#Bellatola

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 26. “How about you trust me for once?”

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Ilia Amitola/Blake Belladonna

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Ilia pushes herself too far.

~~

Ilia wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her lungs burned from the exertion of training. Even so, she mentally listed the drills she still needed to perfect. Deciding the next course, she gripped her lightning lash.

Ilia lunged from side to side, dodging imaginary gunshots from the training dummy. With a one-handed cartwheel, she launched herself into the air. On the descent, the lash wrapped around the dummy’s midsection. Touching down, her right ankle rolled. Ilia stumbled a few steps to the side. She tried to push through it, but the existing aches and fresh pain brought her to the ground.

It took some effort, but she managed to sit up. There was no ice around, so Ilia reached for her chilled water bottle. Well, it would’ve been chilled if it wasn’t bone dry. Damn it. She tossed it across the room in frustration. 

“I knew it.”

Ilia’s eyes snapped to the door, where Blake leaned against the metal frame.

Knew what? Something about the words stung Ilia more than they were supposed to. Perhaps it was the implication that being caught was inevitable. “How about you trust me for once? I know what I'm doing.”

Blake gave an unamused hum. “I take it the sprained ankle was part of your plan, then? And for the record, this has nothing to do with trust. It's just familiar territory.”

Ilia's brows drew together in slight confusion, then relaxed in understanding.

Blake made her way into the room and knelt in front of Ilia. She gently stretched Ilia’s leg out and applied an ice pack of her own.

Ilia sucked in a sharp breath at the temperature change, but welcomed the relief it brought.

“I figured you’d need one.” Blake said. “Trust me, I've been there. So listen when I tell you: whatever you’re trying to do, running yourself into the ground won't help.”

She handed Ilia a full water bottle. “For starters, how many times did you stop to refill this?”

Where Ilia expected to hear disappointment, there was only concern. She looked at the wall across from them, unable to meet Blake’s gaze. Instead, she guiltily drank the water.

Blake sighed, shoulders lowering. “That’s what I thought. Why, exactly, are you training so much?”

Ilia’s breath caught in her throat. It’s a question she should’ve expected, and yet she’d hoped there’d be no need to answer it. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“I just want to know what could be this important.” Blake placed her hand on Ilia’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“...You.” Ilia spoke it softly, barely above a whisper. An ache of emotion settled in the back of her throat. She drank more water in an attempt to displace it.

Blake’s ears perked up in surprise. “You’re training for me?”

Ilia nodded. “I’ve made a lot of enemies under the old banner. It was one thing when they tried to kill me; I made my peace with it. But if they come after you? I’ve got to be able to save us both.”

When she finally faced Blake, the tears Ilia had tried to hold back spilled down her face. “I can’t lose you again.”

Blake reached out and cupped Ilia’s face with both hands. Her yellow eyes were serious, yet imploring. “You won’t. But if you go on like this, you’ll die from exhaustion first.”

Ilia’s chest tightened. “So what am I supposed to do? Any time I’m not training, they’re only getting stronger. I can’t let them surpass me.”

“If you take care of yourself, they won’t.” Blake wiped away Ilia’s tears with her thumbs. “And you’ve got to trust me to do my part. It can’t all be on you. If you’re in trouble, I’ll be there to save you, too.”

None of this should shock Ilia, but it feels like she’s been sucker punched. She looked down at her iced ankle. No one had come out of the woodwork and attacked her; she'd done this to herself.

Ilia sighed deeply. "Okay. I see your point. Thanks for this. And these." She indicated the water and ice.

"Anytime." Blake searched Ilia's face. Seemingly relieved by what she found, she offered a patient smile. "I'm glad. Took me a while to get it, myself, but you seem a bit quicker on the uptake."

Ilia had to laugh. "Ha! Me? Quicker than you?"

Blake looked at Ilia through a small space between her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little."

To fend off frostbite, Blake kept adjusting the ice pack. When enough of Ilia’s aura had returned to undo the ankle’s remaining damage, Blake hefted Ilia onto her back and carried her home.

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[rarasdomain]

Ilia Changes her Mind

“I don’t know what else to do!”

First off, as a Bellatola shipper, this scene is beautiful. This whole episode was fantastic, maybe the best this season, and I can’t even begin to express my love for Ilia at this point. Very powerful moment. 

#rwby #rwby5 #volume 5 episode 10 #True colors #blake belladonna #ilia amitola #bellatola #shipping #ship #ilia changes her mind #ilia redemption #burning mansion #belladonna mansion burns #gifs #gif set #my gifs #powerful scene #moving #i love ilia thank satan shes actually a good person

[real-jaune-isms]

There’s fiery passion, there’s the flirting between Blake and Yang, and then there’s the tension between THESE two.

And in this moment of helplessness, Ilia confesses to just how helpless and lost she truly is. She doesn’t want to be hurting people, but she’s scared and has no idea what else to do. A glimmer of hope for redemption which has lingered in all our hearts suddenly glows a little brighter.

#rwby memes #calico #bellatola #blake belladonna #ilia amitola

[moonsandstar-s]

everyone knows you can’t let it go.

Summary: Sixteen minutes and forty-one seconds ago, she turned her back on love. Sixteen minutes since, she's fled from her own heart, lying like an open wound between her and Blake. Fifteen ago, she ran here, a howling speed that echoes down to the base of her spine. 

Now Ilia counts the distance between then and now in terms of the moonlight's slanted silver across the floor: her heart will be blacker than Blake's eyes when she's through with her.

{ read on AO3 } 

I am Ilia Amitola. I am a soldier. That doesn’t ring true in her mind. Irritated, she has another go at it from a different angle. I am. I am Ilia Amitola, I am a - She thinks for a moment, strips away the lie and replaces it. I am Ilia Amitola. And I am a goddamned coward. There, that’s better. By now, it’s midnight, and the ambush of the Belladonna manor is well underway. She would be surprised if Kali hasn’t already fallen, if Ghira isn’t the next to go. This isn’t a pleasant task and she wills it to be over as soon as possible. The memories of the Belladonna parents - Kali’s unwavering optimism, Ghira’s quiet strength - are stifling her with their proximity, and she’s already choking on guilt at the idea that she’s the orchestrator of their demises. They once fought on the same side. But now - Breathing shakily, Ilia dons her mask and closes her eyes, closing her eyes on the vision of the world seen through two slits. In the makeshift dark she seeks out her center of gravity, her tether to certainty, but it’s inexplicably gone, replaced by a yawning hollowness in her chest that induces the worst kind of nausea in her stomach. Beneath her feet, the balcony railing shifts warningly, the squeak a bare breath of noise in her controlled quiet. In the distance, she can hear pistol shots, shrieking, the shattering of the world as she knows it, but she remains aloft in her bubble of temporary peace. Temporary because she knows Yuma is out there, waiting to strike down the Belladonnas once Corsac and Fennec take out the house guards and weaken Ghira; temporary, because she’s still not sure of where she stands. Temporary, because what happened in the alley is a test, and she’s sure that Trifa and Gila won’t be able to hold Blake down long enough to transport her to Mistral. If she ever knew Blake at all, she knows that she’ll be here soon, guns blazing to protect her family. So here Ilia sits, waiting to assassinate the girl she once called her whole heart.

Atop her precarious perch - precarious, that’s more accurate, that’s the best description of this terrible limbo she’s stumbling through. Ilia feels like she’s swallowed the sun. There’s something scalding that swells and sinks in her chest like living light, encompassed by shadows so thick that she thinks nothing will ever be able to blot them out. What grates her nerves most of all is the idea that she can’t keep a leash on her heart enough to choke out the feelings that once drew breath and flickered with fire in Blake’s presence, feelings that are now encased in ice but still very much alive. What was once earnest is now bitter. What was once driven by passion is now pushed aside to make way for desperation. The taste of hope has decayed to desperation. But still, even now, the sight of amber eyes still makes her feel like a little girl again. And here she is, trying to extinguish their light. Ilia stares longingly up at the sky through the dusty window of grandeur that doesn’t belong to her. The shattered moon is a distorted thumbprint of pure white in the sea of shimmering velvet black. Winter has fallen across Menagerie in its frost-locked position at the bottom of the world, below - her heart shudders, constricts - always below, behind, too late. The spidery slant of the conifer’s shadows fall across the sheen of snow draped across Kuo Kuana. The world is incandescent with that strange sort of reflected light that bounces back from the dunes of white. There are four things she lets herself dream of in fleeting moments, only in complete solitude and silence and dark, secrets so shameful that she would rather surrender to her own demise than expose them to light and truth. Such moments don’t come along often, but she’s sustained these visions because they were all that ever brought her selfish happiness amid her fruitless fight for equality: four things. A world where she doesn’t need to keep control of her colors, her gruff mother and gentle father smiling at her, the Faunus coexisting in genuine, easy peace, and this, the secret she buries so deep that even in privacy she’s reluctant to dig it up: Blake’s lips, soft and warm against her own. Soldier. Coward.

Maybe she’s neither. Maybe she’s just the kind of broken you don’t bother fixing. She’d be loathe to admit it, but she misses the old days, the old Fang. Ghira’s White Fang, not Sienna’s and now Adam’s. Back when it was three of them, a fourteen-year-old and a thirteen-year-old and a seventeen-year-old. Blake’s triangular mask, Adam’s ferocious white swirled with scarlet, hers with horns and stripes. The justice-bound trio. Those days were sorrow followed by thrilling excitement followed by jealousy so tangible it almost used its cruel claws to extinguish her will to press on to tomorrow. Nobody knows what she’s been through; nobody knows the way she’s come. A myriad of yesterdays ago, she was the one who had to stand there every day and keep her eyes straight and check her poise while perfect Blake stood inches away, hand-in-hand with her perfect partner. Ilia had to watch Blake fall in love while she herself fell apart. Once upon a world there was a gentler time, and she knows she has that phrase backward, but it’s true. Sometimes, the White Fang would be forced to pack up and flee when they got too close to the violent villages, back under Ghira’s rule, when he fought more for keeping the uneasy peace between his people and their oppressors than for their liberation. It always seemed to happen in the winter months, and even though Blake had the option of nesting in the warmer tents when they finally settled back down after their flight from hatred, she never did. She’d seek out Ilia where she shivered on the outskirts of the camp, bare arms silver with ice and involuntary efforts to blend in with the snow, and lead her back to where the bonfires burned. Slowly, the ice melted to memory, and Ilia turned from silver back to bronze. Blake guided her into shelter, and they sat amid the crates and the burlap and canvas flaps that doubled up as blankets, sharing their body heat amid the bitter cold. Sometimes the clouds would part and through the tent flap, you could see the blinding sunrays fracture off the sparkling snow, but in their pretend bubble of flames and comfort, Blake would brush her shoulder against Ilia’s and their ankles would knock together. On the better days, they would lean against each other to preserve body heat. Atlas, for all its beauty, was fucking freezing. But Ilia never minded the cold back then - it was always amusing to see the sheen of ebony fur on Blake’s ears bristle shock-straight as if she could stay warm that way, always made Ilia’s heart trip up a few beats when Blake would rest her head against her shoulder, a low, content noise humming in the back of her throat, like the buzz of a bee dipping from flower to flower. Her hand would loop lazy circles through the dust on the tent floor, the contact points of her skin against Ilia’s sending pulses of static warmth through her veins. And sometimes because it made her smile, Ilia would send little shockwaves of rainbow rippling across her arms, to where their shoulders met. It was in one of these times that Ilia realized she was in love with Blake, not with any great romance or overtures, but with a mild surprise, like the sun had come out sooner than she had expected.

Below Ilia’s now-colorless arms, the door bangs open and the past rushes in. She’ll admit that it takes her a moment to comprehend that Blake Belladonna is standing below her with her eyes like flashes of fire and her arms dusted with the cobwebbed remnants of Trifa’s trap, but she comprehends it pretty fast all the same. A moment and nothing more. “So,” Ilia manages. “You escaped from the docks, did you?” “You bitch,” Blake snarls up at her. “You traitorous piece of scu- ” “I’m not the traitor.” Ilia fights back a flinch. “How did you manage to outwit Trifa and Gila, Blake?” “That’s none of your concern.” Blake’s teeth are showing. She’s never looked so much like a furious panther, just like her father. “If anything is anymore besides blind treachery and blinder loyalty.” “It was that boy, I would think,” Ilia snaps down to Blake, bitterness thick as the blood in her veins. If she ever loved, she wouldn’t know, because right about now, the sight of Blake sparks up more absolute hatred in her than she ever thought was possible. “That ignorant excuse of a Faunus. So you’ve finally learned the proper places to wager your faith, Blake. I wouldn’t call that a sure bet. Did he save you?”

“I saved myself,” Blake declares. “I saved myself from you.” Ilia narrows her eyes. “I’m not the danger here.” “Then we have to agree to disagree.” “As always. And we disagree on who needs to die tonight so that more can live free, Blake. Because your family will die.” Gambol Shroud is out and lying like a promise in Blake’s hand faster than the eye can follow. “So this is what the Fang has come to stand for,” she says, her voice strained with ragged grief and pain. “Ambushes and betrayal.” “For our place in the world,” Ilia corrects. “No matter the cost. Don’t you remember that much, at least? You used to fight alongside me, Blake.” “I don’t know who you are anymore,” Blake hisses. “And I would never fight on your side again, Ilia.” Ilia rises, coolly unsheathing her weapon in a fluid snap of the wrist, electric sparks dancing around its length. “That makes two of us.”

“You believe that these are the stepping-stones to reach the world you want?” Blake cries out. “How can you be so stupid?” “You think you can get to equality if you try hard enough,” Ilia snaps. “There’s no peace in persistence, Blake. The path you’re trying to walk doesn’t exist. Humans don’t understand restraint. They have only ever understood violence.” The air is crackling between them. Ilia releases the safety lever on her weapon, and Blake’s eyes narrow. “Is this what you want, Ilia? Because we can do this.” That’s the final straw for Ilia: she remembers her cheeks flooding with heat, Blake bound helpless at her feet, defiance exuding from every pore despite her position. Back in the darkened alley, it was some strange wraith that spoke through her mouth and forced out her confession and it’s the same wraith that consumes her now. “I loved you,” she says, and it’s almost on a cry, her vision breaking up like ice floes, blurring and shimmering with a strange light, some bleak inversion of the aurora borealis. “Every single day I knew you, I loved you so much it hurt to breathe, and you abandoned me like it was the easiest thing in the world to do, and even after you broke our life in two, Blake, God help me, I still love you.” Blake’s not tied up and vulnerable now, but the selfsame defiance still cloaks her like a mantle. “You love me, Ilia?” Blake’s eyes are strange, hard things, like bits of amber on a tree trunk, trapping and killing. “Very well. I believe you. Because you wouldn’t take any of the actions you have were it not in the name of love. Love for the Faunus, but you call the things you’ve done tonight love for me?” Her ears are pinned flat to her skull; her lip lifts with the barest hint of a feline’s snarl, a bruise slowly shadowing her cheek from her downward fall onto the concrete in the alleyway less than twenty minutes ago. “Love instills purity into the foulest of men and beasts, Ilia, but love has made a monster of you. Love isn’t something done to you as punishment. It’s a motivation that drives the actions you choose to take.” The unknown expression suddenly and violently transforms into a fury that’s alien on her face. “Do you imagine that you’re the only person on this planet who’s shackled and dying under the weight of unbearable love?” Blind with tears of rage and loathing, Ilia hurls herself at Blake, but she is a hurricane, and she is ready for the onslaught. It’s like slamming face-first into a brick wall. Beneath that deceptive mask are capable muscles, cruel ones, and Blake’s fingers sink into Ilia’s shoulders and yank her bodily around, flinging her to the floor with a crack of wood and bone. But Ilia is ready for that trick. She knows Blake’s way of fighting. She helped her mold it. She’s back on her feet and electricity crackles through her palms in one solitary whip of gold. At the drawing of her weapon, Blake opens fire, spitting flames towards her heart.  Ilia lifts her arm, deflects one swarm of bullets, rolls to avoid the whip, and feels a tsunami of dark blue overtake her skin, melding to the darkness around them; clothed in shadows, she advances on Blake. “You think you hate me now?” Ilia snarls. “Think on weakness and blindness, Blake, and remember them! Remember for me now, because those are your legacies!” Blake’s elbow slams into her gut and throws her backward, and she slams Ilia’s shoulders into the ground in less than a second. Ilia draws breath to rise, but then it’s impossible, because Blake is on top of her and everything spins into shadow, then into light, dizzying and refocusing fast enough to turn the world to an out-of-control top. And then, as Ilia struggles to get to her feet, her Aura down from the shock of it, Blake shoots her. It takes a moment for the pain to register, but when it does, it plows into her like an avalanche and it’s all she can do to remain on her feet. Ilia’s mask falls away to the ground; she sways. The world swims in a rainbow before Ilia’s eyes, an epicenter of pain beginning at her shoulder and radiating out, and she stumbles - oh God - she - Soundlessly, Ilia collapses. Time seems to dilate. All of a sudden, Blake is looming over her, her eyes enormous and shimmering and agonized. “Ilia - “ “Fighter,” Ilia whispers, agony trembling like an electric current through her veins, making everything shimmer with a bright halo around her. “The bullet. I didn’t think you—you had it in you.” Blake lets out a soft hiss and makes as if to rise, and Ilia reaches out and seizes her wrist. “Stop. Don’t go, Blake, don’t leave me yet. Please… if I deserved anything—” Swimming in the eyes of her former best friend, her former world, and still the one she loves, is the frozen shadow of a little Faunus girl who trouped through the dust and litter brandishing a sign with a five-year-old’s messy scrawl of equality, heartbreakingly young. She never fell for Blake because of her courage. She fell for her hope. “I don’t know what you deserve for what you’ve done tonight.” Blake’s calloused hand closes over Ilia’s. “If not this.” “Still defiant, right?” Ilia shudders out a breath. “There are some things you need to know, Blake, please. Something terrible is coming, but you - don’t let me be hated now when I always was… please understand, Blake, I never wanted to hurt your family this way… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. There is nothing I… if there was some way I could take it back, if there was anything I could do to go back in time and prevent the world from dividing this way and our lives splitting up the way they did and tell you and my people I’m sorry and I just… I just can’t… ” “Not can’t.” Blake releases her hand and it drops sharply to the ground. “You won’t.” Ilia sucks in a sharp breath, laden with the swirls of gray-silver dust motes around them, a galaxy of ruin, tears streaking through the dirt and blood on her cheeks. “I… I know. The world is always the way it is. And I am the way I must be.” She takes a ragged, shuddering breath. “But I still ask you for one thing.” Blake is still, silent as the moment after thunder. “Forgive me,” Ilia breathes. “Because a day is drawing on quickly when forgiveness does not exist. The world is about to see war, Blake. But I cannot bear to see you standing on the wrong side.” And now, lightning in her eyes, darting back and forth, studying Ilia’s own. “For what, Ilia, do you beg forgiveness? For everything you’ve done? Do you really regret any of it?” “I regret the things that led us here,” Ilia chokes out. “But never the arms I bear to  exonerate our people. You can’t ask that of me. Blake, please, I’m begging you - ”

“How can you possibly ask me for that redemption, Ilia?” Blake asks, an ache in her voice. “Do you think I can absolve you of something for which there can never be absolution? How could I ever give you that when you refused to show it to me, to my family?” Her amber eyes are agonized. “You held me suspended over a precipice of my life above and bottomless grief below, looked me straight in the eyes, and then let me fall. And yet…” Ilia waits, her breath still on her tongue. Echoing out through Blake’s soft words, there it is: her mantra, her belief. You must choose tomorrow. “And yet you used to be my family,” Blake murmurs. “And yet, you used to be the shelter succeeding the storm. Someday, Ilia. Make amends. Call off this attack. Go your own way, and pioneer after your own soul. Someday, these paths will cross again. And then, maybe once you have done these, I can find something like forgiveness for you.” She rises up to her feet, and helplessly, Ilia stares up at her, unable to think of anything but how much a reverse this is from only twenty-three minutes ago. “There’s terrible things to come? We knew that already. Go and be a harbinger of Adam’s war. Ride in with the swords, and see the blood you’ve wrought. But don’t blame me for fighting for peace even though I’ve never known it. You’re fighting for a world that’s never existed, too.”

Ilia hisses and clamps a hand to her shoulder; it meets a hot and slick wetness, the coppery stench of her own blood thick in her nose. Stumbling, slow, she manages to find solid ground on her feet, and to sway towards the door, Blake’s eyes drilling holes into her back all the while. “Goodbye,” Ilia whispers, not daring to turn around.

Only when she is outside does she hear Blake’s returning call of farewell, rising and lilting into the dead of night, soaring up to the floating shards of the moon itself. Agony finding a new pattern in her blood, Ilia lets the light shut out behind her, and staggers out into Menagerie.

A thin, paltry snow is falling outside, a flurrying pepper of gray dusting the ground like sugar, like ice. Ilia watches an icicle splinter and plummet from the eaves of this house she will never return to, pirouetting to the ground and burying itself into the white. Her blood stains the ground like the red lilies of Vacuo, spreading across the surface of a still lake, and now Ilia stands at the precipice of today and the black unknown, tethered only by the smallest shadow of amber eyes in the dark, and whispers back to the deaf night in the slimmest hope that somewhere, sometime, a pair of velvet ears and a knowing expression might resolve themselves out of the trees and look upon her one last time: “Forgive yourself.”

#RWBY #RWBY V5 #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #catmeleon #bellatola #calico #whatever the hell their ship name is idk

[musings-from-mars]

Made an Omnichrome kid with this picrew!

Her name is Neela Bellatola and she has Blake’s ears, Weiss’ eyes and Ilia’s freckles. She wants to be a Huntress like her moms. She reads a lot of books, is a coffee aficionado, but is generally mischievous and goes on dangerous adventures behind her moms’ backs with her “Auntie” Ruby.

(Not my art, made with a doll maker. Don’t ask me how three girls can have a kid cause this is just a shippy fan work idk XD Super-advanced Atlas genetic technology or somethin)

#rwby #omnichrome #neela bellatola #Blake Belladonna #weiss schnee #ilia amitola #calichrome #picrew

[roli-we]

#bellatola #saintluc

[duskydestra]

Reclamation

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Ilia Amitola/Blake Belladonna

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Failed Attempts at Emotional Manipulation, Overcoming Nightmares, Sparring

Word Count: 4,562

Summary: Ilia rebuilds herself alongside the new White Fang.

If you'd rather read on AO3, click here.

~~

Word gets around fast on Menagerie. Not long after Ghira announced his intent to unify the fractured White Fang, he found himself fielding an overwhelming influx of members.

With no hesitation, he placed Ilia in charge of their training.

~~

Ilia walked around the engineering room, studying each recruit's schematics as she passed them.

"There is always a choice." She told them. "It may not feel like it in the moment—when you're surrounded or cornered. But the weapons you forge today will help make it for you, cement your commitment to your ideals even as you fight for your life."

Ilia gently ran the pad of her thumb over her lightning lash's handle. Her tone softened.

"Otherwise, that's how you leave a trail of bodies and change nothing. You'll be looking at your weapon, something that's supposed to be an extension of yourself, and wonder: 'You did this? Or did I?'"

She set the lash's electric charge, holding it up for the class to see. Short bursts of yellow lightning arced up the blade. The handle thrummed quietly with energy. With a flick of the switch, the blade relaxed into a whip.

"Out of all the offensive dust types, I chose lightning for my design. It can stun, restrain, and drop someone unconscious."

She heard pencils sketch furiously on notepads and blueprints, a sign the lesson was being taken seriously.

"Even the highest voltage on here would need a full minute of contact to stop someone's heart." The lash returned to its bladed form. "But I've made sure it releases well before that point."

Returning to the front of the room, Ilia looked out over the group. With no masks in sight, the resolve was easy to read on their faces. She smiled.

"Besides. If you ever need that kind of time, you've got another problem on your hands: ineffective takedowns. But that's a lesson for another day."

~~~

With no major plans for the weekend, Ilia stretched out on an angled rooftop. The crowded city below had settled back into its usual hustle and bustle, providing a comforting level of background chatter. A gentle breeze kept Ilia cool as she cleared old files from her scroll.

There was a soft thud on the shingles behind her. Rolling onto her stomach to get a better look, she noticed a small fox with brown fur and white paws. Ilia almost turned away, but the fox leapt onto another rooftop and looked back at her.

Ilia knows a messenger when she sees one. Her eyes narrowed as she wondered who would send for her.

Well. Only one way to find out.

She got up and trailed the fox over rooftops, through the market, and between alleys. She muttered a few apologies as she pushed through the crowds. Eventually, the fox darted into a building, breaking Ilia’s line of sight.

Once she turned the corner, she stopped in her tracks. The fragrance of dragon's blood incense hit her first. Glowing white candles were placed carefully to light the entire room.

No. It couldn't be.

As she glanced at the space between bookshelves, a burgundy White Fang banner unfurled itself.

The fox sat in the center of the rug, waiting.

"Why did you bring me here?" Ilia hissed.

The fox said nothing. It opened its mouth, emitting a light so bright Ilia had to shield her eyes. When she could face it again, she was greeted by the smiling faces of Corsac and Fennec.

Fennec opened his arms in a friendly, sweeping gesture. “Ah, Sister Ilia. Welcome.”

Corsac clasped his hands behind his back. “We needed to summon you once more. It’s such a shame that you never completed your last mission.”

Ilia shook her head, taking a step back. “I’m not doing that again. I’ll never do any of it again. And neither of you can make me.”

Corsac tsks at her. “Wasn’t it you who spoke of necessary sacrifices? I thought you believed in our cause.” His deep baritone rumbled disapprovingly.

“I do! Did.” Ilia looked at the ground. “But we were sacrificing our own.”

“That didn’t stop you before.” The brothers said in unison.

Tears welled up in Ilia’s eyes, but she blinked them away. The unsavory nature of the truth made her stomach churn.

“Things are different now.” Her voice cracked.

She pointed at Fennec. “You died.” She turned to Corsac. “And you’re in jail. If we’d kept going like before, all of us would end up like you two. How do you not see that?”

Fennec lifted his chin an inch to look down his nose at Ilia. “Unlike you, we never had the option of abandoning our people.” The brothers gave a deliberate flourish of their tail and Faunus ears. “And you know how those who stand in the way of progress are dealt with.”

Corsac and Fennec stood back to back. Red and white dust spiraled up their daggers as they fired at Ilia. She reached for her weapon, but gasped as her hand met an empty holster.

Just as the fire and wind rushed forward to immolate her, she woke up. Heart racing, breath heavy, she squeezed her eyes shut again in frustration. At least she didn’t scream this time. But the itchiness on her cheeks told her she’d been crying instead. Ilia wiped her face and flipped the pillow over to the dry side.

She hoped she’d have better luck sleeping tomorrow night.

~~~

For Ilia, it had been a long week with precious few hours of sleep to hold it together. But with Blake back for a visit, she didn't have to face the darkness alone.

They lay in bed, Blake rubbing slow circles along Ilia's back. There was an open silence between them. Ilia knew there was room to speak her mind, but the fear of letting her thoughts be known settled like a lump in her throat.

She'd spent years ignoring anything that would distract her from her missions. She became whatever was needed of her: spy, instigator, assassin. But without anyone to give her orders, what is left to make of herself now?

Shedding the old Ilia has to be the first step.

Blake stared encouragingly, as if she knew Ilia was on the cusp of realizing something and wanted to hear her say it first.

"They're wrong about me." Ilia stated.

"Who?" Blake kept massaging Ilia's back.

"Corsac. Fennec. Adam. All of them." Ilia shook her head. “Living as a human won’t save me. I know that. After Atlas, all I ever wanted was to not hide anymore.”

"I was willing to do anything to make up for that time. But where I saw redemption, they saw a new soldier." Ilia moved further into the circle of Blake's arms. "I can't believe I let them talk to me like that."

She felt a kiss on her forehead.

Blake looked into Ilia's eyes, moonlight streaming across their faces. "The part of you that fights so hard for what you think is best? That existed long before you met any of them, and it outlasted what they tried to mold you into." Blake gently pressed their foreheads together. "And if they still haunt you, you're strong enough to drive them out every time. I know it."

Ilia sighed—half in relief, half in resignation. "I'm gonna have to be."

~~~

The market square was crowded with merchant stalls, each with tall coverings to protect wares from the high sun. Ilia's ponytail swayed heavily behind her back as different kiosks caught her eye. Her feet started to ache from walking around all day; her belly was still a bit sore from how hard she’d laughed at Blake’s joke. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ilia put a hand up to her face, noting the absence of something familiar.

Ilia tried to keep walking but Blake had stopped.

"I missed this. Uh, not just the mangoes." Ilia looked down at her bag stuffed full of them.

"Missed what?" Blake asked, genuinely curious.

"This is so stupid, but...I missed walking around without my mask. I don't know."

Ilia rubbed her thumb over the back of Blake’s hand, squeezing it in return. Out of everything she had to work on—within and without—it seemed like it should be a small step, barely even worth mentioning. And yet, it felt like she was dropping a vestigial part of herself whenever she left it at home.

"It's not stupid." Blake said.

"What?"

"If it's important to you, it's not stupid." Blake reached out and squeezed Ilia's hand.

But it’s the weekend. Why think about this when everything else has been going so well?

~~

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do. C’mon.” Blake tugged gently at Ilia’s arm. “I’ve got a surprise for you, and—no offense—you look like you could use it.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ilia rolled her eyes, but eagerly kept pace with Blake.

After a while, the White Fang headquarters came into view.

"You brought me back to work? On our day off?" Ilia stared up at the blue and white building as Blake unlocked the front doors. "Is there something you wanna tell me?"

Have I been slacking and not even noticed? I've never been in charge of so many people before. Are their performances lacking?

Blake placed a hand over Ilia's eyes. "I said it was a surprise, didn't I? It's nothing bad, I promise." She said reassuringly.

Ilia took a deep breath, expelling the worry. "Okay."

Blake rested her other hand on Ilia's waist and led them into the building. It was easy enough to tell where they were from muscle memory alone, until Blake walked them around in circles a few times for good measure. Head spinning a little, Ilia leaned on Blake's shoulder for balance.

Turning down an unfamiliar hallway, Ilia picked up the mild scent of freshly dried paint.

"Alright, we're here." Blake slowed to a halt and uncovered Ilia's eyes. "What do you think?"

Ilia blinked. A large red ribbon was tied in front of the sparring room. Seeing the newly-reinforced walls through the windows, her face lit up. She turned to Blake, smiling wide. "It's done! I thought it'd take at least another week."

"So did I. But we finished early." Blake crouched under the ribbon and gingerly pushed the door open. "No one's used it yet. Except for us, if you're up for it."

Ilia raised an eyebrow at the challenge. "There's no way you thought I'd refuse. Be serious."

"Perhaps." Blake took Ilia's hand and pulled her through the doors. "At the very least, I knew you'd want to see it."

This new room was much wider than the last training center. Empty weapon racks were lined along the silver walls. The original White Fang insignia, painted across the tiled floor, welcomed them.

That was all Blake needed to hear. She fired at Ilia, simultaneously dashing out of melee range. Ilia blocked the shots with ease and gave chase.

"I love it." Ilia's eyes glimmered. "And I can't wait to wipe the floor with you."

"Such confidence. That's how you think this'll end?" Blake slid into her favored stance.

"I do. In fact, you can move first." Ilia put some space between her feet and bent her knees a little. She drew her weapon.

She whipped her lash forward, wrapping its end around Blake's ankle. The violet afterimage faded. There was only time for a gasp before Ilia's leg was yanked out from under her by a black ribbon. Gambol Shroud’s blade whizzed narrowly past Ilia's face.

On its recoil, Ilia jabbed her elbow into the pistol's Dust cartridge. The ensuing click was faint, so she tried not to smile when she heard it.

Hopping back up onto her feet, Ilia exaggerated the windup of her next swing. Lightning arced around the whip as it sped toward Blake's torso.

In a puff of Dust, Blake found herself trapped in stone. The angle at which her face was stuck meant she couldn't see the rest of her body, but the shock subsided as she realized what had happened.

“Are you kidding me?” Blake groaned.

Ilia chuckled, recalling her lash. "You gotta be ready for anything. Even little tricks like mine." She rested an arm on her girlfriend's petrified shoulder.

~~~

Embarrassment flushed across Blake's face. "Maybe...it's time for a tune up."

"Maybe?" Ilia knocked lightly on the impromptu statue.

Blake sighed. "Okay, fine. First thing tomorrow." She disappeared in a violet haze, reappearing next to Ilia.

"But what do we do about this?" Blake stared at the headless statue. "We can't leave it here."

Ilia gave it an appraising look. "Good question. Take it home?"

"I do not want a statue of myself."

"If you make it a coat rack, I bet it's less weird."

"I doubt that." Blake grabbed the stone legs. "If you wanna come up with plans for it, you keep it."

Ilia lifted the other half. "Maybe I will."

Blake grinned as they carried it out. "Then consider it your second gift for today."

The next months’ training lessons had gone smoothly. The principles of self-defense weren’t hard to explain, and the recruits were diligent in applying new techniques.

Always the last to leave, Ilia pulled the training mats back into the shabby storage closet. As she marked off the things covered in class, her ears picked up the sound of something approaching.

She turned. At the door, she spotted a familiar fox. Brown fur, white paws. This time, blood colored its mouth crimson.

Ilia narrowed her eyes. "You again."

It sat patiently, waiting for her to accept the invitation.

Exhaustion sluggishly flowed through her body. She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing. "I can’t do this anymore. Take me to them, already."

With diminishing reluctance, Ilia locked the door behind her. The fox led her outside and through more twisted alleyways. She trudged after it, getting ever so slightly more angry with each turn.

The fox trotted into an unmarked building. The interior was just as they’d left it before, fragrant but with an unnerving aura. She stared the fox down as it claimed its space in the middle of the rug.

"I better not see you again after this." She said.

When the light came, Ilia held up a hand to shield her vision. As she brought it down, her eyes widened in surprise. Three figures now stood before her. Corsac, Fennec, and Adam in between the brothers.

Ilia blinked in disbelief, then everything was tinted red. The weight of her Grimm mask was back. She reached up to rip it off, but it didn’t budge. It was stuck. Panicked, her response died on her tongue.

Adam stepped forward. “How nice of you to finally join us.”

Ilia ground her teeth, only stopping when her jaw ached. “I don’t care what you want from me. None of you are getting it.”

“Now, now. Is that any way to talk to the ones who saved you?”

"Look at you.” Adam sneered. “Is this what your parents would've wanted for you? Talking to ghosts when there's so much work to be done, so much you’ve left unfinished? I wonder what they'd say."

The shock of these statements halted her breath for a moment. Her stomach twisted in disgust, hands fell to her sides.

Ilia locked eyes with Adam through their masks. "I’m supposed to believe you know them better than I do? That's got to be the biggest lie you've ever told me."

Adam raised an eyebrow.

“It’s the tru-”

“Shut. Up.” Ilia clenched her fists.

Ilia chuckled darkly at his expression. “You will never know how lucky you are they killed you before I caught you. It would’ve been the best use of what you taught me. And if you knew a single thing about my family, you’d know they would agree.”

The mask tightened around her temples. Ilia grabbed the edges of the sanded bone and yanked with all her strength. It was excruciating, felt as though she was pulling her own face off. She grit her teeth at the pain, but kept going.

“You think I’m gonna let you control me from the grave?” Ilia spat. Her fingers finally found purchase under the mask. “You’re even more deluded than I thought.”

Ilia let out an agonized scream as she pried the mask off. Corsac, Fennec, and Adam stared on in aghast silence.

“Get out of my head. All of you!” She flung the mask at them, watching as it scattered their forms like smoke.

~~~

It had been a long day, but it wasn’t over yet.

Ilia wiped the sweat from her forehead. Her lungs burned from the exertion of training. Even so, she mentally listed the drills she still needed to perfect. Having decided the next course, she gripped her lightning lash.

Ilia lunged from side to side, dodging imaginary gunshots from the training dummy. With a one-handed cartwheel, she launched herself into the air. On the descent, the lash wrapped around the dummy’s midsection. Touching down, her right ankle rolled. Ilia stumbled a few steps to the side. She tried to push through it, but the existing aches and fresh pain brought her to the ground.

It took some effort, but she managed to sit up. There was no ice around, so Ilia reached for her chilled water bottle. Well, it would’ve been chilled if it wasn’t bone dry.

Damn it. She tossed it across the room in frustration.

“I knew it.”

Ilia’s eyes snapped to the door, where Blake leaned against the metal frame.

Knew what?

Something about the words stung Ilia more than they were supposed to. Perhaps it was how they implied that being caught was inevitable. “How about you trust me for once? I know what I'm doing.”

Blake gave an unamused hum. “I take it the sprained ankle was part of your plan, then? And for the record, this has nothing to do with trust. It's just familiar territory.”

Ilia's brows drew together in slight confusion, then relaxed in understanding.

Blake made her way into the room and knelt in front of Ilia. She gently stretched Ilia’s leg out and applied an ice pack of her own.

Ilia sucked in a sharp breath at the temperature change, but welcomed the relief it brought.

“I figured you’d need one.” Blake said. “Trust me, I've been there. So listen when I tell you: whatever you’re trying to do, running yourself into the ground won't help.”

She handed Ilia a full water bottle. “For starters, how many times did you stop to refill one of these?”

Where Ilia had braced to hear disappointment, there was only concern. She looked at the wall across from them, unable to meet Blake’s gaze. Instead of speaking, she guiltily drank the water.

Blake sighed, shoulders lowering. “That’s what I thought. Why, exactly, are you training so much?”

Ilia’s breath caught in her throat. It’s a question she should’ve expected, and yet she’d hoped there’d be no need to answer it. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“I just want to know what could be this important.” Blake placed her hand on Ilia’s and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“...You.” Ilia spoke it softly, barely above a whisper. An ache of emotion settled in the back of her throat. She drank more water in an attempt to displace it.

Blake’s ears perked up in surprise. “You’re training for me?”

Ilia nodded. “I made a lot of enemies under the old banner. It was one thing when they tried to kill me. I made my peace with it.” A shrug. “But if they come after you? I’ve got to be able to save us both.”

When she finally faced Blake, the tears Ilia had tried to hold back spilled down her face. “I can’t lose you again.”

Blake reached out and cupped Ilia’s face with both hands. Her yellow eyes were serious, imploring. “You won’t. But if you go on like this, you’ll die from exhaustion first.”

Ilia’s chest tightened. “So what am I supposed to do? Any time I’m not training, they’re only getting stronger. I can’t let them surpass me.”

“If you take care of yourself, they won’t.” Blake wiped away Ilia’s tears with the pads of her thumbs. “And you’ve got to trust me to do my part. It can’t all be on you. If you’re in trouble, I’ll be there to save you, too.”

None of this should shock Ilia, but it feels like she’s been sucker punched. She looked down at her iced ankle. No one had come out of the woodwork and attacked her. She'd done this to herself.

Ilia sighed deeply. "Okay. I see your point. Thanks for this. And these." She indicated the water and ice.

To fend off frostbite, Blake kept adjusting the ice pack. When enough of Ilia’s aura had returned to undo the ankle’s remaining damage, Blake hefted Ilia onto her back and carried her home.

"Any time." Blake searched Ilia's face. Seemingly relieved by what she found, she offered a patient smile. "I'm glad. Took me a while to get it, myself, but you seem a bit quicker on the uptake."

Ilia had to laugh. "Ha! Me? Quicker than you?"

Blake peered at Ilia through a small space between her thumb and forefinger. "Just a little."

~~~

It had been so long since habit—rather than fear—was what woke Ilia. Still in bed, she stretched and took inventory. No tears on the pillow. No knots in her stomach. No cold sweat staining her sleep shirt. Instead, there was lightness in her chest where shame used to be a permanent fixture.

Since she'd woken up before her alarm, she got up and switched it off ahead of time. Padding down the hallway, a shifting sound in her living room caught her ear. Must be Blake. Ilia poked her head into the room to offer a Good morning, but soon was at a loss for words.

Blake held Ilia's remaining Grimm mask. The box she was about to put it in was one Ilia had seen once before: a wooden chest filled with old White Fang memorabilia. Between confusion and indignity, she couldn't decide which to feel first.

Ilia cleared her throat. Blake's eyes snapped up to hers, and the surprise in them couldn't be more evident.

"Ilia!" Blake covered the mask with both hands, as if that would hide it. "You're up early."

The words didn't even register with Ilia. She simply walked over to the coffee table and held out a hand.

"Give me that." Ilia said calmly.

Blake paused, considered her options, before wordlessly returning it to her.

Ilia ran her index finger and thumb over the curved chameleon horns. Unless she changed colors, this polished bone mask was the only Faunus feature she had. She remembered the ceremony of receiving it—how it was presented as a symbol of pride, of conviction. But then came all the reminders of what she'd done while hiding behind it. That pang of regret was all too familiar.

"You don't wear it anymore." Blake shifted awkwardly on the couch. "I've seen how you look at it when you put it away, kind of like how you are right now. I guess I was hoping you wouldn't notice it was gone."

"So you didn't trust me to get rid of it on my own." Ilia had meant for it to be a question, but the flat tone let on that she knew the answer.

Blake's head and ears lowered with guilt. "It’s not that. I trust you."

Ilia sighed. This is not how she expected this morning to go. "I'm choosing to believe you mean that. But you'll have to show me by not hiding my things. Once I figure out how I want to get rid of this, I'll do it."

Blake nodded, locking the chest of outmoded artifacts.

Ilia placed the mask back on her hearth's mantle. "I know you're just looking out for me, but I've got this."

Turning away from Blake, she rubbed circles along her temples. As Ilia made her way back through the hallway to finish getting ready, she tried to recapture how good she'd felt upon waking. With enough time and a shift in focus, she knows she can return to it.

~~~

It’s been a few weeks since then. Or months? Time gets blurry when one settles into a routine, especially with nothing to punctuate the days.

Now, Ilia spent the afternoon reclined on the azure sofa on her back patio. Arms behind her head, one leg bent at the knee. A summer breeze wafted through the area. It carried the scent of the surrounding ocean. Ilia leaned into it.

Something tugged at the back of her mind. Her face scrunched up. Had she forgotten something? No, not forgotten. Avoided.

Ilia hummed thoughtfully. There are no neighbors to worry about, and she has the house to herself for a few more days. Well. No better time than the present.

She peeled herself off the sofa and headed inside. As Ilia strode toward the bedroom, she snatched the mask off the hearth. She hadn’t worn a mask in nearly a year. There was no need.

Hung along the wall behind the bed is her lightning lash. Reaching behind the headboard, she drew it out.

The sun broke free of the clouds, welcoming her back once she’s outside again. The grass folded under her bare feet.

Ilia wrapped the end of the lash around the mask’s center. Running a thumb over the surface, it was smooth as ever. The sight of it brought many feelings rushing to the surface. Above all of them was a pleasant stillness that brought a little smile to her face. None of those other emotions were strong enough to overwhelm her anymore.

Ilia sighed, pausing in the middle of the spacious backyard. Her grip on the lash’s handle wavered, then tightened. She held it to the side and turned her whole body in continuous circles. The momentum climbed after each spin. On her final revolution, Ilia flung the whip up and launched the mask into the blue sky.

It soared higher and higher, almost out of sight. Fierce eyes tracked it, determined not to lose it. Ilia recalled the whip and placed her finger on the trigger. She held her breath and fired.

One shot. Two shots. Three shots. Four.

The mask was blasted to pieces. Any remnants scattered beyond the fence.

Relief flooded through Ilia, so heavy she sank to her knees on the ground. Her heart pounded. There was no more fear. Her body was only trying to catch up to her excited breathing.

I did it. It’s over.

She leaned back onto the plush grass. Eyes slipping closed, she took in the sun’s warmth. The person she used to be is long gone, as are all the things she used to hide behind.

Eventually, a grumbling in her stomach let her know it was time to head to the kitchen. While picking up a mango to slice, Ilia wondered what should go on the mantle in the mask’s place. A serene smile appeared as she remembered a photo she’d taken with all her recruits.

Nothing would make her happier.

#Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #RWBY #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write #Reclamation AU

[duskydestra]

Just did a search and the bad news is true: there's hasn't been a Bellatola/Catmeleon fandom week in two years.

If there are already plans in the works for an upcoming one, let me know. I'll write for every single prompt.

#my love for Ilia knows no bounds #Ilia Loving Hours #Where are my Calico/Bellatola/Catmeleon fics? #Where is the FLAVOR?? #RWBY #FNDM #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Bellatola #Catmeleon #Calico RWBY #RWBY ships #danceapocalyptic.txt

[duskydestra]

Prompts: 1. “No, come back!” + 18. “You don’t see it?”

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Ilia Amitola

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Local lesbians embarrass themselves on the Belladonna balcony.

~~

"That cluster right there is named after the Brothers." Blake pointed at the night sky over Menagerie. 

Ilia closed one eye and tilted her head. "Yeah, any way you could be more specific?"

"You don't see it? Look for the ones that flicker together. They’re kinda in an S formation."

"Okay! I found it." Ilia smiled, gaze trained on the constellation. "How did I not notice that before?"

"It's definitely a tricky one. Oh!" Blake sat up straight as some trivia came to mind. "In the stories I've read, the gods had antlers and horns. Just like Faunus."

Wonder showed in Ilia's eyes for a moment, before doubt made them narrow slightly. "You're full of shit, Blake."

"I'm not! Here, I'll show you." Blake pulled out her scroll, searched through the library, and opened Nascent Nebulas: Tales as Old as Time. "I know all the sculptures and paintings are of their dragon forms, but whenever they're described as people, they have Faunus traits."

Ilia scanned the passage, the wonder returning with each line. "Wow. Alright, I take it back. If I'd have known that, maybe I'd have prayed more."

A bit of pride bloomed in Blake's chest. "I figured you'd like it. I can send it to you if you wanna read the whole thing."

"Sounds good." Ilia quirked an eyebrow. "But what's that one, though?"

"Which one- Ah!" Listed directly under the book she'd closed was Blake’s copy of Ninjas of Love. She turned the screen off. "Don't worry about it! Just a story I like."

Ilia cackled, the force of it making her lean forward against the balcony's railing.

Blake hummed, then sidled up to Ilia. "Maybe, if you're nice, I'll read it to you." 

Before Blake could fully pull back, Ilia's entire body had flushed pink.

"You-. I just-. Wait."

Blake tried her best not to laugh. She settled on a knowing smile instead as Ilia short circuited.

"I'm just gonna go now." Ilia stood up and leaped into the tree line below the balcony.

"No, come back!" Blake couldn't stop the laughter anymore as she dove after the chameleon girl.

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 13. “I missed this.”

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Ilia Amitola

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: Slight angst

Summary: Ilia and Blake take a walk through the market.

~~

The market square was crowded with merchant stalls, each with tall coverings to protect wares from the high sun. Ilia's ponytail swayed gently behind her back as different kiosks caught her eye. Her feet started to ache from walking around all day; her belly was still a bit sore from how hard she’d laughed at Blake’s joke. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ilia put a hand up to her face, noting the absence of something familiar.

"I missed this. Uh, not just the mangoes." Ilia looked down at her bag stuffed full of them.

"What do you mean?" Blake asked, genuinely curious.

"This is so stupid, but...I missed walking around without my mask. I don't know."

Ilia tried to keep walking but Blake had stopped.

"It's not stupid." Blake said.

"What?"

"If it's important to you, it's not stupid." Blake reached out and squeezed Ilia's hand.

Ilia rubbed her thumb over the back of Blake’s hand, squeezing it in return. Out of everything she had to work on—within and without—it seemed like it should be a small step, barely even worth mentioning. And yet, it felt like she was dropping a vestigial part of herself whenever she left it at home.

But it’s their day off. Why think about this when everything else has been going so well?

She sighed. “If you say so.”

“I do. C’mon.” Blake tugged gently at Ilia’s arm. “I’ve got a surprise for you, and—no offense—you look like you could use it.”

“Oh, shut up.” Ilia rolled her eyes, but eagerly kept pace with Blake.

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 27. “Give me that.” + 31. “I trust you.” [Continuation of 19.] Fandom: RWBY Pairing: Ilia Amitola/Blake Belladonna Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Slight angst

Summary: Progress such as this should not be rushed.

~~

It had been so long since habit—rather than fear—was what woke Ilia. Still in bed, she stretched and took inventory. No tears on the pillow. No knots in her stomach. No cold sweat staining her sleep shirt. Instead, there was lightness in her chest where guilt used to be a permanent fixture.

Since she'd woken up before her alarm, she got up and switched it off ahead of time. Padding down the hallway, the sound of shifting in her living room caught her ear. Must be Blake. Ilia poked her head in the room to offer a "Good morning," but soon was at a loss for words.

Blake was holding Ilia's remaining Grimm mask. The box she was about to put it in was one Ilia had seen before: a wooden chest filled with old White Fang memorabilia. Between confusion and indignity, she couldn't decide which to feel first.

Ilia cleared her throat. Blake's eyes snapped up to hers, and the surprise in them couldn't be more evident.

"Ilia!" Blake covered the mask with both hands, as if that would hide it. "You're up early."

The words didn't even register with Ilia. She walked over to the coffee table and held out her hand.

"Give me that." Ilia said calmly.

Blake paused, considering her options, before wordlessly returning it to her.

Ilia ran her index finger and thumb over the curved chameleon horns. Unless she changed colors, this polished bone mask was the only Faunus feature she had. She remembered the ceremony of receiving it; how it was presented as a symbol of pride, of conviction. But then came all the reminders of what she'd done while hiding behind it. The pang of regret was all too familiar.

"You don't wear it anymore." Blake shifted awkwardly on the couch. "I've seen how you look at it when you put it out of sight, kind of like how you are right now. I suppose I was hoping you wouldn't immediately notice it was gone."

"So you didn't trust me to get rid of it on my own." Ilia had meant for it to be a question, but the flat tone let on that she knew the answer.

Blake's head and ears lowered with guilt. "It’s not that. I trust you."

Ilia sighed. This is not how she expected this morning to go. "I'm choosing to believe you mean that. But you'll have to show me by not hiding my things. Once I figure out how I want to get rid of this, I'll do it."

Blake nodded, locking the chest of outmoded artifacts.

Ilia placed the mask back on her hearth's mantle. "I know you're just looking out for me, but I've got this."

Turning away from Blake, she rubbed circles along her temples. As Ilia made her way back through the hallway to finish getting ready, she tried to recapture how good she'd felt upon waking. With enough time and a shift in focus, she knows she can return to it.

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[duskydestra]

So what's the official ship name for Blake/Ilia? Bellatola? Changing Colors?

#as much as I love Changing Colors it doesn't seem as active a tag as Bellatola #RWBY #Bellatola #Changing Colors #RWBY ships #danceapocalyptic.txt

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 24. “Are you kidding me?”

[Continuation of 13.]

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Ilia Amitola

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Blake and Ilia break in the White Fang's sparring room.

~~

"You brought me back to work? On our day off?" Ilia stared up at the blue and white building as Blake unlocked the front doors. "Is there something you wanna tell me?"

Have I been slacking and not even noticed? I've never been in charge of so many people before. Are their performances lacking? 

Blake placed a hand over Ilia's eyes. "I said it was a surprise, didn't I? It's nothing bad. I promise." She said reassuringly.

Ilia took a deep breath, expelling the worry. "Okay."

Blake rested her other hand on Ilia's waist and led them into the building. It was easy enough to tell where they were from muscle memory alone, until Blake walked them around in circles a few times for good measure. Head spinning a little, Ilia leaned on Blake's shoulder for balance.

Turning down an unfamiliar hallway, Ilia picked up the mild scent of freshly dried paint.

"Alright, we're here." Blake slowed to a halt and uncovered Ilia's eyes. "What do you think?"

Ilia blinked. A large red ribbon was tied in front of the sparring room. Seeing the newly-reinforced walls through the windows, her face lit up. She turned to Blake, smiling wide. "It's done! I thought it'd take at least another week."

"So did I. But we finished early." Blake crouched under the ribbon and gently pushed the door open. "No one's used it yet. Except for us, if you're up for it."

Ilia raised an eyebrow at the challenge. "There's no way you thought I'd refuse. Be serious."

"Perhaps." Blake took Ilia's hand and pulled her through the doors. "At the very least, I knew you'd want to see it."

This new room was much wider than the last training center. Empty weapon racks were lined along the gray walls. The original White Fang insignia painted across the tilted floor welcomed them.

"I love it." Ilia's eyes glimmered. "And I can't wait to wipe the floor with you."

"Such confidence. That's how you think this'll end?" Blake slid into her favored stance.

"I do. In fact, you can move first." Ilia put some space between her feet and bent her knees a little. She drew her weapon.

That was all Blake needed to hear. She fired at Ilia, simultaneously dashing out of melee range. Ilia blocked the shots with ease and gave chase.

She whipped her lash forward, wrapping its end around Blake's ankle. The violet afterimage faded. There was only time for a gasp before Ilia's leg was yanked out from under her by a black ribbon. Gambol Shroud’s blade whizzed narrowly past Ilia's face.

On its recoil, Ilia jabbed her elbow into the pistol's Dust cartridge. The ensuing click was faint, so she tried not to smile when she heard it.

Hopping up back onto her feet, Ilia exaggerated the windup of her next swing. Lightning arced around the whip as it sped toward Blake's torso.

In a puff of Dust, Blake found herself trapped in stone. The angle at which her face was stuck meant she couldn't see the rest of her body, but the shock subsided as she realized what had happened.

“Are you kidding me?” Blake groaned.

Ilia chuckled, recalling her lash. "You gotta be ready for anything. Even little tricks like mine." She rested an arm on her girlfriend's petrified shoulder.

Embarrassment flushed across Blake's face. "Maybe...it's time for a tune up."

"Maybe?" Ilia knocked lightly on the impromptu statue.

Blake sighed. "Okay, fine. First thing tomorrow." She disappeared in a violet haze, reappearing next to Ilia.

"But what do we do about this?" Blake stared at the headless statue. "We can't leave it here."

Ilia gave it an appraising look. "Good question. Take it home?"

"I do not want a statue of myself."

"If you make it a coat rack, I bet it's less weird."

"I doubt that." Blake grabbed the stone legs. "If you wanna come up with plans for it, you keep it."

Ilia lifted the other half. "Maybe I will."

Blake grinned as they carried it out. "Then consider it your second gift for today."

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[duskydestra]

Prompt: 10. “All I ever wanted.”

[Continuation of 4 + 8.]

Fandom: RWBY

Pairing: Blake Belladonna/Ilia Amitola

Rating: Teen and Up

Warning: Angst

Summary: Blake helps Ilia keep the nightmares away.

~~

For Ilia, it had been a long week with precious few hours of sleep to hold it together. But with Blake back for a visit, she didn't have to face the darkness alone.

They lied in bed, Blake rubbing slow circles along Ilia's back. There was an open silence between them; Ilia knew there was room to speak her mind, but the fear of letting her thoughts be known settled like a lump in her throat.

She'd spent years ignoring anything that would distract her from her missions. She became whatever was needed of her: spy, instigator, assassin. But without anyone to give her orders, what is left to make of herself now?

Shedding the old Ilia has to be the first step.

"They're wrong about me." Ilia stated.

"Who?" Blake kept massaging Ilia's back.

"Corsac. Fennec. Adam. All of them." Ilia shook her head. “Living as a human won’t save me. I know that. After Atlas, all I ever wanted was to not hide anymore.”

Blake stared encouragingly, as if she knew Ilia was on the cusp of realizing something and wanted to hear her say it first.

"I was willing to do anything to make up for that time. But where I saw redemption, they saw a new soldier." Ilia moved further into Blake's arms. "I can't believe I let them talk to me like that."

She felt a kiss on her forehead.

Blake looked into Ilia's eyes, moonlight streaming across their faces. "The part of you that fights so hard for what you think is best? That existed long before you met any of them, and it outlasted what they tried to mold you into."

Blake gently pressed their foreheads together. "And if they still haunt you, you're strong enough to drive them out again. I know it."

Ilia sighed—half in relief, half in resignation. "I'm gonna have to be."

#fictober20 #Catmeleon #Bellatola #Calico RWBY #RWBY fic #RWBY #Ilia Amitola #Blake Belladonna #Ilia Loving Hours #The Things I Write

[duskydestra]

Me assigning Catmeleon prompts

#Catmeleon #Bellatola #Ilia Loving Hours #Project: Fictober #AO3 and Me

[musings-from-mars]

If Blake and Ilia got married, they wouldn’t hyphenate their names, nor would one take the other’s, they would combine their names:

Blake and Ilia Bellatola

Weiss would take the name Bellatola if we’re talking Omnichrome too because fuck the Schnees

#rwby #catmeleon #omnichrome #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #ilia amitola