(Prompt, Child Shuffle) Jaune and his team of Neon, Reese and May were doing a mission, when suddenly Jaune's child from the future appears. As for who the mother is, that is one of his teammates and she isn't telling who.
A quiet clearing after a Grimm hunt. Team JNMRN (Jaune, Neon, Reese, May) has just regrouped when a pulse of blue light distorts the air like rippling water.
A flash. A body hits the dirt with a thud. When the dust clears, a teenage boy — about twelve or thirteen — kneels up, rubbing his head. He looks exactly like Jaune Arc at that age… except sharper jawline, neater hair, and a confidence the real one never had.
Jaune: “What the—?” (draws Crocea Mors halfway) “Who are you?”
Boy: (sighs like it’s obvious) “Dad. Really? We’ve gone over this, like, a hundred times in training sims.”
(Neon snorts out loud. Reese’s eyes go wide. May’s finger twitches near her trigger.)
Neon: “Dad? Oh, jackpot! Blondie’s a father! Which one of us hit the Arc lottery, huh?”
Reese: (deadpan) “We’re in the middle of nowhere, and a clone of Jaune falls from the sky calling him dad. Yeah, that tracks.”
May: “Clone, future, illusion — doesn’t matter. Keep distance until we confirm.”
Boy: (stands, dusting off his jacket — same white-and-blue color scheme as Jaune’s, but with extra plating and an emblem shaped like a lightning bolt over a rose petal) “Relax, Aunt May. You still get overprotective in the future too.”
(May freezes. Neon and Reese immediately turn to her with matching smirks.)
Neon: “Aunt May, huh? Ooooh, that narrows it down~”
May: “Shut it.”
Reese: (leaning in toward the boy) “So… kid. You got a name?”
Boy: (straightens, voice full of practiced pride) “Arlen Arc.”
Jaune: “Arlen…?”
Boy: (grinning, all Jaune’s charm condensed into one cocky smirk) “Yeah. You said Mom picked it. Said it sounded heroic but humble.”
(The team collectively leans forward.)
Neon: “Aaaand who’s Mom?”
Arlen: (crosses arms, looks away) “She told me not to say. Something about preserving the timeline. Also, she said watching you all squirm would be funny.”
(All three women immediately point at each other.)
Neon: “It’s her!”
Reese: “No way, it’s you!”
May: “Don’t look at me.”
Jaune: “Okay! Time-out! I am not emotionally equipped to deal with this level of chaos right now!”
Arlen: (grinning wider) “You said that a lot when I was born, too.”
(Jaune’s soul leaves his body.)
[Later, around the campfire]
Arlen hums while sharpening twin short swords — miniaturized replicas of Crocea Mors. His movements are efficient, methodical. Even May watches, impressed.
Reese: “He fights like May, talks like Neon, dresses like me, and looks like you. He’s either all of us or some cosmic joke.”
Neon: (nudging Jaune) “C’mon, Dad. Any memories of a wild night during the Vytal Festival?”
Jaune: (groans) “I hate everything about this conversation.”
Arlen: (without looking up) “You said that too, after Mom beat you in a spar and kissed you in front of the team.”
(Silence. Neon’s tail goes stiff, Reese nearly chokes, May looks away suspiciously.)
Jaune: “…I’m gonna need a drink.”
