Could I please get some Jaune x Raven Branwen please? Maybe along the lines of they’re both students at the same time or something
Birdy Cheer Squad
Jaune: Alright, time for the championship match!
Jaune: ...
Jaune: Why do I have to do this?!
Qrow: Because, you won the bet!
Summer: Yes, because you won the bet!
Jaune: Bet, what bet?! We never made any bet?!
Qrow: It was a bet made between me, Summer, and my sister.
Jaune: Involving me in some manner?
Qrow: Yep.
Summer: And, you made sure that we won the bet!
Qrow: Good job out there, Jaune!
Jaune: Less ass kissing, and more explaining! What was this bet?!
Summer: T-The bet was that if you could win the last bout on your own, you would fight in the championship!
Jaune: What kind of bet is that?!
Qrow: And, if Raven couldn't beat either of them she would have to take a forfeit!
Jaune: What forfeit?
Qrow: Uhh... Well, it was one that Raven would hate.
Summer: But, one you would like!
Jaune: Your answers answer nothing...
Qrow: Just... go out there, and fight the championship bout, and you will see Raven's forfeit.
Jaune: And, if I don't fight in this championship?
Summer: You don't get to see Rae-Rae's forfeit, and you will regret it.
Jaune: Haa... Fine! Fine, I will fight for the championship... Only because of you two, and your horrible mistakes!
Summer: It was his fault with his stupid semblance!
Qrow: Like hell that was my fault! You're the one who's weapon misfired, and shot my foot!
Summer: And, you pulled me out of the ring, getting us both disqualified?!
Qrow: That's only because of your oversized cape!
Summer: It's a cloak, and don't you dare make fun of my cloak?!
Jaune: Haa... Why did Ozpin make me in charge of this circus troupe...
~~~
Oobaleck: And welcome everyone to this, the championship match for the Vytal festival!
Port: That's right, Bart! This is the final match of the day, between Beacon Academy's first year student, the White Paladin, Jaune Arc!
Jaune: Why the hell are they calling me a ‘white paladin?’
Oobaleck: And, Haven Academy's fourth year student, The Mad Dog, Gerald Bordaigo!
Jaune: Mad Dog? White Paladin is a little bland... but, it ain't as cringe as Mad Dog...
Gerald: Hey, what did you say?!
Jaune: I said your nickname is cringe.
Gerald: You wanna fucking go kid!
Jaune: We're about to have a match so... Yes?
Gerald: Then let's do THISSSS!
Jaune: ...
Jaune: Cringe...
Port: Alright then everyone! Let the match... BEGIN!
Jaune: Haa... Okay... let's...
: J-Janue!
Jaune: Huw, Raven what are you...?! What the hell are you wearing?!!
Raven:
Raven: G-GO JAUNE! HE'S OUR LEADER! Y-Y-YOU CAN DO IT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! WINNN!!!
Jaune: Gahh?!
Gerald: (Whistles~!) Damn~! And, that smoking hot babe~! Hey, is she yours blondie? Hey, if I win this. I get the lady~! Don't worry, I'll treat her to a nice evening~!
Jaune: The fuck did you just say?!
Gerald: So, what do you say? Do we have a...!?
(Kr-crack!)
PO: OOOOOOHHHHH?!
Gerald: Ahhhhhh.....?!!?!
(Thud!)
Port: I think I speak for all the men here. But, that has gotta hurt!
Oobaleck: Even I flinched from that kick...
Jaune: You better stay the fuck away from my woman! Now get up, and prepare for a beat down unlike any other you bastard!
Gerald: ...
Jaune: ...
Gerald: ...
Jaune: ...
(Kick, kick...)
Jaune: Ohh...
Jaune: I think I killed him...
Port: It seems like Mr. Bordaigo is unable to battle... Mr. Arc wins!
Oobaleck: Someone brings a stretcher for Mr. Bordaigo... He's going to need it...
Jaune: Wait... I won?
Raven: Good job, Jaune! Come back here, and claim your reward~!
Jaune: Reward...?
Jaune: Can I go! I need to claim my reward! NOW!
~~~
Summer: That worked…?
Qrow: A little too well really...
Summer: Well, I need to get going, Jaune's getting his reward after all~!
Qrow: But, my sister is...?
Summer: I am also his reward! I would have join, Raven in her cheerleader outfit, but I didn't have one so I couldn't join her!
Qrow: O-Okay...
Summer: Good! Now wait for me my loves~!
Qrow: ...
Qrow: Bloody blondes... why does he get all the girls...?
Jaune arc, the oldest of the arc family, the most skilled with his sword.
Steppin' away from the ABST AU by @epic-arc , I'm gonna give my own spin on Absolute Jaune.
First, we need to set up the Absolute RWBY Universe, and in doing that, we need to establish the rules of said universe.
SALEM IS KNOWN: As it is with the DC universe being influenced by Superman and the Absolute DC by Darkseid, we'll pull the same trick with Ruby and Salem; Ruby has to scrounge to survive while Salem is literally influencing the universe itself. Whatever boon the original universe received will now be cursed the opposite.
...and that's it. That's literally it. Now, onto the tale of
ABSOLUTE JAUNE
----------#1----------
Aura is the manifestation of the soul. It resides in all living creatures on Remnant, be they a meager shopkeeper or a renowned knight.
"He's coughing again."
"I thought the medicine was supposed to help him."
"He's fine."
Aura is the manifestation of a healthy soul. It resides in all healthy creatures on Remnant, whether they're a healthy old man or a heroic knight.
"I should go-"
"Sit. Down. If he needs us, he'll-"
Ring-ting! Ring-ting!
"Ugh." Nicholas Arc stood from his seat at the dinner table. "I'll check on him." The aged man's boots could be heard stomping with each step to the room of his only son. Those same boots then came crashing down the steps with greater fervor than simple gravity would allow. "Belle! Booster! Now!"
Isabella 'Belle' Arc hurried into the kitchen drug cabinet and pulled free a box from the cupboard. Hurrying to her husband, the two rushed upstairs to their son's room. Inside, the withered, teenage boy laid in his bed, face flush with sickness as he wheezed to get what little air he could. His body was dying, but the aura boosters bought him more time.
But only so much.
The mask was draped over his face by a pair of hands while the other plucked open his shirt to place the shudder pads, named so for the cold sensation when placed on the chest and also to 'shudder' the body to life with aura transfer. Used in emergency situations to help kickstart one's aura into action, these thin strips were just cheap enough for a single use in every home. The protective film had been thrown away and there were holes in the padding.
"One, two, three..." Nicholas rounded as Isabella squeezed the bladder attached to the mask. She hated how routine this had become. How she'd grown so used to this life that the days of weeping tears seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, she simply sat at her son's fevered side while her husband pressed his palms into the boy's chest. "One, two, three..."
A heaving gasp tried to escape as Jaune clawed at the mask blocking his. His mother was quick to remove it while offering soothing words. His fingers raked her hand, making her wince. He huffed as much air into his lungs as he could, though it was quickly expelled by a hoarse and phlegm-filled cough. He blinked a few time before he felt his mother stroke his hair. The sight and sensation of red dripping onto his chest filled his heart with ice-
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't bother." His father grunted, turning away. "Dinner is downstairs. We'll bring you some stew."
"Dad-"
"Stay here and don't hurt yourself." He stepped out of the room, his boots thudding against the floorboards.
"Do you want anything with your stew, Jaune?" His mother asked, still stroking his head.
"Just... The usual." He answered, noting her covering her hand as she exited.
As he waited, he heard the faint arguing his parents always did when he had his 'episodes', as the doctors had described them. They'd learn to move the shouting to away from his door, but he'd already picked up what the subjects always were; 'hurting himself', 'worrying the other's, 'not enough' and 'never enough' were all brought up and they were all about him. It was always about him.
Jaune suffered from Aura Deficiency Syndrome, life-lasting sickness that happens to three out of five children who have their aura unlocked. Said children seldom lived to adulthood, or much long after reaching said adulthood. His condition developed after having his aura unlocked when he was 12 years old. He still remembered the excitement before the burning and the chills and sobbing. If his parents weren't so skilled in medicine, working as a medic and a clinic nurse, he likely would have died that day.
Some days, he wished he did. At least then, his parents wouldn't be struggling to pay for medical bills or equipment or keeping his younger sisters fed and cared for. Part of him wished his sisters had taken him away with them, even trying to run away before Mom and Dad found out, but he never made it out the front door.
Looking around his room while he waited, as he often did, his gaze turned to the book on aura he was reading. Written by Dr. A. Watts, Jaune tried to read with hope that his sickness could be cured, only for his illness to force him to reread what was actually written on the page. Every night, he dreamed of becoming a hero like the one in his favorite fairy tale, The Rusted Knight, only to wake up and expel last night's meal as a horrid reminder of the truth.
Jaune Arc was dying, and he would die before he could ever become a hero.
----------#2----------
They say you should live every day like it could be your last. However, when every day could be your last, trying to squeeze out a new experience became old really fast. Especially when the days usually ended with some near-death experience in the comfort of your own home. Still, that didn't mean Jaune intended to die lying in bed and waiting for the inevitable end to come.
There were exercises the doctor suggested to help Jaune improve his chances. Some days, they worked, while others were essentially the ebb to the other's flow. Still, every chance he could, Jaune would lay himself against the floor and push himself to his feet. Then he would lay once more and rose to his feet again. When he felt enough energy, he would hop, only to stumble and fall on the landing. Confidence was never his strong suit, but when facing the end of his life, Jaune didn't see any harm in trying his luck.
After all, it's not like he wasn't going to die anyways.
When it suited him, Jaune would go for a walk outside. The family home was large and out in the country, on the outskirts of town. The threat of Grimm was inevitable, but Jaune's father and his father and his father before him all made efforts to place themselves between civility, safety, and comfort, and the chaos that dwelled beyond city limits and threatened the lives of so many.
Now and then, there would be a Grimm sniffing around, and every then and now, Jaune's father would call for a huntsman and beat back the Grimm with what tools he had. However, the one tool he never used was the one seated above the family fireplace; Crocea Mors, a true knight's weapon of sword and shield.
Jaune had dreamed of holding the blade in his hands and defending the innocent like his hero, The Rusted Knight. However, with his current strength, Jaune could do little more than heft it off the ground, let alone carry it into battle against the monsters who roamed and stalked around his home.
"Ain't you a little small to be out for a walk by yourself?" One such monster was, ironically, the town's resident huntsman, Dirt, who had built his reputation not on heroism, but on bullying and picking on anyone weaker than him. Like Jaune. "I don't think your mama would like you roaming so far from home. I better bring you back. Who knows? Maybe she'll thank me~."
Jaune gritted his teeth at the disgusting implication. "I'm fine on my own."
"Oh, of course. Of course." Dirt stepped aside, letting Jaune continue his walk, "Whoops~!" before shoving him to the ground. "My bad~!" Jaune pushed himself off the ground, same as he had before. "Whoops~!"
This had become routine for Jaune. He leaves home, he falls over, he picks himself up, he falls over again. His aura, weak as it was, would still heal his physical wounds, though it would shorten his time all the more. Whether or not Dirt knew this, Jaune didn't know, but he assumed he did and chose not to care. He coughed after inhaling some dust.
"You should really go home, Jaune. Before you get hurt." Dirt crouched, his boot pressing onto Jaune's knuckle. No matter what happens, Jaune wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. He'd learned to hide it, if only so his family wouldn't worry. "Hate for your daddy to find you ripped up by the Grimm."
"Then you should do your job instead of relying on-" Momentary relief came to Jaune's hand before blinding pain erupted across Jaune's mid-section.
"Relying on who now?" The boot came pressing into Jaune's side before flipping him over. The scorching sun above blinded him. In the shade, Dirt's red eyes flared, making him look like a Grimm in silhouette. "Don't forget that your dad called ME to help HIM, not the other way around. He's old, and weak, and pretty soon, he'll die, and who will be there to comfort his grieving widow?" There was an audible slurp. "Or his daughter?"
"Don't you-" Jaune's threat was made inert by a stomping boot. A hoarse cough filled the air as Dirt walked away.
"Go home, Jaune. Before you hurt yourself anymore."
Jaune lay in the baking sun while thinking about how useless he'd been just now. True, compared to a huntsman, Jaune as a civilian held no power over him. Still, simply staying on the ground and doing nothing while scum like Dirt threatened his family like that felt wrong. It felt nothing like what the Rusted Knight would do. But then again, Jaune had none of the power that his fairy tale hero held; he had no gallant steed, nor tempered blade, nor battle-tested armor to aid in his actions.
All Jaune has is a dying body, a walking stick, and probably a few broken bones.
He'd tried telling his father about Dirt, but the man told him to put more effort into improving himself than worrying about what others thought of him. He remembered hearing his sisters whisper about how Dirt came to discuss protection plans for the village while Jaune and their mother were out for a doctor's appointment, and how the huntsman was tossed on his face into the family yard. Obscenities were tossed and shared between the two, but the end result was still the same; Dirt walked away while Jaune's father came inside with a headache.
"Did Dirt come by again?" Jaune moved a hand to over his eyes, his gaze adjusting until he saw his father standing over him.
"Yeah."
"Alright." He then continued to walk forward, stopping only when Jaune rolled himself over to climb to his feet. "Did he hurt you?"
"No." Jaune lied. Better for his dad to focus on the real monsters, or at least the monsters he was actually paid to deal with.
"Then get inside." He growled. "No sense in letting you bake out here."
Jaune followed behind until he was inside, falling into the comfort of the family couch and letting a wince hiss through his teeth. His father gave a glance, but Jaune pursed his lips and looked away. The man was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. He knew Dirt had roughed up his son, but pride was more important to him than a few broken bones. Even if they did make it a little hard to breathe.
"Here." A wooden spoon fell ahead of Jaune's face. "Bite down on this."
"Huh?"
"I'm going to give you a boost. It should last you until your mother gets home." Rather than argue, Jaune took the spoon between his teeth. "One, two, three..." Cold fire washed through Jaune's body as his teeth dug into the hardwood utensil. "One, two, three..." His eyes began to water as he felt his body begin to burn. "Three, two, one." Jaune gave a gasp before pushing himself up and coughing. He gave a few breaths before responding.
"Thanks, Dad."
"If you really want to thank me, you can actually fight in your own battles." He walked away. "I hate lying to your mother like this."
"You could ask for a new huntsman."
"Not a lot of people want to help us, Jaune. We're lucky Dirt even responded at all."
With the rise of Salem came the rise of fear. Fear not only of the Grimm but of one's own neighbor. Worst of all were the people who took advantage of that kindness and began working to aid Salem, either by weakening defenses or by enforcing their own ideals of hatred against certain individuals.
Faunus. Humans. Or those of either who were born with silver eyes. It's truly sad when the Grimm are the least of people's worries, but this was also how the world worked, unfortunately. Desperate times made desperate people, and desperate people made for some desperate pawns.
"How do you feel?"
"Good enough."
"Good enough to what?"
Jaune looked to his father with a fire in his eyes. "Good enough to try."
----------#3----------
Swing. Swing. Stab.
You'd think being trained in the blade would be complex or difficult. However, it's not quite so.
Block. Parry. Counter.
That isn't to say it's easy. Sword training takes years to master, and even longer to prove that one is a master. Jaune's father was no master, but he was at least far enough from a beginner to be able to teach the basics.
Step. Strafe. Leap.
"Again." The mentor told his student. Jaune's father wasn't quite the man he made others believe himself to be. What others saw was a powerful man, traditional, and distanced himself from emotion. When Jaune stumbled and fell on the family sword, or was about to, his father placed his arm between his son and what could have been a waste of an afternoon. 'The wound will heal,' he told his son, 'but the alternative would not.'
Jaune was a fast learner. He picked up on the steps and positions quickly and was sparring before his mother came home. To say she was mortified was... an understatement. However, once she saw that her husband had more wounds than her son, she relented and warned the boys that she didn't want unclean hands touching their dinner.
Training was completed before said dinner, but only after the father spoke to the son.
"A huntsman knows when to hold his sheath and when to hold his blade. A wiser huntsman knows when to hold his tongue."
"I think... I know what that means." Don't be quick to jump into action. That was the lesson Jaune thought his father was trying to teach. However, perhaps as an example, his father didn't say anything. He simply turned and walked away. "Dad? Dad!" His father gave a chuckle.
Dinner tonight was a little different tonight. After seeing her husband and son training, she'd began cooking what she believed to be the perfect recovery meal for the huntsman and his pupil; bread, potatoes, and beef. When Jaune was younger, he'd wanted chicken nuggets for every meal. After three days straight of his request, he wanted little to do with them.
His sisters were surprised to see their sickly older brother sitting at the dinner table with them. One of the twins teased that they thought he'd tried to run away again, making him flush with anger. He was about to spout some childish response to her goading, but bit his tongue, literally, and remembered his father's words of being the wiser huntsman. Slowly, but surely, though, as the eve grew darker outside, Jaune felt like he was part of the family and not some dying relative sleeping upstairs.
Dinner tonight was perfect.
----------#4----------
CRASH!
"C'mout, Arc! It's time you pay up!"
Jaune was hurried into the other room with his sisters by their mother, much to his growing anger at being treated like a child and at the sound of Dirt's voice. He hissed through his teeth at the stinging sensation in his foot. As his mother brought light into the storeroom, she covered her mouth at the sight of blood spilling from the glass embedded in Jaune's sole.
Taking one of the socks in the hamper next to him, he plucked the shard and swiftly tied the sock around his foot. His aura, what little of it, would take care of the rest. His mother wanted to disapprove, but she knew what he did was the right thing to do, as she had taught him. She then counted each head of her children, giving herself a panic at missing two before realizing the eldest had long moved out, and turned off the light. She then moved to the rear of the closet and moved a wooden block aside, firelight glowing through the peephole to the other side.
Dirt had gathered a mob of villagers, leading them as he held a torch in his hand. The group, from what his mother could see, were a few drunkards, thugs, and one or two older couples who had particular opinions about people who weren't like them. Birds of a feather, indeed.
"Your family isn't welcome here, Arc." Dirt warned. "Leave."
"My family isn't leaving." The patriarch argued. "We've protected this village for generations."
"More like stealing from it." Dirt chuckled.
"Letting those animals into our town!" Someone said, not referring to any stray dogs or cats.
"Takin' all our medicine!" Another shouted, face flush from more than just anger.
"Makin' it hard for honest folks like us!" A burly figure lied.
"We don't need a reserve huntsman in this town anymore." Dirt added. "Not when we have a REAL huntsman to protect us from the Grimm."
"Protect us from the Grimm by whipping up a mob into an enraged frenzy? You'll only draw the Grimm to us faster!" He exhaled, gritting his teeth. "Everyone, go home. It's not safe out at night."
"Oh, and why is that? Have you been scheming with Salem herself now?" The crowd grew angrier at the words. Everyone knew of the Mother of All Grimm, and those who believed her to be a myth were soon proven wrong when their homes were destroyed by her children. "I've done some reading, Arc, and I found something quite disturbing."
No response. No need to when you know that the point will be made soon enough.
"That family crest you're so proud of. The one on your family heirloom; it bears a striking resemblance, doesn't it?"
"It's a coincidence." He argued. "Many families share a similar crest."
"Yes, but how many share two moons? Only two families I know; yours and Salem's." The mob was growing louder with discontent. Jaune's father glanced away, looking to the shadows. The torch in Dirt's hand regained his attention. "No getting out of this, Arc! You're going to pay for your crimes.
"But don't worry," Dirt leaned closer, "I'll take good care of your girls~." A fist cracked and sent Dirt's jaw flying a few feet into the air and back into the mob. He gripped his chin and bellowed a shout through broken teeth as he retreated into the throng. "GET HIM!"
Jaune's mother shut the peephole and hurried to one of the drawers, her children keeping their distance. Ripping out socks and underwear and other small fabrics, she lifted a false panel to reveal a set of knives. Each one had a blade that was almost as long as Jaune's entire hand with a handle twice as thick as his wrists combined.
"Jaune, take your sisters and take them up to your room. If worst comes to worst," she swallowed a lump in her throat, "take them as far away from here as you can."
"But what about you, Mom?"
"I'll keep them distracted." The vagueness of her answer made a pit in Jaune's stomach. "Go."
Jaune left the room with tears in his eyes, doing his best to keep them there. Taking his sisters up to his room, carrying the smallest of them in his arms, he pushed himself to climb the stairs as quickly and as softly as possible, though he had to sacrifice the latter to supply the former. Once in his room and all his sisters accounted for, he locked the door.
And collapsed on his bed, wheezing.
----------#5----------
"Jaune!" The twins shouted. The next oldest of the siblings hushed them. If Jaune died, she'd be in charge, assuming she wasn't already in charge. Sixteen years old with dreams more grounded than being a fairy tale hero. She was a better choice to lead than he was, so why had his mother chosen him?
"I'm... fine..." He rasped, pushing his weakened body from the bed. Normally, teenagers refused to leave bed because of how comfortable it was. Jaune, however, physically struggled because he was dying. The boost his father had given him after taking a beating from Dirt was wearing off. The pain in his foot was gone, but the fire in his lungs was burning.
Ring-ting! Ring-ting!
On instinct, the youngest grabbed the bell rope by his bed and tugged. It might have been childlike innocence, or out of desperation for the best to happen, but it might as well have been a dinner bell for the monsters below. The sisters pulled their youngest away while Jaune laid gasping in bed. Summoning what little strength he had, he rolled himself to the floor, meeting the hardwood footing face-to-plank.
"Closet..." Jaune groaned, and his sisters understood immediately. They were about to argue when they heard boots climbing the stairs. Hope reignited in the younger siblings while the elder knew those bootsteps didn't belong to their father. When climbing the stairs, the man would stomp as quickly as possible on hearing the bell. These boots were slow, like someone who was enjoying their approach and savoring every step. Jaune found the strength to roll to his back. He snarled at the girls staring at him. "NOW."
The door came open in splinters, the girls already hidden with their door shut. The twins covered each other's mouths while the eldest daughter in the house covered the youngest's. Jaune couldn't see it, but they all had tears in their eyes. The man who responded was dirt, mouth bleeding but twisted into a wicked smile. He gave a chuckle before pressing his boot into the young man's chest.
"Nothing, huh? I guess you healed up since earlier, huh?" He lifted his foot. "Let me fix that."
Tears spilled from the girl's eyes as they watched their only brother, already dying, was brutalized by someone much stronger than him and any of them. Using her free hand, knife in her pocket, the eldest Arc in the closet kept a tight grip on the twin's collars. Hands full with the other over the youngest's mouth to keep her from crying, however, she was unable to stop said youngest from throwing the knife in a tantrum.
"Huh? Hiding something in the closet for me~?" Dirt sneered. "You shouldn't have~." A hand grabbed his leg.
"Don't-" Jaune's attempt was met with a boot to his head.
"Don't. Don't. Don't." He waved his head in mockery before bending down. "Don't tell me what to do. You should be lucky to have me. I'm the one keeping Salem away. I'm the one keeping the Branwens from coming in. I'm the good guy here." He stood up. "I'm the hero." He turned. "And I deserve a reward for being such a good boy~." He took hold of the closet door handle.
"DON'T." Dirt turned around, finding Jaune on his feet. Surprise lit his face, while the weaker man's face was flush. "Leave. My family. Alone." Dirt gave a snicker before turning and getting in Jaune's face.
"Or what?" Jaune took his knife and sprang it forward, only for the attack to be made inert by the faster huntsman's reflexes. "Whoops. Too slow." Pain seared across Jaune's face as he was headbutted backwards into the wall behind him. "Nice try, but if you're going to stab someone, you need to be faster." Suddenly, Jaune was pinned to the wall by his own knife. Hot air tried to escape, but the pain was too blinding for anything come out.
The door to the closet exploded open as the eldest daughter charged against the huntsman. Catching her by the wrist, he twisted her arm out and away. He clicked his tongue before slugging her into the bed. The twins were next to charge but were kicked away and sent crawling back into the closet, huddling over their youngest and wailing sister.
"Nice try, but I think I'm a little too smart for little girls like you." He looked to the bed where the eldest crawled away. "Oh, don't be like that. I'm not going to hurt you." She snarled as she tried to sink into the wall to get away from him. Unfortunately, her semblance didn't come in just yet. "Now, why don't you be a good girl and-"
Pain flared his vision as something hot across his back. Whirling, he found a wheezing Jaune with knife in hand. Wounded and angry, he began stomping towards the attacker and tried to punch him. However, Jaune ducked and thrusted his hand forward, slicing across Dirt's abdomen. A knee came up to reward Jaune for his failing, sending him sprawling into the back wall. A boot came up to crush his head, only to smash through the wall.
Jaune had a choice to make. Take another hit and die, or flee and grab his parents, assuming they were still alive, and leave his sisters to Dirt's mercy, which he had none. His father's words echoed in his head from training. Holding his sheath was no longer an option when his knife was already out. Holding his blade was also not much of an option when he was already holding the handle. He'd been quiet this whole fight, if it could even be called that, and that wasn't working.
'A wiser huntsman knows when to hold his tongue.'
"Hey, Dirt." The huntsman sneered at Jaune, who had a wheezing smile on his face. "Nice shot, idiot."
----------#6----------
Once upon a time, there was a hero known as "The Rusted Knight". He was strong, brave, and kind. When someone was in trouble, he'd arrive on his noble steed and charge to the aid of those without it. Holding his sword steady in his rusted hand, he kept the monsters of the Ever After at bay. However, he would not stay after victory was claimed, for he would always exclaim... "I am already too late."
Jaune fell down the stairs, keeping his head tucked in as his body became battered from the wooden steps. He uncurled to see Dirt looming from the top step, face flush with anger. He then gave a grin, glancing to the room he just left. Ice gripped Jaune's heart.
"Guess you don't care about your sisters, huh~?" He taunted.
"Guess you don't care that you just lost to a dying kid~?" Jaune called back, before rolling away as boots came flying and stomping into the floor where he was. The plan was working; keep Dirt away from his sisters. However, there was still the issue of not dying; his body was aching, the pain only numbed by the adrenaline of trying not to die as quickly as he already was.
Still, this was fun. "How did you miss?"
"Shut up, you little-" The distance closed again, and Jaune side-stepped this time, thrusting his knife across Dirt's ribs. The flash reminded Jaune of the painful truth; Dirt had aura to spare while he was barely holding on. Another kick had sent him into the couch, the comfy cushions cradling his collapsing cadaver. Another leaping stomp led to him rolling away and onto his feet away from the stomping huntsman. Jaune swung and scraped his blade down the shoulder. Dirt whirled and backhanded the knife out of Jaune's hand. "Gotcha!"
The other hand gripped Jaune's neck and lifted him into the air. He kicked to free himself, but Dirt was unfortunately stronger, taller, and lankier than Jaune was, if the last trait was even possible. He seemed to be looking around before giving a gasp and tossing Jaune into the fireplace mantle. Jaune gave a wheeze before a boot cracked his sternum.
"Now this is the best place for you to die; under that stupid sword your dad brags so much about. He'll come in after dealing with those stupid villagers I sent after him and find his beloved dying son finally doing the thing I've been telling him to do for years." The boot came crashing again, breaking Jaune's ribcage a little more. "Then while he's overcome with grief, I'll come in from behind and kill him." Jaune's arms came up suddenly to block the next blow, only for his arms to be broken next. "Then I'll go after his wife." Blood came out of Jaune's mouth. "Then his daughter." Jaune's vision faded and sound began to dim. "Then I'll sell the rest to..."
Once upon a time, there was a hero known as "The Rusted Knight". He was healthy and strong. When someone was in trouble, he'd arrive on his legs because they never gave out under him, helping anyone he wanted because he could. Holding his sword steady with his strong, healthy hands, he kept the monsters away because he would never die. However, the Rusted Knight is a fairy tale and Jaune Arc was a real person in the real world. And for him, his time was already up.
His vision returned. Jaune wasn't sure how, but he saw his father and dirt fighting in the living room. Kicks swung and were parried, only for the other leg to swing up and strike where his father was unprotected. Pain didn't so much ache across Jaune's body as it burned, but by some miracle, he survived and began pushing himself to his feet. Neither combatant noticed that Jaune was no longer dead and that the living room was in tatters from their fighting. Jaune, however, did notice, and he saw Crocea Mors seated on the shattered coffee table.
Stumbling, Jaune fell and found himself staring into the dusty, old shield. He could see the rust flecking the edges. When was the last time this weapon had been used? The Color War? The Shattering? The Faunus Wars? Before The Brothers? The question would remain unanswered as Jaune took hold of the shield and pulled it from the ground and into his arms. One leg at a time, Jaune stood with shield ahead and took hold of the sheath in the center.
Blind to all else, Jaune Arc charged and his fate became unchanged.
----------#7----------
Crocea Mors.
The Yellow Death.
Nobody is certain where this blade had come from or who even made it. The earliest and current records all indicate that the weapon had been used by the Arc family for generations, but when asked when such a weapon was made, the first records of its use indicate that it was gifted by a servant of the Brother Gods.
Likely an exaggeration, but the results remain the same. It was a blade that never broke. Never yielded. Never rusted. All within a shield that never broke. Never yielded. And never rusted. However, on closer inspection, there was nothing special about the sword and shield as both indeed had rusted with time and nonuse.
The Yellow Death had been used for the first time in years.
Skewered into the back of a dead man...
...By the hands of a dead man.
Dirt and Jaune both slid to their knees with the huntsman leaning forward and falling to the ground while the young man fell backwards and into the arms of his father. The man called to his son, but the name fell on dead ears, same as the wailing cries of his mother and sisters as they entered on hearing their father's shouts. Jaune Arc died, hands cradling his sickly body while warm rain pelted his face.
...is how this story would have ended, if not for the sudden arrival of emergency services. Jaune and his family were quickly taken to the hospital nearby while other reserve huntsmen and huntresses came to the aid of the family patriarch. Word had been sent out for another huntsman to take an active role, but for now, the entire reserve sector would defend against the horrors of the night.
Jaune awoke to the blinding light of a hospital window, the sounds of medical monitoring equipment, the smell of warm breakfast, the sensation of cotton sheets, and the sound of laughter outside his door. He recognized it all; he was in a hospital, the big one outside of the village that he went to once a month to see if his health was improving.
It never did.
Pressing the button to his left, he called for a nurse. Immediately, his mother came in and gave her son a crushing hug. She stroked his hair and wept hot tears onto his skin. She then peppered his head with kisses and cooing soft whimpers of how she was certain this was the end. His father and sisters were quick to enter next, waiting for the actual nurses and doctors of the hospital to respond. After being assured Jaune was fine, the medical staff left and allowed the Arc family to join their matriarch.
"Mom... You're crushing me..."
"Oh, let her be, Jaune." His father chuckled. "She... We were certain this was the end this time."
"You saved us!" The eldest sister called.
"Like a hero!" The twins shouted, raising their arms with their youngest.
"Or a killer." A voice added, entering with his burly hands behind his back... as much as they could be, that is. His hair seemed to match his mustache in both color and curvature. "I take it this is the boy who murdered one of our huntsmen, yes?"
The entire family was quiet.
"Dirt's dead?" Jaune asked.
"Indeed!" The man called, bringing his fingers up to stroke his facial hair. "Killed by a blade through the back, piercing his heart. A blade whose handle is riddled with your fingerprints and with witness accounts from your own family that you killed him." He leaned down. "Such crimes are most heinous, you know, even for a huntsman."
Jaune gripped his bedsheets. "Dirt was a monster. He was going to do horrible things to my mother and my sister and he has no right to call himself a huntsman."
"Well, he certainly can't call himself that anymore." The man stood straight. "Not while he's dead."
Suddenly, everything felt heavy. Jaune had come back from the dead only to spend the rest of his life in prison because he killed a huntsman. He'd heard stories from his father and late grandfather of how corrupt hunters' associations could be, especially in kingdoms like Atlas and Mistral. A dead huntsman killed by a civilian wouldn't go unnoticed, regardless of the circumstances. There were even those who referred to such things as 'The Bladed Wall', an alliance of huntsmen and huntresses who honor a code to protect each other from harm to themselves and their brothers and sisters in arms.
"I'm..." He swallowed. "I..."
"Eye?" The man quirked his brow. "Ball? Socket? Lid?"
"...Brow?" Jaune asked.
"Ah, so you have played this game before~!" The man belted a laugh. "Ho ho~! What spirit you have, young man, despite your..." He picked up the clipboard. "Aura Deficiency Syndrome." He clicked his tongue. "Such a serious illness... for such a serious crime."
"I'm... confused."
"No, you're Jaune Arc, age seventeen, and under investigation."
"Dirt-!"
"-was a stain on the name Huntsman." The man finished. "His death will be mourned by those who knew him personally, but not by the likes of myself and the victims of his cruelty. You acted in self-defense and the defense of your family, the true merit of a huntsman. Ergo, archaic, why I am here."
"Huh?"
"Pack your bags, my boy." The man grinned. "Because you are going to Beacon."
"Even in death, his body did not fall. His figure, taking down enemies while losing half of his head, was truly monstrous. The total number of sword wounds he received in this battle was 267. He was shot by 152 bullets and was hit by 46 cannonballs. But on his proud back and indeed, in his life as a pirate, he did not suffer a single coward's injury!"
Shout out to @krasman for being a real one when I'm broke as hell
Weiss: Yes, and Has, originally as an insult, but now as a matter of pride in her bisexuality.
Blake: Yes, but chooses not to.
Yang: I cannot fathom Entertaining the Idea that she can't. She's a sapphic that catches on fire, the word was LITERALLY MADE FOR HER
Jaune: Yes, And has, but only because he didn't know what it meant so he asked his mom, and when he learned what it meant he washed his mouth out with soap and threw up because he was scared he was homophobic.
Pyrrha: Yes, but won't, both because she personally doesn't want to, and she'd be cancelled faster than Ruby eating a platter of cookies.
Nora: Yes, uses it as both a compliment and an insult.
Ren: Yes, but when he says it he more likely means a bundle of sticks.
Oscar: Yes, but when he says it he more likely means a bundle of sticks.
Emerald: Yes. She hasn't, but she could.
Mercury: Yes, but he thinks he isn't allowed to. Does anyway.
Cinder: Yes. Like Yang, but. Evil.
Neopolitan: Yes, but she doesn't speak, so no? Like, she can speak, she chooses not to, but-
Roman: My Man wears eye-shadow and acts like a theater kid. He can say. Even if he's cishet, I'm giving him a pass for the word.
Qrow: Yes. This man is SO Bisexual, trust me.
Raven: On one hand I want to say no because of vibes, on the other hand I want to say yes because I enjoy Rosebird and Hellbirds, and in a third hand, there's the ones that REALLY ship Rosebird and Hellbirds pointing a .38 Colt Revolver at me, so I think she can say it.
Taiyang: oh he can FUCKING Say it, if it mean she can take me out to dinner.
Summer: oh GODs Yes.
Ozpin: Yes, he can. He won't, but he could.
Glynda: I'm gonna be honest ... I don't think so, not just a faculty member of prestigious school, she's just ... I dunno. Not strong vibes for or against her saying it.
Oobleck: No he can't, and he doesn't.
Port: No he can't, but does because he means a Cigar/Cigarette
Jacques: No, does anyway knowing FULL Well what it means.
Ironwood: No, does anyway but he means a bundle of sticks.
Winter: Yes. She doesn't know she can, but she can.
Willow: Can, has, and will.
Whitley: See; Weiss, but with the understanding he hasn't realized it yet.
Robyn: I'm sorry, this woman is fighting against the Government with a band of other, strong, smart, capable women Of course She can fucking SAY it.
Kali: Yes, Doesn't because she's married to a political figure.
Ghira: Yes, IF IT MEANS HE CAN TAKE ME OUT TO DINNER-
