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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 3 years

Note

Hi love!

Can I please beg for Tangled Geraskier?

Rapunzel Jask. You know I’m a sucker for angst so including the scene where he cuts her hair would slay me 💖💖💖💖💖

TYILYYYYY

Hello, Stina dear! Sorry this took me actual months to write, but it broke me out of my writer’s block and for that I am eternally grateful.

I chose several pieces of the Tangled narrative to write Geralt and Jaskier into... enjoy!

2k-ish words (please leave me comments I’m so tired my dudes)

tw: blood, injury, major character (near) death, if you’ve seen Tangled you’ve seen this

---

“So,” Jaskier smiles playfully up at the thief sitting beside him. “Roger Eric, huh?”

Geralt rolls his eyes but Jaskier catches the flush that settles high on his companion’s cheekbones. “It was… It’s a long and boring story about a lot of sad little children that I’m sure you don’t want to hear on such a lovely evening.”

Jaskier scoots closer, until the sides of their arms are pressed too tightly together for even a slip of paper to slide between, and leans his weight against the thief. He bats his thick eyelashes and pouts his lip in a way that always seems to work with his Father. “C’mon, Geralt, please won’t you tell me? Just one little story? I told you about my magical hair, after all.”

“Hmm,” the thief glares dawn at the doe-eyed blonde for a moment before nervously clearing his throat. “Fine. I… I got the name Geralt of Rivia from a collection of short stories that I used to read the other boys at the orphanage in Kaedwen; they were all about this knight who was loyal and brave and courageous despite his hideous appearance. He was rejected by princesses and noble women but was beloved by the people. Having been born with white hair… well, a lot of the folks that came looking for children thought I was under a spell or curse so…. I wasn’t their first choice for adoption.”

“You and Geralt were a lot alike, then. Different. Special… Kind.”

“I wouldn’t say I was spe-”

Jaskier’s hand darts forward and his long, slender musician’s fingers grasp Geralt by the wrist. The fledgling bard clings onto his escort tightly, his large blue eyes suddenly brimming up with tears. “Don’t you dare say you aren’t special, Geralt Roger Eric whatever your surname really is. I’ll never forgive you if you spew such nonsense where my delicate ears can hear it.”

Geralt swallows thickly and glances away. Jaskier always looks so sweet and sincere; the features on his boyish face flicker in and out of focus as patterns of light thrown by their small campfire play across his pale skin. His gaze is intense, focused on Geralt and Geralt alone. The thief panics and asks: “What is it, Jaskier? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You saved me, you know. You saved me from those men back there at the inn, you saved me from being trapped in the tower all my life, you saved me from getting lost in the forest, you… you’re a good person, Geralt. Don’t let the world or the Captain of the Guard or anyone else change your mind, do you understand me? You are-” Jaskier’s hands scrabble frantically to grasp Geralt’s, as if the white-haired man might disappear entirely if Jaskier so much as loosens his grip “- you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me since I’ve been locked in that foul, awful tower!”

“Well I…” Geralt clears his throat again. He stands slowly, disentangling his hangs from Jaskier’s as he takes a slow step back. And then another. “I should go get more firewood.”

Despite the uneasiness in their parting, Jaskier smiles after him.

The momentary spell cast by their closeness is only broken when Jaskier hears a familiar voice from just behind him: “Well, I thought he’d never leave!”

The blonde jumps up from his seat and spins on his heel to face the black-cloaked wizard. “Father? How… How did you find me?”

Stregobor wraps his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and squeezes so tightly that it feels more like a threat than an embrace. “It was easy, I simply followed the sound of absolute betrayal.”

Jaskier flinches and tries to pull away but cannot yet escape.

“I just brought you this,” his Father continues. He finally releases Jaskier and hands his son the worn leather satchel he’d found hidden in his tower. “If this Geralt creature really is the man you think him to be -and don’t deny it, little flower, I can read your thoughts- give this back to him and see how long he stays.”

“Father, I-”

“Goodbye, my child. See you soon, I’m sure. Just remember that Father knows best!”

And in a swirl of black smoke and confusion, Stregobor disappears.

---

“Why do you look so scared?” Geralt asks. He slows the small gondola he’s rented to a stop, turning it slightly more to the side so that they have a better vantage point to see the lanterns spread over the harbor from the city. Jaskier sighs deeply and shakes a stray flower petal away from his eyes, the enormous golden braid shifting ever-so-slightly against his shoulders.

“I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years,” he says softly. Nervously. “What if… What if it’s not what I expected? I’m terrified to see what it all looks like up close because what if it doesn’t meet my expectations? What if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“It will be,” Geralt replies without thinking.

“And what if it is?” Jaskier queries, voice growing frantic. “What if it’s even more spectacular than I could have ever hoped? Then my dream will have been fulfilled and I’ll just… go back to the tower again.”

“You’ll just have to find a new dream, I guess,” Geralt offers. When Jaskier settles down into the boat a bit more comfortably and smiles shyly back at him, the thief knows he’s hit the right mark for once. Behind Geralt, the first lantern lights up the sky. Jaskier gasps and points, eyes wide and sparkling with excitement; Geralt is utterly enchanted by his easy beauty. The thief digs two paper lanterns out from beneath his seat and offers one to Jaskier, giddy when he grins even more excitedly than before. “I got this for you… I hope you like it.”

“Oh, I love it! And I have something for you, too.” Jaskier turns and pulls something from behind him. The bardling hands Geralt his very own satchel, which the thief briefly accepts and then drops to the floor without a second thought. The anxious blonde musician beams over at him more gloriously than the midday sun and then turns away, blushing a sweet shade of pink. “I should have given it to you earlier, but I was so scared… and now I’m not! I’m not scared anymore!”

“Good,” Geralt smiles back. He’s elated. It feels as if his heart is glowing twice as brightly as any of the lanterns floating past and around them. “That’s very good.”

I know what my dream is now, Jaskier. Now that you’re here by my side I never want to see you frown again. You don’t deserve to be hidden away in a tower where your art is stifled… even if you don’t want to love me back in that way, I’ll still protect you. I want to see how you see the world, Jaskier. I lo-

“Geralt! Look! That one has runes painted on it, what does it say!?”

---

Geralt pulls his daggers from his belt but before he can stab them into the craigy stone wall and begin his ascent, the familiar tresses of Jaskier’s long golden hair topple down to reach him. Thank fuck, he’s still alive.

“Jaskier! I thought I’d never see you again!” he calls as he grabs hold of the thick blonde strands.

The thief climbs quickly, his arms and legs nearly cramping with the effort to hurry back to Jaskier. As he hauls himself through the large window and into the tower proper, however, he’s met with a confusing and unsettling sight: Jaskier stands across the room, a cloth gag pulled tightly between his teeth, his hands manacled together behind him. A short length of spare chain attached to the manacles keeps the frightened, struggling blonde tethered against one of the building’s thick support beams. Someone had knocked down a mirror or vase during the previous fighting; shards of pottery and silver lie scattered across the floor, working as a weak barrier to keep Geralt away from the bound man. Jaskier screams out in warning as their eyes meet: “Ghmphh!”

If Jaskier is being held captive then who let his hair do-

Before Geralt can finish fully forming his question, a bright flash of pain arcs out from his side and sends him toppling to his knees. A wet, sticky heat begins to spread from a spot beneath his ribs and when he presses his hand against his shirt it comes way red.

Oh. Oh, no...

He hears Stregobor’s voice addressing the sobbing blonde, “Now look what you’ve done, Jaskier.”

Geralt collapses to his knees and then falls to his side, curling up in the fetal position and clutching at the wound as if that will be any help at all. He knows he’s doomed, but there must be some way for him to help Jaskier… to save his… his love.

“Don’t worry, little flower, our secret will die with your little thief, here, and then we’ll be safe again. Just the two of us.”

Jaskier keens loudly and the sharp, desperate sound of it makes something deep in Geralt’s heart ache. The younger man pulls and yanks against the chains that hold him in place, his bare feet slipping against the polished floor as he tries and fails to reach the wounded Geralt.

Stregobor yanks at the lead, pulling Jaskier back harshly by the arms. The young musician’s shoulders burn with the strain of it but Jaskier pulls forward anyway, uncaring. He must save Geralt, he must. The wizard tugs him back again, more roughly, and the jarring movement loosens his gag. He spits it from his mouth and cries out: “Stregobor! Strego- Father, listen to me!”

The wizard pauses, his interest piqued by Jaskier’s use of the word Father given the circumstances. “Yes, child?”

“Father,” Jaskier pants, turning to look at the man who’d held him captive for eighteen years. The man who kidnapped him from his cradle and forced him to grow up without the love of his real parents. The man who had, mere moments ago, stabbed the love of Jaskier’s life with the full intention of killing him. “I want you to know that I won’t stop fighting you. Every moment of every day for the rest of my life will be spent trying to get away from you. I will scream and kick and struggle and yell and you will have to keep me caged away as a bird or a mouse to make me stay by your side unless-” Jaskier pauses to take a breath, his shoulders sagging as his gaze drops submissively to the floor between them “-unless you let me save this man. Let me save Geralt’s life and I will follow you all around the Continent without a single word of complaint. I will never attempt to run away or hide from you, not once. Everything will go back to being exactly like it was before, Father, I swear on his life.”

Stregobor considers for a moment.

He nods.

“Alright, then. Let’s be quick about it, little flower.”

He removes the shackles from Jaskier and clamps them tightly around Geralt’s wrists instead, securing him to the bannister at the foot of the stairs. To keep him from following us, he remarks offhandedly.

Jaskier pads his way across the floor as quickly as he can in his bare feet and falls to the ground at Geralt’s side. He pulls the wounded thief against his side to steady him and gathers two heavy handfuls of his own long hair. “I’m so sorry! Everything is going to be okay now, Geralt, I swear it.”

Geralt shoves his hands away weakly, “No, Jaskier.”

“You have to trust me, Geralt, I-”

“I c-can’t let you d-do this,” Geralt grunts, teeth gritted against the pain.

Jaskier stares down at him, tears already gathering at the corners of his sky-blue eyes. His voice trembles when he whispers, “And I can’t let you die. I won’t let you die.”

“But if you do th-this then you-” Geralt coughs and Jaskier wipes a trickle of blood away from the corner of the thief’s mouth “-you will die.”

“Shh,” Jaskier quiets him, dropping one fistfull of blonde tresses to cup Geralt’s face instead. “Everything will be alright.”

Geralt smiles sadly up at Jaskier, his decision already having been made. He lets the back of his knuckles ghost across the musician’s peach-soft cheek. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut for a moment and then open again, curious. “Jaskier, I…”

The thief uses the last of his strength to push up into a sitting position. The hand on Jaskier’s face slides back and gathers his hair at the back of his neck. Geralt’s other hand comes up, a shard of glass gripped tightly in his fist, and slices through the long blonde strands. He watches as Jaskier’s hair turns from radiant gold to chestnut brown. Geralt falls back with a short, sharp sound of agony, his vision already fading around the edges. The shard of mirror, dagger-sharp around the edges, clatters to the ground beside Jaskier.

“No!” Stregobor screams, gathering up an armful of Jaskier’s still-blonde hair. The golden hue is already fading, shifting to match the short brown hair still fluffed around his head. The lost prince watches with wide, horrified eyes as the wizard trips over a loose floorboard and goes careening out the open window.

More worrying than his kidnapper’s death, however, is the man lying in his arms, breathing shallowly. Jaskier gathers Geralt close, tucking the thief’s head against his neck and wrapping his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. “No, no, no, no, Geralt. Stay with me, okay? Stay with me, right here.”

He grabbed at Geralt’s hand, holding it against the top of his head as he sang desperately. “Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse, bring back was once was mi-”

“Jaskier!” Geralt says, pulling his hand down to cup the prince’s face. He can feel his limbs growing cold and numb, distant from him and out of his control. “You… You were my new dream.”

Jaskier sobs, clinging to Geralt with all he’s worth. “And you were mine.”

Geralt manages to smile up into those beautiful blue eyes one last time. And then the world goes dark and his hand falls to the floor, limp.

---

Jaskier buries his face in the crook of Geralt’s neck and screams. He throws back his head and howls like a wounded animal, his heart shattering to pieces within the confines of his chest cavity. Then he quiets himself down, adjusts Geralt’s body on his lap, and finishes the song the way he’s been taught to do: “Heal what has been hurt, change the Fates’ design, save what has been lost… bring back what once was mine.”

A single tear falls from his eye and lands on Geralt’s cheek. A cheek that will never blush again, never turn up in a smile, never-

A faint yellow glow catches Jaskier’s vision, just from the corner of his eye. He turns his head to look at Geralt’s wound and gasps: the outline of a golden flower covers his abdomen, glowing so brightly that Jaskier must hide his eyes and turn away to keep from being blinded. When the glow fades enough that can safely look back again, Geralt’s wound is gone and the blood that was once staining his jerkin has disappeared.

He leans over the white-haired thief with bated breath, waiting for a movement or a breath or something… anything.

After a long moment, two honey-hazel eyes blink open. Geralt inhales quietly and then asks, with the sweetest smile Jaskier has ever seen in all his eighteen years of life, “Did I ever tell you I had a thing for brunettes?”

Jaskier squeals with glee and throws himself into Geralt’s waiting arms, pressing their eager mouths together for the first kiss of their Happily Ever After.

#geraskier #geraskier tangled au #rapunzel jaskier #flynn ryder geralt #geraskier fluff #geraskier getting together #bouncey's endless au collection #protective geralt #soft geralt #geralt whump #tangled #blood mention #blood tw #injury tw #death but only for a minute #tangled au #goob prompt fills

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victoria-daydreams · 3 years

Text

Till Kingdom Come

Chapter Thirteen: A Simple Lover’s Quarrel

AN: Can’t believe I abandoned this story for two, three months. Then again, I only got three notes on the last chapter so that was a little disheartening which made me want to take a break. But I’m back now and slightly reinvigorated to write again.

Word Count: 4.0k

Trigger Warnings: offensive language, racial slurs, racism

Taglist: @nerds4life246, @leahnicole1219

Chapter Fourteen: Welcome Home, Sabine Freemen

"Really Miss Jones, you didn't have to go out of your way to check on Mama," Emile stated.

In all her years, Sabine had carried out worse plans before than the one she hastily concocted last night in bed.

Sabine smiled a little, "I was concerned, your mother seemed so wound up yesterday and I felt obligated to check on her well being," she explained.

"How did you find our home?" Emile asked, tilting her head slightly.

"Well, your mother had said your first name and then your surname. I put two and two together and... " Sabine answered, before trailing off as Emile raised her eyebrows in anticipation. "Let's just say I'm an extremely determined young woman," she finished, with a nod and smiling slightly.

Just then, a maid entered the parlor room holding a silver tray in her hands. Another maid followed behind her, with saucers for milk and sugar. Emile had them place the trays on the table and dismissed them with a gracious smile.

"Miss Jones, would you care for tea?" she asked, taking the teapot in her hands.

"Yes, please," Sabine responded.

She looked around the sitting room, the home seemed quite similar to their hideout in some aspects. And in others, well, it was quite clear the immortals didn't have a decorator come in and acquire furniture in some expensive European store in Philadelphia.

"You have a lovely home Miss Freemen," Sabine commented, bringing her attention back to her older sister.

"Actually, it's Mrs. Freemen," she corrected, a soft chuckle escaping her. "You wouldn't believe how many other Freemen's you'll meet in New York," she added, as she finished pouring the amber liquid into their cups. "Thank you though, this home is big enough for Mama, Papa, and my family," Emile stated.

"Your father?" Sabine questioned, trying to keep her best poker face at the revelation.

"Mhmm," Emile hummed, stirring her sugar and milk into the tea. "It is quite an improvement from a raggedy slave shack, wouldn't you say?" she asked, lifting her cup to her lips and Sabine could only nod. "Papa didn't think he would live to see the day that colored folks would be able to live as dignified citizens of this country, and hold a dignified job being dressmakers," Emile explained, bringing her cup down.

"And here you are,"

"And here we are,"

"Do you have any more family?" Sabine asked curiously, as if Emile wasn't literally talking to her sister.

"I have a husband named Lee, he's out of state on a business trip. I have two sons, Jimmy and Phillip. My oldest, Phillip, lives in Chicago and practices medicine. Jimmy, he's about your age. He's down in D.C. studying at Howard University, he'll be home soon. Lastly, I have...had a..." Emile said, her voice lowering.

"A younger sister?" Sabine supplied quietly.

"Yes," she whispered, placing her teacup and saucer down onto the table with a soft clack. "Sabine, she was only five when she was taken from us, Mama never forgave herself," Emile stated.

"But why? Your mother can't possibly blame herself for her child being ripped away from her," Sabine said.

"You see, the day that Sabine was taken, we were supposed to runaway at night and go up North," Emile explained. "Mama has agonized over the question of 'what if we left the night before?' ever since," she finished, her mouth drawn into a thin line.

"I'm sorry about your sister," Sabine said softly. "Do you think she's alive still?" she questioned, trying to gauge Emile's reaction.

"In my heart, I want to believe that's she still here, that she escaped. But, my mind is also telling me to be logical, and that is no, little Sabine didn't survive enslavement," she replied. "She could be a feisty five year old, you know?" Emile said, a watery smile on her face. "And feisty slaves don't last long on plantations," she reminded grimly.

It was quiet after Emile's haunting statement, Sabine felt as though she lost her appetite. A feisty slave she was, and Emile was right, they don't last long. Sabine knew from firsthand experience. Suddenly, the door opened and Emile and Sabine both jumped back from the table slightly.

"Mrs. Freemen—"

"Goodness gracious," Emile breathed, placing her hand on her chest. "You scared the living daylights out of us," she laughed, and shook head.

"A'm sorry ma'am, but there's an ofay-I mean, white man at the door," the maid announced. "He said he's here to collect Miss Jones and return her home," she continued, glancing over at Sabine.

"Thank you, I'll see my guest to the door," Emile responded, the girl bowed her head and left the room again.

"I presume that this is the same ofay from yesterday?" Emile questioned, a knowing smirk on her lips.

Sabine laughed softly, "Yes, it is," she admitted. "But in his defense, Mr. Greene is alright for an ofay," she joked, standing up from her seat.

"Is he your husband?" Emile inquired, lifting her brow as stood as well.

"No," Sabine answered quickly, a nervous chuckle coming from her. "Thank you for hosting me Mrs. Freeman-"

"Pfft," Emile said, waving her hand. "Please, call me Emile,"

She smiled, "I know I showed up to your home uninvited and completely unexpected," Sabine stated, offering her hand for Emile to take.

Sabine waited for the woman to take her hand, but instead Emile softly grabbed her by the shoulders and kept her at an arms length.

"You know, I can see why Mama could mistake for you for our Sabine," Emile commented, tilting her head to the side. "You do have my sister's eyes," she mused, sighing wistfully. "Do come back and visit us again Miss Jones. I would love for you to meet the rest of my family and reintroduce to Mama when she's less hysterical," Emile joked, removing her hands from Sabine.

"I would like that, very much!" Sabine stated, vigorously nodding her head. "And please, you can call me Edith,"

~~~x~~~

Josef and Sabine strolled through Central Park arm in arm, passing a duck pond as they went. The park was fluttering with life: little girls playing hopscotch, children rolling hoops, nannies pushing baby carriages, couples walking together, and a policeman patrolling the area. Silently, he sent Josef and Sabine a pointed looked as if to wordlessly say, he's watching them.

"How did it go yesterday?" Josef asked, directing his attention towards Sabine. "Was it bad? You practically locked yourself in your room once you got back," he pointed out.

Sabine twirled her parasol, "No, actually it all went really splendid," she answered, smiling wistfully. "It was just a little overwhelming, as one could imagine. I needed some time to myself, that's all,"

"And did you tell Booker about your plan before you took off yesterday morning?"

Sabine shook her head, "Look, I came back in the afternoon and he wasn't there-" she started.

"Yes, because he was searching like a madman to find where you gone," Josef cut in, lightly chuckling.

The sound of a crack of the bat could be heard far off in the distance, a game of baseball was being played as spectators cheered in encouragement.

"I wrote down my sister's address and handed it to Nicky for when Bastien inevitably came back home," Sabine continued, tilting the parasol to shield her eyes more. "And he did," she finished.

"That must of been an interesting walk back home," he commented, with a grin.

"I told him, if he had nothing nice to say then I rather not hear him say anything," she replied. "I suggested he air his grievances elsewhere," she said.

"Oh, he did," Josef smiled, nodding his head.

"What did he say about me?"

"In short, he said what you did was rash, irresponsible, and above all else," he listed, lifting a finger in the air. "He was afraid that your expectations were set too high and that you would be heavily disappointed with what you found,"

"Aww," Sabine smiled. "Even when Bastien is angry with me, he still looks out for my best interests. It warms the heart," she said, giving her parasol another twirl.

"Of course he would, he does love you, you know," Josef replied.

"Yes, I know," she laughed softly.

"Now, I'm going to go that ice vendor to see if I can convince him to let me buy two lemon ices," Josef stated.

Sabine followed his stare to a plump, middle-aged man that had a straw boater on top of his dark hair. A handlebar mustache adorned his face and was waxed to perfection.

She looked back at Josef, "I bid thee good luck then," Sabine joked, as she unlinked her arm for his.

Shooting her a grin, he tilted his brown hat towards her before walking off to the vendor leaving her to her own devices. Sabine subtly rocked and forth on her feet, watching people moseying about on the promenade. She made the unfortunate mistake of making eye contact with an older woman who scowled at her almost instantly. Sabine averted hers eyes away and in the direction of little boys playing marbles, the last thing she needed was some old, white woman making a scene over a supposed slight against her.

Suddenly, a grimy hand gripped Sabine by the wrist and she whipped her head around.

It was a haggard man dressed in a tattered Union army uniform, his hair matted and she could see a wild look in his eyes.

"Spare a penny for a vet ma'am?" he asked, his gray irises boring into her.

Sabine glanced around in a futile effort for help, even if "help" did come, she would not be on the receiving end of it. She returned her stare towards the vet, her eyes widening when she realized the left sleeve to his soiled jacket did not house an arm in it, he was an amputee.

"I-I uh, don't have anything to spare, I'm sorry sir," Sabine said, trying to wrestle her wrist from his grip.

His grip tightened, "What do you mean you don't have change to spare?" he questioned, growing angry. "I fought for your people to be free and this is how you repay me!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry sir but I don't have anything to give," Sabine repeated, successfully snatching her wrist away.

The vet sneered, "Uppity negro bitch!" he spat, before hobbling away to beg elsewhere.

Sabine placed her hand on her chest to still her pounding heart, briefly closing her eyes and exhaling deeply.

"Look at what I got!" Josef cheered happily, his voice approaching her. "Two lemon ices, I think my Italian impressed the vendor, he's probably never seen a colored man that spoke the language fluently," he chuckled, as Sabine reopened her eyes. "It's not Delmonico's, the lucky bastards," Josef continued, referring to Nicky, Andy, and Bastien who were meeting someone that had work for them. "Sabine, are you alright?"

"Better now, I was accosted by a man-"

"Where is he?" Josef cut in, his expression turning serious.

Sabine closed her parasol and hanged it from her wrist, "Don't," she warned, taking the frozen treat from him and linking arms. "He's a homeless war vet and white, you're not going to win this fight," Sabine stated, patting his bicep.

"I was just goin-"

"No, what we're going to do is imagine all the meals we would be eating right now if we were allowed into Delmonico's," Sabine corrected, looking up at him expectantly. "I'll start, I want lamb chops, whole plates of them,"

Josef turned away from her and looked down the path in hopes of finding the assailant, but he was long gone, lost within the crowd of people.

Sabine tugged on his arm, "Indulge me, please," she said softly.

He sighed heavily and began leading her away, "I want a steak," he stated, making Sabine giggle. "A big, juicy steak,"

"And what would you have with that steak of yours?" she asked curiously.

"Oh, the creamiest mashed potatoes one could dream of,"

~~~x~~~

Within the time frame of less than a week, this evening marked the night that Sabine was going to meet the rest of her family. During her afternoon tea with her sister yesterday, Emile had told Sabine that her husband and son were both coming home today and she wanted her to meet them. Not to mention, Emile had also believed that enough time had passed that Mama had recovered from the shock of seeing Sabine, and they could be properly introduced now.

"Can you tie this?" Sabine asked, looking over her shoulder.

Her bedroom was illuminated by the few kerosene lamps that sat on top of her dressers. Sabine heard movement behind her before feeling fingers slowly trail down her back and began to lace up her corset.

"You never dress this way for me," Bastien complained.

She chuckled softly, "We don't go anywhere that I'd have to," Sabine pointed out, feeling him tug on her from behind. "Plus, you're dressed to the nines yourself," she reminded, glancing over her shoulder. "You never dress this way for me either," she added, wincing a bit when Bastien pulled the laces tight around her torso.

"Sorry," he apologized immediately, noticing her body tense. "I wish we could dress up more like this," Bastien stated, finishing his work.

"Technically, we could," Sabine responded, affixing a bustle to herself.

Bastien made his way towards her bed where her evening gown was laid out. The dress was green and made of silk taffeta, the neckline was round and the sleeves short. Making his way back towards her, Sabine raised her hands in the air as Bastien lifted it over her head, careful not to mess up her elegant updo. The dress slid on easily and a vast of silk fell onto the floor, covering her feet and trailing behind her.

"Yes, but I want to actually take you somewhere," Bastien said, buttoning the back of her dress. "I want to take you somewhere special, to show you off to the world, without all the stares and scowls," he finished, kissing Sabine's neck.

Sabine turned around and faced Bastien, "Like the two of us being able to sit together in box seats at the opera?" she hinted, with a slight chuckle as she smoothed the dress down around her undergarments.

"Sabine if I could, you know I would," he insisted, grasping her waist.

"I know, I know," Sabine replied, nodding her head understandingly. "This job is a 'whites only' type of a job, meaning Josef and I are out commission. While you three get to infiltrate high society and all the luxuries that come with it," she continued, lightly gripping onto the lapels of his tailcoat. "Have fun with all those stuffy, rich ofays," she wished, a smile peeking from her lips. "Josef and I will enjoy dinner with my family," she finished.

"About this dinner..."

Sabine looked downward, "You don't agree, I know," she said, finishing his sentence with a sigh.

"It's not that," Bastien corrected, lifting her chin to look at him. "I'm worried you're moving too fast, that you're losing yourself in the moment," he explained, enclosing his fingers around her biceps.

"Well of course I am," she agreed. "This is a second chance at being a family-"

"Sabine you're immortal," he interrupted softly, Sabine's mouth opened to argue. "Please let me finish," he requested. "You cannot recreate or rebuild the relationship you once had with your family," Bastien stated firmly, shaking his head.

She looked away from him, biting down her lip. Sabine felt her nose burn with the tears she was holding back from Bastien's bluntness.

"I can try," she countered, her voice cracking.

Bastien took her chin in his hand again and turned her face to him, "I'm sorry, Sabine. I'm so, so sorry, but you can't," he said, cupping her cheeks in both his palms.

"It's not fair," she choked, tears threatening to fall.

Bastien wrapped his arms around her, holding her head to his chest while he stroked her back.

"I know you want this reunion to be like a fairy tale, where you get your happily ever after," he began. "But we don't get those, and I'm sorry fate has chosen this path for you, because you don't deserve it Sabine. You don't," he finished, looking at her sadly.

Tears that she promised herself wouldn't show start to flow down her cheeks and he wiped them away with his thumbs. Sabine let her forehead rest against Bastien as he held her. She was sure Bastien could feel her crying. They stood in silence for several minutes, save for the occasional sniffle from her. When she shed her last tears, she removed her head from his chest slightly.

"I just want this so badly, Bastien," Sabine said, her voice above a whisper. "It's a bittersweet dream come true,"

"I know," he murmured, kissing her forehead.

Sabine sighed, resting her head on Bastien's heart, her grip tightening a little around him.

"I know I don't express my love verbally," she began, slowly bringing her gaze upwards to Bastien. "But I do love you, Bastien," Sabine stated. "And I'm grateful that you're being supportive towards me, even if you disagree," she finished.

Bastien let out a soft exhale, his eyes shining in such a way that Sabine never seen before. Cupping the back of her neck with his other hand, Bastien leaned down and placed a light kiss on Sabine's lips, so tender. The kiss was not deep, they only moved their lips against each other’s slowly. After a few more sweet kisses he pulled back once again to rest his forehead against hers.

He smiled warmly, "Say it again," Bastien said.

"I love you Bastien," Sabine repeated, softly grinning. She kissed him again on the lips. "I love you," she kissed him on his right cheek. "I love you," she kissed him on his left cheek. "I love you," Sabine stood on her tiptoes, kissing his nose and forehead. "I love you..." she whispered, capturing Bastien's lips once more.

Tilting her head, Sabine deepened the kiss and Bastien returned the gesture in equal vigor. His hand traveled from her neck and down to her waist, lightly wrapping around it. Slowly, they parted from one another and she stared into his blue orbs, seeing them gleam. Sabine wondered what it was about Bastien that made her feel this way, was it his loyalty, his compassion, or his devotion. Whatever it was, Sabine hoped that it would last forever for she had never been so happy, content, and in love than ever before.

"I will never get enough of you," Sabine said, nudging her nose against his with a contented hum.

"Neither will I," Bastien whispered, almost non-audible. "Now, go enjoy your dinner,"

~~~x~~~

Hearty laughter echoed in the dining room along with the clinking of utensils on dinner plates.

The first course, a soup of creamed mushroom, had been served and conversation at the Freemen table had flowed pleasantly, giving controversial topics a wide berth. Thankfully, Sabine and Josef were seated next to each other, putting her at ease that she was close to a familiar face. On her left, sat Jimmy, a charming young man. Sabine could tell he was a bit of a rake due to his constant double entendres that were just enough to remain both humorous and respectful. Despite all of that, she found herself feeling refreshed at his conversation. He talked of his various travels and the people he met with great excitement.

"Miss Jones," a booming voice called, causing Sabine to look up from the rim of her wine glass.

She met the eyes of her father, who sat at the head of the table. Fine, gray hair haloed his head, instead of the thick curls he had passed down to her. His face was lined with heavy wrinkles, an indicator of the hard life he had been through, but there was one thing about him that hadn't changed. It was his eyes. Those same kind eyes sparkled with spirit even though forty-four years had passed since she last seen them.

"Emile has been telling me that you're a ward to a white woman," he stated, just as the second course was being served.

A hush fell across the room, everyone's attention turned towards her awaiting her response.

Sabine briefly glanced at Josef, "Please, call me Edith, Mr. Freemen," Sabine said, placing her glass down onto the table. "And yes, it's true, I'm Mrs. Scott's charge," she answered.

Emile's husband, Lee, raised his eyebrows. "I'm curious as to why she would take a colored girl into her care," he said.

"Maybe she wants to relive the glory days," Jimmy suggested, before sipping from his wine.

"Jimmy!" Emile admonished, glaring at her son.

Sabine shook her head, "It's fine Emile, I wasn't offended," she reassured. "My parents died when I was very young, I believe sickness took them both," Sabine said.

"You poor child," Mama commented softly.

"I was in a orphanage when she found me," Sabine informed. "She was a lonely, childless, war widow and wanted a companion. I don't know what made her go to a colored orphanage, but I suppose it was just luck of the draw for me," she recounted. "She has treated me as if I were one of her own ever since, and for that I am grateful," Sabine finished, telling her "life story" to everyone.

"Quite the life you have lived," Papa said, Sabine only nodded in agreement. "What about you, Mr. Campbell?" He asked, turning his attention to Josef. "How did you come to meet Edith here?" he questioned.

"I'm the family doctor," Josef replied, sitting up in his chair. "Mrs. Scott knew how white doctors would treat Edith, or should I say, wouldn't treat her. So, Mrs. Scott employed me for my services," he explained.

"An excellent profession Mr. Campbell!" Jimmy cheered, sending a smile his way. "We need more colored doctors in America," he added.

"I've been meaning to ask Mr. Campbell," Emile began. "Are you from this country? I've seen hundreds of colored men and none look quite like you," she pointed out.

"No," Josef responded, shaking his head. "I'm from Africa,"

"The Motherland," Mama hummed, her lips curving upwards.

"What about that man you left with Edith? One of the maids noted he had a slight accent," Emile recalled.

"Oh, that's Mr. Greene," Sabine named. "He's French,"

"You have a white butler?" Jimmy asked, chuckling in amusement.

"Now that, would be a sight to see, but no, Mr. Greene is not our butler," Sabine clarified, laughing herself. "He's my guardian, a second pair of eyes for Mrs. Scott, if you will. He makes sure that I don't get myself into trouble," she explained, which wasn't a complete lie.

"You keep quite the company, don't you?" Lee asked, with a smile. "Anyone else noteworthy?"

"Well there's an Italian," Josef chimed in.

A slight laugh escaped Lee, "My god, all you need is a Chinaman and you all would make quite the colorful party," he said.

"We would, wouldn't we?" Sabine responded, joining in with his laughter. "That's actually why we moved from our previous home to New York," she stated. "Less stares here and easier to get lost in the crowd,"

"How long do you all plan on staying here?" Mama asked curiously.

"Just until the beginning of next year," Sabine answered. "Mrs. Scott wants to go Europe,"

"It seems we have no choice but to treasure every second we spend with you, Edith," Mama declared, smiling warmly at her.

Sabine grinned back, "I wouldn't have it any other way," she agreed.

"Plus, it would do you some good wouldn't it Edith?" Jimmy began. "Spending time with folks who look like you,"

"We'll be your home, away from home," Emile said. "A second family," she finished.

"Oh, if they only knew," Sabine thought.

Sabine picked up her wine glass, "Emile, words cannot describe how happy that would make me," she grinned, before raising her glass. "To the Freemen's!" she cheered.

"To the Freemen's!"

Chapter Fifteen: A Journey’s End

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capsized-heart · 4 years

Text

Sky Castles

Pairing: Laurie x Reader, Jo x Reader

Summary: Summer has always been your favorite season in Plumfield. Perhaps it’s the lovely, sunny mornings and cool, calm nights, or perhaps it’s the fact that you and Laurie and Jo are practically inseparable in midsummer.

Follows the summers from childhood into young adulthood, with turmoils of the heart along the way.

Word count: 6.1k+

Warnings: fluff!!!!!!!!

A/N: hi, everyone. I hope you’re all staying safe and well! Right off the bat, I want to mention that I’ve pinned a post on both this blog and my main blog @sarapii-peachy about resources for the BLM movement to raise awareness and petitions you can sign to help make a difference on a smaller scale. Everything counts!

i’m back and now with a bachelor’s degree :’) class of 2020 high school and college esketit!!! we did it!!! in this historic pandemic!!! Sorry I’ve been gone for a bit, this fic has been my rocky transition/attempt out of writer’s block after my INSANE last semester of uni and with all the craziness going on in the world. I hope you can channel and take in some of this innocent happiness and childhood glee into your own lives as we navigate the shitshow that is 2020. Saoirse x Timmy x Reader here to cure me of my depression lmao

this title is also based off a chapter in the Little Women book where Laurie, Jo, and the girls go to a park and gaze at the passing clouds and talk about their futures...it’s honestly really sweet. Loosely based off of that!

Comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated on this💛! Not that you guys don’t leave love, but this fic like I mentioned is my attempt at kicking writer’s block in the ass, please let me know how I did! :) talk to me I missed you guys :)

tags: @ravenmoore14 @monikakrasnorada @dangertoozmanykids101 @toozmanykids @adawn1970 @mrchalamet-mrstyles @chavezlikesthings @loveylangdon@daygiowvibe @statisticlytimmy @ceexreverse @bamposworld @lilttletimmy @cindere-llaaa

gif credit to @sheisraging

You love New England for its rich, distinct seasons, how they each paint the countryside in eloquent sweeps of shade and hue. Snow, sun, and breathtaking landscapes of fall color that tinge the treetops throughout the year. You love Plumfield, Massachusetts more for the warmth and love the March sisters have shown you, each alike in personality, nature, to the equinoxes that have shaped your girlhood, each tender memory from your youth synonymous with Meg, Amy, Beth, and Jo.

Autumn. Cozy and comfortable, where motherly Meg showed you how to heat and dip caramel with the apples you’d carefully picked from the orchard for a rare treat, the kitchen swirling with the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, turmeric, and spices that left you feeling aglow. She’d taught you how to use an embroidery hoop, how to let dough rise, how to bake a proper pie and how to fix any clothing tear with a simple needle and thread, her compliments quick for your ever growing domestic talents.

Winter. Like cool, ambitious Amy with her painting and taste for luxury and pleasure, how she would praise you for being the only subject suitable for her artwork. Laurie would moan and complain about sitting for hours by the fireside, begging to be excused to go play in the snow, but never you. Amy called you her muse, arranging your hair and skirts to her liking, softening your lips and cheeks with a touch of rouge. It was always such fun to make a day out of modeling for Amy’s portraits, talking and laughing as she’d set up her paints.

Spring. Sweet and angelic like little Beth, windows wide open as her piano trills would float on the warm air, curtains ruffling in the breeze. You’d sit beside her on the piano bench and turn her sheet music for her, to which Beth would give you a shy, rosy smile in thanks. She taught you how to play Chopin and Tchaikovsky, duet pieces where you’d accompany her on the keys, harmonizing with chords and your fingers flying easily together.

Summer. Your favorite season, refreshing, bright, where you and Jo would spend balmy days and long, cool evenings tucked beneath the shade of tree trunks and willows as you’d read in the sun, listen to Jo’s carefully crafted stories. Her creativity and imagination never failed to amaze you, how her writing could transport you to the farthest countries, or keep you grounded in whatever fantastical setting she’d constructed for herself. She’d often write about the two of you; two young girls, best friends who’d have all sorts of dazzling adventures exploring the corners of the world, without the taxing responsibilities of chores, or schoolwork, or the foreboding, inevitable reality that one day you will be young adults and childhood would be gone forever. You’d have picnics and excursions to the nearby fields, dozing in the sun and picking wildflowers, splashing and wading through the rivers and creeks when the heat became unbearable. Before Laurie would come and spoil your fun, of course. Then, you and Jo and Laurie would be like three rowdy boys playing in the woods, your laughter echoing off the trees and sparkling waters.

You first meet Theodore Laurence as a young girl in the fields connecting the March’s property and your own. You live just down the road from the March sisters, your house tucked away beyond the bend and you’d make the trek across the meadow and grasses daily to visit your neighbors. Being an only child with your father off fighting for the Union, the March house was like your second home and the girls and Marmee and Hannah always made you feel like part of the family, your own loneliness long forgotten as soon as you’d step through the door and you’d be welcomed back with laughter, squeals, and embraces.

Today, you are seeking the company of your friends as usual, returning a book Jo had lended you with a basketful of scones you’d baked in repayment. A recipe you’d learned from Meg. The autumn air is surprisingly warm against your skin, indian summer, flushed and golden and dappling the plains. It makes you smile softly, your mood pleasant as you gather your skirts in time with your step, adjust your basket.

Then, you see him. A boy making his way in the same direction, dressed smartly in a black woolen coat and matching trousers, a silk scarf tastefully tied around his throat. His curls are windswept and tousled, his gait relaxed. He feels your gaze and looks up, eyes finding yours and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a friendly smile. Warmth floods your cheeks. You quickly duck your head.

He looks to be your age, but you’ve read tales of highwaymen and bandits roaming the countryside, how they’d feign kindness, only to strike unsuspecting travelers. Perhaps it was the work of Jo’s overactive and contagious imagination playing at your nerves, but why was he heading towards the March’s? You think of little Beth, how boys and newcomers made her nervous, timid. Your resolve hardens protectively. You have to keep this stranger away from the girls.

Your pulse hammers in your throat as you lift your head to see the boy still looking your way. He waves his hand in greeting.

“Hello!” he cheers.

With your eyes still locked, you pick up your pace and keep your silence. Curiously, the boy finds this amusing, laughing, making it into a game as he too begins to walk briskly towards the house, of who will reach the door first. You narrow your eyes, summoning as much hostility and wickedness to your expression, demeanor as you can muster. The two of you are running now, his grin wide and eager, your own mouth twisted with hard concentration as you race each other.

Your chest is heaving when you brace yourself against the doorframe, blocking his way with your arm, back against the wood. He’s not a second behind you and is already on the stoop when you turn to face him.

“Are you Jo’s friend?” the boy asks you with a breathless, easy smile. “You’re quite fast, even faster than her.” He adds. He’s practically bouncing on his feet, jovial and buzzing with energy. The mention of Jo’s name curbs your distrust further. Bandit may now be off the table, and the thought makes you feel a bit foolish now, but how could Jo befriend such a strange boy without you knowing? How did he already seem to know who you are?

Up close, you notice his eyes are green and mischievous, reflecting back the shimmering plains in flecks of amber as he gazes at you, your pulse fluttering ever so slightly…

You scold yourself internally.

Handsome or not, he was undoubtedly a boy of trouble who had somehow won over Jo’s attention. And no easy feat, might you add. Headstrong and resolute, Jo’s circle of friends was quite small outside of you and her sisters, and you liked it that way. You’d like to keep it that way as well.

You feel a sharp, ugly pang of jealousy curl in your stomach. You stick out your lower lip in a pout, turn up your nose in a way that would certainly earn a scolding from Marmee if she were to see your impoliteness.

“Who are you to ask?” You snap.

Your words do not take the desired effect on him. Instead of hurt, or embarrassment, the boy smirks at you, amused. He cocks his head to one side and leans back on his heels, studying you like you’d just asked him why the sky is blue. His mood is breezy, amiable.

“I’m Laurie. Is that better?” he offers with a comical pout of his own. You wrinkle your nose. This boy was starting to irritate you more and more.

“Surname?”

“Laurence.”

“Laurie Laurence? My, how silly and dull.”

He laughs, a low and pleasant sound that threatens to melt your angry facade. He shakes his head, hands in his pockets.

“It’s a pet name. Jo calls me Teddy, but you may call me whichever you like,” he says. Your jealousy burns brighter, flushing your skin, twisting together with a hint of desire and yearning.

You were once Jo’s everything, her favorite companion. She made this clear with how she’d tell you plainly, how she’d spoil you with compliments and stories and affection. And now, it seemed Jo knew another, this Laurie, well enough to call him Teddy when you had no pet name of your own. She seemed to speak of you, which would explain Laurie’s cordiality, but did she tell him how you were the only one she felt comfortable enough with to critique her writing? How she would encourage your aspirations of becoming a dancer by arranging the foyer into a stage and cheering for you while sitting atop the staircase like an admirer in the box seats? How the two of you could jest and play for hours with nothing but your imagination, crying from laughter until your bellies ached?

You feel a sense of betrayal and heartache at this, an intrusion, a tirade of emotions you can’t quite explain. Did you want Jo all for yourself? Did you want to befriend Laurie as well? Did you just want to be someone’s everything again and to be doted on and loved?

Then, Laurie’s voice tapers into a quiet hum, a touch of softness. You hear the first indication of bashfulness as he looks down at you through full, dark lashes. “I hope the three of us can be good friends. I’d like to know you as well.” He murmurs.

You don’t know what to think of him. Your chest feels tight and your cheeks burn, from anger or passion you can’t quite tell. You’re contemplating leaving your basket on the doorstep and shoving past him to go back home when you suddenly hear a clamor of voices and the turning of the knob and then the door falls open behind you.

Laurie catches you before you can tumble through the entryway, hands finding your waist. Jo, vibrant and chipper as ever, lights up when she sees you and her sky blue eyes shine like glass. She has her cap fitted over her wavy blonde curls, skipping into your arms and for a moment you’re sandwiched between the two of them. You flush scarlet.

“Oh, good! You two have met. Goodbye, Marmee! I’m going out!” Jo calls into the house, her voice overlapping with her sisters’ as they all greet you in a burst of chaos. But before Jo can usher you outside, you feel your childish temper flare and you squirm out of her reach and back through the open door and into the house. You set your basket onto the table, turning to hide your face in Amy’s shoulder with a flutter of your skirts as you feel the hot sting of tears prickle your eyes. You weren’t going to let this Laurie boy see you cry upon your first encounter.

“I’m not coming.” You mumble. Amy’s hand comes to soothingly pet back your hair with a hush of surprise and you sense her look to Jo with a characteristic glare.

“Jo, what have you done?” Amy presses.

“I’ve done nothing!” Jo retorts with a huff. Then, her voice turns gentle, curious as she speaks to you. “Dear, what’s the matter?”

“She wouldn’t be on the verge of tears if you hadn’t done nothing, would she?” Amy replies. You laugh weakly, tightening your arms around her. “See?” Amy says. “You’ve broken her heart, the poor thing.”

“Jo’s made new friends,” you sniffle, embarrassed when Laurie’s eyes meet yours. Amy’s arms around you make you feel comforted and safe, brave enough to voice your true burdens when you say, “I’ve been replaced,” and gaze back at Laurie in defiance, protest. He frowns and shifts his weight, looking genuinely sorry with a guilt that touches his eyes. Good, you think. Let him think twice before stealing away your best companion.

At this, Jo’s expression softens with understanding and warmth as she sees you curl into Amy once more. Jo takes a step into the open doorway, leaving Laurie on the stoop.

“No one could ever replace you, dear,” she says. “I only keep Laurie around for when I’m bored and you aren’t around to play. Look at him,” she gestures in his direction. “He’s aloof and vain, he’s lazy, he doesn’t have an ounce of the imagination you do-”

“Don’t forget arrogant.” Amy pipes up.

Jo nods, wagging a finger at her sister. “Right you are, Amy. We mustn't forget that.”

Laurie starts to puff up with a temper, his lips twisting together and you can see him struggling with whether to speak up and defend himself, or let the girls have their fun for your sake. Jo goes on, saying he was devious and too pretty for his own good, making you and Amy giggle as she rubs soothing circles into your back. It’s rather polite and charming as you watch Laurie suffer silently, biting his tongue as Jo continues to defame his character before she finally turns back to you.

“I should have introduced the two of you properly, and for that, I’m sorry,” says Jo. “You must have had quite the surprise running into him.” Laurie again glances to you with an apologetic softness, wringing his hands together. “So, what do you think, Teddy? Are we ready to start afresh?” Jo asks him, hands on her hips.

This makes you laugh, bubbly, your mood perking up as you finally lift your head from Amy’s shoulder. Of course, Jo would be able to comprehend your grievances and somehow peg Laurie with the blame, how she knew your heart was delicate and tender and so full of devotion that you were quick to hold grudges. Your envy dissipates and you feel a bit sorry seeing Laurie now in such low spirits, his theatrical demeanor now quiet and modest.

“If she’ll have me,” Laurie murmurs, glancing up at you with such a pureness in his glittering eyes that regret starts to settle in your stomach.

“And I’ve written more of that story you enjoyed so much,” Jo holds out a hand to you. “Won’t you come hear what happens next?” she asks. Slowly, like the pull of a magnet, you untangle yourself from Amy’s arms and cross the room to take Jo’s outstretched hand.

“Alright.” You say at last. Jo beams and cradles your face with her other hand, swiping away your tears with her thumb. You let her baby you like she would with Beth, enjoying her touch against your cheek.

“That’s my sweet girl.” She smiles.

You then look to a sheepish Laurie and extend a hand, filled with new courage. You tell him your name and echo back his words that you hope the three of you can indeed become good friends, that you and Jo could do well with another acquaintance. The smile Laurie gives you is genuine, sweet and gentle, the corner of his mouth turning up in crooked delight. He clasps your hand warmly.

“I would want nothing more.” Laurie laughs.

And with that, nestled between Jo and Laurie, you step back outside into the rich and golden light of a warm autumn afternoon, curious, excited for what adventures the day will bring you.

Laurie joins your duo swimmingly and the rest of the year passes in pleasant tranquility as the three of you spend nearly every waking moment by each others’ sides. All Hallow’s Eve finds you dressed in a costume of French royalty, a pompous and comical gown of ballooning fabrics, complete with a powdered wig of pins and curls. You’ve painted your face with overlined lips and the trademark mole below your eye and the March sisters double over with laughter as you enter the foyer, fluttering your paper fan with an aristocratic pout, Laurie saluting your entrance with a roar of, la plus belle fille du monde! Jo is dressed as a fearsome pirate, outfitted in boots, breeches, and a captain’s hat, the wooden sword you and Laurie helped to paint swishing through the air as she parades into the room. Laurie enters last with a bang and a flash of white powder, appearing before your eyes in true magician fashion with a top hat and cane, a false mustache pasted onto his upper lip. All six of you then march across the field to the Laurence residence, now alight with carved pumpkins and lanterns, for your All Hallow’s Eve party of sweets and games.

Christmas brings festivities, flurries, and cheer. Sledding, ice skating, days of cold and winter fun making snow angels and snowmen, decorating the March house with holly, mistletoe, culminating into a hearty turkey dinner as you sit perched next to Laurie. The candlelight is homely, the sound of laughter and clinking silverware washing over you and you catch Laurie’s eye as he lifts his fork to his mouth. The two of you grin, leaning into each other with quiet happiness, heads bowed. You and Laurie both mirror each other in being only children, meaning these times together have been filled with welcome camaraderie. Where your instances of yearning for the companionship of siblings that only those without can understand, you’ve found company in each other, never a dull moment, never lonely.

The thaw of spring keeps you tucked away indoors with torrents of rain pelting against the roof. Jo reads to you aloud from her novel, asking for your thoughts every so often as you and Laurie lounge on the sofa. When you articulate a point of slight critique on Jo’s use of character, Laurie teasingly tugs on a lock of your hair with a smirk.

“How perceptive.” He murmurs, grinning.

You swat his hand away, glaring at him in mock anger.

And as the days grow warmer, so does your heart. You’ve learned to share your affection between Laurie and Jo in a way you think is equally matched and that autumn day where you’d been so sour to both of them seems like ages ago. Soon after that incident, your bravado had quickly morphed into appreciation and Jo had been eager to break the ice between you and Laurie. And like all children, your differences and jealousy had been set aside as you’d discovered he was quite fun to be around. Laurie shared Jo’s quick wit and intelligence, like an androgynous mirror, so much of yourself also reflected in both of them in time and they in you. And yet, Laurie had a certain charm about him; how he could have the two of you in stitches and still maintain the air of sophistication that was so often expected of the Laurence boy. Admittedly, you were thrilled to have them both as your best and favorite playmates.

In turn, they had done the same, showering you with loving attention and teasing, keeping you entertained with their bickering, quarreling over how they both wanted to occupy your time with their respective ideas for sport. Fighting over you. The thought of it makes you blush furiously. Yet, you feel cared for, like the most precious thing in their lives.You’ve also selfishly enjoyed being the apple of their eye and all the privileges that has bestowed; Jo writing you into her stories, featuring you as a beautiful sugar plum fairy, and Laurie promising to write you a French ballet, to someday whisk you off to Europe to experience high art and culture.

At last, spring turns to summer and the three of you are back to mischief and horseplay in the great outdoors. The days are lush, agreeable, bright and pleasant with flashing sunshine and lofty clouds. You’re again reminded why summer to you is synonymous with Jo as you run together through the waving fields bursting with flowers, Laurie right on your heels as he too gives chase.

“Jo! We were only kidding about the toads!” Laurie calls out from behind you. “It’s not like I have one in my pocket this very moment who’s squirming to get free and might have bitten me earlier when I caught him by the river and-”

He gives a shout of surprise and you hear his footfalls pause in the grasses. You and Jo both turn, breathless, already laughing when you see Laurie hopping about like hot coals are burning beneath his feet.

A small pond frog wiggles out of his pocket seam with a croak and then disappears into the meadow, waddling with great speed. With out-turned pockets and wrinkled trousers, Laurie stands there with his hands on his hips, confidence and humor masking his faults as always.

“My, they grow up so fast, don’t they?” Laurie says as he looks out over the crest of the hill with a humorous glint in his eyes, like a mother watching her child leave for the vast, cruel world. You and Jo collapse into a fit of giggles, holding each other upright by the shoulders and gasping for air.

Eternal summer and sun, a tender paradise. And as midsummer arrives, so does the heat. It’s stifling, heavy, the kind that suffocates and forbids any excessive movement or play, when being idle is perfectly acceptable, a rarity for you three young adventurers. Today, even nature herself seems to be drowsy from the stifling weather. Sunflowers droop from the weight of honeybees as they float lazily over the fields. Birds chortle from the treetops, as if too tired to fly, their song intertwining with the rustling grasses, tousled by the rare cool breeze. The sky burns a dome of brilliant blue above you, filled with towering, cotton white cumulus clouds. You watch as they drift slowly over the horizon. Like colossal ships at sea.

You rest your head on Laurie’s chest and he toys with your hair. Jo dozes with her arms pillowed across your stomach and the three of you are a sleepy dog-pile of limbs. The feel of Laurie’s fingers makes you relaxed, drowsy. You hear Jo then give a soft snore and you chuckle.

“What is it?” Laurie asks. You can already hear the smile in his voice, how just your laughter is enough to amuse him too. You shake your head against his chest and the movement makes you giggle again. Laurie joins you, flopping out his legs, the heat making you both delirious and loopy.

You reach up blindly and give him a firm nudge, your hand landing just under his chin.

“Stop it, you’ll wake her.” You scold him with as much seriousness as you can muster and failing miserably.

“Ow,” Laurie groans. He grasps your wrist, moving your hand to place it against his cheek and he puckers out his lower lip. “You’ve hurt me, I’m unwell.”

“Oh...Laurie, I didn’t mean it..” you sit up and coo, caressing his skin. Laurie looks pleased, a flash of playfulness in the green of his eyes as you lean towards him. “Let me take a closer-”

You cuff him on the ear ever so lightly, catching him by complete surprise and Jo wakes, cackling, throwing her arms around you.

Later, the three of you gaze up at the passing clouds, a comfortable silence settling over you all as you enjoy the afternoon.

“If we could fly up into those clouds and there was a castle with anything your heart desired, what would it be?” Jo asks. “Where do you two see your lives leading you?” Her tone is pensive, romantic. You and Laurie both hum in thought.

“You first, Laurie.” You murmur.

Laurie turns to look back at the bright blue sky, to the billowy clouds that look like spun sugar candy.

“I want to live abroad in Europe and be surrounded by music, my music. I want to compose, I want to be renowned for my operas.” He declares with a proud puff of his chest. Jo nods, you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“That sounds very much like you, Teddy,” Jo says. “A bachelor making art in Europe, how capital.”

He makes a face, then winks at you out of the corner of his eye. You stick out your tongue.

“You can do it if you stay focused,” you add. “No more billiards, for a start.”

Laurie wrinkles his nose. “And what is it that you want, prima donna?” he asks you in challenge.

You turn away with a roll of your eyes, gaze to the heavens. The thought comes to you easily as you listen to the birds, feel the breeze tickling your skin, drinking in the sky.

“I want to be a ballet dancer in a prestigious company. I want to tour the world.” You say softly. Before, you would have felt embarrassment to share such an ambitious dream. But something about this moment, of being with Laurie and Jo makes you feel brave and safe enough to speak your mind, to put your words into the universe and have it come to fruition. Like a magic spell of sorts. With them here with you, you feel like any dream is possible.

Another chorus of hums and Jo looks pleased at your response. Laurie smirks up at the horizon.

“No fair if it’s likely to happen,” he laughs. “That’s cheating.”

“Oh, hush,” Jo chides with a rather hard sock to Laurie’s arm. She ignores his whines as he recoils and grumbles dramatically. “You’re well on your way, dear,” Jo tells you. “Now that you’ll be in that New York production next summer, I’m sure your opportunities will be plentiful.”

You hope she’s right. You’d secured a role as an ensemble dancer in an upcoming production of Romeo and Juliet, your most prestigious show as of yet in your young and budding career. Jo’s warm praise makes you blush like the flowers surrounding you, pink and full. Laurie’s quick eyes catch this, envious, and he changes the subject, a muscle ticking ever so slightly in his jaw.

“And you, Jo?” He asks tightly.

Jo exhales, crossing her arms behind her head. “Being a writer, of course. A great one. I don’t want to settle for less.”

“Doubtful,” snides Laurie. “I don’t see it.”

You and Laurie look to each other with a quiet smile.

“No, not with all the prizes you’ve won,” you add. “Impossible.”

Jo shoots upright, too quickly for the heat. She slugs Laurie again.

“Ow...Jo, it’s too hot for your beatings,” he moans. “Don’t be a poor sport.”

She doesn’t answer him, only gives him a final push and hunkers back down onto the grass, turning her back to him with a huff.

“Why am I the only one that ever gets hit?” Laurie grumbles, opening his shirt to cool himself off and throws his forearm across his eyes for shade, frowning. You giggle, curling up beside her.

“I believe in your abilities, Jo.” You whisper to her. She takes your hand.

It’s not long before the three of you are fast asleep in the sun.

And as the seasons and summers roll on and the fruits of childhood begin to slowly ripen with the passing years, you find your companionship with Laurie and Jo changing and growing like never before. Your friendship starts to blossom into fondness, adoration. Indeed, you’ve loved them as playmates and companions since the three of you were children, but as you flourish amidst that quaint, strange, and budding pocket of time when young men and women come of age, where you and Laurie and Jo are now struck with bashfulness and an awareness of being alone with each other, your love for them arches and glows like summer sunset.

This makes you acutely conscious of your appearance and dress, your posture, how you carry yourself, your mannerisms. How did your hair look? Did you laugh too loudly? Would Jo think your comments about her writing were too harsh? Why did you feel such warmth in your chest every time you saw her? And why were you starting to anticipate Laurie’s company? Why did you always have a sharp hope that he would come around with every visit of yours to the March residence? The constant whir of thoughts and worries was enough to make your head turn with heaviness, make you collapse from the pressures of simply existing.

“You’re acting odd,” Laurie tells you one day.

The two of you lay in a meadow with summer buzzing all around you, resting beneath the drooping leaves of a willow tree. Jo had been unable to join you as she had Beth’s lessons to teach that afternoon, much to her own disappointment and promising to make it up to you soon with an affectionate pinch to your cheek. You’d considered going home then. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone with Laurie, that familiar crush in your chest, an inkling of dread coupled with a shortness of breath, fear and excitement. You were terrified. But when he’d taken your hand and asked you so sweetly to accompany him to the meadow’s waters, how could you possibly refuse?

But of course, Laurie was quick to notice your nerves.

“The heat is getting to your head,” you say evenly with eyes closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun on your face. “Besides, that’s rather rude.”

You hear him move and feel his presence directly in front of you, as if leaning in.

“It is a bit hot, do you feel up for a swim?”

This makes your eyes snap open. Following Jo’s mannerisms, you give him a shove in the chest. “You’re vile,” you grin.

To your surprise, Laurie’s teasing, playful demeanor is nowhere to be found. His gaze is instead thoughtful, holding your own like you are all he sees. Immediately, you feel your pulse kick up in the side of your throat.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” he continues with a shake of his head. “You don’t seem like yourself. I thought a change in our routine could be refreshing.”

You give a light shrug of your shoulders. “I feel fine,” you say.

He brushes the back of his hand against your forehead. He hums, then curls his fingers down along the planes of your face to rest on your cheek.

“You’re flushed,” he murmurs.

Time seems to slow. The roar of blood deafens your ears and the fragrance of the sweet waters and blooms around you is overwhelming, sunlight refracting like prismed rainbow. Laurie kisses you then, a gentle touch of his lips, tilting your chin up to meet him. A sweetheart’s kiss, one that tastes of summer secrets as you’re shaded by vines and mist. When you break apart, he keeps his hand cradled against your cheek, his thumb circling the corner of your mouth.

You don’t know what to say. You’re speechless, your chest rising and falling softly, staring back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Laurie looks reflective, emerald irises half-lidded.

“What am I to tell Jo?” you whisper to him. Heat diffuses through your body like desert wind. You feel elated, cherished, frightened, embarrassed. Guilty. Laurie’s eyes flicker once more to your lips, his dark lashes fluttering with the movement. His smile is melancholy, yet knowing.

“You love her, too.” Laurie hums. It’s a statement, a confirmation of your feelings for both of them. The fact that the boy you’ve adored for so long has uttered your very thoughts out loud should have you completely mortified, yet there’s a small sense of comfort knowing he’d understand. Laurie knows this because he himself feels the same way, knows you or Jo or himself could never bring themselves to choose.

Laurie’s smile prompts you to lace your fingers together in the grasses and you give him a light peck on the cheek. He brightens up, raking a hand through his black curls.

“You love me.” Laurie beams.

When you tell Jo about the kiss, she’s dancing with you on the porch in the evening light. Inside, you can see Marmee and the girls entertaining themselves through the windows as you practice your pirouettes. Jo is dressed in her writing jacket and trousers, keeping you balanced as she plays the part of the male dancer, perfectly competent.

“What an impish boy,” Jo says of Laurie. You laugh and the two of you continue your steps, running through the dance number in a private rehearsal. Laurie is due to rehearse with you the week before your performance and the thought itself is enough to make butterflies explode in your stomach. Jo is a strong, leading dancer, while Laurie is graceful and firm, both capable of making the palms of your hands sweat with nerves. You know in your heart if you could rehearse with them, you’d have no fear on opening night. You’d already be invincible.

“Again from the top, please, kind sir,” you curtsey to Jo. Her smile is giddy and she gives a click of her heels before returning to her starting position.

“Of course,” she responds. Taking your hand, she guides you through the steps once more, your heart soft and temperate like the evening around you.

The sound of applause is warm and full, washing over you as you take your bows. You feel weightless, aglow, eyes brimming with tears. You think you see Laurie and Jo leap to their feet in the audience, but the stage lights are too bright and you cannot see clearly and you think you may faint from happiness.

In the auditorium, you’re still in your costume of Venetian silks and flowers when you’re swept off your feet by a boisterous Laurie and he twirls you around in his arms, his riding cloak billowing out behind him.

“There’s our Capulet! You were phenomenal!”

“I’m so proud of you, dear!” Jo practically shouts with excitement, tackling you next in a bearish hug when Laurie finally sets you down. Their praise is boundless, endless, showering you in so much adoration that your heart feels close to bursting. You gather them close, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

“Thank you both for everything,” you choke out, squeezing them tight.

Over Jo’s shoulder, you spot Marmee, Meg, Amy, even shy little Beth with a bouquet of flowers and then you let the tears fall when you run to them and you thank your stars for the luck and love you’ve been blessed with.

Another year, another summer soon arrives. You and Jo and Laurie are back in the fields cloud-gazing, a lazy afternoon of heat and leisurely time well spent. Things feel familiar, recognizable between the three of you, yet there’s a sense of distance between now and when Jo had first asked about your castles in the sky all those summers ago.

Jo was now making a name for herself in the writer’s world, having won another prize in a New York newspaper. She’d been gaining the attention of devoted readers and critics alike and was now working on a proper novel, her longest project as of yet. She tells you not to worry, that she’ll be sure to feature you as a central character in the same way she’d done as a child, nostalgic tales of pirates and adventure and love.

“My sweet sugar plum fairy,” she’d gruffed, pulling you into another powerful hug.

Laurie had finished his opera, now with aspirations of pulling funds together and opening a production in Europe. He was still in the midst of planning and conversing with his grandfather about finances and departure dates, but it seemed like Laurie’s promise of spiriting you away to Europe could now become a reality. And with the possibility of your very own French stage debut!

Thus, you three souls were being tugged into three far corners of the globe, to your respective callings. The realization scares you, to know that this may be one of the few times you have left together. But underneath it all, there was a sense of excitement to see the world and make it your own. You were satisfied, proud knowing that the three of you had come so far with your aspirations and you had no doubt you would find success in your art.

In the comfortable silence, serenaded by the hum of cicadas and birdsong, you gaze up to the clouds gliding over Plumfield, Massachusetts. You feel an aching longing for those childhood days of carefree play, the countless rose-tinted memories of Laurie and Jo by your side, yet looking up at the sky, you know these memories of summers past will always be with you.

And there would be better and more to come.

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cryoculus · 4 years

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Lunaris [1/11]

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Chapter Title: New Moon Pairing: Yokai!Akaashi Keiji/Reader Word Count: 1,841

***

In the most abstract sense, you supposed that you wouldn't have half your problems if you'd just gotten over your fondness for Bokuto Koutarou.

But it was easier said than done, really. He wasn't the brightest student in Fukurodani, but he certainly glimmered with his own unrivalled passion for the sport he loved the most. The megawatt smile that grazed Bokuto's face when his spikes flew past the opposing team's faces was something that made your heart flutter like hummingbirds' wings beating against your rib cage.

His excitement, his exhilaration—it's as if they were your own.

You were painfully aware that you're not the only one that was ensnared in his optimistic charm. You've seen other girls shyly ushering themselves inside the gym; red-faced and flustered as they gave Bokuto packed bentos, love letters, and even homemade chocolate. The difference between you and them, however, was that you were aware that Bokuto wasn't like any other teenage boy easily swayed by his admirers. No, he was on a one-track mind headed straight to the Olympics.

"You sure you have a crush on him, (Name)?" your best friend, Itsumi, sighed. "Way to keep up with the competition."

The question was probably warranted by the sudden influx of girls crowding outside the gym. And while that wasn't too strange a sight, there were more of them than usual. The bentos and chocolates were replaced with presents enclosed in cute wrapping paper and tied with ribbons that may have spoken volume about their taste in color.

When you felt the satisfying burn of the stretch on your hamstrings, you assumed a sitting position on the grounds. "I don't really have time for that, you know, with the competition drawing closer."

"So?" Itsumi frowned, undoing the knot on your right shoe just to spite you. "I bet my entire life that he would adore your cooking! Those girls can't even make a proper bento for shit—"

"Sumi," you reprimanded.

She groaned, scratching the back of her head with annoyance. "All I'm saying is, not only does Bokuto-san actually remember your name, but you're the captain of the track team! If there's anyone who can keep up with his energy, it's you ."

The moment Itsumi said the words, your gaze was caught by a familiar head of bouffant, black and white hair. Bokuto was chattering with his vice captain, Akaashi, as they made their way towards the gym—completely oblivious of the company that's camping out to anticipate his arrival. His golden eyes glittered with enthusiasm as he spoke, his setter seeming unbothered but not apathetic of his senpai's animated story-telling.

"There is one guy," you muttered to yourself.

"Bokuto-san, happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday, ace!"

"I hope you like our presents!"

Itsumi hummed in understanding as you raised an eyebrow at the brewing crowd. "Eh? So it's his birthday! You're a shitty admirer, (Name)."

"Shut up," you told her off as you got up to your feet to dust off your training clothes. The rest of your teammates were yet to finish up with their respective warm-ups, so you placed both hands over your mouth to speak over the swooning females a few meters away.

"Run twenty laps around the oval once you're done. Anyone who can't beat their previous records gets five extra." Your command was met with disappointed groans and pleas for mercy, but none bothered to protest against your words. Though they could be a couple of slackers at times, the team took your threats at face value.

You headed over to the oval before anyone else, leaving Itsumi behind to gossip with the rest of your third year teammates as you prepared to time your run on your wristwatch. The sun was hanging low in the horizon, painting the sky with a resplendent orange glow that momentarily distracted you. Practice started quite late for all athletic teams today because of that unnecessary school-wide activity, and you didn't get why you're the only one that's feeling the urgency to catch up with the missed hours of practice.

The air still carried the traces of summer in the breeze, blowing past you in sweltering intervals. But the temperature would be the last thing to deter you in training. You've built up a stamina that could be mistaken for a professional runner's, and have been told numerous times that your endurance was inhuman. You'd even daresay that if you challenged Bokuto, himself, to see whose endurance would last longer, you'd still come out on top.

Once you'd completed a single lap, you let your eyes wander back to the gym, where the throng of the ace's admirers has considerably thinned. Bokuto's carrying an armful of poorly wrapped birthday presents as he spoke to the last of the girls with a sheepish look on his face. You scoffed, thinking about how futile their efforts were.

But then, you felt yourself make a wrong step on the oval, causing you to lose your footing and trip on your own feet. The dust of the bare grounds settled around you as you processed what just happened with wide eyes. Your right shoe did feel a little loose, and that's when you realized that your damn laces were untied—

"Hey! Are you alright?"

As you double-knotted your shoelaces, you looked up at who was checking up on you, but your eyes nearly bugged out when you were greeted by the sight of Bokuto running towards you with the abundance of gifts still secured in his arms. Only this idiot would go out of his way to do that even when he's literally got his hands full.

"It's not like you to just trip up like that," Bokuto pointed out in-between laughs as he awkwardly offered his arm for you to grab onto. Declining, you pulled yourself back to your feet with your own effort, thanking him hastily.

"Bokuto-san, please don't bother the track team when they're training," followed the monotonous sound of Akaashi's voice, who emerged behind Bokuto at a lethargic pace.

You've never really batted an eyelash towards the second year. Though Akaashi was pretty for a high school boy, he didn't strike you as anything more. With an abundant energy source like Bokuto standing next to him all the time, it was normal that your attention would be nabbed, right?

But in this proximity, the sight of the otherwise uninteresting setter caused a shift in your focus for a moment. You didn't miss the way his normally expressionless eyes lit up with recognition once he saw the small bell strung around your left wrist. Most people would mistake it for a hair tie, but it was actually a warding charm given to you at a young age. Why would Akaashi look like he was familiar with it?

"I apologize for Bokuto-san's impudence," Akaashi ducked his head into a slight bow. "He does get carried away by trivial things at times."

"Eh?! She tripped out of nowhere, Akaashi! I'm just concerned..." the ace sulked with a pout, uncharacteristic of such a ripped athlete like himself, as he adjusted his grip on his birthday presents.

Multiple footsteps could be heard headed your way, and when you glanced behind you, Itsumi and a few of your teammates rushed to the scene.

"Are you okay?" she asked, lightly slapping your cheeks. "No concussion?"

"Concu—Sumi, what are you talking about? I tripped, that's it."

Kazuto, one of the younger members of the team snickered into his palm. "Itsumi-senpai's acting like she wasn't the first to burst out laughing when you tripped, captain."

"Yeah, cap. She couldn't believe you forgot to tie your laces," said Saiko, who shot Itsumi an accusatory stare.

You narrowed your eyes at your ever-so whimsical of a best friend. Deciding that you'll lay divine punishment on her later, you turned to the boys from the volleyball team with an apologetic expression. "Really, I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me, guys. Don't you have practice, too?"

Bokuto shook his head. "The coach laid us off for the day. Konoha just told me it was rude to blow off the girls waiting for me at the gym..."

"Whoa," Kazuto gaped at him in awe. "I want to be that popular, too!"

"The first step to achieving that is to put your back into training, Kazuto," you told him with a sigh, restarting your timer in defeat. "Come on, we've only got an hour of training left, you pests."

"Yes, captain!" your teammates responded with a tone dipped in mockery. You could feel your exasperation reaching a fever pitch at this point. Oh, the things you'd do just to get the chance to whack them in the head one by one.

"(Surname), we'll be off," Bokuto informed, grinning widely. "Be careful next time, 'kay?"

His words surprised you so much, you could only manage a minute nod to send his way, not giving you any time to relish in the blush that painted your face. Once he was satisfied with your response, Bokuto turned on his heel, Akaashi following suit without much input to the conversation. However, the setter did cast one last glance your way as he and Bokuto walked further away.

The moment your eyes met with his, you were seized by an uneasy feeling that gripped your chest like a vice. You were certain it was just a trick of the light, but you could have sworn those navy blues glowed with malicious red for a split second. The gasp that escaped you was followed by his mouth twitching into a knowing smile, like he was aware of the way imaginary flames seemingly scorched your heart at that same moment.

You crumpled to your knees, clutching your chest so hard, your knuckles turned white.

You were gasping for air without taking any breaths at all. It was as if someone poked holes into your lungs so you couldn't breathe. Itsumi dropped to the ground, slinging her arm across your shoulder to cradle your convulsing frame. She's shouting. Why was she shouting? Her voice sounded too far away for you to make sense of what she was saying, like you were separated by several layers of glass.

You were vaguely aware of the rest of your teammates crowding around you, concern and fear lining each of their gazes. Someone was shaking you by the shoulders, but the only thing you could focus on was the retreating figure of a dark-haired setter.

The sight of him made you feel warm, so warm... No. Something was burning you.

With your coherent thought process dismantled, it took you a moment to piece together that the scorching heat was coming from your wrist. Itsumi was arguing with someone. But you couldn't bring yourself to pay attention as you groggily raised your wrist above your face. There, you saw the small bell tied around it emanating a white hot glow. It looked so pure, so—

That's the last thing you remembered before the darkness engulfed your vision, leaving you at its mercy.

#haikyuu!!#akaashi keiji #yokai #bokuto koutarou #lunaris #fanfiction #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu x reader

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

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Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Bee!

You have been accepted for the role of ISLA SELWYN-MACMILLAN, with the requested faceclaim change to Adelaide Kane! We particularly enjoyed the discussion of Isla’s reasoning to join the Order, as well as the conflict with people not trusting her because of who she is. We think she’ll be an excellent addition to the cast!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Bee

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m a college student, so my activity tends to revolve around my schedule, though I tend to be online at some point every day (unless there’s a big paper to write or a project or a test or something the next day, in which case maybe not… but still probably because I am a disaster). If I had to give it a number? 7.5, 8.

ANYTHING ELSE: OOPS HI LOVELY ADMINS

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Isla Evelyn Selwyn-MacMillan

AGE: 25

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis Female, She/Her, Sexuality was a weird thing for Isla- she was never entirely certain as to how to define it, or what made sense to her. Yeah, sure, guys were good, she guessed. Girls were nice too. Either or, both, sure.. But it was never really important. At least, not the sex part- not to her. She could take it or leave it. Sometimes it was nice, but most of the time she could live without. What she couldn’t live without was some sort of emotional connection. She needed someone to care about, and who cared about her- that was always what mattered most to her. In terms of labeling, she’s probably demisexual and gray ace.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: I’m 100% okay with Ernie being Archie and Isla’s kid. I actually kind of love how complicated it makes their little, odd family’s life. As for faceclaims,would it be okay if I used Adelaide Kane? If not, Melisa Pamuk is perfect <3

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Isla falls into a sort of gray area when it comes to personality. She is a messy conglomeration of the things that she needed to be for her family as well as the things she wanted to be for herself- therefore, it really depends on which Isla you know. She can be vibrant and exuberant, a free spirit who loves to run wild, who loves to do things that make her happy. She can be wildly fierce, especially when it comes to taking care of people and standing up for what she believes in. She can be a whirlwind of passion and fire. She’s warmhearted, treating friends more like family and strangers like friends.

But there’s also the uncertainty of who she’s supposed to be. The feeling of being lost in who she wants to be and who she’s had to become in order to hold on to the people she cares about, to protect the people she cares about, to protect herself. It’s like living a masquerade every day of her life. Pretending and lying, giving up the things that she was so passionate about, it’s deteriorated her spirit a little bit. But the Order has given her a little bit of that fire back. She has a cause to fight- she fights for the person she once was, the person she’s lost. She fights against the stupid, archaic world that the Death Eaters and Voldemort are creating. It helps her hold onto the scraps of herself that she knew. It’s like looking into a crystal ball and seeing who you were, but not seeing any path as to who you’re supposed to be now that the chips are down and you’ve found yourself in your current situation.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Isla has never really known where she fit in with her family. There’s a family portrait that hangs in her family home’s parlor that was done when she was about four. Her mother and father looked like the regal couple they’d always been, standing behind their four children, elegantly dressed, her mother dazzling with the diamond necklace that twinkled upon her neck, her father with a stern sort of half smile underneath his mustache. Her older sister, Maeve, sat on a fainting couch with herself and their little brother, Grant, just in front of them. All three of them in pristine, mint condition. Long, dark curls on Isla and Maeve, half tied up in white bows. Little Grant in a suit, his hair slicked back with what had to be gallons of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Every single detail of the five of them was perfect, to a t. She was sure that somewhere, in the back of her parent’s minds, that’s how they’d hoped their children would stay. Perfect little angels who knew their place, who had cherubic smiles on their faces and soft giggles. As an adult, Isla would find herself staring at the middle child, squirming ever so slightly in her little white dress, her eyes glinting with just a hint of mischief, and want to tell her to run away and never look back.

But then, really, would Isla be Isla?

Isla was a ball of energy that was almost impossible to tame. Of course, she knew when not to overstep her parent’s wishes, but oh Merlin, was it fun to toe just a hair over the line. As a little girl, she wasn’t given much opportunity. She would run wild around the nursery, declaring herself a dragon on any given Tuesday, or the Quidditch World Champion for a weekend. She jumped off beds, had notebooks full of doodles, sang at the top of her lungs- she was absolutely her own person. Willful, too. From about the age of three, there was no getting Isla to do anything that Isla didn’t want to do. She would sit, stubborn as an ox, in the same spot for hours on end. It drove her mother and father absolutely mad- but her aunt had always laughed and remarked that as long as there were Selwyns, there would be willful, headstrong witches in the world.

Hogwarts was the time for freedom that Isla really needed. It was freedom, at least to a point, to explore and experience and learn what she liked, to do what she wanted. Of course, she was never encouraged to do certain things. It was almost an unspoken thing- of course her parents wanted her socializing with students from pureblood families, of course they wanted her in the Frog Choir, of course they wanted her in the Slug Club- these were things that they could brag about to their friends, things that would make their daughter sound like the creme of the crop. It was easy with Isla’s older sister- Maeve had always been the golden girl. But Isla liked to subvert expectations and do what she wanted to do. She loved flying. Soaring above the world in the red and gold of the Gryffindor House Team, a very unladylike beater’s bat in one hand, she felt freer than free. Like she never wanted to touch the ground again. She loved Care of Magical Creatures, her gentler side emerging from the usual ferocity of her spirit. She could speak to the creatures for hours. She’d watch flobberworms, and somehow, not get bored. She hid a niffler in the Gryffindor Girl’s Dormitory for a month because it had hurt itself and she wanted to heal him up (his name was Gregory, and yes, she got found out by McGonagall… Gregory got taken away, and in a rare sighting, Isla cried for hours). She’d make friends with anyone and everyone from any house, even though there were certain friends that she had to tiptoe around, lest naive Grant slip up and tell their parents. Hell, she even snogged a few guys, a few girls, a few neither, and a few both. She had a relationship or two, though nothing romantic ever really lasted. All of this was okay because it fell within the realm of education. It wasn’t the real world- not yet. Her parents didn’t care what she did, so long as she brought no irredeemable shame to them.

Soon after graduation, her mother first used the most dreaded word in all of English: marriage. And thus began Isla’s great attempt to avoid ever talking about getting married. She quickly found a quidditch team that would sign her on, and thankfully her parents indulged her ‘whim’. For five years after Hogwarts, five glorious, beautiful, amazing years, she flew professionally. Isla knew it wasn’t exactly what her parents wanted- she knew the remarks regarding their younger daughter’s occupation that ran in their little circle of pureblood friends. But Isla didn’t care. Until she had to care. Until her parents told her she couldn’t fly anymore, even though she was so close to landing a spot in the big leagues. No. That word came back to haunt her. Marriage. Isla had to get married to some nice pureblooded boy that they approved of- preferably another old name- and have little pureblood babies. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t in love with anyone, it didn’t matter that she didn’t want to get married- it was marry or be cut off. This was the only place that her parent’s held the power, where the line was drawn in flames rather than chalk. They threatened her with stories of Andromeda Tonks, who ran off with a muggleborn and had a kid, who was cut off from the family, burned off the family tree, shunned from all of society. And while Isla didn’t care about the rest of society, she did care about being cut off from her family.

Enter Archie.

Archibald Macmillan, one of Isla’s closest friends in the world, was in a similar conundrum: his parents were demanding a marriage to a nice pureblooded young lady- the catch in his particular situation was that young ladies weren’t exactly his type. Thus, the world’s most perfect plan was hatched: Archibald Macmillan would marry Isla Selwyn. They would be married for the sake of marrying- to placate their parents and the demands for traditional pureblood values and a path for an eventual heir- but have the freedom to be themselves within their own relationship. Freedom within the constraints their families had placed upon them. Thankfully, Archie hadn’t fussed when she asked… or really demanded… she keep her surname as well as take his. She was Isla Selwyn after all. Now she was just a Macmillan too.

It wasn’t until after the wedding that Isla found out why her parents had been so demanding and had threatened to cut her clean off if she hadn’t married. The reason was referred to as You-Know-Who and other darling pseudonyms. He wanted a pureblood society, full of traditional pureblood values. If you defied him and his followers, you often ended up dead. It had been her family’s way of protecting her without really explaining why. That knowledge made her blood boil. She had been so angry with her family, but so afraid that they would cut her off just like Andromeda Tonks had been burned off the Black Family Tree that she caved. But it was this… this slimy, foul, miserable wretch of a wizard who wanted a perfect world for himself to rule over. What You-Know-Who didn’t know was that he had made an enemy on her wedding day, whilst she was saying her ‘I do’s to a man she loved but wasn’t in love with, while her family sat, painted smiles on their face. He had made her choose to clip her wings. And for that, he would pay.

OCCUPATION:

Once upon a time, Isla was going to fly for the rest of her life. She was going to live on her broomstick and make it big one day. Maybe she’d even fly for the Holyhead Harpies. She’d already planned it all out. Unfortunately, Voldemort and, because of their fear of their daughter being hurt or worse, her parents, had more traditional plans for her. So Isla Selwyn MacFusty is a wife. It isn’t an occupation she wanted by any stretch of the imagination- but at least it’s a marriage to Archie, and not one of the arrogant ministry goons her mum would have picked out for her. She supposes that the Order is more of an occupation in the traditional sense- it doesn’t pay (but she doesn’t need money, what with the Selwyn and Macmillan money floating around), but it gives her something to do. She’s also taken on a new occupation- one that she wasn’t certain that she’d ever wanted. Being the mother of Ernie Macmillan was the best job she’s ever had. She’d do anything for her little boy, anything in the world.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDERS:

Isla’s fairly certain that most of the Order does not like her because of her last name… or last names. Sometimes it makes her feel like she’s sticking out like a sore thumb- the pureblood girl with the perfect pureblood life, what’s she doing fighting with the underdogs? Isla wishes that there were some way for her to reassure the Order that she’d do just about anything to help, because she doesn’t agree with anything that Voldemort says… the slimey old git. The past is the past, and it should stay there. Archaic and old, let it mold away. Fighting this fight lets her at least try to banish the past way of thinking. Plus, she believes that every good secret organization needs a few good men (or women) who have insight and connections to the enemy. Fortunately, Isla believes herself to be the exact girl for the job, She’s high enough up in pureblood society that people don’t suspect her. While most people in high society know of Isla’s fiery disposition, they believe her to be ‘tamed’ by married life, settling in as a graceful and elegant lady of the house. She can work her family’s circles to pick up intel and feed it back to the Order. Hopefully good information helps turn the tides on the war.

SURVIVAL:

Once upon a time, Isla thought she was invincible. Nothing bad would happen to her- the Death Eaters, while winning, were too dumb in her mind to think that one of the Selwyn girls was working against them. She was certain that they’d think no sweet, demure, little housewife and mother would ever be involved with an organization actively trying to take down Voldemort. Especially not with a surname like Selwyn Macmillan. But the events of October 31st 1981 have rattled the optimistic perspective of Isla. People got hurt. Really hurt. Before the Masquerade, she was fighting by sneaking around, bringing in information that could only be provided by someone in upper crust pureblood society. But the evening of the masquerade was the first time that she could actually die. Be it getting caught in the crossfire trying to save someone, or being caught working for the Order, or simply being in the wrong spot at the wrong time. And if she died, that left Archie and Ernie alone- the two people she’d do anything in the world for. If she got caught, or if she died, that put both of them at risk. Or worse, she got caught, and something happened to them- she’s not so sure if she could handle even thinking about something like that happening.

RELATIONSHIPS:

Archie Macmillan: She loves her husband to the moon and back- just not as one would normally love their husband. Marrying Archie was a no-brainer once the ultimatums began to be thrown around by her parents. He’d always been a close friend, he was someone her parents undoubtedly approved of, and he needed a safe marriage where he could be himself without sneaking around. She thinks the world of him, and she would do anything for him. Of course, the Order has put a bit of a strain on things, but she appreciates him being right by her side. It makes her feel less alone in things.

Andromeda Tonks: Isla can never decide whether or not to be jealous of Andromeda. She was free to live the life that she wanted with whom she wanted, but at the cost of losing her family. Isla is certain that she maintains a large amount of respect for the woman. She might have been the horror story her parents plagued her with, being left without a family or a home, but at least Andromeda didn’t give in to her parents. There’s a piece of Isla that eats at her every day for not fighting for just one more second of her freedom.

James Potter: Isla really cannot stand James Potter, and it’s not even his fault… or it is… it isn’t but it is. James has never had to worry about losing his family for dating who he wanted, for marrying or not marrying- he’s completely free. And even worse, he’s pitied for being in a relationship simply because Lily is a muggleborn. As if Lily Evans wasn’t smarter than ten purebloods combined… at least, in her humble opinion. All of these thoughts have given Isla a sort of prickly disposition whenever she’s around James. She doesn’t hate him, but she doesn’t like what he gets away with all because he’s James Potter and because he’s a bloke.

Emma Vanity: Emma Vanity is like looking into a mirror. A slightly more innocent, naive, little lamb of a mirror, but a mirror. She’s from a pureblood family, one that had wanted her to get married to a nice pureblood boy. And god, the girl almost did get married, and Isla still isn’t sure that that’s what the girl had wanted. She was freed from her betrothal by the untimely death of Mulciber, but Isla knows that that sort of freedom only lasts so long, especially nowadays. Hopefully, with a little bit of her help, Isla can get Emma to truly decide what she wants, and then help the girl with whatever comes next. Merlin knows Isla wishes that she had had someone who would have done that for her.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: Isla x chemistry. A warning that she will never do anything that would put Archie or her son at risk, any extramarital relationships will likely be secretive.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Isla has led the glamorous life- she hasn’t had to worry about much of anything, ever. She never had to worry about being bullied or tormented about where she came from, let alone any other reason. Up until her time at Hogwarts, she hadn’t really met a muggleborn, let alone really understand what the muggle world was like- it wasn’t like she didn’t know that muggleborns existed, but they weren’t in the social circles that her parents ran in. So when she got to Hogwarts, she was a little bit too eager to find out things like how they got around or how they got rid of the boggarts in the attic or how they ever got their mail. There were times she was surprised how good at magic a muggleborn friend was, and as she got older, she’d kick herself for ever thinking like that. Having magic, she learned, didn’t mean you had to be good at it. For example, she was awful at transfiguration, whereas other students- muggleborn, halfblood, and pureblood alike- succeeded and even thrived at the art of changing one thing into another.

The only thing in the world she has working against her is Voldemort’s need for his rather archaic pureblood society and it’s ‘traditional’ values. Traditional in the sense that it was her job to be a delicate flower doing household magic and being demure and lovely as opposed to zooming through the air on a broomstick and feeling free. That freedom to be who she wanted to be has given her the tiniest sliver of a glimpse into a world she knows she could never dare to imagine. Ernie, she’s decided, will be raised to respect every wixen of every background. Her son will be better. She won’t let him be another pureblood thinking that he is the center of the universe, and all should bow before him.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? I have never loved a group more, I swear to god. I am here for all the angst and in depth character writing.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: LITERALLY ANYTHING. Y’all have come up with better plot drops than I could ever imagine. But I’d love something that lets Isla really do some recon and bring back whatever information she can to the Order.

ANYTHING ELSE? AAAAAAAAAAH I LOVE YOU ALL

#hp roleplay #hp rp #hp rpg #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #homenumaccepted

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torisfeather · 7 years

Link

Also on Archive of our own : http://archiveofourown.org/works/10930521/chapters/24774624

Sweat was running down his back, leaving a long icy trail. His chest was wrapped in an iron grip, and helicopter blades were desperately trying to dig themselves a passage out of his stomach. His legs could barely carry him, and wouldn't even think of walking. His father's hand on his shoulder was the only thing reminding him of moving in the noisy corridor, behind the dark skinned woman.

He wasn't scared.

He was terrified.

He hadn't chosen to be here. If he had any say in it, he would have become a hermit and hid in the depths of the Chinese countryside for the rest of his life. He did not want this school. He didn't not want those classmates. He was a real danger for everyone, and they wanted him to live among a hundred potential victims. Best. Idea. Ever. It was about as wise as giving a kindergartener an armed grenade.

He didn't know what his parents had believed to think even one second that coming here would solve his "problem". For now, all he hoped was that the kitchen only used electricity. That nobody would light a candle or a fireplace in his presence. And that he'd remember not to use the lighter he preciously kept in his pocket.

He vaguely heard the young woman speak with his parents before they left. They looked a little worried, but mostly relieved. Probably because they could finally get away from their freak of a son. He felt anger rising. He bit his tongue, tried to calm down. Stay zen. He couldn't take it out on them for being scared of him. He was dangerous, it was normal to be afraid.

She smiled at him kindly before turning around and leaving. She had other kids to greet. He waited until she disappeared around the corner to open the door to his new bedroom.

His blood froze cold when he realized there were two beds, and someone was currently reading, lying on one of them. A roommate? Really?

It was a pale giant with cinder hair. The bed looked almost too small for him. He was wearing the school's uniform with a scarf. This imposing appearance was completely contrasting with the tiny little book he was holding delicately in his hands. The title was Russian but the cover was decorated with a beautiful drawing of a bird with long burning feathers.

The giant looked up and stuck his purple gaze into his brown eyes. A small content smile was settled on his lips and didn't seem to want to leave anytime soon. "Hi!" he said as he put his book down.

He stood up and stretched. Now Yao had to look up to see his face. High up. It wouldn't be as intimidating if the Russian wasn't as large and if his little smile wasn't this creepy. Yao had had to deal with big guys like him but this one had something scarier, like some sort of dark aura surrounding him. It was fascinating in some way. "You are my new roommate, da?" he said like nothing was wrong.

Yao nodded. He wasn't going to show he was afraid. At least, now he could focus on him rather than on his fear of screwing up during class. The giant had a small laugh that sounded too innocent for his strong built.

"I hope we'll be very good friends! I'm Ivan, you?"

"Yao."

His head tilted to the side, without losing his smile. "Yao sounds nice." He laughed again. It sounded like the amused giggle of a child noticing their hamster is trying to leave its cage. "It sounds like a cry of joy," he said softly. "Yao! Yao! Like a party!"

"Um… Thanks?"

"You're welcome."

Yao was growing more and more awkward. The talk sounded strange. The voice of the giant named Ivan was too light, too delicate, too childish. And cute as hell. But it didn't fit the body it belonged to.

Ivan walked up to him and held his hand out. For a handshake, occidental tradition. Slightly hesitant, Yao shook it. His skin was strangely cold, in spite of the warmth of the room. The Russian frowned worriedly. "You're hot."

"What?"

"I mean you look like you have a temperature."

"Oh… No, really, I'm fine."

"Ufufu, good!"

They let go but the cold stayed for a few moments inside Yao's palm. Ivan was staring attentively behind his innocent face. It was impossible to know what was hidden under his calm little smile. "You are very, very cute, Yao-Yao," he said softly.

Yao chocked. "What?"

"I said you were very cute," he said again, calmly. He walked forth and caught his chin firmly. His smile grew more devilish as he steadily brought their two faces closer. "Say… Would you like to be one with me?"

"Wh… I… N…"

Yao was doing his best but he couldn't pronounce a single word. His breathing picked up, and so did his heart as if it was trying to climb up his throat. His head started to spin slightly and he felt a hot flash flooding him as Ivan's icy hands laid upon his cheeks. His face was growing closer still. He was going to kiss him. "I'm… I'm not feeling very good," he said, retreating.

Surprised, Ivan stood back and his concerned face appeared again. "Yao-Yao has a fever after all!"

"I… No… I… I'm just hot… I just need some fresh air…" Yao turned around and hurried out. He needed to get out of here. Fast. He felt like it was important. He was going to locked himself up in the bathroom, wait it out…

Suddenly, his legs refused to obey. They froze as he was about to walk out the door. Horrified, he looked down, only to find out his feet were trapped in two ice chunks stuck to the floor. He pulled and pulled and pulled but they wouldn't budge.

Ivan closed in behind him and laid his hand on his shoulders, gently. "No, my Yao-Yao won't run away this time…" whispered his sweet voice, drawing shivers out of the Chinese boy. Petrified, Yao watched as he placed himself in front of him with his toxic little smile. "If you are hot, Yao-Yao, why don't you take some of your clothes off?"

"No! No, no stop! Qǐng!"

"What is it? Is my Yao-Yao hiding something from me?" His voice was still giving him shivers, filling him with terror and some other feeling he couldn't really describe. Yao was usually brave. But right now, he was literally frozen in place as Ivan slowly took away every piece of fabric covering him. "Yao-Yao is mine, right? So Yao-Yao shouldn't hide anything from me!"

No! No, he couldn't see him! He should never see him like this! No, this was wrong! He couldn't see this! No way! No! No!

Yao's eyes shot open. He sat up. The room was dark, except for the time glowing red on the radio. Ivan shifted in the other bed, probably dreaming about sunflowers and vodka.

A dream. Just a dream.

He laid back down, hugging close his Shinatty-chan. But he couldn't go back to sleep.

Even in his dreams, that damn Russian should never, ever, ever find out about his stupid secret.

The PCD classroom was quite peculiar. As large as a small gymnasium, it was separated from the rest of the building by the playground's length. To get in, you had to cross two iron doors separated by an airlock. Just what you needed to feel awkward while entering.

The lessons used to happen in a normal classroom, inside the building. But several accidents, including but not limited to a fire, a flood and the emission of a smell of rotten egg in the entire building for several hours had convinced the principle it was necessary to take precaution measures. Just to make sure not everyone would die because someone sneezed at the wrong moment.

The floor was made of light wood that sounded like it was hollow when one stepped on it. "Like a dance studio," Lily shyly commented. The ceiling was high and, like a gymnasium, showed the girders carrying the roof. Tables and chairs were cast against the walls instead of being arranged in the middle as they would be for any kind of lesson. A door in the far left opened on a stockroom full of various objects, from simple paper sheets to baseball bats. There was also half a dozen fire extinguishers in a corner. Another door, opposite to the first one, led to a small projection room.

The first years were waiting, wearing the sportswear Luna had given them when they came in. Mei and Faustina were thoroughly biting their painted nails while Vash was talking his sister out of doing the same thing. Kiku was playing statues again, the Italian twins were getting rid of the stress by talking loudly with extensive gestures to anyone who'd listen, Feliks seemed like he was daydreaming, just like Tino whose arm Peter didn't want to let go of. Let's just say they were nervous.

Tension reached its peak when Luna came back from the dressing room, a file in hand. With a large smile, she gave them small sheets of paper and pens.

"Surname, first name, age and power if you know it. Oh, and everything I'd need to know if you have health issues. And please hurry."

Kiku, Vash and Peter started right away. The other kids shared incredulous looks. Seriously, even in a class about supernatural powers, they had to fill in information papers? According to Luna's serious look, they did.

"Like, that's lame…" Feliks sighed.

And for the first time, everyone agreed.

Eventually all the papers were done and given back to Luna. The young woman suddenly had a very scary smile and walked to the center of the room. "Good, now, you're going to run ten laps around the room! No slacking off! Then you'll do one sprinting, another one sidestepped, one heels high and one knees high. And when you're done, get in the middle so you can stretch, alright? Let's go!"

This time, the look they shared was stunned. But Luna didn't give anybody any time to whine and drilled their eardrums with a whistle she seemingly pulled out of thin air.

They started moving, with more or less enthusiasm. Kiku, as a student paragon, was doing his best and running like he was at the Olympics. At least for the first few seconds, for his mishandled body snapped at him and made him slow down. Tino looked like he had chosen to mother Peter and was encouraging him and helping him to keep up, which he managed pretty well. What the younger boy didn't have physically, he had in will. As for Vash, he was treating Lily like a porcelain doll and managed to encourage her while asking every three seconds if she needed to rest. Romano decided he wanted to look manly and tried to run in a cool way in front of Mei and Faustina, but he tripped and ate the floor. When he got back up, pouting as red as a tomato, the two girls giggled and said he was "just so cute", which achieved to make him depressed. And Feliks and Feliciano had started talking about pasta, fashion and ponies when Luna chased them with her whistle to force them to go faster.

It wasn't even a warm-up. Luna was pushing them to their limits, making them run as much as possible. When she'd notice one wasn't about to collapse from exhaustion, she'd give them one more lap to finish them. Once they were done, exhausted, extenuated, dead to the world, the teenagers fell to the ground to stretch as Luna read their papers. Apparently, most of them had no idea what they could do. That wasn't helping, but at least the class would be fun.

"Alright everyone! Are you ready to start?" It was dead silent in the room. The few students still alive glared at her. A smirk showed up on her lips. Of course they didn't like it, but tiring them physically was the best way to wake up their capacities, while keeping them easy to control. The idea was to have a clear mind to focus on one thing at a time. "Well it looks good… We're making three groups. Kiku, Peter and Faustina, you're going in the corner by the main entrance. Feliks, Mei, Vash and Lily, go sit down by the projection room. Tino, Lovino, Feliciano, go wait for me by the stockroom."

The kids obeyed, too tired to protest. Tino almost had to carry the Italian twins all by himself. The two brothers looked like they were going to pass out.

Kiku, Peter and Faustina opened wide eyes when their teacher came back from the stock room with a large wheeled mirror and paper sheets. Luna caught her breath before explaining. "You three already know your own capacities. Looking younger, giving life to origamis and enter mirrors," she said, pointing at each of them.

The two boys gave the young girl an impressed look, which made her blush a little.

"You've found out about those capacities by accident, from intense emotions," Luna continued like it was no big deal. "That's the first step. Now, your goal will be to learn to use your power intentionally, which means without any outside disturbance. Questions?"

No one spoke.

"Perfect. Kiku, come here."

She sat the Japanese boy at a table and gave him a white paper sheet. "You are going to make an origami. Preferably something easy to animate, like an animal. Then you'll try to give it life through visualization. Can you do that?

"Uh… I think I c…"

"Good. Get to it." She left him with the paper, dumbfounded. Slowly, the Japanese boy tried to stay calm and started to carefully fold the paper into a crane.

After she left Faustina with her hands on the mirror's surface, trying to remember how to get in, Luna had to face Peter's enthusiasm as he looked up at her with eyes filled with hope. She knelt to his level, uneasy.

"Er… Peter? Listen… Your capacity is a bit peculiar so I'd rather if we worked on it together later. Is that alright?" At the little boy's disappointed face, she quickly added: "But I'd like you to help with the others for now. You'll be my assistant, how does that sound?" He nodded and forced a small smile. She felt sorry for him. She knew how much he wanted to get his old appearance back.

Suddenly, she had an idea. She called Lily and gave Peter a keychain. "Peter, I'd like you to bring Lily to the school library. Take the most interesting book you can find. When you're done, don't forget to close the door. Oh, and then, please go to the biology lab and ask Mr. Bondvik for a mouse."

"A what?"

"A mouse. You know, the little animal that has a long tail and likes cheese. Ask him for one. And specify that it has to be alive, alright? And if you could hurry, it would be perfect."

Peter and Lily shared a stunned looked before obeying.

Luna smiled as they left. Then she looked at Feliks, Mei and Vash and thought for a little while…

"DVDs?"

Luna happily nodded. The three students were standing in the projection room, unsure. Smaller, it looked a little more like a classroom. There was a projection screen in front of the tables, right above a DVD player already on. They heard Luna whine about "idiots who never turn the devices off after using them" as she slipped the first disk into the player.

"Wow, that's, like, awesome! We're gonna watch movies?" Feliks exclaimed as he sat on one of the desks.

Luna had an amused chuckle but didn't answer. Vash and Mei sat down as well, not as excited as their classmate. Luna turned the projector on, the light off and around after asking them to tell her if anything weird happened.

The three kids shared a look and focused on the movie.

Ten minutes later, terrified screams raised from the little room as the students watched the horror movie the teacher was showing them.

Now came the most difficult part. Luna headed towards Tino and the Italian twins who looked a little better. She gave them a shimmering smile as she walked to them.

"So, who wants to go first?" she chirped.

Tino immediately knew something was up and stepped back. Lovino also guessed what was going on and hid behind the Finnish boy. As for Feliciano…

"Ve! Sure, I do! What are we going to do? Pasta? Pasta sounds good!"

The three students were each tasked with something: Feliciano had to run around the room without stopping, Tino had to befriend the adorable mouse Peter and Lily had brought back, and Lovino just had to jump on one spot. Luna had then left, pretending she had to go get something.

After a few minutes, all three of them had stopped doing the exercises they deemed pointless. And since Luna wasn't back yet, they started chatting.

After about fifteen minutes of talking, they started to worry about their teacher being gone for so long.

The bell rang the end of the first hour, but still no teacher around. Kiku and Faustina were still focused on their exercises and the others were enjoying their movie with panicked screams. Peter was listening as Lily read her book out loud, in a corner.

After another half-hour of waiting, the Italians and the Finnish boy wanted to go see what was taking Luna so long, when suddenly everything went black.

Everything.

Even the windows that should have let some of the morning sunlight in were suddenly dark. Total darkness. The students could have sworn they had suddenly gone blind. Tino, Feliciano, Lovino, Lily, Peter and Faustina screamed as one. Kiku stayed calm, though.

The light slowly came back until the kids were surrounded by purplish darkness that reminded them of a haunted house. Lovino felt like he had to yell "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" just so he could express a little bit of his fear as his twin just clung to him, crying and calling for help.

Suddenly, red light exploded in the entrance, and a dark, menacing silhouette emerged from it. It had claws longer than Wolverine's, and as if that wasn't enough, it had a large butcher knife in each hand. Its face was hidden under a slenderman white mask and it wore some sort of long coat hiding its body entirely. It didn't let the student stare at it any longer and dashed towards the twins.

Lovino hid behind the first thing that could serve as a shield, which was a shaking Tino with a mouse in his hands. As for Feliciano, he ran away immediately. The thing followed him with heavy footsteps and terrible roars. Completely panicked, he rushed to the door which happened to be locked. Terrified, he started to run again, the monster following him.

As the creature was about the catch him and he thought he was about to die, probably more from asphyxia than from bloody murder committed by a killer monster, he was surprised when his legs started moving even faster without tiring him more. He didn't stop to ask why, though, and kept running faster and faster to try and get away from this menacing thing.

Realizing its target was fleeing, the creature stopped and turned to Tino and Lovino with a menacing glare. Paralyzed with fear, the two teenagers could only walk back against the wall as the monster closed in. Tino whispered a barely audible "help".

He had only just said this word when his mouse jumped from his hands and onto the masked monster's face to burry its teeth in its skin.

The thing let out a terribly feminine cry and fell over.

"Ouch! Ouchie! Ok, ok! Fine, I give up! Ouch, Tino, call your mouse back!"

The light came back immediately and everyone could see, instead of the hideous creature… Miss Luna Chrones, dressed in a long black coat, cardboard claws and plastic knives, fighting with a rodent that was trying to eat her face. A white hood had fallen to the ground. Everybody stared, stupefied.

"No really, get that thing off me, please!"

They needed a few minutes to strip their teacher from her horror show outfit. Back in her usual clothes, it was hard to believe it was the same monster who attacked them earlier. Apart for the teeth marks on her face, it was like she never even left.

"Uh… So, ma'am? Would you tell us why you did that?" Faustina asked, fists on her hips and angry faced, obviously upset.

"Ahaha, you didn't like it?" the dark skinned teacher said.

Silence.

"Uh… Ok…" She cleared her throat slightly and stretched her back before explaining with a clear voice. "It is difficult, nearly impossible, to trigger consciously the first manifestation of your power. Capacities usually stay dormant until puberty and only manifest, in general, as a reaction to a powerful emotion."

"It's really just like the X-men, then," Peter commented.

"… So I tried to use the emotions most easy to generate: fright and surprise. Normally, we shouldn't need more than three sessions for the whole class to know what it can do. This was already nice results!"

"Uh, nothing really happened…" Lovino grumbled.

When she heard this, Luna smiled. Nobody dared to move when she walked up to a table, grabbed a weird device from it and came back fidgeting with the screen. "Feliciano," she called. The boy walked forth with a distracted "ve". "What a nice sprint you did when I almost caught you."

"Vehehe, you scared me, ma'am!

"Precisely. Look at the speed it saved."

Curious, the Italian boy took a look at the screen and tilted his head, unsure. "Ve… Sixty kilometers per hour… Is that good?"

"It's more than the world record of speed. No human being can run this fast." Then, when she saw Feliciano's still concerned face, she added: "Yes, it is good."

"Ve!"

"Besides, this was the first time, by accident. If you train, you'll be able to run even faster.

"So that's my power? ... I would have liked something that helps making pasta more."

Luna chuckled at his slight disappointment, and then turned to Tino as he cuddled the mouse who tried to save his life. "Tino? Do you know why your mouse jumped on me earlier?"

"Uh… I think?" he said, hesitantly. "I asked for help and Aurajuusto…"

"Who?"

"Huh? Oh, that's its name, it sounds nice, doesn't it?" The Finnish boy smiled as he pointed at the mouse trying to climb his shirt.

"It is a nice name," Kiku said. "What does it mean?"

"Blue cheese!" the blond boy proudly said. No one dared to say it was weird. But they were thinking it really hard. "Anyway," Tino continued. "Aurajuusto felt I was in danger and protected me. Even if I'm not sure wh… Wait, that's my power? Being protected by little critters?"

"Well… Sort of? It works with other animals as well and…" Luna stopped, as the Finnish wasn't listening, all too glad about his capacity. With a sigh, she turned to the last kid in the group, which was none other than the sulking Lovino a few feet away. "However, I am disappointed your power didn't manifest," she said. "But I suppose we should play more on surprise for this."

"Ha! Good luck with that!" the boy mocked.

"Why?"

"I'm never surprised! You can ask Feli, he tries all the time and it never works!"

"Ve… You kinda jumped pretty hard, last time, fratello."

"Shut up, bastard, that's not because I was surprised, that's because… Whatever! I just don't get…"

"SURPRIIIIIIIISE!"

Antonio had been waiting in front of the PCD room for a while now. Luna had come earlier, in the middle of a chemistry lesson, and asked him to help her with what she called an "emergency". Well, he was bored right now, and he didn't know why he should stay and wait when he was done with what she asked him to do.

He opened the first door, and then the second one, pretty silently. Back in her usual clothes, Luna was explaining something to the students who listened attentively. Well, she probably didn't need him anymo… He spotted Lovino among the others and a little smirk showed up on his lips. He tried to get closer to the group without being noticed by his target.

Just a little joke, he could do that, right? After all, the Italian boy wasn't going to hold a grudge against him for this, right? Besides, he was so cute when he was angry, he looked like a big ripe tomato! Yes, tomatoes are very cute. Especially the ones that yell at you while growing even redder… Wait, tomatoes didn't do this. Oh well, whatever, he was almost there!

He heard Lovino bragging about never being surprised was he reduced the distance, as slow as a spy turtle. That was probably very cute as well, a spy turtle that is. He would have said a ninja turtle, but copyrights, besides "spy" sounds better. What was he thinking about again? Oh, right, it was fun seeing how proud the Italian boy was under his frail appearance. And it made tricking him all the more appealing.

He sneaked behind the brown boy as silently as possible and, after making sure he hadn't noticed him, he pinched his hips and yelled. "SURPRIIIIIIIISE!"

The joke worked better than expected. Lovino jumped up to the ceiling.

Literally.

One moment he had his feet on the ground. The next, he was flying fifteen feet above them and screaming. And he reflexively grabbed a girder holding the roof.

Antonio froze for a second. Then he turned to the teacher and said with a concerned face: "Oops?"

Everything was that idiot's fault! Everything! He'd throw his fist into that son of a bitch's face if he could let go of that girder! But for now he didn't know what he should do. He had wrapped all of his limbs around it and was holding on with desperation. Don't look down, he thought. He knew all too well what would happen if he did. Everything would start to spin around him, he would close his eyes and start screaming and crying in spite of his Italian pride! It wasn't fair! Why did he have to be scared of heights?

And the other guy saying "oops"… Not but really. You say "oops" when you step on someone's foot, when you drop something at the grocery store, or when you start to flirt with a girl before realizing it's not a girl. But right now, "oops" was hardly appropriate. Because he was just showing how dumb he was and getting people into trouble! He heard Luna calling him from down below. "Lovino, are you alright?"

"Do I look alright, damn it? Help me the fuck ou…" Fuck… He just looked down. He felt the void calling him, his hands slipping from the beam. Reflexively, he gripped it even harder and bit his lip not to scream. He didn't want to know how he managed to jump this high. All he wanted was to feel the ground under his feet. Suddenly, he felt something change. He couldn't tell if it came from him or his perch but… Impossible! His hands and legs were digging into the metal beam!

"Lovino! Don't panic! Try to calm down or you are going to…" He wasn't even listening, trying to catch himself as well as he could. But every time he grabbed the girder, his hands dug into it even faster. It wasn't even deforming, his limbs were literally going through the matter! He was growing more and more terrified, and the more afraid he was the faster his arms and legs were losing their tangibility.

Sort of understanding what was happening, Luna turned to Antonio, an urgent glow in her eyes. The Spanish boy's eyes widened with fear. "I can't! It's way too far, I…"

"Antonio, we don't have a choice!" the teacher urged.

"But I…"

"Do it!"

Since talking didn't seem to do any good, the brown haired boy closed his eyes and focused. First, nothing happened. Then a transparent form, sort of like a glass dome, appeared right under the Italian. Antonio tensed, unfamiliar with such performances. He opened an eye to check on the young boy he was trying to save. "Okay, Lovi, you can let go," he said between clenched teeth.

"Don't call me Lovi, you bast… CHIGIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!" His hands just went through the beam and so did his legs. Antonio prepared for the collision but, instead of landing on his force field as he should have, the Italian boy went through it as well, as if there had been nothing there.

"¡Mierda!" Antonio dropped his focus and the dome disappeared. Only one solution now: he threw himself under the younger boy and caught him before he touched the ground. Well, actually, he tried to catch him and his body broke his fall. He felt a crack and a terrible pain when the Italian boy's body hit his.

Terrified, Lovino had closed his eyes and was only more surprised when he saw who he had landed on. He cried out and slapped the idiot crying from pain. "Why would you do that, dumbass?" he yelled, hopping mad.

Antonio didn't answer, and Lovino realized he had passed out. Concern overwhelmed him and he slapped him again, trying to wake him up. But as much as he yelled, hit, insulted him, he wouldn't open his eyes.

Around them, nobody dared to move, afraid of making the Italian even more angry. To everyone's surprise, it was Feliciano who gathered enough courage to go and pat his twin's shoulder. He turned around brutally but didn't do anything more. "Fratello…" Feliciano said softly. "You are going to hurt him if you keep hitting him."

Lovino didn't answer but didn't try to do it again. Luna chose this moment to escape her stupefaction. "Lesson dismissed! You are all going to help me bring Antonio and Lovino to the nursery!"

Lovino protested as the young woman held him under the armpits to help him up but repressed a pained whine: his right arm and leg had taken the whole impact and beautiful nearly black bruises where already spreading on them. He was surprised he hadn't felt them while abusing his savior.

His brother grabbed his healthy arm to help him as Kiku gently held the bruised one. The rest of the students helped Luna pick Antonio up and keep him in a horizontal position. Peter, too small, couldn't help anyone, so Luna called him and asked him to go find Raivis Galante, a second year student, in Math class. He immediately ran there as the students slowly carried the victims to the nursery.

"Hey, miss! Like, the movie's over and we totally flipped and it was, like, totally awe… Hey? Miss?... Like, they're totally gone!"

"Uh? But then what do we do?"

"Lily's not here either?! What the hell happened?"

"Well, maybe the lesson is, like, over?"

"…"

"So, what do we do?"

"You do whatever you want. I'm finding Lily."

"You know your sister is a big girl, right? She can take of hers… And there he goes… Boys…"

"Like, yeah…"

"But, aren't you a boy too?"

"Yeah, so what?"

"Nothing…"

#my work #fanfiction #axis powers hetalia #spamano #rochu #crazy school

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