#it was so hard to punish a kid like dolores | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

justanisabelakinnie · 2 years

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August 31

My fic dedicated to the primas-hermanas, for Dolores’ birthday(and Isabela’s since I didn’t publish one for her birthday, whoops, sorry ‘bout that)! Happy birthday, girls!

Also lesbian Isabela and t4t Pepa and Felix because I say so.

It was the middle of the night, and everyone in La Casa Madrigal was quiet and asleep.

All except for little Isabela.

The tiny little girl opened her eyes and was greeted with the sight of a dark ceiling, with lights adorning it to make it resemble the night sky.

But she was more excited for the day that was ahead of her. Remembrance hitting her like a comet, she leapt out of bed and nearly pounced on the bed next to her, her twin sister grunting in irritation mid-slumber.

“Dolores! Dolores! Dolores! Mi hermana! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

Dolores grumbled as she kicked Isabela off the bed. Isabela sighed. How was she going to get her sister to wake up?

Grinning mischievously, she had an idea. It was so obvious, why hadn’t she thought of it before?

She wobbled to her feet and crept onto her tippy-toes. Leaning her face towards the pillow that her adorable sister’s head was leaning on, she whispered the three special words into her ear.

“It’s our birthday.”

And just like that, Dolores’ eyes flew open.

Pepa yawned, letting the natural sunlight peek through her windows and illuminate the walls. She stretched as she rolled around on her magical cloud, and turned onto her side to see her handsome husband, still fast asleep. Smiling, she reached to wrap her arms around him, pursing her lips and going in for a kiss.

“MAMI! PAPI!”

“TÍA! TÍO!”

“IT’S OUR BIRTHDAY!!!”

Pepa cried out in shock, the cloud underneath her and her husband disappearing as they both collapsed to the floor. Hissing and uttering curse words that she hoped her daughter and sobrina didn’t hear, Felix murmured something as he turned to and fro on the cold hard ground, before rubbing his eyes and reluctantly rising up.

“What…” he groaned, yawning. Pepa found it utterly adorable, of course, but there were more pressing issues at the matter, such as punishing these kids.

She got up, storming over to the children—quite literally, as well—and towered over them, glaring downwards as she did so. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing, waking us up at this ungodly hour? Don’t you have any sense of resp—“

But Isabela and Dolores weren’t listening, and instead giggled and ran away, holding hands to disturb the other adults, forcing them to wake up.

“¡CHICAS! COME BACK HERE AT ONCE!!!”

Felix felt around for the cloud, which had already long evaporated. Sighing as he got up and adjusted his pajama bottom, he moved to stand by his wife’s side. “It’s their birthday, mi amor,” he explained gently.

“I heard that much. But that is nonetheless no excuse for—wait. Isabela’s birthday was on the seventh?”

“They decided they want to celebrate their birthdays on the same date from now on. And it makes sense for it to be Dolores’ since she is younger…and now, they are both three.” He placed a hand on Pepa’s shoulder. “They are children, mi vida. Just like you and I were once. Let them at it. Let them have their birthday fun.”

“Oh,” Pepa sighed. “I suppose they can have it. But quietly.”

“Oh, congratulations!” Pepa heard her sister Julieta sing from outside.

“It’s your birthday!!!” Agustín chimed in. “Happy birthday girls!”

Pepa walked over to the open door and was distraught to see that Isabela and Dolores had already roped Julieta and Agustín into the early morning festivities. Isabela and Dolores were whooping and cheering with their hands thrown up into the air as if they were queens of the world, and they had a right to do so as they were perched on top of Isabela’s parents shoulders, Isabela riding on Julieta and Dolores riding on Agustín, as both adults kept them secure by clutching their ankles.

Just great. What was it gonna take for Pepa to get some peace and quiet around here?

“It’s our birthday!” The girls yelled for the thousandth time, giggling and cheering. “We’re three!!!”

“Woohoo!” The adults cheered.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Bruno came out of his room rubbing his eyes. Pepa giggled at the mere sight of him, still wearing his green pajamas and clutching a stuffed rat like a kid. Fortunately, her little brother didn’t hear her. “What’s with all the ruckus?!”

“Tío Bruno, it’s our birthday!” Dolores cheered.

“Woah, is that true?” Bruno exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “Happy birthday, chiquitas!”

The cool-colored adults at last put the three-year-olds down so that they could hug their other Tío. And also so that they could give their shoulders a break. Who knew carrying around toddlers was so much work?

“I can’t wait for the parties and the fun and the singing and the cake and the—hey!”

Dolores panicked as the runny egg ran from her forehead down her nose and onto her chin, before landing on her blouse and deciding to leave a stain there. Then she burst into tears.

“Oops!” Bruno giggled. “Colombian birthday tradition!”

Dolores merely cried and ran away. Isabela wanted to call after her, to make her feel better. But then she realized something: that Bruno was holding another egg.

Bruno noticed her panicked stare and smiled. “Yes, you got that right. You know what’s coming to you, don’t you, sobrina?”

Isabela squealed and ran away, giggling.

“DON’T YOU?” Bruno took off after her.

“HELP! I don’t want that to happen to me!” Isabela screamed before running away.

Pepa sighed, face planting onto the door. Parenting was hard work. But as long as the girls were having fun, it was worth it.

Isabela was lucky. She got the hard-boiled egg.

“It’s our birthday, Juana!” Isabela excitedly chirped towards their friend as she and her prima clutched each other closely, smiling and overcome with giggling girlish glee.

Juana frowned at the two, and looked at them skeptically. “What do you mean it’s your birthday? It’s only Dolores’ birthday. You turned three on August seventh.”

“Yeah but I didn’t celebrate it then! I wanna celebrate it with mi hermana!”

“I thought Dolores was your prima!”

“Umm…”

“We’re both!” Dolores supported.

“Yeah, we’re primas-hermanas!” Isabela added on.

“Oh. All right.” Juana shrugged, secretly kicking herself for not having come up with such a clever term herself. To save face, she added. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you two don’t have the same birthday, and never will. So there.” She flipped her hair and walked away.

Dolores turned to Isabela, who looked sad, and tried desperately to cheer her up. “Hey, don’t sweat it! We can celebrate our birthday however and whenever we want! Do we care what Juana says?”

“No,” Isabela said, sniffling as she wiped back tears.

“Exactly! She can’t tell us what to do, she’s not our Mami. As a matter of fact, not even Mami and Tía can tell us when and when not to celebrate our birthday. Now come on, forget about Juana. Let’s go and—“

“All right, chiquitos, it’s nap time now!”

Dolores sighed. “I was gonna say let’s go and color, but oh well.”

The primas-hermanas went to get their sleeping bags from the closet. Dolores’ was red and Isabela’s was pink.

“Huh, I can’t find my sleeping bag,” Isabela said with a frown.

Dolores spread out her sleeping bag on the floor. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.” Isabela stepped over Dolores and looked for her sleeping bag. But everyone else was snug and asleep, that or they were crawling into their bags, snuggling with each other, and playing hand-games in secret. One girl waved at Isabela, and she waved back.

Then she noticed her sleeping bag. She ran to go get it, pulling it off of the floor and towards her. But she soon realized that her sleeping bag was a little bit…heavier than it should be.

Juana popped her head out of the sleeping bag, giving Isabela a look that Isabela did not like at all.

Isabela glared. “Juana! Give me back my sleeping bag ahora!”

But Juana merely stuck out her tongue at Isabela, before crawling right back under the sheets.

Isabela began to cry. “I want my sleeping bag back, Juana! Now!”

But Juana continued “sleeping”.

And so Isabela continued wailing and stomping her feet, throwing a temper tantrum that soon got the attention of both the students and the teacher alike.

The children merely hissed at Isabela. “Will she ever shut up?” Said the same girl who had waved at her earlier.

Meanwhile, the teacher ran towards the two girls. “What is going on here?”

Isabela wiped her tears and sniffled, but she still couldn’t help but cry. “J-J-J—“

“Isabela, I can’t hear you through the crying. Speak coherently, please.”

“Juana stole my sleeping bag!” Isabela hollered at last, throwing herself down on the floor as she sobbed. “And she said that me and Dolores don’t have the same birthday and she said that me and Dolores aren’t really sisters! I hate her!”

“That’s not true! I never said that!” Juana adamantly defended. “Well, I did say the first part. Because it’s true. But I didn’t say the last part!”

But the teacher wasn’t listening. “Juana. Get out of Isabela’s sleeping bag. Now.”

Juana looked to the ceiling, thinking it over. Then she made a decision. “No.”

Isabela sobbed louder.

“E-excuse me?”

“I said no. Did you not hear me the first time?” Juana grinned.

“Señorita, I am not playing! Get out of there at once!”

“I’m not scared of you, maestra!” Juana sneered disrespectfully. “You’re just a lame old teacher lady who doesn’t know anything! You don’t even have a husband! Or a wife! Or a cat. Cats are my favorite animals. Anyway, I’m staying here, whether you and Isabela like it or not.” She covered her head with the sleeping bag and flipped down. “Sorry, Isabela. Happy birthday.”

“THAT’S NOT FAIR!!!” Isabela cried out, as her classmates slowly became even more irritable. One boy even began cracking his knuckles.

But Dolores cared for her prima-hermana. “Umm, Señora?” She spoke up. “Isabela can share a sleeping bag with me!”

The teacher turned to look at her. “That would be excellent, Dolores. Thank you!” She took Isabela’s hand and walked her towards Dolores’ sleeping bag. “See, class? This is why we have to share!”

“I’ll share my fists with Isabela’s face,” the boy mumbled.

“What did you say, Jalen?” The teacher demanded to know.

“N-nothing…” Jalen stammered, flustered. “Nothing at all.”

“Good.”

Isabela crawled under Dolores sleeping bag, hugging her prima-hermana tightly. It was cramped and congested, but she didn’t mind because it let her be closer to Dolores.

“Feeling comfortable, Isa?” Dolores asked.

“Yup! Thanks for letting me share, Lola. You’re the bestest sister ever!”

Dolores hummed. “You’re welcome. Night.”

“Good night.” They both snuggled close to each other and fell asleep.

Three years later, they were six. Isabela and Dolores hadn’t celebrated their birthday at the same time last year. By that was only because it was their gift ceremony. Isabela grew flowers that swelled the entire Casita with a sweet and fresh aroma and bedazzled the entire town. Dolores’ gift ceremony was just as beautiful, she saw the sight of her door in all its glowing glory, and heard the amazed sounds of everyone cheering and clapping for her. It grew to be a little loud, however, but the audience got the hint, and so they clapped quietly. But to Dolores it was like a standing ovation.

Her room wasn’t as glamorous as Isabela’s room, but it was warmer and much comfier. They spent the night snuggled under Dolores’ sheets—just as they had done in Isabela’s room on her ceremony day—as Dolores excitedly told Isabela of all the people she could hear talking excitedly about how happy they were for the younger prima-hermana when she received her gift. It was a night to remember, and Isabela hadn’t wanted to ruin Dolores’ birthday by stealing the spotlight. So they let this year be the exception to the norm, but they promised that they would celebrate it again next year.

And before long, next year came.

Dolores’ dad hadn’t been as energetic and up to playing make-believe with his hija and sobrina as he used to be before. In the past months, he had been drowsy, unalert, inattentive, and had weird cravings for specific foods. It pained Dolores to see her father like this, just like it pained her to hear her father bent over the toilet and vomiting as Mami and Tía soothed him—she realized pretty quickly that her gift had its tribulations. Though she fortunately only heard this once as she would always go into her soundproof room when she heard his feet stumbling towards the bathroom.

But all that dulled in comparison to the tiniest heartbeat that could be heard inside Felix’s stomach. She was confused at first, but she realized pretty quickly: Felix was with child.

The news made her whoop and run about with glee! She was going to be a big sister! She was going to have a little bundle of adorable joy to hug and coddle and play with and tell what to do and she was going to love that little baby till the ends of the earth! She hoped the baby would be a girl, because she would love a younger sister!

Unfortunately for her, the baby was not a girl. According to Julieta, the baby was a little boy—a boy her mother and father named Camilo. And that made Dolores upset. Mad, even. ThI temper tantrum she threw was truly a sight to behold. But eventually she grew to love Camilo. And she didn’t miss the opportunity to sleep in the nursery with him as often as she could.

When no one was up, she snuck over to Camilo’s cradle, picked up the yellow-wrapped bundle of joy, and carried him safely over to her bed, where she snuggled with him tightly.

“Te amo, Camilo,” six-year-old Dolores soothed.

Camilo giggled, his hands reaching for Dolores’ face. She tickled his lips tenderly with her pointer finger. A bad idea. Camilo grabbed Dolores’ pointer finger with both hands excitedly, his eyes zoning in on it, and started sucking.

“Cumpleaños feliz, te deseamos a tí, Feliz cumpleaños a las primas, feliz cumpleaños a tí! Que los cumpla feliz, que los vuelva a cumplir, que los siga cumpliendo, hasta el año tres mil!”

The primas-hermanas looked excitedly at the towering cake making its way towards them as Bruno gently placed it down. Julieta and Agustin held each other lovingly, as Julieta gently cradled a sleeping baby Mirabel, little Luisa clinging to Agustin’s hand. Felix and Pepa smiled as well as they took turns holding their baby. Dolores didn’t even mind that the baby kept crying non-stop. Well, she did mind. But that wouldn’t stop her from having her fun!

Okay, maybe she minded a little more than she liked. To everybody else, the crying was merely annoying. But to Dolores, it was the sound of an alarm being set off.

And she hated it. So much.

“Uh oh, I think I’m gonna sneeze on the cake!” Bruno joked. “Ah-ah—“

“No!” Isabela and Dolores cried out, as Alma chuckled and held Bruno back.

“Make a wish, my lovely princesas.”

“And hurry!” Bruno piped up.

Dolores and Isabela closed their eyes as they excitedly blew out their birthday cake.

And silently they wished to always be close to each other, and to always celebrate their birthday together, forever and ever and ever.

(Dolores also wished for Camilo to shut his mouth for once.)

“Yay!” Everybody clapped, cheering, as Bruno rubbed his nose.

“I don’t feel like sneezing anymore,” he quipped.

Even Camilo stopped sobbing and giggled and clapped his hands with the rest of the family! It was utterly adorable to watch!

“Awww!” Dolores squeed. “Birthday wishes really do come true! I wished for Camilo to stop crying, and he did!”

“Oh,” Agustin uttered, interested.

A moment of silence fell over la Casa Madrigal before Camilo started crying again.

“Crap.” Dolores sighed.

And that’s how she learned that when you make a wish and say it out loud, it won’t come true.

Two years later, the primas-hermanas buzzed about the house with joy. They were turning nine soon, and they could hardly wait.

“Isabela!” Dolores squealed. “Our birthday is coming up again! Can you believe it?”

“I can! I can’t wait, mi prima-hermana!” Isabela gave her a thumbs up.

Alma buried her head in her hands. “Do they have to do this?” she asked Julieta. “Celebrate their birthday together every year, I mean.”

“Leave them to it, Mami, it’s what they want to do,” her eldest daughter defended. “They probably see how their parents and Tío are triplets and want to emulate that. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mirabel and Camilo did the same.”

“Catch me if you can, Cami!” Mirabel yelled as she ran away from Camilo.

“Stop right there, you thief!” Camilo screeched. “Don’t you know that robbing someone’s home is against the rules?”

“It’s not against the rules if you’re pretty!” Mirabel beamed, batting her eyes. Before sticking out her tongue at Camilo and running away.”

Alma sighed and reluctantly nodded. “I suppose so. They’re children. And kids will be kids. I suppose I should just let them be.”

But in a year, Alma would eventually break that promise. And in doing so, she would break both of the primas-hermanas’ hearts.

Even though it was both of their birthdays, Isabela and Dolores made sure to get each other gifts as well, as they always had. Isabela was ecstatic to open her present and see the gift that she had received: a pair of pink pearl earrings. It was small, but it was invaluable. And it meant a lot to Isabela.

“I’ll help you put them on!” Dolores offered, gently taking the earrings from Isabela and putting them in each ear.

Isabela examined herself in the nearby mirror. “I love it!” She squealed. “They look beautiful!”

“I knew you would!”

Isabela wrapped Dolores in a hug, giving her kisses all over her face. “Thank you so much, Lolita! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you! I’ll never take them off.”

“Ick,” Camilo said.

“You’re welcome,” Dolores giggled, lightly shoving her off.

“I have a gift for you too!” Isabela excitedly handed her the gift, beaming energetically and barely able to contain her excitement. “Open open open it!”

“Okay!” Dolores took the gift quickly, worrying that Isabela might open it herself in an eager frenzy. Carefully unwrapping it, she looked inside to see…earmuffs.

“E-earmuffs?”

“And not just any earmuffs either!” Isabela perked up. “Noice-cancellation ones! So that if ever the noise around you gets too loud, you can just wear these! Isn’t it awesome! Aren’t I the loveliest sister?”

“Of course!” Dolores put them on. “I love them! Wow, I feel less strain on my ears already!”

“Yay!” Isabela basically pounced on Dolores with a hug. “You’re my best friend, Dolores! Mmmm-hmmm!” She squeezed tighter.

“Thanks Isabela, and you’re mine! And thanks for the gift!” She kissed Isabela’s head. “I’m so glad to have a sister like you.”

They then went on with the festivities, partying and eating and drinking and dancing.

Camilo turned to Mirabel, who was eating a slice of cake with her bare hands, an idea forming in his head as he beamed at her. “We should do that too!”

“Do what?” Mirabel asked.

“Celebrate our birthdays on the same date, I mean! Duh!” Camilo grinned. “So whaddaya say?”

“But we don’t have the same birthday?” Mirabel was confused.

“Yeah and neither do Isabela and Lola.”

“Wait—they don’t?”

“No, they don’t! Didn’t you know that already?”

“I can’t believe it!” Mirabel virtually hollered. “I can’t believe Isabela and Dolores don’t have the same birthday!”

“So do you want to do it like them?”

“No…I want to celebrate my birthday on my own.”

“Oh.” Camilo said nothing else, slowly starting to shed tears.

“I can’t believe Isabela and Dolores don’t share the same birthday!” Mirabel gasped, for some reason upset at this new revelation. She got up and ran up to Mami and Tía Pepa, her cake falling from her dress and onto the floor ad she grabbed at Julieta’s dress with frosting-stained fingers. “Mami Mami Mami! Did you know that Isabela and Dolores don’t share the same birthday?! That’s really sad!”

“Yes it is, now clean up your mess, bebita.” Julieta demanded.

Mirabel pouted. “Camilo, can you help me clean it up please?”

Camilo sighed. “Fine.”

Meanwhile, Isabela and Dolores danced excitedly in their dresses, twirling around as their family clapped and cheered along. They were wearing matching dresses, except that Isabela’s was lavender and Dolores’ was yellow.

When they were done, they received a round of applause as they held hands and curtsied.

They hugged each other.

“This is the best birthday ever!” Isabela giggled.

“Yeah,” Dolores agreed. “I hope we keep celebrating them together no matter how old we are!”

“Yeah!” Isabela said.

But their tenth birthday rolled around, and a few weeks prior Dolores found herself with a crippling headache. Unfortunately for her, Julieta was sick too, and so she was forced to stay in her room for weeks on end until the headache went away. Fortunately, Isabela, Mirabel, and Camilo were there to keep her company.

On the day her headache healed, it was August 7th. Which was a normal, non-celebratory day in the Madrigal household.

Or so Dolores thought.

When she walked down the stairs that morning, she was surprised to see everybody sitting around Isabela and celebrating HER birthday!

Dolores watched in horror as everyone else in the family sang happy birthday to Isabela, even Camilo, Mirabel, and Luisa sang along! Camilo even stood on his tippy-toes to give Isabela a birthday kiss.

“¡Feliz cumpleaños, Isa!” Camilo squealed in his high-pitched, four-year-old voice.

Isabela smiled and giggled as she grabbed up the little boy and hugged him. “Thank you, Camilo!” She reciprocated. “You are my favorite primito! I am so glad to be celebrating my birthday today! All on my own!”

“Woohoo!” The family cheered.

Dolores watched in horror as the abominable sight before her unfolded. Her familia was right there, watching Isabela blow out her birthday cake candles and bestowing her with gifts and treasures as if Dolores wasn’t there. And Isabela was busy smiling along as if she didn’t have a care in the world, didn’t remember who she was really supposed to share her birthday party with.

She covered her ears, raised her head to the sky, and screamed. She screamed her heart out, she screamed until her voice was hoarse, but nobody heard or listened.

And then she woke up.

“Phew,” Dolores whispered to herself. “It was only a dream. Hmmm, let’s check and see what day it is.” She went to the calendar and checked the date. Sure enough, it was August 7th.

She got dressed, went to the bathroom, and then went downstairs. And it was then when she noticed the singing white noise in her ears and what it actually was.

The family surrounded Isabela as she sat at the head of the table, which was usually Abuela’s spot, as they sang happy birthday to her. Abuela was carrying a cake, and she placed it on the table in front of her nieta.

When they were all done singing, they clapped and cheered.

Alma gently placed her hands on Isabela’s shoulders and kissed her affectionately on the cheek. “Happy birthday, mi flor,” she hummed delicately.

Camilo skittered up to Isabela’s side and grabbed hold of the chair for dear life. Lifting himself on it before getting on his tippy toes, he planted a kiss on Isabela’s cheek. “¡Feliz cumpleaños, Isa!” he squealed. “¡Te amo mucho mucho mucho!”

Isabela smiled as she hugged him. “Gracias, chiquito. Eres mi primito favorito.”

“Yay!” Camilo cheered.

Dolores watched in horror. She couldn’t believe it! It was just like in her dream, only worse because it was real! Somehow, the entire family had organized a birthday party for Isabela without Dolores being aware, all because she was in her stupid soundproof room, bedridden. She no longer trusted this family.

The only thing different about real life from the dream was Isabela’s face. She looked much more sad and downtrodden then she had the previous birthdays. And yet that didn’t stop her from smiling along with the rest of the family and beaming at every gift she received, never looking at Dolores even once. It was like she knew how guilty she ought to be, but couldn’t bring herself to care!

Well then, Dolores didn’t care either! She stomped angrily upstairs, slamming the door behind her, and threw herself onto the bed and under the sickness-infested covers.

Then she cried until her eyes were sore and she fell asleep.

Isabela knocked on her door later in the middle of the night. “Dolores?” She offered. “Dolores, I’m sorry. Can I please come in?”

Dolores groggily rubbed her eyes, having barely gotten any sleep in the past few hours. Who could be knocking on her door at this ungodly time?

Then the door opened, and she was furious when she saw who it is.

“Hey Dolores, I’m sorry about today, but on the bright side we can still celebrate—“

“NO!” Dolores argued, yelling at Isa as she shoved her, rejecting her hug. “How could you do that to me? How could you betray me?! I hate you!”

Isabela’s eyes were wide as saucers, and for a second there she almost looked innocent.

“Lola, I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not! How could you do this to me? How? HOW?! We were supposed to celebrate our birthdays together! Just like twins! But instead—“

“I-I didn’t know either!” Isabela exclaimed. “It was a surprise for me too! And trust me when I say that I wasn’t happy about it. Because if I did know, I wouldn’t have supported it!”

But Dolores didn’t believe her. She burst into tears. “I thought you were my best friend! I thought you were my sister! But now I see that you are no sister of mine!” She exclaimed as she opened the door. “I don’t want to see you anymore. I’m mad and I’m tired. Go!”

She shoved Isabela out the door and slammed it in her face. Before stomping over to her bed, flopping down onto it, and hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly as she tried her best not to cry.

She failed.

Meanwhile, Isabela walked away to her room, also feeling the tears swell up inside her chest as she was wracked with guilt that she didn’t even deserve to feel. She wished she had spoken up, she wished she had said something. But all she did was smile uselessly and cutely, like a passive little doll. And little did she know that this wouldn’t be the first time she was forced to behave like this. Oh no, this was only the beginning.

Dolores’ birthday came soon enough, of course. It was a quiet event with very little music and noise. The only thing it had in common with Isabela’s was her little cousin kissing her on the cheek(Mirabel). And she didn’t speak a word to her prima-hermana throughout.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen. Isabela and Dolores had stopped celebrating their birthdays on the same date.

They stopped doing a lot of things together, in fact. Stopped sleeping in the same room, stopped pretending to be princesses, stopped braiding each other’s hair, stopped being best friends.

Now, Dolores was cast off to the side as Isabela got all the glamorous extravagant splendor for her birthday, while Dolores’ was much more mellow.

Abuela said it was because of their gifts. And of course, gifts mattered most, even more so than the people who had them. And nobody dared deny this.

But Dolores called bullshit. She knew the real reason this was happening, because she saw and heard it with her own eyes.

Heard Isabela get lessons in how to be “perfect” in being the prissy elegant princess that everyone admired. How to walk, talk, sit, look, speak, and act like the world was all your own. How to command all attention to yourself like you were the most important person in the room at any given time. And Isabela was doing a good job at picking up what Abuela was putting down.

What did Dolores learn, you ask? She learned to stay on the sidelines, to be content with being ignored, to stay out of harm’s way. She didn’t learn this directly, of course. She learned this indirectly, from watching how Abuela spoiled Isabela with affection and praise and dismissed Dolores. Because obviously Abuela couldn’t be bothered to waste her time teaching someone like Dolores anything.

On Isabela’s birthday, the sky would be filled with flower petals of all kinds as Isabela twirled and spun—just as she and Dolores used to do together, only alone—ever the center of attention, ever the precious golden flower. Her smile lit up the Casita as she wooed those around her with a swish of her skirt, a flick of her hair, and a sprout of flowers.

Dolores’ birthday, on the other hand, was much quieter and much less extravagant. Although her family still put in just as much effort to making sure she was satisfied and happy, hers wasn’t as bright and showy as Isabela’s was. Even on her birthday Dolores had to be reminded that she paled in comparison to Isabela.

And that made the lessons hurt a lot more.

Still, Dolores guessed there was some hope for her and her prima-hermana’s relationship. Some chance that they could rekindle the fire that had been put out. And the world had to be stupid to think she wouldn’t at least try.

Fifteen was coming up. Their quinceañera.

And Dolores was nervous to ask Isabela, but deep down she was excited as well. She braced herself to be told no, but hopefully that wouldn’t happen.

“Isabela?” She walked over to her sister, who was busy making bouquets of flowers. Ugh.

Isabela looked up at the sound of her name, and instantly perked up when she saw Dolores! “Hey, mi prima-hermana! What’s up?”

Dolores willed herself not to wince at the useless addition of “hermana” to that phrase. Did the term even accurately describe them anymore?

She twiddled her thumbs. “I, umm, I was just wondering…our fifteenth birthday is coming up.”

“Yeah,” Isabela pushed the flowers aside, not finding interest in them anymore. “I know.”

“And that means quinceañeras.”

“I know.” Would she stop saying that already, as if she was so much smarter?

“And I was wondering…” Dolores shifted from right foot to left foot. It was now or never. “Maybe…instead of having two quinceañeras on seperate days, we could instead have a quinceañera on the same day. Like…like we used to! When we were little kids! What do you say?”

Isabela thought this over, but Dolores could already tell she was intrigued. “A quinceañera for both of us?” She pondered aloud as if the idea was foreign to her. “But…what would Abuela say?”

And in a rash of impetuousness, Dolores spluttered out, “Who cares what Abuela says? It’s our birthday, not hers! We’re primas-hermanas at the end of the day, so it’s not like it’s a problem. What do YOU say, Isabela?”

Isabela’s eyes lit up. “I say that sounds like a fantastic idea!” She exclaimed.

Dolores’ heart sang with relief. “You mean it?” She asked.

“Yes!” Isabela marveled, leaping up to hug her prima-hermana. “Ooh, yes, it would be so awesome! We’d have cake and dancing and flow—“

“WHAT? IS GOING? ON?”

The girls froze and looked in the direction of the stairwell. Abuela had come down, and unbeknownst to both of them, she had heard their entire conversation. She was not pleased.

In fact, she was furious!

Both girls were frozen in shock and fear, but Dolores decided to be brave enough to speak up.

“Abuela! We were just considering having a quinceañera on the same day! Remember when we were kids and we used to—“

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Abuela’s voice boomed, and just like that, Dolores lost her strength.

“Abuela I’m sorry-–“

“Dolores,” Alma abruptly cut off. She took a deep breath, rubbing her finger with her brow. Forgive me for yelling. But you must understand that you and Isabela simply cannot share a quinceañera. Quinces are very special affairs to symbolize a girl’s special and beautiful coming of age. You wouldn’t want Isabela to miss out on hers because of your selfishness. Would you?”

“No Abuela.”

“Good. Now—“

“But hey. At least we can still celebrate our birthday together on our sixteenth birthday. Right?”

Abuela huffed, glaring down at Dolores, who tried not to squirm. “Dolores. You are too old to continue doing this shared birthday nonsense. It’s childish. Whether you like it or not, Isabela is older than you. And her birthday comes before yours as well. You will not continue celebrating your birthdays together again. Understand that Dolores. And stop nagging me over the same thing!”

Then she took Isabela’s hands. “Come my dear. The town is in need of your wonderful gift. Bring as many flower bouquets as you can. Goodbye Dolores. And make sure you think about what I just told you and what you did wrong by the time I get back.” Then they took the flowers Isabela had made and walked away.

Dolores watched them leave, Isabela hand in hand with their Abuela, shooting one last sad look at Dolores before turning back around and walking out the door. Dolores felt the tears prickling at her eyes as she realized that once again she was in Isabela’s shadow and always would be. She buried her face in her hands as she tried desperately to wipe the tears. To no avail.

It was the same as always. Dolores tried getting closer to Isabela, but Alma got in the way. She gave up. She didn’t know why she expected it to work. Why she expected anything to come out of something she wanted at the expense of Abuela’s rules. She didn’t know why she tried.

She also didn’t know just how guilty Isabela felt at leaving her beloved sister behind. How every time she was asked to ignore Dolores and help the townsfolk with her gift regret and anger swelled inside her. How every year when her birthday rolled around, Isabela wanted to hide under her rosy sheets and never see the light of day. How she hated being called the perfect golden child of la familia Madrigal and of the Encanto. Nor how, despite it all, and with the exception of when she was asleep, Isabela had never taken off the earrings Dolores gifted her. Not even once. She wished she could say it. But she couldn’t. Some things were better left unheard.

And she resented it. Just like she resented every flower she grew. But there was nothing she could do about it. Her fate was set in stone.

Several years passed since then. Dolores and Isabela were twenty-one, and a lot of good had happened for them in the last few months. The house had fallen apart, but it had been rebuilt, and with it, the bond of the family had also strengthened.

Isabela was no longer the golden child. Now she could grow all kinds of plants she wanted and be free to be herself. Dolores was in a happy relationship with the man of her dreams who, after breaking off his arranged marriage with Isabela, was now free to love her back. And now did, with open arms at that. So she was no longer in Isabela’s shadow, thank God. Mirabel had found her place in the family and was being recognized for the miracle she was. Luisa was no longer treated as a workhorse and was finally given permission to just relax. Which she did, a lot. Camilo was starting to let his true identity show and for once the first time in five years, was able to look in the mirror and like what he saw.

However, one day, as Dolores was washing the plates in the kitchen after lunch, she heard something that really surprised her.

“Isabela?” Julieta asked her daughter. “Why are you so quiet lately? Did you know your birthday’s coming up? Normally you’d be buzzing about the house, eagerly telling us all what presents you want for your birthday and what you want your party to be like.” Dolores felt those chest tighten when she heard those words, all the repressed memories now rising to the surface. “Now you’re mum as a mouse. Why?”

“Well, Mami,” Isabela said plainly, taking a quiet delight in what she was going to say next as she popped a raspberry into her mouth. “That’s simply because it’s far too early to be thinking about birthdays. Mine isn’t even anywhere near yet.”

“Yes it is, Isa,” Mirabel said, popping in all of a sudden. “Your birthday is in three weeks.”

Isabela shook her head. “I suppose you’re literally right, but today I’ve decided on bringing back an old tradition. I’m celebrating my birthday with Dolores this year.”

A plate dropped in the kitchen. Mirabel, Isabela, and Julieta looked up and in said direction, but said nothing as they returned their affection to Isabela.

“Mi amor?” Julieta rubbed the inside of her ear to make sure that they were hearing clearly.

Camilo walked in just then. “You’re celebrating your birthday with my sister? Again? It’s been so long! I can’t believe I wasted all that time fretting over what gift to buy you when you’re not celebrating your birthday for another month’s time. Honestly…” he hissed his teeth and walked out of the room.

“Mi vida, are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, Mami! Dolores is my sister and I love her very much. It’s just like we used to do when we were kids! I’m sure she’ll love it!”

“Well if I were Dolores, I would say, ‘Isa, how dare you—‘“

Mirabel never got to finish her sentence, because Isabela found herself pounced upon and glomped by her sweet prima-hermana. Isabela found it hard to breathe. Dolores wa in a state of tears.

“—be the best prima-hermana the world has ever known,” Dolores finished.

Mirabel smiled from ear as she watched the scene unfold, Dolores breaking the hug to kiss Isabela on the cheek. “That’s exactly what I was gonna say!” she chirped. Julieta smiled too.

August 31st came. And it was the best birthday party Dolores and Isabela had ever had in over a decade.

They exchanged gifts, Dolores getting a bottle of sweet perfume(which Mariano helped Isabela pick out), Isabela getting a stuffed cactus.

And they were both very happy with them.

As the party continued going on, Isabela tapped Dolores’ shoulder gently. Dolores looked confused, but Isabela led her farther away from the party to a quieter place, where Dolores’ ears could breathe and Isabela could share her secret.

“Dolores…I just want you to know, that I am so so sorry about the years we wasted. Not just our birthdays, but everything. Our gifts, my family expectations, Mariano—“ she snorted. “I’m not even into guys. I’m a lesbian. But Dolores, I just want you to know that you are my best friend and always will be. You’re a twin sister to me.” She took Dolores’ hands in hers. “I love you, Dolores. I really do, and I will never let it happen again. I won’t let the upcoming years go to waste. If you don’t want us to share birthday parties anymore, then I respect that. But I just thought you should know what’s on my mind and has been all these years. And I hope you can forgive me.”

“Oh, Isabela,” Dolores said, crying tears of joy. “I’m not mad at all. I forgive you! I can see now that it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry I ever thought it was. And I’m sorry I yelled at you all those years ago. And I’d love to bring back the tradition! Believe me!”

Now it was Isabela’s turn to smile. Joyous tears pouring from her lower eyelids, she wrapped Dolores in a tight, warm hug, and Dolores reciprocated.

“I also want you to know,” Isabela whispered into Dolores’ ear. “That I never took these off.” She broke the hug and dangled her earrings playfully. Dolores gasped.

“You’re right!” She marveled, and they both giggled. “Oh Isa, you have no idea how much that means to me!”

“I know,” Isabela replied.

“I wish I could say the same thing about my earmuffs, but I outgrew them.” They laughed at that joke.

“I’ll buy you new ones, I promise!” Isabela proposed.

“Thanks,” Dolores replied before lightly punching Isabela in the arm. “Now let’s stop being so sentimental,” she teased. “Time to get back to the party!”

“Oh, right! Lead the way, prima-hermana!”

They linked arms as they ran back towards the party, not wanting to miss another minute of it.

Isabela and Dolores used to celebrate their birthday on the same date. And though they had stopped, they were back to the tradition once again! They were more than just cousins, they were sisters, platonic soulmates.

And nothing was gonna get in the way of that. Not their gifts, not a man, and definitely not Abuela’s expectations.

Which was exactly how it should be, and always should have been.

But things were better now, and that was what really mattered.

#isabela madrigal #isabela my beloved #isabela is best girl #dolores madrigal #primas-hermanas #fanfic #encanto #encanto fanfic #birthday #encanto birthdays #isabela madrigal is a lesbian #pepa madrigal is transgender #felix madrigal is transgender

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themountainsays · 2 years

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The funniest thing about the villain!Julieta Isamira AU is that Mirabel has far more reason to suspect *Alma* of abusing Isabela. It might be hard to believe Alma would go *that* far, but she must know how much Isa fears disappointing their Abuela, so it's less unthinkable than *Julieta*-- especially when Isa's fear of slipping around Alma can easily be read as fear of Alma herself. Plus, if Dolores is afraid of telling her the truth, who could she be more scared of than their Abuela? (1/2)

Now think of the disasterfest that would be Mirabel jumping to the conclusion that Alma knows about Isamira and is abusing Isabela in an attempt to force them apart. Of course, that doesn't really align with Abuela's usual methods and Mirabel may realize it, but she can't talk Isabela to confirm her theory, sooo... I wonder if she'd actually confront Alma about this? If her alternative is sitting idly by while Isabela wastes away, would she be desperate enough to start setting fires? (2/2)

omgggg dude this is brilliant ahh god Isabela really is just a ball of FEAR AND TRAUMA in this one huh she's scared of Alma she's TERRIFIED of her mom she's growing more and more isolated and she's unable to seek help or find comfort in the person she loves the most because she's being convinced that she deserves to be abused and punished because SHE is the real offender here ahhh my baby let me protecc you 😭😭😭

Ironically tho I really like the idea of Alma being like the lesser of two evils, like she's still hell but at least she wants "what's best for Isabela", and she has a pretty weird idea of what that would be but it certainly doesn't include burning her with boiling oil because she failed to stop her sister from hugging her that day. And I'm sure she'd give Isabela the safety and comfort she needs if she knows about Julieta's recent actions (though I'm not so sure if she knew about Isabela's relationship with Mirabel)... but Isabela still won't seek her out, because that could endanger Mirabel.

Okay so, Mirabel highkey suspecting Alma, trying to bring it up to Isabela - to ask her if Abuela has been saying anything or hurting her lately - and Isabela just freezes completely, unable to say a word, and tries to avoid her and leave which Mirabel thinks is very strange but leads her to believe Alma is involved somehow, and... idk I think she'd try to keep a relatively lowkey investigation for a moment? She may try to recruit Camilo and Antonio to help her (she'll have Camilo turn into Alma so she can watch from afar and take note of Isabela's reactions, and she'll have Antonio's animals try to find out what's going on for her). She subtly tries to ask Alma some questions but everything she says only makes Mirabel worry more, because this is still her old strict grandmother who only wants to see Isabela married to a man and with kids. Is that's what's going on? And, of course, she rants about it with her mom. She says she doesn't understand why Isabela won't talk to her anymore, why she flinches whenever she tries to touch her. Isabela used to take every possible chance to touch her, before - she'd grab her sleeve or the hem of her skirt or play with the embroidery on her shirt, she'd cup her cheek, she'd grab her hand, she'd play with her hair... and now, she's just scared. And Julieta only hums and tells her that her sister needs to live her own life, that she's going to marry Mariano soon, that Mirabel should spend her time with people her age and not worry too much etc etc. She's secretly very pleased with Isabela's behavior atm. She's being as docile and obedient as she wants her to be. She may even deserve to have some of Julieta's food that night.

If Mirabel ever snaps and tries to start a shouting match with Alma, yelling about Isabela deserving happiness and freedom and not living in fear etc etc, Alma just lets her finish, and looks at her with this expression of sheer confussion and answer with like, "What are you talking about?" because she didn't even notice anything was wrong TT_TT but now she's concerned too. And Mirabel is both surprised and more scared, because she has no idea who's hurting her sister now.

#madrigalcest #isamira #shipcest #isamira ft. villain!julieta au #child abuse cw

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in-tua-deep · 4 years

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Angsty au idea, five makes it back except he arrives dead and only Klaus and Ben can see him. (What happened to his body? Could be that his body got stuck between space time or he drops off as his thirteen year old sib and thats gonna traumatize the sibs probably) (Ig he could have also either died from wounds because the commision figured that he'd be turning and got strained from the time travel or an error in equations)

me, resurrecting myself over here

okay okay okay i’m going to take your idea and tweak it just a teeny tiny bit and produce:

Time travel isn’t viable.

Not the way five travels. Not without a conduit. Not when he’s essentially harnessing all of time, all of those endless possibilities, within the heart of a human being. It’s so much. It’s too much. Five died the moment he blinked away on that street outside of the Hargreeves mansion.

But Five doesn’t know that.

He doesn’t notice that no one gives him a second glance when he appears out of nowhere on those bustling streets. He just jumps again, because why not! He’s excited, he’s proving his father wrong, he’s liberated! And then.

And then.

He’s in the apocalypse.

He doesn’t notice that he can’t interact with anything until he touches his Luther’s corpse and his hand goes right through. And then, his first thought isn’t - I died. It’s - something went wrong with the last jump.

Which makes sense to him. He’s managed to get himself trapped on some kind of in-between plane. And that’s why his time travel powers aren’t working! Because they don’t work right on this plane!

Five wanders the apocalypse, and it’s a little better than in canon because he doesn’t need to eat.

(Oh, he misses eating.)

He’s a smart boy. A brilliant boy. He’s thirteen, and he thinks he’s invincible. But his powers are jumping, and he can take himself apart molecule by molecule, and eventually eventually after years and years have passed he manages to solidify his hand enough to pick something up.

The first time he turns a page in a book feels like victory.

He camps out in the destroyed remains of a library. Being solid enough to pick something up is... exhausting. He can’t do it for long periods of time. But he has a little stack of useful books, a little pile of chalk, the store mannequin he likes to talk to (he named her Dolores), and a blanket that has seen better days. He can’t exactly feel the ground when he curls up on it, and he can’t really sleep in this messed up pocket dimension or wherever he’s stuck, but he closes his eyes and pretends with all the power of the child he isn’t.

He’s in the apocalypse for a long time, trying to figure out a two-fold problem: how to get out of his pocket dimension and back into the ‘real world’ and also how to get back to his siblings when he does. He isn’t stupid. Time travel when he was capable of it was a crapshoot, he needs a way to get more exact.

And then the woman comes. Pristine and blond and carrying a suitcase. She frowns when she steps over the rubble in heels that click click click and frowns harder when she presses gloved fingers against Five’s equations written in chalk.

Five hides behind some rubble, but gets brave. Gets curious.

(Curiosity killed the cat.)

He comes out, he says “Hello?” and isn’t sure what he expected when she doesn’t even turn around. Five goes towards her with silent footsteps, footsteps that don’t disturb the dirt and chalk dust of the apocalypse because they don’t exist.

He doesn’t know who she is, but he’s curious what’s in her suitcase, and waits patiently for her to open it. He’s also planning on following her back to whatever settlement she came from? He hadn’t thought there were any people alive, but clearly she is proving him wrong.

So when she walks away, he puts his hand on her suitcase so that he doesn’t lose her, because even if she wouldn’t feel it putting his hand on her and watching it go through would be... demoralizing.

And then she opens the suitcase, and suddenly they’re somewhere else. Except not somewhere else. Its bustling with people and the woman’s heels click loudly against the tile floor and someone walks right through Five and he trails after the woman because everyone seems to give her a wide berth and being walked through sucks.

Someone addresses her. The Handler. That’s not - that’s not a people name, Five is pretty sure. That’s a title. But no one addresses the woman by name, so the Handler it is.

Five doesn’t know how old he is, but he still looks thirteen. (He doesn’t feel any different, because he isn’t. His growth is permanently stunted, he will always have died at thirteen-years-one-month-and-nine-days-old.)

So he lives at the Commission headquarters for a few years, invisible and a tiny bit mischievous. He can travel through the walls if he wants, so no door is locked to him. He makes himself a little den in one of the vents where he gets a small collection of office supplies that he steals from the assholes as punishment. He doesn’t do anything major.

He finds out what the commission does. He tags along with some assassins on occasion. He once distracted Cha-Cha by shoving a glass off a counter and breaking it to try and give a child witness time to flee.

(Hazel found her in the closet, terrified and silent with huge glassy brown eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips and quietly closed the closet door. He yelled “Clear!” to Cha-Cha, and then he and cha-cha and Five all left. Five looks at Hazel differently, after that.)

(Hazel has a soft spot for kids and bird-watching diner owners. This is important.)

Five scribbles equations on the walls of the vents. He gets more data every time he travels with the agents so he starts traveling with them a lot, even though he hates it, even though he sees so much death and destruction and he can’t stop it. He helps, sometimes. As much as he can. It’s not enough.

Five finds something, one day, when he’s wandering around. He finds a picture of Vanya, framed. He recognizes her immediately, from the back of Vanya’s book that he found in the apocalypse. They have lots of pictures of famous people around the commission, and lots of pictures of ordinary people. All of them significant in some way to the ‘preservation of the timeline’.

He goes to the Handler’s office, and among her many souvenirs he finds a cracked violin, and he remembers the background music that made up his entire childhood.

(He steals the violin and puts it in his vent nook. He flips it over and traces the tiny V that’s shallowly carved shyly into the bottom, the same one Vanya has been putting on every violin she’s ever had since she was seven-years-old, after Diego and Luther broke hers and tried to claim that it was just a random violin, not her violin and it wasn’t their fault she didn’t take care of her possessions -)

(Why is Vanya’s violin in the Handler’s collection of weapons?)

Five is aware of something. He thinks the commission has something to do with the apocalypse. They protect the timeline of whatever, right? And yet the apocalypse happened. Which means it must be planned.

Five has been trained to fight ‘villains’ since he was tiny, and he recognizes a villain when he looks at the Handler’s shiny smile and too long nails.

Vanya has to have something to do with it. Do the commission kidnap her? Do they kill her? She’s important, somehow.

(Maybe before he traveled he would have doubted that. Vanya was ordinary. Why would she be important? But Five has tagged along on so many missions where they killed perfectly ordinary people in order to spark a chain of events. In fact, it’s almost always ordinary people.)

Five solves one of his equations on a regular, ordinary day. It’s the time travel one. Not the one about his... unfortunate circumstances.

So Five finds a nice empty room, and he gives it a try. He’s not expecting much, since the pocket dimension bullshit fucks up his time travel anyway (though he can still spatial jump curiously enough) except - it works. He splits the world apart, and it’s hard. Way harder than he remembers it being.

He chalks that up to the whole pocket dimension effect.

He pushes and pushes and then - something breaks. Like ice shattering for a spring thaw, and he’s through. He’s on the ground, winded. He looks up and - it’s them. His siblings. Older than he remembers, clearly the equation wasn’t exactly right, but they’re here and they’re alive and Five can feel himself tearing up and he lets it happen because none of them can see him anyway and -

“Five?”

Two voices, overlapping. Five’s head snaps over, eyes wide with shock and alarm and -

It’s Klaus and Ben. Both staring at him, equal alarm and shock in their eyes.

“You can see me?” Five demands loudly, patting at his body frantically. Is this it? Did he kill two birds with one stone? Did coming back undo whatever bullshit he put his body through - ?

“Klaus, why would you say that.” Allison scolds automatically, “That was in poor taste.”

Five looks at her, and her eyes scan straight over him, in the way that’s been familiar for - for -

(Five didn’t bother to keep track of the years. Not when he was unaffected by time, by seasons, by weather. What was the point?)

Five’s eyes snap back to Klaus’s, who hasn’t taken his eyes away. It’s weird, Five thinks absently. His skin crawls under the attention, not used to it.

(Isn’t that strange, in a boy who used to demand attention with every breath he took? Isn’t that odd?)

There’s a hand on his arm and Five just about jumps out of his skin, whirling around and flailing and - oh look, that’s Ben on the ground, looking absolutely shocked. Five is also shocked, because he hasn’t been touched in - in forever.

“Ben?” Five half-asks, voice smaller than he’d like with a tremble that he kind of wants to kick in the gut.

“Five.” Ben responds, kind of sounding like he’s been punched in the chest. Actually he might have been, Five was never very gentle when it came to removing his limbs from others grasps.

“Well!” Klaus says loudly, making Five and Ben look over. “If the crisis is over, and we’ve lost a perfectly good fire extinguisher to the void, i’m going back inside!”

Klaus gives Ben a significant look as he turns on his heel and marches back in, and Ben winces. “Come on,” He whispers to Five, getting up and brushing himself off. “It’s better to talk when no one else is around.”

Ben hesitates, and Five hasn’t spoken to anyone but himself in a very long time. It’s been even longer since - well. And Ben looks so lost all of a sudden, that it’s really for Ben’s benefit when Five takes Ben’s hand in his own and tugs him in the direction of the mansion, “Well get a move on.”

Ben looks like he’s about to cry, looking at their joined grip, but nods and leads Five into the building. He gives Five’s hand a squeeze, as though making sure he’s real, and Five allows it gracefully.

Finally, they’re tucked into Klaus’s bedroom, Klaus sprawled across the bed and staring at Five like he’s something entirely alien.

“I don’t understand.” Five says, because the silence is getting awkward. “How come you guys can see me, but the others can’t?”

And Five is very confused when Ben’s face just - crumples. He looks like he’s about to cry. And Klaus, the contrary bastard, starts laughing, just a tiny bit hysterically.

“Take a guess shortstack.” Klaus wheezes out, “What’s my power?”

It’s seeing the dead, of course. But Five isn’t dead he’s just - in between. Right?

Besides, there’s a glaring flaw in Klaus’s theory.

“Uh, Ben can see me.” Five points out, lifting his and Ben’s conjoined hands where Ben’s grip is actually getting a little bit painful.

But isn’t a good kind of pain. Five hasn’t felt pain in - equally long.

Klaus’s laughter cuts off and Ben makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped on. “Yeah,” Klaus says, uncharacteristically serious, “Well. You missed a lot, kiddo.”

“Ben’s not dead.” Five protests, because he’s not. Five can see him. He’s right there, and he’s never had Klaus’s powers. He turns to Ben and -

Ben envelops him in a hug, a tight one. The kind that Five would never have allowed unless absolutely necessary before he’s left, but now just sort of - melts into. It’s the pressure of it, honestly. Ben’s a good hugger.

“Five I’m so sorry.” Ben whispers, pressing his face against Five’s hair. It tickles a little, where Ben breathes out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He pulls back, and brushes trembling fingers against Five’s hair. “Five, Five. Haven’t you - haven’t you wondered why you can’t - Five. You’re still - it’s been so long and you’ve been alone and - ” Ben breaks into sniffles.

“I’m just stuck.” Five says blankly, trying his best to process, “I’m just - I jumped wrong, and I got - I got stuck in between. I’m not - I’m not dead.”

“You’re deader than a doornail, kiddo.” Klaus interjects loudly.

Five, never one to take that lying down, untangles himself from Ben just enough to pick up a knicknack and hurls it at Klaus’s head with a scowl. “I’m not a kid.”

Except now they’re both staring at Five again, even as Klaus presses a hand against his forehead where Five had whalloped him (his aim was a good as ever, clearly).

“How -” Ben stutters, staring between Klaus and Five with alarm.

Klaus sputters as well, “What the fuck! How did you do that!”

“Well you see, Klaus.” Five says, voice toxic with the sweetness he exuded, “When someone leans down, and picks something up, they can exert a force on it. This force interacts with other forces to form the trajectory of an object - ”

“Not that!” Klaus sputters, “You picked something up!”

“Yeah, that happens sometimes.” Five says dryly.

Ben prods him in the side, making Five look over (up, if we’re being technical. Grown-up Ben is... kind of tall, actually. Compared to Five.) “How did you do that?”

And Five isn’t dead. He isn’t. But - he remembers the early days. How terrifying they were. How he couldn’t interact with the world around him at all. And if Ben is going through the same thing - “It... it took me a while to figure out. Um. It’s - it’s kind of hard to explain? Because like, when I jump it’s - it’s kind of like taking myself apart and then putting myself together somewhere else. And it’s like, like taking that feeling, except instead of putting yourself together somewhere else you like, layer it over yourself as you are? Like, making yourself denser somehow, I dunno.”

“If you can do it, then I can, too.” Ben says ferociously, a determined glint in his eyes. “I’ll finally be able to throw things at Klaus when he’s being an idiot.”

“Hey!” Klaus protests, looking very offended.

This is all very nice, but Five did come here with a mission... so he tugs at Ben’s arm. “Ben, what’s the date?”

Ben shrugs, because why should the dead care about the date? He looks at Klaus. Klaus looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um.” Then he brightens, “Right!” He grabs something from his pocket, it’s rectangular and flat. There were lots in the apocalypse, though Five has never figured out their functions. Except when Klaus clicks his, it lights up.

“Uh, March 24th.” Klaus says, squinting at the screen.

“What year?” Five asks, leaning forward.

“2019.” Klaus says.

“Fuck,” Five says, with feeling. “A week.”

“What’s a week?” Ben asks warily as Five flails and untangles himself from his grasp to stand up and pace.

“You don’t understand.” Five says, turning to them both, “I haven’t just - just been traveling the world as a fucking ghost. I time traveled. It worked. But - the future - ”

“Five?” Ben asks, all concern and love and it’s painful.

“The world ends in seven days.” Five tells them both, voice cracking, “There’s nothing but - but rubble and ruin and - and - ”

He remembers their bodies, remembers them splayed out in the rubble.

“You died.” Five told Klaus, “You all died. The whole world died. Everything was - ash everywhere. I was there for - for...”

“The courtyard scene.” Ben realizes, reaching out as something like comprehension dawns on his face. Five dances back a few steps, his breaths coming in funny little pants. “You came back from - the future?”

“Breath, Five.” Klaus advises, sounding a little bit worries himself.

“If I’m dead why do I need to breath?” Five snarls, and Klaus’s face drops and he curls in on himself a little looking pathetic. It’s enough for Five to toss out a mildly panicked “Sorry” because? That’s what you do right?

(Five hasn’t interacted with people who can talk back in decades and it shows.)

And Five tells them everything, in halting uncertain breaths. He winds up curled up on the bed with Ben’s arms around him, steady as a rock, while Klaus manages to somehow sit in the desk chair in a manner that makes Five a little uncertain that his brother possesses bones and ligaments.

He tells them about the future, about finding their bodies, about learning to - to condense himself just enough to interact with the world. He tells them about the woman, about the suitcase, about following her. He tells them about the Commission, and how he’s sure they have something to do with it - the Handler had Vanya’s violin -

By the time Five is finished talking, he’s exhausted. The sun has slipped below the horizon already, and he feels like dead weight in his brother’s arms. At some point, Ben had started running a hand through Five’s hair, and the repetitive motion is soothing.

“That’s - that’s a lot.” Klaus says, and something must have shocked him a little bit out of his goofy persona.

“I just wanted to go home.” Five mumbles.

“You are home.” Ben tells him, squeezing him tightly, “And we’re going to make sure the apocalypse doesn’t happen. Right, Klaus?”

Klaus shuffles, awkwardly. “I mean. I’m not exactly uh, number one choice for team apocalypse you know?”

“Ben’s number one choice for team apocalypse.” Five points out, flopping his head against Ben’s arm. “You’re an okay second choice though, I guess.”

It makes Klaus bark out a laugh, and Five can feel Ben’s snicker through his chest.

“Vanya’s gotta be on the team.” Five mumbles, loud enough for them to hear. “She’s important. Gotta make sure, make sure no one uh, no one kills her or anything.”

Ben and Klaus exchange a look over his head that he doesn’t see.

“We’ll plan everything tomorrow.” Ben tells him gently, “In the morning, okay?”

“Mmkay.” Five agrees absently.

The dead don’t sleep, but they can get - tired. Being in the living world is exhausting, and Five closes his eyes and just. Ignores the world. Just for a little while. The dead don’t dream, but that’s okay, because Five’s dreams have never been anything approaching peaceful.

Five made it back. He might be a ghost, but he made it back. An impossible goal, and he accomplished it. After that, taking on the apocalypse will be a piece of cake.

(And if Ben and Klaus think Five is going to give up on his idea to un-dead himself, they have another thing coming.)

#unviable au #tua au #Anonymous #far tua long #the umbrella academy #long post #five hargreeves #number five #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #klaus ben five and vanya are going to make up team apocalypse #five might be a ghost #but he's also a poltergeist #and also thirteen #ben says 'i am your mother now' to five #to be fair to ben five is the only person he can touch and outright interact with #five CANNOT interact with people only objects #he isn't sure why #living people i mean #ben is a cuddler and five is touch starved and that's that #klaus thinks it's very very cute #but also tragic #also he keeps getting dragged into saving the world shenanigans #when he could be doing LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE #klaus might be a bit grumpy #ben is unsympathetic #five can and will throw things at klaus #vanya is just. very confused #but also happy because five is?? back?#the family bugged klaus about five's ghost for years

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acciofanfics · 4 years

Text

Thanks (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Request: Can you write a soulmate fic about one of the twins? So Umbridge is planning to give detention(hand one) to the reader and s/he writes about it to his/er arm. Fred/George sees it(U know whatever you gonna write to your body your soulmate can see it) and they are planing a prank for that pink maniac to save the reader from detention. Sorry ‘cause of details, thank you.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x FemReader

Warnings: I don’t think any?

Word Count: 616

A/N: I’ve never really written a soulmate au so I hope I didn’t botch it completely 😂 also...I really hate Dolores Umbridge. So much. That’s all - S

———————————————————————-

That woman was pure evil wrapped in a dreadful pink coat and while (Y/N) had always been a model student, she could not get behind being anything less than disrespectful to the old hag. When Umbridge was scolding a first year about Merlin only knew what, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “Did he forget that breathing goes against the minister?”

The smaller child looked grateful that their new headmistress was now turning her wrath towards (Y/N). “Tuck in your shirt and don’t let it happen again. Miss (Y/L/N) unpleasant as always. It’s quite unacceptable for you to be mocking the Minister of Magic. I would assume even you would know that.”

“I must’ve forgotten. There’s just been so much more to remember lately.” (Y/N)’s fake grinned rivaled Dolores’.

“Well, I’m sure it’s nothing lines won’t help. See me after dinner.” With a putrid giggle (Y/N) watched the older woman scurry away with way too much satisfaction than was healthy.

“Thanks...” The first year whispered meekly.

“Don’t worry about it,” (Y/N) shot an apologetic look towards him. It was sad that the poor kid was likely never going to be able to have the amazing Hogwarts experience that she had been fortunate enough to have for most of her time here. “Just hurry up and get to class. You don’t want her to have another reason to get on to you.”

(Y/N) pulled a quill out of her bag and began to walk. She scribbled a quick note on her arm before heading off to her next class.

I won’t be able to meet you and George in the common room tonight.

Fred looked down at the words showing up on the back of his hand. He knew the message was from (Y/N), it could’ve only been from her. That was how the magic worked, only your other half was able to send words directly from their skin to yours. Such a painless, sweet and quite useful sentiment. He frowned when he read them, he knew exactly what that meant and he was quite unhappy with it.

What’d you do?

‘Disrespected the minister’. More like saved a poor kid from her barbaric punishments if you ask me.

“Hey George, what would you say to a little bit of practical application after dinner tonight?” Fred whispered to his twin, careful not to draw McGonagall’s attention. She probably hated Umbridge as much as the students did, but they knew for a fact they she wouldn’t agree with their methods.

George just grinned and nodded. They were planning something big and they didn’t plan on staying around too much longer anyways, what was one more practice round before the big finale?

(Y/N) sighed and plopped down in the desk, she pulled out a piece of parchment, but didn’t bother pulling out anything. There was no reason when Umbridge had her own ‘special quill’.

Before the woman could even set the quill down Filch came barreling into the horribly decorated office. “The bathroom on the second floor is flooded! There’s fireworks and water! And-“

Umbridge turned to (Y/N) red-faced and the younger girl tried her best to not let any emotion show on her face. It wasn’t that hard because as much as she enjoyed what was going on she really didn’t have anything to do with it.... she did know who did. “Just get out! 50 regular lines due tomorrow!”

Fred looked down at his arm and grinned. By the time Filch knew what was going on he and George were already seated on the couch back in the Gryffindor common room. Knowing that poor Filch was a squib he’d need Umbridge to fix everything.

Thanks. You’re the best.

#harry potter imagine #fanfics #fanfiction #imagines #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #soulmate au

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theyearoftheking · 3 years

Text

Book Eighty-One: Billy Summers

“Maybe a chilly story needs a chilly writing room, he thinks. It’s as good an explanation as any, since the whole process is a mystery to him, anyway.”

Well hello there, Constant Readers! Have you missed me and my half-assed reviews of Steve books?

Crickets.

I know I’ve promised book reviews, television recaps... all the things. But I’m kind of busy living and enjoying life at the moment, without the need to take notes or screen grabs. That being said, I really did enjoy Billy Summers, and it took me almost a hundred pages to remember how this blogging thing worked. I was supposed to take notes? Dark Tower references? DePere, Wisconsin? Should I remember that for some reason? But don’t worry, it was like riding a bike. This blog is full of all the stuff you’ve come to know and love, as well as SPOILERS!!! So, if you have not finished the book yet, stop reading and come back once you’ve turned the last page.

SPOILERS!!! Consider yourselves adequately warned.

Billy Summers doesn’t really include anything supernatural, and it’s more suspenseful and plot driven than some of Steve’s other books. In other words, it’s another great recommendation for people who don’t claim they don’t like Stephen King.

Billy is an assassin who has mastered the art of “dumb like a fox”.

He’s hired for a new assignment, but something seems off. Billy has been in the assassin game long enough to know when something is foul in the state of Denmark. He doesn’t trust the people who hired him, and he has the distinct impression he’s going to end up as the patsy in the end. But, he plays along as Dave Lockridge, single man and writer. He moves onto a charming street in Midwood (I kept reading this as Midworld... thanks, Steve), makes friends with all the neighbors, and beats all the neighborhood kids at Monopoly on the weekends. This part of the book was so tender, it reminded me a lot of Ted Brautigan and the kids from Hearts in Atlantis. Of all the things Billy later regrets, it’s letting these kids down, and having them trust him when he was obviously so untrustworthy.

During the day, Billy writes at his office in Gerald Tower. There’s always a tower, isn’t there? And this tower takes on more significance, because it’s the spot from which Billy is supposed to shoot Joel Allen. Joel is due to be transferred to Midwood, and marched up the steps of the courthouse just like in The Outsider. Constant Readers remember how well that worked out...

Billy has an assassins creed: he only shoots bad guys. On the scale of bad guys, Joel Allen isn’t quite Ted Bundy, but he’s not Mr. Rodgers either. He had something of a “me too” moment when he accidentally mistook a feminist writer for a sex worker; and there was a gun fight outside of a poker game. It’s enough for Billy to work with.

Billy is waiting for Joel to be transferred to the Midworld Midwood county lock-up; and he bides his time by actually doing some writing. He covers his tragic childhood (his mom worked in a laundry facility, just like Steve’s mom), and his time in the military. This is where Steve really shines. Billy’s book is written in a childish tone that just WORKS. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a simple-minded assassin. But still waters, friends. As the story goes on, Billy’s voice grows and improves. Well done, Steve, it’s like two books for the price of one.

In between writing, Billy assumes another fake identity (Dalton Smith), and secures a bolt hole to hide out in once his job is complete. Believe it or not, the murder of Joel Allen is such an insignificant part of the book. Billy successfully takes him out, and makes it to his bolt hole undetected. And this is really where the second part of the book starts.

One rainy night, Billy hears random noises outside his apartment. He looks out the window in time to see a van full of guys dump a female body into a gutter. Billy should have just anonymously called the police... but if he had done that, we wouldn’t have a story. Instead, Billy goes full on Captain Save A Ho, and pulls the young woman from the gutter. It’s clear she had been drugged and assaulted, and she manages to puke all over Billy’s place.

Neat.

When Alice wakes up in the morning, she recognizes Billy from the police sketches, but promises not to rat him out for the Joel Allen murder. They form an unlikely friendship that includes watering the neighbor’s plants, watching Blacklist, and Alice reading Billy’s book. Basically, they were sheltering in place before that was even a thing; something Steve jokes about. Eventually, Billy knows he needs to get the rest of his money for the Joel Allen hit, and punish the guys who raped Alice.

Y’all. I’m still having nightmares over the most creative use of a hand mixer I have ever read. I thought the can-opener in Lisey’s Story was bad... this was worse. But the kind of worse you feel good about, if that makes sense.

After finding out the name of the guy behind the Joel Allen hit, killing a few bad dudes, and pissing off a bitch named Marge (fucking Marge if you’re nasty), Billy and Alice hunker down in Colorado with Billy’s assassin booking agent, Bucky.

As soon as Billy and Alice entered Colorado and the town of Sidewinder was mentioned, I knew where we were headed. Yeah buddy, Overlook time!

Billy takes to writing in a little shack behind Bucky’s house, and inside the shack is a Polaroid picture of the topiary animals at the Overlook. Every time Billy looks at the picture, the animals seem to have shifted. It gives him a cold sense of dread.

There’s a certain parallel I picked up on in Colorado: Jack Torrance and Billy Summers are both haunted men running away from things. The Overlook was where Jack went to dry out, and work on his writing. He wanted to work on his marriage, and become a better father to Danny. We all know he failed spectacularly. Then, we’ve got Billy. Billy actually gets writing accomplished, and becomes an unlikely father-figure to Alice. Despite having just as much, if not more baggage than Jack, Billy doesn’t let it define him. He acknowledges it, and moves past it. It’s almost like Billy accomplishes what Jack couldn’t. And it took the Overlook burning to the ground for that to happen.

While we’re on the topic of Billy and Alice, one of the things I love about Steve’s characters is he never forces romance where there doesn’t need to be any. While Billy acknowledges the age gap between him and Alice, nothing untoward ever happens between them. There’s obvious love, but never the romantic kind. Steve is one of the few contemporary writers to get this right.

The story ends with Billy killing the guy behind Joel’s hit, getting shot by Marge as he leaves the crime scene (fucking Marge), Alice nursing him back to health, and getting him back to Colorado where they all live happily ever after.

I wish.

I wish I had stopped reading twenty-three pages before the book ended, because the actual end was more realistic, but heartbreaking. In reality, fucking Marge shot Billy in the stomach, and he died of an infection in the back of a Walmart parking lot. Fucking Marge indeed. But this was the way the book should have ended. Needed to end. Anything else would have been unrealistic. But damn, I hated to see Billy go out like that.

There was one Wisconsin reference: after Billy kills Joel Allen, he’s supposed to be transferred to a safe house in De Pere. You know... where Steve lived when he was in a kid.

Other than Gerald Tower, we were also graced with “the world has moved on-” just to remind us that we all follow The Beam.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 49

Total Dark Tower References: 78

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Doctor Sleep: A+

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

11/22/63: A+

Mr. Mercedes: A+

Billy Summers: A+

End of Watch: A+

Under the Dome: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Full Dark, No Stars: A+

The Outsider: A+

The Bazaar of Bad Dreams: A+

If It Bleeds: A+

Just After Sunset: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

Stephen King Goes to the Movies: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Finders Keepers: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Duma Key: A-

Black House: A-

The Institute: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

The Dark Tower: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Blaze: B+

Hard Listening: B+

Revival: B+

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Joyland: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

Wolves of the Calla: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Song of Susannah: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Later: B+

From a Buick 8: B

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Sleeping Beauties: B-

The Colorado Kid: B-

Storm of the Century: B-

Everything’s Eventual: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

The Wind Through the Keyhole: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Cell: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Faithful: D

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Lisey’s Story: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers D

I’m not going to end this with any promises of upcoming posts. That way when I do randomly stumble on here one afternoon, it will be a delight for us all.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#constant reader #stephen king #the dark tower #the shining #billy summers #hearts in atlantis #lisey's story #the overlook #jack torrance

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kristoffsloveisntfragile · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Love Story

Rating: T; Some swearing.

Word Count: 3,683

Pairing: Kristoff/Anna

Summary: Modern AU; Kristoff and Anna are roommates, and have been for 3 years. With them being stuck with each other in the same house for the past couple months, some things revealed themselves.

Notes: I started writing this in the beginning of quarantine, so some of the stuff in this may be a little outdated, but it still works I guess. I was worried that since it seemed like quarantine was going to end that this story wouldn’t work anymore, but you know, the world isn’t happening like that anymore, so we may be in quarantine for a while now. WEAR YOUR MASK AND WASH YOUR HANDS. ALSO BLACK LIVES STILL MATTER EVEN IF IT ISN’T TRENDING ANYMORE. DONATE, SIGN PETITION, SPEAK OUT. Thx, and enjoy the story :).

Day...Who knows anymore?

I write in my journal today wanting to write, but don’t really have anything to report. I think I’m keeping this journal in hopes someone finds this in the future and I become known as the modern Anne Frank. Seeming how we had similar experiences, stuck inside the same place, with the same people that I’m faced to see everyday. Every once in a while I see my sister, whether on facetime or she really wants to see me and comes over, and always gifts me with cadbury mini eggs...oof I’m even craving them now.

But besides that, I’ll go back to reality and wait until my roommate comes back with a bunch of groceries that were hopefully in stock. Until tomorrow, journal.

Anna set down her journal and pen and went back out to check if Kristoff came back from the store yet. When she saw that he wasn’t back, she grabbed a cup and poured the rest of her favorite juice in it. Since she couldn’t do much, she’s just been eating and drinking all of her snacks and drinks. She hoped he bought her more at the store.

When she heard his car pull up, she put her empty glass in the sink and ran outside to help him. She approached the back of the car, and saw that it was slowly opening, and also saw Kristoff getting out of the driver’s seat.

“Anything good still stocked?” She asked, then she truly saw how much stuff he got, and was genuinely shocked, “Wow,”

“Yep, the thing was the staff were restocking some products so I watched and waited a good 3-5 minutes after they were done to go for it. Probably took me a little longer than I wanted, but the outcome is great.”

Anna just started going in and taking some bags into the apartment, until she was stopped by his words, “Just don’t forget to wash your hands when you’re done,”

“Yeah, I will, don’t worry.” Anna kind of cut him off, and then continued back inside.

She couldn’t lie to herself, she was starting to get a little annoyed with Kristoff’s constant reminder to clean up after a day out.. She’s perfectly healthy, exercises on a sort-of daily basis; with them stuck inside her schedule has been off a little bit.

She just hoped she didn’t tick off Kristoff by cutting him off like that, she knows he’s just looking out for her, especially since they live together. Even before all of this, Kristoff was kind of a neat-freak, so she expected this to happen. I mean, after all, he did take her in when she really had nowhere else to go, since no place seemed right and she had just gone through a rough break up. Kristoff was a good friend and offered his place, for as long as she needed.

They brought in the rest of the bags and started unloading. She went into one bag, “Oh, yes! Thank you for getting the juice, I just drank the last of it.” Anna laughed, and then saw another bottle in the same bag, “Really? Vodka?”

Kristoff chuckled, “Hey, it was on sale, and we could all need some loosening up.” Kristoff smirked at Anna.

“I’m just surprised at the amount of people staying sober at this time.” Anna said.

After everything was put away, Anna went into the bathroom and washed her hands, as she promised, and hummed her favorite song. Not only to ensure she was washing for 20+ seconds, but she just liked to sing when she was doing mindless tasks. Kristoff went into the bathroom to retrieve something from the medicine cabinet, and admired her hummed voice. Once he was going around the apartment and doing his own things, he realized he was humming it too. He liked the song too, and couldn’t stop hearing it being sung in Anna’s voice. It was like entering heaven to him. He shook the thought out of his mind, and decided to really get his mind off of being cooped up in the apartment, so he went to the basement and worked out for a bit, enough to get some sweat out and his mind completely off of Anna.

~~~

A little while later, Anna had snuggled up on the couch as she usually does each night now, just starting the night with the 5th Harry Potter movie, Order of the Phoenix. Already comfortable with her blanket and her hot chocolate, Kristoff comes out of the bathroom from taking a shower after the exercise. He smiled when he saw Anna, so intently focused on the movie, but then he looked at the time.

“Starting the marathon rather late are we?” Kristoff passed by her to go to his room.

“Meh, I may only watch one tonight.” Anna said loud enough so Kristoff could hear her. He came back out with a cozy sweater on and sat on the other couch in the living room.

“That’s alright by me.” Kristoff got comfortable, and watched the movie with Anna.

The scene that was on was when Harry had detention with Professor Umbridge.

Harry stares into Dolores’ cold, dead eyes, trying to have a hint of sweetness. He wants to scream at her for what she had just done to his hand with the enchanted feather. But decided against it. Bad stuff has been happening already. “Nothing.”

“That’s right,” She whispers. “Cause you know, deep down...you deserve to be punished. Don’t you Mr.Potter?” She stares sinisterly at Harry.

Anna mumbles under her breath, “That bitch…” Kristoff laughs at her comment.

~~~

“You’re a really good teacher Harry.” Cho said, “I’ve never been able to stun anything before.” Cho looks up, a mistletoe starts forming above Harry and Cho’s head, she looks at Harry and whispers, “Mistletoe…”

Harry looks at Cho, “Probably full of nargles.” He says softly.

“What are nargles?”

“No idea.” Harry leans in to have his first kiss with Cho, alone in the Room of Requirement, sharing this moment together.

“You know, as a kid I didn’t like the idea of Cho and Harry getting together, but now they are kinda cute together…” Anna said, taking another sip of her hot chocolate that she made another cup of.

“Yeah, but then she totally rats them out about the Room of Requirement, and blows their chances by losing his trust.” Kristoff blatantly says.

“Uh, spoilers much?” Anna smirked.

“Oh come on, like you haven’t seen this whole series a thousand times.” Kristoff chuckled.

“Yeeeaaahhh but everytime I watch it likes I’m seeing it again for the first time.” Anna says.

Kristoff looks back and Harry Potter is explaining his first kiss to Herminoe and Ron, but his mind was still on the scene prior, how Harry had his first kiss and how happy he was to talk about it with his friends. Sure his friends (Herminoe) still found a way to see the hardships that Cho was going through, but Kristoff hoped whoever he’d end up with, his friends would be happy and only think of positives.

He found that he was then looking at Anna. His subconscious knew that she was the one he was talking about, when he thought of who he would end up with.

‘Yeah, in your dreams Kristoff.’ His mind also thought. He shakes his head and gets up to get a drink and a snack.

He opened the cupboard where the alcohol is, and saw that it was already open. He didn’t realize Anna already got to it, since both times she made a cup of hot chocolate he wasn’t looking at her. But that still drove him to ask, “Did you already have some of the vodka?”

Anna looked over, then looked at her drink, and then took a sip, as if he just didn’t ask her a question.

He laughed, and made himself a vodka soda and got one of the snack pack puddings, an adult drink with a kid snack. Kristoff in a nutshell.

He returned to the movie and kinda kept an eye on Anna, seeing if he can tell if she was getting more drunk as the night went on.

~~~

“Do you want any help finding them?” Harry asked Luna, wanting to help find her stuff that people took. Luna smiles and shakes her head, she would be fine on her own.

Her expression falls as she says, “I’m sorry about your Godfather Harry…” She reaches out her hand and takes Harry’s. He is shocked and looks at the contact between them, and looks back up to meet Luna’s eyes. They let go of each other.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help looking?” Harry asks again.

“That’s alright. Anyway, my mom always said, ‘the things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end’.” Her gaze wanders, and she sees her shoes hung from the archway, and Harry follows her gaze. “If not always in the ways we expect... Think I’ll go have some pudding.” She turns and skips away toward the Dining Hall, and Harry looks back at the shoes. He takes the lessons he just learned to heart. He did a quick smirk to himself.

“oH my gOd pudding would be amazing right now!” Anna says a little too loudly and abruptly, startling Kristoff a little bit, but he laughs it off.

“There’s still some snack packs, want me to go grab you one?”

“That, would be great thanksssssss” Anna leans off the side of the couch and smiles with her eyes closed at Kristoff, as he gets up and gets another pack for him and one for Anna.

The rest of the movie finishes and Anna is smiling hard as ever. Order of the Phoenix is one of her favorite movies because of the ending lesson, ‘something worth fighting for’.

“Wooo! God I love that movie.” She looked at the time on her phone, “Ahh, couldn’t hurt to watch one more right?”

Kristoff huffed, “Whatever you want, princess.” He calls her that when he didn’t care what she did, just so long it wasn’t illegal.

She hopped up from the couch, trying to keep her balance, as the alcohol is definitely starting to settle into her. She took out Order of the Phoenix, and put in Half-Blood Prince and sat back down. Kristoff saw how cozy and comfortable Anna looked, with her blanket and big sweater. How he wished he could just snuggle up with her, but that would seem inappropriate, so he just went to his room and got one pillow and a small blanket, actually it was the one Anna gave to Kristoff last Christmas, the first one they really spent together.

Kristoff set up his stuff on the couch and Anna remarked, “Are you gonna sleep out here tonight or what?” She huffed a drunken laugh.

“Nah, if we’re gonna watch another movie I might as well be comfortable.” He looked over at her, and again she was slumped over the side, as she found some comfort in that. “Plus, what if you end up passing out and I gotta clean up everything?”

“I won’t pass out, I’m not that drunk.” Some seriousness poked through. “Besides, you’ll fall asleep before me, you always do when watching movies.”

“Not when I have my vodka soda.” He raised his glass to his lips and gave a cheeky look to her. “You know that. By that rate, at my second one, I won’t fall asleep until I hit my head on my actual bed.”

She mocked his words and started the movie.

~~~

Some point during the movie, in one of the quiet parts, Kristoff noticed that Anna shivered, and her eyes got droopy.

“Anna, you good?”

“Yeah, just got chilly-y, all of a sudden.”

“Are you sick or something? Are you sure you feel okay?” Kristoff jumped up and put his hand to her forehead.

She laughed and swiped his hand away. “Trust me, I’m fine. Is like the window open or something? They said it was going to get cold tonight.”

Kristoff looked around the living room and as it turns out, there was the window open, one of the bigger ones in the room, causing cold air to get in. “See? Told you.” Anna says.

“Sorry, I’ve just been getting more paranoid lately. You never know.” He gets up to shut the window.

“Yeah, but even I knew that the cold air was making me cold, not the virus that I could’ve contracted. Which I didn’t. I’m certain. I’m healthy and fine, and have barely been in contact with anything or anyone.”

“I know..It’s just...you never know…” He quietly said as he went back to his seat on the other couch.

“But I do! Don’t you trust my word?”

“Of course I trust you! It’s just I…” Kristoff didn’t want to say it. He was trying to just get past it. But Anna wouldn’t let up.

“What? You what?” Anna persisted.

“I just care about you too much okay?!” Kristoff blurted out and looked at Anna with wide eyes. But immediately took them back and sank into the couch, trying to glue his eyes to the TV. Hoping she would take it not in the way he meant it.

“You...care about me?” Anna was taken back a little.

“I mean. You’re my roommate. To a degree I have to care about your well being.” Kristoff tried to distract from the actual fact that Kristoff liked Anna. Like, really liked her.

“No...that’s not what you mean.” Anna said, almost in a whisper.

“Look don’t read into it too much, I just meant…” Kristoff stopped when he looked at Anna to finally make eye contact with her, but that’s when he noticed a small smile started to creep up on her face.

Dammit… She knows...But, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

“Kristoff, I…” She started to say.

“Don’t...just…” Kristoff tried to keep brushing it off.

“I know what you mean, though.” Anna shifted on the couch to fully face him, setting down her mug.

Kristoff looked at her, for what felt like forever. There was just silence.

“Kristoff...do you..” Anna started to say, but then was cut off by Kristoff.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. We’re roommates, that’s all.” He got up and went to his room, shutting the door. Not too loudly, he wasn’t mad or anything, just embarrassed.

If at all he was ever going to admit his feelings for Anna, this isn’t the way he imagined it. He laid on his bed, with one pillow and blanket missing, and tried to just get past the moment. He was certain she wasn’t feeling the same things as he did.

It took a couple minutes but Anna knocked on Kristoff’s door. He looked at the door, he decided not to say anything, and just laid on his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Kristoff?..” Anna said quietly. “I know you’re still awake. I also know you can’t sleep with the lights on.”

Kristoff sighed. “You already know it’s open too.” He shut his eyes tight to make sure it was all real.

He heard the door creak open and he looked to his right, and saw Anna slowly walk in. When the door was half open, she just stood there holding the doorknob. “Yeah, but that doesn’t always mean I’m invited in.” She said, looking a little hurt.

“Of course you’re invited in, you’re my roommate.” He sat up and waved his hand for her to come in more.

Anna went to the edge of the bed and sat on the very edge, to where it looked like she was going to fall off.

“You’re making it seem like I’m mad at you.” Kristoff said.

“Well, are you?” Anna barely looked into his eyes.

“No of course not. How can I ever be mad at you?” Kristoff said.

“Well…” Anna adjusted herself to sit better. “How long have you..?”

Kristoff sighed. “Well...first of all I never said anything about liking you.” Anna laughed a little at that. “And second...God, I don’t even remember anymore. It’s been a while. On and off.”

“Why? Why on and off?”

“Because you always showed interest in other guys, not me. Or, if you did you did very well to hide it.” Kristoff managed to crack a smile.

“Well, yeah I guess.” Anna mumbled and looked down at her hands, as she was nervously playing with them.

“There just never seemed like the right time. I mean hell, I took you in when you had nowhere else to go because of that jerk, um.. Lars?”

She scoffed, “Hans..”

“Whatever. I wanted to be there for you and comfort you, but at the same time, I was afraid I would fall hard way too soon, and you needed the space too, so...I don’t know what I’m even saying anymore.” Kristoff backed off from trying to explain his feelings.

“Wait, so, you’ve liked me, since I moved in? That was like, 3 years ago. Multiple relationships between us have come and gone, and...you still had interest in me this whole time?” Anna asked.

“Well...yeah.” Kristoff managed to get out.

Anna smiled, but didn’t know what else to say. So didn’t Kristoff, especially since she hasn’t admitted her feelings, he was just there going about his feelings, feeling like an idiot. So there was just silence between them.

Anna finally thought of something to say. “You know. Since I’ve been here so long with you, I’ve gotten comfortable with you. Like the first time I really had a nightmare, I stayed out in the living room, and then you came out and hugged me until I felt comfortable. After that, if I had a nightmare, I would just come in here and tell you that I need comfort. And you didn’t hesitate to do that. And there’s many more things that I was willing to do because I felt more closer and connected with you. Like tonight. I almost asked if you wanted to just sit on the same couch as I was on. But I felt that was taking it too far...and many more things too because we both had a relationship at one point or another. So I guess what I’m saying is...it’s back on for me. And it has been for a while.”

That last part got Kristoff’s attention. Did she just admit her feelings?

“You mean…?” Kristoff asked.

“I like you too Kristoff.” She finally said.

Kristoff couldn’t contain his smile.

“Does that smile mean you feel the same way?”

“Of course it does Anna. Like I said, I care about you. And like you predicted, I’m head over heels for you.”

She quickly crawled over to him and gave him a hug. The weird thing was, is that there was no weird feeling. It all felt so right for them. Like they belonged together.

They parted to look at each other. Kristoff did immediately feel bad for something though.

“Look, I’m sorry if I seemed very over protective of you. It’s just with everything going on…”

“I know. It’s okay. I get why, and sorry if I did seem annoyed on the outside, on the inside it felt heartwarming knowing that someone was concerned on that level. Like yeah Elsa asks if I’m okay, and I get a couple texts from other people, but...well I guess all those people can’t be too protective because they don’t live with me like you do, so a text is the next best thing to check up on someone-”

“Wow, I forgot how much you like to ramble-”

Already 2 minutes into this relationship and Anna smacks him playfully for his comment.

“Hey! I think it’s adorable, is what I was going to say.” Kristoff smiled again. So did Anna once she realized it was a compliment he was paying her.

They just sat in each other's arms for a bit, basking in the fact that they were a thing now. After 3 years of living together, and the past few months of being cooped up together, it finally happened. Anna finally piped up to say something.

“Well...now you know that I’m perfectly fine, do you mind if I..” Anna asked, almost scared to say the ending of her sentence.

“If you kiss me?” Kristoff said, finishing her sentence, and then gently laughed. “You know, I was thinking the same thing.” He looked deep into her eyes and leaned toward her. She accepted his lips as they pressed into hers. They both smiled into each other.

She hummed her excitement as they parted. Anna’s eyes were closed as she smiled. Kristoff laughed again at her dopey-looking face.

“What do you say we watch the rest of Harry Potter on the same couch?” Kristoff asked her.

“Okay, now you read my mind.” Anna managed to get out of Kristoff’s embrace, but grabbed his hand and led him to the living room. Anna was not afraid to get touchy and close to him, and neither was he. Kristoff grabbed Anna’s waist and slightly picked her up and he plopped on the couch with Anna landing on top of him. They got comfortable, with Anna’s big blanket covering them both, they picked up where they left off with the movie, and just enjoyed each other for the rest of the movie, until they eventually fell asleep.

Kristoff did wake up because of the fact that Anna was moving and mumbling as she was sleeping. It took him a second to wake up, then he picked her up and brought her to his room. He got her and himself comfortable, and went back to sleep with her in his arms.

~Morning After~

Day Whatever of Quarantine

Oh. My. God. Journal, you have no idea what I’m about to tell you. And it’s good. So good, my hand will be hurting after this entry...

#kristanna fanfiction #kristanna fanfic #kristanna #kristoff #anna #frozen #fanfiction #fanfic #quarantine love story

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imaginejamesandsirius · 4 years

Note

Sirius catching the scar on harry’s hand from Umbridge’s detention. He and james storming and destroying her and dumbledore. Harry being their son somehow. Any back story you want. Thanks

Sirius was trying futilely to figure out how muggle Christmas lights worked when he saw it. On the back of Harry's hand, an irritated wound that looked like words had been carved in. Sirius felt his blood run cold because even at a glance, he knew what that was. He recognised Harry's handwriting, and he was intimately familiar with this particular... punishment method. That was what his parents had called it. A 'punishment method' like it was the same as sending him to his room or making him do his homework before he could go to James's house.

"Harry," he said, trying so hard to keep his voice even, but internally he was shaking with rage. "What's that on your hand?"

Harry froze, glancing guiltily at his left hand. His poker face could use some work, but Sirius knew he did alright when it wasn't to his parents. "Nothing," he tried, tugging the sleeve of his jumper down to cover it.

Sirius sighed, shoulders slumping. He didn't know how to deal with this, but it's not like he could freeze Harry in place so he could go grab James for help. Wordlessly, Sirius held out his hand, palm up so he'd seem nonthreatening (he hoped). Patience was the key to being a parent, he'd learned that much. It paid off a minute later, when Harry tentatively put his hand in Sirius's. The sleeve was still covering his hand, but he'd made contact and that was enough. Slowly, Sirius reached his other hand up and pushed back the fabric. I must not tell lies. Sirius grit his teeth. "Which professor did this?"

"A professor didn't do anything," he denied, as though Sirius hadn't used that exact line about his parents to James.

"It's a blood quill. I don't care if they didn't carve into you with a knife, this is still their fault. So I'm asking you Haz, who gave it to you for detention."

Harry swallowed. His hand was trembling, but he didn't snatch it away. "It's not that big a deal, I-"

"You're not fine," Sirius cut in, even though he knew that it was a bad idea to not let your kid finish their sentences. "Don't tell me that you are, because you're not. Give me a name, and I'll take care of it."

"You won't tell Dad?"

"I don't keep secrets from him."

Harry looked pained, but Sirius could see that he was coming around. "Umbridge," he muttered, so quietly that Sirius almost couldn't hear it.

"The new Defense professor?"

He gave a small nod.

"Thank you." Sirius got to his feet and pulled Harry into a hug. He wanted to hold onto him, create a little bubble around him until he was the safest person in the entire world, but eventually he had to let go. "Why don't you go grab the frosting for the biscuits, and I'll get you a rub for that. Helps with magical scars." Not much, but it was enough to get rid of blood quill's traces.

"Thanks," Harry muttered, shuffling off to the kitchen as Sirius suggested.

If he didn't rip that bitch apart with his bare hands, it would be a miracle. He kept his steps even as he got to the room he and James shared, and he didn't slam the door. James was happily humming to himself, trying to wrap presents as neatly as he could. They were a bit of a mess, but it's not like Sirius could do better. "Guess what our son just told me," Sirius grit out.

James's hands froze. "Is he in trouble?"

"No but I'm going to kill that fucking professor."

"Okay you need to tell me what's going on before I draw the worst possible conclusion," James said, looking up at him, expression deadly serious.

"The new defense teacher is making him write lines with a blood quill for detention."

"WHAT?" James scrambled to his feet, accidentally kicking a partially wrapped gift half across the room.

"Don't," Sirius said, hand fastening around James's arm. "He didn't want to tell me, and he'll only clam up more if we interrogate him about it. I just want to kill her, and then we can pretend like none of this happened."

"We're not murdering anyone," James said absently, more like it was an obligation to remind Sirius that murder was illegal than because he was against it. At least, that was what Sirius thought until James added, "Accidents happen."

"James." One of them should be reasonable, probably. But it's not really like he wanted for James to be calm, more like he needed to think this through more so that they'd actually accomplish something instead of getting so angry they couldn't speak.

His mouth twisted, scowling hard enough it was a wonder the lights hadn't dimmed from sensing how foul his mood was.

"James," Sirius said again, putting his hand on the back of James's neck and leaning so that their foreheads were resting against each other. "Breathe, love."

He took a ragged breath in, then released it. "Getting her fired wouldn't be bad enough."

"We can come up with a plan tonight," Sirius promised. "But for now, we're going to have a nice time with Harry so that he doesn't have to think about it. Okay?"

It took a long moment for James to agree, but eventually he did. "Okay. But tonight-"

"Tonight, we'll figure out how to eviscerate her." Sirius tilted his head just so, kissing him softly. "Let's get down there and decorate some tree shaped biscuits, yeah?"

Harry probably shouldn't have been surprised by the announcement that Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic and previous professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts, had been arrested and was under investigation for violent crimes against Muggles and Muggleborns.

"She's gone," Hermione said, positively beaming at the newspaper. "Harry, this is wonderful! Why- why aren't you happy?"

"I am."

"Then why do you look so down?"

"Processing," he said, rubbing his fingers against his eyes up under his glasses. His dad's had been behind this, he knew it. Before he'd said anything, Umbridge had been cozy up there as the right hand of the Minister of Magic. Untouchable by Dumbledore or McGonagall. One week was all it had taken, and now she was gone, probably going to be put away for life, and all of that without bringing up anything about what she'd been doing to the students at Hogwarts. It might have been more satisfying to see her in court for nearly torturing them, but they all would have had to answer questions about it. This was... easier. Neater, and more efficient. "This is great," Harry admitted, dropping his hands back to the table. "I guess I wasn't expecting for her to be gone so easily, y'know?"

Hermione nodded, bringing the paper up to her nose as she read it avidly, her eyes racing from one side to the other. By the time she put it down, there was a healthy flush to her cheeks and she looked like she was glowing with happiness. "You won't be hurt anymore. Now we only have Voldemort to worry about, but he's not here yet."

Harry snorted. "Yeah. Thanks 'Mione." He waited a while before bringing out the two-way mirror and calling his parents.

James was beaming when he picked up. "Hiya Harry! How's it going?" he asked knowingly.

"You and Pop did that."

"Did what?"

Harry looked at him flatly. "Umbridge."

Impossibly, James's smile widened. "We sure did. And that scar on your hand's nearly gone, yeah?"

"Yeah, almost," Harry said, nodding. "I-." He sighed, shaking his head. Why was he wanting to be upset with them? He'd told Pop because he wanted help, and help was what he'd gotten. The best help possible. "Thanks Dad."

"Anything for you prongslet."

"Love you. Tell Pop thanks and that I love him too."

"Will do. Have a good school year, kiddo."

#prongsfoot #marauders #fanfic #james potter #sirius black #harry potter #filled #established relationship #married #second war #raising harry #siriuslystarbucks #Anonymous

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fredsweaslies · 3 years

Text

the gardens that grow between us | chapter six

● word count: 1707

● new fic index

AS THE PAIR OF GIRLS BEGAN TO GET COMFORTABLE WITH THEIR NEW LIFE AT SCHOOL, the first Hogsmeade weekend quickly approached. Just before the term started, Paloma and Dolores could barely contain their excitement when their parents signed the permission slips to allow the girls to leave school grounds. That morning, the girls couldn't wait to wear something other than their robes and busted out their best casual attire. They headed out with Draco, shivering at the sight of the dementors that stood guard in front of the castle.

"Where do you want to go first?" Dolores asked Draco, "I am not going around Hogsmede with you two." He said disgustingly.

"Scared we'll embarrass you, Malfoy?" Paloma said in a British accent, mocking him.

"I would rather be skinned alive than find out what you two find fun in Hogsmede." He scoffed, the two girls putting on a fake expression of shock.

"That is no way to talk to your future wife!" Dolores joked, gasping and clutching her heart.

When they entered the crowded village, they couldn't keep their eyes off of the cute novelty shops that never seemed to end. In this, Draco disappeared. The girls decided to start their trip off with an ice cream shop near the entrance of the village.

As they stood in line at the kitsch ice cream parlor, they bantered about all the different flavors on the menu.

"Do you think it's any different from ice cream in America?" Dolores asked, their eyes still glued at the menu. "For these prices, I sure hope so." The two giggled. Just then, the boy in front of them turned around. It was Oliver Wood. Paloma straightened up.

"I thought I recognized that voice." He cooed, flashing Paloma a smile.

"Hey, Oliver." As confident as Paloma was in every other aspect of her life when it came to boys she became as shy as any other girl.

"I recommend the strawberry and peanut flavor, it's what I always get." He recommended kindly. Paloma couldn't stop herself from meeting his gaze.

"Sounds great." She said meekly. As he placed his order, Dolores quietly teased Paloma by fluttering her eyelashes and mouthing "Oh Oliver!"

When he reached the register, he told the cashier that he would be paying for Paloma and Dolores' orders as well.

"Oh - Oliver you don't have to." Paloma intercepted, but he was already handing over his coins to the cashier.

"No, I insist." He said confidently, "Thanks, Oliver." Dolores commented sweetly, "I like him." She mouthed.

"Hey - Paloma..." Oliver called, who was now in the middle of the shop, stopping as he was about to leave. Paloma started attentively.

"I was wondering, if you're not busy next weekend, would you like to go on a date?"

Paloma swore she was going to faint.

"Of - of course. Yes, I would love to." She nodded eagerly and clutched her ice cream cup tightly.

"Perfect, I'll see you then." He smiled before heading out the door and meeting his friends that were waiting outside the shop.

"No fucking way." Dolores exclaimed. Paloma sighed and couldn't stop smiling.

The two sat down at the table that was right in front of the shop window.

"I can't believe that you already have a date with one of the hottest guys at Hogwarts," Dolores said amazedly, "A guy can't even look my way in the halls."

"Are you kidding? What's that red-heads name again? The one who's friends with Hermione?" Paloma pondered, shoveling a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"Ron? What about him?" Dolores started to turn pink.

"Oh, you know what, he's totally in puppy-love with you."

"I haven't even spoken a word to him."

"Yeah, but guys are dumb, that won't stop them from having a crush on you. I see the way he stares at you," Paloma continued, "The other day when we were at breakfast and when we walked past their table he spilled his pumpkin juice all over his sweater when he saw you."

"You're crazy."

"Hey, just some food for thought. Not my fault you're oblivious," with ice cream still in her mouth, she added "don't you think he's cute?"

Dolores stayed quiet, "I knew it." Paloma laughed.

"I'm too nervous to talk to him, and from the looks of it he is too."

"Aren't you study buddies with Hermione now? Just ask her to set you guys up."

"No, she's not like that. I'm better off starting things off organically."

"Up to you," Paloma continued, "does he have any brothers?"

"Yeah, Hermione mentioned that he has these twin brothers on the Quidditch team, and I think another one who's a prefect for Gryffindor, why?"

"While at practice the other day there were these cute red-head twins on Gryffindor, I just figured."

"No way, you're trying to get with the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team." Dolores laughed.

"Hey, we just got here, a girl can't have options?" The two snickered and finished their ice cream. When they opened the door of the parlor to leave, Paloma bumped harshly into Pansy Perkins.

"Watch it." Pansy taunted. Behind her were two Slytherin girls who towered over Paloma and Dolores.

"What is your deal?" Dolores demanded, crossing her arms, "Jealous because of Draco?"

This sent Pansy to grow bright red from anger, "You better pipe down, Lola." The two Slytherin girls behind her laughed at her remark.

"Move." Paloma demanded. Pansy and her cronies were blocking the girls from leaving.

"Make me."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Paloma sniggered, pulling out her wand and throwing it up against Pansy's throat. Pansy retreated into the arms of her friends behind her.

"Excuse me!" Interrupted a voice, Professor McGonagall marched up to the group of girls.

"Detention, Miss Martinez," Paloma's face turned pink as Pansy and her friends giggled quietly behind McGonagall. "Off to the castle, all of you." She ordered, all the girls groaned and were sent on the walk of shame back to Hogwarts.

★

Even with the excitement during their first Halloween feast, that was no match to Paloma's disappointment in herself over her first detention. She stopped every step of the way that night after leaving her things in their room. She was sent to the great hall and dreaded finding out what she would have to do as a punishment.

When she entered the hall, only one person was sitting at a table in the empty space. One of the red-headed twins from Gryffindor. His head whipped up at her, his stunned expression greeting her. She smiled shyly and sat across from him at what would be the Gryffindor table.

"Hi." She greeted.

"Hello." He was still shocked to see her. Before Paloma could say anything else, she heard incoming footsteps.

"You two," Sprang Professor McGonagall, who was dressed in what seemed to be a black nightgown, "Your task tonight is to clean the silverware from today's meals, without magic." They both groaned as she waved her wand and sent the silverware from a nearby table to the table they were sat at.

"I will be back in an hour." She alerted. She quietly walked away and shut the huge wooden doors behind her.

The red-headed boy let out a sigh and began to pick up the silverware and scrubber.

"So, I take you're Paloma?" He said, she was shocked he knew her name.

"Yeah, how do you know?" She asked.

"You American students are all anyone has been talking about." He laughed, scrubbing a spoon, "I'm Fred." Paloma nodded.

"You have a twin? Or am I going insane?" This made him chuckle, "Yeah, that's George." Paloma nodded again and started to focus on wiping the cups with a damp towel.

"What brings you here?" He asked.

"Put a wand up to Pansy Parkinson's throat." Fred roared with laughter and slammed his palm down on the table, causing the silverware to rattle. "What about you?" She asked.

"Put firecrackers in the Ravenclaw toilets, a poor first year is officially scarred for life." The two tried to stifle laughs from the horrible prank, "You know, you're not as cruel and demeaning as others in your house."

"So I've heard." She giggled, passing a fork to him to scrub.

"I hear you've gotten mighty cozy to Wood." He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh god." She laughed.

"How do I know you're not just interested in him so you can gain all our secrets?" Fred prodded.

"Don't worry, I'll still go hard on him during our matches." She shot a smile up at Fred who was staring attentively up at her.

The two spent the hour laughing and giggling as Fred recounted his many pranks with George, and Paloma told him all about the embarrassing things she had caught Draco doing during their youth. Whenever there was a lull in the conversation from their focus on scrubbing and polishing the utensils, Paloma would look up and Fred and catch him staring at her. He would immediately shoot his eyes down to the cup he was cleaning to avoid being noticed. But Paloma surely took notice and simpered to herself while she wiped down the silverware. Suddenly, Professor McGonagall burst through the doors.

"Weasley, Martinez." She called, sounding slightly frantic. The two students looked up at her concerned, "There's been an incident up in the Gryffindor common room. You two can stop for now, we're sending students to sleep in here tonight."

Paloma got chills as she stood up from the table, standing arm to arm with Fred who towered over her.

"What do you think happened?" Paloma asked innocently, watching students from all four houses pile into the great hall. Everyone was still in their nightgowns and pajamas. Fred shrugged. As the Slytherins made their way in, Dolores hurried over to Paloma.

"Sirius Black tore up the painting in front of Gryffindor's common room!" Dolores exclaimed, panicked. "What?" Paloma and Fred said at the same time.

"I'll catch you later, Paloma." Fred said, rushing over to his brothers George and Ron as soon as they made it inside.

The two girls found Draco, who was chuckling to himself over the frenzy that was happening in the great hall.

◀︎ chapter five ☆ chapter seven ▶︎

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #oliver wood x oc #draco malfoy x oc #fred weasley x oc #ron weasley x oc #draco malfoy fanfic #fred weasley fanfic #*myfics

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shut-up-im-jay · 4 years

Text

PEEPS THERE IS MORE

WHAT ARE. THE. FUCKING. REPRESENTATION. OF. PAIN. IN. ART.

Sorry I’m overly excited rn

I love this. And I’m sorry but I’ll tag peeps here too bc it’s really interesting, tell me if you want more in the future or if you want me to stop tagging me lmao

@whumpthisway @whumpster-dumpster @untilthepainstarts @ashintheairlikesnow

Let’s dive into it.

SOO how does art represent pain and how does it allow us, spectators, to feel it and why do we represent it in art?

Art and stuff, when I use the word it’ll be about every representation of it, paint, fanfic, writing, films, series.... everything.

first of all, maybe when we experience art we aren’t just communicating with the author and the characters but also with the other readers somehow. Like there is a community behind any form of art

heroïc pain, comical pain and the experiment of pain in stories about real people --> restitution of sensation of pain, (recent phenomenon apparently) are the three main thing we’re gonna talk about here

What is a hero and what is its link to pain?

stoïc heroes are the ‘best’, those who take pride in toughening up, very often a mannly trait, there is historically a superior power in play. They’re heroic bc they fight till the end knowing that they can’t do anything (see La chanson de Roland, the agony of Charlemagne’s nephew, it’s apparently a really good agony/whump thing)

Action is superior to affection when you’re a hero (martyrs hello, we’re talking about st Sebastian, our true gay icon, I love him)

------ Tbh this is basically the base for whump, but not the cool part. We want our whumpee to go further. The strength is cool but I don’t just want this, I mainly wanna feel the pain and no one is that hero. It’s often more the tipping point that gives me whumperflies --------

Philoctet here. Who is the guy? Heroic af, but he is an ass. So anyway he is wounded and he has an ulcer and yeah that’s why he screams and smells and his friends just let him to die on an island (lmao) bc he has invincible weapons so they just go away with it (savage)

So he is the metaphor of a patient isolated in their pain, that’s cool. Also there is a caretaker in the story. True antic whump peeps.

-----------Now comical pain(?) (not whump related here)

Can we really laugh about pain? we’re talking about the ripping a bandage kind of comical pain in caricature. How can some kind of pain affect us while other makes us ‘laugh’ or at least be amused...

We then laugh more about the idea of humiliation, for example in comical theater, laughing at the pain as punishment for the ‘bad’ characters. Also laughing makes people superior, so when we laugh together it binds us together, and then pain can be bounding but anyway that’s not the point.

The real question is: how the fuck do we have an insensibility to pain when there is a comical situation?

let’s talk about someone who falls and it’s funny cause they slipped on a banana peel or smtg. bc there is a social convention in the funny situation. Also pain isn’t really obvious, it’s often ambiguous and we can’t really have empathy so yeah, we maybe don’t relate that much? and also small kids don’t seem to find it funny apparently bc they’re not really aware of the comical situation.

I think that this kind of things would be more interesting to do it as a psychological/social study on why we find things funny related to culture and our background, more than our relation to pain

------------ Now, the historically modern kind of pain tale, the one more related to whump, when the goal really is to describe the pain, often trying to get the spectator to relate.

The body has a new place in art. Historically the soul was really the center of art while nowadays we are more in a somatic art, the body is the focus.

Cenesthesia is the internal perception, the general sensibility we have toward our internal feelings. And it’s a general tendency now, Hunger, K.Hamsun, Nausea, Sartres, they focus on those internal feelings. Another great book: ‘La doulou’, Alphonse Daudet (he suffered from syphilis) and he described in a diary all the pain he was feeling, and he tried to be really accurate. Again, great writing material ig.

Léon Werth: The white house is an auto-fiction, basically the story of a guy that has an ear infection and his surgery then the fever. The whole story is about post-op sensations. Interestingly enough, the character doesn’t even have a name, the whole story is only to describe the pain, and the main character is really interested in his own pain. He uses GREAT analogies tbh, like there is an industry in his ear and everything, that’s.... that’s good shit. But like, he isn’t bad about it, he is just weirdly okay with it? he only describes things as he feels them, he has some kind of dissociation from his pain.

This is basically one of the example of pain descriptions in modern art, when the person in pain becomes the spectator of its pain

Dolor y gloria, Pedro Almodovar --> good PTSD shit, how emotional pain becomes physical pain. Two narratives at the same time: the main character with chronic pains as an adult, but then there is the other story: how, as a child, MC was influenced by his past

on an unrelated note, the teacher just said that main character and his mum are hot lmao that’s bi energy af

Well now she’s dissecting a cinematic scene and it’s not really interesting so I’ll try to express what I took out of this.

Seriously, it wasn’t as cool as I expected it to be, I thought she was going to focus more on how we relate to pain. That’s unfortunate, bc I’d love to have an external pov on whump. The actual psychological effect of seeing pain, and why it’s truly appealing to us. Why the fuck do we enjoy it.

It was more of a dive in the representation of pain in different arts. Some good whump references in it I guess. But nothing really psychological and it’s kinda a shame tbh.

Oh but some cool things maybe(?), some interviews of neurologists:

WHAT IS PAIN AND HOW DOES IT INTERACT WITH THE MEDICAL WORLD?

(also there are people specializing on pain out there which is fucking rad and metal lmao)

Scientific pov: Pain is an experience. Sensorial, emotional and physical. the pain isn’t really localized in a part of your brain. Sure, things are processed in the thalamus but it’s a very large zone already, there are so many ways to feel pain, and so many structures in our brain, it’s almost as complex as memory(!)

-The facial expression of pain and why it’s ambiguous? How to see the pain? There are literal descriptions of non-verbal cues, and how to detect pain (there are even photo stocks of facial pain expressions lmao to try and educate our brains). And often, the more you’re affected, the more you’re ambiguous in the way of expressing it.

Frowning is one of the first ways of expressing pain, muscles have a kind of order in the way they react.

Our anatomy teacher now: words of pain. As doctors, it’s often unclear how to understand the levels of pain based on patient expressions. So we have precise forms to help, but we need patients to be really educated to have enough vocabulary. Unfortunately sometimes as we already stated, pain can be anesthetic in a way, and hard to describe, and trying to fix the pain in time is near impossible. We would even need to do a linguistic study on pain and stuff to make sure we can be precise (and write more whumpy things lmao)

Here, a take on pain as an alarm system. Dramatic consequences ensue when there are lesions of nerves, so it is obviously a very useful and protecting tool. But then what about neuropathic and chronical pains? They’re basically when in a house, the alarm goes off all the time for no reason. And then the definition of a protecting system is really wrong

What are the bias medical professionals have? The more a patient says he’s in pain, and the less they’re believed (it’s almost an auto protecting factor: we shut down our empathy and it conducts us to underestimates the pain, and this is terrible bc the more you’re in pain, the less you’re going to be actually taking care of!)

The logic and chaos of pain: either persistence of a physical issue or malfunctioning of nervous systems In a western, there is a tendency to have pain representation when an arrow gets in the flesh, then when it’s extracted, but we mostly won’t even blink when the character just isn’t in pain anymore bc we have that representation of pain being linked to trauma. (whumpers, I think there is where we have something to say: we actually understand the role of pain after the trauma)

And knowing that pain is linked to something is a very relieving factor for most patients. Thus the known placebo effect: if we actually say to patients that there is a cause to their pain, they almost always have better results with pain management!

Placebo also works the other way around peeps, if you think that smtg is going to be painful, oh boi. It’s gonna hurt like hell. Like more than it should... you get the hint

The human mind is fascinating

#not so cool #ssh #whump #anyway it was kinda interesting #some good references #not so whumpy too #the end is better #I like scientifical pov on things #later #italics are basically my thought

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darkouter · 5 years

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barty’s art hobby & magical items (ESSENCE OF DOLOR + SKETCHBOOK)

personals do not reblog !

barty has always liked art a lot. as a kid, he used to use whatever he could get his hands on. there were several times where winky would panic when she found him drawing on the walls when he was a child. luckily, she kept him from ever being caught by crouch.

it became a bonding activity for he and his mom to sit down together and do arts and crafts. she would introduce him to various mediums, all the way from paints to paper mache, whatever a kid would love playing with. he hung up his art all over his clubhouse. he particularly liked messy items like clay until he was around 7, when he managed to make a mess in the mansion with it. crouch stumbled upon it before winky could clean it up, and, having grown tired of barty’s terribly unruly behavior and disrespect for personal items, crouch did two things:

for as many items that barty got dirty, he had to destroy something of his own

he had to drink essence of dolor in just as many gulps

ESSENCE OF DOLOR

this potion is sanctioned only for use within the ministry of magic department of law enforcement for the use of torture, dolor being latin for pain. this potion has no other use than to cause as much pain in whatever part of the body it comes into contact with as it is capable of producing. thus, depending on how the brew is administered, there are different severities of pain it may cause. parts of the body with few nerves are least painful, so small amounts in these spots are the lowest possible pain it can cause. most of the time, this is not how it is used, much to the misfortune of the victim. often, under crouch’s term working as head of the department, death eaters and other offenders would be dunked into the liquid. besides the short-term pain, it causes no lasting physical damage. it is the ministry’s work-around for not abusing use of the cruciatus curse.

barty has endured the potion’s effects several times as a punishment at crouch’s behest. knowing that information about it would be found somewhere within the department’s files, barty began looking for it out of curiosity during his summer internships.

though it took until 1979, he came across documents detailing how to brew it, handle it safely, and how to use it most effectively. memorizing it, as confidential files cannot be removed from their designated areas and are enchanted to not be duplicated, he would eventually provide voldemort with this information in his eagerness to gain approval. given his prowess in potion brewing and that he is the one who knows it best, actually coming into contact with the documents to memorize them, barty would often make large batches for the death eaters, even before officially joining their ranks. he may have taught a few people how to make it, but this would be very selective and only reserved for those with a mastery over potions (someone like snape, perhaps)

after this incident of abuse, barty no longer enjoyed art that might cause any mess. in fact, for quite a few months, he wanted nothing to do with anything relating to art. it took his mother coaxing him back into it before he would start up again when he was 8. he only stuck to using pencils, and it would be years before he would be willing to use things like charcoal, oil pastels, and the like.

as part of her efforts to get barty back into art, his mother gifted him a magical sketchbook for his 8th birthday. she reasoned that it could be his safe place to draw.

BARTY’S SKETCHBOOK

the main source of what makes it unique has to do with its neverending pages. while it remains a reasonable thickness in appearance, one could tear away at the pages infinitely, and it would always produce more. picking up all of the pages and flipping through them, the papers will never stop, though it never appears as if new pages are produced. it only ever remains an inch thick. the pages themselves are durable, almost like canvases but not as thick, and made to not let anything bleed through them, so they can even be painted on without damaging other pages. it is mostly waterproof and stainproof, though this only applies to pages that are not opened. one can still use water colors or any sort of medium on an individual page, even rip that page out if desired, but it simply will not harm the other pages if they are not being actively used. it is also nearly invincible, though barty would never allow anyone to test just how true that is. opening the book, one can start from the first page with barty’s first drawing and continue on and on and on through thousands of sketches (beginning in 1970). if you ask barty, the only disadvantages are that it isn’t enchanted to only open for him and that it’s very hard to find individual sketches.

it contains more or less everything he has drawn since he was 8, barring random doodles he may have made elsewhere or projects he gifted to others (which would only be to his mother and best friends), but all of his other personal major pieces reside in the book. and he draws. a lot. during childhood, it is mostly full of silly cartoon images. it changes when he is 11, as he begins to draw things from his days at hogwarts. it serves almost like a diary as he begins to write commentary on the left blank page with drawings on the right. sometimes poems, sometimes notes on what the image is, what spurred his desire to draw it, or even just details of what happened that day. beginning to do still life pieces at school, he became a much better artist. while he likes capturing simple spots around hogwarts, he prefers doing portraits. usually he doesn’t tell people he’s doing them, nor does he usually tell them he did. he is very self-conscious about his work, and he does not like for anyone to look at his drawings. if he shows a piece to someone, he still guards the book, not letting people hold it; he only lets them see very specific pages.

even under the imperius curse, he still continues to use his book, though the art and commentary/poems become near incomprehensible and obscure. the easiest comparison to make would be with david lynch’s art (give that shit a google for mostly nightmare fuel) or sometimes simply abstract expressionism. while all of his art is assigned dates, these 11 years contain none.

when he comes back to hogwarts as moody, he doesn’t get much of a chance to draw given that he isn’t supposed to be himself. if anyone were to find it, that would be bad. when he does break it out while alone, much of it is still abstract and strange as he continues to suffer from some level of disorganized thought that he can express on the pages.

once he escapes post-goblet, his default art style balances by being less abstract but far less realistic than when he was in school. he prefers charcoal/chalk, oil pastels, water colors, ink, plain pencil, or mixed media with these.

#| OOC: HEY GHOULS!#| HC: BARTEMIUS CROUCH JR.#if he gives u some art he Loves You #the only exception is riddle because he didn't think anything he could make would ever be good enough for Him #he is very very insecure about his art and feels like people are just being nice to him when they say he's good #but he IS good! even his nonsensical pieces are interesting even if they aren't a style that someone would like #im not sure how well those pieces in particular would be received in the wizarding world but he could get things into a museum i think #in the muggle world

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themountainsays · 2 years

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New brulores fanfic idea: y'all remember the human panopticon headcanon/theory/interpretation? Anyway, that, but Bruno doesn't leave. Basically, since Dolores gets her gift he's given the job to train and guide her so she can fulfill his role one day, and when he has a vision of Mirabel with the cracks, he's this close )( to leaving, but Dolores convinces him to stay because she's already doing pretty bad with her powers and they both know that, if she leaves, all the responsability will fall on her, and she'll be alone because no one else understands their struggle, and she's only like 11 she's scared and desperate and he accepts to stay and come up with some lie about Mirabel's prophecy. He's still a big sad hermit locking himself up in his room and barely interacting with the family + the outside world. But he still has a responsability to like, educate Dolores on how to do the panopticon shit, so that's kinda his motivation to get out of the room a little and have human interactions with others. I imagine these classes would consist on walking around the outskirts of town and talking, exchanging advice, hearing, seeing etc etc it's mostly homemade psychological councelling because, really, Dolores is doing amazing. She's doing everything he's ever done and more. Both her gift and her better-ish mental health allow her to go further than he's ever gone when it comes to their job, so at this point, he just wants to be there for her and take on most of the weight so she won't have to, even if she'd do a better job.

That's kinda it. A slice of life kind of story about Bruno being there to see his niblings grow up, being closest to Dolores precisely because akjdsnsjkbk because his mother forces him to give her classes, that's why. He didn't want to be there, he doesn't care for human interaction, he's not terribly interested in watching anyone's niblings grow up... he's not really interested in anything. In seeing anything, doing anything, going anywhere... this man has depression. But being forced to get up every day to hang out with his least noisy and demanding nibling for a few hours actually does wonders for his mental health. And of course the romantic plot starts when Dolores is around her early twenties, and Bruno finds himself feeling things he shouldn't, and of course it freaks him out, but she still needs his help, so it's not like he can leave, he becomes more emotionally distant etc etc some inc3st guilt sprinkled here and there... but it would be a love story standing on a lot of backstory, right? You'd NEED those first chapters before the Problematiqué content starts. Etc etc plot ensues. Plot being an episodic string of vignettes to which I attach a bunch of my headcanons. Y'all keep talking about Bruno being a super virgin but you're sleeping on the very good great amazing concept of Bruno running into an old ex who REALLY hurt him like a lot, absolutely broke his heart, a souless harpy who left him with at least eleven more traumas than he had coming in, and Dolores, of course, hearing and knowing so much, fucking hating her with her entire soul. But not really being able to explain why to anyone, or show it, because then she'd have to explain why she was listening in to her uncle's intimate nights with his girlfriend. I mean, she has nothing to hide, it was totally part of her job as the human panopticon, to make sure no one is commiting crimes, and she's pretty sure making Bruno cry should be punisheable with jail time so ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯ no inconsistencies there! it's perfectly ethical trust her.

I feel like this would work best as a long multichap fic with many short chapters, without any large overarching plot other than "Bruno is forced to teach his niece how to do one of the things that's harmed him the most through his life and he isn't sure he wants to continue doing it, especially once he begins to develop feelings for her" and "Dolores sees her loved ones suffer under Alma's thumb and she knows that the best way to avoid the punishment they face is by turning invisible, which means no achievements and no failures, no risks, no personal ambitions, no following dreams, no priorizing your own needs and not intervening even when people need your help, a life philosophy that is painful to live by, and sometimes she thinks her tío Bruno is actively trying to sabotage the armor she's built, out of love".

#madrigalcest #brulores #shipcest #shit what do i call this #brulores human panopticon au #there #also baby chatterbox dolores. little dolores not knowing how to stfu which got her #got her super grounded and punished as a kid for telling people's secrets and rambling so much #getting people in trouble etc etc #being told to keep quiet more and more until she barely says a word #though as an adult she begins to open up as bruno tries to dismantle the system they both had going on #the whole human panopticon thing? kinda fucked. maybe they shouldn't torture themselves like that #and keeping secrets is soooo hard it's eating her alive but ??? he's fine with her talking?? he's ok with her taking up space??#wild #ngl this whole concept is a huge reason why i ship them. i feel like most ppl ship them cos they assume they must have been in contact #during bruno's exile but idk i feel like him having human contact back then sorta undermines the horror of his whole thing #however i think about both of them being the only ones with eyes open in their doors #and i'm falling down flapping up and down on the floor like a fish

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aurumacadicus · 6 years

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So, watching Order of the Phoenix tonight, I watched Fred and George comfort that crying first year boy and it struck me as odd. I try not to think about Dolores Umbridge (truly, she is a fantastic villain, so realistic, I’m in awe), but this has me puzzled. (Bear with me; I’ve not read Order of the Phoenix in years so I might get some details wrong.)

The implications of the above interaction leave me even more uncomfortable than I was previously because I have only been able to draw two possible conclusions: Either Umbridge chose her victims very carefully, or all of the parents of the students of Hogwarts were complicit in the torture of children.

Alright. I can understand people not believing Harry. He keeps saying the Dark Lord is back and clearly he’s not or we would have seen evidence of it. We’re not sure what happened to Cedric but we know He-who-must-not-be-named isn’t back, otherwise there would have been Death Eaters running around and a definite uptick in cold-blooded murders. Harry Potter saw something awful and he’s probably just making up a story to try and comprehend what happened. Poor boy. He’s clearly cracking. But am I to believe that literally no other student sent a letter to their parents? Am I to believe that these parents didn’t talk to each other?

So. Either:

1) Dolores Umbridge chooses her victims so carefully that it never gets out. No one believes Harry, and the kids that do write home’s parents hear that Harry Potter started this and assume it’s just a rumor. I mean, what’s the possibility that someone would do this? What professor would dare? We’re trusting our children to the care of Hogwarts. The last thing a person would want was an army of pissed off, magic wielding parents storming their halls. So clearly Umbridge chooses children whose parents wouldn’t care if their children were hurt, exploiting the fact that they don’t have protection from her, and expecting the parents not to believe these troubled children who probably just want attention, no matter whether it’s good or bad.

2) Magical parents literally don’t give a shit about their kids. Okay, alright, maybe the letters are hard to believe, but then I’m talking to Mary while perusing trashy romance novels at Flourish and Blotts and she mentions her child saying something about a torture quill. I pause, two books in either hand. “Excuse me, Mary? What did you just say?” “Oh, Evie said something about a quill that uses her own blood to write. Can you beat that!” “...What is it used for?” Mary turns from the books as well, looking confused, but horror dawning on her face. “She said she was made to write lines. Every stroke of the quill cut the words into her skin.” I disapperate immediately and use the floo network to call every fucking parent I know to ask if they’ve heard the same things. And then... what? Literally no one gives a fuck that their child is facing corporal punishment without their permission? The parents must have seen the evidence during the holidays. There were enough of them where Harry was left alone at Hogwarts, after all.

Personally, if it was my child, I would have flown out of Umbridge’s floo like “EXPELLIARM THIS, BITCH” and just fucking clotheslined her.

It’s clear which option I’m leaning more toward but honestly that just makes Umbridge more formidable. On the other hand, wizards/witches have clearly shown a disgustingly backwards way of thinking toward certain things, so I can kind of see the merit in the second option as well. (And maybe I just don’t want to believe that Umbridge could be even more evil than I’d already considered her by preying on the easily exploited children of Hogwarts.)

#harry potter #tw: dolores umbridge #tw: child abuse #movies #order of the phoenix

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nightwalker6200 · 5 years

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From Too Old To Be So Young fic on Ao3

Three days. He had three days to save the world. To save his family. Three days to figure out the mindfuck that was the end of the world. And now, he had a time traveling device. He could go back and fix it, do it right, as many times as it took. His travel wasn’t a science, it wasn’t always accurate, but the stupid little black briefcase sitting on the counter, was.

He glanced down at the cup of coffee he’d stolen from Allison grasped in his hand, swallowing thickly. His body felt hot, his limbs heavy and weak, and his head was beginning to throb, but that, was time travel. That was the past few days, eating away at the stupid immune system of his 13-year-old body, all wrapped in his determination to fix whatever caused the damn apocalypse.

He downed the last sips of the sweetened coffee noisily, grimacing at the taste, wishing it was black coffee like he was used to. He let out a slow breath as Diego asked who the hell Harold Jenkins was, and Five turned, breathing shakily as his head spun. He felt his legs beginning to shake, his stomach twisting and dizziness washing through his exhausted body. Fuck his 13-year-old body. Fuck time travel.

He coughed slightly, his siblings’ eyes fixated on him, and Five threw the empty cup behind him knowing if Pogo saw him, he’d get lectured. But he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It was all just so damn irrelevant. Five shrugged his shoulders, swallowing again as the light behind Diego brightened, filling his vision harshly. The teenager shook his head slowly, “I don’t know. But I do know he’s responsible for the apocalypse…”

He trailed off, pausing as he thought he heard a noise upstairs and stumbled back slightly. He caught himself against the couch, looking up as sweat trailed down his temple slowly to see his siblings staring at him, questions, curiosity, fuck maybe even concern, etched into their faces. They had a right to be concerned. They had the right to be frightened. Hell, they should be frightened. Because if this didn’t work, if Five couldn’t help stop what was about to happen, then it was the end of the world.

“Hey, Five, you alright?” Luther asked, reaching a hand out as the 13-year-old caught it, his grasp tight around his brother’s giant wrist, “It doesn’t matter. Like I said, if y’all don’t get your sideshow selves together, then we’re screwed.”

“Hey, man, I mean, maybe you should sit down or something. You look kinda…” Klaus trailed off, his hand circling his own features slowly before grimacing and clearing his throat. Five dropped Luther’s hand, pressing his lips together firmly. The world was about to end in three days, and they were concerned about how he looked? Pathetic.

He took a step back, biting his bottom lip as he turned away from them, glancing up towards the second floor as another noise hit his ears. He swallowed against the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, wincing again as he put weight on his left ankle; the damned thing was probably broken from the fall through time. Despite the briefcase being more accurate than his own jumps, he had landed less than gracefully. Not to mention his right side was killing him.

“How is he connected to what’s about to happen?” Luther asked. Five shook his head, clenching his fists, feeling his power surging through his body, “I don’t know…”

Power surged through his chest, ruminating through his fists as the idea of going upstairs, of inspecting the clicking coming from the hall, crossed his mind. He felt his body jump, his legs wobbling as he crashed against the table at the other end of the room, and Five groaned as he pressed himself against the solid wood to keep himself from falling. His eyes glanced up towards the second level again as he tried jumping, tried traveling. His body shook, his fists clenching again, and he grit his teeth as ringing echoed loudly in his ears. His side burning.

His body collided against the railing on the stairs. And he slumped slightly, out of breath. Fuck! FUCK… We both know you have a limit. He couldn’t jump, something was wrong, and he couldn’t jump. His legs shook harshly, and he heard his siblings asking him questions as his own mind reeled. The world ended in three days, and if he couldn’t jump, couldn’t get his own shit together, then they were all fucked. They were all dead.

The stairs beneath his feet spun, sliding slightly into something his shoes couldn’t grasp and he felt himself falling. His body collided against the wooden floor, hard. The breath occupying his lungs, gone, and he groaned loudly, as he tried to piece together how the hell he fell from the second step.

Strong arms grasped his shoulders, forcing him up, and Five pushed the person away, glaring at Luther as a hurt expression crossed his brother’s face briefly. Klaus inched closer, an amused worried look masking his sweaty face, Diego and Allison a few feet behind him. Diego took a step closer, “Five, what the hell was that!”

Five swallowed, “It doesn’t matter.”

“You sure? Because it looked like you took a tumble down two steps,” Klaus said, laughing slightly, looking towards his other siblings, “Am I still high, or did you all see that too?”

Allison nodded, and Luther took another step forward. Five growled, stepping back, shoving Luther’s hand again, and shoved passed Diego, “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. We need to find Harold Jenkins before the end of the fucking world.”

The teenager let out a slow breath as he ran a tired hand through his black hair. He pressed a firm hand against the wooden table, running his fingers over the shiny coat, his thumb tracing over the memories etched into the old wood. I want to time travel…

Five going into the past… it had been a curse, and a blessing. A curse because he had been alone. For over 40 years. Yeah, he had Dolores, and for her, he was thankful… but he had no family, no siblings, nothing, for years. He had seen them dead. But he hadn’t been able to tell them, to say he was sorry, to say goodbye. It had been a curse for 45 years. But now… now it was a blessing because he had a chance to stop it. He had a chance to save them. He knew when the apocalypse would happen… and this time, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. His siblings just needed to get their shit together and get on board. Because he couldn’t do this alone.

“Five?”

There was a thick layer of dust on the tabletop, and Five’s eyebrows drew tighter in confusion before he remembered their mother had died. They hadn’t sat at this table for a long while, and there wasn’t a housekeeper anymore. The teenager swallowed as he glanced up towards the open bar, smirking slightly as he headed towards it, hearing Allison call him again.

He reached for a scotch glass, pouring himself a drink before turning around and facing his siblings. He took a slow sip as Klaus pushed the briefcase aside slowly, and climbed on top of the bar, grabbing a bottle from the cabinet. The teenager cleared his throat. They all looked so young, all his siblings… hell, they weren’t kids anymore, they weren’t how Five remembered them, but they were still so young. So much younger than him. And yet, by some twisted asinine cruelty and miscalculation, he had ended up stuck in his pubescent body. What kind of sick joke was that?

The teenager glanced down at his fingers shaking against the crystal glass as he swallowed again. The old man had caught Klaus drinking once and forced him to drink until he puked… a cruel and yet entertaining punishment, disguised as what Five had always assumed to be, an experiment. The bastard liked to do that sort of stuff… to see how much they could take. A smirk crossed his face as memories pushed to the surface. Honestly, that was probably the reason his brother had such a high tolerance for whatever poison he put into his body on an hourly basis.

“Five?”

The teenager jerked his head up, swallowing again as glanced towards the black briefcase. With the Briefcase Room blown up, at least the Commission would have a harder time tracking him down… or at least it would slow them down. Cha-Cha and Hazel were another matter, but they should be easy enough to handle if he could get to them first. Five took another sip from the scotch in his glass, letting his taste buds drown in the bitter alcohol. Over the years, he’d acquired a taste for it, but black coffee was still his drink of choice. It was rare in the apocalypse.

…Steam rose from the ground, fire surrounding the nightmare around him in heated patches, and Five glanced around, pressing his sleeve to his mouth as he struggled to breathe through thick air. There was no one around, everyone, everything was gone…

“Hey,” Someone whispered. The teenager jumped slightly as Klaus’s hand pressed against his shoulder. Five looked up, his vision wavering slightly as his mind flashed back to his brother lying against the brick, blood covering his temple, ash covering his black jacket, and that stupid tattoo… that stupid umbrella tattoo…

The 13-year-old cleared his throat, setting the empty glass against the counter. His eyes met Klaus’s briefly before he his vision started blurring, and he winced, pressing a hand against his right side harshly. He glanced down slowly, surprised to find blood seeping passed his slender fingers, and he felt dizzy, sick. His legs started giving out and his breathing was coming out unevenly, and he turned slightly, trying to turn away, trying to piece together what do, why he was bleeding. He breathed softly, “Hey…”

He didn’t remember falling. He didn’t remember his legs giving out completely, but he did remember hitting the ground, his head smacking once more against the wooden floor and the sound of glass crashing against the ground. He remembered confusion crossing his face as he tried to push himself from the floor only to find his limbs were failing him. So was his sight, his breathing… hell, everything.

The light above him spun harshly, and he saw Allison and Diego’s face swimming in front of him, Klaus leaning over the counter, and he briefly heard Luther asking questions. Pain lit up his side as fingers slipped under his sweater vest, pulling the knitted material from his side; blood pooling from the bullet deep under his skin, staining the stupid clothes, the floor, the world.

Five winced loudly, pushing his head off the floor to see bright red smeared across his chest and stomach; crimson soaked into his shorts, running down his leg. His head fell back against the ground dizzyingly, and he groaned as someone touched the wound, biting his bottom lip as he tried to stay conscious. The end of life, of everything, was in three days; they didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have time for this. A bullet wound, a stupid bullet wound and all that stupid concern and worry, was just going to slow them down. There wasn’t time for mistakes, or hiccups, or rest and recovery. It was the end of the fucking world.

“Jesus, Five! Why didn’t you say anything?” Diego asked, and the teenager closed his eyes, swallowing against the nausea coursing through his stomach, mixing with the pain enveloping his side. He felt hot, wrong, sick… weak. He felt weak. Which was pathetic given he was stuck in such a feeble young body. And if he didn’t stop this, then they were all going to die. He swallowed, feeling someone touch his cheek gently, “We-we have to keep going… so close…”

“Five?”

The teenager felt someone shake his chest as his body went limp. The world around him started to fade, questions being thrown around harshly, dull pain eating away at his organs, and strong hands pulling him up. He cracked his eyes open slightly as the world around him slipped away, replaced by the burning flesh and dementated air of the ever-loving apocalypse. And despite being alone, he was floating. Someone was carrying him… Dolores? Yeah, it had to be Dolores. Because she was the only one left in this hellish nightmare. She was his only bright light.

His eyes flicked to the portrait of their father; the oily painting’s eyes cast on him in disapproving shadows. For 45 years. His gaze was there for 45 years. A constant reminder; a curse; the bastard. And yet, with everything he’d done, Five had probably turned out more like him than the rest. He wasn’t cruel by any means… but he wasn’t the same kid that ran away from his father’s objections. The teenager let out a soft, “No.”

Hands moved to touch him, and confusion clouded his mind before the rest of the world faded around him. Before the rest of the apocalypse faded into the background.

#the umbrella academy #fanfic #archive #kb #five #klaus #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #allison hargreeves #i love this show #sick fic #shot #hurt comfort #i love five #and klaus #they need to be protected at all costs #too old to be so young

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