jacques stammered, "I… well—"

"OUTRAGEOUS!" Jaune roared, slamming the table again. "That's your offer?! Your own daughter?! RIDICULOUS! How DARE you devalue your daughter so much in front of me!"

Weiss glanced at her father with an "I told you so" expression, her lips twitching upward.

"There's a vote to cut off all Dust trade with Atlas this Thursday in closed session, and I intend to vote yes!" Jaune continued. "The fact you're willing to give her up means it's that crucial to you!"

Jacques raised his hands. "All right, all right!" He took a deep breath. "…What are your demands?"

Jaune leaned forward. "The tariffs remain as is. If you want our business, do it properly: we're cutting regulations to improve our business. Lobby your own government for it so you can compete for our business on a fair battleground. However…"

Jacques frowned.

"However…?"

"I could agree to a shortening of the tariffs. Say… four years? More than enough time to improve your own industry," Jaune said.

Jacques countered, in some irritation, "More than enough time to improve yours!"

Jaune smiled. "Yes, of course… but the alternative is a total embargo. Oh, it would be short… but very painful for you. More painful for you than us, wouldn't you agree, Mister Schnee?"

Jacques scowled. "…Two years."

"Three," Jaune shot back.

"Two and a half!" Jacques snapped.

"I'll have to clear it with the Council, of course," Jaune said smoothly.

"Of course—" Jacques began.

"And improving the image of your business will help with that immensely," Jaune added. "Valean inspectors to your foreign mines would help, as would Hunters being involved. They are an independent international force, after all."

Jacques bristled. "I can't have Hunters interfering in my business—!"

"You mean… foreign influence over your business?" Jaune asked pointedly. Jacques glared, but nodded.

"I suppose..."

They argued several other points, for close to an hour, before Jacques finally scowled… But nodded.

"…I'll have to clear it with my stockholders… but… I believe we can come to terms."

"Excellent," Jaune said, standing. They shook hands.

"You'll be getting the first drafts by tomorrow," Jaune said. "Everything in this room has been recorded, after all."

Jacques's face tightened. "…I see…"

"Have a nice day," Jaune said, turning to leave. He headed out without a second look back.

Jacques looked at Weiss, who raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Father?"

"…What are your feelings for Arc?" he asked, his voice probing.

Weiss's expression was stone. "…Apologies, Father, but my feelings regarding Councilman Arc are nobody's concern but my own."

Jacques shook his head, exasperated. "Good. He would be a terrible son-in-law."

Weiss muttered under her breath, "If only that meant something."

Jacques frowned.

"Hm?"

"Nothing, Father," Weiss said, turning to leave, feeling Fafnir and Jacques' stares on her back.

In Jaune's office, he was sprawled on the couch, sweating and breathing deeply. "Haa… hooo… haa… hooo…"

Weiss closed the curtains, her voice dry. "You know, if Yang caught you sweating and grunting like this, she'd have some very crass words to say…"

Jaune chuckled weakly. "I-I know… geez… Tangy ran me through this over the Scroll like thirty times. And I still feel like I almost lost my lunch."

Weiss gestured to the couch. "Lie down."

Jaune complied, and she pulled out a blanket, draping it over him. "You… need to rest, Jaune Arc. Don't think I haven't noticed you've been overworking yourself lately."

Jaune smirked faintly. "Heh… so you did notice?"

She glared, chopping his head. "Take this seriously, you dolt!"

"Ow," Jaune muttered, then sighed. "Still… nice to know you care about me. Sorry I was such an idiot before."

Weiss flushed. "Of course I do!" She stammered, "You're my… f… fr… frie…" She smacked him with a pillow. "TAKE A NAP!"

"URK!"

"Besides…" Weiss softened, "you… weren't an idiot in there. So I don't know why you're apologizing."

Jaune smiled. "I'm only not an idiot because I listened to my big sister… and you were there."

Weiss's lips curved slightly. "I understand the feeling… But in my opinion, you handled that quite well."

"Thanks…" Jaune closed his eyes, snoring softly within moments.

Weiss brushed the hair from his eyes, whispering, "You really are still a dolt, aren't you…" She stood, turning off the lights. "Sleep tight, Jaune," she murmured, shutting the door.

Outside, Yang ambushed her with a broad grin. "Heyah~!"

Weiss yelped, then composed herself, clutching her chest. "What are you doing here?!"

Yang smirked. "It's my shift now! But I'm just checkin' on our favorite Ice Queen and Councilman. Heard you two had a meeting with your dad. How'd it go?"

Weiss sighed, a small smile breaking through. "He… didn't puke. He was actually… impressive. Annoyingly so."

Yang's grin widened. "That's my man."

Weiss frowned, her voice sharp. "Listen, your—" She made an exaggerated vomiting motion, clutching her stomach as if the thought of Yang and Jaune actually together was physically painful. "'Boyfriend' is asleep inside. Be quiet, will you? Don't bother him with your nonsense!"

Yang's lilac eyes sparkled with mischief. She leaned in, grinning.

"I'll be really quiet, don't you worry about a thing~."

Weiss's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing.

"Why did you say it like that?"

Yang's grin widened, all teeth and teasing. "Maybe you'll learn when you grow up, Weisscream."

She slipped past Weiss, sneaking into Jaune's office and shutting the door with a soft click.Weiss sputtered, her face turning a furious shade of red.

I should go… I don't care about Arc. Certainly not with Xiao-Long and her stupid fake boyfriend thing with that stupid idiotic-!

Unable to resist, she crept forward and eased the door open, her curiosity overriding her usual restraint.

Inside, Yang sat on the couch, Jaune's head resting gently on her lap as he snored softly, cocooned in the blanket Weiss had draped over him earlier. His suit jacket hung over a chair, his tie loosened, and his face was serene in sleep, a stark contrast to the commanding councilman who'd faced down Jacques Schnee. Yang gazed down at him with a tender smile, her fingers brushing lightly through his messy blond hair. The scene was infuriatingly intimate.

Yang's head snapped up, her lilac eyes flashing as she spotted Weiss peeking. "Hey!" she hissed, keeping her voice low. "Beat it! He's sleeping!"

Weiss's face flushed scarlet, her whisper venomous. "Yes… thanks to me!"

Yang's glare didn't falter. "Well, stop trying to wake him up!"

Weiss, trembling with rage, spat, "You! You skank!" She turned and slammed the door shut. In the hallway, she muttered furiously under her breath, "You win this round, Xiao-Long… you and your… stupid, restable-on body."

That's all she was jealous of. That's all. Not that she cared what Arc thought or felt! Not at all!

 

[Blackicefox]

The lady doth protest too much. Also that was badass

 

[bazerkerking]

Tsun-Tsun Weiss is my favorite Weiss