#huntsman ash

[veiledfox]

@huntsman-ash

"Ash???"

[acourtofquestions]

Fireheart

They had entombed her in darkness and iron.

She slept, for they had forced her to--had wafted curling, sweet smoke through the cleverly hidden airholes in the slab of iron above. Around. Beneath.

A coffin built by an ancient queen to trap the sun inside.

Draped with iron, encased in it, she slept. Dreamed.

Drifted through seas, through darkness, through fire. A princess of nothing. Nameless.

The princess sang to the darkness, to the flame. And they sang back.

There was no beginning or end or middle. Only the song, and the sea, and the iron sarcophagus that had become her bower.

Until they were gone.

Until blinding light flooded the slumbering, warm dark. Until the wind swept in, crisp and scented with rain.

She could not feel it on her face. Not with the death-mask still chained to it.

Her eyes cracked open. The light burned away all shape and color after so long in the dim depths.

But a face appeared before her--above her. Peering over the lid that had been hauled aside.

Dark, flowing hair. Moon-pale skin. Lips as red as blood.

The ancient queen's mouth parted in a smile.

Teeth as white as bone.

"You're awake. Good."

Lovely and cold, it was a voice that could devour the stars.

From somewhere, from the blinding light, rough and scar-flecked hands reached into the coffin. Grasped the chains binding her. The queen's huntsman; the queen's blade.

He hauled the princess upright, her body a distant, aching thing. She did not want to slide back into this body. Struggled against it, clawing for the flame and the darkness that now ebbed away from her like a morning tide.

But the huntsman yanked her closer to that cruel, beautiful face watching with a spider's smile.

And he held her still as that ancient queen purred, "Let's begin."

[c-rose2081]

Legacies Undone: Ashlynn Hunter

Before anyone asks Ashlynn is tan because she’s outside a lot XD if you look close enough I even gave her some tan lines :3

Ash is one of my favorite character designs so I really didn’t want to change her palette at all, just her vibes 🫶🏻 she switched places with Hunter and is now the next Huntsman for Legacies Undone. I actually really like how she turned out even if she somehow ended up being one of the least changed of the cast XD

Yes Hunter is now a prince and is the next Cinderfella 🤭

[the-silent-spring]

"If it was that simple, they would have been found by now. And just who are you supposed to be, anyways?" she asks, silently chiding herself for allowing this guy to get the drop on her like that.

“Go home and stare at the ceiling? Feel sorry for yourself and wonder what went wrong?” At least, most Huntress’s would, anyway.  “It can’t be too hard for a Maiden to hide, right? Just listen for rumors of a young woman winning fights far above her theoretical output and look into that.” Something he’d been doing himself for the last few months. Nothing to show for it of course...

[howi99]

???: *looking at the dagger, the one that saved her life multiple times* One day, i'll thank you for everything you did for me.

*knock on the door*

Sun: Hey Ash? You up?

Ash: *sigh* Yeah Sun, "I'm up".

Sun: Scarlett just finished taking his shower.

Ash: *Groaning while getting up from her bed* I hope he didn't use all the hot water.

Sun: ... Well...

Ash: *sigh even more* Of course he did. *Taking her change of clothes* I'll heat myself a bath, so don't wait for me.

Sun: *nods before leaving her alone*

Ash: ... If it wasn't for him reminding me of Jaune, i would have kicked his ass. Who can't control their teammates shower time? That's rubbish.

Once in the bathroom, she took a look at herself in the mirror while waiting for the bath to be ready.

"Ash": What a joke. False name, false life. *Getting undressed, showing the multiple scars she has on her body* ... They say more and more men like scars on a woman... I hope he won't mind too much. *Looking at the bath, no steam could be seen* Idiots, all of them.

She put her hands inside the water, using her semblance to heat up the water while the crest of Gloucester activate

"Ash": ... I feel the irony in that forsaken crest activating for a god damned bath. What a joke. *Looking at her reflection* With those white hair, i could probably pass for a Schnee. That would be nice...

Once the water was hot enough, she finally entered it.

"Ash": Ah~ nothing beats a hot bath.~

*knock on the door*

"Ash": *irritated* Sun, if you needed to use the bathroom, you should have gone BEFORE i entered the gosh darn bath!

Neptune: *muffled by the door* Nah, it's not Sun. But you told us about your friend, Jaune was it?

"Ash": *now intrigued* Yes?

Neptune: Well, i think he's on the news. Jaune arc, young huntsman-in-training, hurt while trying to stop an attack against the SDC heiress. Apparently, no one else was hurt.

"Ash": ... That does sound like him, alright. *Sigh* so you decided to become a huntsman too...

Neptune: You don't ask how hurt he was?

"Ash": Knowing him, probably nothing major. He and his father are... Sturdy.

_________________

Jaune: Atchou! *Sneeze* Golly, someone must be thinking about me.

Nora: *nudging him* It must be your loveeeer~

Jaune: *laughing* As if! Now, *pan out to him being in a hospital bed with some bandage on his ribs* could you pass me the apple Weiss gave to me? Instead of eating all the quarters by yourself?

Nora: Let me think.... *Eat another one before giving him the rest* Here.

[howlingday]

THE HUNTSMAN

Sun: (Chuckles) Aren't you a little old to be playing dress-up, Jaune?

Huntsman: I- I'm not whoever this "Jaune" is! I'm the one and only HUNTS MAN!

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Huntsman: BEHOLD, EVILDOERS! I am justice's unswerving chaperone! Myes~... THE GREAT HUNTSMAN~!

Jaune: W-Wait? What? Dude, no offense, but... What in the world?

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Ren: Jaune, what's the story with that ridiculous costume of yours?

Huntsman: Not you, too... Doesn't anyone think my costume is cool?

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Huntsman: Well, what do you think, Oscar? Pretty cool, huh~?

Oscar: ...No comment, bud.

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Superman: I fight for truth, justice, and the hope of all people~!

Huntsman: SO COOL~! I guess the other universe has their own defenders of truth and justice!

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Adrian: Look at you, Uncle Jaune~! Awesome costume~!

Huntsman: (Chuckles) I know, right~?

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Papa Arc: Jaune! Just look at you now! What's say we have ourselves a quick fight?

Huntsman: Let us fight, father~!

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Ashe: UGH! Dad, get out of that stupid costume already!

Huntsman: Hey! I've got a secret identity to keep, y'know! ...Also, did you just call me "Dad"?

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Pyrrha: There's something about that outfit, Jaune. The longer I look at it, the cooler it gets!

Huntsman: (Chuckles) Because you know what it means to be a hero, Pyrrha!

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Huntsman: BEHOLD, EVILDOERS! I am justice's unswerving chaperone! Myes~... THE GREAT HUNTSMAN~!

Port: Ho ho~! Excellent posing, Mr. Arc! Enough footage and you'll be greenlit for your own series in no-time!

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Huntsman: Miss, might I say you have got some stellar costume design! Though, I'd say The Great Huntsman has far, FAR greater style, don't you think? Eh~?

Penny: So you fight for your adoring fans, too~? Sen-sational~! I have high hopes for this battle~!

Penny: (Axe kicks Jaune through a building)

[peachdues]

IN THE NETHERWOOD — PART IV TEASER

Werwolf!Sanemi x Red Riding Hood!Reader AU

A/N: it’s been too long, so have a small sneak peek and enjoy the first hint at a major revelation to come in Part IV.

WARNING: major spoilers ahead. Don’t read if you haven’t read Parts I-III.

Sanemi reached to grab her, a worried call of her name falling from his lips in his confusion, but she did not seem to hear him. Not as she marched past him, her eyes focused and determined on his brother, standing helplessly to the side.

“S-sister…?” Genya stuttered, but his question choked off with a gasp as Sanemi’s mate snatched the tattered remains of her ruby cloak from his hands and pitched it straight into the fire.

Y/N stared unblinking and frozen as the flames began to blacken the wool. The younger wolf looked once in alarm to her, and when she did not move, he darted forward, reaching into the fire in an attempt to salvage the garment.

His brother’s movements broke Y/N free of her trance. There was a flurry of movement, and Sanemi lunged for her just as she lunged at Genya with a terrible, furious scream. He just barely managed to catch her, arm locked around her waist from behind to heave her away from the flames before she could be burned. Genya was not spared the same fate, having fished the singed cloak out of the fire with his bare hands before it could be reduced to ash.

Y/N thrashed in Sanemi’s arms, clawing over his shoulder like an angry cat. He had half a mind to haul her back to their den, all-too aware of the dangers posed by her continued exposure to the unforgiving winter air. He adjusted his arm under her thighs, shifting his mate to drape her over his shoulder. Her hands curled into loose fists that she used to pound weakly against his back as she continued to writhe against him.

“Lamb — you’re safe —“ the Huntsman tried to soothe his panicked fiance. He tightened his arms around her, but she only struggled harder, half-whimpering, half-snarling; feral.

Y/N lunged again over his shoulder and flung out an arm, her crippled hand thrusting out a single, accusatory finger.

“Burn it!” She shrieked, and Sanemi twisted his head back to see her pointing at Genya, who remained by the fire, frozen. The skin on his hands burned bright red.

The white Wolf turned toward the fire, his mate still squirming in his arms, though he did not dare set her back down in the snow. Y/N finally stopped fighting his hold on her, but she remained half-over his shoulder, still pointing at Genya, her face contorted with animalistic fury.

Shinobu spoke out, her voice calm and measured in a way Sanemi decidedly was not. “Genya was only trying to help, Y/N. He knows how much your cloak means to —“

Though her lips were curled back in a fierce snarl, there was a petrified glint in her eye that made that primal, violent urge Sanemi had felt in the den roar back to life. “That is how he found me!”

Beneath the stark white of the bandage covering half her face, Y/N’s skin had turned gray. “It has magic — fae magic!”

His blood ran cold.

“Lamb,” Sanemi’s voice was coarse, and he fought to control the trembling in his limbs as he reached to soothe her. “He is gone. We killed him.” He swallowed, hard. “He will not hurt you again —”

“You don’t know that!” She cried, kicking weakly at his thighs. “You said the Fae were gone — but you were wrong!”

Whatever fight she’d had fizzled out, and Y/N sunk against him, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. “There may be more; they may come for you again. Burn it — please.”

Her hand fisted the front fold of his cloak as she buried her face against his collar bone. “Sanemi,” she whimpered, and his heart cracked clean in half “Sanemi, I am begging you — destroy it. Please.”

[princesssarisa]

I like adaptations of Cinderella or Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur that draw on the oral tradition of the heroine giving the Prince a riddle about her identity, based on their earlier meetings when she was in her rags. But which don't have the Prince physically abuse the "dirty scullery maid" in those earlier meetings the way he does in traditional oral tales, and which base her riddle on something else.

In traditional versions of Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur, where the heroine works as a servant at the palace, she typically takes off the Prince's boots for him, only for him to throw them at her, or fetches water for his bath, only for him to refuse to bathe in water touched by such a filthy girl and throw it onto her. (Or some other such things.) Or in some versions of Cinderella, she meets him on the road one day, he accidentally drops his riding whip, and she hands it back to him, only for him to swat her with it just because she looks so filthy and ugly. Then at the ball or at church, when he falls in love with the "mysterious lady" without knowing her real identity, he asks her where she comes from, and she replies that she's from the land of "Boot" or "Bath" or "Pick-Up-the-Whip." This traditionally happens three times over the course of the story.

This obviously doesn't work so well in a more modern retelling, since we're not so inclined to accept a heroine being abused by her future love interest, or a prince who's supposed to be the good guy casually abusing a servant or a peasant girl.

But a few adaptations find substitutes.

For example, Jim Henson's The Storyteller retells the story of Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-of-Fur as Sapsorrow, and has the heroine draw her cryptic statement at the ball from a verbal insult the initially-rude Prince gave her. The second time the Prince interacts with Sapsorrow in her furry disguise, he says that "cats chase mice, hens lay eggs," never the reverse, and that likewise he has (and wants) nothing to do with her. Later, at the ball, when he asks the beautiful princess where she comes from, she says she lives "where hens chase mice and cats lay eggs."

Then there's the classic 1973 Czech film Three Wishes for Cinderella. Cinderella and the Prince meets repeatedly before the ball: both in her ordinary rags, where they exchange some sassing and insults but earn each other's respect, and at a royal hunt, where she disguises herself as a boy and outshoots all the men. At the ball, when he asks her to marry him, she insists that first he answer three riddles: "Whose face is smudged with ashes but isn't a chimney sweep? Who has a feathered hat and a crossbow, but isn't a huntsman? Who wears a gown embroidered in silver, but isn't a princess?"

Then there's the 2011 adaptation of Aschenputtel from the German Christmas fairy tale anthology Sechs auf einen Streich. In that one, Prince Viktor and Cinderella meet twice before the ball: the first time, he accidentally causes her to fall face-down into a mud puddle, and the second time, she accidentally spills a sack of flour all over herself. Both of these scenes are friendly and funny, though of course far from traditionally romantic or dignified. At the ball, when he doesn't recognize her, she tells him that they've met twice before, and that their meetings were "first all black, then all white."

They all capture the essence of the older versions with their cunning, riddling Cinderellas, but without the uglier part.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings

[etruatcaelum]

[ @notbirdnorplane | clark // salem ]

“No more bloodshed.”

Really? How profound. She’d never thought of that before.

Salem eyed the man for a long moment before she spoke, every emotion well-hidden behind an indifferent mask. He didn’t, quite, have the look of a huntsman, although that belied the ease with which he’d mowed the grimm down before she’d come out of the ruined academy to deal with him; she didn’t know him, which meant that he must have rallied to the call for Vacuo’s defense. New blood. Unsurprising, given the circumstances.

More… unexpected… was his decision to pin her to the wall halfway up what was left of Beacon Tower, and then…

No more bloodshed.

Salem let out a dusty little snicker. “I’d like,” she said, “nothing more. However–”

Her body crumbling into a black plume of ash and smoke, she whipped free and shot past him to whirl back together well out of his reach.

“—this,” she intoned, with a sweeping gesture at the ruins below: the tarry, billowing haze of a hundred slaughtered grimm. Her voice sank to a whisper, a blade in silk. “Is hardly an appeal made in good faith.”

And then, colder: “Who are you?”

[bestworstcase]

mankind, salem says, is strong, wise, resourceful, passionate, and ingenious. (she notes “resourceful” twice.) there will be no victory in strength, and notably she excludes “strength” when she lists the traits that allowed humanity to prevail and thrive despite the grimm; ergo wisdom, resourcefulness, passion, and ingenuity are the four virtues she actually values.

wisdom—experiential knowledge and soundness of judgment—choice.

resourcefulness—the ability to analyze a problem and apply what you have intelligently to resolve it—knowledge.

passion—intense emotion and, via christianity, connotatively profound suffering and death leading to resurrection—destruction.

ingenuity—inventiveness and originality, imagination—creation.

these are the four divine qualities she’s talking about, creation and destruction, knowledge and choice, but rather than recite them by rote as ozma does, salem defines what they mean to her, and in doing so she reveals that she values knowledge above all, because she sees choice and destruction and creation as things arising from different forms of knowledge. when she says ‘there will be no victory in strength’ what she means is ‘victory lies in knowing.’

[in ‘the shallow sea’, the god of animals is characterized as sagacious, perspicacious, and veracious—wise, insightful, honest—and fascinated by human adaptability or, you might call it, resourcefulness. do you hear the way this rhymes?]

you have traveled here today in search of knowledge, says ozpin, to hone your craft and acquire new skills. but all i see is wasted energy in need of purpose, direction. you assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. it is up to you to take the first step.

salem believes that knowledge is everything; that it underlies creation and destruction and choice, that it is essential, that without it humanity would have never risen from the ashes the brothers left behind and could never have survived in this unforgiving and unforgiven world.

ozpin states in no uncertain terms that the pursuit of knowledge is a waste of energy. he believes—or at least he would like his students to believe—that knowledge is impotent, that what matters is to be given direction and guided by unerring purpose. what he values is faith, as he tells coco in ‘after the fall:’

Make no mistake, there is a higher power guiding our actions. Call it Fate. Call it Destiny. Call it the gods. Or maybe it’s simply the randomness of existence. Whatever it is, I have to trust that we are here for a reason.

from the very beginning, in plain sight, this story has been about the ideological conflict between one who champions the truth and one who stands for blind faith. the undoing of ozpin’s cause is his decision to lay his hopes on the shoulders of a more honest soul.

the grimm are manifestations of anonymity, pyrrha says. that is why they lack souls, why they are the darkness and we are the light; but it’s about knowing, understanding both dark and light (and everybody has some of both). yet it is the grimm-witch who values knowledge and the huntsman who rejects it.

while ozpin tells ruby that she has to be perfect all the time lest everyone turn against her, port tells weiss that her bad attitude reflects poorly on her and she ought to spend less time worrying about not getting what she felt entitled to and instead focus on honing her skills and becoming the best person she can be. both ruby and weiss take the advice they’re given utterly to heart, winding it into the very core of their selves; ruby drowns, and weiss blossoms.

the subtext has a bullhorn.

[fantasticalchaos]

Wait if you're into both TWST and EAH I REALLY want to know how you think Hunter Huntsman and Rook would interact both having a similar source but different personalities to say.

That’s a good and interesting question anon!

It’s true, both are sourced from the Huntsman. And yet - they’re personalities are different! Rook is more flamboyant, passionate, and outgoing (all while keeping details about himself private). On the other hand, Hunter is more on the reserved side - except when it comes to his romantic gestures to his girlfriend, Ashlynn. (I love Huntlynn sm!) Additionally, Hunter - despite his destiny - despises hunting. Rook, does!

Now into how I believe the two hunters (heh) would interact! (Honestly also using this if any Hunter and Rook interactions appear in my fic at any point) [long post below]

First of all, since Hunter is son of the Huntsman (and considering I love TWST x EAH crossovers), he’s gonna be bombarded with Rook’s compliments and praise. 😆 Saying that he’s honoured to meet the descendant of the Huntsman as he would with the other Ever After High students. How strong and heroic he is! How skilled he is! And Hunter, while does enjoy the praise, he does try to remain humble… at times.

Heck, even when Hunter expresses that he doesn’t desire to hunt (though he loves doing the heroics) of his destiny, Rook is all in for it! “What a pure heart and kind soul you have!” Rook respects Hunter’s decision, and even encourages the latter on whatever he does/has a passion for! While Rook embraces his hunter lifestyle and he doesn’t, Hunter appreciates that Rook doesn’t force him into becoming someone he’s not. Rook & Hunter also have an long and jolly chats on animals! Well minus the dead animals part from Rook– Oh and Hunter trying not know some of the strange feeling on how Rook knows all personal things. He wants to at least be polite to Rook, since Rook doesn’t mean that much harm outside of the stalking and lack of personal space.

I also feel like the two would have some archery competitions on rare occasions. All filled with some friendly banter, and Rook would also gives Hunter some pointers on what to improve on. This surprises Hunter with Rook’s perceptiveness.

As for Rook’s nickname for him (and using a web translator), I’m thinking of Monsieur Amoureux de la Nature (Mr. Nature Lover)! It references Hunter’s love for nature overriding the (h)expectations for Hunter and his destiny. Also Ashlynn’s nickname is Princesse des Chaussons Cendrés (Princess of the Ashen Slippers).

Speaking of! Last but not least: ROOK IS A HUGE SUPPORTER FOR HUNTLYNN! If Hunter asks Rook for any help with setting up any romantic gestures, he’ll be right there! Gushes over the couple with such support! How two beautiful kind souls are perfect together! If this was prior to True Hearts Day, Rook will keep their relationship a secret. He will feel bummed out that he can’t share, but he understands and will wait until the couple will do it themselves. Still… Hunter and Ashlynn do get third-wheeled by him sometimes cause Rook is, well, Rook 😅

—————

“Ah! The love between Monsieur Amoureux de la Nature and Princesse des Chaussons Cendrés is utterly beautiful and heartfelt!” Rook wipes the tears of joy slipping down his face. A giant smile on his face, as he continues. “A romance so pure! So true! A once forbidden love doomed to the narrative, now turned strong and true until the end! Love truly conquers all!!” 🥹

“Thanks Rook!” Hunter thanks him as he scratches his head. “Now can you please leave me and Ash alone for a moment. We’re kind of the middle of something.” 😅

[velidewrites]

Don’t Look Back

Five hundred years ago, the humans fought hard for their freedom in the Great War and won. Now, their former masters seek retribution in a rebellion that grows stronger year by year. When Elain Archeron finds out marrying Greysen Nolan might be the only solution to keep her family safe from the ancient, cruel Fae, she doesn't hesitate to fulfil her duty. What Elain doesn't know, though, is that the man with the fiery hair and russet eyes is not her fiancé, but his killer—and when she finally finds out, well…it will be far too late to turn back.

Chapter 4/15 || Read on AO3 || Go to Chapter 1 || beta'd by @ablogofsapphicpanic

Chapter 4: The Runaway

As much as she hated to agree with anything that came out of Lucien Vanserra’s mouth, Elain was angry. The rage burning in her cheeks felt hotter than the fire flickering at Eris’s fingertips, ready to reduce the tent and everyone inside it to ash as she seethed, “He is no betrothed of mine.”

“The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you,” Graysen—Lucien, she had to correct herself—told her.

“So let me go, then.”

Lucien didn’t even meet her gaze. “Ah,” he said, studying his nails—long and sharp now, Elain realised, so unlike the hands that held her at the ball last night. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Elain gritted her teeth. “Explain.”

“We’re many days from New Prythian, Lady Archeron,” Eris’s voice reached her. She’d nearly forgotten he was in the tent—him and Azriel, who now stood guarding the entrance, hazel eyes not leaving the scene for one second. “We’ve reached Braemar this morning, There’s no turning back.”

She peeled her gaze off of Lucien’s hand, his stupid, handsome face, and made herself look at Eris. “You seem like a man who loves to hear himself talk,” she said to him. “So talk.”

Lucien snorted.

Eris’s amber gaze cut to him instantly. “Something funny, little brother?”

Elain blinked. “Brother?”

Her question was ignored entirely. “There’s just something wonderfully satisfying about watching a human put you in your place,” Lucien crooned, a familiar smile returning onto his full lips.

If I may return the compliment…Your eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen.

He’d spoken these words to her with that smile. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Whatever she had felt—whatever she thought she had felt before when she looked at Lucien was long gone now.

He was a liar—he was such a liar, and Elain had been nothing but a fool. 

Clearly unaware of the turmoil whirring through her mind, Eris said, “One more word, and you’ll be leaving this camp on foot.” He turned to Elain. “Do you ride, Lady Archeron?”

Elain narrowed her eyes on him. “I am not going anywhere with you,” she spat. Then, like a flicker of light sparking in her head, she added, “You’re the Fae rebels the Huntsman has been after, aren’t you?”

They had to be—there were so very few of them left. And if Braemar was indeed where they’d taken her, the three males standing before her like predators circling their prey must’ve been the ones who had made Father give Nesta away to Hybern—and Elain to Rask.

As great as that went.

“Would you look at that, Eris,” Lucien purred, “Our reputation precedes us.”

“All the way to New Prythian, it seems,” Eris agreed, his expression sour. “Wretched place. I never enjoyed coming back here.” He grimaced. “Especially when it was known under another name.”

“You’ve been to our lands before,” Elain told him, the words not entirely a question.

Eris nodded. “I’ve had the displeasure,” he said. “Spring Court. Nothing but nasty beasts roaming everywhere. Terrible leadership.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Some things never change.”

Elain ignored the jab. “And you?” she asked, turning to Lucien.

“First time,” he shrugged, the hard muscles of his arms shifting with the movement. Damn him. “And while I certainly wish it could be my last, Princess, I’m afraid we’ve got some more work to do in New Prythian.”

“I hope by more work you mean returning me to the Manor, because I am not going a step further with the likes of you,” Elain seethed.

The corner of Lucien’s mouth quirked upwards. “The likes of us,” he hummed. “What could you possibly mean by that, little fawn?”

The bastard saw through her again.

So Elain finally asked, “Are you the Fae who killed my mother?”

It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together. These Fae had broken into Elain’s house like it was nothing—like they had been there before. And, since they were the only rebels who had dared to cross onto New Prythian, into her father’s territory…

Eris looked directly into her eyes as he said, “Yes.”

It was strange how one simple word had managed to knock her breath out of her chest—how it replaced all the air with that angry, sizzling fire, begging to be let out like a caged animal.

Elain choked through the feeling. “You did this?” She looked at Lucien. “Did you?” He said he hadn’t been to her lands before, but, in the less than twenty-four hours Elain had known him, he had not been truthful with her once. Why should she believe him?

Lucien met her stare calmly. “Would it change anything if I did?” he asked.

Elain would kill him, she decided right there and then. She didn’t care when, she didn’t care how—hell, she didn’t even care if it really was him who had done it. One way or another, Lucien Vanserra would pay for it—for all of it.

Perhaps she would hire a mercenary—or send an entire guard after him, if she ever managed to return home. Perhaps she would find the worst magical object in her father’s prized collection and use it to do it herself. An enchanted dagger, perhaps, shoved right through his neck.

So Elain told him, forcing that resolve into her trembling tone, “I want to know if the male who ruined my future is the same one who ruined my past.”

Lucien’s brows rose.

“It was me,” Eris said then, once again reminding Elain that perhaps Lucien was not the only male she had to swear to kill.

Her head whipped towards him. “How?” she questioned, jaw tensing as she made herself add, “There wasn’t any blood on her sheets when she was found.”

She had to know. Whatever they’d done to her, she’d repay it tenfold.

A rare thought crossed her mind that Nesta would have enjoyed the newfound bloodlust in Elain. Her sister had always harboured more vindictiveness inside her than Elain, which apparently was something Lucien Vanserra had a talent of bringing out of her. Perhaps she needed to get to Hybern, first—to alert Nesta and her allies, however terrifying they were, of the rebels who dared to kill their family.

If the promise was written on her face, Eris seemed to care for none of it. “Your mother died a lot quicker than she deserved,” he simply said, fixing the cuffs of his immaculate bronze jacket.

“Monsters,” Elain seethed. “You’re such monsters.”

A warning flame flickered in Lucien’s russet eyes. Beautiful, Elain had called them. She cursed herself for a fool once more.

“My brother is many things, Princess,” Lucien said slowly. “But a monster is not one of them.”

Eris’s gaze shot over to Lucien’s.

“And my sister?” Elain asked, dread building in her chest in anticipation of the answer. “What did you do to her?”

Eris’s attention returned to her. “We did not kill Feyre Archeron,” he told her. “Your mother was trouble enough.”

Her throat burned. “I hate you.”

Eris sighed. “I’m sure you do,” he nodded, as though she was nothing but a mere child and he was the one forced to pacify it. “That doesn’t change the fact that we need your help, Lady Archeron, and we will not release you until you give it to us.”

Elain shook her head. “You’re insane,” she told them both. “Insane. Why would I help the monsters,” she repeated, secretly enjoying the way Lucien’s nostrils flared at the word, “who had spent centuries trying to kill every last one of my kind? My own family?”

Lucien bristled, “Liars. Humans have always been such liars.”

Elain’s features were crafted of stone as she faced him again. “You have been lying to me from the moment we met,” she told Lucien. “I don’t ever want to speak to you again.”

A muscle jutted in Lucien’s jaw.

“If you don’t listen to my brother,” Eris interrupted, watching her closely, “Perhaps you could be convinced by an old friend.”

Elain did not have time to question any of them as the flaps of the tent opened, the pale sunlight pouring in through the gap. As a new figure appeared in the entrance and brushed past Azriel, her hair shining like red-hot, molten metal.

That face—Elain knew that face. Had remembered how it lit up in a smile the very last time she had seen it, six years ago before the messengers alerted the Manor of her death.

The Huntsman’s daughter, her death the very first time Elain understood just how cruel the Fae truly were, stopped right before Elain and smiled.

Alive.

Elain swallowed in disbelief. “Vassa?”

***

The camp had been packed up before Elain even got the chance to see it. She had simply been placed in a rather unimpressive, open wooden carriage when a black-haired female appeared in her tent and announced they were ready to depart.

You can save your heartfelt reunion for the journey, Eris had told her then. We need to keep moving.

“I don’t understand,” Elain now told Vassa, trying not to scowl through the pain in her rear as they made their way through the bumpy road. She had ignored Lucien, who was quickly proving a rather unfortunate company, and the smirk still playing on his lips from the first time she’d yelped out in surprise when the carriage went over a rock. “I thought you were dead.”

Vassa smiled lightly, “My father certainly likes to spread that story around,” she told her. “It helps his cause, if nothing else. Truth is, he’s never liked me very much.”

“Does he know you’re alive?” Elain asked.

“He’s heard rumours, I’m sure,” Vassa nodded. “It brings me comfort to know they keep him up at night,” she added, a smirk of her own now curling her mouth.

Elain’s brows knotted. “Your father is a good person, Vassa.” She didn’t the Huntsman all that well, yes, but he was the one who had been keeping the Fae like Lucien away from New Prythian for all those centuries. Mostly successfully.

Vassa gave her a look. “Come now, Elain,” she almost scolded. “We haven’t spent much time together in the past, but I’ve always thought you were smarter than this.” She looked out to the path ahead as she added, “They all want us to think of them as our saviours, but those of us who have broken free of their lies…we know the truth.”

Elain angled her head. “Which is?”

“You’ll find out soon,” was Vassa’s cryptic reply.

“Where is it you’re taking me, exactly?”

Lucien shifted in his seat, reminding her of his rather unwelcome presence. “That is none of your concern,” he said, crossing his arms over his muddy, white shirt. He’d gotten rid of the jacket he’d worn at the ball, his sleeves now rolled up to his elbows, exposing arms so well-built she had to wonder just how many ex-fiancés he had to kill to look that ridiculous.

“I was not speaking to you,” she rudely told him. Then, upon further consideration, “I hope you know this engagement is over,” she added.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “My poor, broken heart,” he mocked, then rested an arm on the wooden rim and returned to brooding in silence.

Good. Elain was quickly finding out she was less aggravated the longer he kept his mouth closed.

“And they tell us to be afraid of the Fae,” she told Vassa. “Are they all such idiots?”

She could have sworn she heard a quiet scoff coming somewhere from the front.

Vassa grinned, clearly hearing it, too. “Oh, yes.”

“I am still here, Vassa,” Lucien grumbled.

Fine. If he so badly wanted to be part of the conversation, she would indulge him. As vexing as Lucien Vanserra was, she could at the very least get some answers out of him. And at best…he could be more useful to her than she'd originally thought.

So she asked, “How did you kill him?” She clarified, in case he really did spend all his free time killing mortal men, “Greysen?”

Vassa turned to Lucien. “I don’t think she wants to hear—”

“I ripped his heart out,” Lucien told her as if he was describing no more than his breakfast. Then, “It was over before he even really felt it.”

Elain looked at Vassa. “I think I’m going to be sick.” 

Vassa’s eyes widened. “Should we stop the carriage?”

Elain nodded. “Plea—”

“We are not stopping the carriage,” Lucien cut in. “The Princess has heard of worse things in her life, Vassa,” he added, his gaze drifting back to Elain. “But that was a clever move, I’ll give you that. Too bad it didn’t work,” he shrugged, that shit-eating smirk returning onto his face.

“I hate you,” Elain told him truthfully, silently cursing all the gods for letting him ruin all her plans again. The open carriage would have been a lot harder to slip out of if it weren’t for his interrupting. 

His smile only grew as he pointed out, “You didn’t seem to hate me at the ball.” 

“And you didn’t seem to be such a—”

“Alright,” Vassa said, her voice rising over the rather unladylike nickname Elain had opted for. “Let’s all calm down, shall we? There really is no need to ruin a perfectly good carriage, especially when we’re going to need it for later.” A look at Elain. “I would appreciate it, though, if you didn’t try any more tricks on us, Elain. As difficult as this one is making it for me to prove, we do mean well.”

“Don’t forget who her father is,” Lucien added, his tone betraying nothing but mockery. “She may not understand the meaning of the word.”

“You didn’t even know him,” Elain spat. 

“I didn’t have to,” Lucien said. “The fact that he married someone like your mother, of all the monsters on this earth, is telling enough.”

“Oh, you mean the woman you murdered?”

Vassa sighed deeply. “There are many things you don’t know, Elain,” she told her. “Everything will be explained once we reach the—” Lucien cleared his throat, and Vassa rolled her eyes once more. “Once we reach our destination,” she said instead, and Elain cursed them both for yet another lie they were feeding her.

“Why should I believe anything he says?” she asked. “Anything you all say? You kidnapped me from my own home, killed my fiancé, and are now taking me Gods know where in hopes of…what? That I’ll help you?” She almost laughed. “Give me one good reason, Vassa,” she told her. “Give me one reason why I should listen.”

“You don’t exactly have any other choice,” Lucien muttered from the front of the carriage.

“Shut up, Lucien,” Vassa told him. “Look. I know this is…difficult to understand,” she started, and the pity in her eyes was enough to make Elain seethe all over again.

“Don’t patronise me,” she accused.

“I’m not,” Vassa pressed. “I was you, once. Did you know why my father sent me to the Wildlands all those years ago?” She scoffed, more to herself now than Elain as she added, “I was getting out of control. His control, of course, and he was not happy with it. He didn’t like seeing my power grow—didn’t like seeing how his court rallied around me, how every hunt I returned from was more successful than the last. His hold over Braemar was slipping right into my hand.” Something like sadness took hold of her freckled features, and the air around them seemed to thicken. Even Lucien’s attention drifted back towards them as Vassa said, “But, at that time, my hand was his own. I was his daughter. Everything I did—all of it—had been to gain his favour. I killed and slaughtered because I thought that, with enough bloodshed spilled in his name, he would eventually claim me as his heir. Hell, claiming me as his child would have probably been enough for me.” Cerulean eyes met Elain’s own. “But all my father saw was a threat. So I became exactly that.”

Vassa continued, “When he sent me to the North under some pathetic excuse of protection from the Fae rebels marching on Braemar, I knew it was to get rid of me. I begged and I pleaded for him to let me stay—to let me fight by his side, to avenge our ancestors and kill the masters threatening our family again. All this time, I had no idea it was us, the humans, living in their ancestral home. That it was my family who had taken that home from the ones who had once been our allies.”

“But my father didn’t let me stay—he forced me onto my horse and, with a legion of twelve sentries who I knew were really my executioners, sent me to the border. The fact that he thought twelve men could hold me down…” A sly smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Then again, my father had always underestimated me.”

Elain swallowed.

“They attacked the moment we stepped into the Guardian’s lands,” Vassa went on, “But the border was empty. He was likely in on it, too. No one in their right mind ever wants to get on the Harvester’s bad side. So when the first of the sentries swung his sword at my neck, there wasn’t a single soul in those woods to help me.”

“Please,” Lucien said, a smile of his own now tugging at his lips. “It’s not like you needed any help.”

Vassa offered him a grin—then turned to Elain, her next words preventing her from analysing how in the hell the Huntsman’s own daughter befriended someone like Lucien Vanserra as she added, “When Eris found me, my hair was sticky with blood and my fingers half-frozen from the snow.” Elain shuddered. “But I survived. The fire he’d cast brought me back from the cold death I was succumbing too. I knew who he was right away—I recognised the magic still haunting the halls of the home I was exiled from.” She shook her head, her curls grazing her collarbone slightly. “He knew who I was, too, and what my family had done to his own. I was dying, defenceless and his enemy. But Eris did not kill me,” she said, “He helped me up.”

“He told me the truth—about everything. Had proven it, too, because as much as I hated my father, I still believed the lies he’d been telling me my entire life. You all showed me another way,” she said to Lucien, a small smile lighting up her face before she turned back to Elain. “I’ve been by their side ever since.”

“And we owe you a lifetime’s debt for it,” Lucien said.

Vassa tilted her head slightly. “There are no debts among friends, Lucien.”

“All this to say,” she said to Elain, “I know why you hate them—why you probably hate me right now, too. But I’ve seen true monsters, Elain, and they don’t look like the males who have stolen you from New Prythian.” That sadness returned to her stare as she told her, “They look like the man whose eyes you see in the mirror every morning.”

Elain studied her face. “And I suppose Eris will show me the truth,” she said slowly—then turned to Lucien. “He is your brother,” she added, remembering the familial term Eris had called him back in the tent.

“He is,” Lucien agreed.

“Older?”

Vassa snorted.

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “You wound me, little fawn.”

“Stop calling me that,” Elain told him.

“As you wish, Princess.”

“Gods, I don’t know which is worse,” Elain grimaced. She continued, though, curiosity getting the better of her, “Eris called you the seventh son of the Autumn Court—the old Braemar,” she clarified. “Would that not make him…” she hesitated, not entirely sure whether the words she’d learned from her old history books were truly a spell of some sorts—a spell that would bring them back to life.

Lucien hummed. “Are you afraid, Elain?”

If she admitted it, he would probably call her something infuriating like little fawn again. So she told him, “No.”

Lucien smiled knowingly. “Then ask me the question.”

Elain pushed through the words. “Is Eris the High Lord of the Autumn Court?”

“Yes,” Lucien simply told her. “He is.”

Elain’s shoulders tensed.

“If it helps, it was a shock to me, too,” Vassa chimed in.

“I thought the High Lords were all dead,” Elain said, hating the quiet hollowness invading her tone.

“He is the last one, as far as we’re aware,” Lucien explained matter-of-factly. “But he doesn’t wish to be addressed as such—not while the humans are still living in our home.” He added, “Our father was killed shortly after the War, and the rest of our brothers followed shortly after. The ancient magic became Eris’s, and he became the High Lord.” A shadow passed through his handsome features. “A High Lord without land, without subjects, without family. As the humans took over, our magic dwindled, too. The things we were once able to do are now all but a distinct memory. Eris will not call himself High Lord until that magic—until everything—is returned to us.”

He looked at Elain. “That is why you’re here, little fawn,” he crooned. “You’re going to help us get it back.”

The carriage halted with the words—and Elain realised the rocky path had finally ended. They had somehow ended up in the middle of a forest, so golden and bright she had to squint before she took it all in—before she noticed the leaves, gleaming with health and all the shades of auburn and red, the wooden pillars forming a circle around the clearing stretching right before them.

A dozen balls of fire cackled to life atop the pillars, prompted by a magic so ancient Elain could practically taste it on her tongue.

“Welcome,” Lucien’s voice sounded behind her, rich and deep, as if brought to life by this strange place, too. “To the Vanserra Hold.”

[c-rose2081]

The Archer

I think Ashlynn is way more fighty in Legacies Undone than in canon. She’s a huntsman, a guardian sort, protecting the people she loves and every living thing in the forest, all while still being a soft spoken outsider with a good heart. She never uses her arrows to kill animals, but to chase off poachers and other hunters, as well as knock things from trees like certain fruits or old rotting bird nests. Don’t mistake though, she’s a near perfect shot and is more willing to have a forest trespasser at the end of her arrow than any other predator.

Naturally she and Hunter are still together and very much in love, but it’s hard as Hunter is now destined to be royalty and Ash feels the weight of possibly being left behind.

[rwac96]

Type: Ask

AU: RWBY AU

Fandom: RWBY

Summary: What If: What if Jaune was the one who fought Cinder and managed to succeed in killing her at the cost of his life?

Meme: What If Meme

The budding swordsman panted heavily, as his Aura crackled around him, signaling that he was on the verge of breaking. Jaune Arc had always wondered why his father and grandfather never pursued being a Huntsman, and now, he was figuring out why. Before him stood an ambered-eyed woman, hands engulfed in flames as she approached him. His ocean eyes shift to his shattered shield, and then towards the approaching woman, the one responsible for the siege. The blonde lets out a battle cry, charging towards the now Fall Maiden.

He met with her fireballs with each swing of his family's blade, but missed a few and felt the intense heat of those attacks. But he kept sprinting. Cinder yells in anger, as she runs towards her opponent, aiming to end the young man. Then, when the flames struck Jaune again, his Aura shattered, causing him to feel the horrific pain of his flesh burning. But despite the agony he was experiencing, he drove Crocea Mors into the woman's heart, who gritted her teeth in hatred.

"A-All that," she said as she spat up blood, grabbing the leader of Team JNPR by the throat. "f-for a rookie strike..."

"A-At least I got you," Jaune chuckled weakly, his pupils shrinking as he felt her hand growing hotter than a humid Summer Day.

The youth falls down onto his knees, as the Fall Maiden uses every ounce of her strength to perform her Semblance: Burning Caress. As flames surrounded the aspiring Huntsman, Two redheads arrived on the scene, despite the intense battle and the Wyrvern that circled Beacon Tower. Ruby Rose, Jaune's first friend, and Pyrrha Nikos, his partner, friend, and confidant, witnessed Jaune Arc's body turning an ominous orange and his entire body is reduced to ashes. All that remained were Crocea Mors, his armor plates, and a cloth of his hoodie.

"JAUNE!!!" The Gladiator recoiled in grief-stricken horror, having just witnessed the demise of her partner, leader, friend, and crush.

"...Jaune...?!" The wielder of Crescent Rose drops her weapon, as her friend's killer falls down onto her front, letting out a lowly moan that she couldn't hear. "....Jaune," tears filled Ruby's eyes, as her pupils began to glow brightly.

The winged Grimm roared, turning its attention to the two young women, as a strange orange light traveled to Pyrrha, noticing the now dead Cinder staring at her with her emotionless eyes. As the Wyvern shrieks, proceeding to charge towards the duo; intending to add more to the already large body count of the Siege of Beacon.

"JAAAAUUUUNEEE!!!" Ruby hollered at the top of her lungs, as a bright, white light erupted from her eyes, blinding both Pyrrha and the Grimm. It engulfed the two students, the dead infiltrator, and the beast in an eerie, blinding, bright silver light.

[howi99]

In a forest near Vale

Emerald: *looking at pyrrha's tournament victory on her scroll* Hey, old man, why didn't you want me to get into a huntsman school?

Ashe: *taking his arrows back from the grimms he and she killed* You mean outside of it not really being necessary since i'm already training you?

Emerald: *nods*

Ashe: *putting them back in his quiver* Remember those guys who tried to kidnap you? The one me and Yuri fought?

Emerald: Yeah, they were creepy as hell.

Ashe: Well, turns out they are plotting something in Vale. And with the Vytal tournament, it's probably not a good idea to have you there.

Emerald: ... Does the city know?

Ashe: Of course, but they don't want to stop anything because of the "profit".

Emerald: But then, why-

Ashe: Yuri spoke with Beacon's headmaster. They are doing an investigation. Remember Qrow?

Emerald: The alcoholic?

Ashe: *nods* Yeah, him. Well, we might have to work with him in the very near future.

Emerald: Oh? We're helping Vale? I thought you said you didn't like the city?

Ashe: *laugh* True, but i can't just let innocents bystander die, can i?

Emerald: You could. You won't, but you could.

[howlingday]

Ask

Everyone goes back to beacon during the reunion. Jaune was voted most likely Die in his class.

Q to everyone in the reunion. Watching the news as jaune the rusted knight. Medal gear rising rules of Of nature a gigantic grimm.

"Wait, wait, so you were The Rusted Knight the entire time?"

"Pretty much." Jaune shrugged, taking a sip of his fruity beverage. Shade Academy, despite the rumors and tales told from his close friends, was still an academy for students and just as strict for being so. Not that he was complaining, since he never really got into the harder drinks, partially because of Ruby's uncle. "That's not even the craziest thing to happen." Everyone gave him a weird look. He scratched his cheek. "Okay, it was, but it's not the last weird thing to happen to me."

"What was it?" Velvet asked.

"While we were making our way to Shade, we ran into some Grimm, these huge worms with big ol' red eyes-"

"Blind Worms." Everyone said in unison.

"Oh, uh, you guys know about them, too?"

"We've been in Shade for a while now, dude." Neptune answered.

"Some of us longer than others." Sun added.

"I was actually eaten by one." Coco said, drinking from her canteen. It could have been coffee, or it could have been soda. Jaune wasn't sure what Coco's tastes were. "Pretty dark in there."

"Tell me about it." Jaune said with a sigh. "Thought I was going to die for a minute, which would have sucked since I just came out of the Ever After."

"How did you get out?" Cardin asked with a quirked brow.

"Did the Vomit Boy induce vomiting?" Russel sniggered before being elbowed by his leader.

"No, I just kinda... cut myself out." At this, everyone glanced at one another before passing a judging gaze at him. Sure, Jaune had grown since his departure from Beacon. Everyone saw the message Ruby sent out AND the video beforehand of Jaune fumbling with the camera controls, but they paid less attention to how much he'd physically changed and saw that he was still the lovably dense goofball that was Jaune Arc. He might have changed, but, at his core, he stayed the same. "What are you guys looking at me for?"

"If you were small enough to be eaten by a Blind Worm, then there's no way you could have just "cut your way out." No offense, of course." Neptune said.

"It's true, though!"

"Yuh-huh! I even have the video!" Everyone turned to see Jaune's team, Nora and Ren, standing by, with the former holding a scroll out. "Ren and I got the whole thing on our scroll!"

"I got it on my scroll." Ren clarified, tapping the screen to unlock it and prove that it was indeed his scroll in his girlfriend's hands. "Nora provided commentary while she fired mortar shots at the Grimm around them."

"Enough yapping!" Nora shouted, tapping the now unlocked scroll. "Check out my sick as hell fearless leader!"

The video played and, just as Ren had said, Nora was shouting profanities and making... disturbingly cheery remarks as the Grimm had been blown to pieces. In the distance, Team RWBY and Jaune were being surrounded by the Blind Worms while a huntsman team was dispatched to assist after almost an hour of fighting. The smaller ones were easy to dispatch, but a much larger one was taking potshots with its acidic spit from a distance. Jaune then broke from the group to engage the larger one alone, but soon realized none of the smaller Grimm were following him.

The sand beneath Jaune began to shift until he was then swallowed whole by the larger Blind Worm. The massive Grimm then dove back down, taking Jaune with him. The camera began to shake as you could hear Ren grinding his teeth at the sight. Faint whispers of, "Come on, Jaune" were uttered for everyone to hear. By the third iteration of the chant, the worm emerged once more, letting out a howling scream as it was sliced in half. Unlike the other instances when this happens, in which the Blind Worm would retreat to grow into two more Blind Worms, the titanic creature began to fade away into dust and ash from being sliced in half longways across its entire body.

It was at this point that the backup huntsmen arrived and Ren screamed "HOLY SHIT!" for everyone to hear. Cardin and Russel mocked the exclamation for a bit, but this didn't detract from everyone sharing the same reaction as they all looked at Jaune.

"Did we miss the video?" Ruby asked, running up to the group.

"You've already seen it a thousand times." Weiss groused as she followed behind. "How many more times do you need to see the same thing?"

"At least a thousand and one." Ruby replied, after thinking about it for a few moments, earning a groan from her partner.

"It's really not that impressive, Ruby." Jaune shrugged. "Pretty sure you could pull that off ten times over." At this, the group erupted into a mixture of emotions, ranging from guffaws of disbelief to outcries of disparages to uproarious laughter at the strangely humble and awkward Jaune Arc.