A New War - A Gundam RWBY reader Insert

Y/n and Char: Blake (5K special)

Vale, late evening. Y/n, Char and Blake had gathered under the noble banner of "trying to cook a real meal for once." Morale is high. Expectations? Tragically misplaced.

Y/n: Okay. I'm just saying—we follow the recipe, we eat something homemade, and we bond as a team.

Blake: already suspicious That sounds like a trap.

Char: What are we making?

Y/n: Stir fry.

Blake: That's... safe. Right?

Y/n: One pan. Minimal chaos.

Char: I doubt that.

In the kitchen. Y/n rolls up their sleeves with confidence. Blake leans against the counter with cautious amusement. Char looms near the spice rack like he's scouting an enemy base.

Y/n: Alright. Step one: chop the vegetables.

Char: Affirmative.

Char picks up the knife like it's a beam saber. He slices a carrot at Mach 3.

Y/n: WHOA, okay—calm down, Zeta Chef.

Blake: That carrot didn't deserve to die like that.

Char: It was weak.

Y/n: Char. These are vegetables. Not targets.

Char: The line is thinner than you think.

Y/n gently nudges Char away and starts on the onions.

Y/n: Okay, Blake, you wanna handle the sauce?

Blake: ...What's in it?

Y/n: Soy sauce, sesame oil, a bit of brown sugar, ginger, garlic—

Char: I found cayenne pepper.

Y/n & Blake: NO.

Char: already holding it above the pan Too late. The spice demands sacrifice.

Y/n: Put the bottle down.

Char: pauses You fear flavor.

Blake: I fear you.

Meanwhile, Y/n gets the pan hot. Like... really hot. Smoke starts creeping upward like a signal flare.

Blake: Is it supposed to be doing that?

Y/n: It's fine. Just preheating.

Char: That pan has achieved combustion.

Y/n: That's just enthusiasm!

Blake: It's going to start talking soon.

Y/n adds oil. The sizzle is immediate and aggressive.

Y/n: Okay, okay, toss in the onions!

Blake steps forward, tosses them in. The oil pops so hard it almost bites back.

Blake: It's hostile!

Char: The pan is now self-aware.

Y/n: Just keep going! Next—garlic!

Char: I suggest protective goggles.

Y/n: Do you have those on you?

Char: Naturally.

Blake: Of course he does.

Things spiral quickly. Veggies flying. Soy sauce bottle spills. The flame surges.

Y/n: WHERE'S THE EXTINGUISHER!?

Char: pulls it from under his cloak Already prepared.

Blake: Why are you like this?

Char: I exist in a state of readiness.

Y/n: We're making DINNER, not disarming a bomb!

Char: One can never be sure.

Smoke now billows freely. The fire alarm blares in protest. Outside, a dog barks. Somewhere, a neighbor screams "NOT AGAIN!"

Y/n: Okay, Operation Stir Fry is officially scrapped.

Char: Casualty report: one pan, two towels, and my dignity.

Blake: You had that?

Char: Briefly.

Cleanup begins. There is... so much regret. And soot. And something unrecognizable on the floor that no one claims.

Twenty minutes later. The trio is sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, bowls of instant noodles in hand. A fan blows smoke out the window behind them. Y/n looks utterly defeated. Char is unbothered. Blake is eating like nothing happened.

Blake: These noodles are surprisingly decent.

Y/n: I wanted to make something real! Something meaningful!

Char: And instead, we learned a valuable lesson.

Blake: "Don't let Char cook."

Char: Incorrect. Never  let me near flavor.

Y/n: I can't believe we failed that hard. Stir fry has four ingredients.

Char: Correction. It had four ingredients.

Blake: I watched you yeet the mushrooms into the sink.

Char: They betrayed us.

Y/n: They were mushrooms!

Char: shrugs You don't know their history.

Blake sips from her tea calmly.

Blake: You know, as much of a disaster as that was... I kind of enjoyed it.

Y/n: ...Really?

Blake: soft smile It's nice. Being bad at something. Together.

Y/n: You could've led with that before I tried to stir fry a war crime.

Char: We made memories.

Blake: And a mess.

Char: Both are important.

The night winds down. Dishes are washed (poorly), pans are mourned, and Y/n quietly tapes a sticky note over the recipe page reading: "DO NOT ATTEMPT. CURSED."

Y/n: Next time... we just order pizza.

Blake: Or make sandwiches.

Char: I know a guy with a deep fryer mounted to a decommissioned Zaku.

Y/n & Blake: NO.