Chapter Text
CHAPTER 1
FUZZY EARS, PANTIES, AND POLITICS
The vomit tears out of my throat before I even understand that the body belongs to me now.
Hot, sour liquid spills past my lips and splatters across polished boots and the leg of the owner of said boots. The smell hits an instant later. It is not a pleasant smell. Someone makes a sharp, disgusted noise. Blonde hair flashes at the edge of my watering vision. A girl’s voice, angry and dangerous, starts to form words I cannot process yet due to my ringing ears.
But it doesn’t matter. I am already moving.
The corridor tilts under my feet. Metal plating vibrates with the steady thrum of engines. Overhead lights smear into long streaks. Sweat beads across a forehead that feels both familiar and alien, sliding down my temple and soaking the collar of a hoodie that suddenly feels far too warm. Heart hammering against ribs that expand and contract without my permission.
Behind me, someone calls out, maybe the girl whose shoes I just ruined, maybe someone else, but the sound folds into the general murmur of excited students and the distant howl of wind against the hull. I do not look back. Looking back would mean acknowledging the circle of staring faces, the way the airship’s common area has gone quiet for half a second. Looking back would mean admitting that the body I am driving just vomited on Yang Xiao Long in front of half of Beacon’s incoming first-years.
Memories arrive like cold water poured down the spine.
Night air, thick with the smell of cut hay and distant livestock. Wooden porch boards creak under two sets of weight. A lantern throws soft gold across the planks and the knee-high grass beyond the railing. My… HIS father sits with elbows on his thighs, callused hands hanging loose between them. He speaks without raising his voice.
“Being a Huntsman isn’t about the stories, Jaune. It isn’t about the glory, or the girls, or proving something to your sisters. It’s about standing between people and the things that want to hurt them. You think you’re ready for that?”
HE sits beside him, boots scuffing the porch edge, fake transcripts already folded inside the jacket draped over the porch rail. The decision has already been made. The bag is packed. The ticket for the airship waits in the inside pocket. Yet the words still come out thin.
“I have to try, Dad. I can’t stay here and watch everyone else leave.”
Silence stretches. An insect ticks somewhere in the dark. Father’s shoulders rise and fall once.
“Then you better be ready to die trying. Because the Grimm don’t care about good intentions.” The man gets up, glancing towards m- Jaune. “I hope you find what you are looking for. I was just hoping you could find it here.”
The memory releases its grip as I shoulder through a narrow doorway. The bathroom is small, all white panels and cold metal fixtures. A single rectangular mirror hangs above a sink. Recycled air hisses from a vent near the ceiling. The floor vibrates harder here, closer to the engines. I slam the door, twist the lock, and the latch clicks.
My hands are smaller than I am used to, and a little too pale, nails chewed short brace against the porcelain edges of the sink. Water drips from the faucet in slow, irregular beats. I force my head up.
The face in the mirror is Jaune Arc’s.
Blond hair sticks to a sweaty forehead in uneven spikes. Blue eyes wide and bloodshot. The same soft jaw that never quite hardened into the hero’s chin he always imagined. The same ridiculous cowlick that refuses to stay down. I know every freckle. I know the exact shade of those eyes under morning light on the farm. I know the way this mouth shapes the word ‘Huntsman’ with so much longing.
But the mind behind the eyes is not only his.
I am here. The hijacker who arrived mid-retch. His memories sit inside me like furniture already arranged. His sisters’ laughter, the weight of a wooden practice sword, the taste of his mother’s apple pie. Yet something essential has shifted. The body remembers how to stand, how to breathe, how to feel. But the soul occupying it knows those things are second-hand.
Sweat continues to slide down the sides of this neck. My-his- OUR chest rises too fast. The airship banks gently, the horizon outside the tiny frosted window tilts, and my stomach gives another warning clench. I twist the faucet. Cold water spills over shaking hands. I cup them, splash the face again and again until the skin tightens, and the worst of the heat drains away.
I look up once more.
Same face. Same stolen life.
A small yellow rectangle blooms at the lower right edge of my vision, sharp against the white tiles and the steam beginning to fog the lower half of the mirror. Blue letters form inside it, as if someone has projected text directly onto the world.
I freeze with water still dripping from my chin. The engines keep their steady drone. Somewhere beyond the locked door, a girl is probably still swearing about her ruined boots. Inside this narrow room, the only sound is my own breathing and the soft plink of water into the basin.
The yellow box waits, patient, glowing with the quiet certainty of something that does not belong to Remnant.
My fingers hover in the empty air between the sink and the glowing rectangle. The motion feels absurd as there is nothing solid to touch, and yet the yellow surface brightens the moment the tip of my index finger brushes its edge. Heatless light blooms outward, unfolding from the corner of my vision into a translucent panel that hangs a handspan from my face. More blue text scrolls inside of the textbox.
Welcome, User.
You have been bound to the Chaos Gacha.
Perform Feats of sufficient magnitude and relevance.
In return, the Gacha awards Tickets.
Tickets grant access to one of five primary pools: Ability, Trait, Skill, Item, Familiar.
I swallow. The residual burn of acid scrapes the back of this throat. My pulse still hammers against the underside of my jaw.
The bathroom lights flicker once. Outside the locked door, a pair of voices argue about the person inside the bathroom taking too long,
I exhale through my teeth. I continue to read the other info that keeps being dumped into the textbox.
My stomach gives one last, half-hearted roll. I splash more cold water across my face, then dry the skin with a rough paper towel from the dispenser.
I lock eyes with the reflection one more time. Jaune Arc’s face stares back as the yellow rectangle pulses once, almost inquisitive, then settles into stillness at the edge of sight.
Are you ready to roll? You are in possession of Three Random Gold Tickets.
[Y] [N]
‘Yes, please.’ My forehead rests against the cold window as I take a deep breath and press the Y option.
And just like that, a wheel inside his mind started to spin.
[Wastelanders Survival Kit]
|Uncommon Item|
Fallout - A survival kit containing the loadout of a true courier. Containing an Elite Riot Gear, A fully modified Anti-Material Sniper Rifle, a Riot Shotgun, A .44 Magnum revolver, a Bowie knife, 5 repair kits, 10 stim packs, 5 doctor's bags, and 200 ammo for each weapon. No way to be caught lacking in the wastes now.
Well, I at least don’t have to worry much about my sword and board. New weapons and an armor set to wear are definitely very good. And the ammo and supplies will also come in handy.
Although I only really know how to properly use the revolver, and even that is only because the mother of the not-Jaune part of me was a veteran policewoman who had taken him shooting every so often as a bonding thing.
Several equipment cases suddenly popped inside the bathroom, turning the already narrow place into something fairly claustrophobic. “Shit, shit, shit…!” How the hell am I supposed to carry these things around with those noodly arms?!
The wheel inside his mind continued to spin until it settled into another result.
[Greater Beastkin]
|Elite Trait|
You are a greater Bear beastkin, a creature that is half beast and half whatever you are. As a Greater Beastkin, you possess superhuman physical abilities and enhanced natural senses and instincts. You possess more affinity towards nature-based abilities and spells, allowing you to utilise them more effectively. Your Beast side is powerful too; even simple cat claws are tough as iron.
And just like that, my body suddenly bulked up as a pair of bear ears popped on the top of my head. I immediately looked back into the mirror, unable to keep my eyes from widening at the person staring back. “Well, that fixes one problem. But opens an entirely different can of worms.”
Does that make him a Faunus? Damn, he’s suddenly a minority again at the snap of a finger, just like that. At least he’s stronger, and a bit taller, too.
But before he could appreciate his new not-noodly physique, the wheel decided it was a good moment to chime in with the result for the last Gold Ticket.
[Hentai Protagonist]
|Elite Trait|
Apparently, your fate has changed, you are much more likely to encounter and fall into situations one might consider "erotic" such as encountering a hot single mom that moved next door, getting into situations that are much more likely to end up in sexual encounters, and people in general seem to be far more affected by sexual situations involving you.
“Oh.” Insert the sound of a record scratch.
Shit, I know RWBY is kinda known for the porn, and there are a lot of stories featuring Jaune Arc laying pipe to everything that has a shadow, but…
How is he supposed to react to that? He’s no virgin, but there is a very big difference between having a healthy sex life and being a goddamn Hentai Protagonist! “Guess I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
It’s not something bad, but it is something he is a bit unsure of how he is supposed to deal with.
Oh hey, his clothes shifted to accommodate his bulkier frame, that’s very nice, too. Thank you, Chaos Gods!
And speaking of clothes… they do say the clothes make the man, and I am fairly excited about a certain piece of gear from his Wasteland Survivor Kit. Took a bit of digging through the equipment cases, but once he found the Elite Riot Gear, he whistled in appreciation. “Come to papa, my darling.”
Didn’t take long to take off his clothes and replace them with the Elite Riot Gear, minus the helmet and the ammo belts for now. That would look a bit too hardcore to casually go around like that. And thankfully, I also managed to use the armor bits Jaune already had alongside the armor for extra protection, too.
But for now, his jeans and Pumpkin Pete hoodie are currently on hold inside one of the cases.
Another good thing is the fact that the equipment cases easily stack upon one another, as well as having slings for him to put across his shoulder to carry them around. His new bestial strength is the only reason he can even haul the loot around, considering the amount of things there.
The old Jaune would have been stuck trying to drag it around.
Welp, time to leave, can’t stay inside a bathroom until the airship lands.
The latch turns under my fingers with a soft metallic protest. I pull the narrow door inward and step across the threshold, the stacked cases hanging from the thick straps that dig into shoulders broader than they were minutes ago. Bear ears twitch atop my skull at the rush of cooler corridor air. The motion sends a faint ripple through the short fur that covers them. Feels very odd.
I clear the doorway and collide with a solid wall of blonde and yellow.
The impact is soft enough that the cases only sway instead of crashing to the deck. A startled “Hey-!” cuts off mid-syllable. Warmth and something squishy presses against the front of the armor for half a second before I stumble back on my heels. Lilac eyes flash upward, then narrow. Yang Xiao Long stands directly in my path, arms half-raised as if she had been about to knock. Behind her, a smaller figure in a red-and-black cloak peeks around one shoulder, silver eyes wide.
For a heartbeat, nobody speaks. The airship’s corridor continues its gentle vibration underfoot. Students stream past on either side, some slowing to stare at the sudden cluster blocking the walkway. The bear ears atop my head swivel toward the nearest whisper before I instinctively force them still as if I had them all my life.
Yang’s gaze flicks from my face to the rounded ears, down the bulk of the riot gear, then back up. Confusion replaces the spark of leftover anger. The scowl that had started to form softens into something closer to embarrassment. She takes a step back, boots faintly damp and smelling of cleaning solution.
“Oh. Uh.” Her voice drops. One fingerless-gloved hand rises to rub the back of her neck in a mirror of the gesture I am already performing. “Sorry. Thought you were… y’know. The blond who decided my shoes needed a free wash.” A quiet mutter follows, almost lost under the engine drone. “Faulty intel. Ruby swore the guy who ran in here had the same hair.”
The smaller girl makes a tiny apologetic noise and shrinks further behind her sister’s shoulder. “I only saw the hair, okay? It was kind of hard to miss after the… incident.”
I keep my own hand at the nape of my neck. “Yeah. No problem, must have confused me with another blond.” The words come out rougher than intended, and I blame it on kinda being a bear Faunus now. I shift the stacked cases higher on the slings, feeling the equipment settle nicely against my back.
It takes a fair amount of willpower not to look down into what he is sure is a fantastic cleavage given the boobage he felt when they squished against him. He laments the thickness of his gear. “It’s all good, but I need to get going before we land, it’s going to be chaos to get off if I don’t get a good place.” I pat her shoulder as I walk past her. “Hope you find the Vomit Boy.”
Considering I am said Vomit Boy, and the only reason I am kinda hauling ass right now is to not blow chunks all over Yang. Which is kind of a shame because I would have loved to stay and chat with the sisters.
But it ain’t worth risking vomiting on ‘em.
Yang’s mouth opens, then closes again as the words settle. A short, surprised laugh escapes her before she can stop it. The sound is warm, and pretty nice to his new ears. Huh, now that he thinks about it, does he have four ears now?
“Vomit Boy, huh? Cute.” She smirks and then gives me a friendly wave. “See you around, mystery armor guy.”
Ruby edges out from behind her sister’s shoulder just far enough for the silver eyes to catch the semi-translucent sides of the nearest equipment case. The outline of the anti-materiel rifle is unmistakable even through the reinforced polymer. Her head tilts, red-and-black hood slipping slightly. Curiosity brightens her face for a moment, wonder mixed with the unmistakable hunger of someone who lives for weapons, before shyness crashes back in. The smaller girl ducks, pressing her forehead against the yellow fabric of Yang’s jacket, cloak pooling around her boots like spilled ink. No question leaves her lips. Only a tiny, muffled sound that might have been interest or apology.
I offer both of them a final nod and a little wave as I turn on my heels. The corridor opens ahead, students already clustering near the forward hatches. Bear ears swivel once toward the fading chatter of the sisters, then forward again. Residual nausea still coils low in the gut, but the enhanced body carries it better than the old one ever could.
The airship’s engines shift pitch. A low, resonant shudder runs through the deck plates. Outside the viewports, the cliffs of Beacon rise into view, white stone and green terraces catching the late-afternoon sun. The vessel settles with a final series of hydraulic sighs. Hatches cycle open. Fresh air, scented with sea salt, rolls down the corridors in a cool wave.
I join the slow current of bodies toward the cargo hold. Other students wrestle with ordinary duffels and weapon cases.
The baggage claim is a riot of shouting aspiring Hunters, floating Scroll screens, and the occasional crate that refuses to stay stacked. I spot the familiar scuffed trunk near the far wall, the one stamped with a faded Arc family crest and secured by a lock whose combination is burned into my mind.
I crouch, thicker fingers, now tipped with faint traces of powerful claws, begin working the clasps after inserting the combination into the lock. Inside lie two changes of clothes, a spare pair of sneakers, a small toiletry bag. The sword and shield come free with practiced motions that belong to the body more than the passenger. The weight of Crocea Mors settles into a palm that can now close around the grip without the old tremor of inadequacy. The shield expands and locks with a solid metallic click that vibrates up the forearm.
I transfer the original belongings into the uppermost equipment case, the same one that has his hoodie and jeans. The stacked units ride higher on the slings, balanced by the broader back. Bear ears flick once at the sharp whistle of a professor directing traffic.
I straighten, adjust the straps one final time, and step into the flow of first-years pouring down the boarding ramps toward the courtyard of Beacon Academy. The late sun paints everything into a lovely shade, and he slows down to properly appreciate the view.
Well, it’s not like he is in any rush to go on alongside the masses, so he awaits the cue to get a move on. What’s the cue?
The explosion arrives.
It is not a polite detonation. A sharp, concussive BOOM rolls across the courtyard, followed by a bloom of flame, glittering ice crystals, and crackling arcs of electricity. Students scatter with startled shouts. A dark cloud of residual Dust hangs in the air for a moment before the sea breeze begins to shred it. My ears flatten hard against my skull at the sudden noise, even knowing it was going to happen, it is far louder than he had anticipated.
That is the cue.
I adjust the slings and start moving against the general retreat, boots striking the stone with heavier impact than Jaune’s ever managed. The crowd parts around him as they avoid the source of the explosion. Ahead, a shallow crater smokes in the middle of the path where a luggage cart once stood. Scorched stone and scattered suitcases form a rough ring. At the center of it lies a small figure in a red-and-black cloak, skirt flipped high from the blast’s force.
Ruby Rose is on her back, arms splayed, silver eyes blinking up at the sky in dazed apology to the universe. The short black-and-red skirt has ridden all the way to her waist. Red underwear, simple cotton, the same bright shade as the tips of her hair and the lining of her cloak, are on full display against pale thighs still sprinkled with residual Dust. The fabric is slightly bunched on one side from the impact, revealing a narrow strip of hip and the soft curve where leg meets body. A single scorch mark darkens the waistband near her left hipbone.
Of course the girl named Ruby is wearing red, that earns a snort from him.
I stop at the crater’s edge. Bear ears swivel once toward the approaching sound of an angry heiress already mid-rant, then return to the small form still trying to remember which way is up. To my credit, I do try not to stare too much at the exposed panties.
Ruby’s gaze finally focuses. It travels from the sky to the armored figure standing over her, lingering for a second on the rounded ears and the heavy plating before recognition flickers. Her hands scramble to tug the skirt back down, face flooding with color that has nothing to do with residual Dust.
“Uh… hi?” The word comes out small, still breathless from the blast.
“Hello there.” I offer a hand to the considerably smaller girl. Somewhere behind me, Weiss Schnee’s voice rises in full aristocratic fury.
Or, as a better description, like a very angry chihuahua.
My offered hand stays steady in the space between us, not forcing her to take it if she didn’t want to. Ruby’s accepts the help as her still trembling fingers wrap around the larger hand. My new strength makes the lift almost effortless, she rises in one smooth motion, boots finding purchase on the scorched stone. The short skirt stays clenched in her free hand the entire time, fabric bunched tight against her thighs. Red burns high across her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Silver eyes stay locked between my feet, refusing to even look up due to embarrassment.
“Did you… see anything?” The question is barely above a whisper, thick with mortification.
I tip my head a few degrees to the side. Bear ears follow the motion a fraction of a second later, one of them giving a small, independent twitch.
“See what?” Her panties? Oh yes, I absolutely saw it all.
A long, shaky breath leaves her. The tension in her shoulders eases by a visible degree. Relief softens the lines of her face.
And then a white-and-blue blur materializes right next to her.
“You absolute dolt!” Weiss Schnee’s voice cracks a whip. “Do you have any idea what you just did? That was refined Dust, military-grade, Schnee-quarried, and now half of it is decorating the courtyard because you couldn’t be bothered to watch where you were stumbling!”
Ruby makes a tiny, high-pitched sound of panic and pivots on her heel. In less than a second, the smaller girl has vanished behind the broader bulk of the riot gear, fists still knotted in the hem of her skirt, forehead pressed between the stacked cases. The sudden use of my body as a human shield pulls a quiet huff of amusement from my chest before I can stop it. The ears flick once at the sound of Weiss’s continued tirade.
I shift half a step to the side, enough to interpose more of the armored frame without completely cutting the heiress off. One gloved hand rises in a placating gesture.
“Hey now, easy. She’s already on the ground about it. Literally was, thirty seconds ago. No permanent damage that I can see.”
Weiss’s ice-blue eyes snap to me for the first time. The scathing look that follows is sharp enough to peel paint. It rakes from the rounded bear ears, down the reinforced chest plate, across the heavier set of the shoulders, and back up again. Something flickers behind the aristocratic glare, recognition of the animal features, perhaps, or simple offense at being interrupted by a stranger. Her lips press into a thin white line. A short, dismissive exhale leaves her nose.
“And you are?” The question is pure frost. She does not wait for an answer before the next volley of words begins to form, already angled past me toward the girl still hiding in my shadow.
Ruby’s grip on the back of the riot gear tightens. The courtyard continues to fill with the low murmur of students who have decided the show is safe enough to watch from a distance.
My lip curls at the tone of voice, but what really made my jaw twitch and clench was the way she looked at me. I tower over Weiss, and yet she is looking at me like I am nothing. “I’m Jaune Arc, Princess, and you are-” To be honest, I am unsure of what exactly I was about to say to Weiss, given how she managed to piss me off with just a few words and a look, it definitely was not going to be anything pleasant. And definitely would make even a sailor blush.
But.
The words died unfinished on my tongue.
A calm, measured voice cuts across the crater from just outside the mini crater.
“It’s heiress, actually.”
Blake Belladonna steps into the open space with the quiet certainty of someone who has decided the argument requires an additional participant. A half-empty vial of Dust turns slowly between her fingers. The black bow on her head sits perfectly still even as a faint sea breeze tugs at the long coat. Yellow eyes regard Weiss with flat, unhurried interest before they flick towards me.
Weiss’s spine straightens as though someone has run a current through it. The scathing look she had been preparing for me redirects without missing a beat as her expression changes to something that is far too pleased with herself.
“Finally. Recognition.” The words are pure satisfaction edged with ice. “I am Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee Dust Company-”
“-one of the largest producers of energy propellant in the world,” Blake finishes, voice level. “And the same company currently under investigation for its labor practices in the northern mines. Forced overtime. Collapsed tunnels that somehow never make the official reports. Faunus workers paid in company scrip that only spends inside Schnee-owned stores. Those are the rumors, at least.”
A muscle jumps in Weiss’s jaw. Around us, the circle of watching students has gone quieter, the earlier murmurs dropping into attentive silence. Ruby remains pressed against my back, her hand holding on to my arm as she peeks around me.
Weiss’s chin lifts. “Those are precisely the sort of uninformed accusations spread by people who have never set foot in a refinement facility. The Schnee Dust Company provides stable employment, housing, and medical care in regions that would otherwise have none. Any ‘rumors’ of mistreatment are the result of isolated incidents and outside agitators looking for a convenient villain.”
Blake’s gaze slides to my bear ears. The glance is brief, almost idle, yet it lands with deliberate weight. When she speaks next, the words are softer, but they carry farther.
“Isolated incidents that somehow only seem to involve Faunus laborers. Interesting how the official statements always manage to frame it that way.” Her eyes return to Weiss. “And right now you’re doing nothing to disprove such ‘baseless’ rumors. You’re standing in front of a Faunus student, someone who had not even given you his name, and looking at him like he’s an inconvenience that wandered into your line of sight. If this is how the heiress treats a Faunus in public, on the first day, under the eyes of half the first-year class… what exactly do you think happens in those mines when no one is watching?”
The temperature in the immediate vicinity seems to drop several degrees. Weiss’s hands curl into tight fists at her sides. Color rises to her face, but it is anger rather than embarrassment. For a long moment, the only sound is the distant cry of some birds and the soft clink of the Dust vial still turning in Blake’s fingers.
Weiss’s reply, when it comes, is clipped and final.
“You are ignorant of complicated politics and the economic realities that keep entire kingdoms supplied with Dust. I will not stand here and be lectured by someone who has decided a few inflammatory pamphlets constitute an education.” She turns on her heel with the precision of a parade-ground pivot. The white coat flares. “Stay out of matters that do not concern you.”
She does not wait for a response. The heiress of the Schnee Dust Company walks away at a controlled, furious pace, two silent attendants falling into step behind her with the scattered luggage cases. The circle of onlookers parts without needing to be asked.
Blake watches her go for three full seconds, then glances once more at me. A faint, unreadable curve touches the corner of her mouth. She sets the empty Dust vial carefully on the nearest intact suitcase, turns, and walks off in the opposite direction without another word, already opening her book again as though the entire exchange had been a minor footnote.
Ruby peels herself away from my back by slow degrees. The silver eyes are wide. Her hands grip my arm tightly. “Whoa.” She whispers breathlessly.
I maintain my gaze on Blake’s back, not even considering looking down at the very memed Bellabooty, no, my focus is on Blake as a whole.
She didn’t step in to help Ruby, she did it for me. “Yeah, woah.” I felt myself say as my eyes narrowed.
[THIS IS A LINE BREAK, OH MY, VERY LINE, MUCH BREAK!]
Hello there! Tis I, Landarkos! I had a brain bunny for a fanfic of sorts ever since I discovered the Chaos Gacha like a week ago! This thing refused to get outta my head, so I just HAD to write something!
Also, you might think this is a self-insert, but nope! I am just a perverted gal! Nyeheh.
I originally was not going to keep Hentai Protagonist, but once I rolled it, the rusty cogwheels inside of my brain decided to say, ‘Fuck it, we ball’.
Please feel free to leave any criticism and whatnot. Also, I dunno how important it is to say this, but English is not my native tongue, so if there are any mistakes of the sort, please tell me!
And ahem, I am open to ideas such as quests and events to give tickets and stuff.
And also... some... possible spicier scenes.