596So after watching Season 1 of RWBY over and over again throughout the holidays, I've decided to waste away the hours by writing a new story. What you're looking at is a RWBY Self-insertion.
Now, before you start reading/hit the back button, I want to clarify a few things before we go any further.
1. I know how people generally react to self-insertion fanfics, and I don't want this to go down that road. I'm making a concerted effort to establish how far out of his element my character truly is.
2. I'm not going to use my real name for two reasons: privacy, and my name doesn't fit into RWBY. As such, my character is named Darrel Conway. Darrel is a corruption of the Aboriginal name Darel, which means "blue sky". Conway is simply an Welsh name meaning "a yellow hound". If you don't believe me, check babynames .com .au (remove the spaces) and put those names in.
3. There will be shipping. I've decided on what pairs there will be. And while I appreciate and respect all the pairings out there, I've had to narrow it down. As such, there will be Ruby/Weiss, Blake/Sun, Jaune/Pyrrha, Nora/Ren, and Yang/OC. (I get the feeling that the last one is asking for trouble, but look at some other self-insertion fics. They romanced canon characters all the time. So don't judge me.)
Chapter 1: The Bachelor Pad Test
'Search endlessly, fight till we're free, fly past the edge of the sea...'
The hard rock that was Avenged Sevenfold's Carry On blasted my ear buds, deafening me to the pounding rain that struck the car roof. Driving in this weather seemed crazy: weather in Victoria, Australia was crazy, admittedly, but this was ridiculous. The sky was black with storm clouds, and it was raining so hard, the normally populated town of Rye looked to be abandoned. Even cars had deserted the streets.
After a few moments, the car pulled to a stop, outside a house. It didn't have anything special: just a few windows, a crumbling chimney, and peeling paint. My dad, who was driving, switched the ignition off, tapped me on the shoulder and motioned to my ear buds, telling me to take them out. I complied, and stopped the music in the process.
"We're here. Get ready to run; we're going to get soaked." He opened the door and dashed to the trunk of the car, yanking it open. Already the rain had sodden his shirt through. I sighed: Dad had insisted on taking me, my brother, and himself up to Rye, as a way to get everything ready for when I turned 18 next year. I didn't know what he was talking about: he just dropped words like "father-son bonding" and "prep for real world". I didn't care: the weather was foul, the house was tiny, and I had no reception on my phone.
I muttered a quick prayer to not get wet, opened the car door and dashed for my life to the house. Unfortunately, I didn't get the best footing, and fell face first into a massive mud-filled puddle. As I angled my head up, I saw my brother silently guffawing at my predicament as he walked to the front door under his own umbrella. With my mud-strewn face twisted into an angry glare, I raised my hand, and flashed a rude gesture at his back.
"Come on, Darrel. Get out of the puddle. You can have a shower when you get inside." Dad was carrying two duffel bags under one arm, a backpack across his back, and an umbrella in his free hand. I spat out some dirt, and stood up, wiping my face free of any filth that threatened to invade my eyes and ears. Silently grumbling, I walked to the door, and followed Dad and my brother inside, clothes dripping with muddy water.
Dad had dumped the bags on the couch, and was out on the verandah, letting his umbrella drain. My brother had already taken one of the bedrooms for himself, and was listening to his iPhone. Trust him. I went to explore the house. From what I'd heard, it was a typical bachelor pad. From what I saw, it was a dump: the shower looked as if no one had bothered to clean it in days; the pantry was strewn with dusty food products that had expired 5 years ago, the windows either didn't open at all or let a freezing draft in, the furniture was covered in moth bites, and smelled as if something had died underneath it, and worst of all, there were only two beds available. Someone would have to take the couch.
"Well, what do you think, son? Looks like the kind of place you'd expect to stay at?" I jumped about a foot in the air, as Dad came in from the hallway. After climbing down from the ceiling, I looked around once again at the place.
"I think next time, check and see if a better deal is available." I muttered. I didn't want to live here for two minutes, let alone two weeks. Dad laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder.
"Nonsense! This house is perfect! I'm giving you two the chance to see what living as bachelors will be like!"
Oh crap. There it is: the bachelor pad test. It was something we had promised to do as kids, though it was a moment of childish naiveté. It was a time where Dad would take my brother and I away somewhere and supervise us for two weeks. Judging by the state of the house, he had no faith in our money management skills.
'Go ahead and pick a bed. There's enough for everybody.' He swept his arm around the room. He was wrong: there were only two beds, and my brother had taken one already. And given my dad's obnoxiousness, he'd take the other. I groaned, and spared myself the humiliation by falling on the couch.
"It's decided! You'll take one for the team then. Thanks for that, my back was killing me." He groaned in faux-pain, and trudged to the shower. At that point, I remembered I was still muddied from the puddle outside. I stood up, and dashed after Dad, only for him to slam the door against my nose, staining the already dirty door with dried mud. I trudged back to the couch, and flopped face first into the rancid cushion. This was going to be a long two weeks.
Well, there is the beginning. Hopefully you enjoyed it. Seriously, I hope you did, because I have lost sleep over writing this whole fic. I pour heart and soul into this, so don't diss it.
Just constructive criticism or praise, thanks. Preferably the former.