#cinders writes

[indycinders]

Pure smut cause my uterus is trying to kill me.

Maybe a bit of praise kinks in there? Jealousy? Idk it's Caleb lmao. Enjoy.

P.S. not canon to their actual story in my head, maybe it's a dream Caleb had, who knows uvu Also obviously pre-explosion era.

Edit: forgot to add the title aaaaa

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"Above the Clouds"

“It was nice of your roommates to give us some time alone,” Cinders remarked as she walked over to Caleb and sat down between his legs, a towel on her head and wearing one of Caleb's old shirts over a pair of shorts.

They'd been coming back from a festival in the park when it started raining, both of them running to his dorm unable to stop themselves from getting soaked to the bone. Caleb urged Cinders to take a shower first so she wouldn't get sick, and while she was doing so, he negotiated with his roommates to leave. He was out fifty bucks, but that was nothing compared to the silence and solitude of a night in with her.

He wouldn't have to worry about any of them making suggestive comments towards her, or flirting with her. Nope, she was all his for the night.

“Yeah, they have a thing they're going to tonight,” he said, grabbing her by the hips and scooting her closer. He reached for the towel around her head and started drying her hair as she settled in and turned her attention to the small TV in his room. He had one of her favorite shows playing.

When he was done drying her hair, he picked up the brush and began pulling it through the unbelievably soft burgundy strands. He could smell the shampoo wafting up to his nose and he felt that familiar ache in his lower abdomen. The tips of his ears burned as he shifted slightly.

“A thing?” she echoed. “I didn't ruin your hangout plans with your friends, did I?”

Cinders tilted her head back enough to just barely see Caleb above her. He smiled at how adorable she was and shook his head quickly. “No, no. I'm not into what they do anyway,” he reassured her, nudging her head back into place.

“Really?” she hummed, her tone skeptical. “Gideon says differently.”

He felt his eye twitch. “Since when did you speak with Gideon?” Enough to refer to him so casually, too.

“Oh, it was a bit earlier when I was waiting for you,” she explained. “Do… do you know if he has a girlfriend?”

His hand gripped the brush handle tightly and he had to make an effort to keep his motions gentle and soft and not fueled by his irritation. “Uh, I don't know. Why? Do you like him?” he winced, noticing his tone sounding a bit demanding.

Cinders shrugged, shifting in her seat between his thighs, still watching the show on the TV. “Mm, I don't know. He asked for my number earlier. Guess I just want to make sure I'm not giving it to some player,” she laughed a little.

Caleb's breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. No, this wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to get interested in anyone. Before he could stop himself, he put the brush down and pulled her flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around her waist.

“Oof!” Cinders let out a surprised huff of air, wiggling in his arms but it was clear Caleb wasn't going to let go. “Caleb…?”

“You can't-” he choked out, clearing his throat. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in and trying to compose himself. “You're not allowed to date my friends.”

“Caleb-” she squirmed again but he only tightened his hold.

“I'm serious, pipsqueak. No. You've gone this long without seeing anyone, why now?” his voice was strained and off-sounding.

“I-I don't know, I was just wondering,” she mumbled, feeling her face heat up. The way he was holding her like he was afraid to let go felt different. “I won't date any of your friends, Cal, okay?”

“No one,” he mumbled, nuzzling into her neck. His hands slipped under his shirt that she wore, feeling her soft stomach. He felt her shiver but she stilled under his touch. His lips curled into a smirk against her neck. “No one should be able to hold you like this. Touch you like this.”

One of his hands caressed upward, his calloused fingertips brushing against the soft underside of her breasts. He could feel the goosebumps rising to the surface of her skin. His other hand slid underneath the loose shorts she wore, his fingers brushing against the coarse yet soft trimmed hair on her mound.

“C-Caleb, what-?” Cinders sucked in a breath as his long fingers stroked the outside of her lips, sending tingles straight to her core and igniting that delicious burning sensation.

“It should be me, Kit,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling aside her hair to get at her neck. “The one touching you like this. Showing you how to feel good. The only one you think of like this…”

His mouth pressed hot kisses against her neck. He felt Cinders lean back against him, tilting her head to the side and letting him continue. He took it as her consent, his left hand squeezing and teasing her breasts and nipples, eliciting sweet little whimpers and gasps from her plush lips.

It wasn't until the index finger of his right hand slipped between her moistened folds, gently stroking along her slit until he circled his finger around that precious little nerve bundle, that she let out anything resembling a moan.

And Jesus Christ it went straight to his cock, throbbing and aching against the fabric of his pajama pants. He groaned and sank his teeth into the crook of her neck, sucking a mark into her pale skin. “My sweet little pipsqueak,” he nibbled on her earlobe. “Keep making those noises for me, okay? I'm going to help you feel good, honey.”

Cinders bit her lip and nodded, relaxing back into him some more. His hand splayed across her chest, holding her to his own, while his other hand continued to swirl around her clit and tease her entrance. When he started inserting his finger inside of her, her knees bent and she tried to close her legs at the intrusion.

Caleb used his Evol to force them apart again, spreading her wide. He even pulled her shorts off the rest of the way. “Caleb,” Cinders whined, turning her head to glare at him.

“Tell me no,” he said, his eyes half-lidded as he continued to slowly finger her. “Say the word and I'll stop, Kitty.”

Her eyes studied him for a moment, her face flushing as her body responded to his touch. “I want it,” she practically whined instead, panting a little.

His cock twitched almost violently against her ass when he heard her say that. “Everything or just this?” he nibbled along her jaw, working his finger in and out of her slowly, getting her used to the feeling.

She let out another moan when he inserted a second finger, unable to move her legs due to his Evol, so her hands moved up behind her, grabbing his shoulders. “E-everything,” her voice was breathy and shaking. “I want everything.”

Caleb could feel her nails digging into his skin, groaning softly. He bit her again, sucking another harsh mark into her skin. She was his, and he'd leave a reminder for her and everyone else. “Good girl,” he murmured.

The pace of his fingers pumping in and out of her steadily increased, and she squirmed against him, the melody of her pleasure lifting into the air around them. The TV show was forgotten. Only they existed in this room, this moment.

“Ahh, fuck,” Caleb groaned again, unable to take the throbbing ache any longer. “Kit, do you think you're ready for me?”

“Mhm,” she panted.

He didn't need any more confirmation before he lifted her up, freed himself from his pants, and guided himself to her entrance. His thick head was already seeping with precum, eager to delve deep inside of her.

“Tell me to stop if it hurts,” he grunted through clenched teeth, holding himself back from just ramming up into her.

“Okay.”

A guttural moan bubbled up from his chest as he began lowering her slowly onto his cock, her folds stretching and squeezing around him. When he hit resistance, he took his time, working himself in and out of her. He was gentle, he was sweet, kissing her and whispering sweet praises.

Caleb knew it was her first time. It was his, too. And he wanted her to feel good, and loved, and everything that he felt about her. “Good girl, doing so well for me, aren't you, Kit?” he crooned softly, nuzzling his face against hers.

“You coulda told me you were fuckin’ huge,” she huffed, pouting. Her hands were on his thighs, helping to hold herself up.

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Where's the fun in that?” he teased. “You're taking me well, anyway.”

“You're so crude,” she mumbled.

“And who's the one that said she wanted everything?” he retorted playfully.

He worked past the barrier, earning a slight whimper of pain from her. “Shh, babygirl, I've got you,” he kissed her cheek, jaw, down her neck, whispering praises in between.

“I'm okay,” she whimpered softly, her hips shifting, wanting to keep going. This staying still business was only driving her insane.

“Ready? Just relax and let me do it,” he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know if you want to change anything.”

Cinders nodded. With his hands on her hips, he began to set a steady rhythm between them, guiding her and rocking his own hips up into her. His own sounds of pleasure mixed with hers. Soon, he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her to him while his other hand slipped down.

He almost came just from feeling his own cock inside of her with his fingers. He slowed down a bit, wanting to savor the moment, and found her little nub of pleasure again. He rubbed at her clit and continued rutting up into her.

“Caleb- haaa- please, I need more,” Cinders begged. “Faster.”

He obeyed her demand, thrusting into her quicker, sinking his cock deep within her and moaning at the way she squeezed around him so fucking deliciously. “God, you feel so good, Kitty,” he panted. “Just like I imagined. Better even.”

The squelching noises from their mixed juices, along with their cries of passion, could only be described as perverted. “Cal- please- I need-” Cinders whimpered and panted, unable to complete a coherent sentence.

But he knew what she meant. Caleb's fingers on her clit applied more pressure, rubbing circles and driving her closer to that sweet peak. He shifted their position, lifting her with him as he bent her over the coffee table, fucking into her with more purpose.

“I know- what you need, babygirl,” he grunted with his efforts. He shifted his angle and suddenly she cried out the moment he hit that sweet spot inside of her.

She clenched around him so tightly, there was no hope for him. He let out another moan, deep from within his chest, his hips jerking and stuttering as his hands moved to clench her hips, pulling her back against him. “Ah, fuck, Cinders-!” he gasped her name.

She was boneless and feeling like jelly on the table as he pumped his hips forward, fucking his warm cum deeper inside of her, hitting her sweet spot and overstimulating them both. With a soft groan, he finally pulled himself free and collapsed over her, resting his weight on her back.

“Kitty,” he murmured after a few seconds of catching his breath. He lifted his hand and brushed her hair to the side to look at her face. “Are you okay?”

��Mmm,” she hummed, her eyes opening part way to look at him. She smiled a little. “I'm good, bunny.”

Jesus, that silly nickname of hers that he absolutely loved went right to his dick and he could already feel himself getting hard again. But he didn't want to push her too much tonight. “C’mon,” he got to his feet, fixing himself before lifted her into his arms. Caleb planted a sweet kiss on her forehead. “We need another shower.”

[duplicityvn]

O B S E S S I O N :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

11387 / 30000 words. 38% done!

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This challenge is something I made based off the 30k November challenge. I plan on writing one short story per day every day of November, and since I know I'll probably blow past the 30k mark, I changed the name.

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"Obsession" is a look into the mind of 'Griffin', how his thoughts work, and what he feels for Y/N.

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WC: 869 (shorter fic) :: CW: general yandere tendencies/thoughts

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He could see you through the window of the café, working and chatting with that co-worker of yours. That awful, pathetic snake of a man that couldn’t stop staring at you every time you turned your back. His fists clenched in the pockets of his sweater as he continued to observe.

He was sitting on a bench across the street, his eyes trained on you through the window. There was no way you wouldn’t be his. He just had to play his cards right, get you to trust him, get you to rely on him. To not need anyone else other than him.

He glanced around the empty street again before subtly lifting his camera, zooming in on you in a way that was practiced. Clearly, he’d done this before. He’d done it almost every day since the day he first walked into the café, when he saw your bright welcoming smile and heard your voice. A melody to his ears.

He was just taking pictures for your scrapbook, that was all. Pictures that you’ll put in an album together, showing off his devotion and love to you. Your future children together will appreciate it, won’t they? Or, even if you didn’t want children, it would be something to look back on. Something to remember.

Because his love was always going to be one hell of a memory.

He felt the phone in his pocket buzz, pulling it out eagerly only to be met with a message that made him clench his jaw tightly.

Alex: Where are you? I thought you were coming today.

Of course, they would reach out to him, now of all times. Interrupting his time with you—even if you didn’t know it, this was your time together. Where he was watching over you, protecting you, mentally filing away every little touch and look that snake gave you.

He was only trying to protect you! You can’t see the evil that you work with. How could you? That snake’s manipulation rivaled his own. He was scared that your co-worker would have you wrapped around his stupid little finger in no time if you weren’t careful enough.

Christ, already he had to save you from him. Walking behind you and accidentally bumping into you. Those chance meetings? They weren’t chance, little owl.

He ignored the text and shoved the phone back into his pocket, looking up at the café again. He was wearing a hooded sweater, not his usual style, but then again… You only saw what he wanted you to see. You weren’t ready to see him yet, no.

You’d be scared if he wasn’t so charming and friendly with you. You couldn’t handle the dark miasma swirling inside of him, not yet, no. Not until you were truly his.

He’d planned so much for you together. Everything from the way you met, to the way you’ll get married in the near-future. Because he’ll have you loving him so much, you wouldn’t know what to do without him. You wouldn’t be able to stand not having him near you. Not having him by your side, protecting you, reminding you how precious and delicate you really were. What a sweet little bird you were, his Pidge.

His eyes zeroed in on the way that snake orchestrated bumping into you, accidentally burning you with black coffee. How dare he harm you, even if for a chance to take care of you. He didn’t love you, Pidge.

Of course he didn’t.

Not like he did. He would never harm you, little owl, not ever. He wouldn’t plan these stupid little moments that cause you physical harm in order just to have your attention for two fucking seconds.

His hands curled into tight fists, his fingers digging into the skin of his palms painfully. That pain was a reminder for him to keep calm, keep his cool and definitely do not storm into the café right now. That wouldn’t do.

That would give him away. You weren’t ready for him, pigeon. You weren’t ready to see just how much he loved and c h e r i s h e d you.

The snake, however, was already on thin ice. He’d know soon enough. He’d know that you belong to him. That he already claimed you long before this asshole showed up.

His phone buzzed once more and he let out a noise of frustration, pulling it out of his pocket again. As much as he wanted to ignore it, there was only one other person worthy of his attention other than you. Sorry, Pidge. He had family obligations.

Alex: Seriously?? I really needed you today, man. I’m already having a tough time.

He bit his lip, drawing blood. Now he was conflicted. On one hand, he needed to stay here and make sure the snake didn’t bite you when he wasn’t supposed to. On the other hand, he did make previous plans.

He glanced up again and located you coming from the back room, a bandage around your hand and your co-worker walking behind you with a self-satisfied smile. What a fucking prick.

He sighed when he looked at his messages again.

He’d see you again soon.

Don’t you worry about that.

[indycinders]

Couldn't help but write this after reading your fic mwehehe.

Yan!Sylus x Reader

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"Precious Jewel", a continuation

“Now, isn't this nice, sweetie?” Sylus crooned softly.

He knelt beside the clawfoot tub, your favorite of course. He knew all your favorites, and had transformed his base into something you would love. Or… come to love, anyway. You just had to get over this silly stubborn streak of yours.

You didn't say anything as you continued sitting hunched over, trying to keep most of your figure hidden underneath the luxurious bubbles and rose petals. Only the best for his sweet kitten, after all.

He hummed softly in a broken melody that tickled at the far reaches of your mind, as if it were something you'd heard before. A long time ago, maybe? You could feel his large hands gently washing your back with a soft cloth.

“Is the water warm enough, darling?” he asked.

You gave a jerky nod, not really wanting to move or say anything. He didn't mind. Usually after these little escape attempts of yours, you were more closed off and despondent. You'll come around.

You always do.

“What did we learn tonight?” he continued talking, and you could hear that infliction in his tone, that subtle change. That little dip in his voice that said ‘I’m in charge here.’

“N-not to run,” you stammered out. You were shaking, but it wasn't because you were cold.

“Run from whom, sweetie? Be specific,” he chided softly. His hands moved to your hair, soaking it with a cup and gently starting to wash it.

You took a breath in but it did nothing to steady your nerves. “Not to run f-from my… my owner,” you mumbled.

“Good kitten,” he praised lovingly, leaning over to give your soapy forehead a kiss. “And why is that?”

“Because you will always find me.”

“Because I will always find you.”

The way he repeated your words in that tone made you shut your eyes and clench your hands tighter under the water. He resumed humming, seemingly disinterested in talking anymore, and continued to bathe you.

Once he was done, he began draining the water and helped you out of the tub. Sylus wrapped one of his large and plush bath towels around your frame and easily lifted you up in his arms, beginning to walk back to his bedroom.

“Now, my sweet obedient kitten, let's have a talk about how you're going to apologize to me.”

Hide and Seek: A yandere Sylus Fic

A Yan!Sylus x reader fic.

Cw: Kiddnaping, forced entrapment

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???: Kitten~

???: Where did you go? Have you found yourself in trouble, yet again?

His voice is a soft purr and you can hear the crunch of footsteps approaching. 

You cover your mouth, trying to catch your breath while remaining hidden, actively avoiding jostling the bell attached to the collar fastened to your neck.

You would've removed it, but you need a special key in order to do so.

Of course that's what Sylus intended.

He never wanted his precious little “kitten” getting out and escaping.

You close your eyes, tears pricking at the corners.

Don't let him find me. Don't let him find me.

Sylus: It's dangerous outside, especially in the N109 Zone. 

Sylus: Just come back home with me and I'll keep you safe and protected. 

You shift, tensing up as you hear him approaching, your heart slamming against your rib cage. 

This backwards alleyway can only keep you concealed for so long. 

Sylus no doubt knows you didn't get very far considering as soon as you managed to break out of his property, he gave chase, alerted by that damned crow of his.

You don't see mephisto, but you hear the flap of mechanical wings.

He's no doubt scouting the area, searching for your location in order to give Sylus your whereabouts.

This entire area is full of surveillance. 

You're like a trapped animal.

His pet “kitten.”

???: We shouldn't play hide and seek in such a terrible place, sweetie. 

The purr on his lips turns visceral and you can tell he's starting to get agitated by your lack of compliance. 

You hear his footsteps pause just outside the open mouth of the alleyway you're heading in and your body starts to tremble, praying that he won't investigate further.

I'm not here. I'm not here. 

???: You're no longer a street cat, but have you returned to your old habits?

He's coming closer.

Your worst fears have come true, Sylus never one to leave any stone unturned. 

Go away.

But he doesn't listen.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

His footsteps are so close you feel like you can almost hear his breathing and you clench your jaw shut so your teeth don't rattle or capture his attention.

Sylus: Oh, kitten. Did you really think you could escape from me?

There's a sudden bang and your breath hitches.

Light peers in through the dumpster and you remain as still as possible, hoping that your camouflage works, your body submerged under a few trash bags.

It smells disgusting here, like rotten banana peels and spoiled milk. 

You see Sylus wrinkle his nose in disgust. 

He slams the lid back shut and you hear the retreat of footsteps echoing as he continues his search elsewhere. 

Did he really leave? Did he not notice me?

Maybe the stench also did you a favor in causing him not to linger, but you wait a few more minutes, allowing them to pass by while you try to drum up your next plan of action.

When you think the coast is clear, you sit up and peek out from underneath the lid.

He's gone.

Breathing a sigh of relief you climb out and pluck some pieces of garbage off your shoulder as you slip towards the opening of the alleyway. 

You peer around the corner.

Good. He's nowhere in sight. Now if I can just—

A wrist grabs yours and you're hauled backwards, your heart lodging in your throat as you're pulled against a hard chest, a cuff link appearing around that same wrist as your evol tangles with that of another. 

You: No!

You're voice is a scream and you try fighting but the arm around your waist is like a band of steel.

You tilt your head back, your entire body shaking as crimson eyes stare down at you, a smug grin tugging at the white haired man's lips. 

Sylus: Found you, kitten~. 

[taddymason]

Face to Face

[chemicalcindercat]

Tim follows Bruce's rules perfectly. In this way, perhaps, he can be better than his predecessors. He knows from observation that Jason liked to ignore the rules and argue with Bruce, and he can guess from what he knows about Dick that he was the same. Tim can’t afford to ask questions, or argue with Bruce, or break the rules. He has to be perfect. Too much is riding on it. If he messes this up and gets Robin taken away from him, he doesn’t know what will happen to Bruce. If he’ll slip back into his old ways and walk along the edge between life and death.

Because the thing is, Bruce is getting better. He’s not the same Batman he used to be; he buried a piece of himself six feet under with Jason’s body, and Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever get it back. Still, Bruce’s decisions in the field become more logical, and he can recognize when to go home and tend to his wounds now. He even invites Tim to stay for dinner after patrol once, but Tim knows a courtesy invite when he sees one, and politely declines. 

Outside of the suit, Bruce keeps himself at a distance at all times, and Tim is grateful for it. It certainly makes it easier to remember that this is nothing more than a business partnership. 

Dick is a little harder to keep away from. The older boy has a way of making Tim feel relaxed and safe around him that he’s never experienced before. Dick’s smiles make him feel warm inside, and Tim knows that the laid-back personality and dad jokes are a front that he puts on, yet he still can’t help but look forward to Dick’s visits to Gotham. He almost feels like an older brother, but Tim scratches that thought out of his brain the second it crosses his mind.

He realizes abruptly that he’s gotten too comfortable with Dick, and forces himself to withdraw. He keeps an eye out for the little things that tell what Dick is really feeling, like the flash of sadness in his gaze that he quickly hides whenever Tim does something that reminds him a little too much of his lost baby brother, or the way he freezes up any time he has physical contact with Tim while he’s in the Robin suit, or how he holds his breath for a fracture of a second whenever Tim is even slightly in danger. Tim learns to look for these signs, and holds them like barbs around his heart to prevent himself from overstepping.

Surprisingly, Tim finds it the hardest to keep himself from growing attached to Alfred. The butler is more compassionate than Tim ever could have expected, and it gets increasingly harder to keep him at a distance. He’s kind, and caring, and says exactly what’s on his mind (it’s very amusing to witness him put Bruce in his place and stay perfectly polite while doing so).

Tim pretends not to notice the way Alfred checks him for injuries after every patrol (with a med-kit waiting just in case), and sneaks extra protein bars into the various pockets of his suit whenever Tim gets low, and always has a steaming mug of the best hot cocoa in the world waiting after the particularly grueling patrols. Tim knows better than to accept Bruce’s pity-invites to dinner, but he’d never waste a mug of Alfred’s hot cocoa. (As long as he drinks it quickly he’s not overstaying his welcome, he justifies it to himself.) He ignores the sad looks Alfred gives him when Tim makes excuses to rush home straight after patrol rather than hanging out, or when he easily brushes off the older man’s concerns regarding his dark eye-bags and alarming coffee intake.

He keeps them at a distance at all times. They don’t want you, he tells himself, they need you. And that’s enough. It has to be. He can’t get attached to them because he doesn’t deserve to have a relationship with any of them; he hasn’t earned it. And if (when) being Robin gets him killed, they won’t be hindered by the inconvenience. 

Tim knows he isn’t the best option for Robin, and some days that fact looms over his head more than others. He isn’t even a good Robin, anyone would have been better than Tim. He’s still actively fighting against brain fog every day, and he has to write things down constantly so that he won’t forget them, and sometimes at 3:00AM when he’s trying to finish his case notes and on his fourth coffee the sleep deprivation and migraines just feel like too much.

When it gets really bad, he reminds himself that nobody else stepped up. 

He might not be a good Robin, but he’s the only Robin that Gotham has right now.

So he sucks it up and finishes his case notes. He ignores the headaches and exhaustion and goes to school the next day anyways. He doesn’t bother Bruce or Alfred with the minor injuries that come from patrol. He stitches himself up at home and tries not to get blood on his mother’s expensive rugs. 

When it feels like too much, he keeps going, because there is no other option.

[Excerpt from chapter two of Blue Pills and Scattered Dreams.]

[fahye]

novella announcement: Cinder House

CINDER HOUSE: a Cinderella retelling, a ghost story, a queer romance (of course), a novella. Coming to you in October next year.

US preorder links here, others to come!

Alt text for the book copy below the cut:

Ella is a haunting.

Murdered at sixteen, her ghost is furiously trapped in her father's house, invisible to everyone except her stepmother and stepsisters.

Even when she discovers how to untether herself from her prison, there are limits. She cannot be seen or heard by the living people who surround her. Her family must never learn she is able to leave. And at the stroke of every midnight, she finds herself back on the staircase where she died.

Until she forges a wary friendship with a fairy charm-seller, and makes a bargain for three nights of almost-living freedom. Freedom that means she can finally be seen. Danced with. Touched.

You think you know Ella's story: the ball, the magical shoes, the handsome prince.

You're halfway right, and all-the-way wrong.

[indycinders]

REPOST I POSTED TO THE WRONG BLOG HAHAH

*sees this*

...

*SIGHS*

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Outlaw!Harper belongs to @campwillowpeak

Bounty Hunter!Cyprian belongs to me~

No CW :: SFW :: 1,311 words

Title: Toe the Line

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The hot sun of mid-morning beat down as Cyprian urged his stallion, Quicksilver, to continue on. He’d been on the hunt all night since he’d received a tip from one of his favorite drunkards at Emerald Gorge’s saloon. The horse slowed its pace as it trotted up the incline of the canyon.

“Whoa,” Cyprian pulled back on the reins just enough for Quicksilver to stop. The dappled Appaloosa kicked at the ground as he dismounted.

Cyprian walked up to the edge, pulling out his binoculars and crawled forward, keeping low. He put them over his eyes, peering through them. There was a gentle breeze kicking up loose red dirt, causing small clouds to obscure his vision. But then he saw the white smoke of a late night campfire dying out. There was a bedroll, and the familiar golden Dutch Warmblood.

Only such a large horse would be able to carry a man like Harper.

Cyprian grinned, shuffling backwards until he was out of sight and then he stood up. He walked over to his horse and pulled a carrot out of the saddlebag, feeding it to him. “Stay up here, boy, okay? I’ll whistle for you.”

The horse blew air through its nose in response and chewed the carrot. Cyprian turned and looked for a way down the canyon. It wasn’t too far of a way to go, but it still took some time to make his way down a narrow path while trying to be quiet.

Once he was down on the ground and approaching the camp, he realized that the bedroll on the ground was empty. He looked around for the horse and didn’t see it either. Just as an uneasy feeling settled in his chest and he moved his hand to his hip where his revolver was, he heard that familiar voice from behind him.

“Lookin’ for me, Caro Mio?”

Cyprian whipped around, almost losing his hat in the process. There, atop the large horse was the tall frame of the infamous outlaw, Harper. Wanted in seven states for arson and bank robberies.

The black-haired main grinned, flashing sharp teeth down at the other. “Miss me that badly, eh?”

The Dutch Warmblood snorted and kicked up dirt, causing Cyprian to take an uncertain step back. He drew his revolver and pointed it at Harper.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Harper,” Cyprian warned.

“What if I want it hard?” the outlaw winked and grinned again.

Cyprian’s thumb pulled back the hammer on the gun. “I’m serious! Get off the horse and surrender now.”

“Oh, Caro Mio, I am serious, too.” Harper’s boots touched the flank of the horse softly and it started walking in a wide arc around Cyprian, who turned with it, keeping his gun steady and aimed on Harper. “But I can’t allow myself to be hanged. I’m having too much fun.”

“Harper…”

The outlaw winked at him again before quickly tapping the horse and taking off. Cyprian cursed under his breath and holstered his gun, putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling for Quicksilver. His horse found its own way down and Cyprian jumped on, spurring it forward to chase after Harper.

The Appaloosa was faster than the Warmblood, being a smaller and more agile horse. Plus with the way Cyprian had trained him from a foal, it was used to these chases. Once he saw Harper some twenty odd yards ahead of him, he kept a steady pace behind him.

When they started nearing the long train bridge, he saw Harper hop off the horse and send it away. Cyprian, wary of the sudden change in the man, slowed to a trot before hopping off his horse as well. Quicksilver stayed behind, kicking the ground, amped up from the chase.

He put his hand on his revolver again as he approached the outlaw, who was standing a few yards away from the railroad tracks, staring down at the river below the bridge. “You screwed yourself, Harper. Come on, now, don’t be stupid.”

The man didn’t move, just glanced over his shoulder.

“You jump from that height, you’ll die. You know that.” Cyprian called as he inched forward.

“Are you worried about me, Caro Mio?” Harper asked. He extended his arms out at his sides, as if he were spreading long wings.

Cyprian’s heart pounded in his throat and as Harper leaned forward, he jumped and grabbed onto the back of the man’s jacket, pulling him away from the ledge. They tumbled backward into the dirt. In the distance, there was a train whistle.

Cyprian scrambled around, trying to get a hold on Harper’s wrists in the ensuing scuffle. However, he somehow ended up on his back, staring up at the outlaw, with his wrists pinned behind his head. Harper laughed softly, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “I’m still gettin’ the best of you, Caro Mio.”

“Fuck you, Harper.”

“Is that an offer?”

“Get off me!”

He complied and let go of Cyprian’s wrists, standing up and brushing the dust off his pants and coat. As the blue-haired man stood up as well, he could see a train approaching. Cyprian went to grab his hat off the ground but Harper beat him to it.

Clenching his jaw, he said, “Give it back.”

“Or what?” Harper teased. “You’ll shoot me?”

Cyprian put his hand on his hip and realized his gun was missing. When he looked back at the man taller than him by a few inches, he saw him twirling the damned thing around one of his long fingers. “You know, for a bounty hunter, you’re not that observant,” Harper chuckled.

“So, what happens now?” Cyprian asked, sighing. He glanced at the train behind Harper. “You’re expecting me to just let you go?”

Harper’s deep blue eyes flashed in excitement. “I have a better offer, actually.”

“What’s that?”

“Come with me.”

Cyprian’s resounding laugh was more like a bark full of bitterness. “Ha!”

“You hurt me, Cyprian,” Harper pouted. “Is it that bad of a proposition?”

“I’ve been chasing you for years, now, Harper. What makes you think that I want to join you?” Cyprian asked, his voice filled with venom. Harper took a few steps forward, Cyprian’s hat in one hand and his gun in the other. “In all these years, all these attempts I’ve given you, not once have you had the guts to go through with it.”

He was standing so close now, their chests were almost touching. Cyprian could feel Harper’s breath on his face while he spoke. “Why is that, Caro Mio?”

“I-I—“ Cyprian struggled to make a coherent sentence.

The hand with his hat raised up and placed it back on his head, tilting it back. Without warning, Cyprian felt Harper’s mouth meet his in a startlingly deep kiss. He found his hands reaching up to grab his jacket, but instead of pulling away, he pulled him closer. He felt Harper smile against his lips.

Suddenly Harper pulled away. His hand had untied the red bandana from around Cyprian’s neck and he clutched it in his hand. “I’ll return it when you find me again, Caro Mio. Take care.”

Cyprian watched stunned as Harper continued walking backwards towards the tracks. The train was so close now, almost off the bridge. Cyprian shouted and almost jumped forward as Harper raised a hand and grabbed onto one of the car handles and hopped on.

In a flash, he was gone. Cyprian stared as the tall man waved his bandana at him like a taunting flag. He reached up and covered his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips. His hand brushed his hips and he noticed that Harper had returned his gun as well.

“That son of a bitch,” Cyprian sighed and watched until the train disappeared. Then he whistled for Quicksilver and started trotting after it.

OK BUT WHAT IF

WHAT IF

HARPER IS THE OUTLAW AND CM IS THE BOUNTY HUNTER??

[pilot-boi]

Got commissioned to draw the most fucked up alternate fusion of the failwives, and also to write a little fic! (Hint hint nudge nudge, I can write for commission now)

The basic premise is that these two fall into the Ever After and are flying around destroying stuff and the Tree merges them into one person to help them understand each other. It doesn't go well at first, but it turns out okay!

Want some art of your own? [Buy Me A Ko-Fi]

(Fic under the cut or on AO3) :]

“Balance is not two forces locked in never-ending battle. True balance finds its own equilibrium. It only requires love, and the patience to see things through to the end.”

-The Blacksmith

Winter remembers flying. And falling. Fire and ice and screaming at someone until her throat went hoarse. She remembers a Tree, for some reason. One significant enough to need emphasis, even in her murky thoughts.

Where is she? Gods her head is swimming. It’s so hot. Why is it so hot?

Someone groans. Someone nearby.

Winter’s military training instantly has her on high alert. She forces her thoughts into order, pulling clarity into her mind by her fingernails. It’s difficult, more difficult than it should be. A burning like frostbite and hunger thrums under her skin, and she wraps mental fingers around the feeling without conscious thought. It’s a familiar sensation, but also not. Like holding hands with a very dear friend.

Holding very still, she listens for any other sign of the nearby person. She can’t be sure if they’re a threat, although with her foggy memories she highly doubts anyone friendly brought her to this situation. So Winter listens, trying to discern the location of the adversary.

Someone is breathing. Soft and shallow, just like her. They’re waiting for her to make the first move, the same as she’s waiting for them.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

There’s a roar of anger and in an instant her body is lurched upwards by her right arm without any input from her. Winter’s eyes fly open and her fingers clench instinctively around the hunger-frostbite feeling. Light flickers past her eyes and ice gathers at her fingertips. She gets a glimpse of fire, a glimpse of dark hair-

-And Winter collapses unceremoniously back onto the ground, her right arm not responding to her movements and very much not supporting her weight. The person yelps, and there’s a coinciding thud when they appear to collapse in tandem.

They both lay there for another moment, clearly weighing their options. The element of surprise is gone, for both of them. There’s no more pretending she’s unconscious, and the other is clearly lamenting the same, based on the litany of curses Winter can hear muttered nearby. 

Female, maybe slightly younger than she is. Quick to act, rash, although not stupid. The other woman waited and listened the same as she did. Smart, but impulsive. With a fire-related Semblance, based on the flames she glimpsed before her limbs gave out.

Winter takes closer stock of her faculties, paying particular attention to her physical aptitude rather than mental. She’s felt the effects of a concussion before, and while the pounding in her head and murky thoughts are leading to that conclusion, in everything she knows about that injury there is never any mention of nerve damage severe enough that it would lead to a loss of limb control.

Starting with her left hand, she tests every finger. Sore, but not broken. She bends it at the wrist, rolling it. All in working order, if incredibly sore, which is good as that’s her dominant arm. Winter does the same with her left hand, the one that failed to catch her, and finds it similarly functional.

Then why did it not respond before? The person beside her has stopped cursing.

Winter opens her eyes slowly, and promptly slams them back shut with a wince as bright sunlight stabs her retinas like a pair of knives. More cautiously she tries again, squinting into the blurry surroundings until they focus into something recognizable.

Palm trees, and clear blue sky beyond them. The sun is nearly directly overhead, and when she curls her fingers she can feel grains of hot sand beneath her fingers.

Strange. She should be wearing gloves. 

Suddenly Winter feels her right hand clench, grabbing a fistful of sand. 

It’s incredibly jarring, she can feel her arm moving, like she’s moving it. She was able to move it before, but once again simple bodily control seems beyond her. It’s like some unseen entity has slipped into her body and is puppeting her like a doll. 

The hand and arm lift into the air, and Winter can feel gravity tugging at them both, can feel the muscles strain with disuse. She can feel every grain of sand trickle from between clenched fingers. Each finger uncurls methodically, not unlike how she tested her hands before, but now the disconnect between movement and conscious thought is so jarring that Winter’s teeth grit together.

It’s like nails on a chalkboard, offensive and nauseating. Without conscious thought, Winter puts all of her willpower into wrenching control of her body back from her unseen puppeteer.

Her arm thumps back into the sand, limp. Hers again, for the moment.

“What did you do to me?” a voice half-craks half-snarls beside her. Fully audible, unlike the muttered curses earlier. Deliberate. Full of choked back rage, but in control. 

It’s a familiar voice, but also not. Poised but terrified, trying to hide its fear, but failing. 

It sounds like her own.

Not trusting her limbs, Winter tilts her head to finally look at the speaker, her adversary.

And Cinder Fall stares back.

A flicker of satisfaction lights in Cinder’s stomach at the look of bewildered rage that crosses Schnee’s face before her mask slams back down. But that satisfaction is nothing compared to the anger and fear roiling in her mind like a firestorm. 

Cinder is no stranger to her own limbs not listening to her. Ruby Rose all but burned away her left arm, and Salem’s offered alternative only obeyed if she made the Grimm flesh fear her. And even then, it would always heed the orders of her Mistress over herself, seizing in pain and flailing out of her control at a thought.

Not that Cinder isn’t grateful. The arm grants her power, and the ability to steal the Maiden powers. Salem gave that to her. It’s because of Salem that she has it. Without her, Cinder is nothing.

But this… this is a step beyond.

“What are you…” Schnee starts to snap back, and then clearly she sees what Cinder noticed as soon as she woke up.

Her body isn’t only her body anymore. She has a passenger, a parasite. Two arms, and two legs, blotchy skin running up the middle like paint smeared together. Two heads on one set of shoulders, and one is very much not her own.

Cinder sees the moment Schnee puts it together. “That place! The Tree, and that woman and-” Her eyes narrow sharp and cold as icicles. “What did you do?”

Cinder scoffs. “So like a Schnee, taking no responsibility, always assuming it must be someone else’s fault.”

“Well forgive me for blaming you, but only one of us is working for a woman hellbent on destroying the world.”

“Oh did the dear General have a sex change? I didn’t know.”

“Don’t play games with me, Fall! ” Schnee pushes herself up on one arm, leaving their shared body awkwardly tilted as she looms over Cinder. Her blues eyes blaze to life, and Cinder subtly melts the sand beside her into a blade. “I understand punishing you, but why that woman decided to drag me into this I have no idea. So what did you do?”

 Cinder scoffs. “Don’t act like you’re so innocent, so blameless, you can’t hide behind your shining Atlas exterior. We all saw what Atlas stands for, what you’re complicit in. You can thank your dear General for that.”

“I’m not hiding, I know my crimes,” Schnee responds, cold as a glacier. “But what I’ve done is nothing compared to you. If this is some sort of divine punishment, then I certainly am not the one to blame.”

“And I am?!” Cinder lurches upright as well, her temper boiling to the surface as she feels the fire-hunger swell. This woman, the nerve, the audacity. Ordered to kill an entire Kingdom, and would’ve followed through while hiding behind her precious orders. And she dares to claim she has a moral high ground? “What have I done that’s so horrible?!”

“You killed my sister!!” Schnee roars, the air turning noticeably colder around them.

Cinder rolls her eyes. “She’s alive, you moron. If we’re alive after falling then your precious sister is.”

“Penny, not Weiss! And it’s only by sheer luck that her blood isn’t also on your hands.”

“Penny?” Cinder barks out a laugh, and tightens her grip on the glass blade beside her. “You mean the General’s synthetic brat? How could she be your sister she wasn’t even-”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you dare say that Penny wasn’t alive!” A cutlass of ice is at Cinder’s throat before she can blink. Cinder wonders if Schnee even realizes the sword she’s wielding is at her own throat as well. “She was more alive, more human than you could ever hope to be!”

 “Look who’s talking!” The blade at her throat begins to melt. “Perfect prodigal Winter Schnee!” Cinder snarls, spitting the woman’s name like it’s the worst swear she can think of. “Up in your Academy with everything handed to you on a silver platter.” The fire-hunger swells in her stomach, and flames spit from between her teeth. “Your perfect life, your perfect city. You can’t even fathom how rotten Atlas really is.”

And it’s just for a moment, a fraction of a moment, but Schnee’s mask falters. “I know better than most the corruption hiding behind the facade,” she admits, the sword lowering just barely. “You don’t know anything about my life.”

“Neither do you!” Cinder’s eyes narrow. “You call me a monster, but you don’t know the first thing about what I’ve had to suffer.”

“I know enough.”

“Jumping to conclusions about perceived enemies, how very Atlesian of you! The General would be proud,” Cinder spits, and again the woman’s mask slips. Cinder glances down at the sword still hovering by her throat. “Now drop your weapon before I do it myself.”

Winter’s eyes narrow. “Fine, but only if you relinquish the blade that you’ve been hiding behind your back this whole time.” Cinder bares her teeth, but in a distant part of her mind Winter can feel her hand loosen “her” grip on the glass weapon.

With a thought, Winter dissipates her ice cutlass. Anything to avoid that unnatural puppeting sensation of her limbs following someone else’s orders. How could Penny experience that and remain so cheerful afterwards?

No. She can’t think about Penny. It hurts too much. 

Winter sighs and lets her half of their shared body flop back onto the sand. With the adrenaline fading, all the aches and pains are catching up to her. She groans softly as the hot sand eases just a little bit of the pain. Cinder doesn’t relax, even though she lays down, pulled by Winter’s half of the body. The Fall Maiden is still tense, like Winter might strike her at any moment. 

“I’m not going to attack you,” Winter says.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Not exactly fair, since Cinder was the first to strike. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Winter asks.

“No, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

“What am I going to do with the information?! If you haven’t noticed, I can’t exactly go anywhere without dragging you along.”

“Whatever.”

The sun is starting to set overhead, and in the branches above them Winter spots the animals coming to life now that the heat of the desert is fading. It’s peaceful, or it would be if her sister’s murderer wasn’t parasitically attached to her body.

No. Still can’t think about Penny.

“If you could shut up, that would be fantastic,” Cinder says.

“I wasn’t even saying anything.”

“I can hear you thinking.”

Winter grits her teeth and resists the urge to strangle Cinder. “Well I can’t exactly stop doing that, can I?” She can feel Cinder roll her eyes, and wonders if the other woman was telling the truth about hearing her thoughts or was just trying to get under her skin. How merged are they?

“Look,” Winter says eventually, staring up at the color streaked sky. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me.”

“Finally, something we can agree on.”

“But unless you know some way back to the Tree dimension, we’re stuck like this for the foreseeable future. So we’re going to have to work together.”

“We need to get out of the open,” Cinder says by way of a response, moving to sit up. Winter reluctantly does the same, and they awkwardly get themselves upright. “Whether we’re in that Tree place or Remnant, I don’t want to be around here when it gets dark.”

Winter raises an eyebrow. “We’re both Maidens. What could the local wildlife possibly do?”

“We can’t just be strong, we have to be smart,” Cinder snaps. “We don’t even know if we can stand up let alone fly, this is not the time to try our chances in a fight.” 

Winter can’t stop the look of surprise. Cinder Fall, impulsive and brash as fire itself, recommending caution and thinking through before acting? Maybe Winter does know less about her than she thought. Cinder didn’t answer her proposal, but the suggestion of shelter implies protection for both of them. A truce of sorts, in the face of adversity.

Glancing around, Winter sees nothing but palm trees, sandblasted stones, and waves of desert beyond, nothing that could be used as a shelter. A patch of shadow catches her eye. “Past that clump of palms, there’s an outcropping or an alcove maybe.”

Cinder turns to where she’s looking, without her needing to point, and again Winter wonders just how connected they are. The other woman is silent for a moment, appraising. “We’d at least have our backs against something solid.” She nods. “I don’t see anything better, it’ll do.”

From Cinder Fall, this might as well be a cry of jubilation. Despite their agreement to work together, moving in tandem proves to be more of a struggle than Winter would like. After several failed attempts at standing that all ended with them landing flat back on their faces, the merged Maidens resort to half-crawling half-dragging themselves to the outcropping.

It’s not much of a shelter, nothing more than a nook in a pile of boulders, but it’s better than nothing. They lean gingerly back against the stone, even that short journey wearing them out more than it should have. Winter’s mouth is dry, and her stomach aches. How long has it been since she ate or drank? Will she need to eat and drink more or less now that she’s sharing a stomach?

“We should look for potable water,” Winter suggests, rubbing a crick out of her neck. “It wouldn't be wise to go another day in that heat without hydration. Or food, judging by how rapidly our body is using energy.” 

“I’ve gone longer, it will be fine.”

Winter frowns. “You’ve gone longer than a day without water?”

Cinder shrugs, running fire-warmed hands over the aching muscles in their legs. “And food. It wasn’t fun, but I lived.”

Winter knows what it sounds like to speak from behind a mask of your own making. Cinder may sound casual, but its a facade. There’s a story there. One Winter isn’t sure she wants to poke into. You don’t know the first thing about what I’ve had to suffer, Cinder had said.

“Did you live in Atlas?” Winter asks. Cinder’s motions still, and then she continues more slowly. “The way you talk about it, it seems like you’re more familiar with the city than the average visitor.”

“I am,” Cinder says shortly. A bedroom on the floor in a storeroom, sisters more like torturers, a mother more like a slaver. And Rhodes, the biggest hypocrite of them all. “I lived there a long time ago, I hated it. Then I left and never looked back.” She’ll never have to. The city must have crashed by now, the Glass Unicorn a crumbled mess in the ruins of a destroyed city.

“I did the same,” Schnee admits, and Cinder looks at her in surprise. Amber eyes meet blue, and Schnee holds her gaze calmly. “My father, Jacques Schnee, was a father in blood alone. I joined the military to get away from him, to become strong enough that he could never hurt me again.” She laughs ruefully, her expression darkening. “I can’t believe I actually thought James was better than him.”

Cinder drops her gaze, moving back to mechanically easing the aches out of their shared muscles. Running away to become strong enough to never be hurt again. She hates how it sounds so familiar. She hates that she almost empathizes with Winter, that she understands.

It’s not the same, it’s not the same. Winter is a Schnee, born into privilege and promise. She got to become a Huntress, ran away into the open arms of the Atlas military on a whim. She didn’t have to claw and bite her way out. Run into the open arms of Salem, who used her and lifted her up and hurt her worse than the Madame ever could.

“Did you make him pay?” Cinder asks quietly, “For hurting you?” 

“Did you make them pay?” Winter answers with a question. “Whoever hurt you?”

Cinder’s hands still. The blood on the storeroom floor, the Madame’s neck crunching under her fingers all while her veins sing with electricity. The first betrayal she’s ever experienced, and the one that hurt the most. Born again at the stroke of midnight.

“I killed them,” she says, once again meeting Winter’s eyes. She expects to find hated pity there, expects to scream at her for perceived weakness, but she finds only cool understanding. “My sisters, the Madame, and the Huntsman who trained me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cinder’s eyes narrow. “I’m not weak.”

“I never said you are,” Winter responds. “Were they the ones who kept you from food and water?”

“Yes. I was their servant, if I didn’t work, I didn’t eat.”

There’s a flare of anger in Winter’s cold eyes, and it takes Cinder a moment to realize the emotion is pointed at the Madame. Winter Schnee is angry on her behalf, at a woman she never met, just because she hurt Cinder. Where’s that Atlesian delight in putting down her inferiors?

“Can you make other things out of glass?” Winter asks suddenly. “Other than weapons?

Cinder blinks. “Probably. I’ve never really tried.”

“Can you make a bowl?”

“Why?”

“Just humor me.”

A bit dumbfounded, Cinder scoops a handful of sand from beside her and melts it into glass, slowly shaping the liquid into something resembling a bowl. It’s difficult to keep the edges smooth, different from the obsidian blades she’s so fond of, but eventually she’s left with a lopsided bowl in the palm of her hand.

“That’s perfect, thank you,” Winter says, taking Cinder’s hand and moving it closer to herself. It doesn’t feel as unnatural as before, the autonomous movement mitigated by the added visual of someone physically moving her hand. Or possibly by the simple act of human companionship as Winter holds her hand.

Winter’s eyes flare to life, and Cinder’s hackles immediately raise. This was all a trick, an act to lull her into complacency. Winter is going to attack her now, in her moment of weakness-

“Calm down,” Winter murmurs, running a thumb over the back of Cinder’s hand. Cinder hates how the action does actually calm her. “Just watch.” The Winter Maiden inhales and blows a white cloud into the bowl, and when the mist clears it’s full of clean white snow.

Without even needing to be prompted, Cinder knows what to do. Fire flickers past her eyes as she slowly heats up the palm of her hand, not enough to melt the glass, just enough to melt the snow. In just a few moments, all the flakes are gone and clear water sits in the bowl.

“Drink it,” Winter prompts. “It’s for you.”

“You mean it’s for us,” Cinder counters. “My body is your body, don’t pretend this is an act of charity when it’s benefiting you as well.”

Winter rolls her eyes, almost fondly. “Just drink the damn water.”

Cinder stares at it for a moment. Water created from nothing. Ice and fire, both death in their own regards. Diametrically opposed, but combined to create the bringer of life itself. 

Eventually she looks up, meeting Winter’s gaze. Why did you do this? Why are you helping me, after I hurt you? Why do you even care? Why are you aiding your enemy? Why you, why me? 

Cinder’s mind roils with all of the questions and more, but can’t vocalize more than a single word. “Why?” 

Winter is still holding her hand, and the ghost of a smile crosses her lips. The ice queen’s hand is strangely warm. “Because the people who hurt us are gone. So why should we continue to torture ourselves for them?”

There’s no reason Winter should care. Winter doesn’t even know her. And yet she does, a runaway in her own right, running to power out of fear and falling into the same horror she was fleeing from. Cinder and the Madame and Salem. Winter and her father and the General. 

She created water from her very soul, just so Cinder wouldn’t have to be thirsty. 

Cinder raises the bowl to her lips, with Winter’s hand still steadying hers, and drinks. It’s the cleanest water she’s ever tasted, cooling and refreshing on her parched throat. She doesn’t have to look to feel that Winter is smiling.

Fire and Ice. Dark and light. Maybe they’re not meant to destroy each other, not meant to be locked in a battle forever. Water in a glass bowl, two opposed forces combined to create something beautiful.

Maybe even they can find their own balance.

[blackkatskauldron]

just archive locked all my fics, sorry y'all. I don't condone the use of my works in AI training, and I especially don't condone the use of AI in creative spaces. Highly recommend making an Ao3 account if you want to follow my work (especially bc you'll get an update email if you subscribe). The wait time averages out to about 12ish days to approve, and you can save all your fave fics in the same place. It's a win for everyone.

[misstrashchan]

I know people have picked up on the board game scene in RWBY V2 Episode 2 (Welcome to Beacon) as foreshadowing the events of the show, but for funsies I want to take a stab at how it foreshadows the general arcs of each four kingdoms myself.

So we have Blake playing as the Kingdom of Vale, and she's completely unaware of the events of the game unfolding and not really paying attention, clearly distracted.

"Alright Blake, it's your turn!"

"Huh? Sorry, what am I doing?"

"You're playing as Vale, trying to conquer the four kingdoms of Remnant!"

"...Right."

The Vale arc is the first three volumes of RWBY, where all our protagonists are at Beacon, but during that time, much like Blake during the game, they're unaware of the larger conflict with Salem, and aren't actively participating in the war at that point. They are ignorant and reactive instead of active. However it's ironic that Blake plays as Vale, since the reason she's not paying attention to the game and seems distracted is because, out of all the main characters in the Vale arc, she is the one most concerned about being kept in the dark and that they're ignorant as to what's really going on.

Blake: I just, I don't understand how everyone can be so calm.

Ruby: (approaching Blake) You're still thinking about Torchwick?

Blake: Torchwick, the White Fang, all of it! Something big is happening and no one is doing anything about it!

She also leaves the game during her turn, much like how she runs away after the FoB and the end of the Vale arc.

"Right. Well, I think I'm done playing, actually"

Yang is playing as Mistral, and she's the most savvy and knowledgeable (hah) player, winning many rounds of the game, teaching Weiss how to play, and has the other players falling into her trap cards.

"Heh, pretty sneaky sis, but you just activated my trap card!"

There's two ways this can be interpreted, with how the Mistral arc (volumes 4-6) is when our protagonists start to gather more knowledge and awarenesses of themselves and the world. It's also in Mistral that our heroes have their most decisive victory so far. It's fitting to have Yang playing as Mistral then, since during the Mistral arc she's the one who who learns from Tai to fight smarter, and to question the authority figures around her from Raven, and after confronting her in the vault is the one who retrives the relic of knowledge.

But, most of the losses our heroes experience are because of Cinder, who is from Mistral, and them falling into her own "trap cards" with the Fall of Beacon being orchestrated by her, killing Pyrrha and Ozpin. And in Atlas the same, with her manipulating Ironwood, undermining the heroes plans to evacuate everyone from Atlas, and killing Penny. She often finds ways to trick and exploit others, and is most dangerous when overlooked and underestimated, like falling into a trap.

Which brings me to Ruby playing as Atlas, where Ruby and Yang have this exchange after Yang's trap card is activated by Ruby:

"Giant Nevermore! If I roll a seven or higher, fatal feathers will slice your fleet in two!

"But! If you roll lower a six or lower, the Nevermore will turn on your own forces!"

"That's just a chance I'm willing to take"

In the Atlas arc (volumes 7-9) the theme of trust and taking risks is very prevalent. Like the move Yang makes in the game it is a risky one, that could end badly for her, but it is one worth taking nonetheless. They take the risk of trusting Ironwood but he ends up turning on our heroes. Oscar takes a risk trusting Hazel and Ozpin, as well as Emerald later on being accepted into their group, and it ends up working out for them. Ruby takes a risky chance in sending a message out to all of Remnant and evacuating Atlas, which saves a lot of people, but they still lose some, including Penny, a dear friend of Ruby's.

"Noooooo! My fearless soldiers!"

"Eh, most of them were probably androids anyways"

"Goodbye my friends... you will be avenged!"

Ruby acts distraught when losing her turn in the game as Atlas, expressing anguish over losing her friends who are described as androids by Yang, just like how Ruby is incredibly depressed and broken after the Fall of Atlas in V9, mourning the loss of Penny, who was both a sentient android and Ruby's friend. (I do wonder if Ruby's comment on avenging her friends might be foreshadowing for her wanting to avenge Penny's death in the future, like how Jaune tried to 1v1 Cinder in V5 to avenge Pyrrha, but I think it's too soon to say)

As a sidenote the fact it is a Nevemore in this turn that has a chance of turning on Yang or helping her is interesting, as it puts me in mind of two characters who can turn into ravens/crows, like the bird and poem Nevermore is associated with. It could pertain to Raven, someone who turns on Yang in v5 during the battle of Haven, but appears to help her and her friends in the V9 epilogue. It could also be about Qrow and his semblance, since during the Atlas arc it begins to evolve so that it is not simply a bad luck semblance, but one that can generate good luck too. In other words he can affect whether the chances are in people's favour or not.

After defeating Ruby (Atlas) Yang says this:

Yang: Not until I draw my rewards! Which are double this round thanks to the Mistral Trade Route!

Ruby: Bah!

Yang: Oh, and what's this? The Smugglers of Wind Path?

Ruby: Bah! Bah, I say!

Yang: I say, it looks like I'm taking two cards in my hand!

After the Fall of Atlas Cinder retrives not one but two relics for Salem, and with Atlas falling into Mantle, two kingdoms are destroyed in one fell swoop.

Then it's Weiss's turn. Weiss is playing as Vacuo, but has no idea how to play the game. Yang takes it upon herself to teach Weiss how to play and what she can do to win the game:

Yang: Well, Weiss, it's your turn.

Weiss: I have... absolutely no idea what's going on.

Yang: (Yang slides up beside her and puts her hand on her shoulder.) Look, it's easy! You're playing as Vacuo which means that all Vacuo-based cards come with a bonus.

Weiss: That sounds dumb.

Yang: See, you've got Sandstorm, Desert Scavenge... Oh, oh! (She pulls up a card to show Weiss.) Resourceful Raider! See, now you can take Ruby's discarded Air Fleet—

Ruby: (crying) Nooo!

Yang: —and put it in your hand!

We know from the end of V9 that what remains of the airfleet of Atlas, as well as the airfleet of Mistral and Vale, have all flocked to Vacuo's defence. What remains of the kingdom of Atlas, the airfleet, but most importantly the people, have now fled to Vacuo and are trying to make a home there.

Yang continues to give Weiss advice on how to win the game to Weiss, building her up, until Weiss starts to get arrogant, believing she's going to win the whole game and is the one in control:

Yang: And since Vacuo warriors have an endurance against Natural-based hazards, you can use Sandstorm to disable my ground forces and simultaneously infiltrate my kingdom! (Yang points a finger at Weiss.) Just know that I will not forget this declaration of war.

Weiss: And that means...

Ruby: You're just three moves away from conquering Remnant!

But then Yang turns on Weiss, activating her trap card, and Vacuo loses.

Since this is may be foreshadowing for the Vacuo arc that we haven't seen yet, I can only speculate what this might mean.

...But judging from the V9 extended epilogue and the books, my best guess would be that if Yang/Mistral is meant to be in part Cinder/Salem and their forces, then Weiss as Vacuo is in part the Crown. In the extended epilogue Jax and Gillian appear to be recieving help from Tyrian and Mercury, meaning Salem has decided to recruit them to her cause.

The Crown wants to restore the Vacuoan monarchy and detest outsiders, especially Atlesians. They do however wish to protect Vacuo from the same forces that destroyed Beacon, aka Salem, and so they are likely going to be manipulated like Weiss is by Yang in the game, being offered aid and giving them advice on how they can win and achieve their objectives, making them believe they can "conquer Remnant", only for them to realise later they were being tricked and used.

"Once again, Vacuo had been isolated from the conflict raging throughout Remnant—only this time it was an opportunity. With the global CCT network disabled, Vale in ruin, Haven leaderless, and Atlas closed off, Vacuo was theirs for the taking. This was likely their last, best chance for a generation. And it was their only hope to defend Vacuo against whomever had been targeting the other kingdoms. In likelihood they had written off Vacuo, like everyone else did, but if they tried to move against the Crown, they would have an unpleasant surprise.

Vacuo wouldn't break this time around."

Weiss: (Weiss stands and a thunder clap accompanies Weiss' overjoyed psychotic laughter.) Y-yes! Fear the almighty power of my forces! Cower as they pillage your homes and weep as they take your children from your very arms!

Yang: Trap card... (Yang's arm appears holding the card.)

Weiss: Huh?

Yang: (Yang shuffles the pieces on the board, Weiss' pieces disappearing in a puff of smoke.) Your armies have been destroyed.

Weiss: (Weiss slumps in her chair, cries and whines.) I hate this game of emotions we play!

Weiss as Vacuo may lose to Yang after realising they've been tricked, but is offered comfort afterwards by Ruby who relates to her losses and empathises with her, which is interesting since Ruby plays as Atlas. So I'm predicting at the end of the Vacuo arc they'll experience somewhat of a loss, whether that's the Crown, our heroes, or likely both, but Atlas will give support to Vacuo and the two kingdoms will come together to heal and ultimately work together, making steps to overcome their tense history with one another.

"Stay strong Weiss we'll make it through this together!"

"Shut up, don't touch me! "

...Which does make Weiss specifically playing as Vacuo especially intriguing, as she is the SDC heiress from Atlas, and Vacuo is a kingdom that has suffered the most in being exploited and colonized for it's natural resources by Atlas. From the epilogue it seems like the Schnees are being confronted directly with all the harm that has been caused by their family and kingdom, so I wouldn't be surprised if Weiss recieves a certain amount of focus during the Vacuo arc in deciding what her legacy as an Atlesian and heiress to the Schnee name will be. Moving forward to make amends, maybe inspiring the citizens of Atlas/Mantle to come together with Vacuo so they can all help and support one another, instead of isolating themselves and suffering alone.

Jaune offers to plays Weiss's hand for a turn also, with Weiss refusing:

Jaune: (Begging with both hands folded together.) Come on, let me play your hand for a turn!

Weiss: I'm not trusting you with the good citizens of Vacuo!

Which is reminiscent of how Vacuo is mistrustful of outsiders, as we've seen in After the Fall and Before the Dawn books.

Yang follows up to say that Weiss attacked her own forces, which could reference the infighting in Vacuo, especially with the Crown.

Weiss: Besides, this game requires a certain level of tactical cunning that I seriously doubt that you possess.

Yang: Uhh, you attacked your own naval fleet two turns ago. (Weiss makes an annoyed sound.)

Overall Weiss as Vacuo recieves the most help as any player during their turn, being taught how to play by Yang, offered comfort by Ruby after losing, and Jaune wanting to help her by playing her hand for a turn. This seems to fit with both how all kingdoms have flocked to Vacuo's aid in response to Ruby's message, but also Weiss as a character, who starts out "the loneliest of them all" but gradually opens up and warms up to other people. The crux of her arc being looking outside herself and at the people around her, relating to their struggles and coming to support them and being supported by them leads to her better understanding herself and becoming stronger for it... Which is kind of what the Kingdom of Vacuo needs to learn too!

Following this is Blake's turn as Vale, which I covered at the start of this post, but that's not the end of Vale's turn. We don't actually see it, but we know the aftermath of the game is this:

Yang: Ugh, we should have never let him play!

Ruby: You're just mad cuz' the new guy beat you!

Blake leaves the game during her turn as Vale, and presumably the "new guy" which is likely Neptune, who they'd just been introduced too, takes over her hand as Vale and wins the game of Remnant overall, even beating Yang and her trap cards. This is likely the endgame of RWBY itself, our heroes return to Vale after the Vacuo arc during the last volume for the final stand, where they win.

How and what that victory will look like I don't know, as we don't see the last turn of the game, so yet again this is even more vaguer speculation. Neptune doesn't really have much plot significance so I can't think there's any meaning to that except that he's a minor foil to Jaune, and the line of it being "a new guy" that wins, so maybe someone who recently joins our heroes side in the final act of the story, possibly Mercury or Cinder.

[indycinders]

Flightless

Well I wrote another fic BAHA o(-( Caleb's taken over my mind. Think I might make this canon towards Cinders' story since it's pretty mild uwu

Themes: Jealousy, Longing

WC: 920 :: CW: None

LADS Master List

Caleb finally got back to his dorm room and sat down on his bed, leaning over to start taking off his boots. He had his cellphone trapped between his ear and shoulder, listening to the dial tone ringing. After a few more rings than usual, he finally heard the voice he'd been missing for the last few days.

“Mm, hello?” Cinders’ voice sounded adorably sleepy and he could hear shifting on her side of the call. The rustling of fabric as she moved around in bed made him smile.

“Hey, pipsqueak,” he said softly, his usual boisterous tone mellowed out since he obviously woke her up. “Sorry for the late call. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah but it's okay!” Cinders said quickly, as if wanting to reassure him. “I tried to stay up and wait… but I guess I fell asleep.”

He chuckled as he removed one boot and worked on the lacing of the other. “Wouldn't be the first time. I got in a little late from training. Anyway, how was your night? It was senior prom, right? Did what's-his-face treat you well?”

He heard her snort and shift around some more. He could just imagine her rubbing her eyes and trying to wake up to talk to him. “You mean Trevor? I guess Granny didn't tell you. He bailed on me.”

Caleb stopped in the middle of pulling off his other boot, his heart sinking to his stomach. She had been stood up? And he wasn't there to comfort her, or to even take her to the dance himself. “Well, shit,” he scoffed. “I'm sorry, Kitty. Are you okay? Do I need to kick his ass when I come home next weekend?”

Hearing her laugh made him feel a tiny bit better. “No, no. It's not his fault, he was super sick. And I'm fine,” she explained, her voice sounding pretty normal.

Usually he could tell when ‘fine’ meant ‘definitely not okay’ but this time was harder than usual. “Did you just stay home with Gran, then?” he asked, standing up and beginning to pull off his flight jumpsuit.

“No, I still went. Remember Zayne? He was in town and stopped by for a visit and Granny told him about it,” she told him, and he could hear her moving around again. “He offered to take me since he's in town for a few days before going back to his school.”

“You had Zayne take you?” Caleb felt that familiar twist in his stomach, the feeling of jealousy flaring up inside like a rusted knife.

“Yeah,” she laughed a little. “It was kind of awkward but we had fun. Everyone was jealous that a college boy was dancing with me.”

The rest of his training clothes was practically torn off his body as his irritation built up. “I see,” he struggled to keep his tone neutral. “You had fun, though?”

“Yeah! He took me out for ice cream after the dance. Did you know he had such a sweet tooth?” she giggled and he clenched his fist at his side.

“Do you like him?” he demanded. Caleb winced, cursing himself. Why did he have to be like this? She was allowed to date whoever she wanted.

He didn't feel this way when she mentioned going with Trevor. Was it Zayne? Or the fact that he was older than her? He ran a hand through his hair.

Cinders shifted again on the other side. “Yeah, of course. You like him, too. We were all friends, remember? You two just had to go and grow up and leave me.”

She was joking but her words sliced through him. “Yeah, I guess,” he sighed. He decided not to push it. “Next time, will you call me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever you need someone for something. I don't care what it is. Someone to watch movies with, someone to dance with, someone to take you to an appointment,” Caleb sat on his bed again, clutching the apple pendant around his neck. “I want to be the first person you think of when you need someone.”

He knew he was laying it on pretty thick, but he didn't care. He was lonely, and he missed her. She was graduating in a few weeks and he couldn't even be there to fill in for the dance like he should have been.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. He could picture her cute face blushing at the blunt way he said that. “Yeah, I'll call.” Her tone had softened and he closed his eyes.

“... I'm glad you had fun, even if it didn't go how you wanted,” he said. “I'm sorry I wasn't there.”

“Cal, you don't need to apologize for something like that,” her voice was amused with a hint of fondness. “But thank you. How was your night? You got back late, so I bet it was busy?”

Caleb took a deep breath, feeling that green-eyed monster inside of him go back into hiding. He laid back on his bed, keeping his eyes closed and imagining she was lying next to him, looking at him with those pretty mismatched eyes of hers. “Yeah, it was a little hectic,” he said.

Even if he couldn't be there for things like a senior dance, he found solace in the fact that even someone like Zayne couldn't just call Cinders at midnight and talk for hours about anything and everything. He stroked the pendant with his thumb as they fell into their usual banter and conversation.

[inkclot]

Yang: I was thinking, what's the difference between a maid kink and a slave kink?

Blake: According to my books, it's more about how the master treats them.

Ren: ....one gets paid....?

Cinder: As an ex maid and a future ruler of the world....slaves are way hotter.

Jaune: Maid outfit cost more then a slave collar... or so I've heard.

Weiss: Let's ask my father, I know for a fact he has fucked both.

[cinderswrites]

Frayed ::

one

The morning light hit her face at just the right angle through the shabby curtain hanging above her window. She blinked away the sleep lingering in her heavy eyelids as she turned uncomfortably on the dingy cot, squeaking the springs as she moved and kicking up a new cloud of dust. No matter how much she cleaned and scrubbed the small room, the dust never seemed to leave.

She stared at the wall with disdain in her eyes, briefly wondering if she’d ever get a happy morning again in her life. Only a few years ago was she waking to her mother’s singing voice, the smell of sweet syrups and freshly baked bread permeating through the whole house, sleeping in a bed so comfy it felt like a sin to leave it at all. She counted the seconds until the knock she dreaded so well would come to make sure she was awake.

It came, sounding like ten hammers against the wood door, rattling the poor thing against its frame. “Wake up!” the sharp bark of her stepmother’s voice came through muffled.

She took a deep breath, mulling over the possible punishments if she didn’t move. After a few seconds, she threw back the tattered blanket and sat up, gathering her lengthy brown waves into a blue ribbon. The ribbon was one of the only things the stepmonster allowed her to keep from her mother. It was a cornflower blue, striking against her hair color, and embroidered with similar colored thread in a vintage yet still stylish floral pattern. It wasn’t any old ribbon, the ones people used for gifts and such, it was made specifically for her and her hair. Exchanging her night dress for her work dress, she pulled on too-small shoes and answered the door. Only a minute or so had passed when her stepmother called for her, but by the look on her face, it might as well have been an hour. “About time,” Thelma sniffed indignantly, doing that thing where she curled her upper lip as she examined the young woman. “Breakfast was due five minutes ago. Inexcusable!”

“Good morning to you as well,” Rhea said under her breath as she shouldered past the rather portly older woman.

“Get to it, then!” Her high pitched squeal could win a pig sound alike contest, Rhea thought.

Heading for the kitchen, she pulled off a ragged apron from a hook on the wall and threw it over her head, tying it over her equally as ragged work dress. New clothes were a luxury for her these days as well. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink, getting to work. She hummed under her breath as she broke and fried eggs, bacon and toasted days-old bread. Four plates were dished up and handed to the maid who waited patiently for her to finish. The rest of the food which consisted of the hard crusted end of the loaf, half an egg, and grits from the bacon was dished onto a smaller plate. She took the scraps and sat on a milk crate just outside the kitchen door.

She wasn’t allowed to eat with the family anymore. Not since the time she was fifteen and made Thelma’s omelet mostly out of eggshells and cracked pepper. The woman’s mouth was spewing drops of blood everywhere as she bellowed with such a force that turned her fat cheeks purple and made the vein that ran across her eyebrow and forehead pop with such a ferocity, Rhea almost wanted to poke at it. Her father couldn’t even calm his wife after that day. Much like with everything else that happened since he remarried, he would tell Rhea, “If you wouldn’t provoke her so much, you wouldn’t be punished so severely. It’s out of my hands, Rhea.”

She lost her room, her wardrobe, her privileges, and her life so far. The only thing she held onto was her steadfast stubbornness and the dignity of being the daughter of her mother, a cherished and well-liked woman named Flora. Flora was akin to a soft breeze through the cotton trees, the sound of their stiff leaves rattling in the wind, the lazy bob of a dandelion on a summer day. A lovely woman that cared deeply for her community, her marriage, and mostly her daughter. The day she died, a dark raincloud was cast over the Fisher Manor and still hadn’t lifted.

The day Rhea met Thelma and her daughters, that raincloud turned into a monsoon. She was drowning every day she lived under the same roof as them, even more so now that she was nearing twenty and still hadn’t sought higher education or a husband. The people around her neighborhood knew the circumstances, of course. Thelma worked her to the bone cooking and cleaning and tending to everyone but herself, keeping her busy and too tired to care about much else. Everyone else didn’t know that the Fisher family had another daughter.

The crust of bread she nibbled at turned her whole mouth dry and left a sour taste as she realized it’d only been six years so far since her mother passed. Her father married quickly so she wouldn’t be long without a “maternal figure” around, as he put it. The bitter treatment started almost immediately when he wasn’t looking, which spurred on the rebellion in her heart. First from Thelma, then from Scarlett. Her stepsister, a year or so older than her, with a face like a frog: big dark eyes and a wide mouth that always sported her signature red—scarlet—lipstick, treated her like the bottom of the barrel servant she thought Rhea was. She had unruly straw-colored hair and a nose that resembled her mother’s: upturned and flat, like a pig’s.

The youngest daughter of Thelma, Alice, was a tiny thing. Pale and fragile with hair like a spider’s web, fine and wispy. She was only two when she came with her mother and sister. Rhea never treated her unfairly, and she grew to be resentful of her mother and older sister. For an eight year old, she played her part well, but did her best to make things easy on Rhea. They were close like sisters should be. Henri Jr., her actual half-brother, had been born three years ago, and was a quiet and easy child, similar to Alice. He observed everything with his doe-like brown eyes, and he had a tuft of dark hair, the same color as their father’s. A fine little gentleman in his own right, he had his fair share of rough days. Most of the time, he preferred the company of Alice and Rhea, rarely crying for his mother or father. Rhea wondered if he even knew his father, as he’d been absent more in recent years after the birth.

Henri Sr., she thought dismally, a man who had once been full of life and honor, now whittled down to nothing short of a workhorse. He had gained quite a bit of weight in his middle age, probably from eating food from the town’s inn so often. He was what was called a port master, the man that oversaw the comings and goings of the docks and what was brought in. He worked his way up to that position from a humble dockworker, around the time he first met her mother. He was well known in town, as well as by the royal family who had their own personal fleet of ships almost permanently docked these days. According to Rhea’s little wallflower, Alice had said that he’d been coming home less and less these weeks, apparently busy with securing trade routes with neighboring kingdoms.

Of all the hurt she’d faced since the funeral, seeing her father become someone she no longer recognized hurt most of all. A fluttering of wings from a bird flying away and the squeaky creak of the kitchen door’s hinge brought Rhea back to the present. She set her plate of food down on the ground as she turned to see Alice peeking out the door, searching for her. The little girl’s brilliantly blue eyes settled on her and the happiness that washed over her features brought a warmth to Rhea’s chest. “There you are!” the girl said happily but quietly. She stepped out barefoot, closing the door behind her.

Alice eyed the plate of food when she walked closer. “You should eat more, you know. It’s not healthy.”

Rhea shrugged but nodded, “I know. I’m just not very hungry this morning.”

“Well, I’ve got good news for you!” Alice grinned, teetering back on her heels playfully.

“Divorce?”

Alice wrinkled her nose, “No!”

“Right, right, because you’ll lose the best sister ever,” Rhea said jokingly.

The little girl nodded affirmatively, giving her a glare. “I know it’s bad, but it’s only Mother and Scarlett, right? Soon, Henri Jr. will be on our side, too! We’ll outnumber the lot of them!”

Rhea tilted her head back in a laugh, “Of course, of course, how could I forget? Anyway, what’s this news of yours?”

“Good news, Rhea. It’s great, actually,” Alice continued to put off the actual news as she paced around, pretending to look serious.

“Honestly can’t believe that you’re not sitting on the edge of that milk crate, begging me for details.”

Rhea rolled her eyes, chuckling, “Alright, out with it, Ali.” She knew using the fond nickname she had for her little sister usually broke the ruse.

Alice giggled and finally turned to face her, “Okay, okay,” she held up her hands in surrender, “so you know how Father’s been away a lot?” Rhea nodded.

“Well, as it so happens, he’s been working extra hard to take us on a vacation!” the little girl grinned, clapping her hands together. “Well, actually, it’s a work trip. But he wants to brings us with, and we’ll be staying at that fancy inn in Silverwater.”

“Silverwater? That’s quite far.” Rhea turned her eyes skyward for a moment, trying to remember where on her father’s maps that was.

“That’s at least two days one way on a ship. I don’t imagine I’ll be going, though?”

When she looked back at Alice, she noticed the girl looked sullen, “I tried to get them to bring you along. Mother said over her dead body, and Father said until you learn to act like a proper young lady, you won’t be going anywhere. Besides, they said they need someone here to help Portia with keeping the house in shape.”

“It’s okay. I don’t like ships all that much anyway,” Rhea lied, knowing that the memories of her last sea trip were beginning to fade since they were so long ago. She knew she loved the smell of the ocean and the breeze running through her thick hair.

“You’ll be without us for a while, I think. At least a week.” Alice left the unsaid lingering between them.

Rhea caught on to the weight of her words. One week without the hovering, and the overbearing, and the insults. One week of peace and quiet to do whatever she pleased, since she knew Portia didn’t need any help. That woman was capable of running her own military group, let alone an empty house. Rhea reached out to take the girl’s hands, squeezing them softly, “You’ve just given me the best news I’ve had in a while, Alice. Thank you!”

Alice smiled and shimmied a little in happiness, “Make the most of it!”

“I will.”

[scham-wcan]

Chapters: 1/8 Fandom: RWBY Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Cinder Fall, Salem (RWBY) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cinder Fall Week, Blood and Gore, She was a faery, Body Horror, Loose conglomerate of ego and body parts called Cinder Fall, CinderSimpsCandFWeek Summary:

Servant, acolyte, believer, and one day ruler. All things which Cinder Fall describes or has described herself as. In pursuit of a destiny she demands, Cinder seeks a way to reconcile her master with body and form once again through means of blood, macabre science, and the mutilation of natural order. But damn is she going to look good doing it.

This is my story for the Cinder Simp Prompt week! 

Day 1 - Altar / Wilderness 

[obligatoryjauneblog]

MK Intros: Arcfall / RK!Jaune v. Cinder

RK!Jaune: Cinder...

Cinder: Ah yes... you... And you are?

RK!Jaune: Your judgement.

-

RK!Jaune: A lifetime with nothing to do but imagine the ways I would kill you.

Cinder: Careful now, you sound like you belong on my side.

RK!Jaune: I do what needs to be done.

-

RK!Jaune: Is this the Ever After playing it's tricks on me again?

Cinder: I assure you, you schizophrenic, I'm real.

RK!Jaune: Good.

- Bonus -

Jaune: So, loser gets to top?

Cinder: As always

Jaune: Just promise not to lose on purpose this time.

[taddymason]

and then she proceeds to kill people

(reference from a panel of jjk chapter 89)