Heyo. This chapter ended up being pretty meaty, which was somewhat surprising. I took out Ironwood but Adam ended up getting the majority of the focus. Poor guy. The one world where he's sane and he can't even enjoy it.
For anyone interested in making a commission, email me at: storylover543 gmail . com
Adam adjusted his coat as he stood atop the small stage in the heart of Vale, the MenToo banner behind him rippling slightly in the breeze. The bright red letters above him, 'Supporting Men in a Huntress-Obsessed World,' drew more than a few curious glances from passersby. The crowd - all men of varying ages both Human and Faunus - gathered in front of him, holding signs like 'Stop Following Me Home!' and 'No Means No, Huntress Edition!', watched with rapt attention as Adam raised his megaphone.
Behind him, the banner stood strong with their slogan. MenToo: Because Dignity Shouldn't Be a Luxury.
"Brothers of Remnant!" Adam began, his voice booming through the square, "We've all experienced it. You're just minding your business, walking home after a long day, when suddenly a Huntress appears out of nowhere, blocking your path like the world's most pathetic scarecrow. 'Hey,' she says, tossing her hair like she's in some cheesy romance novel, 'You're cute. Want to come back to my place and let me bounce on your dick?!'"
The crowd groaned in unison, several men shaking their heads. Adam raised his voice, leaning forward slightly, "And when you say no? Do they gracefully accept it? Do they take it on the chin and move on? No! They pout, they whine, they literally beg. One guy told me he had a Huntress pull out a scroll and start crying on video, like she was auditioning for a sad music video! It's pathetic!"
Laughter rippled through the crowd, mingling with more groans of agreement. One man in the back shouted, "One of them tried to guilt-trip me by saying she'd die alone!" Another added, "Mine said it was 'for the future of humanity!'"
"How many of you have had to change gyms because a Huntress spotted you in the weight room and spent the entire session staring at you from the corner, muttering about how strong your shoulders look?"
More groans. More hands. Someone yelled, "Three times, Adam!"
"And how many of you have invested in water bottles, not for hydration, but to defend yourselves from the rabid thirst of women who fight Grimm without fear but can't take no for an answer?!" Too many, the crowd shouted. Adam nodded solemnly, "Exactly, brothers. They've been doing this for years. And it's not just the younger ones. I had one of the Huntress professors corner me, telling me how my 'strong jawline' reminded her of her dead fiancé and how it was my 'duty' to help her move on. What do you even say to that?! I doubt she even had a fiancé!"
The crowd erupted into more raucous protests, several men throwing their hands in the air as if to say, What can you do?
"But this isn't just about the awkward moments," Adam continued, pacing the stage dramatically, "It's how they've forgotten their roles as heroes and defenders. Now they've given up even the pretense of being anything more than thirsty hyenas!"
The crowd of men below him murmured in agreement, some clutching homemade signs like 'Thirst Is Not Flirting!' and 'Stop Asking for My Scroll Number!' One man in the back waved a super-soaker above his head like a trophy, drawing approving nods from the rest of the audience. They needed this. Needed a group that would stand up for their right to not be harassed by thirsty women who decided dying a virgin was just cause to make it everyone else's problem.
A voice from the side interrupted his speech, "We are not hyenas!"
Adam turned sharply, narrowing his eyes as Sienna Khan strode onto the stage flanked by a couple of White Fang members holding placards that read 'Love for All Huntresses!' and 'Boyfriends Are Basic Rights!'. Pathetic, "Ah, and here we have the leader of the Huntress Begging Brigade," Adam said, tilting his head with mock politeness, "Sienna Khan, the woman who thought extorting the Council for boyfriends was a good look. How brave of you to show your face here!"
Sienna scowled, planting her hands on her hips, "We're not begging," she snapped, "We're demanding equality! Men refuse to see us as anything but threats or, worse, pity cases. And it's your fault, Adam Taurus! You and all other men like you! You're out here spreading this narrative that we're all...pathetic cock whores!"
Adam raised an eyebrow, deadpan, "You literally staged a sit-in at City Hall chanting, 'We deserve dick!'"
"That was one protest!" Sienna snapped, her cheeks flushing as a few chuckles rippled through the crowd, "And it got people talking, didn't it?"
"Oh, it got people talking, all right," Adam said, waving his bullhorn, "I'm pretty sure every guy in Vale now carries a water bottle just in case one of you tries to 'talk' to him."
"That's not fair!" Sienna shot back, stamping her foot, "It's not our fault men can't handle confident women!"
Adam rolled his eyes, "Confident? Sienna, you've got Huntresses hiding in bushes outside of gyms, hoping to 'accidentally' bump into guys after their workouts. One of your members tried to climb into a man's apartment window to 'show him what he was missing.' That's not confidence. That's a restraining order waiting to happen!"
The crowd burst into laughter again, and Sienna's face turned redder, "That's...that's not representative of all Huntresses, and especially not the White Fang!" she said, floundering, "Some of us are trying genuine approaches! It's not our fault that you men refuse to see the value in us!""
"Genuine? Like crying on demand? Or offering men money to come on a date? Or my personal favorite: throwing a boomerang Semblance around a guy to trap him in a conversation?" Adam shook his head, smirking, "Face facts, Sienna. This isn't about men being intimidated by Huntresses. It's about Huntresses not knowing how to talk to men without coming across like...well, like you."
Sienna crossed her arms, glaring at him, "At least we're trying! You stand up here preaching to these guys like you're some kind of savior, but you're just bitter because you're single too!"
Adam raised a finger, "First of all, I'm single by choice." He gestured to the crowd, "Second, these men aren't bitter - they're exhausted. You're not helping your cause by doubling down on the 'desperate and cringy' routine."
A man near the front shouted, "Tell her about the karaoke thing!"
Adam snapped his fingers, sneering, "Yes, brother! Remember that stunt where one of your members hijacked a karaoke night to serenade a guy with a Huntress-themed parody of Endless Love? He fled halfway through, Sienna!"
"That was romantic!" Sienna shot back, her voice rising defensively.
"That was traumatizing," Adam corrected, twirling his megaphone for emphasis, "Men just want to live their lives without being ambushed by what I can only describe as thirst personified every day!"
Sienna opened her mouth to retort but closed it again, clearly struggling to come up with a comeback. Adam took the opportunity to step forward, his tone firm but still laced with dry amusement, "Look, Sienna. You and your White Fang want boyfriends? Fine. But maybe, just maybe, stop acting like it's the end of the world if a guy says no. Because right now?" He spread his arms, "You're not helping your cause. You're just proving us right."
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and Adam gave them a firm nod, "It's not my fault! All we want is what we're due!" Sienna snarled.
Adam's eye twitched. What they were due, hm? Time to hit below the belt, "You're just bitter that you lost Ghira."
The reaction was immediate and visceral. Sienna's face morphed into an ugly scowl and she growled like the tiger she painted herself as, "I should've gotten that hunk of man meat! That skank Kali stole him from me!"
"That sounds like a 'you' problem, Ms. Khan, not the problem of every other man in Vale!" He spread his arms, "MenToo, MenToo, MenToo!" Sienna glared at him one last time before spinning on her heel and storming off, muttering under her breath about 'ungrateful men'.
As the White Fang retreated, Adam turned back to his audience with a raucous cheer, "Brothers," he said, raising his megaphone again. They all looked up at him in awe and adoration. A man who successfully made a Huntress back down through nothing but his words and determination, "We've still got a long road ahead. But remember this: you are not obligated to entertain desperate Huntresses. You deserve better! We deserve better!"
"MenToo! MenToo!" the crowd chanted, their spirits bolstered by Adam's words.
He smirked, leaning into the megaphone one last time, "And if all else fails...just remember to keep your water bottles handy. We're handing out free ones. Keep your chastity safe, my fellow men!"
Adam stepped off the stage, the cheers of the MenToo crowd still ringing in his ears. He tucked his megaphone under his arm and let out a heavy sigh, leaaving to go to a park to clear his head. The speeches were easy - venting frustrations, rallying his fellow men against the never-ending wave of thirsty Huntresses. But the quiet moments afterward? Those were when his mind wandered to her.
Blake Belladonna.
Adam clenched his jaw, shaking his head as he walked toward a nearby bench. Blake had been the reason he joined the MenToo movement in the first place, though he rarely talked about it. When he first met her, she'd been just another ambitious Huntress, eager to prove herself, with stars in her eyes and a determination to change the world. He'd seen her as the little sister he never had, someone he could mentor, guide, and protect in his own way. He never had a family, and he thought (foolishly) that Blake could be that for him.
He'd even offered to train her in close combat, sharing techniques he'd developed over years of trial and error. He couldn't use Aura like a Huntress - no man could - but he still learned to defend himself. One didn't need Aura to know how to use a blade or fire a gun, and he thought that maybe his techniques could help Blake in the future.
At first, it seemed like a normal mentor-student relationship. Blake was eager to learn, her dedication admirable and (he thought) sincere. But then the...incidents started.
It began innocently enough - or so he'd thought. Blake would show up to training sessions with a copy of one of her romance novels tucked under her arm. She'd quote passages aloud between sparring drills, rambling about forbidden love and the allure of older, wiser mentors. Adam had assumed it was just harmless chatter, the kind of thing young Huntresses did when they weren't busy throwing themselves at men in increasingly embarrassing ways.
He'd thought that even when she lent him the book and suggested he read it. It was a dark romance about a 40-year-old man and his 20-year-old (female, of course) protege. What little plot there was had been quickly replaced by mindless pornography. He'd ignored just how creased the raunchiest pages were.
But then came the looks. The lingering gazes when he demonstrated a technique. The way she'd tilt her head and bite her lip, her amber eyes practically glowing with poorly disguised thirst. And when he corrected her stance, placing his hands on her shoulders or adjusting her grip, she'd shiver like he'd just whispered sweet nothings in her ear.
It only got worse from there.
One day, during a cooldown session, Blake leaned against the wall, her expression unusually thoughtful, "Adam," she said, her voice soft, "Have you ever thought about what it would be like...to break the rules?"
He frowned, tossing her a water bottle, "Rules are there for a reason, Blake. They keep people alive. Without it, we all become animals."
She caught the bottle but didn't open it, her gaze locking onto his, "Not those rules," she said, her tone dripping with what she probably thought was sultry mystery, "I mean the rules of...propriety."
Adam froze, staring at her like she'd just grown a second head, "What?"
Blake stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, like a huntress stalking her prey, "The forbidden relationship between a young, ambitious student and her older, rugged mentor," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "Her innocence taken by a man years her senior as she gives into to carnal temptation and base needs. It's...thrilling, isn't it?"
Adam's face twisted in disbelief, "Blake. We're literally sparring partners. That's it."
"But it doesn't have to be," she murmured, her hand brushing his arm in what she probably thought was a seductive gesture. It mostly felt limp, like a fish flopping onto shore, "You could teach me so much more, Adam. About fighting. About...life."
He yanked his arm away like it had been burned, "No. Absolutely not. This isn't a novel, Blake. This is real life. And in real life, you don't...you don't seduce your mentors!"
She pouted, crossing her arms, "Why not? It's romantic! The forbidden tension, the secret glances, the- "
"It's cringy!" Adam interrupted, running a hand down his face, "Blake, I'm not some brooding antihero in one of your books. I'm a guy trying to help you not get killed by Grimm. That's it!" He threw his hands up, "And there is no forbidden tension or secret glances!
But did she stop? Of course not. If anything, his rejection only seemed to fuel her determination. She started showing up to training sessions in increasingly impractical outfits, claiming they were 'flexible combat gear' while very obviously trying to get him to notice her figure. She'd dramatically recite lines from her novels during their drills, always with the same theme of forbidden romance. Once, she even 'accidentally' left a particularly raunchy book on his desk, open to a dog-eared page describing a scene far too detailed for his comfort.
The final straw came during a sparring match when she deliberately let herself lose (because what Huntress lost to a man in a straight-up fight?), collapsing into his arms with a theatrical gasp, "You've bested me, Adam," she'd said, her voice breathy, "Now...do with me what you will. I'm yours."
Adam had dropped her like a sack of potatoes.
From that day forward, he'd stopped their training sessions and distanced himself as much as possible. Blake's behavior wasn't just uncomfortable - it was a reminder of how no Huntress was beyond the thirst and cringe. Even someone as seemingly composed as Blake Belladonna, a Faunus with so much potential, had been reduced to a cringy, lovesick mess by whatever collective madness infected Huntresses. Kali had been so heartbroken, saying she thought Blake would be different.
And so, he'd joined MenToo, vowing to protect himself and others from the chaos. But even now, sitting on that bench with the echoes of his speech fading, he couldn't shake the memory of Blake's desperate antics. He groaned, leaning back and staring up at the sky.
"Why me?" he muttered, "Why did it have to be me?" His mind still replayed Blake's antics. He didn't hate her, not really. He still considered her his little sister, even if the familial bond was evidently not reciprocated. But he couldn't deny the shudder of secondhand embarrassment that ran through him every time he remembered her whispered line: 'Do with me what you will.'
He shivered.
"MenToo forever," he muttered under his breath, pulling his coat tighter around himself. Adam leaned back on the park bench, letting out a long, exhausted sigh as he stared at the clear blue sky. The fresh air of Vale was supposed to be calming, a break from the chaos of speeches, protests, and dealing with the sheer absurdity of Huntresses. He thought he'd finally carved out a moment of peace, a chance to not think about Huntresses and their 'quirks'
But as fate would have it, his luck was about to run out.
"Adam?" A familiar voice, soft and lilting, called out with just the faintest touch of manufactured sorrow. His stomach sank. He didn't even need to look to know who it was.
"Blake," he said flatly, tilting his head to see her standing a few feet away, a leather-bound book tucked under her arm and her amber eyes shimmering with what she probably thought was a tragic allure. She had a black scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and her hair artfully tousled, as if she'd spent hours trying to make it look like she hadn't tried at all.
Of course she'd be here - he knew she was in Vale. He just hoped the city was big enough for them to avoid running into each other. Clearly, the universe had other plans, "I didn't expect to see you here," she said, walking toward him with a deliberate slowness, her steps light, "I thought you hated parks."
Adam raised an eyebrow, "I don't hate parks. I hate being harassed in them. Big difference." Blake flinched ever so slightly, but instead of taking the hint, she pressed on, seating herself gracefully on the opposite end of the bench. She didn't look at him immediately, her gaze fixed on the horizon as if deep in thought. Adam could almost hear the dramatic inner monologue she was probably narrating to herself.
"I've been thinking a lot lately," she said after a long pause, her tone heavy with forced melancholy, "About the choices I've made...the paths I've walked..."
Adam blinked at her, incredulous, "You're nineteen. What paths? You're practically still a kid."
Blake ignored him, tilting her head just so, the light catching her eyes in a way she probably thought made her look ethereal, "I've carried so much pain, Adam. So much...regret."
"Blake," he said, already feeling a headache forming. He should've just walked away, but a part of him still felt compelled to at least give her a chance, "What are you doing here? In this park, I mean."
She sighed deeply, her amber eyes shimmering in the sunlight as she looked down her book with deliberate slowness, "Just...reflecting," she said, her voice soft and wistful, "This world...it's so cruel, isn't it?"
Adam blinked, "Cruel? Blake, we live in Vale. It's literally one of the safest places on Remnant. And before we lived here, we both lived in Menagerie, which is an island paradise. Cruelty is the last thing we've experienced unless you count dealing with thirsty Huntresses. In which case, yeah, life has been pretty cruel."
She ignored him, tilting her head to the side and letting her hair fall just so, her cat ears twitching for dramatic effect, "Sometimes, I feel like no one truly understands me," she continued, her voice tinged with sorrow, "Like I'm destined to wander alone, misunderstood by everyone around me..."
Adam groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. His patience was rapidly draining, "Blake, stop. Just stop."
She blinked up at him, feigning innocence, "Stop what?"
"This!" He gestured at her with both hands, "The whole 'tragic heroine' act! You're not some lonely, misunderstood wanderer! You're practically a princess! I literally talked to your parents last week - they invited me over for dinner!"
Blake's carefully constructed mask of sorrow faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of embarrassment, but she quickly recovered, lifting her chin defiantly, "You wouldn't understand, Adam," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "There's so much...darkness inside me. So much pain that it feels like it's about to burst."
Adam rubbed his jaw, "What darkness? What pain? Your biggest problem is deciding whether to drink tea or coffee with your all-fish breakfast."
Blake gasped, clutching her chest like he'd just stabbed her, "You make it sound so trivial," she said, her tone heavy with reproach, "But you don't know what it's like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders? To yearn for connection but fear that no one could ever truly understand the soul within?"
Adam stared at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration, "Blake, the only thing you're carrying is that stupid romance novel. And if you yearn for connection so much, maybe stop being...this." He gestured to her.
She tilted her head, her cat ears twitching again as she leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his with what she probably thought was captivating intensity, "You don't have to hide your feelings, Adam," she said, her voice dipping into a husky whisper, "I can see through your defenses. You act so strong, but deep down, I know you're just as lost as I am..."
"Oh, for the love of-" Adam cut himself off, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath, "Blake. Let me be very clear. I am not lost. I know exactly where I am. You're the one who's lost in whatever weird fantasy land you've built in your head."
Blake leaned back slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile, "You always were good at hiding your emotions," she said softly, "It's one of the things I...admire about you."
Adam stared at her, his eye twitching, "Blake. You're doing it again."
"Doing what?" she asked, her tone pure innocence.
"This!" He waved his hands wildly, "The whole 'mysterious, tragic heroine' thing! It's not alluring; it's weird! And cringy! And it doesn't work! No one is buying it!" He gestured to the rest of the park where, as expected, the men passing by gave them a very wide berth.
She blinked, her cheeks flushing faintly, "I...don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course you don't." Adam groaned, dropping his head into his hands, "You've been reading too many novels, Blake. This isn't some epic love story. This is real life. And in real life, men don't want to deal with a woman who follows them around with a book in one hand and a monologue about darkness in the other."
Blake fidgeted slightly, forcing herself to keep looking him in the eyes, "I'm just...expressing myself," she muttered.
"Maybe express yourself differently," Adam sighed, looking at her with pity, "Blake...you're a good kid, I know that, but this 'tragic, misunderstood heroine' thing? It's not working. All anyone else sees is a weirdo who wants to get them into bed by talking about how deep she is. And no one likes that."
"There has to be one guy out there who-"
"No. There's none. Literally none in all of Remnant." He shook his head, "Look, just...talk to people! When we started training together, you were so...sincere. What happened to that girl?"
"She's still here, Adam." She leaned forward, voice turning husky again, "And all you have to do to save her is-"
"Nope, I'm done." He stood and walked off before she could go on another tragic rant.
Adam had barely made it to the edge of the park when he heard a voice call out to him, sharp and commanding, yet with a breathless undertone that immediately set off alarm bells in his head.
"You there! Adam Taurus!"
He stopped mid-step, slowly turning to face none other than Weiss Schnee, the infamous heiress of the Schnee Dust Company. And more importantly, one of the thirstiest Huntresses this side of Remnant, 'Not today', he thought, already feeling his patience wearing thin. Between Blake's dramatics and the rally earlier, his tolerance for Huntress nonsense was at an all-time low.
She strutted toward him, her pristine white outfit gleaming in the sunlight, her posture as straight as a sword. She radiated confidence: confidence Adam immediately knew was about to be directed in the worst possible way, "You look...troubled," Weiss said, her voice softening as she stopped in front of him, tilting her head with what she probably thought was concern, "Angry, even. Like a man who's been wronged by the world." She took a step closer, her ice-blue eyes locking onto his, "I've seen your speeches, heard the anger in them. You need to vent that rage, don't you?"
Adam stared at her, utterly unamused, "I'm fine."
"Oh, no, you're not." Weiss placed a delicate hand over her chest, her expression shifting into what could only be described as theatrical empathy, "I can see it in your eyes. You're holding it all in, trying to be the strong, stoic type. But that kind of anger...it eats away at you, doesn't it?"
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting every decision that had led him to this moment, "Look, Schnee, I've had a long day. Just tell me what you want so I can say no and move on."
Weiss gasped, placing a hand over her mouth like she'd just been stabbed, "What I want? Oh, it's not about me. It's about you, Adam!" She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a breathy whisper, "Your anger, your passion...it's dangerous. Unchecked, it could hurt someone. Someone innocent."
"I'm not angry," Adam said flatly, though the twitch in his jaw said otherwise. He also didn't like the accusation that he'd hurt some innocent person because he couldn't keep his temper in check.
"Don't lie to me," Weiss said, shaking her head sadly. She looked at him with so much pity that he wanted to spray her in the face. But of course, today was the one day he forgot his water bottle, "I can feel the intensity radiating off of you. That kind of heat..." She bit her lip, "It needs an outlet. Someone who can...take it. Someone strong enough to endure your fury, your burning lust, and do so with dignity and grace."
Adam's eyes narrowed, "Please tell me you're not about to say what I think you're about to say."
"I respectfully volunteer," Weiss said as she stepped closer, her voice almost a whisper, "To protect the other women of Remnant from the inferno that rages within you, I offer myself. Ravage me, Adam. Right here, right now. Let it all out! Slake your lusts on me and spare the rest!"
Adam blinked. He blinked again. Then he blinked a third time, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, "...What?"
Weiss clasped her hands together, her expression earnest and expectant, "I know it's unconventional, but desperate times call for desperate measures. You need this, Adam. And I..." She blushed faintly, casting her gaze downward for maximum dramatic effect, "I am willing to make the sacrifice. Hurry! Fuck me like an animal in heat!"
Adam slowly dragged a hand down his face, muttering under his breath. Everyone else in the park had quickly turned and ran the other way, leaving them (unfortunately) alone, "Why does this keep happening to me?"
Weiss took his lack of explosive refusal as encouragement, stepping even closer, "I know it's difficult for a man like you to trust, but you don't have to hold back with me, Adam. I can handle it. I was raised to endure hardship, and I will endure you!"
"Endure me?" Adam repeated, his voice climbing in disbelief, "I'm not some sort of raging beast you need to tame, Schnee!" He would've called her racist, but he was pretty damn sure that she'd say equally insulting things to a Human. At least Huntresses were equal-opportunity in their depravity.
"Oh, but you are," Weiss said, her voice practically dripping with melodrama, "You're a tempest of emotions, barely contained. And it's my duty - nay, my privilege - to help you unleash it!" She closed her eyes, raising her chin as though bracing herself for impact, "Go ahead. Ravage me. Release the storm within!" She paused, "Or if you're uncomfortable, we can take this elsewhere. A hotel room, but if you're impatient, there's some bushes over there..."
Adam stared at her, dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or just walk away, "Schnee...do you even hear yourself right now? You sound like you walked out of one of Blake's novels."
Her eyes snapped open, a flare of indignation crossing her face, "Excuse me? This is nothing like Blake's ridiculous fantasies! This is real. Raw. Unfiltered."
"It's cringe!" Adam shot back, throwing his arms in the air, "You don't even know me! The only thing raw here is the secondhand embarrassment I'm feeling!"
Weiss's cheeks flushed, but she quickly recomposed herself, lifting her chin, "You may not see it now, but one day, you'll realize I'm right. One day, you'll look back on this moment and think, 'Weiss Schnee understood me better than anyone else ever could. Why didn't I stick my dick in her and breed her like a common whore?'"
Adam groaned, rubbing his temples, "The only thing I'm going to look back on is the reminder to avoid public parks. And don't forget to bring my spray bottle."
Weiss pouted, crossing her arms, "You're impossible. Do you know how many men would kill to be in your position right now?"
Adam gave her a flat look "Yeah? Then go ask one of them."
Weiss flinched, knowing that those supposed men didn't exist outside of her head, but quickly masked it with a haughty scoff, "Fine. But don't come crying to me when you realize what you've missed out on." She turned on her heel and stormed off, muttering under her breath about 'limp dicks' and how 'he'd be begging to fuck her throat like a glory hole'.
Adam watched her leave, his expression a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. Finally, he sat back down on the bench, shaking his head, "I'm moving back to Menagerie," he muttered to himself, "No Huntresses. No drama. Just peace and quiet. I can still do the rallies from a screen, right?"
Of course, he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't abandon the rest of the men in Vale. They needed to see that someone was standing up for them.
Ozma sat in the bunker's dim glow, absently stacking cans of beans as he tried to ignore the ever-present weight of his immortal predicament. Somewhere far above him, Remnant carried on, blissfully unaware of the man hunched over a rickety table, meticulously organizing the emergency rations that he'd stockpiled over centuries. Always non-perishables. Sometimes he indulged with the occasional treat, a reminder of his humanity, but survival trumped comfort.
The Sister Gods had given him a task - no, a curse - to confront Salem and end her reign of chaos (read: her plan to turn every man on Remnant into her harem). But Ozma had made a decision centuries ago. He wasn't going to confront her or anyone. Fuck the goddesses and fuck their divine mandate.
He glanced up at the map pinned to the wall, marked with colorful pins and notes scribbled in shorthand. It was a detailed chart of Salem's known movements, meticulously updated whenever he could gather new intel. One pin stood out - her primary fortress, a sprawling monstrosity of black stone she'd dubbed the 'Palace of Eternal Delight.'
Ozma groaned just thinking about it.
"Palace of Eternal Delight," he muttered, rolling his eyes, "More like the Palace of Eternal Thirst." He shook his head and returned to his task.
It wasn't fear that kept him hidden, he told himself - it was strategy. He'd seen firsthand what Salem was capable of. After all, she'd killed him once before.
...
Well, 'killed was putting it lightly.
His face burned with secondhand embarrassment as the memory resurfaced. He'd gone to the ends of the earth to save her from that accursed tower, thinking he was the hero saving the damsel in distress, and how had she repaid him? By pouncing on him like a starving lioness. It wasn't some dramatic, romantic first meeting. No, she had torn his clothes off, declared him the 'only man worthy of her,' and...well, he still didn't like to think about what happened next.
She hadn't killed him out of hatred. Oh, no. It had been sheer overenthusiasm. Death by snu-snu, as the modern kids might say. And when she begged the gods to bring him back, the Sisters had obliged either out of a sense of mercy or amusement.
She promptly killed him again in the same way within the week. When she tried to resurrect him a second time, both Light and Dark had flatly refused, upon which she threw a tantrum that shook the very heavens.
By the time the gods resurrected him for the second time centuries later, Salem was no longer the woman he'd once loved. She was a Grimm Queen now, her twisted lust and obsession amplified by her immortal rage and millenias of involuntary celibacy. Ozma hadn't even bothered to say hello. The moment he'd learned what she had become, he'd vanished into the wilderness, leaving the Sister Gods' divine mission to collect dust.
And so here he was, centuries later, in a hidden bunker surrounded by canned goods, waiting for eternity to pass him by.
A knock echoed through the steel door, and Ozma froze, his heart lurching into his throat. He dropped the can of beans he'd been holding and grabbed his trusty crowbar, his eyes darting to the surveillance monitorm, "Password!" he barked, his voice cracking slightly.
"It's me, old man," came Qrow's voice, muffled but unmistakable.
Ozma exhaled, relief flooding through him as he pressed the button to unlock the door. The reinforced steel slid open with a hiss, revealing Qrow Branwen, carrying a box of supplies and looking as grizzled as ever. Qrow was one of the few he could trust in this mad world. Not simply because he could keep a secret, but because his sister had done the impossible: she'd gotten laid. If she or Summer Rose found out about it, the risk to his wellbeing (and chastity) was minimal.
"Relax," Qrow said, stepping inside and setting the box on the table, "You look like you've seen Salem."
"I haven't, and I intend to keep it that way," Ozma said, placing the crowbar back on the shelf, "Do you have any idea how far she's expanded her influence? Half of Vale is terrified to step outside after sunset because they think she's sending Grimm to kidnap men!"
"She probably is," Qrow said with a shrug, pulling out his flask, "But hey, you've got this place locked down tight. She'll never find you here."
"Of course, she won't," Ozma muttered, rummaging through the box of supplies, "She thinks I'm dead, and I'm going to make sure it stays that way. Do you have any idea what she'd do to me if she found me alive?"
Qrow raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his flask, "Yeah, didn't she, uh...y'know...the first time?"
"Don't remind me," Ozma snapped, shoving a stack of canned vegetables onto the shelf, "She called it a 'gift.' A gift! I barely survived the first hour!"
Qrow sighed, leaning against the wall and giving him a look of sympathy, "I still find it hard to believe she's still hung up on you till now. She ain't a Huntress."
"No, she's worse than that." Ozma shook his head, "She's not just hung up on me, she's obsessed. And I mean, 'builds a fortress with my face on every wall' obsessed. The woman declared war on the gods because they wouldn't bring me back after she fucked me to death twice!"
"Sounds like a lot of effort for someone who's apparently the worst lay ever," Qrow quipped.
Ozma shot him a withering glare, "It's not about me being a good lay, Qrow. It's about her delusional belief that we're some kind of star-crossed lovers destined to rule the world together. She doesn't want me for who I am - she wants me for what I represent. And what I represent is victory."
Qrow snorted, "Still, never think of going somewhere else?" He gestured to the bunker around them, "You're living in a glorified fallout shelter eating canned beans and drinking powdered milk."
"Exactly," Ozma said, crossing his arms, "It's quiet. Peaceful. No Grimm. No Salem. Just me and my beans."
Qrow shook his head, chuckling softly, "You know, most guys would kill for a woman that dedicated." It was a joke, of course. No sane person would ever want that. That was like...wanting to sleep with a Huntress. He still had no idea what possessed that Taiyang Xiao Long to lay with not one Huntress, but two!
Ozma jabbed a finger at him, "Don't you dare say that. The only reason you don't think Salem is cringy as hell is because you haven't had to deal with her thirst firsthand. If you had, you'd be right here in this bunker with me."
"Fair enough," Qrow admitted, draining the last of his flask, "But you know, you can't stay holed up here forever. Sooner or later, someone's going to find you. And when they do..." He put the flash back into his pack, "Better hope it's me and not her."
Ozma didn't respond, staring at the map on the wall. The thought of Salem finding him was a nightmare he tried not to dwell on. But deep down, he knew Qrow was right. No bunker could keep him hidden forever.
"Just drop off the supplies and go," Ozma said finally, his voice tired.
Qrow rolled his eyes and gave him a mock salute, "Whatever you say, old man."
As the steel door hissed shut behind him, Ozma sat back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He glanced at the map one more time, his eyes lingering on the bright red pin marking Salem's palace.
"Eternity," he muttered to himself, "And all I want is to spend it not dying by snu-snu: Grimm edition."
With a resigned sigh, he grabbed another can of beans and readied himself for work. Ozma frowned as he sat at the small desk in his bunker, staring down at the sleek scroll in front of him. The faint glow from the screen reflected on his weary face as he prepared to take another series of photos. His heart was heavy with shame, but he couldn't deny the financial necessity of his actions.
The life of an immortal recluse didn't come cheap. Non-perishable food, fuel for the generator, maintenance for the bunker - it all added up. And while he had once prided himself on his resourcefulness - he was a hero and a knight in his prime - there was only so much odd, anonymous freelancing one could do without attracting unwanted attention. In a world of Huntresses, a man who used Aura (read: magic) would only draw attention to him like a siren. And so, he'd taken a step he never thought he would.
He'd opened an AuraFans account.
He shuddered at the memory of signing up. The shame had burned hot enough to make him hesitate for days, but desperation outweighed pride. To his eternal dismay, the account was an immediate success. His 'mature but fit' body had struck a nerve, particularly with a demographic that both dismayed and horrified him: Huntresses.
"Of course, it's Huntresses," he muttered bitterly, setting up his tripod and making sure the camera angle was perfect. "Always them."
It didn't take long to realize why. Huntresses, with their insatiable thirst and seemingly infinite disposable income (being paid to kill Grimm was lucrative, even if they considered it secondary to their eternal quests to get laid), paid top lien for his carefully curated content. Pictures of his bare chest, videos of him doing push-ups or chopping wood - it all sold like hotcakes. They didn't need to see his face; the mystery only added to the allure.
Ozma was meticulous in his precautions. No face, no hair, no distinguishing features. He made sure every reflective surface was covered, every identifying detail erased. He never spoke in his videos, ensuring his voice couldn't betray him. His username, SilentMan67, was generic enough to avoid suspicion, and he uploaded through a VPN to keep his location hidden.
The irony wasn't lost on him. Here he was, hiding from a woman who had spent centuries trying to turn him into her personal boytoy, only to make a living catering to women who wanted the exact same thing. It was poetic in the worst possible way.
He positioned the camera and stepped back, glancing down at his shirt. "Too much," he muttered, pulling it off and tossing it onto the cot in the corner. His tan torso, lean and muscular from centuries of physical labor and immortality, gleamed faintly in the bunker's artificial light. He sighed, flexing slightly as he checked the angle again.
"This is for beans," he told himself. "This is for beans and powdered milk. And for keeping Salem out of my life."
Once he was satisfied with the setup, he hit record and began his routine. Slow, deliberate push-ups, each movement designed to highlight his strength without being overtly suggestive. He moved to chopping firewood next. Though there was no fireplace in the bunker, the visual appeal was undeniable. Huntresses apparently had a thing for 'practical masculinity', and who was he to deny his customers what they wanted?
When he finished the session and stopped recording, he wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering under his breath. "Another day, another lien. At least Salem's too much of a luddite to ever find me here." He smirked at the thought of her trying to navigate the Dustnet. She'd probably break a scroll out of sheer frustration before she figured out how to open a browser.
As he uploaded the latest batch of content, he glanced at the comments section. It was the part he dreaded most, but he couldn't help reading through them for quality assurance.
"Gods, I'd pay double if he'd let me squeeze those biceps."
"Bet he could toss me around like a ragdoll. I'd say please and thank you."
"SilentMan67, if you're reading this…call me. I'm in Vale, and I'm single ;)"
"Oh my Sisters, look at those shoulders!"
"Marry me, Mr. Mystery!"
"Step on me."
"Is this man even real?!"
Ozma groaned, running a hand down his face. "Why do I do this to myself?"
The answer, of course, was simple: canned beans and powdered milk weren't going to buy themselves. He clicked "upload" and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the influx of lien that would keep him off the grid for another month.
If the Sister Gods were watching, he hoped they were satisfied. At least he wasn't actively making things worse, which was more than he could say for some immortals, "This is my life now," he muttered, staring at the ceiling. "Catering to the thirst of women I'll never meet, just to avoid the one woman I never want to meet again."
The bunker was silent except for the hum of the generator, but in the back of his mind, he could almost hear Salem's voice, calling out to him in that sultry, predatory tone she used whenever she was about to ruin his day.
He shuddered. "Nope. Not happening. Never again."
With that, he turned off the camera and reached for a can of beans, reminding himself why he was doing this. Survival wasn't glamorous, but it was better than the alternative. He made some milk with the powder and heated up the beans. A few minutes later, and he was having another modest meal as he watched the clock tick by with agonizing slowness.
One day done. An eternity more to go.
Ironwood and Roman managed to have an okay time in this verse, so of course, the same cannot be said Adam and Ozpin. Especially Ozpin. Poor guy's just a constant survivalist subsisting on beans to avoid drawing Salem's attention. Meanwhile, Adam is disappointed that his would-be sister wants to call him onii-chan in a very different way.
Note that originally I had Blake actually call Adam 'onii-chan' in the flashback. It was too cringe even more me. I went for the mentor angle instead.
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