#also you may have noticed that I scrapped the Turning The Siblings Against Each Other thing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

Flutter

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Contains: pregnancy talk (kinda), angst, and drama

Pairing: Dante x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and a brief mention of terminating (like a sentence but still)

Back on my bullshit with the baby fics lol. I love the trope idk why.

Thump thump thump-thump thump thump

Dante stirs with a huff of annoyance, his ears twitch focusing on the insufferable rhythm that was stopping him from resting. It started a few hours ago. Nothing major, something he could definitely doze through. The slow irregular was almost calming, until it got louder. At first he had chalked it up to one of the many freaky experimental weapons dangling in Nico’s tiny workspace at the back of the crowded van. They tended to pop and hiss if some raw materials got too close. But it had picked up in the past hour, growing consistent and strong, really strong. Strong enough to make it hard to ignore. Dante cracks open a bloodshot eye looking around at the van’s occupants to find the culprit.

Nero sat oblivious to the world on the floor across from him leaning on the side of the van’s tire well. His eyes are shut, and his face relaxes as the adrenaline of the day finally starts to seep out of his system. He nods his head along to the tunes blasting out of the jukebox in the corner. He was oblivious to the accusatory glare of his uncle. Dante crosses the kid off as the likely suspect of his annoyance. Nero looked about ready to pass out, each bobble of his head becoming more erratic and jerky as sleep started to take over. He clearly wasn’t hearing this.

So, he turns to the front of the van to check on the others. The ladies were chatting idly in the front. Nothing super exciting gossip wise. The three of them were tossing little jabs at each other. Well, Lady and Trish were, Nico was hiding a smirk behind a freshly lit cigarette as the two grew heated. The three of them called it “friendly bitching” but he still wasn’t all that sure. Whenever Lady or Trish used that tone with him he was about to either get robbed eight ways to Sunday by one of them or his ass kicked. The two human women seemed oblivious to the noise...perhaps Trish heard it? Hmmm-nah. Trish didn’t seem to notice the steady thumping that had now become a hyper fixation to him.

Huffing the hunter settles back down in the couch cushions of the couch to look out the window at the blur of the scenery passing by. The hum of the van’s engine and the low roar of the A/C were almost enough to drown out the noise filling his skull. He pops a finger in his ear digging out some wax. Did that smack across the head early knock something? Did a gun go off too close? Wait... shouldn’t he hear ringing if that was the case? Ye, the more he focused on it, it wasn’t inside his head. He checks out the window, his hand itching for a gun. Was a demon really that dumb to follow a van filled with demon hunters? He snorts at his question. Of course, they were. He was pretty sure they had finished the contract with a 100% kill count. Still, he checks out the window, just in case.

“I’m guessing you hear it too?” Vergil stirs from his meditative stupor, popping his neck with a satisfying grunt before turning his gaze to Dante. All of his younger brother’s squirming finally got too much for him to ignore. Vergil focused on his sibling, arms crossed over his freshly bandaged chest. “Really?” He looks down to his lap in disgust. Dante smirks, wiggling his muddy boots where they rested crossed on his thighs.

“What can I say? You’re ridiculously comfy.” Dante smirks. He knew his dick of a brother would threaten to stab him for dirtying his clothes, but he had a trump card, and he was going to use it. They both look down at your sleeping form sprawled on Dante’s chest and a part of Vergil's legs. You lay on him, curled up in a neat little ball on his chest. A dark spot grew beneath where your cheek was squished on his cotton shirt. Dante can’t help the smile that creeps across his face. He pulls his signature coat tighter around you and strokes your face with a only slightly grimy finger. Vergil sighs, settling back down, careful not to wake you either. He had a big ol’ sweet spot for you, and damn Dante couldn’t blame him.

Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump

Dante hisses, pulling away from your peaceful expression, jealous for a brief moment that your weak human hearing couldn’t pick up on the invasive noise. “You sense where it’s coming from?” He rumbles low in his chest, careful not to disturb you. His brother sits silently for a moment wiping at his drowsy eyes. Dante watches his ear twitch minutely picking up on every sound in the immediate vicinity.

“No, I-” His head snaps back to Dante so fast he was surprised Vergil didn’t give himself whiplash. His silver eyes are wide with shock for a moment before softening to an expression Dante only saw when he would talk with Kyrie over dinner. It was warm, protective, and far too gentle a face for him to be pulled out for him. Dante looks back over his shoulder on instinct before it hits him, hard. Vergil wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at you. Oh shit, oh shit.

Dante focuses his senses on you before he had been merely using his broad range listening figuring it was an outside threat. He smells you first, your natural scent was a soft and sweet thing, like moss by a river bed, or freshly turned soil. It only got earthier after a day of hard work. The faint scent of gunpowder lingered on you too, and something else, something more hormonal and almost floral. Beneath your changing scent, he hears your heart thumping steadily in your chest. That was always a comforting sound to him, an anchor whenever he worried for your safety. But underneath it, he heard it. It was a rapid rhythm over yours, in you.

Dante jerks up, tumbling to the floor and cracking his head hard on the metal guards of the stairs. You would have toppled with him if Vergil hadn’t lunged to grab you. “What?” You look around confused but alert. The van is silent in the aftermath of the sudden burst of energy, all faces now turned to the three of you. Vergil holding you close to his chest while you focus on Dante. “You ok?” You look him over, noticing how pale he suddenly was as he looked at you. He was breathing heavily and panicked. His silver-grey eyes flitting between yours and up to Vergil’s.

“Ye,” He croaks, running a hand through his dirty hair not moving from his spot on the dirty floor. “Ye-shit, sorry just slipped in my sleep.”

“Quite a ‘slip’.” You wiggle out of Vergil’s hold and come to bend over Dante. You put the back of your hand to his forehead. You had all gotten pretty banged up this mission, and as usual, Dante had taken the brunt of it. He laughs a little too forcefully to be considered natural and pushes your hand away to get up.

“You know me. I’m full of surprises.” He flops back onto the couch looking at you oddly before opening his arms up to you. He fights against the tremble he feels spreading across his whole body.

You catch the sour look growing on Vergil’s face, it was boiling over to murderous. He shakes his head before sitting back in his spot and reaching for a magazine.

“Everything alright back there?” Nico shouts looking up into the rearview mirror.

“Yeh-yeh.” Dante waves not taking his eyes off you. “Just my old man senses getting to me.” The van collectively snorts at that, all turning back to what they were originally doing. Picking up his discarded coat you climb back into the cradle of your boyfriend's arms.

Boyfriend. You smile into his sweaty neck. It was a new term for both of you and your relationship. You two have been skirting around the idea of a committed relationship for months now. You’ve been with the gang for years now, flitting in and out of each other's life mission after mission as a freelance mercenary. Dante welcomed you into the fold of his merry band of misfits well enough, but you could see the line in the sand he drew pretty easily.

You respected it. Life in this business was hard and sometimes very short. He was slow to open up and trust, not with just you, but anyone. You got it, you understand his hesitation. Once you both established that the feelings you felt for each other went beyond good friends the lines and walls he built began to fade. The few months of you two trying out the word have been going well. Or, at least you thought so. Dante seemed pleased enough too. The few dates you two were able to scrap your collective pennies together for were a blast. Spontaneous coffee dates, walks down none demon-infested streets and parks. Once he even took a weekend off to go cross country with you. That weekend had been the most relaxed you had ever seen him, and as a bonus, the sex had been phenomenal too.

“You ok?” You kiss the stubble on his strong jaw, taking in the hard look in his eyes. His arms were rigid around you, protective yet also isolating. He looked shut-off, lost deep in his mind back in that place you knew he went whenever something was deeply troubling him. Dante said nothing for a moment, his large palm rubbing your lower back in stiff robotic movements. “Dante?”

He snaps out of it with a jerk. “Ye babe- just tired.” He kisses the worry from your brow and slips back into your original position, arms locking securely over your middle. He listens to your breathing and heart slow as you drift off, the little thumping underneath beating on.

From the moment Dante stepped out of the van he shut down. Not just from you, but everyone. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or just instinct after years of protecting himself. He noticed it happening from afar like he was on the sidelines and completely unable to control what he was doing. He took job after job that Morrison threw at him, not waiting for backup or help. He began staying in his room, slinking upstairs instead of his usual hang out spot down in his office to be social. He just leaves everyone behind. He knows Lady and Trish will blow it off, they were used to the odd mood swing by now, chalking it up to mission fatigue. You knew better though, and he loved you for it. Even if it irritated him right now.

The first few days after that mission Dante saw you trying to pretend like you didn’t notice the walls he was rebuilding around himself. He wanted to believe that you couldn’t see how he turned up the jukebox every time you stepped into Devil May Cry, or that you pretend not to notice how his eyes would drift to look at anything but you when you stood in front of him. It hurt, it hurt to do this, but he couldn’t stop this self sabotage he was inflicting on himself and the stress he was pushing onto you. He just couldn’t take it.

He saw his mother every time he looked at you, could smell the ash and sulfur, could remember how his young lungs filled with smoke as he cried for something he could never get back while his childhood burned around him. He couldn’t do it, so he stopped seeing you. Not that it helped much. He heard the beating every time you came near trying to talk to him, so he stopped listening too. He didn’t know what else to do.

“If you put your hair back I swear I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from your brother anymore, especially with that new attitude you're sporting.” Dante hears the slight edge in your voice. You sat in your now usual spot on the edge of his desk, before that day his lap would have been filled with your warm sweet body. You didn’t look happy in the least bit. You looked exhausted. He doesn’t look up from his magazine, a slow buzz of panic begins to fill his ears. Were you sick? Did you know?

He puts up another wall. “Doubt it,” He flips a page of his magazine reaching blindly for his beer. “I’m still the better looking one.” More silence. Dante feels your hard stare from where you sat.

“Need something?”

Your shoulders slump. “No-it’s nothing Dante.” He feels himself break just a little at the moisture threatening to spill from your lashes before they are blinked away. You leave without saying goodbye. He doesn’t see you again after that, your spot is soon replaced with piles of empty bottles.

“I expected better from you.”

Dante chokes on his beer, the foam shooting up into his nose and bringing tears to his eyes as it burns its way back to his throat. “Damn it, Vergil! Knock sometime?” His brother says nothing storming over to his desk and kicking a chair out to sit next to him. The look on his face was venomous. “Don’t give me that look.” Dante sighs, popping the cap off of another beer bottle.

“What look?”

Dante waves the butt of his bottle at him. “That! That look. It’s the one you always give me right before you stab me.”

Vergil chuckles humourlessly. “I just might if you continue to ignore your growing issue.” He pushes leaning into Dante’s space.

Dante bristles feeling like a trapped dog. “They should find out on their own-”

“Brother-”

Dante cuts him off with a swipe of his hand, amber liquid sloshing over his desk and lap. He feels his control slipping. The heat of his devil form simmering just below the surface. “I don’t want to talk about this.” I don’t want to acknowledge this.

“It’s been weeks.” Vergil presses on lean in close to his twin. “Will there ever be a right time?”

Dante bares his fangs in warning. His fingers itching to curl up and punch his brother. “That is rich coming from you. Remind me again, how many times have you tried to kill your son?” He meant for it to hurt, to let that barb sink in deep and fester. Vergil doesn’t even react, his gaze still cool and steady.

“I regret it-in parts. But I am not doing this for you.” Dante frowns. He had figured that. When Vergil arrived with Dante all those months ago torn up and bloodied from quite literally crawling out of Hell the welcome he got from the crew had been...lukewarm to put it mildly. They weren’t openly hostile, but it got pretty close sometimes. Only you and Nero had been pleasant to his brother right off the bat. The others came around eventually, but Vergil had taken a real shine to you. You were inquisitive and hungry to prove yourself, but smart enough to know when to back down. It’s what drew him to you, so it would make sense Vergil liked it too. “I cannot change my past actions, nor would I,” Dante scoffs. “But you have been given yet another opportunity that I envy.” He looks over his shoulder to the empty office. He couldn’t lie and say that he didn’t still envy his younger brother and his successes. To be free-to have had a life, dare he say to act almost human? Dante had always been the friendlier and kinder of the two, even as kids. He was sociable and street smart. Most importantly, people trusted him.

Then he found you, a most extraordinary mate. Vergil knew Dante would never admit it vocally but he shows his love with how he acts around you. Dante was always brash and foolhardy but he was milder with you. Whenever you were in the room his sole focus was always on you. His eyes, his body, every part of his being just seemed to gravitate to you. Whenever you paced, pissed from a recent job he would follow in his chair rolling left and right to keep his body in line with you. Even on the field, he stayed close, a towering figure of red and flames. To have him cast you out like this... Vergil shakes his head. “Why are you stalling?” He asks.

“They should find out on their own,” Dante repeats himself.

“And what if they decide not to tell you? What if they decide not to go through with it? You are limiting their time frame, Dante. You are putting them both in danger.” Vergil’s words strike deep. If he can’t get his brother to see reason now, then he will have to intervene. If Dante never forgave him for this transgression, then so be it.

The roar of primal rage was the only warning Vergil got before he was airborne. His back colliding hard against the old oak bookshelves across the room, Dante’s splintered desk pinning him for a moment before he is being dragged up the shelves by his neck. Empty bottles and old tomes clatter to the floor. He matches his brother’s energy shifting in a blaze of blue fury until he faces his red counterpart. “You lash out, why? Because you know I’m right?” He hisses around bared razor sharp fangs. “Do you hope they will leave you?” Something passes through Dante’s scleraless eyes. “It won’t be like before, brother.”

The whine Dante emits sounds like a wounded animal. It was high and reedy, it was filled with turmoil. Vergil couldn’t stop the sharp bark of laughter that fell from his lips. Unbelievable. “Dante.” Vergil grabs one of the claws locked around his throat. “For all your foolish and idiotic behavior you have built yourself a family. Do you honestly think any of them would let something happen? Do you think I would let something happen?” The fist around his neck loosens and drops.

“I want them to live a normal life.” Dante steps away, his voice uncertain. “Look at us- at Nero and Kyrie. Being what we are, we have royally screwed them over.” He stares down at his rough armored hands. His elytra pulses red veins with demonic energy. “And a damn kid? Nero got by alright, but narrowly. Do I look like someone that can handle this?”

“No.” Vergil can’t lie, it would only hurt you in the end. “Not at first. While I have no right to talk about being a father, I know you can do it far better than I.” He smiles to himself. “‘sides, at least your better half has a head on their shoulders.”

“Gee, thanks.” Dante grunts retreating to where his desk used to be. He breathed deeply and shifted back to his human form. Damn it, he had just paid off the repairs from the last time he wrecked the place. Bending over to pick up his magazine, the two were interrupted by his door bursting open. Nero and Lady bursting through bickering heatedly at each other before they notice the mess.

“Did we interrupt something?” Nero steps open the splinters of Dante’s old desk taking in his half triggered father.

“No.” The brothers say in unison.

“Good-” Lady pushes forwards, tossing a missive to Dante. He catches it with deft fingers and rips it open. “Normally I would have taken this on myself with the kid-since you’ve been sulking.” She shoots him a scathing look. “But we need all boots on the ground. Trish and your flickering flame are already there, but this portal just isn’t budging.”

“What!” Vergil snaps. Dante stares blankly at the letter, a high pitch whining growing in his ears. It was getting hard to breathe. “You left them there? They are vulnerable.” The blue devil grabs the letter from his brother looking at the address briefly before grabbing Yamato before rushing for the door.

Nero shouts after his father in confusion, his outburst uncharacteristic for him. “The hell was that about?” Nero watches the skies as the blue figure disappears. “They are perfectly capable of handling themselves…”

“Get in the van. I’ll see you there.” Dante grits out, crumbling the paper up and tossing it aside. He flys out moments later, guns and swords are forgotten. Anything that touches you would be getting ripped to shreds with his bare hands. He travels in a blur of panic fighting the sense of guilt threatening to overcome him. How could he be so stupid? Just because you weren’t at the office didn’t mean that you weren’t still taking jobs. He always worried when you went out solo- or without him, but he was confident in your abilities. A few scrapes and bruises weren’t anything to stress over. It wasn’t something to stress about before. You were still on the field and it was his damn fault.

The sound of gunfire and the roars of dying demons draws him in. Dante’s sharp eyes find you immediately. You were holding your own. You back in a corner but your guns were hot, dropping demon after demon with near flawless aim. Instinctively his demon side rumbles in pride before he squashes the feeling. Now wasn’t the time. Vergil beat him there by minutes but was already covered in gore as he assists you from above, slicing through the almost endless wave of beasts. Dante lands near you grabbing a Fury in midjump throwing it away to splatter against a building yards away. “About time you showed up!” Trish shouted from her perch lightning crackling around her. He ignores her, instead he launches himself at the gaping maw of the portal. He fights with reckless abandon, each wound and injury fueling his fire. One more hit on him just meant one less directed at you.

The fighting didn’t last long after Nero and Lady arrived adding enough fire support that he was able to destroy the portal and clean up the remaining hellspawn. The moment it was Dante was on you. “The hell were you thinking!” He rounds on you his massive body crowding your space.

You hold your ground staring up at him. “Hey, so glad to finally hear from you.” You crane your neck up to meet his glowing eyes. “I love it when my boyfriend finally remembers I exist.”

“You could have gotten hurt!” He glosses over your snark and checks you out. You were fine, good.

You back away from him throwing your hands up in confusion. “Yes? That’s kind of par for the course isn’t it?” You were baffled by his behavior. Weeks. Weeks! Weeks of ignoring your calls, and a conveniently empty office every time you tried to drop by, and now that you have his attention the first thing he does is yell at you? Where did he get off? In fact, his shit attitude only angered you more. “Ya know what? I don’t want to hear it.” You turn your head to where Nico sat leaning out of her driver-side window. She waves at you. “Can you give me a lift back to my place? I got to grab some fresh clips before heading back out.”

A red hand blocks your exit. “No-” Dante grabs your forearm gently tugging you to look at him. His natural heat was a comfort you didn’t realize you missed so much. “Babe-let me handle it.”

“Dante,” You try to pull away. “It’s my job. What has gotten into you?”

He looks over to his brother, the conflict he had been trying to avoid closing in too fast for him.

Vergil holds his stare and shrugs. “Come-the two need to talk, let’s head back for now.” Asshole. The rest of the group follows his eldest brother casting curious glances over their shoulders as they pile into the van. He really wasn’t ready for this.

The two of you watch them go in silence. ��Let me take you back? Please?” Dante let’s go of your arm. You nod, it’s not like you have any choice now. Well, you could walk, your body screams at the thought of moving any more than necessary. You’ve been getting exhausted faster and faster these days. Perhaps the stress of the job was getting to you. He scoops you up in his giant arms stretching his wings out to their full and impressive length before taking to the sky. He glides through the city taking extra care to make it as smooth as possible for you. His landing was as silent on the empty streets surrounding your apartment building.

The mid-afternoon sun was high overhead, the perpetual fog of the city finally breaking enough to let in the heat of the day. You slide from his arms and lead him up the steps to your door. Swinging the door wide you look up at him. “Do you mind?”

“What?”

You point to his devil form. “Shrinking? I don’t think you can fit.”

Oh right. He chuckles nervously. “Ain’t nothing a bit of lube and patience can’t fix right?” You don’t laugh, your lips pull taught. He coughs shifting in a flash of heat. Once he’s human he squeezes through the narrow door frame and just stares at you. Dante shuffles from side to side. Great. Now what?

You rub at your neck weary you could feel another knot growing. Weeks ago you had a whole speech laid out for when you got him through your door. You wanted to chew him out, to yell at him for cutting you out so unceremoniously. Shout that if he was going to break up with you at least do it cleanly, not this emotional roller coaster. A sense of anger fills you. Damn it, was this really it? It wasn’t like this was the first time a partner has done this. You just had hoped that Dante would be different. He had always been so dependable. “Just make it quick, Dante.” You didn’t have the steam for this right now. You felt nauseous and a pulsing head coming on. Ugh, and you still have that job waiting for you.

Dante’s silver brows scrunch up. “Make what quick?”

You wave at the distance between the two of you. “This. This breakup. Do it fast so it’ll give me the adrenaline to get through my next job so I can pass out tonight and get some sleep.”

Any other day Dante’s look of sheer shock would have been hilarious- today just wasn’t one of those days. “You think? Heh-shit yes, I can see why...” He rakes a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s not like that, I- I was running from my problems again.”

Your hackles raise in anger. “I’m a problem now?”

“What! No, that’s not what I’m trying to say.” He points to himself. “I’m the problem. I ruin everything I touch!” His hurt cuts through your aggression.

“Dante-” You have had this discussion before. “You know I don’t think that.”

“You should.” He cuts you off, his expression imploring. “I messed up-I messed up big time with you. I should have said something the moment I knew but I just locked up and ran, like always.”

Knew? Knew what? “Dante, I don’t understand.”

“I-you...how are you feeling of late? I don’t know anything about this stuff, different?” His eyes swipe over your dusty battle garb. You feel his eyes stop at your navel holding there too long to be considered a coincidence before dropping to your feet.

“I’m sorry.” His breath hitches, getting dangerously close to a feeling he had been bottling up for too long. You are quiet, doing the math in your head. He hears your heartbeat pick up, your breathing becoming fast and shallow.

“Get out.”

His heart sinks. What did he expect? Closing the distance between you he reaches for you, his hand hovering by your face waiting to see if you will let him touch you. You don’t move, don’t even look up at him when his hands cup your face. So he moves crouching down to get a look at you. Your gaze is blank but resolute.

“I’m sorry.” He tries again. You ignore him far too engrossed in your revelation. Idly you trace a palm down to your stomach before flinching away is burned. “I’ll-I’ll be around…” He trails off all steam lost. At a loss he does the only thing he can think to do and flees, disappearing back into the streets outside your home like the coward he was.

#devil may cry #dante x reader

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malfoys-demigod · 3 years

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You, Me, and Salsa Nights

Leo Valdez x Reader

A/N: It was brought to my attention that @kwilliamoon thinks my Leo fics are bomb and I love them so much for that. Enjoy, all!

Request from them: PLS PLS UHHHH CAN I REQUEST LIKE A LEO FIC WHERE HIM AND HIS GF ARE IN THR MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND THEY CANT SLEEP SO THEY GO INTO THEIR BIG LIVING ROOM AND HE KINDA TEACH HER SALSA OR SMTH AND THEY DANCE LIKE THAT IN A CUTE WAY??

Word Count: 1.6k

After another long-lasting and draining day at Camp Half-Blood, Leo Valdez was finally done with the day. It was Friday, which meant he went through the last of many things for the weekday. He was finished with the last cabin inspection first thing in the morning, greek classes, battle training, various activities and chores, competition, and campfire sing-along, which he was glad to avoid during the weekends, now that he could have the option to dodge the favorite hobbies of the children of Apollo.

With it being eleven o’clock in the evening, it was curfew time, and Leo felt a wave of relief the moment he crashed into his comfy single-bed. ‘Happy Friday indeed,’ he thought to himself as his eyes closed, breathing in slowly as he tried falling asleep.

It was only a few minutes past eleven o’clock when Leo’s face wrinkled in disappointment as he frustratingly sat back up, opening his irritated eyes. What was wrong with him? Why did he feel the need not to sleep at the moment? He shook his head and laid his back against the bed again, trying to knock himself asleep once again. He closed his eyes harder, trying to tell his body that it was time to doze off.

Not even one minute had passed when Leo’s head felt like an erupting volcano. He started grumbling curse words in Spanish as he sat back up again, placing his hand on his forehead. He looked around the room, examining all his half-siblings, who have succeeded in falling asleep unlike him, which made him envious of what they were doing at the moment. Since his body was not up for sleeping, he had no problem getting out of his steel bunk bed, actively, but slowly, to make sure he wouldn’t wake up anybody.

Luckily for him, he was nearby the iconic fire pole of his cabin, which comes down from the second floor, the floor he was currently at, all the way to the ground floor. He grabbed onto the pole and made his way down to the ground floor, which was always unclean and messy, filled with junk most of the time.

Leo looked around the room, checking out the workbench with overflew with scrap metal, screws, bolts, washers, nails, rivets, and a million other machine parts. He may have had the energy to get out of bed, but did not have the enthusiasm to do any work, plus, there was another chance of waking anyone up.

He made his way to the exit of the cabin, which had a lot of gears around, as he slowly opened the door and stood by the entrance of his cabin. He wasn’t scared of getting caught by authorities such as Mr. D or Chiron, because he was a counselor! He could have made a small, white lie and defended himself by saying he thought he heard someone try to sneak out. Besides, he knew a couple of people, cabin-mate or not, who would also be seen, awake at this ungodly hour.

Leo was leaning by the brick wall of the entrance, looking all the way at Cabin Four, the cabin covered in beautiful flowers and tomato plants, which would grow on the walls and doorway. It wasn’t hard for Leo to find his girlfriend, Y/N, who would be often seen at night, randomly watering the wildflowers and roses, which grow on the porch, as a way to serve her boredom at night. She too was someone who had trouble sleeping like Leo.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to discover that her boyfriend was up at night as well on that day. As she was watering the flowers, she noticed a small spot of fire from the corner of her eyesight, waving in mad directions. She looked up and turned to see a figure by Cabin Nine, waving around the small spot of fire she could feel from the corner of her eyesight.

There was a smile on her face the moment she realized that it was her boyfriend Leo, who was the one by the entrance of Cabin Nine. Y/N quickly finished watering the plants and discretely jogged from her cabin to Leo’s. Leo was opening his arms wide, as Y/N’s body crashed with his, hugging him as tight as she could.

Leo could hear small giggles from her girlfriend, as he pulled away to see that she was smiling happily from her giggles. “Couldn’t sleep again, mi amor?” he obviously asked her, placing a strand of her hair in the back of her ear.

Y/N nodded, “Guilty as charged.” Leo nodded as well, understanding her. “Me neither. And I even thought today was one of the most tiring days we’ve had,” he complained playfully.

Y/N laughed at his complaint, “You probably are starting to lack cardio, Valdez,” she sarcastically suggested, “I can’t sleep because I fear I might have nightmares,” she embarrassingly said, “like last night.” She looked down to the ground, contemplating on the nightmare she experienced recently.

Leo placed a finger on her chin, causing her to look back up at him. “Hey,” he quietly said, “Nightmares aren’t something to be ashamed of. We all get ‘em too, Y/N. Like literally, last week, I didn’t want to tell you this but I dreamt that Festus ate all my scrap metal, which caused me to wake up screaming and waking up my other cabin-mates.”

Y/N’s embarrassed smile turned into laughter as she giggled again, “And is that why I overheard Jake Mason and Nyssa Barrera complain about you last week?” Leo shrugged sarcastically, without an answer, meaning that it was definitely about that. Y/N nodded in understanding, which caused Leo to shake his head, “Anyways,” he said, “I have a proposition for you, mi amor.”

“I’m listening,” Y/N said.

Leo turned around to open the door to his cabin. He took a hold of Y/N’s hand as he brought her inside his cabin. Y/N hesitantly pulled his hand, which made him turn around to her attention. “Leo, are you sure this is a good idea for me to be in your cabin? At this hour? I think I should get going-”

“Relaaaax, mamacita,” Leo comforted her, placing his hands on her shoulders, “I’m a counselor of this cabin. I’ve got power here.” he confidently assured her. Y/N took a deep breath and gave in, nodding at Leo, who smiled in relief.

“Okay,” he said, “I need cardio, and you need something to help distract you from thinking about another round of nightmares, right?”

“Mhm,” Y/N verified, “And what about them?”

Leo grinned with something on his mind as he turned around to switch on the radio he built, turning on an energetic song, but at a low volume, which was perfect for the two of them to hear. Y/N tilted her head, wondering why he did that. “What’s happening, Leo?”

A smirk grew on Leo’s face as he walked closer to Y/N, placing one hand on her waist, and another on her shoulder. “Cuera Maraca y Bongo is happening and I’m going to teach you how to dance the salsa.”

Y/N’s eyes grew wide, but she followed Leo and placed her hands on him as well. “Are you sure this is a good proposition, Leo?” she hesitantly asked him.

“Again, relax, Y/N/N,” he reminded her, “You’re going to be a natural in this. If my mother taught a hard-headed person like me, then I can teach someone who’s unsure of whether she has the moves in her or not.”

Y/N, as instructed by Leo, rocked back on her right foot to the beat of the song. She smoothly shifted her weight from the front to back to shift her body position. Leo smiled as she cooperated and executed it well. He swung his hips slightly to accentuate the movement, which she willingly followed.

She didn’t question how smooth of a dancer her boyfriend was, but instead, she focused on becoming somehow smooth of a beginner dancer that night.

Once the song was finished, Leo and Y/N were still in each other’s arms, looking at each other with admiration. Leo was astonished at how quickly his girlfriend could learn the salsa, as he took weeks to months, learning from the footsteps of his own mother. There was more to learn about Y/N from his point of view.

From Y/N’s point of view, she was staggered by how excellent of a dancer he was. She was always there when Leo would taunt others, teasing them that they were to be cautious of his ‘sick dance moves’ he kept in his sleeves. She never knew how much of a skilled dancer he actually was, and they were in fact, the sickest moves she ever witnessed.

It was time to break the silence when Leo and Y/N coincidentally spoke at the same time, expressing, “You’re amazing.” There was awestruck in their reactions, for saying the same thing at the same time, and for bringing out the truth all of a sudden.

Y/N chuckled, grinning at Leo, “Leo, I never knew how much of a dancer you were. This is definitely something you should show off to everyone here.”

Leo, flattered, shook his head and hands, “No, no, no, as much as I want to show this off, and believe me, I do, since I have the right to,” he teased, “YOU, my lovely girlfriend, should be the one showing off those moves- well, to the girls, definitely NOT the guys here- er- anyways, Y/N, you’re going to be natural in such a quick time, believe me. You have gifts.”

Y/N smiled, “Aw, thanks, Leo.” Then, all of a sudden, her smile turned into a surprised facial expression, as Y/N figured something out. “Leo! I think we just found a way to use up sleepless nights.”

Leo, happy as ever, leaned in and kissed Y/N’s forehead, and said, “You, me, and salsa nights.”

#leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #pjo #percy jackson #hoo #heroes of olympus

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blushing-starker · 3 years

Text

For my Gracie dear. What would I do without you in my life? Merry Christmas darling. @vaguekiwi

"Well, you wouldn't really be in this position if you had accepted my proposal, baby cheeks. In fact, I'm practically drooling over the thought of you saying fuck it and coming to visit with a few surprises beneath that second skin you're rocking." Two sentences, two very different tones of voice, both trying to coax him in. Reprimand and flirt, the only possible courses of action for Wade when it came to them.

"So I guess it's true what they say; chivalry died when you were born, Wade. Every single conversation between us is proof and the world knows it." He grinned as soon as he heard the exaggerated gasps over the landline, always loved these tennis matches with his partner in crime.

Sure, the 'red devil' of Cliffwood often threaded barely subtle, often outlandish innuendos into their interactions and never denied the neighborhood a chance of seeing him draped over Peter, but it was, God forgive him, fun. Exciting and a little thrilling.

And also past their bedtime. So to speak. "I gotta go and I know Wanda likes to cook late. Go help her in the kitchen, Mr Gifted Hands. Vision might give me an A in the next exam if I told him I encouraged you to make his favorite lasagna." It won't happen, obviously. The Maximoffs, because Vision had adopted the name on his second date with Wanda long before their wedding, were usually chaotic neutrals that tried sticking to the right side of the law. Hopefully, Mr Maximoffs' morality would at least allow the man to add a five point bonus on Peter's next physics test.

"Oh, you finally admit my hands are gifted, Mr Parker? How forward of you." If there was one thing that he loved about being friends with the incorrigible Wade Wilson, it was how the man oozed sex like it was nothing. His surety in it, in flirting, in courting and joking made Peter feel at ease. Most people, even those like Mr Rogers with his slightly conservative views, enjoyed Wade's antics because they were harmless.

Most of the time. The guy had slept with two thirds of the town, after all.

"I'm not sleeping with you, Wade. What would Vanessa say of-"

"Please, the woman basically throws me at people in the hopes of watching me sleep with them."

"you being with me before her?"

"..."

Peter squinted at a shiny red nail, worried he'd somehow messed up Morgan's job of decorating him in the Christmas spirit. The lamp next to the couch is a tad dimmer than usual, right, he has to swap the bulbs. He'd completely forgotten in the midst of playing with Morgan and Rocky, baking them brownies, battling the upstairs shower mold, decluttering the toy boxes and throwing something semi appealing for dinner. There was a spare light in the, was it the garage? No, his memory had been reduced to physics laws and the kids' allergies, but Peter's sure he would have noticed. Maybe Morgan had hidden them in the office, Rocky liked chewing on light bulbs so it's not too unlikely

"Shit, Parker, now I'm thinking about that, Jesus. Christ on a bicycle! Hmm? It's nothing, Wanda, just Peter being a brat and a tease."

"Hey, I'm not a brat!"

"Says you. I bet a certain member of the awesome facial hair club could evidence the opposite. Actually, I'll go right over and ask, hey!" The sound of Wade distinctly face planting onto the Maximoffs couch sent Peter into enough hysterics he could barely make out what Wanda was saying.

"I sincerely apologize for the little devil-"

"I'm almost two heads taller than you!"

"that can't seem to mind his manners no matter how many times we try to teach him how to be human."

"It's," God, he's wheezing like a freshman first day of gym with Coulson, "perfectly alright, Miss. I'm the one that should say sorry for keeping him up so late, I know he has chores to do around the house. Lovely Christmas lights, by the way. I think you guys might win the competition again this year."

There's a tiny worm of guilt crawling up his throat; how could he distract Wade when Wanda had her hands full with an energetic baby ready to sprint out of the house at any moment?

"Oh sweet Peter," she drawls out the vowels, like they're honey and she's trying her best to stretch them out, savour them, "you really think so? I thought the yard looked perfect, but Vision insisted on decorating the roof to 'ensure our win against my dear brother in law'. And please, a happy Wade that's finished his teasing for the day is wonderful for us. He cleans faster and doesn't kiss my cheeks as much."

"Wait, you did the roof?" He knew the Maximoff siblings were intense, had witnessed Pietro stabbing flamingos into Clint's lawn just to add some color to his already bright remodeling a weeks ago.

"You haven't seen it? Tell Morguna's father to take you outside to see it while the kids are watching television. That way you can go back with an excuse if you get too nervous with him."

Peter spluttered, ignored the fact his cheeks were flaming, pretended he couldn't hear Wade's howling through the phone. "I don't, I wouldn't, it's not like, I mean. The, the kids will probably sleep early tonight."

"Perfect, you won't have an excuse and he'll finally kiss you. Oh, Vision. Hello, dear, I'm saying goodbye to Peter. That idiot might kiss him tonight."

"Hello? Hello, Peter. I'm very happy for you both; but may I request you kiss after midnight? I'm afraid I made a substantial bet regarding that kiss and was hoping to get Clint back over Banner and Natasha."

Great, he'd died and entered a hell where the only thing he could do was stutter and flush crimson. Typical Parker luck, really.

"SurebyeMrandMrsMaximofflaterWade."

He slammed the phone back on its pedestal, dove into the leather couch and screamed until his throat ached.

--------

"Daddy? Peter, daddy's here! Don't let him go to our room until we're done with the Christmas card, please!" He yanked his head from under the cushions, scrambled to the door, tripped over Morgan's race car, narrowly avoided the destruction of Rocky's Lego chop shop, hastily stashed a pink apron in the drawers by the door, failed to straighten his sweater (a gift from the kids' grandmother) and took all of ten seconds to fix his hair before opening the door. In the exact moment the owner of the house leaned against it to enter.

There's a second where realization kicked in, worry is splashed over both their faces, he darted forward to help so the man's heart didn't shut down on them right then, said man wanted to preserve such a young, healthy body; they tried to control the damage.

They failed. Spectacularly. Crashed into each other, somehow elbows and knees sunk into bad spots, bone snapped, ligaments wept in pain, a chest became winded, one of them got a black eye and the other a constricted throat. This was, of course, before it started raining and two idiots got drenched while piled up on the front door.

Peter gasped, wasn't sure whether it was better to lie under his dream, his wet fantasy, his goal in life or allow his brain some oxygen.

To be fair, this would only happen the once. He could breathe for the rest of his lonely life.

"Uh, welcome home, Mr Stark. How was work to, today, sir, that's not my thigh." Wade would know. Jesus, Wade would find out Mr Stark touched his dick for the first time and it wasn't even on purpose.

"Kid, I'm so sorry. Here I was wondering if I could give you your Christmas gift without ruining the box and now look at me. Peter, you don't have to come back to work if you don't want to-"

"Wait, you got me a gift, Mr Stark?"

"I will pay you for this whole month, obviously." The man shuffled back, attempted to shakily stand up like a foal and immediately slid down onto the sleek young man.

"Not come back to? Mr, ow, Tony, I'm not going anywhere. Not on Christmas, not ever. Look at me." Don't look at what's between my legs, Peter prayed, don't look at how you are between my legs, don't look.

Tony Stark glanced down, inhaled sharply and snapped his gaze to the au pair's. He may have leaned against what he hoped was his Christmas gift. Maybe.

"I'm not leaving, Mr Stark." The rain kept drizzling into the house, his throat continued to ache, the distance between their two bodies remained the same. But there was something in Mr Stark's eyes now, yes indeed, something Peter had resolutely ignored for the past six months while working with the sweetest family he'd ever known. It was the same something Wade yelled about when talking about his best friend's employer's face as it regarded the au pair.

"I think Wade might kill me if -"

"Rhode's is gonna choke me out if-"

"Are you two gonna kiss or not?"

They risked whiplash to peer right at, or, in Peter's position, upside down at Morgan and Rocky who unflinchingly stared at the ridiculous site their fathers made. Rocky even shook his head the way Tony did when he was disappointed. Little Morgan criss crossed her arms and Peter thought he'd sob because that's just how he taught her.

"We were going to put mistletoe on the door when you came in; we finished the holiday card months ago so that was the one thing left on the to do list."

"Months ago? I helped you two make one last week!"

"Oh yeah, how were you going to hang up mistletoe, daughter mine? There's no nail." A soft thwump over the doorway. It seemed Clint had given Morgan her own bow. And she knew how to use it.

They collected their courage, scraps of reduced pride, some drool and a tiny drop of sweat before turning to the man they'd been waiting for for so long.

"Mr Parker, will you do me the honor of bestowing a kiss upon an old man with creaking bones and heating hair?"

Oh. Oh, this was happening.

"I love your hair and I'll get you a walker that has a cup holder for water and a few pain pills. Mr Stark, will you kiss a kid from Queens who's so into you the red devil of Cliffwood himself doesn't dare sleep with either of us and get in the way?"

"Well, first of all. A walker, really, am I that old. Second, nice call on the pain pills, very good save on the hair. And please. He'd never get in the way of us two-"

"Great, are you gonna kiss me?"

"Why, Mr Parker. Don't mind if I do." It was a soft statement he would otherwise confuse as a plea.

"Fucking finally." That was a bit more of a pained gasp instead of a sigh of relief, but Morgan and Rocky were doing enough sighing for the both of them afterwards.

Afterwards though, when the blood is finally distributed to the right places

"Yeah, I think I broke my wrist and you should get that throat checked. I'll get the car."

"Tony, it's the fifties. I can get the car while you call Bucky to look over the kids. Anyone talks to me and they'll think you had something to do with my throat."

"That is a fantastic idea, sweetheart. Save it for later, maybe raincheck?"

"Get the car, Tony."

"Yep. Come on, you rascals. Help an old man out."

----------

Wade can't look at Tony without howling, mutters something about a limp wrist while Vanessa sighs and apologizes, compliments Peter on surviving life with a ridiculous best friend by his side. He says it's ok. Wade's his go to guy for whenever Peter has to get his head in the game and his lips on Tony's.

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the-peachpit · 3 years

Text

Sons Of A Crow

DSMP AU: Wilbur, Tommyinnit, Technoblade are siblings with an absent Father

Warning: Major Character Death

Summary: Philza left to defend L'manburg, Technoblade left to bring him home, Wilbur stayed and watched Tommy grow on his own. Too young to watch over himself and suddenly watching the struggles of others something broke inside Wilbur. his family reunion wasn't what he wanted, but maybe- what they all needed.

In this story L'manburg was a city that always existed and was ready to erupt without the help of Wilbur or Tommy.

Also consider following me on Twitter for more insights on stories! @Thepeachpit_

Orange leaves danced through the sky when Wilbur said goodbye to his father watching his back become a silhouette against the sun. It was fall, a crisp chill in the air when Tommy ran from the top of the stairs his little yellow wings puffed behind him as he missed a step tumbling down. Wilbur turned his face fell watching Tommy scramble to stand ignoring the blood on his knee and hands. Wilbur wrapped a scarf around Tommy’s neck as he screamed for his dad to come back in shorts and a t-shirt. Wilbur could see his own breath as he held Tommy down from trying to fly telling him it was alright.

“Why is he leaving!” Tommy sobbed, “I told him I’d learn how to fly! I’d learn to fly to keep him here! I can do it!”

Wilbur hugged his brother closer whispering into his wheat-colored hair, “Please, Tommy it’s not your fault.”

“It’s everyone else’s,” A voice growled.

Sun beamed through the high windows of the wooden home, but Techno stood in the shadow that day. Sulking, tricking himself into thinking Wilbur couldn’t see his tears. Wilbur would never say a word about the way Techno’s mouth twitched and his shoulders shook. Being the oldest Wilbur knew Techno would carry too much on his shoulders, but he was no father figure. He was no unfeeling weapon, as much as he pretended. Their father had rescued Techno from an auction, and Techno repaid that kindness by being his shadow. Learning everything their father had to offer. A piglin with the dream to be equal to men. Wilbur couldn’t imagine what Techno thought watching their father spread his wings without him.

The day dragged on as Wilbur sat with Tommy on the couch drilling it into the young boy’s skull it wasn’t his fault their father left- he had to. Their father’s situation was delicate. He wasn’t just a crow hybrid but a godly being of sorts, though he never advertised it. Their father had taken Wilbur and Techno to his shrine when they were a little older than Tommy. People worshiped him when they were in need. He looked after those who needed protecting. He wasn’t born an immortal god but was given the right after giving so much of himself to the world that the universe had to reward him. An immortal life with the curse of mortal children with the universe herself. Now people expected him to fight in the war of L’manburg a nation that had been teetering on the edge of revolution for years. Philza would be the hammer ending it all. Wilbur shifted his white wings when Techno came in the whites of his eyes red, his cheeks puffy. Wilbur wouldn’t utter a word.

Taking on the role of a caretaker wasn’t unusual to Wilbur having done it before even when their father was home. Before Tommy was born. Growing up with a piglin brother who still had basic lessons to learn in over world customs was fun but came with challenges. Especially when Techno started learning the art of the blade. Wilbur was tasked with keeping his brother from scrapping with every kid who laid eyes on him with a sneer.

Tommy had finally fallen asleep to something on TV and Wilbur had noticed Techno slip out hours ago. Walking out onto the back porch Wilbur watched his half piglin brother whack at dummies with an axe. His blows were messy- unusual for the calm and collected fighting state his brother usually took on. With tight moves and precision.

“You want to talk about it?” Wilbur sat himself on the stairs.

“Not really,” Techno huffed.

Wilbur leaned back on his palms, “You can’t keep it in forever, better to get it out now right?” he looked up at the sky, it had gotten cloudy.

“Bet I can,” Techno landed another blow.

Wilbur sighed, “Come on.”

Techno spun around his long pink ponytail lifting from his shoulders, “What the fuck do you want me to say Wil? Philza just left us here with no warning, who knows how god damn long he’ll be gone. L’manburg’s been fighting itself for years now. Suddenly he has to do crowd control.”

“If you keep swearing like that Tommy is going to get a sailors mouth,” Wilbur smirked.

Techno rolled his eyes, “You remember what he was like after the last war he was called to don’t you? Swearing is the least of Tommy’s worries.”

How could Wilbur forget, the man who came back was not their father. He was cold, distant, quick with a fist. Techno scrapped with their father a lot after he came home, sometimes protecting Wilbur, sometimes Tommy who was too young to remember the in-house violence. Too young to know to keep away from his own dad. Wilbur never blamed Philza he had seen a travesty; he’d taken lives and there’s no coming back from that casually. To return to a family after finding blood on your hands couldn’t be easy. The thought of that happening to Technoblade haunted Wilbur, to see his brother’s eyes look empty and dazed. He hopped Philza would never let Techno join him, as much as Wilbur knew that would tear Technoblade apart.

“Maybe this time will be different,” Wilbur sighed watching the clouds roll in.

Within the first week Tommy’s golden feathers were scattered around the house. Wilbur found a few in the bathroom at first thinking nothing of it. Then more popped up in the kitchen, living room, and a whole pile on the front porch. Wilbur had always respected his brother’s privacy, but out of pure panic he burst into Tommy’s room without knocking watching as Tommy pulled a handful of feathers from his wings. Wide blue eyes filled to the brim with tears starred at Wil-pleading. Scooping Tommy into his arms Wilbur tore down the stairs yelling for Techno.

It was noon on a chilly fall day a storm was rolling in the thunder rumbling deeply as it shook the old house. Wilbur was clutching Tommy’s hands as the boy sniffled at each tug of the bandage Techno wrapped around the bald spots. Pouring oil to heal and hopefully deter Tommy from plucking anymore.

“He’s stressed out,” Wilbur sighed finally feeling like he could breathe.

“Really,” Techno said sarcastically.

Wilbur ran his hand through his brown wavy hair-it was getting long- “I’m serious what are we going to do?”

Techno shrugged, “Our best I guess?”

Wilbur was already doing his best.

After plucking his feathers and being banned from flying on Dr, Techno’s orders Wilbur made sure to never let Tommy leave his sight in fear of his depression getting worse. If the wings were the worst of it Wilbur was sure he could deal, but things could always get worse. The curse of the Crow god hung heavy on the odd family. Weeks passed with the weather oddly warmer for the middle of fall. The trio was outside regularly soaking up the sun or hiking into town casually speaking with others. Techno hated the small talk, but Wilbur insisted it was for Tommy’s sake, keep him socialized. He reminded Techno how important it was to socialize him and was met with a swift whack to the back of the head. Ignoring every bit of war talk they could. It finally felt like it was all stabilizing- like they could hold out until Philza came back.

“You know we just got some new candy in I thought you’d like to try,” A girl smiled coming out from the back of the grocery store.

“Hell yea!” Tommy pumped his fist in the air.

“You’re spoiling him Niki,” Wilbur shook his head putting his groceries on the counter.

“I got some new books too,” Niki put three books on the counter, “Free of charge of course, “She winked.”

A month ago, Wilbur had resented Niki’s kindness as if they couldn’t care if themselves without their father. He hated thinking she was right. With time he realized that wasn’t it at all. Niki was genuinely kind, enjoying the company of the brothers. She wasn’t full of sympathy, but compassion. Giving where she could, but never overly so.

“What, nothing for me?” Technoblade put on a show of pouting.

“Sorry,” Niki shrugged, “My boss still thinks weapons in a general store is a bad idea.”

Techno shook his head, “He’s missing a whole customer base.”

“Maybe I can-“ Niki was cut off as a crowd gathered around the TV in the corner of the store.

Coming from the back the store’s owner turned up the volume on the news broadcast. It was a warm fall when the footage of fires ablaze in homes that viewers were assured had been abandoned was shown to the public. People whispered and gasped, but no one saw him-except Wilbur. A shadow in the corner of the screen wings close to his body, his stance tight, sword sheathed at his side-the Crow in all of his glory. Was that his handy work? He wouldn’t. L’manburg was in flames. Something silently snapped in Wilbur that day, watching his father do nothing as a city burned to the ground. Seeing that scene alone may have started the spiral but knowing Philza watched over the pyres of family’s- Wilbur grabbed the groceries rushing out of the store.

He didn’t speak to his brothers the whole walk home. It had gotten chillier.

Winter dropped two snowstorms back-to-back, during the second Wilbur picked up smoking to keep himself warm. The clouds that escaped from his lips as he sat under a hazy sky while Tommy played in the snow were thick. He watched the smoke curl and join the sky. It started with a smoke outside int eh morning and night. His hands with nothing more to do just kept lighting until he found himself at a pack a day. There was a numb comfort as he lit a second cigarette while Tommy rolled snow into a ball. His mind felt distracted, distant floating away with the smoke. His chest felt lighter, like the weight he’d been carrying found its peace-it never lasted long enough.

“Come on Tommy,” Wilbur put out his cigarette butt in the snow, “It’s cold out here,” He stretched out his wings, “Techno has a nice fire going inside.”

Rolling his eyes Tommy groaned, “Fiiiine,” he pouted his golden wings puffed behind him.

He’d healed perfectly and Wilbur had taken Tommy out for flying lessons a few times over the fall, but winter was hard for flying. The weather changed fast and the cold hurt inexperienced wings. Wilbur had been so happy there was no permanent damage he cried to himself in his room, not unusual, but this was different. He was so happy.

“Wilbur,” Tommy rolled on the floor by the fire, “Can you make hot chocolate?”

“Sure thing,” Wilbur smiled heading into the kitchen.

Techno stomped in trying to get the snow off his boots. Wood stacked under his arm.

“Well, we won’t freeze to death.” Wilbur joked pulling out a small pot.

“You’re welcome,” Technoblade stuck his tongue out.

A knock on the door stopped Wilbur’s quip dead in his throat. A knock at the door. Their door in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t expecting anyone. Would he have knocked after all this time? Wilbur shared a glance with Technoblade who was holding his breath.

The sound of the door creaking open sent Wilbur to the front entrance.

“Tommy, dude you can’t just open the door for anyone,” Wilbur scolded him.

“Oh, come on Wilbur,” Tommy rolled his eyes.

Standing in the doorway was a familiar face in a light blue hoodie. The man would have almost disappeared amongst the snowy landscape if not for his tan complexation.

“Hey Skeppy, what brings you out here?” Wilbur asked the ice mage.

“Mail believe it or not,” Skeppy held out a disheveled letter, “Niki said you guys don’t go to the store during bad weather and asked me to deliver it.”

“Thanks,” Wilbur nodded, “Would you like to come in and warm up?”

Skeppy shook his head, “This weather is my natural element I am as comfortable as can be,” He assured him, “Plus Bad is expecting me back.”

Wilbur chuckled, “Have fun in the nether, don’t melt.”

“Ha-ha,” Skeppy rolled his eyes waving goodbye.

Closing the door Wilbur looked at the letter in his shaking hands. It was tattered and must have had a long journey to his cold fingers. Walking back into the kitchen where Tommy and techno stood Wil looked between his brothers unsure what to say. Opening his mouth, he wished he had a cigarette to give him an excuse to stay silent. There was no other choice as he slowly slipped a finger unto the fold of the yellowed envelope ripping it open. Pulling out the letter Wilbur gasped.

“Who is it from,” An urgency in techno’s voice.

“Dad,” Wilbur whispered his dark eyes scanned the letter again, “He says he’s coming home soon.”

“Let me see,” Techno ripped the letter from Wilbur’s grasp, “Holy fuck,” he breathed out.

“Dads coming home!’ Tommy threw his hands up in the air running around the house.

Spirits were high as the sun shone over glittering snow.']

The letter hadn’t stated when their father would be back, just soon. The days rolled like molasse with everyone especially Tommy, checking the windows to catch a glimpse of their father landing. The days and nights were all becoming bitterly cold, and the thought of delayed travel started to creep into Wilbur’s mind. To clear it when cigarettes weren’t enough, he snuck out at the dead of night through his window. The air was brisk, it shook him to his bones. Extending his wings with a powerful downward thrust Wilbur took to the starry skies. The wind hurt his wings-burned them with frost, but Wilbur had never felt so alive as his lungs froze inside. He was reminded of living as he soared against the inky night. He remembered his first winter flight with Philza. He fell towards the ground unable to deal with the brutal temperatures. His father had been there to catch him- support him- swearing to Wil he’d only have to fly in the winter if he were every in trouble. He wondered if he was in trouble now.

Technoblade was off, it had snowed again in the middle of the winter season. Wilbur would catch Techno staring out the window at nothing for far too long. Putting his hand on Techno’s shoulder would jolt him back to reality. His brother’s long pink hair that was usually tied so neatly in buns, or ponytails was in a knotted braid that hadn’t been maintained in days. He looked pale. Wilbur was worried about illness.

“Hey Techno,” Wilbur stood form the floor, “You mind playing this round with Tommy? My knees are kind of sore.”

Techno shrugged sitting across from Tommy who shuffled a deck of cards.

Wilbur at on the sofa behind Techno taking in the site of his older brother. Techno had purple marks under his eyes, they looked slightly puffy as well. He missed his turn and Tommy had to keep pulling techno from his fog. Slowly Wilbur reached out picking up the long braid and pulled the hair tie free. He brushed through his brothers matted hair surprised Techno was being a willing participant.

“I’ve always been jealous you had the patience for all of this hair,” Wilbur started braiding noting it was messier than anything techno had done.

“I’m going to grow my hair as long as techno,” Tommy proudly declared, “My braid will be ten times better.”

“You know I bet Techno could braid your hair now,” Wilbur suggested getting no response from his distant brother, “Techno,” Wilbur prompted.

“Oh-yea,” Techno shook his head, “Tommy come here.”

With quick fingers Techno braided Tommy’s short blonde hair before moving to Wilbur’s brown wavy mess. They were bonded the brothers of misfortune. Techno was getting worse, forgetting things, spacing out for hours, losing blocks of time. Wilbur kept asking him if he was okay but, Techno kept deflecting. Wilbur knew it was better not to push when it came to his brother. Techno would sort it out on his own, maybe it was a weird Piglin thing. Tommy stated asking again when their father was returning home as the snow melted and spring was on the way. Wilbur had no answer and it added onto the pile of anger he had been harboring. Seeing news cast after news cast about the war. How L’manburg was falling, how they didn’t just end it. He kept catching glimpses of their father at horrible sights, but nobody else seemed to catch him. Wilbur had given up months ago on the man he knew.

Cutting vegetables for dinner Techno put his knife on the counter leaning forward heavily panting.

“Hey you,” Wilbur started before Techno slumped to the ground.

“Techno!” Wilbur fell to his knees to comfort his brother only to be slapped away.

“Don’t touch me,” Techno growled.

“You need to rest something’s not-“

Slapping Wilbur’s hovering hand away Techno’s piercing green eyes shot through Wilbur, “I said fuck off, don’t touch me,” he growled. Standing on shaky legs Techno stumbled away and up the stairs leaving Wilbur to worry about his piglin brother. Techno locked himself away for three days, Wilbur left meals outside his door.

“Tommy!” A voice roared from down the hall, “I told you a hundred times to stay out!”

A scream sent Wilbur charging up the stairs, “What happened,” his voice died in his throat.

Cowering in the corner was Tommy his arms in front of his face to protect himself while Techno brandished a blade in front of him. Charging into the room Wilbur pushed Techno and his brother swung the weapon at him instead. His eyes red and angry his features more piglin than man.

“He’s just a kid what the hell is your problem?” Wilbur yelled.

“I’ve told him a hundred times to not touch my weapons and he was in here playing with my crossbow,” Techno growled.

“Is it broken? What is your deal, you don’t threaten him!”

“He doesn’t even deserve to be our brother, Philza raised us to be strong, and Tommy’s always been pathetic,” Techno spat.

“You’re a monster!” Tommy stood stomping his foot before taking off.

Slowly Techno lowered his weapon blinking frantically as his red eyes faded to the familiar green.

“Wil,” Techno swayed before collapsing to the floor.

Wilbur wasn’t sure which mess to pick up first. Deciding his brother on the floor would be priority. Getting leverage under his arms Wilbur hoisted Techno onto his bed glad the man passed out in his own room. Putting his hand on Techno’s forehead he felt the sheen of sweat on his hot skin. Biting his lip Wilbur took off to tend to Tommy. As he ran down the stairs, he pictured a flurry of gold feathers littering the halls. Of irreversible damage. Wilbur felt like his lungs were collapsing in on him as he checked every room to no avail. There was a chill in the air from an open window in the kitchen, Tommy had left. Wilbur felt himself gag when he realized. Tommy had taken off into the winter sky on the verge of darkness alone. Fuck and Wil knew he hadn’t taken time to put on any warmer clothes besides his thin long sleeve shirt. He had to go out and find him quickly throwing on his brown trench coat, scarf, and knit hat before running out and taking off to the sky.

“Tommy!’ Wilbur screamed until his voice was hoarse scanning the sky and land.

It had been two hours since he started his search, and his heart was pounding in his ears from a mixture of cold and panic. The sun had set behind the mountains leaving only a faint blue glow to the sky Wilbur knew would fade in time. Then Tommy would be out there alone overnight with no way for Wilbur to spot him. Tommy wouldn’t make it.

“Tommy!” Wilbur screamed.

“Wil,” A small broken voice made its way over the rushing wind.

Through tear frozen eyes Wilbur spotted him a small dark red speck in the white winter night. Immediately landing hard enough to stumble like he did when he was a child Wilbur scrambled to the lump on the ground. He couldn’t tell who was shaking more, himself or Tommy. In the darkness it was impossible to get a read on what was wrong, but the young boys breathing was shallow, and Wil begged for him to tell him what was wrong as he wrapped Tommy in his coat. A feeble effort to warm him. Holding his brother tight Wilbur prayed something he’d never been a fan of even being the child of a man akin to a deity. He prayed to his father to guide them safely through the night.

“Wilbur,” Tommy croaked, “I miss dad.”

“Me too,” Wilbur whispered holding his brother closer.

Miracles could bless those in dire need as the wind died down and the sounds of horse hooves crunching on the snow echoed through the trees. Wilbur’s ears perked at the sound of his name.

“We’re here!” Wilbur shouted with every breath he had left in his shivering body.

A horse sent by a prayer appeared before them with a familiar pink haired figure riding on top. He pulled off his red cape as he dismounted wrapping it around the shaking shoulders of the man who was trying so hard to have all the answers and hold it together.

“Let me see him,” Techno’s voice a faraway whisper with hands outstretched.

Wilbur hesitated knowing those hands caused destruction and started the argument that lead down this path. However, he was weak using all of his stamina while flying and holding Tommy tightly to his chest trying desperately to protect him from the elements. Slowly Wilbur handed over the shivering boy. Techno looked over Tommy nodding to himself Wilbur knew he was using his superior night vision to check Tommy over.

Standing on unstable legs Wilbur hoisted himself on the horse holding the red cloak around himself tightly apologizing in his own mind to his brother quietly endured the bite of the frost. Letting his dark eyes slowly close Wilbur continued his prayers to his father-pleads to come home.

Waking slowly with a pounding headache Wilbur propped himself on his elbows. He was in his bed int eh same clothes he’d worn last night. Looking down he saw red splotches on his shirt feeling his skin crawl. He wished it was his. Rolling out of bed he hissed at the pain in his knees, that landing had done more damage than he thought. Leaning against the wall for support he limped his way out into the hallway where a savory aroma hit his nose. Soup- a familiar soup- a dish his father had made a hundred times when one of them had been injured or sick. The stairs creaked causing Wilbur to hold his breath.

“Oh, good you’re up.”

Wilbur’s face fell, “Your hair.”

Techno stood in the hallway with a tray carrying two bowls of soup. His long hair had been hacked away into a short messy style. His long braid discarded.

“I’m leaving Wil,” Tehcno’s voice was cold, “I need to find Philza.”

Wilbur shook his head feel his braid, “We don’t need him we’re doing fine without-“

“I need him!” Techno shouted, “You don’t get it! I’m a danger to you two without Philza here! He keeps the voices away; they demand blood, and it doesn’t matter whose. Wilbur if I did anything permeant to you or god- fucking Tommy almost died last night!”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t try to spare me, you sugar coat everything thinking it’ll all work out, but it’s not working Wil! So, I’m going to drag dad back here by the scruff of his wings.”

A creak of the floorboards.

“A branch went through Tommy’s leg, its broken. I set it the best I could.”

“Techno please, we can beat this without him.” Wilbur felt his throat tighten.

“I’ll be back before summer.” Techno set the tray on a small table in the hall.

Without another word Techno walked down the stairs with Wilbur at his heels begging the man not to leave. Not for him but for Tommy, he would beat himself up, he wouldn’t survive if Techno just up and left. He’s a child who doesn’t deserve anymore disappointment. Nothing could deter the determined look of the piglin as he secured a travel bag to his horse and double checked the saddle. With a stern glance Techno left his axe shinning in the sun on his back.

Wilbur went inside a numbness overcame him as he pulled his heavy legs up the stairs grabbed a bowl of soup went into Tommy’s room. The boy laid eyes closed leg elevated the wrapped. Bloody scraps of cloth laid all around the room. Setting the bowl on the nightstand Wilbur felt his world crush him falling to his knees and sobbing his chest heaving. He apologized over and over to no one who could hear him. He apologized for being weak, unable to protect anyone, for letting things slip through his fingers. When Wilbur felt his heart snap months ago watching the fires he ignored it, took up smoking, and retreating into himself hiding what he thought he knew of his father from his brothers. If L’manburg was supposed to fall Wilbur wanted to push-someone had to push. It was the only way to bring everything back.

It was the first day of spring when Tommy finally awoke disoriented and Wilbur cried again holding his brother close to his chest. A warm wind rustled the grass that was returning when Wilbur had to come clean about Technoblades absence. He watched Tommy’s curious blue eyes become cold and steely. He wasn’t inconsolable, but as the earth thawed Tommy became icy. Going into town wasn’t as fun without Tommy chatting to everyone instead, he stood by Wilbur avoiding eye contact. Wilbur made a point to take Tommy out more hoping he would just spring back even on his crutches. After a while Tommy started saying he was too tired to hobble to town on his busted leg.

“That leg will heal in time Tommy, before you know it, you’ll be bouncing around again,” Wilbur encouraged.

Tommy pouted silently.

“I’m at my wits end Niki,” Wilbur leaned on the counter, “I can’t bring him back from this.”

The sweltering summer weather was on the way Wilbur had gone to buy ice cream realizing it was just another feeble attempt at fixing something impossible. “He’s been through a lot; the cast just came off didn’t it?” Niki pointed out, “All spring he’s been trapped, maybe take him for a flight! He’s always so happy to come back from those and tell me what he saw,” She giggled.

Wilbur shot up, “You’re a genius!”

A crash stopped Wilbur and unknowingly changed the ever-evolving family of unfortunate crows. A boy stood there wide brown eyes shooting between the knocked over display and Niki and Wilbur. His breathing was heavy.

“Sorry,” he stuttered out.

“It’s okay Tubbo,” Niki quickly assured him, “Accidents happen.”

Wilbur crouched down next to the boy spotting two stubby ram horns poking through his thick brown hair, his bangs were practically covering his eyes. He had long floppy ears and black nails. A hybrid.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Wilbur observed.

Tubbo said nothing staring back with big doe eyes.

“You just move in mate?”

Tubbo shrugged.

Niki gave a sad smile to Wilbur, “His situation is a lot like yours, except it’s just him.”

Wilbur’s body jerked like electricity had shot up his spine. A situation like his huh, an absent father fending for himself. All alone though he was just a kid couldn’t be older than Tommy, that was cruelty. Without hesitation Wilbur offered the kid a place to say welcoming Tubbo into the misfit pack. How he wished he’d met that kid sooner. At first Tommy was apprehensive until Tubbo burned himself on the stove. He wouldn’t let Wilbur go anywhere near him to help cowering like an animal in the corner. When Tommy approached though slowly Tubbo offered his hand. From that day forward the boys were inseparable as Tommy showed Tubbo things the ram boy had never seen and swore to protect him. Wilbur smoked a cigarette on the porch watching the boys climb trees in the backyard. Sometimes when he blinked, he saw himself and Techno climbing those trees. When did Techno go from the scared unsure halfling to a warrior? All Wilbur did was blink.

Running an errand in town the boys were chasing each other as usual when Tommy’s golden wings sprung out, somehow Tubbo had yet to see them.

“Wow!” Tubbo beamed, “Can you fly with those?”

Tommy shrugged, “Kind of.”

“Tommy,” Wilbur raised a brow, “You’re a splendid flyer.”

Tommy gave his wings a flap shrugging again.

It hit Wilbur; Tommy hadn’t flown since that night in the snow. Hadn’t even attempted all summer to stretch his wings.

“Why don’t you guys buy some candy form Niki,” Wilbur handed the two boys money watching them run off.

Wilbur went to a different store to buy his cigarettes. It smelled of cheap smoke and alcohol lined the shelves. It also played the news Niki had stopped showing because she thought it was bad for Tommy to see. Wilbur didn’t totally disagree, but he couldn’t play it at home either. The store was dim and none of the faces looked friendly, besides the slick man who worked at the counter. Tall with a close buzzcut, he wore glasses with two different colored lenses. Wilbur had spoken to Jackmanifold a few times, never in depth, but he knew they shared the same view of L’manburg-it had to end. The conversation had started that summer if you could call it innocently. Now it was becoming real tangible plans with a syndicate closer to the city.

“They’re starting to move the dynamite,” Jackmanifold slid a pack of cigarettes across the counter, “It’s a slow process, but when it’s done the war will end.”

Wilbur scowled; it was for the best. It was a complicated plan and included p6eople sneaking around to plant large undetectable stacks of dynamite around the city. The hardest part would be building the kill switch mechanism from what he understood. To set off he explosives untraceable.

Lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag Wilbur walked towards the exit, “Keep me updated Jack.”

“You got it boss,” Jackmanifold saluted.

Exiting the store Wilbur’s shoulders sagged.

“Wilbur!”

Two boys ran towards Wilbur showing off their spoils from the general store smiles bright and unafraid, unaware of the world crumbling around them. Wilbur returned their bright smiles he was doing this for them.

Summer was hot and the only cooling relief came in the form of a small inflatable pool Wilbur pulled from the basement. The boys got a kick out of splashing each other and Tommy had gotten more comfortable letting his golden feathers flap around like he used to. Wilbur had taken up journaling writing down every insignificant detail of days that dragged on through noon until lunch when suddenly the cool nights went much too fast. He wrote down the day he took the duo fishing, how Tommy never wanted to go again seeing fish struggling was too much for the young boy. How Tubbo tried to show Tommy it wasn’t that bad and trying to eat a raw fish. He wrote about taking Tommy back to the sky the poor boy was practically shaking at the thought.

“Tommy avians weren’t meant to spend so much time tethered to the ground,” Wilbur had said one day.

Tommy shook his head, “Wilbur I can’t last time it was.” He stuttered.

“Last time it was cold and dark,” Wilber gripped Tommy’s shoulder reassuringly, “Today’s perfect.”

Tommy shook his head, “Look Wilbur.”

“I’d like to see it,” Tubbo chirped, “I’ve never seen you fly! Could you take me?”

Tommy looked at Wilbur.

Wilbur nodded, “When he’s older he can.”

The thought of taking Tubbo into the sky was all it took for Tommy to follow Wilbur back into the open air. It really was a perfect day; Wilbur wrote in his journal about how there was no clouds in sight that day. He wrote about Tubbo wanting to get into music after seeing a traveling band in town. Wilbur spent the end of the summer teaching the boys guitar. Tommy snuck into Technoblades old armory in the shed and started to take blades seriously. Wilbur was hesitant but figured Tommy should know how to defend himself. Sending him to learn with Jackmanifold who was sworn from talking about L’manburg. Wilbur wrote about watching the boys grow for two years they turned into brave young men, and for a moment he was proud. They’d had ups and downs but the young men who stood in front of him now were admirable. Wilbur wrote letters his father would never see, and apologies Technoblade deserved.

Fall was right around the corner and Wilbur had given his trench coat to Tommy last winter. He was in town looking for warm clothes for himself as well as Tubbo. The boys were milling about the isles on their own while Wilbur hummed to himself going over his coat choices. When the crowd around the TV caught his eye Wilbur already knew it would be L’manburg coverage. Noticing Tommy and Tubbo at the back of the store Wilbur slowly made his way through the crowd. His heart shattered and his breathing became ragged at the sight of the news coverage, hey were speaking of a beast of pure rage that had knocked down a whole wall in a single blow. Wilbur knew who they meant deep down in his aching bones he knew-but it couldn’t be he went there to bring their father back not join in the bloodshed. They must have been talking about Technoblade as they mentioned his blood red cape and crown on his head- a prince of destruction.

Wilbur ran, he left the boys as he sprinted down the street to the sketchy store on the corner where he bought the cigarettes that started to make him cough. “You have to blow it!” Wilbur slammed his fists on the counter.

“Wil, we can’t,” Jackmanifold tried to calm him, “There’s only a fail-safe button if you were to press that you’d die.”

Wilbur laughed, “It’s almost been three years Jack! What is taking so long!”

Jackmanifold raised his unusually even tone, “It’s not exactly easy sneaking tons of explosives into a maintain and rigging them outside of a war zone!”

“Tell me where,” Wilbur ran his fingers through his hair.

“Mate,” Jackmanifold looked pale.

“Tell me Jack or I swear I’ll burn this place to the ground!” Wilbur grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt his wings spreading far enough to break bottles as they fell off shelves. Jackmanifold spilled the beans and Wilbur spiraled that night packing all of his belongings hastily into a suitcase. Hurrying down the stairs in the dark only to be stopped by a man at the door with blonde hair and arms crossed.

“Where you going Wil?” Tommy asked.

“Tommy, I have to,” Wilbur trailed off.

“Have to what huh?”

Wilbur winced, when was the last time Tommy had raised his voice in true anger.

“Fucking leave? Like Techno? Like dad?” Tommy raised an eyebrow, “Want to leave me here alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Wilbur was trembling, “You have Tubbo.”

“You’re my brother! You’re all I have left of my family Wilbur!” Tommy slammed his fist into the door, “Tell me why you’re leaving! Tell me why Technoblade really left! Tell me if you knew dad was leaving and why nobody gave me any goddamn warning! Why am I the last one to know anything in this family? I. am. A. part. Of. This. Wilbur! Stop treating me like I’ll break if you talk about them! It’s been three years and I haven’t heard you mention them once, just slowly break!”

“What’s going on?”

Wilbur turned he felt lightheaded as he saw Tubbo those same wide brown eyes shining in worry like the first day he saw him.

Tommy was laughing, “Welcome to this shitty family Tubbo! We’re fighting because your brother thinks your nothing!”

Wilbur felt his stomach twist at Tommy’s laugh-he was becoming more like Wilbur- Tommy was better than that. Wilbur thought he had been sly all these years, but Tommy was wise and knew he was falling apart.

“That’s not true Tommy,” Wilbur reached into his pocket pulling out a leather-bound journal holding it out to his brother, “If you don’t believe me then read this, but not yet. I’m going to L’manburg, and you might as well come with me. I hear there’s a safe zone outside of the city. You can read that and all of the books in the desk in my room after this trip. Okay?”

Tommy snatched the book looking at it, “Why would you go there,” he scowled.

“Techno went to get Philza back, but something went wrong. Now I’m going to end this story and get them both home.”

“Fine,” Tommy nodded, “Let’s pack our bags Tubbo.”

Renting a cart all Wilbur could think about was the outburst Tommy had, years of resentment had built inside of him Wilbur had never seen coming. Years of pain and confusion as his family fell apart around him. He was feeding off of Wilburs poor energy it seemed as well. Tommy was better than Wilbur-he had a bright future ahead of him. When they stopped for the night on the first day of their trip Wilbur snuck the leather journal from out of Tommy’s backpack. He wrote an apology letter, for the past present and future. He deserved at least that much.

When they got to the encampment Wilbur felt electricity spike through his body. He jumped from the cart running past confused by standers before his fist collided with a familiar face.

“I deserved that,” A gruff voice spoke.

“You deserve more than that,” Wilbur growled his fist still at the ready.

A tall figure with a muscular build stood before him, an axe at his hip, pink hair growing out to his shoulders. A blood red cape fluttered around his ankles and it looked like he’d broken a tusk.

“You’re right,” Techno nodded.

“Technoblade!” Tommy shouted running through the path Wilbur had carved out of the crowd.

Colliding with the tall man there was very little give as Tommy threw his arms around his chest. Techno looked at Wilbur in a pause his arms in the air palms out. Wilbur sighed giving a nod.

Technoblades face was soft as he smiled bending down to hug Tommy, “You’ve gotten so big.”

Wilbur wondered what it was like for Techno, the last time he saw Tommy he was critically injured, a busted leg, hypothermia now he had a full wingspan. Tubbo slowly came to stand next to Wilbur silently watching Tommy hug another hybrid.

“Who’s that?” Techno asked spotting the ram boy.

“My mate Tubbo,” Tommy moved to the boy slinging an arm around his shoulders, “basically part of the family.”

Tubbo gave a small wave.

“He basically saved Tommy after you left,” Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

“Wilbur,” Techno started.

Wilbur walked away without another word into the crowd back to the cart. He pulled it out of the commotion of the tents and stalls to an open part of field. He tied it to a tree and found a large boulder to sit on watching the crowd mill about. Looking at the sky he saw it, the mountain he would be climbing that night. After the sun went down Tommy would get the life he deserved.

As the time wound down Wilbur made sure to spend the day with his brothers even softening up around Technoblade. They ate good food and met better people caught up in a tragedy Tommy slowly realized he didn’t know much about asking Techno question after question to Wilbur’s dismay.

“How sheltered did you keep him?” Techno half joked.

“I just wanted him to be happy,” Wilbur looked at his reflection in his beer, night had fallen he had to leave, “If something happened to me,” he swallowed thickly, “Would you look after both of them?”

“Of course, I would but nothing is going to happen to you out here, it’s safe,” Techno assured him.

“Come home Techno,” Wilbur asked. His answer would change everything. He was the last string holding him together.

“I can’t until this is done,” Techno shoot his head a new braid done by Tommy swished around, “These people need me to keep them safe right now.”

It snapped.

“Right,” Wilbur nodded pulling his knit cap over his ears, “Have you seen Philza out here?”

“A few times, he was trying to be positive, but,” Techno took a drink, “He’s losing himself Wil, it’s bad. If this doesn’t end soon, he won’t be Philza much longer. I’ll get word out you’re here though; he’d rush to see you.”

The thought made Wilbur smirk, he had so much time to rush to see him, it was too late now.

Wilbur squeezed Techno’s shoulder as he said he was going to bed. He hugged Tubbo and hugged Tommy for far too long. He heart was aching; he thought this operation would be easy and as he hugged his youngest brother who had been through the ringer, he second guessed himself. He had to remind himself this was bigger than Tommy, this would stop a whole war. He had come this far-it was for more than just himself.

Lighting a cigarette on his torch Wilbur started to climb the mountain, it was steep, and rocks slid and tumbled with every step he took. How people could be stealthily on this trail he’d never know. He was sure the whole city could hear him scheming. He had his white wings out to help him balance and for comfort-if he fell, he would catch himself. He cursed his white feathers if they were black like his fathers he could have flown up.

Getting to the crest of the mountain the mouth of a cave greeted him. He entered with no hesitation his heart pounding in his chest as he noticed the writing on the walls. The anthem of L’manburg. In the center of the writing was a button-the button that would end it all.

“I knew I’d catch one of you eventually if I waited long enough.”

The voice behind Wilbur turned his veins to ice.

“Turn around slowly,” They demanded, “And come with me. I have a few questions.”

Slowly Wilbur turned to a shocked face holding a shaky sword.

“Wil,” Philza whispered into the dark, “What are you doing?”

“Philza,” Wilbur’s voice cracked.

“Why are you here?” Philza dropped his sword his long blonde hair braided to the side.

Wilbur wondered if Techno had done it. He smiled feeling his mouth wobble, “I want to bring you home.”

“Wilbur I promise to come home as soon as-“

“I’m ending this tonight!” Wilbur shouted, “It’s been three years Philza! Do you know what any of went through? Did Techno tell you how he ran away when Tommy almost died?”

“What?” Philza’s green eyes were wide, ‘I didn’t-“

“What do you still know about us!” Wilbur backed towards the wall, “We’ve grown and changed, and you haven’t been there! I can’t believe you even recognized me!”

“Of course, I recognize you! You’re my son!” Philza shouted.

Wilbur smirked, “I used to proudly tell people I was the mortal son of the crow. Now I say I have a dad somewhere. Except I’ve known exactly where you were all this time. I saw you on TV when no one else seemed to be able to! Causing atrocities. You even brainwashed Technoblade into it because he’d follow you anywhere.”

“Buddy I’ve been,” Philza hesitated.

“So, help me if you say doing your job, I’ll slit my own throat,” Wilbur spat.

Philza stood straighter, “I’ve been helping people, I’ve been a relief effort I’ve only raised my sword to defend.”

Wilbur hung his head, “I wish I believed you,” He looked at Philza with blurry vision tears welling up, “Do better for Tommy.”

Wilbur hit the button.

“NO!” Philza screamed rushing forward as the earth shook and rumbled.

Wilbur closed his eyes waiting for the crushing pain he deserved of mountain debris. Nothing came as the sounds of explosions rang through the night and sparks brighter than the stars lit up the night before the fires. Opening his eyes, he saw black wings extended over him protecting him from harm. Heavy breathing was the only sound as Wilbur looked into his father’s soft eyes and saw fear, panic, and anything but disappointment. Wilbur felt tears fall down his cheeks, but they weren’t his own. Looking to where the small mouth of the cave used to be he saw a gaping hole with crowds of people gathering to see the monster dwelling inside.

Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo stood out, their mouths a gape as they saw Wilbur pinned by their father in a tragic twist of fate. Slowly Philza stood turning to see the same crowd.

“You brought them here,” Philza looked panicked.

Wilbur clutched his own chest, “Philza you have to kill me.”

“What?” Philza whipped back around.

Wilbur stood kicking Philza sword towards him, “You have to kill me. They’ll arrest me.”

“Wil,” Philza shook his head, “We’ll work this out, I’ll talk with them.”

“Your reputation will be ruined.”

“I don’t care about me reputation! I won’t have to keep doing this if I lose it!” Philza stepped closer his hands out like he wanted to comfort Wilbur, but they were shaking.

“Philza they’ll torture me, you know they will.” Wilbur spoke like a dead man.

“I won’t do it in front of them!” Philza screamed, “You’re my son! I won’t kill you in front of your brothers! My children!”

“They’re so much stronger then you know now,” Wilbur picked up the sword from the ground slowly walking towards Philza. He put the hilt in Philzas open palms closing his fingers into fists holding his own clammy hands around Philzas warm ones, “Dad.”

Wilbur whispered his final word as Philza stepped forward and Wilbur hugged his father for the first time in a very long time. He cried silently while his father sobbed onto his shoulder his black wings encircling them as if to make it more private, to spare his brothers from knowing. As Wilbur succumbed to the pain he smiled, they knew, he bet Techno knew all along he came to L’manburg to die. It hurt more then he thought it would, physically or emotionally he couldn’t tell though. The pain in his abdomen was fire, but hearing Philza wail, and Tommy’s voice ringing in his ear Wilbur closed his eyes feeling cold, and warm against his father and his feathers.

“Wilbur, my strongest son,” Philza whispered.

They were the last words Wilbur heard. ------- Traveling in silence a day later Tommy was flipping through the journal Wilbur had given him, it was all of Wilbur’s personal thoughts. Tommy felt like a fool saying Wil hadn’t cared about him. He’d documented everything, several times he talked about how brave, and strong Tommy had gotten two summers ago. Their first winter flight together- how impressed Wilbur was. Tommy was a fool, he wrapped Wilbur’s old coat tighter around his shoulders trying not to cry where everyone could hear. If this was just one journal he wondered how many were in Wilbur’s desk, what they all said. At the end of this one Wilbur mentioned getting the family back together. He looked up at Philza driving the cart- he held Tommy so tight last night. It reminded him of the forest when he broke his leg. Idly flipping through Tommy noticed writing he had missed on the front cover earlier.

Dear Tommy,

You were served a rotten hand in this life, with a father who disappeared and brothers who were broken. Techno and I tried our best I promise you that, but we weren’t equipped to bring you up still being kids ourselves. We were scared- I was scared- of letting you down. I’ve written a journal full of apologies to Tehcnoblade, and I was a fool to think after Tubbo showed up you weren’t owed anything. You are owed a dozen apologies from three people, but I hope I am sufficient. If you’re reading this at all there’s a good chance I didn’t come home okay, or I didn’t come home at all, and I’m sorrier than you could ever know. This life wasn’t for me Tommy, I am in pain and I don’t know how else to stop it. You dulled this pain for so long I almost forgot I was suffering. I never realized how it was affecting you, and you were right, you’ve bene in the dark for a long time, because no one wanted ot hurt you- instead we did the opposite. Don’t be mad at Philza – our father never wanted to be a figure head, he wanted to be a man who made his family proud, and you should be proud of him. He would do anything for us, he just hasn’t had a lot of choices when it’s come to fate. If he could leave it behind, I know he would just to spend every day listening to you catch him up on what he missed. Be gentle with Technoblade, under his tough exterior out brother is soft and scared of what you think of him. When he left it was with good intentions to bring our father back. He gets caught up in his own head and becomes a danger to himself more than others. If you see him start to clam up don’t let him- bother him every day. He’ll pretend to be annoyed, but he wants to talk about it, he wants to feel something. Protect Tubbo when this is all over. Our family will be fractured and hurt, Tubbo has only ever had a broken family, he’ll hurt watching the pain work its way through your hearts differently. He’ll fell like an outsider with no right to mourn, but I believe Tubbo became just as much of a brother to me. I know he saved you from yourself, you might need to save him in return. Just remember not to be too strong, let yourself feel. We as a family hid our emotions for too long. Lastly, I have a large request I may not even know comes true, but don’t be mad at me. If I could have, I would have done this differently, but there was no more time. I needed to be free, you needed to be free. Tommy you’ve grown into a brilliant, gentle, curious soul who puts others before himself. Who is afraid to put himself first, listen to yourself more, trust yourself more. You are important and deserve to take care of you. I would have loved to see you continue to grow as you come into your own, but it wasn’t meant to be. Remember avians weren’t meant to be on the ground too long. Find me amongst the clouds on your next trip to the sky. Your brother forever, Wilbur.

Tommy hiccupped grabbing the ends of Wilbur’s jacket tight as he dropped the book, curled into a ball and sobbed, not for himself, but his brother whose hurt he never got to understand.

#dsmp #dsmp fanfic #dsmp fic #writing #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #major character death #dream smp #c!techno #c!wilbur #c!philza

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you-did-well-moon · 4 years

Text

The Secret in his smile

@daybreakx writing challenge #1

Type: angst, horror (kind of) Fairy tail au! dystopian au!

Pairing: Mentioned Junmyeon x reader

Word count:1552

Summary: The woods are a scary place, especially when there’s rumors that surround them. Get lost, and you may not be able to find a way out.

A/n: It's really not that hard to figure out which fairy tale I used I promise lol. I’m sorry if this seems rushed in any way at all and I hope you enjoy it. I’ve been wanting to write for exo for a long time and this was my chance to, so I took it. I found that Junmyeon fit this concept well especially because of the musical he was a part of “The man who laughs”.

TW: War, unrealistic depiction of Junmyeon

You sniffled trying to stop the tears blurring your vision from falling down your face. A hand gently came on your shoulder brushing the mangled tufts of hair away from your neck. A rough but comforting hand rubbed the side of your neck. You looked at your brother, lips trembling and panic making your eyes shake as you took hurried and ragged intakes of air.

“What are we going to do Hansel? She just left us here to die. What if the rumors are true?” your hunched figure made your brother hum the song your father would use to lull you to sleep as children. It was a nice song. It reminded you of better times, times when war still hadn’t ravaged your lives. Hansel put a shaking hand on your head softly caressing it, he was scared, but he was trying to be strong for you.

“We’ll figure something out like we always do. Rumors are rumors, i’m sure there is no witch in these woods.” He had paused trying to find the right words to ease your mind, but he wouldn’t meet your watery orbs as if also trying to convince himself.

You took a shaky breath looking around you, but wherever you looked it was the same. Trees. They surrounded you leaving no idea of where you had come from, and making sure you’d have no idea where you chose to go. The shadows clung to the tree trunks smiling eerily at you with malice. The leaves from atop the canopy blocked the sun’s light from reaching the poor siblings sitting on the forest floor encasing them in never ending darkness, they bristled seemingly feeling the unease in the forest.

You had lost track of how long you had been sitting there, and the cold the night usually brought with it was starting to seep into the forest floor. You shook your head still in disbelief, sinking your fingers into the damp dirt underneath you trying to ground yourself to reality.

“I still can’t believe she just left us here.” you looked up to Hansel while he looked around trying to see if anything in particular stuck out to him. He looked at you with sad unseasy eyes shrugging his shoulders and sighing tiredly. “I guess war brings out the ugly side in everyone”

You scoffed curling your lip in distaste. “Stepmother was ugly far before the war. Inside and out. We should have spent less time worrying about the witch in these cursed woods and more time worrying about the witch living under our own roof” you had always held great disliking for the woman your father had chosen after the death of your mother.

Your father. Your heart sank at the thought of him. You worried you would never get to see him. The wrinkles near the corners of his eyes and his loud thundering laughter. After he got drafted for the war your family’s economic situation went down a steep slope straight into poverty. With no one to provide for your family, and no jobs to be taken, you had lived off of scraps and leftovers you found in trash cans from more well off families.

The war had taken everything from you. Your father, your money, and your fiance, Junmyeon, who had also been drafted. A sick feeling grew in your stomach as you thought of the last time you saw him. With a smile on his face, but his jaw clenching trying to keep the tears at bay not knowing if you’d ever see each other again

With multiple kisses pressed against your temple and various parts of your face, he said goodbye with one last kiss to your lips, mouth despairingly moving against yours as his hands ran all over your sides and back trying to remember the warmth and feel of your body. He left without looking back knowing if he did, he’d run straight back into your arms. You were robbed of the life you and Junmyeon promised one another that day, and you had not heard from him in a year.

Bitterness filled you to the brim when you looked down at the silver surrounding your ring finger on your left hand. Sitting there on the floor of the forest, you longed for the warm arms of your lover. Any kind of shock you had, had now changed into a darker emotion. Hate for the world and it’s cruel ways rooted deep in your chest. You were now left on this forest floor after your own stepmother had told you and your sibling you were going to collect wood only to leave you taking the only compass you had with her. You had once had a whole life ahead of you, and now you had been left to rot in these dark woods. Your chest felt empty with dread.

“We should get going, we don’t want to stay here when the wolves come to play” your brother's gentle hands ushered you to stand up. You looked up to him chest gaze darting around and a grimace tugging at your lips. “I’m more scared of the witch than the wolves, Hansel” your broken voice made him whip around to face you with a sharp glance thrown at you.

“For the last time, there is no witch here. She’s just a ghost story made to scare the kids. Now follow along before night catches up to us” you felt bad for your brother because you saw his own knees shaking knowing he was scared as well just too prideful to show it.

As you walked, you cut a X into the trees with the dagger your father had gifted which you always kept in the pocket of your torn trousers. You didn’t notice the marks disappearing sinking into the wood of the cursed trees too busy trying not to trip on any of the broken branches littering the ground.

After what felt like hours of walking you could feel the cold creeping into the forest knowing the sun must be sinking, and as the sun sunk so did your heart. Hopelessness was beginning to creep in on you. Your stomach was painfully empty aching in your torso, and your feet began to drag along the floor stumbling around bushes and branches. Exhaustion made your limbs feel heavier than normal.

You were just about to call out to your brother who was a few steps ahead of you when you heard him shout at you. “I see light up ahead hurry!” you began walking at a quicker stride stopping alongside him at the edge of a clearing where in the middle was a quaint little house.

You looked at each other uncertainly before he clasped your hand with his tugging you along to the house. Upon getting closer to the house you noticed something odd about the outer exterior of the building. Reaching up to the roof you broke a piece of it off bringing it up to your nose and sniffing at it. Chocolate.

You felt yourself get doused in an overwhelming wave of panic as you turned around to face your brother only to find him putting a piece of the windowsill into his mouth. You started running to him, feet aching tiredly with every step but you knew it was too late as you saw him swallow.

“Hansel no, the witch!!” your crazed screech echoed around the clearing and your throat started to burn while trying to keep the sobs from escaping your chest at seeing your sibling double over clutching at his neck.

You knelt next to him, hands fluttering around his body not knowing what to do. You heard the door to the house open, but fear stopped you from looking up.

“Well well what do we have here. Naughty people trying to eat at my home!” you froze as the voice reached your ears sounding familiar. Instead of the old high pitched female voice you expected, you were met with a smooth and deep male voice that had once whispered words of adoration against your skin.

You looked up not being able to breathe, and the figure standing in front of the open door also halted any movement, taunting smile completely wiped off his face. The face you had only ever seen smile lovingly at you. Your eyes widened and your voice completely left you, a broken sound escaping your chapped lips as they fell open in absolute shock. Fear running it’s icy course through your body and paralyzing you.

You studied his figure not being able to face the reality staring straight back at you. His body was swarmed in black robes, but you could still see the muscles straining against the fabric. His hair was longer and mangled reaching his shoulders. His face. There was a large scar that ran from both corners of his mouth up to his cheekbones making him seem like he was smiling even when his lips were pressed tightly together which they now were.

You looked back at his eyes. Eyes you had once stared into seeing your whole future held in the brightly lit stars dotting the sweet brown of them. Now just broken and lifeless eyes. Eyes that had seen war, and come out changed because of it. Your warbled voice made your ears ring as you called out to someone you had once known like the back of your hand swallowing against the bile traveling up your throat.

“Myeon?”

Junmyeon stared at your fragile body laid on the bed he had never slept on lips twitching, clutching your dagger with only one thought repeating in his head.

“That’s not the way things were supposed to turn out”

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queerhargreeves · 5 years

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De-aged Luther whump fic pls !! Where the family finds out that Reginald treated him much, much worse than they think (ex. Gaslighting, sexual abuse, pain, water and food endurance training), but Luther still thinks it's love?

wowie this is the second longest fic ive ever written?? i hope you enjoy anon and thank you for your kindness and patience!

TW: child sexual abuse and child abuse discussed

(gif by tuagifs)

The Hargreeves have had to put up with a lot of things that would drive most people to absolute madness throughout their lives. From the second each of them were born, their definition of what “normal” is would rival that of pretty much anyone. The seven of them were trained to be obedient soldiers in a goddamn science experiment by a man with too much power. This man wasn’t capable of love or compassion, no. Quite the opposite.

He treated them like they were shiny toys. Sir Reginald Hargreeves wanted them to reach impossibly high standards and would stop at absolutely nothing to make sure they got there.

They only had 30 minutes of designated “free time” a week growing up. The only time they could do as they please, within “reason”. Granted that didn’t stop them from sneaking out to get donuts after hours, Pogo keeping their secret safe.

“You all deserve to be children, Master Luther. All I ask of you is to not be too careless. We can’t have your father finding out, now can we?”

Daily rigorous training ranged anywhere from running five miles before breakfast to memorizing every pressure point in the human body and how they worked/functioned. Individual training, specialized by Sir Hargreeves himself, was another story in of itself. Water tanks, mausoleums, broken and straining limbs, tearing animals apart, throats so coarse and raw you couldn’t speak for a week, spatial jumps for four consistent hours, constant exclusion from activities …it was all the norm for these kids. Nothing out of the ordinary.

They have all gone through experiences that any average bystander wouldn’t even be able to begin to wrap their heads around. The Hargreeves have powers, yes. Their time traveling brother who left them 17 years ago came back, is nearly 60 years old, and was reverted back to the 13 year old body he disappeared in, yes. Their dysfunctional family may have caused the end of the world, yes. They avoided the end of the world, yes.

But this? Their big brother, their gallant leader, an actual child again? Now that is a lot to process, yes. Even for the ex-superheros.

It happened a few months after the family successfully didn’t cause life itself to end. They all had been making an attempt to start over with one another. The way they treated each other is what almost caused the end of the world after all.

It wasn’t easy, of course. Undoing a lifetime of trauma and repressed emotions wasn’t a simple equation or an overnight fix. It’s something that takes uncomfortable, late night hash sessions where every party involved opens up about things they don’t want to. It takes withdrawal symptoms and panic attacks. It takes realizing and acknowledging trauma and addressing it head on.

It wasn’t all tears and tension though. There were plenty of family outings, movie nights and, 2 AM impromptu baking sessions filled with nothing but laughter and comfort. They were getting better communicating with one another - they were getting better at simply existing together as an actual family instead of constantly working against their own.

The seven were out at dinner one night, Korean food per Allison’s request. The dinner went on without a hitch as they usually did nowadays, the siblings just enjoying one another’s company. However, it was after dinner when it happened.

Five noticed a man following them a bit too close for comfort as they were making their way back to the 10 seater van. It happened within seconds: an instant flash that rivals Five’s very own. One second Luther was trailing at the end of the group, listening to Ben tell a Klaus story. The next second there was a man sticking a syringe into his neck. And the next second he was on the ground, unconscious. Klaus, Ben, and Vanya rushed to his side, carrying him the rest of the way to the van. Allison, Five, and Diego stayed behind, going after the man who they didn’t even get a proper look at.

They all eventually regrouped at the house after having little luck finding the said culprit.

They were all clearly shaken after the attack. Five was, to put it quite simply, absolutely livid. He was infuriated at not only the situation itself but at himself for dismissing his instincts. Diego was also feeling quite a bit of guilt himself, but he’s been working on channeling those emotions in healthier ways. AKA no longer lashing out and hurting himself/others. Instead, he sulked silently. He played through the events that happened over and over again.

Allison was probably the most visibly distraught about the whole thing. Klaus and Ben had to quite literally drag her out of the infirmary after she refused to leave his side. She slept with her two brothers that night, wedged in between them. She couldn’t be alone. They all needed sleep and they knew Luther was in good hands.

Grace had assured them all that Luther would be fine, insisting that she would run tests on him as he got some rest. They were comforted knowing that their brother was out of the woods in terms of immediate danger of whatever substance was forcefully injected into his body. Luther would never leave Grace or Pogo’s sight for the night, the two of them adamant on making sure the six of them got some sleep that night.

None of them were prepared for what they found the next morning, however.

The six of them were all piled in the infirmary and there lied a Luther Hargreeves. A 12 year old Luther Hargreeves.

He looked so small in the bed; he was hooked up to monitors and his oversized sleeping clothes didn’t help either. His breathing was even. His chest was rising and falling in a slow, calm rhythm. His lips were slightly pursed open and he was snoring lightly.

“Holy shit.” Klaus was the first to speak up, staring in a mixture of awe and bewilderment at the small boy in the bed. “You’re no longer the babiest bro, Five.”

The statement hung in the air, thick and heavy. No one knew what to say or where to even start. Is his body just young? Or his brain too? Is it permanent? What does he remember?

“Oh, good morning children! I wasn’t expecting you all to be awake so early!” Six heads whipped towards the sound of their Mother’s heels against the hardwood floor as she walked into the infirmary.

“M-mom,” Diego’s voice shook, his eyes still glued at the young sleeping boy, “wh-what happened? Is Luther o…okay?”

“Yes dear, Luther is alright.” She said softly, resting her hand on Diego’s shoulder as she walked past him. She walked to the bed getting closer to the bed and removed one of the monitors from his chest.

“Your brother is going to be okay. It seems that he was injected with an age regression agent last night. I’m not sure how long it will last, but I’m hoping the bloodwork will give us some answers. What I can definitely say is that it will stop at this age. Luther is around 12 years old.” She explained, running a gentle hand through Luther’s hair.

“It isn’t causing him any physical harm. He was regressing quite quickly throughout the night but it stopped at 5:37 AM.”

Allison silently walked to the other side of the bed. She ran the back of her hand down Luther’s cheek, her expression soft. He looked so peaceful like this. The most peaceful she’s seen in ages.

“We…we have to be there for him when he wakes up. Luther, he was there for me after…” She paused, meeting Vanya’s eyes with a sad smile. She gave her a small nod to which Vanya reciprocated, signing “it’s okay” to her sister. They were both on good terms with what happened now. They talked it out, thousands of apologies and tears falling from both of the sister’s lips.

Allison’s voice was getting stronger every day but it was still important for everyone to be silent when she spoke so she didn’t have to strain more than necessary.

“He said he knew the comfortable dark place I was in. He didn’t want me to wake up to someone who wasn’t me anymore alone. We can’t let him go through this alone, we just can’t.” She took his hand and gave it a light squeeze, turning her gaze back to her siblings.

“Of course we’ll be there for him, Al.” Ben agreed.

And so they waited. They decided to take turns watching over him throughout the day. Diego and Five helped change Luther into the old academy pajamas before Allison and Vanya took on the first shift. Klaus and Ben went to the kitchen to make Alfredo pasta with extra chicken, Luther’s favorite dish. They remembered how insistent he was on the extra chicken when they were young.

“I need all the protein I can get! You all do too. But Five, you especially. You use up too much energy during training. This is far more nutritious and better for you than your peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. We don’t need anymore nose bleeds. Go ahead and grab an extra chicken breast, yeah?”

Luther was always good at watching over his siblings, whether they liked it or not. Half the time it annoyed them all to no end - especially Diego. But Luther took his role as not just their leader, but as their big brother, very seriously. It was a responsibility he did not take lightly.

The pasta didn’t turn out as picture perfect as it could have if the two let Grace do all the work, but with her guidance they were able to scrap up a delicious dish between the three of them.

“Damn Ben, Olive Garden better watch out! We’re gonna steal their jobs!” Allison and Vanya could hear Klaus exclaim all the way from the kitchen, a small smile appearing on both of their faces.

“If nothing else, it’s comforting that Klaus will always be just…”

“Klaus?” Allison finishes.

“Klaus.” Vanya agrees, her gaze falling back to the boy in the bed. He was still sleeping soundly, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

She doesn’t remember him being a deep sleeper - in fact, he was the lightest one of the seven. If Diego did so much as drop a book in his room or Klaus tumbled over his own feet, Luther would be in their room within a few moments to make sure they weren’t in danger. He lost a lot of sleep that way, but it never occurred to her until just now the extent of how much Luther did for them as children. Seeing him so young, so vulnerable looking was overwhelming. It was as if they were slapped in the face by past memories, repressed or otherwise.

“Mmmm…” Both women stood up at the mumbling, hovering over Luther as he started to stir in the bed. His eyes slowly started to flutter open after a few moments. You could see the realization of where he was wash over his face as he took in his surroundings. It was almost as if he was seeing right past his sisters.

“Luther?” Allison asked in a small, gentle voice. His eyes finally met hers and she placed her hand on top of his.

“M’am?” He looked down at their hands and back at her, then back down and back again. He blinked furiously, opening his mouth and closing it once more. He then whipped his head to Vanya as she tried her best to put on a gentle smile.

“Hey Lu.” She said softly.

“Vanya? Allison?” His voice went up an octave as he looked between both of his sisters. “What’s going on? Did I fail the last mission? Are you two hurt? I-I need to go back to the training room, find dad and explain! Maybe then I can -”

Allison and Vanya locked eyes as this answered a few questions. Luther definitely was mentally and 13 again, not just physically like Five. Allison’s mind reeled as she processed this, trying to think of how to even begin explaining what’s happening. Explain what has happened. Not only to Luther, but to them all.

Luther started to sit up, rambling on as he attempted to swing his legs over the bed before Allison and Vanya stopped him. Allison placed herself in front of Luther, legs shoulder width apart and hands braced on both of his shoulders. Vanya stayed at his side as she placed a firm hand on his upper arm.

“Woah, woah, woah not so fast there, Luther!” Allison knew his strength, even at this age, rivaled hers tenfold. He would only have to raise his pinky to push them both off him, but he didn’t. He let his sisters push him back in bed, but he stayed upright.

“Lu,” Vanya started, her hand still on his arm. “I can’t even imagine how overwhelming this all must be. Before I get the others I just need you to know that-”

“You’re all old.” Luther said simply.

Allison let out a small chuckle at the transparent comment and threw her head back ever so slightly. Luther had always been Mr. Obvious.

“You could say that, yeah.” Vanya scoffed, “I’ll go get the others if you’re ready?”

Luther drew his lips in a thin line, “What about Dad?” He asked cautiously, sounding all too much like the 12 year old he was.

“Dad…” Vanya looked up at Allison, wordlessly asking for help here.

“We’ll talk about it when Van and the other boys are here, yeah?” Allison reassured, trying to keep her best ‘mom’ voice on in an attempt to ease some of her brother’s evident nerves.

Luther just nodded at that answer as it was found satisfactory enough for him. Vanya gave his arm one last squeeze before disappearing down the hall. Within 30 seconds the rest of the Hargreeves came in the room, single file line. Luther watched every single one of them as they walked inside, his eyes wide and mouth pursed open.

Diego was always rough around the edges, but seeing him in all black, bearded, and scarred was certainly a bit unnerving. Klaus made him smile ever so slightly. It made Luther happy that Klaus was still oh so very much Klaus, even with a plate of pasta in his lanky arms. Eyeliner, skirt, and messy curls. Ben was a bit odd to see - blue around the edges and younger than the other two brothers before him. But Five. God that certainly put his head through a loop as if he hadn’t had enough of that already. He looked…just like he remembered. Small frame with a sharp jaw and the most intense blue eyes.

“Guten morgen, dear Luther.” Klaus said singsongly, placing the plate of pasta on the wheeled tray and wheeling it next to the bed.

“Vanya told us you woke up! Welcome back.” He sat down in one of the chairs in the room, the rest of the siblings also taking a seat.

“Thanks…” Luther drew the word out, “The pasta smells good. Thank you for that too.”

“Nonsense.” Klaus waved his hand in the air, “I’m just glad to see you’re okay.” He said honestly, crossing his legs and leaning down to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I-” Luther stopped for a moment, “I think I understand what’s happening. You’re all..older. But,” He turned to where Five was seated next to Ben. “Five?”

“It’s a bit of a long story, as this whole situation is. But I time traveled, managed to get stuck for quite a while, then came back in this body. I’m actually older than all of you, but that’s besides the point.” Five explained flippantly, “How are you doing, Luther?”

Luther gave a shaky nod as Five explained, “I’m um.” He gulped and looked back up at Allison who still stood over the bed. “When can I see Dad?”

All of the siblings tensed at the question, sharing looks with one another. Surprising to everyone it was Diego who spoke up first.

“Lu, Dad isn’t here.” He explained. “You don’t have to w-wor-worry about him anymore. It’s okay.”

Luther shook his head and a few dry chuckles fell from his lips. “Yeah, uh huh. And two times two equals three.” He spat.

“Luther…” Allison said calmly, “Diego is telling the truth. Dad is dead.” She watched as his blue eyes start to brim with tears. But Luther immediately threw his hand up to wipe them away. He shook his head again, this time more violently.

“No, no he can’t be… I-I didn’t report the last mission! I need to, I-” He started to try to get up once more, this time Diego and Ben rushing to the bed to attempt to keep him from getting up any further.

“Luther, it’s okay, please! Calm down.” Vanya said, voice shaking as Luther struggled against his brothers.

“No! No I need to get back to training! I need to go to the weight room! I-I can lift 2,000 pounds now! I need to show Dad! He’ll take me to the tree again if I don’t show him! Just LET ME GO!” Luther shouted, furiously pounding his fists against Diego’s chest. Diego and Ben held him in place best they could, letting their brother dispel the pent up frustration into their bodies. They could take it, for now. And it was evident he was running out of steam.

Vanya wordlessly sat down on the bed and wrapped her arms around his waist. He stiffened at the touch, his incessant pounding coming to an abrupt stop.

“Luther, it’s alright. You don’t have to train.” She gently pulled Luther into her lap. It wasn’t too uncomfortable as he was about an inch taller than her at this point. It seemed to do the trick. Luther let himself be held from behind, something she knew never happened to them as kids. They were all so touch deprived and it pains her remembering how much Luther would avoid any touch at all a few months back.

Vanya rested her head on his shoulder and he found himself leaning into the touch, finding comfort in her firm embrace. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this.

“Your body has been through a lot, Lu. You can’t go up and lash out like that, okay? At least not right now, not until we get more answers.” Allison sad next to the pair on the bed, running a hand through Luther’s soft, golden hair. He nodded, feeling his eyes begin to sting yet again with tears. He closed them shut as the tears silently fell down his face.

“This is a lot to process, Luther. You’re doing a really good job so far. We just want to protect you. You know that, right?” Five spoke up softly. It hurt him seeing his brother so panicked, so afraid. Five remembers Diego and Luther saying something similar to him when he was in need.

“I’m sorry,” Luther choked out. “I-I didn’t mean to.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Diego and Ben. Ben looked fairly untouched. His hair was a bit disheveled at worst. Diego, however, was another story. He had a split lip and red marks along his neck and whatever skin was visible. He didn’t look angry or upset though. His brows were furrowed in concern.

The brown eyed man shook his head, “I know that, Lu. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. I’m okay, bro.” He knew Luther must be thinking there is going to be some sort of punishment. There always was when Luther and Diego would brawl as kids. Well, when they weren’t asked to brawl anyway. But that wasn’t the case anymore.

“Luther,” Klaus finally spoke up after a few moments of silence, “What did you mean by the tree?” He remembers Luther mentioning Reginald’s ‘favorite place’ at his funeral, but he never thought to ask him anything more about it.

Luther tensed, his gaze falling to his lap. He clenched his hands tightly, adamant on not crying anymore. Crying was weakness and Luther absolutely had no room for weakness. He had hit that quota enough today for a lifetime. And he can’t talk about the tree. Dad said so.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Luther mumbled.

Vanya’s stomach dropped. Whatever this is, whatever Luther isn’t saying, is something they don’t know about and there’s a reason for that. They all had experiences with their father they didn’t want to share. But eventually they all did. Or so she thought.

“Dad isn’t…he can’t hurt you anymore. I promise.” Vanya reassured from behind.

Luther’s grip tightened and he felt the moon shape imprints go deeper into his palms, finding the pain grounding. He deserved pain when he acted out of line.

Allison swiftly uncurled one of his fists and wrapped her hand in his. She knew that old habit of his from when they were children. She’s watched Luther dig at his palms until they were bleeding during post mission briefing sessions on more than one occasion. And she isn’t about to let her brother do that to himself again.

“This is a safe space, bro.” Klaus pressed gently, giving him an encouraging nod.

Luther sighed, glancing up and at the faces around the room. They were all watching him with a look concern. But there was more to it. He saw it in the way Klaus’ lips curled up ever so slightly, he saw it in Five’s dimple and Diego’s eyes. They weren’t going to judge him or punish him.

“Whenever I did something wrong, Dad would, he just liked that tree. And when I-I messed up he would take me there.” Luther focused on the arms around his waist and the hand in his, “At first it was a time out thing. He would exclude me from activities, which he knows I don’t like. I wanna be involved.”

“That wasn’t enough anymore I guess. I kept messing up. So he would make me fast for days on end after missions. Or Dad wanted me to throw things until my shoulders dislocated. But that wasn’t enough anymore either,” He continued, “I deserved more than that. He started to make me…help him. A-and if I did it well enough, he insisted on ‘helping me too’.” Luther’s voice was barely above a whisper once he finished. The rest of the room was silent, Luther’s IV drip being the only thing audible in the room. No one, absolutely no one, was expecting that.

Reginald was an asshole, yes. They all knew that. It was common knowledge just like how water is wet. But Reginald being a pedophile? Not only was he emotionally manipulative, but also sexually? To his own goddamn child? That was a whole other level that they were not prepared to hear. There was no way to be prepared to hear something like that.

“Luther, you did not deserve a single second of that, do you understand me?” Diego demanded, tone soft but assertive. He had to learn about sex trafficking and sexual abuse victims during the Police Academy. And he remembers how that was the most heartbreaking lesson of them all.

He learned how, especially young boys, will dismiss and refuse to acknowledge their abuse. Even more so if it was from their guardian. “You are not a bad child. You do not deserve to be treated like that. We love you, okay? Did…did Dad make you keep it a secret?”

Luther gave a short, “He said if I told anyone h-he’d kill one of you and say I did it. He said I’d go to jail for murder. But I always did it! I couldn’t let you guys get hurt…Dad loves me. He punishes me because he wants me to learn.” He said as if it didn’t need explaining, looking around the room at his siblings. He wasn’t expecting to find every single one of their eyes to be filled with tears themselves.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I-I’m sorry if I did something to-”

“Goddammit Luther, you didn’t do anything wrong! You didn’t. You’re a good boy, okay? Such a good boy, fuck.” Vanya squeezed her brother tighter, dropping her head in the crook of his neck.

Luther froze for a moment at the outburst before feeling something within him burst open. He was…allowed to be upset. He was allowed to be angry, to be sad, to be ‘weak’. A watery sob escaped his lips and within a second he turned around to wrap his arms around Vanya. They were properly holding one another now and Vanya let her brother grab her sweater in tight fists and cry. And he did so; ugly, heart wrenching sobs came from the small boy as he was being cradled in the small woman’s arms. His shoulders shook violently with each one. The rest of the siblings watched as this intimate moment unfolded before them. They all felt their souls leave their body, their hearts crushed.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Luther was no longer shaking and his eyes were dry. No one said a word. Were there words to even say? Allison wrapped her arms around her two siblings and Klaus got up to do the same. Then Diego, Ben, and Five. All six siblings wrapped their arms around Luther. Diego kissed the top of his head and Luther simply let himself be held for a few moments before breaking up.

Luther isn’t sure what happened in the 15 years or so he’s missed nor is he even completely aware of the situation he’s in. But one thing he can say for certain is he’s grateful for his siblings. Whatever they all went through in those years he wasn’t there for, it must have been painful. It must’ve fucking hurt. Because the love he’s feeling? The pure, genuine warmth and care? He couldn’t even begin to fathom anything like it - not in his timeline anyway. And he’s so glad he’s been given the opportunity to feel even a fraction of it.

#child abuse cw #luther hargreeves #luther defense squad #luther positivity #the umbrella academy #tua #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy fic #diego hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 4 years

Text

Chapter Thirty-Two:

The One Where ‘Count Olaf’ Has Been Captured

Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire stared at the scrap of paper, and then at Hector, and then at the scrap of paper again. Then they stared at Hector again, and then at the scrap of paper once more and then at Hector once more and then at the scrap of paper once again, and then at Hector once again and then at the scrap of paper one more time. Their mouths were open as if they were about to speak, but the two children could not find the words they wanted to say.

The expression ‘a bolt from the blue’ describes something so surprising that it makes your head spin, your legs wobble, and your body buzz with astonishment, as if a bolt of lightning suddenly came down from a clear blue sky and struck you at full force. Unless you are a lightbulb, an electrical appliance, or a tree that is tired of standing upright, encountering a bolt from the blue is not a pleasant experience, and for a few minutes, both Violet and Klaus stood on the steps of Hector’s house and felt the unpleasant sensations of spinning heads, wobbly legs, and buzzing bodies.

“My goodness, children,” Hector said. “I’ve never seen anyone look so surprised. Here, come in the house and sit down. You look like a bolt of lightning just hit you at full force.”

Violet and Klaus glanced at one another and then to Hector and then back at the couplet in Violet’s hand. “That’s because it has,” Klaus muttered.

The two children followed Hector into the house and down a small hallway to the parlor, their legs super wobbly, they held on to each other to keep from falling. They sat down on Hector’s couch without saying a word. “I’m going to fix you some hot tea before I start dinner,” Hector said smiling at both children. “Maybe by the time it’s ready, you’ll be able to talk.” He patted Klaus on the back as he walked towards the kitchen.

Without speaking, Violet unrolled the paper so the siblings could read the couplet again.

For our inheritance we are held in here,

Only you can end our fear.

“It’s her,” Violet said, speaking quietly so Hector wouldn’t hear her. “I’m sure of it. Isadora Quagmire wrote this poem.”

“I think so, too,” Klaus replied. “I’m positive it’s her handwriting. It’s surely her distinct literary style.”

“The poem talks about inheritance,” Violet explained. “Sunny will inherit the Baudelaire fortune and the triplets’ will inherit the Quagmire sapphires.”

“Olaf kidnapped them to get ahold of those sapphires and fortune,” he replied. “That has to be what the first line means,”

Violet put her finger to her lips indicating to Klaus to be quiet. She slowly glanced towards the kitchen to make sure Hector wasn’t paying attention. She pulled Klaus closer to her so it was easier to communicate with just her brother. “I don’t know how Hector got ahold of this,” she stated. “Let’s ask him.”

“Not so fast,” Klaus whispered back. “Maybe Hector’s involved with the kidnapping in some way...like Esme,”

Violet frowned. “I thought of that but do you really think so?” she asked. “It’s not healthy to live life unable to trust anyone. ”

“Your father lived on the run shouldn’t you be used to not trusting anyone?” Klaus asked incredulously.

Violet frowned. “That’s why I can’t keep living like this!” she whispered harshly. “He could be like Jerome…”

“Violet...what happened the last time we trusted someone?” He explained. “Esme pushed us down an elevator and Jerome left us like we were nothing,”

Violet sighed but nodded her head. “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” she asked.

He shrugged. “The list of people that I trust is vastly smaller than the ones that I don’t. I trust Sunny...and the Quagmires,” he said. “I also trust you. If that means anything,”

Violet gave a small smile. “Thank you,” she said. She glanced towards the kitchen again. “He seems like someone we can trust, though. He was excited to show us the migration of the crows, and he wanted to hear all about everything that has happened to us. That doesn’t sound like a heartless kidnapper, but I suppose there’s no way of knowing for sure,”

“Exactly. There’s no way of knowing for sure.” Klaus explained as Hector walked back into the room.

“The tea’s all ready,” Hector said placing a cup of tea in front of both orphans. “If you're up to it, why don’t you join me in the kitchen while I make the enchiladas.”

The two orphans looked at one another and slowly nodded. They picked up their teacups and carefully walked to a round wooden table, both opting to sit quietly as Hector prepared them a nice hot dinner. Both siblings were heavily weighing the pros and cons of entirely trusting Hector as they sat. Klaus was using his experiences with previous, ineffectual and sometimes very malice guardians to fog his judgment while Violet was trying to come up with some reason to use to convince Klaus that maybe Hector could be trusted. If not entirely, partially. She knew that her brother blamed her for trusting Esme and being pushed down the elevator shaft. He admitted that when they were stuck in the net but what Klaus didn’t understand about Violet is that she can’t keep living like this. She lived her entire life on the run with her father and most days she wouldn’t change that for the world. But some days, she would. She sees how sheltered and protected Klaus was growing up and it shows. His misfortunes with previous guardians before Violet came into the picture has been weighing a heavy tow on him. He was beginning to close up like a clam, only letting a select few in. Violet knew that might be the safest way and perhaps the smartest way to live. But it wasn’t the best way to live. If you can’t trust anyone...who is there to help you if you won’t let anyone. She wanted to trust Hector, hell she wanted to trust Esme although that ship has entirely sailed and Violet has now added Esme’s name to a list of people she needs to fuck up for their actions against her siblings and friends.

It is true, of course, that there is no way of knowing for sure whether or not you can trust someone, for the simple reason that circumstances change all of the time. I know the story of a man who fell in love with a wonderful woman who was so charming and intelligent that he trusted that she would be his bride, but there was no way of knowing for sure, and all too soon circumstances changed and she ended up marrying someone else, all because of something she had read in The Daily Punctilio. And no one had to tell the orphans that there was no way of knowing for sure because before they became orphans, Klaus and Violet lived for many years in the care of his parents or her father and trusted that their respective parents were going to keep on caring for them, but circumstances changed, and now the Baudelaire parents and Lemony Snicket are dead and the two children are living with a handyman in a town full of rows. While the younger Baudelaire orphan, Sunny, was currently in Olaf’s clutches alongside Duncan and Isadora Quagmire. But even though there is no way of knowing for sure, there are often ways to know for pretty sure, and as the two siblings watched Hector work in the kitchen they spotted some of those ways.

Violet noticed the tune he hummed as he chopped the ingredients, it was similar to the one that her own father had hummed when he cooked dinner. It was a comforting one. Violet didn’t know if he had learned it from the real VFD because he seemed so sure that his village was the only VFD, but either way, she couldn’t imagine that a person who hummed the same tune her father had could be a kidnapper.

Klaus noticed when he saw that the orphans’ tea was still too hot to sip, he walked over to the kitchen and blew on each of their mugs to cool it, something his own father used to do for him when the two would share a nice cup of tea as they read to each other. Klaus sighed when he realized that a person who was cooling two children’s tea could be hiding two triplets and his baby sister at the same time.

But most comforting of all, Hector didn’t pester them with a lot of questions about why they were so quiet and surprised. He simply kept quiet and let the two children wait until they were ready to speak about the scrap of paper he had given them, and the children could not imagine that such a considerate person was involved with Count Olaf in any way. By the time that he had finished the enchiladas, the two siblings were comparing him more to Jerome Squalor than Esme. Jerome may have been ineffectual and eventually, he had abandoned them but Jerome wasn’t working alongside Olaf. So the two siblings shared a small glance and a slight nod when Hector’s back was turning. Indicating to each other that maybe he was trustworthy enough to be an ineffectual guardian. There was no way of knowing for sure, of course, but as the children were served their dinner, both agreed on that much.

Violet sighed. “This poem was written by Isadora Quagmire,” she said without preamble as Hector sat down next to the children.

“Wow,” he said. “No wonder you were so surprised. But how can you be sure? Lots of poets write couplets. Ogden Nash, for instance,”

“Ogden Nash doesn’t write about inheritance,” Klaus said who had received a biography of Ogden Nash for his seventh birthday. “Isadora does. When the Quagmire parents died, they left behind a fortune in sapphires and when my parents died...they left a fortune for Sunny and me to inherit.”

“Besides,” Violet said twirling the scroll of paper between her fingers. “It’s Isadora’s handwriting and distinct literary style.”

“Well,” Hector said. “If you say this poem is by Isadora Quagmire, I believe you,”

“Maybe we should call Mr. Poe, and tell him,” Klaus suggested.

“WE can’t call him,” Hector explained. “Remember, no mechanical devices and telephones are mechanical devices. The Council of Elders could send a message to him. I’m too skittish to ask them, but you can do so if you wish.”

“Well, before we talk to the Council, we should know a bit more about the couplet,” Violet said. “Where did you get ahold of this paper?” she asked.

“I found it today,” Hector said. “Beneath the branches of Nevermore Tree. I woke p this morning, and I was just leaving to walk down to do the morning chores when I noticed something white among all the black feathers the crows had left behind. It was this scrap of paper, all rolled up in a little scroll. I didn’t understand what was written on it, and I needed to get the chores done, so I put it in the pocket of my overalls, and I didn’t think of it again until you were talking about couplets. It’s certainly very mysterious. How in the world did one of Isadora’s poems end up in my backyard?”

“Well, poems don’t get up and walk by themselves,” Violet said. “Isadora must have put it here. She must be someplace nearby.”

Hector shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. “You saw for yourself how flat it is around here. YOu can see everything for miles around, and the only things here on the outskirts of town are the house, the barn, and the Nevermore Tree. You’re welcome to search my house, but you’re not going to find Isadora or anyone else, I always keep the barn locked because I don’t want the Council to find out I’m breaking the rules.”

“Maybe she’s in the tree?” Klaus suggested desperately. “It’s certainly big enough that Olaf could hide her in the branches,”

“That’s true,” Violet pointed out. “Last time Olaf was keeping them far below us. Maybe this time they’re far above us.” She shuddered, thinking of how unpleasant it would be to find yourself trapped in Nevermore Tree’s enormous branches, and she pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. “There’s only one thing to do,” she said. “We’ll have to go up and look for them.”

Klaus responded with a miserable face, he sighed. “You’re right,” he said standing up. Even though he hated climbing, he would do anything for Sunny and the Quagmires.

“Hold on a minute,” Hector said. “We can’t just go climbing up Nevermore Tree,”

“Why not?” Violet asked. “I’ve climbed up a fire escape into a burning building. And Klaus and I climbed down an elevator shaft. Climbing a tree will be no problem,”

“I’m sure you two are fine climbers,” Hector said. “But that’s not what I mean.” He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window. “Look outside,” he said. “The sun has completely set. It’s not light enough to see a friend of yours in Nevermore Tree. Besides, the tree is covered in roosting birds. YOu’ll never be able to climb through all those crows,”

Violet and Klaus looked out the window and saw that Hector was entirely right. The tree was merely an enormous shadow, blurry around the edges where the birds were roosting. Klaus looked to his sister, hoping that she could invent a solution, and was relieved to hear she had thought of something before she could even tie her hair back in her ribbon. “We could climb with flashlights,” Violet said. “If you have some tinfoil, an old broom handle, and three rubber bands, I can make a flashlight myself in ten minutes,”

“Flashlights would only disturb the crows,” he said. “If someone woke you up in the middle of the night and shone a light in your face, you would be very annoyed and you do not want to be surrounded by thousands of annoyed crows. It’s better to wait until morning when the crows have migrated uptown.”

“But we can’t wait until morning!” Klaus cried. “We can’t wait for another second, the last time we found them, we left them alone and then they were gone again!”

“Klaus is right,” Violet cried. “Olaf could move them at any time!”

“Well, he can’t move them now,” Hector explained. “If they’re in the tree, it would be just as difficult for him to climb the tree,”

“We have to do something,” Violet argued. “This poem isn’t just a couplet,” she explained. “It’s a cry for help. She even wrote ‘only you can end our fear’. Our friends and baby sister are frightened, and it is up to us to rescue them.”

Hector frowned. “I’ll tell you what. You guys can use the room that looks out at the Nevermore Tree. The area is so flat that even at night you can see for quite a distance, and if Olaf or anyone else approaches, you’ll see them coming.” he sighed. “Normally, I don’t approve of children staying up all night unless they’re reading a very good book, seeing a wonderful movie, or attending a dinner party with fascinating guests. But this time I suppose we can make an exception. I’ll probably fall asleep, but you two can keep watch all night if you wish. Just please don’t try to climb the tree in the dark. I understand how frustrated you both must be...and I know that the only thing we can do is wait until morning.”

Violet and Klaus looked at one another and sighed. They were so anxious about the Quagmires and Sunny that they wanted to run right out and climb Nevermore Tree, but they knew in their hearts that Hector was right.

“I guess you’re right,” Violet said finally.

The two siblings spent their night taking turns sleeping for two hours. The other kept their eyes peeled out the window at Nevermore Tree. During Violet’s turns of being awake, she had to keep reminding herself to refocus on Nevermore Tree because she kept getting distracted by her brother’s flailing limbs and his desperate pleas in his sleep. She contemplated waking him up but she knew he needed sleep even if it wasn’t peaceful. He continuously muttered that he was sorry and that everything was his fault. Violet even took some time to sing the song she had sung to him at Mr. Poe’s. It seemed to be working, but only temporarily. Once the song ended, it didn’t take long for Klaus to start talking in his sleep again. She sighed. This wasn’t fair. He’s just a kid. He’s a fucking child. She told herself. She was a child, too. She knew it deep down but at this point in her life, that didn’t matter. She had to be the adult of the group. Even if she didn’t know how. And there were a lot of aspects of being an adult that she didn’t understand. She shuffled through her backpack quietly. Pulling out some of her ribbons and her father’s wallet. She tied a couple of the ribbons to her wrists considering which ones she’d give to Isadora once they found her and ones she’d give to Sunny once her hair was too long and had outgrown the yellow ribbon that was still attached tho their brother’s wrist. She glanced at her father’s wallet, opening it up and looking through it finally. She had only known that there was money within but as she emptied the pockets of his wallet, she found several pictures of herself. Aging from when she was a baby to her fourteenth birthday. She smiled. He had his own personal photo album in his pocket. A few pictures had his face showing, she felt tears in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She glanced towards Nevermore Tree. Still nothing just a bunch of crows. She shuffled the photos until she found one she had never seen before. It was a picture of her birth mother with a round belly. Most likely pregnant with her. She stood in between two men. One of which was her father, who was smiling. He was smiling. He had a hand on her mother’s stomach. Violet smiled back at the photo unsure of whether or not he was smiling because he was with the woman he loved or because of who was in that woman’s womb. She glanced at the man to the other side of her mother, who also had his hand on her stomach. The man wore glasses, similar to the ones her brother wore. He had brown hair and a goofy smile. She didn’t know any better but she could see some of Sunny’s features in this man’s face. Could this be….Klaus and Sunny’s father? She asked herself. Curiously, she flipped the photo over to see if her father had written anything on the back as he did for all of the photos of her. Right there in her father’s handwriting, it read: Bertrand Markson & Beatrice Baudelaire. The two loves of my life. She smiled at this. It was their father. Violet glanced towards Klaus, who was kicking his feet in his sleep. She held the small photo tightly. She knew that the three siblings didn’t have much to remember their parents by and that poor little Sunny might lose all her memories of them. She vowed to keep this photo safe for the three of them to share. This photo validated her being in their lives. She glanced at her sibling’s father. The smile he wore. How had placed his hand on her mother’s pregnant belly as if to say this child is my child, too. She felt tears in her eyes. She would’ve been loved. She would’ve been treated as if she were his own if fate didn’t turn the way it did. She wiped her teary eyes. She didn’t regret being raised by her father but it was nice to know...it was nice to have the proof that her siblings’ father would have treated her as his own and not some burden on his life. She shuffled through a few more pictures. There were several. There was one of just her siblings’ parents and there was one of her father with her mother and her father with their father. But one picture stopped her in her tracks. It was a group photo. She could see her father, birth mother, and siblings’ father standing together real close. She could also see a jolly, happy-looking man with a snake around his neck. The snake was leaning towards a fierce and formidable-looking woman and her husband, who was causally feeding the snake an apple. Behind them was a couple who had helped her find the bank back in the city. She realized immediately that this was the Quagmires’ parents. But the people standing next to them is what made her stop in her tracks. Not only did she see a younger, kinder looking Esme who had her arm wrapped around the shoulders of the strange man she had seen at the Auction Hall. The one who stared at her and looked visibly pissed when Olaf was anywhere near her. In this photo, she could tell he did resemble her father. They had to be related. Why was her relative allowing Esme Squalor to wrap her arm around his shoulder as if they were the best of friends? Her eyes widened when she glanced to the far left of the photo. Standing next to Esme. There was a woman, who kept her hair in a tight bun, with two pencils within it. Violet noticed that she resembled the man from Auction Hall as if they were twins. But that wasn’t what had Violet’s eyes widening. It was the man who had his arms wrapped entirely around that woman. The man had one eyebrow and even in the photograph, Violet could tell his eyes were very shiny. His smile was different, there was no malice behind it. No unbridled hatred. Olaf seemed happy in this photo. She flipped the photo over hoping to be proven wrong. There was no way Esme Squalor and Count Olaf were actually friendly to her parents. But as she glanced at her father’s handwriting, she could see that she was correct. From left to right (top row): Olaf (Drama Queen), Kit Snicket (Bad Driver), Esme Squalor (Diva), Jacques Snicket (Cow), Quentin Quagmire (Batman), Penny Quagmire (Robin). (Bottom row): Ike & Josephine Anwhistle (Fierce & Formidable), Montgomery Montgomery (Snake man), Bertrand Markson (Goof-ball), Beatrice Baudelaire (My Darling), Lemony Snicket (Snicket Lad). Violet glanced down at the bottom of the backside of the photograph where her father had written The good ol' days before everything went to shit. She frowned at that but She couldn't help but laugh at some of the names and descriptions that her father wrote. She didn’t fully understand all of the inside jokes but she did understand the ones for the Snickets. She flipped the photo over again and looked at the picture of her Uncle Jacques and Aunt Kit. She didn’t understand why her Aunt allowed Olaf to hold her so lovingly. She shuddered at the mere thought of any of her family being in a relationship with that fucker. She glanced at the photo of her uncle. It was definitely the same man who was trying to help her at the Auction. Was he trying to rescue her sister and her friends? Would he adopt her? Would he adopt her siblings and maybe her friends if she asked? Then her heart shattered when she noticed everyone in the photo had spyglasses similar to the one she held in her pocket. Would he indict her into VFD against her parents’ wishes? Was the only question that remained on her mind. She glanced at the rising sun and decided to let Klaus sleep for a bit longer. She stuffed all the photos back into the wallet. If she gets the chance to meet her uncle, she’d question him about that specific photo. She didn’t want to give Klaus any sense of false hope so she decided to keep this to herself. She watched the tree in silence as the sun slowly rose.

____________________________________________________

Klaus met up with Violet who was outside waiting for Hector to bring her breakfast.

“You didn’t wake me,” Klaus said rubbing his eyes.

“You looked like you needed sleep,”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Violet asked confused. “I’m fine. I slept enough.”

He sighed. “Where’s Hector?”

“Finishing up breakfast,” she explained.

“It’s been a long time since anyone made us breakfast,” Klaus said smiling.

“Hector was right, though,” Violet said. “Huevos rancheros taste delicious even in desperate circumstances.”

“They don't make anything less desperate,” Klaus argued. “We have no idea where to find the Quagmires or Sunny.”

“It was hard enough to search that bitch’s fucking penthouse,” Violet said. “No, we have an entire village to search,”

As a few of the crows began to fly, the two siblings felt the morning breeze around them.

“We have to keep trying,” Klaus replied. “It’s not as though another clue is going to fall into our laps,”

Just as Klaus said this, a few black feathers and one white scroll breezed to them, effectively landing in Violet’s lap.

“What’s that?” Klaus asked.

“Poetry,” Violet answered, her eyes widening. “It’s another couplet.”

“Isadora?” Klaus asked.

“ Until dawn comes we cannot speak, No words can come from this sad beak.” Violet recited out loud.

Hector walked out with two plates of huevos rancheros. “You look shocked. What did I miss?”

“Another message from Isadora,” Klaus explained.

Violet stood up. “There might be more than crows in Nevermore Tree!” she yelled. “Come on, Klaus,”

With that, Violet and Klaus raced down Hector’s porch running towards the tree just as the rest of the crows began to take flight.

“Isadora!” Violet cried as she ran.

“Duncan!” Klaus cried as he ran.

“Sunny!” they both cried simultaneously as they reached the tree.

There are many expressions to describe someone who is going about something in the wrong way. “Making a mistake,’ is one way. ‘Screwing up’ is another, although it is a bit rude. ‘Attempting to rescue the Quagmires and Sunny Baudelaire by scaling the outside of a fashionable building or keeping a villain trapped at a restaurant”’ is a third way, although it is a bit too specific. But there is one expression that describes the children’s situation perfectly, and as soon as the murder of crows had all embarked on their morning migration. The two siblings could see that they were barking up the wrong tree.

“There’s nothing up there,” Violet cried.

“Nothing...and nobody,” Klaus added.

“I told you, children…” Hector said mournfully. “The Nevermore Tree is just a place where the crows migrate during the evening. What were you expecting?”

Klaus sighed. “I wasn’t expecting anything ...just hoping,”

Violet glanced towards the sky. “My head is spinning again and my legs are all wobbly and my body is buzzing just like yesterday. How in the world did Isadora get another poem here? We made sure that one of us was watching the tree at every moment.”

“Maybe it was here yesterday? but Hector didn’t see it?” Klaus suggested.

Violet shook her head. “A white scrap of paper is very easy to see next to all these black feathers. It must have arrived here sometime in the night. But how?”

“How it got here is the least of our questions,” Klaus said. “ Where are the Quagmires and Sunny? That’s the question I want answered.”

“But why doesn’t Isa just tell us?” Violet asked, rereading the couplet and frowning. “Instead of leaving us mysterious poems on the ground where anyone could find them?”

“That might be why,” Klaus pointed out. “Anyone could find them here on the ground. If Isadora simply wrote out where they were, Olaf could find the scrap of paper and he could move them...or worse,” both siblings shuddered as they imagined to vastly different scenarios in their heads. “I’m not that experienced with reading poetry, that was more of my father’s forte. But I bet Isadora is trying to tell us where she, Duncan, and Sunny are. It must be hidden somewhere in her poems,”

“It’ll be difficult to find,” Violet explained, rereading the poems. “There are so many confusing things about this poem. Why does she say ‘beak’? Isadora has a nose and mouth, not a beak.”

Klaus looked up at the sky. “Carrier pigeons,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Carrier pigeons are birds that carry messages, based on their regular migration patterns. They weren’t up in Nevermore Tree, but their messages were. Maybe they were sent by carrier crow. “ He explained. “That’s what she meant by ‘no words can come from this sad beak,”

“You might be right,’ Violet argued. “But why does she say that no words can come from it? Of course, no words can come from a beak. Birds can’t talk.”

“Actually,” Klaus began smiling. He loved it when he was able to infodump about one of the thousands of books he has read in his short time of being alive. “I read an ornithological encyclopedia when I was ten that discussed that parrots and myna birds can imitate human speech.”

“But there aren’t any parrots or myna birds around here. Just crows and crows certainly can’t speak.”

“They might not be able to talk...but maybe they can tell us where they’re hidden,” Klaus explained. “But speaking of speaking...what do you think she means when she said ‘until dawn comes we cannot speak’?”

“Well...this poem did arrive in the morning,” Violet explained. “Maybe Isadora means that she can only send us poems in the morning?”

“You might be right,” Klaus agreed. “Hector said that every morning, the murder of crows flies into VFD to roost. We can find them,”

“We just need an excuse to search the town,” Violet said.

Hector walked out of the house with buckets and other cleaning supplies. “Are you ready to do chores for the entire town?” he asked. Violet and Klaus smiled and followed Hector. During their walk to the town, Violet read Hector the newest poem.

He sighed. “This is really turning into a puzzle,”

“A puzzle is just something you do for amusement,” Klaus countered. “Duncan, Isadora, and Sunny are in grave danger. If we don’t figure out what these poems are trying to tell us, Count Olaf will…”

“Don’t even say it,” Violet said with a shiver. “We absolutely must solve this puzzle and that is that.”

The rest of the walk to the village was in silence. Both siblings trying their best to figure out the cryptic clue that was hidden in their friend’s poems. Once they reached the village, Hector became skittish as he noticed the Council waiting. “Ummm, I assume the Council of Elders is waiting for you,” he muttered to the two orphans. “I...uh...I’m going to trim the hedges and think about my mother,” he said walking away quickly. “I’ll see you later,”

“Okay,” Violet replied confused as the Elders walked up to the two children.

“There you are children,” one Elder said. “Someone has been making messes all over town. They TP’d our gas station, egged our church, and scared our poor donkey. Now he’s in need of a bath.”

“We have no idea who made these messes, although an eyewitness saw two white-faced women, a bald man, a man with hooks for hands, and a person of indeterminate gender near the scene.” a second Elder said.

“But we know who’s going to clean them,” the first Elder said.

“You are!” the third Elder yelled.

Violet and Klaus looked at one another as the Elders walked away from them. “If we search for them while we clean,” Klaus began.

“Then doing chores is useful,” Violet finished.

The two children followed Hector to Mrs. Morrow’s who was impatiently waiting in her pink robe on her front porch for them. Without a word, she handed Violet a pair of hedge clippers and handed Klaus a large plastic bag to gather up the leaves and branches that Violet and Hector would snip off. The two siblings did not comment on how rude Mrs. Morrow had been, they worked together to trim the woman’s hedges as they floated several theories, about the two couplets by Isadora Quagmire, until the hedge looked nice and neat and it was time to walk down the block to where Mr. Lesko lived. The two siblings recognized this man as the man who absolutely didn’t want them to live with him. He was ever ruder than Mrs. Morrow had been. He merely pointed at a pile of window-cleaning supplies and stomped back into his house. But once again, the siblings were concentrating on solving the mystery of the two messages they had been left. Violet and Klaus each began scrubbing dirt off a window with a damp rag while Hector climbed up to clean the windows on the second floor, but all the children could think of was each confusing line of Isadora’s poems. Until they were finished with the windows. The children thought about the couplets while they polished the Verhoogen doorknobs, and they thought about them when they swept the feathers from the street into a dustpan but they could not imagine how Isadora was able to get her poems directly to them. They thought about the couplets as they cleaned the gas station and the church. They carried the garbage and recyclables from all of VFD’s downtown residents and they thought about the poems as they ate a lunch of cabbage sandwiches that one of the VFD’s restaurants owners had agreed to provide as his part in the village’s attempt to raise these two children. They thought about the couplets as Hector read out the list of afternoon chores which included such tedious chores as making citizens’ beds, washing townspeople’s dishes, preparing hot fudge sundaes for the Council of Elders to enjoy as an afternoon snack, and polishing Fowl Fountain, but no matter how hard they thought the two children got no closer to solving the mysteries surrounding the couplets.

“I’m very impressed with how hard you two children are working,” Hector said as he and the children were busy scrubbing the fountain’s metal body. Hector was on a ladder scrubbing at the crow's metal head, which was facing straight up and spitting a steady stream of water out of a hole fashioned to look like its mouth as if the enormous bird were gargling and spitting up water. Both children found it odd that just the other day, the fountain had no water at all. But they were too concerned with the couplets to question it out loud to each other. “When the Council of Elders told me that the village was serving as your guardian,” Hector continued. I was afraid two small children wouldn’t be able to do all these chores without complaining.”

Klaus frowned. “I’m used to strenuous exercise,” he admitted. “When Sunny and I lived in Paltryville, we debarked trees and sawed them into boards,”

“And at Prufrock, we had to runs hundreds of laps each night,” Violet added.

“Besides we’re so busy thinking about the couplets that we’ve scarcely noticed our work,” Klaus explained.

Hector got super quiet as the Elders approached them. Violet and Klaus worried that he’d pass out and fall right off his ladder but he seemed to be doing fine. “Fowl Fountain still doesn’t look completely clean,” an Elder barked.

“Well, we’re not completely finished cleaning it,” Violet explained as politely as she could. “I do hope you enjoyed the hot fudge sundaes that we prepared for you earlier,”

“They were okay,” one Elder replied.

“Mine had too many nuts,” one Elder explained.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Klaus replied sarcastically, not adding that anyone who is that picky about a hot fudge sundae should make it their damn selves.

“I guess Hector can finish cleaning the fountain. You two need to go to the Firehouse Saloon. It’s been closed for years because of rule number 18, which prohibits the pouring and serving of sarsaparillas.”

“No one ever goes inside,” another Elder explained. “So it could use a good dusting,”

The two siblings looked at one another both thinking the same thing. Could Olaf have hidden them in there?

“We’ll get right to it,” Violet said smiling. As she and Klaus ran to the Firehouse Saloon.

“Duncan!” Klaus called out.

“Isadora!” Violet called out

“Sunny!” they called out as they pushed through the front door. They glanced around, both felt their hearts beating in their chests as their eyes locked on the red herring statue that Olaf had used to transport their friends and baby sister from the Auction.

“The red herring,” Klaus muttered as both siblings dropped their cleaning supplies. “ Duncan!”

“Isadora!” Violet cried as the siblings reached the red herring.

“ Sunny!” they cried as Violet glanced around to make sure Olaf wasn’t in the saloon as Klaus tried to find the opening to the statue.

“They’re not answering,” Klaus cried.

Violet gripped the fin of the fish. “Grab the fin and pull,” she ordered. Both siblings grunted as they pulled the fish statue apart. They glanced in the fish, frowns forming on their faces. “No,” Violet cried.

“It’s empty,” Klaus said looking the statue over. It was so small, he couldn’t imagine two teenagers and a toddler fitting within it but he knew Olaf didn’t care about them at all and would force all three of them in there to suffer. His blood was boiling over as he thought about it.

“Klaus,” Violet said after a minute. “There’s something scratched here,”

Klaus looked to where Violet pointed. “‘DQ plus KB’” he read aloud. He smiled and then blushed when he realized that Violet was smirking at him. “I...I guess Duncan must have been in here,”

Violet still wearing the smirk on her face. “What was your first clue?”

“Oh, shut up,” Klaus said staring at the cute note that was scratched into the red herring. “You and Isadora kissed,”

“So?” Violet asked. “‘DQ plus KB’” she read mockingly ruffling Klaus’ hair. “Y’all two are so awkward and cute,”

“Shut up,” Klaus growled removing Violet’s hand from his hair. “Where are they?” he asked looking around the saloon. Desperately trying to change the subject. “Why haven’t we seen any sign of Olaf?”

“I don’t know, we’ve seen Esme and his troupe,” Violet pointed out.

Before Klaus could reply, the two children heard noise coming from outside the saloon. “What the?” Violet asked. The two children rushed quickly to the front door of the saloon nearly bumping into the Elders.

“What’s going on?” Violet asked as she watched townspeople flocking to the town hall.

The elder glanced at Violet. “Very good news for you, children,” they answered.

Klaus gripped onto his sister’s arm, eagerly awaiting to hear what the Council was going to say.

Once again I find it necessary to use the expression, ‘bolt from the blue.” You would think, after the mysterious appearance of not one but two poems by Isadora Quagmire at the base of the Nevermore Tree, that no more bolts from the blue would appear in the village of VFD. A bolt of lightning, after all, rarely comes down from a clear blue sky and strikes the exact same place more than once. But for Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire, life seemed to be little else than bolt after unfortunate bolt from the blue, ever since the fires that had claimed the lives of their parents. And no matter how many bolts from the blue they experienced, their heads never spun any less, and their legs never got less wobbly, and their bodies never buzzed any less with astonishment when another bolt arrived from the blue. So when Violet and Klaus heard what the Elder’s said next, they almost had to sit down in the dirty old saloon because what they were told was an utter surprise. It was a message that they thought they might never hear, and it is a message that only reaches me in my most pleasant dreams, which are few and far in between.

“The news is…” The Elder began causing both siblings to hold in their breath. “Count Olaf has been captured.”

Violet and Klaus felt breathless as if a bolt of lightning had struck them once more. The siblings looked at one another giving each other hopeful smiles as they both began to cry tears of absolute joy.

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 4 years

Text

Winner’s Curse Ch. 12

It’s been a full week since they teamed up and nothing had been remotely accomplished. On the bright side, nothing remotely evil or world destroying had happened yet too. So they still had some time. Who knew how much though.

Their mission into the castle last night yielded no new results. It seemed whenever they went to investigate the castle, it was empty. They had spent days scouring the dark, gloomy halls, occasionally bumping into one of Maleficent’s mindless goons but it seeme uninhabited. Uma’s best guess was that the Coven had a secret lair within the castle or they were investigating the wrong wing of the castle. Either way, nothing informative or helpful had come to light to the Coven’s weakness.

Aziz and Lala had found Abis Mal three nights ago and interrogated him for any clues about the Coven but he was of no use. Similarly when they tried to recruit him to join their cause to take down the Coven, the small man said `No” and he’d rather dance on thir graves than help anyone from Auradon. Then after that grand speech, he threw up his spoiled dinner.

That brought them here and now. Strategizing in the office of Captain Hook’s ship since her own boat had been unfortunately dismantled and had parts stolen off it since she left.

“Well we could ask some of the kids around here. After all, no one cares about the kids here or thinks they’re capable of anything. I mean Mal, Evie, Carlos and I were still teenagers when we defeated Maleficent.” Jay puffed up his chest with pride.

Uma thought about Celia. Though she would be more than willing to fight against the Coven, Uma knew she didn’t have the strength to go against them. It wasn’t right to have the younger children help to fight their battles when they were already enduring abuse and neglect from their parents much less their new overlords.

“No” Uma said definately, “The kids may be sneaky but they will just slow us down or become targets. As I’ve been saying, we need the mercenaries on our side.” “And that will take a lot of money. Remember, Uma, Sinclair said we have to pay her just to get her to go into Maleficent’s castle.” Gil said.

“I remember.” Uma snarled at the unneeded interruption. “Great, we can probably bribe them all to help us. I mean we do have phenomenal cosmic power at our fingertips and that means so much gold.” Jay slapped Jordan on the back. Jordan and Aziz both glared at him like they wished to rip his fingers off.

“That boy” Uma internally mused, “He really knows how to irritate anyone. VK or Ak.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Aziz inserted, “We can’t offer gold to everyone here or any more promises that we are not going to keep. It is probably best to stick with Uma’s idea to start a revolution with the people by using their hatred against the hatred.”

“I could convince my dad, I’m sure he would love to overthrow my mom.” Lala added, “And then he can threaten other people to back us up.”

“I’m sure we can convince people to help us without resorting to threats.” Calix interjected.

With that statement, Jay, Uma, Harry and Gil scoffed at his pathetic naivete.

“No can do. Ben may want us to do things peacefully, but our mission is to save the world and if we have to force the villains here to fight the Coven, we force them. Heh, guess they’ll see what it’s like to be forced against their will to do something.” Jordan said with a surprisingly intimidating growl.

The face of the Smee twins popped into her head once more. Along with those of Dizzy, and Celia, and Hadie and so many others. Walking in chains to sure bloodshed. And all because this girl was too blind by prejudice to see that she was punishing children who did nothing wrong.

“That’s not your call! You’re going to force the people to fight your battle. As if Auradon hasn’t done enough, forcing us to live here and eat your scraps.” Uma banged her fist, sending the few papers and trinkets Hook had on the desk to fail to the floor. Jordan seemed to grow taller for she had to bend her head downward to glare at her, nose to nose. Uma squelched the urge to step backward, away from the invasion of personal space, but she would not admit such weakness.

“You’re fighting our battle? Don’t sound like such a matyr. We’re all on the same side. We’re all doing the same damn battle. And you just said it’s ridiculous to get people to help us voluntarily. We have to threaten them or bribe them.” “But you can’t..”

“Only you can threaten them? That’s what you’re saying is it? That’s not your call. I’m not here to act like a friend you never had. I’m here as the leader.” Jordan took another step forward but Uma didn’t back away, she stood her ground. She could sense more than see the others in the room, staring and holding their breath for the next move or in Harry’s case, attack when she needed it. But no one made a move. It felt like it was just the two of them trapped in this power struggle that spiraled too quickly.

She had underestimated this girl. It was clear that she was improvising her plan as she went along and unsure of making decisions. But instead of latching on to her superior expertise as she expected, Jordan was lashing out at her and trying to keep all the control to herself even if it meant threatening them all. “I’m the captain.” Uma retorted, straightening her posture and walking forward into Jordan’s personal space. And victory for her, the genie took a step back. “One with experience. Connections. I actually know the Isle and people here. They will trust me more than you. You’re just some Auradon snob who never had to make a decision in her life and thinks we’re less than you because we come from the Isle. You only see us as copies of our parents.”

“You only see us as copies of our parents. You think we’re fools with idealism and stupidity that are only good to use for our riches and our wishes.” Jordan stopped backing away, standing like a statue with an unnervingly calm voice full of malice as she stated her opinion.

They stood glaring at which point Uma noticed sweat trickling down the back of her neck and that it was starting to feel unnaturally hot in the room that usually was damp and smelling of kelp. Now it smelled like fried kelp.

Jordan clearly saw that Uma had caught on with the change in temperature. She cocked her head with an unruffled poker face, “What? Are you feeling like a boiled shrimp?”

“Bitch!” Harry lunged forward, hook outstretched to spear her throat but Aziz got there first, marking his back with a ferocious gnash on his back. Uma had to give him a tiny amount of respect for not flinching but instead giving Jordan a quick much-needed slap.

“Aziz! Your back! Stop slapping my cheek. You-”

“Aram shu. Haltan khob ast?” Aziz commanded and the two devolved into a rapid conversation in Arabic that she couldn’t understand. Not that it mattered when all the sweltering heat and the tension in the room whooshed out and Uma allowed herself to exhale.

Harry was at her side but before he could ask. Uma nodded. She was fine. They both could see that though she was a little rattled by the turn of events. The Aks weren’t going to be as easily manipulated as she thought but she could work with that. She’ll just have to change her tactics.

Jordan’s voice cut through their silent conversation as she slumped into Captain Hook’s chair, “Fine. We’ll do whatever Uma says for now.”

Uma could do without the amount of petty sarcasm Jordan used when saying her name, but was glad for whatever it was Aziz said that made her see reason.

“Then I suppose I’ll start strategizing. Go eat.” Uma gestured for all of them to go which they followed except the genie girl who was staring numbly at the wall.

Calix ducked back in and urged Jordan off the chair and out the door, “Come on, time to eat.”

“I’m a genie, I don’t need to eat.”

“Well if you want to talk about genies, Desiree...”

“I’m not in the mood for banter.”

Uma looked out of the office door one more time to see Calix drag Jordan to the far side of the ship for privacy. Where she expected Jay to be skulking around like the snake he was, he was actually in the middle of the action wrestling with Gil while the rest of the crew cheered Gil on.

She scoured to make sure that Aziz and Lala weren’t hanging around close enough to eavesdrop, but fortunately Aziz was also distractedly watching the impromptu wrestlin match, looking back at Jordan and nodding as Lala talked in his ear, “When you were interrogating Abis Mal, how were you able to tell that-“

Uma closed the door and turned to her first mate.

Uma wasted no time for pleasentries, “You’ve been a bit more unhinged than usual lately since I’ve returned. What is it?”

She had first noticed the change when they went to Sinclair. Harry’s type of intimdation was unnerving the opposition with his invasions of personal space and gliding his hook on their skin but he didn’t usually lunge or attack unless it was with her. Not for her. He trusted her instincts too much to go on the defensive for her without permission. This was the second time he striked so aggresively without a warning.

“Nothing is-” Harry paused, and looked at the wall, “CJ’s back.”

Uma’s eyes widened. CJ and Harry always had a complicated relationship. Well all the Hook siblings had a contentious relationship with each other. But Harry and CJ moreso because of how close they were in age and how their personalities clashed.

It all traced back to Captain Hook himself as most of the kids’ issues could be traced to their parents’ treatment. Harry always looked up to his father, wanting to be just like him leading to his obsessive devotion to his fake hook. But Hook never gave him time of day, in fact, he treated him less than compared to his sisters. Especially since Harry had joined her crew. By then, Hook had completely disregarded Harry as one of his own because he was content to be her first mate and not seize the captainship for his own.

CJ, on the other hand, was undoubtedly Hook’s favorite. She was the youngest child, ambitious and also wanted to be just like her father. But while Hook cared for her more than Harry, he had no belief in her to become a captain of great esteem like himself so Uma personally thought CJ overcompensates with her flashy bucuneer act.

The two used to be close when they were younger, Harriet acting as their mother and above their sibling rivalry. The two would fight and get under each other’s skin but she knew Harry had a special protective spot whereas CJ was concerned though the blonde often chafted under his watchful eye and often almost got herself killed trying to do things on her own.

But then they grew up and CJ became more capable, running around the Isle with Freddie and following Captain Hook’s lead in dismissing Harry as lesser. It got worse after CJ made it to Auradon and unlike Harry, she had no loyalty to those she left behind. All she did was send condescending messages about the high time she was having sailing the Seven Seas, making it to Neverland to get Captain Hook’s compass, and raiding villages in Auradon.

That was the last straw for Harry. He could stand the taunts and condescension and the little girl pretending she was greater than she was. But the disloyalty earned his ire and CJ became subject non grata.

“Her mom contacted her. It’s Lady Caine.” Harry turned his gaze away from the wall to her again. Then punched the wall.

Lady Caine was CJ’s mom? Well that explained the disloyalty gene. Her mother was Captain Hook’s, and to the extent the rest of the Hook family’s, greatest nemesis on the Isle.

Well exempting a one night fling apparently.

“And she’s what? She’s following her now?” Uma eyed Harry’s bloody knuckles as he picked splinters away from his skin.

“I don’t know. Just.. she wants to get the Jolly Roger for herself. “Her birthright.” Harry shook his head and looked like he was about to punch something again but Uma grabbed his hook before he could do anything else. “She’s not going to get it. If anything, the Jolly Roger belongs to us. We run this town. She can go back to Auradon. We’ll drag her there by her hair when we win over the Coven.”

“I don’t care about that. She won’t get near the Jolly Roger with Da in charge of it.” Harry said. Uma was about to mention that Captain Hook was usually out of comission but knew that Harry was about to get to what was really bothering him.

“I can’t believe her mother is Caine. I can’t believe she has a mother.” Harry sat down in Hook’s chair. “Are you wondering about your mother?” Uma asked

“No I mean yes. I mean. It’s not like I care about my mother. Even if she showed up now, she’s not going to do anything for me I guess. Harriet took care of all that stuff. I just don’t get why Caine is coming back. Or why CJ is teaming up with her. After all she has done to Dad. Trying to take his ships, and steal his crew and say she’s the pirate queen of the Isle.”

“CJ has no loyalty. Even to your dad. It figures she would do whatever suits herself.” Uma said.

“But even after all the stories we know about Caine.” Harry protested.

“She’s her mother.” Uma surprised herself when the statement slipped out but it did. She thought she understood it to an extent. Ursula was no treat to be with.

But Uma still… she hated to admit it. She cared for her. She hated how Ursula lost of her power and glory since being stabbed with a sea mast and how she had no faith in her. The Isle had sucked all the life and ambition out of her. It made her even more cruel and harsh which Uma was thankful for because that’s how she knew life worked. She wasn’t encouraging, she wasn’t loving but Ursula made sure she survived.

She suppose maybe CJ felt a similar tug. Not that Lady Caine did much to make sure CJ lived but she did give her, her survival instincts. They were similar and unlike Captain Hook, Caine was giving her attention.

“I don’t trust Caine. It makes no sense that she’d have an interest in CJ even if they are related.” Harry said and Uma had to smile to herself because Harry’s protective big brother mode was creeping up.

“Well we can definately go check them out from time to time while we fight the Coven. Kill two birds with one mission.” Uma assured him and Harry nodded his assent, his hand sneaking to grip hers.

Uma breathed in and simply enjoyed the serene moment and the warmth of his hand and a bit of the blood still trickling from his knuckles. It was the calm before the impending storm.

She looked down and saw the night shadows lengthening across the floor from under the door and realized it was probably time to start heading out. There were less people out at night for them to be suspicious of their activities. She looked to Harry, unlocked their hands and walked out onto the deck that was silent with the forms of her crewmmates laying themselves out for the night.

A plan was swiftly snapping into place in her mind and she barreled out orders, “Gil, you stay here with the crew and start scouting for lackeys to recruit to our army tomorrow morning. Jay, Jordan, Aziz, you will go find mercenaries to hire. Calix and I will investigate the castle again and uh, Harry and Lala will stand guard outside.”

Uma didn’t even wait to see the others carry out her orders. She knew her crew would do it, and well… it may be petty but she didn’t care one bit if Jay, and his genie and Aziz got their throats slit in the dark. She could handle things without them.

The four took their familiar route from the ship to the castle, moving as a silent mass and reached the backdoor in no time.

Harry took up position by the door while Lala leaped up to the closest tree and rested herself on the top tree branch, her brown eyes intently watching the horizon.

Uma picked the lock and swung open the door, turning left to where they knew the parlors full of magic spell books were. Before she could get far, Calix grabbed her arm.

Uma pushed him away, and saw he was heading the wrong way. “What are you doing?” “We’ve been there. We should go right and see if we can make our way to the tower. That’s where villains go to look over their kingdom and gloat don’t they?”

“But we don’t know the way there. What if we get lost and then caught?” Uma hissed.

“Oh you underestimate me.” Calix smirked, a small glowing blue ball appeared in his hand, expanded and spread itself into a map of the floor they were on. “Son of Circe, remember?”

“Why didn’t you use that before?” Uma cried as she took the lead heading right. “I didn’t want to undermine your leadership cap’n.” Calix quipped and Uma growled. She didn’t care for his laseiz faire attitude. That sort of personality led you to a quick death around here.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Your idea to scout the floors here was a good one but it’s not working anymore so… that’s when magic is needed.” Calix smiled at his glowing map and almost tripped over himself as they approched the spiral staircase leading up.

The walls were far too close together and the stairs were steep lending to a clustraphobic feeling Uma wasn’t quite comfortable with her. She was in her element in the water and the higher up they climbed, the farther they were from the shore, the water and all that she was used to.

She was going to be high and dry in the tower and the thought made her nervously clench and unclench her fists as she thought over the sparring techniques Harry and she used to fight when they were younger.

The stairs continued upward but Uma made a stop at a door which she nimbly picked and opened to a much more lavish hallway. There were tapestries and velvet curtains lining the walls and at random intervals, there was a desk with a vase of flowers or a knight in shining armor. There was even a plush purple carpet.

“Hmm looks like King Arthur’s.. Ah I bet Morgan was in charge of decorating.” Calix murmered to himself and Uma shushed him.

The plush rug made a great cover for their footsteps as they cautiously walked down. Most doors were unlocked which allowed them to peek into see what was in them. Many were sitting rooms or parlors or man caves. This part of the castle was clearly inhibited because they could hear the echoes of voices causing them to jump into the nearest rooms every seven minutes, but no one came near.

Around the third time of this incident happening, Uma was over it. She hated acting this cautious and scared. It was weak. She was a pirate captain and sea witch, she was used to walking straight into danger, but… the danger here was different than facing Mal’s gang. It was more potent and powerful and caution had to be exercised no matter how annoying it was to do so.

Uma went out into the hallway and brushed against a suit of armor, the small action causing the chainmail to clatter to the floor and the echoing voices stopped echoing.

Uma and Calix ran back into the man cave and hid behind the green velvet curtains. A lame hiding spot but the only one as there was only ottamons and couches and neither would big enoough to hide under.

“Huh? It’s just a knight. Damned things can’t stay up.” A smoky voice commented outside the door and they heard the motions of her putting it back up straight.

“Well as I was saying…” a familar voice drawled Uma gripped the curtain tighter in her fists to keep back the range of emotions rising in her chest like a high tide. Anger, irritation, aggrevation, all the usual things she felt when CJ was near, amplified with the knowledge of how she betrayed her family.

“We should hit them tonight!” Them? Them as in the Jolly Roger and Harry? Tonight?!!

“I don’t think so.” The older, smoky voice rejected and Uma had to take the chance and see who was talking.

Allowing her left eye peer past the edge of the curtain she saw Lady Caine lounging on the ottoman with CJ pacing irritatedly beside her.

“I thought you put me in charge. And I say we should strike tonight.” CJ retorted huffily.

Lady Caine stretched and cracked her neck, seeming to regard CJ as the impatient child she was, “But have you thought of the Coven factor. We just heard their plans, wouldn’t it be better to wait for them and then steal off with Roger in the middle of chaos.”

CJ paused to consider it, “Hmm it would make it worse for dad if I did steal the Jolly Roger while the rest of the Isle is falling apart… I guess we could wait.”

“You're a smart girl. Knew you’d see it my way.” Lady Caine sauntered off and CJ followed after her puffing her red coat tails.

She knew she told Harry they would deal with Caine and CJ along with the Coven but the fact that the two were working with the Coven’s plans just made it so much easier. She really was going to kill two birds with one stone.

Uma shot away from her hiding place to follow after them and Calix wisely followed her lead. Uma poked her head out the door first and saw the two shadows walking away to the left and moved to follow when she felt her hat get pushed off her head. “Hello Uma!” a gleeful voice chirped followed by a hard shove with what felt like a club. Uma turned around to see a staff heading straight for her head which was quickly blasted away by one of Calix.

Uma put her hands up for a fight and then lowered them when she saw who it was.

Ginny Gothel and Zevon.

They were no threat to her really. Ginny was a pathetic fighter, preferring to stay on the sidelines and protect her vanity like her mother and Zevon… Zevon was Zevon. Big talk, big gestures and gestulications, but one good deck usually took him out of the running.

“Fine, you wanna fight. Let’s fight. Meet your doooooooooooooooooooom!”

That’s when Uma noticed Zevon’s staff was glowing threateningly with purple mist rising around them.

Great, someone gifted the delusional meglomaniac with magic. Just great.

#zevon #ginny gothel #uma #harry hook #gil legume #jay #aziz #calix #lala #my OCs #disney descendants #winner’s curse #chapter twelve #jordan #cj #lady caine #my fanfic #my fanfiction

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bevioletskies · 5 years

Text

bring it on home to me [4/5]

summary: The fight of everyone’s lives may be over, but for Nebula, Peter, and the rest of the Guardians, the search for the person they love most has just begun.

a/n: MAJOR spoiler warning for Avengers: Endgame, though I am a little vague about the events of what happened. Regardless, please don’t let me spoil it for you!

Fic title is, of course, from the song Bring It On Home To Me by Sam Cooke.

word count: 3.5k | ao3 | tag

Nebula sank down to the floor to sit cross-legged at the foot of a bed that had only recently become hers, annoyance bubbling in her stomach at the sound of the Guardians loudly speculating out in the common area of the ship. Peter had instructed them all to return to the Benatar and stay there until he came back, and had given no further instructions since. Nebula was in no mood to be in the company of the rest of them, especially since they were all pleasantly drunk off cheap Knowhere alcohol, and had instead retreated to her own bunk.

When it was just her and Rocket, it had been easy to avoid each other in times of heightened emotions. After the rest of them returned, it had become rather claustrophobic. Peter had referred to the Milano as his “bachelor pad”, as it barely had a bunk to spare and a mini-freezer that was mostly used to keep his beer cold. The Benatar, however, was intended for a team, a family, modelled after some aspects of the Milano, but far more spacious in every way. Still, it was hard to go anywhere without running into somebody, something that Nebula absolutely loathed.

“I think I liked this piece of scrap better when it was just you and me,” she had said to Rocket a few nights ago after she had gotten into yet another argument with Peter over directions. Rocket had only shrugged in return as he could no longer agree, not after the deafening five years of silence - none of Peter’s off-key singing, Groot’s video game chirping, Drax’s loud chewing, or Mantis’s saccharine-sweet giggling. It had merely been the sound of Nebula’s fingers tapping impatiently against the console and the sound of Rocket’s tools clicking away diligently at every engineering flaw he could find to distract himself with, and the Benatar had never felt so empty.

The bunk Nebula was now sitting in was a spare one that hadn’t officially belonged to anyone before it became hers, though she wasn’t naive - there was an assortment of objects here and there that suggested it was a hideaway for one particular member of the Guardians who needed her own space at times. A small music box, the only souvenir she’d found at a trading post that originated from her home planet; a spare set of switchblades that had once been polished diligently every day, now dulled and dusty due to the lack of ownership; a stack of books that covered all sorts of topics that would have otherwise been gaps in her knowledge, due to an obvious lack of educational opportunities. There was no doubt that this room had been her sister’s.

Nebula reached for one of the books and cracked it open, not caring for the way the spine protested beneath her fingers. One of the pages had been bent at the corner, indicating that she had stopped here. It was a section on medicine, basic universal remedies that could be used on many different planets without fear of contamination or other adverse effects.

“What did you want to be when you got older?” They were approximately the equivalent of Terran eight- and ten-year-olds, lying on thin woven mats that barely protected their backs from the discomfort of the ground, staring up at the Kitson night sky. It was a “wretched planet” according to Thanos, but he had business with some slippery weapons dealer who was hiding in the casinos. Everyone under his thumb knew that anything less than total annihilation of the entire casino strip itself would be a surprise.

“Why?” Nebula had immediately been suspicious, rolling onto her side so she could properly look at her sister. She had abandoned the double braids she’d worn when Thanos had first taken her, now going for a more practical upknot that kept all of her hair out of her face. It pulled her skin back taut, made the newly implanted silver in her forehead more visible, especially in the moonlight. Still, she looked more whole in comparison, not like pieces of a puzzle that had been haphazardly put back together.

“I just thought we could talk,” she had said defensively. “Father almost never leaves us alone together.”

“But we aren’t alone,” Nebula had pointed out, gesturing further away where a shifty-eyed Chitauri guard was standing with his back to them, probably wishing he was anywhere else but here. “Maybe he’s testing our loyalty. If we try to run - ”

“I used to think about being a doctor.” Gamora had folded her hands neatly over her chest, pointedly ignoring her sister’s usual speculation of Thanos’s motivations. She’d long stopped trying to predict what he wanted, and instead went with whatever would ensure she lived to see another day. “My mother was one of the best healers on my planet. When people were hungry, they would ask her how to make it stop. When they were dizzy because of the bad air, they would ask her what to do to make it go away. And...when people died, they asked her if the pain of losing someone would hurt forever.”

Nebula had been silent for a moment. “I don’t remember my mother.” Her eyes had slid shut; she was starting to feel vaguely nauseous. “I remember almost nothing.”

With her eyes shut, she hadn’t noticed her sister reaching across to press a finger to her brow bone, right where the seam of her newest implant began, stopping just before it reached her eye socket. “Father said our modifications wouldn’t affect our memory.”

“It’s not the - ” Nebula’s eyes had flown open, abruptly slapping her hand out of her face. “I was taken before I was old enough to remember things. And...Father also says the mods will make me stronger. Better.”

“Better than what?”

Nebula had fixed her with a gaze so cold it sent shivers down her metallic spine. “Better than you.”

The sudden burst of startled cries coming from the Benatar’s common area pulled a reluctant Nebula to her feet, and she stepped out into the corridor to join the others (if nothing else, she wanted to shut them up). It was only when she reached the cockpit that she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight before her.

Her sister was stood with her back to everyone, staring out the front window wistfully despite them currently having an unimpressive view of Knowhere. She then rotated slowly on her heel to look around at her unfamiliar surroundings, momentarily glancing down at the seat that was hers, almost as if she inherently knew it was where she belonged. Her gaze then went to her sister, and her expression softened into an undeservingly warm smile. “Nebula.”

Nebula’s eyes flickered briefly to the others, who had since calmed down and were also now staring in stunned silence. Peter was understandably the only one who seemed to have adjusted to her presence, now sitting on the armrest of his seat and watching her carefully like he was expecting her to cut and run. “Don’t tell me Quill was the one who managed to lure you here,” she said, her tone lacking the bite it usually had.

“In a way,” she said, taking one tentative step closer. “I was reminded of who I was to you, to all of you. And I remembered something else, something Father told us when - ”

“Even now, with both mine and yours dead, we can never escape thinking of him, can we?” She shook her head, scoffing derisively. “Go on, then. Do tell us what false wisdom he had imposed on you.”

“You’re gonna wanna listen to this, Nebula,” Peter said. His voice was strangely subdued. “It’s a...a big ask. For us and for her.”

Nebula’s expression hardened, though she had to admit (only to herself, that is), she was intrigued. “Fine. What is it?” ______

The Benatar was eerily silent upon reaching “cruising altitude”, as Peter often called it for no particular reason, where everyone could step away from the controls and let the ship do the work. No one seemed sure of how to walk around or converse or even breathe with her sitting in her usual spot at the table, twirling her switchblade between her fingers. Her dark eyes roamed across their faces, scoping them out and sizing them up to the expectations Nebula and Peter had set in her mind. She maintained a stoicism in her expression and body language, the way Nebula had remembered from long ago, but her face crumpled into silent devastation when she looked at Peter. Nebula honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to know why. Nearly everyone left the room soon after, unable to bear the tension in the air.

“You’re different than my Nebula,” she mused, her voice so soft that Nebula wasn’t sure if she had meant to say it out loud. “I’m not sure how, but...you are.”

“We are one and the same, just of a different time, and now, a different universe.” She glanced down at the floor. “Yours said Thanos wouldn’t let her change. There was a time when I thought the same thing.”

“So if she had more time...she would’ve become more like you?” She smiled sadly. “It’s a nice thought, though maybe too optimistic. She was also incredibly - ”

“Murderous?” Nebula interrupted. “As am I.” At her sister’s startled, somewhat uncomfortable laugh, she added, “I could tell you everything she ever felt. Contempt...for our father. Disgust...for our siblings. Uncertainty...about you. Until the end.”

She gestured for Nebula to sit with her, her smile turning into something a little friendlier once she did. Still, Nebula refused to meet her eyes. “Tell me more about you and I.”

“We started off exactly the same. We were taken from our families within months of one another, raised to be siblings because we were closer in age than any other child of Thanos.” The corners of Nebula’s mouth twitched in grim, satisfactory remembrance of how the Black Order had gone down in the final battle - the sound of Glaive’s cries as another’s spear went through him, the devastating shout of Obsidian as he was crushed by a foot twice the size of his entire body, and the silent resignation of both Proxima and Maw when they realized they couldn’t fight their fates. The justice of their deaths, for her, was only overshadowed by watching their father crumble to dust. “It was simple, really. Every time we fought, whoever lost would get a piece of them replaced, made new, made better. And while you craved power, I secretly wanted praise. It was how you became the deadliest woman in the galaxy, and how I became your shadow.”

“It was never about power,�� she protested. “It was about survival.”

“No,” Nebula said, her voice low. “You didn’t just survive. You thrived, despite the circumstances. There was no mistaking why Father preferred you over our siblings, over me. Had you decided to take a different path, Xandar would have been destroyed long ago, the Guardians would have never existed, and the universe could have fallen apart long before it did.”

“Quill told me as much,” she murmured. She glanced briefly down the corridor at the door to the bunk she and Peter had shared. Then, she hesitated. “You think I have the capacity to become...what he was?”

“I would hate to see what you could become without your morality. But you’ve proven that in any universe...losing yourself to his ways is no easy feat.” They both went quiet in meditative contemplation. Nebula glanced down at her hand, the one she’d lost, burnt, damaged beyond repair over half a dozen times. It had stopped feeling like it belonged to her a long time ago - a hand was simply just a hand, her legs and arms and fingers and toes were all just attachments, not appendages. By comparison, her sister was far less modified, less scarred. The most prominent of her implants was still those in her skeleton, her skull, peeking out slightly in the markings along her forehead and cheekbones. Nebula, on the other hand, had moments where she couldn’t remember which parts of her were still her.

“So when I defected from Father...what happened to you?”

“I tried to get him to favor me. I tried to be as ruthless as you once were. I tried…” Nebula cleared her throat harshly. “...I tried to kill you, several times. I failed, of course. Yet somehow, despite everything...we found peace. Common ground. And then I left.”

“I couldn’t convince you to stay?” Her face fell.

“You tried. But I was convinced I could stop Thanos on my hand. That’s when he captured me, lured you in, and…” Nebula trailed off; the lump in her throat wasn’t going away. It was strange how some parts of her body functioned like a machine, and others still felt so incredibly human. “Rocket and I were the only ones left after the Decimation. He can be a nasty creature, but he proved himself to be...reasonable.”

She smiled ruefully. “It sounds like, at least for a time, that you two were friends.”

Nebula shook her head, adamant. “Friendship is not a word I use lightly. And yet...it would seem you are the exception.”

Wisely, she decided not to reply, and instead leaned back in her seat with a satisfied smile. This time, their silence was comfortable, only broken by the insistent beeping of the Benatar’s malfunctioning radar system as they went on their way. ______

Nebula stumbled out of the smoking remains of the escape pod she’d used to, well, escape her previous captors, an astonishingly stupid group of bounty hunters who found her stowed away on a transport ship and thought they could fetch a unit or two after turning her over to whoever happened to be after her that day. It took her a few seconds to even recognize where she was, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun to look up and around at the unusually tall trees that rocketed far past the clouds. Dervani, then, where she and her sister had trained as young warriors. She could work with that.

She rummaged through the wreckage for anything that might benefit her - wires, spare batteries, a scrap of food if she was lucky - before turning and stalking off in the direction of the nearest town. The planet was overrun with lush foliage, practically swallowing up the horizon in every which way, but she was well-versed enough to navigate her way back to civilization, find herself another ship, and with a little luck, be on her way to kill Thanos once more.

It had been two years since she left Quadrant, left her sister and her still-relatively newfound family behind, and yet she felt no closer to accomplishing her goal. She was finding it harder to locate Thanos than she thought, what with Sanctuary being falsely spotted in half a dozen places across the galaxy, and she didn't exactly have the resources to chase him at light speed. Frustration was wearing her thin, but her determination - and anger - was what kept her going.

Her communicator suddenly beeped, a harsh, sharp noise that instantly caused some bird-like creatures to flee the treetops, shrieking in fright. Cursing, Nebula quickly found shelter beneath a large palm plant and pulled the device out of her pocket. “I told you not to contact me for another two days.”

“Hello to you, too,” Gamora drawled. It was a voice call, so Nebula couldn’t see her face, but she could only imagine the sort of smug smirk she was currently wearing. “We’re en route to Naro-Atzia for an extraction job, so I won’t be able to keep in touch for the next week or so.”

“Good,” Nebula shot back. “That means a whole week where I won’t be on the receiving end of your incredibly condescending calls.”

“If you responded to my messages and assured me you were still alive, I wouldn’t have to call.”

“And if you continue to send me messages, I will burn my communicator to ash,” Nebula growled. To her dismay, her sister only let out a low chuckle, apparently amused by the emptiness of her words.

“So where are you? Have you gotten any closer?” she asked.

“Dervani, and no.” Nebula slumped against the base of the plant with a sullen scowl. “Now you’ve revealed yourself, sister. You only called to gloat.”

“I called to check on you, as I’ve said every time I’ve called,” she said firmly. “And...Dervani? I haven’t thought of that place in a really long time. Does it still smell of fruit?”

Nebula inhaled. The sharpness of her senses guided her to a nearby shrub nearly bursting with ripe fruit. She kept herself low in the tall grass as she crawled over to it so she could take one, turning it over in her hand for a moment to examine it for poison spots before taking a generous bite. Her stomach growled in appreciation. “Yes.”

“I remember how hungry and warm we were, the first day Thanos sent us there.” She made a soft, quiet noise that Nebula couldn’t quite identify. “I had a sprained ankle, and you had three broken fingers, but still, we were to prove our worth before we were allowed to eat.”

“I have no intention of exchanging sentiments over a time in which I hated you most.” Nebula’s stomach now bubbled unpleasantly with contempt. “All I remember is you throwing the fight so you could prove it was the only way I could win.”

“I threw the fight because we were starving, Nebula,” she snapped. “You don’t get to change history to fit your vendetta. I am not the cruel, conspiring sister you make me out to be. I cared for you more than you ever realized.”

“Then why didn’t you say so?!” Her voice rang clear across the forest; if there were any enemies nearby, they were now sure to know where she was. Then, quieter, “We can have this argument over and over again, but it will not change the fact that you cannot accept your own failures. I am not the one to blame for the state of our relationship.”

“Then you’re saying I’m the one to blame for you turning out the way you did?” Her voice was thick with emotion, on the verge of tears. “That I’m the one who tortured you, took you apart, bled you dry?”

Nebula’s reply was immediate. “Yes.” She looked at the barely-eaten fruit in her hand. It was starting to go sour in her mouth. “In a way.”

Her breath was so sharp that the communicator screeched out a mess of static in protest. “I won’t apologize for wanting to protect myself. But I will apologize for not being the sister you wanted me to be.” Another noisy inhale, clearly fighting back the sob that wanted to escape her throat by now. “Come back, Nebula. We can do this together. As friends, as sisters, as honest allies. The way we were meant to.”

“No, I...I don’t think I will.” Nebula ended the call before she could protest, tossing the communicator aside in frustration. She took another bite of the fruit but could only spit it out right after, unable to enjoy its sweetness. ______

Peter poked his head into the common area, unsure of whether it was safe for him to interrupt. “Hey, uh, we’re here. Landing in two minutes.” Both heads turned in his direction, then nodded once in complete silence. He nodded back, then turned and headed to the cockpit, feeling immensely awkward in a way he never usually did.

“You seem uncertain,” Nebula observed, watching the tension in her sister’s face, the rigidity of her brow. “I would be, too, if I were about to give up my existence for another’s.”

“I’m concerned about whether this is going to work at all,” she admitted. “Quill told me of your last encounter with the Sovereign. They sound extremely unlikely to help.”

“After our role in reversing the Decimation, there’s a possibility they will be more willing,” Nebula suggested. “Or...I will make them comply with our demands.”

She scoffed. “I doubt coercion will make them any more agreeable. Their pride, if nothing else, will keep them from helping.” She then softened. “Nebula, if this works...promise me you’ll tell her everything you’ve told me. Everything you experienced growing up together, everything you experienced while you were going after Thanos...every thought and feeling you ever had for her. You’ve been alone for long enough...let this burden us both.” She reached across and gripped Nebula’s hand urgently, her calloused fingers interlaced with Nebula’s mechanical ones. “Promise me. Promise me you will.”

Nebula stared into the face of a Gamora who wasn’t quite hers but had her ferocity all the same. She supposed that, had this happened years ago, she would have yanked her hand away, would have shouted, would have even spat in her face for even implying that all their problems could be solved with just conversation. But now, simply having the chance to talk again with the one she did know sounded like everything she thought they would never have.

“I promise, sister.” ______

a/n: I tend to write Gamora and Nebula's relationship as being told from the perspective of two somewhat unreliable narrators where they can't agree on who's to blame and what really happened, so they don't quite get the happy memories that the previous chapters had, but I think in the movie (and this fic) it is made clear how much they mean to each other by now, which makes my heart happy! The final part might be a bit late, as I have an assignment and a midterm coming up, plus conclusions in general tend to take a little longer for me to be satisfied with. Please bear with me if it's not posted by next Friday!

Thanks so much for reading, likes and reblogs would be much appreciated, and see you next time :)

#starmora #starmora fic #peter x gamora #gamora x peter #endgame spoilers #spoilers #myfic #myfic: bring it home #marvel #long post #line breaks don't seem to be working rip #also sorry if the read more doesn't work! text posts are all sorts of funky for me rn

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thehuggamugcafe · 6 years

Text

The ABCs Of Wammy’s House: Prologue.

OOC: Well. Here it is, my dear customers. One of my old writings, just one of the few, very few, that I thought didn’t suck enough. Or one that I thought wouldn’t embarrass the heck out of me, wishing a black hole would suck me into oblivion.

Ahem. As you no doubt noticed, for those who are familiar with this particular anime, yes. For a time, I was hooked on Death Note, and I still find myself watching it occasionally sometimes.

This is merely a collection of OC’s that I thought up, OC’s who live at Wammy’s House, an institution that houses and raises geniuses who are to be “the next L.”

Um, yeah... Please enjoy this blast from the past, I guess? Here’s to you all! Cheers, my dears! ☕

Throughout my childhood and into my teenage years, I had always viewed Wammy’s House as an unknown island, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere somewhere in the raging ocean. Waves lapped at its beach-coloured sandy shore and seagulls cried over the horizon, but it was always whispered in folklore, local gossip, and wives’ tales. A thing of myth, of legend. It existed. It didn’t exist. Unseen and unknown say for those who have walked these halls, for those who will walk the corridors, shimmy up the apple trees in the orchid, teach and tend to the young geniuses, scrap their hands and knees on the playground equipment long after those of my generation are gone.

Or perhaps it was better to think of it as a prison, for that is how the new arrivals surely thought of it as being. I myself viewed it from that perspective the day I arrived. Barely past the age of four, and yet I knew... I knew there was something different, something... special about this institution. I remember grasping the towering bars of the gate on that hot summer day, feeling the sun-burnt metal scalding my hands as I pressed my face against the tiny intervals, watching as children laughed, yelled, ran, and played.

Isolation. Incarceration. Solitary confinement. Come one come all. Come join the secret freak show. That’s how I viewed it as being, and I still do see it as such, to an extent. Metal and cement and concrete and wood and glass. All constructed to resemble an orphanage as close as possible without passing off as intimidating, frightening.

The thought of attending this maddening carnival full of children like myself chilled my blood. A freak surrounded by other freaks, normal and abnormal. It made me wonder who the ring-leader of this grand, obscure-looking building was. At the time, I had wondered what sort of mind a person would have to possess in order to gather intelligent orphans from around the world, from all walks of life, and to put them all together in one largely confined space.

It has to be a mad man. I had thought to myself, my small hands still grasping and pulling at the resilient gate. A delusional genius meant to experiment on all of us, perform inhumane tests, and discard the failed subjects.

I know better now, of course. A child’s mind runs rampant and wild, as everyone knows full well. Through a child’s eyes, the world is full of wonders and an abundant of never-ending curiosity; the child wants to explore, to uncover mysteries, but they are always confronted, scolded, and punished by his or her parents.

Through a child’s eyes, the world is also dark and scary. When twilight’s last light flickers out and the encroaching darkness creeps upon them, they huddle in their room, under the blankets and surrounded by pillows, maybe a few stuffed keepsakes. Most children even cry for their parents at the slightest movement in the claustrophobic blackness of their small, shaded sanctuary, their minds tricking them into believing there’s a monster under the bed, that the boogeyman lurks in the closet, waiting to drag them inside.

Their parents come in and soothe them with soft words dabbled in affection, cradling them and hugging them, stroking their hair and telling them that there’s nothing to be afraid of. To a child, the world is curious and scary. Full of dangerous wonders. Black and white. A neutral grey at times.

For most of us, if not for all of us, our perspective of the world turns a murky grey before it finally shifts to an abysmal black at the loss of loved ones. Someone’s parents die in a car accident, another may lose their family in a fire. Catastrophe. Natural. Unnatural. Murder. Suicide. Accident. My own family... I have no honest recollection of them. No memories of sisters or brothers, aunts or uncles. No birthday parties or holiday festivities.

I have been told that I was born a bastard child, my mother unmarried, living only long enough to give me a name that I no longer remember having. My father raised me until I was two years old, until he could no longer deal with the responsibility of looking after his own flesh and blood, putting a loaded pistol to his mouth one stormy evening as I watched from my crib.

Hardly any of us have any parents, siblings, former friends or relatives anymore. Most of my friends, rivals, and acquaintances lost all those precious, irreplaceable people days before they were plucked from the child welfare nests and placed here. At Wammy’s House. Despite all the mishaps and rare triumphs, the Wammy’s institution was meant to be a place of security, of contemplation, and of acceptance.

We lived in our own time in a sense, for if something occurred on the outside of our quaint prison, it didn’t affect us in any way. It was as though we lived in a different dimension entirely cut off from the world outside, unaffected. Time seemed set at a stand-still. Nothing changed. One daily routine after another, with perhaps some surprises thrown in to make things more bearable, if only for a while.

Adults would call it a childish expression of selfishness to think of it in such a manner, probably. For now I currently have no desire whatsoever to leave the prison I’ve been in since I was three. No desire to go out into the world and see the monsters, the wide-eyed spectators who judge inadequate things, the true terrors that are only known to previous students who have returned with real horror stories.

I have my own toe-curling tall-tales to speak of. Wammy’s has had and still has its own gaggle of monsters and ghouls, of freaks and cruel pranksters. Those who lead and follow, those who judge and watch, and those who plot and scheme. Thieves. Liars. Cheaters. Scapegoats and users. Hardly different from the real world itself, I suppose, but on a smaller scale.

For an orphanage consisting of geniuses, it was packed full. Each one of us lead ourselves to believe that we were special, chosen, picked out from the rest of our divided pack, and that we alone were liable to achieve our main goal: to surpass our unknown idol, L. I suppose if any of us took the time to look at ourselves internally, we–and everyone else on the planet–have a talent that we’re viewed most excellent at performing. As for myself, I was best at displaying what my best friend, M, deemed as being “inconspicuous behaviour,” almost to the point of being anti-social. Weird, seeing as I have lots of friends and rivals, and twice as many peers and enemies.

I have been called a ghost. It seems as if I’ve been here forever, ever since the very first orphans stepped through the wide mahogany, brass-handled doors of Wammy’s. Never changing. Like I said: I have no desire at all to leave here. Not now. Maybe I’ll never leave. Leave like the majority of the students do, trot down these halls, out the ever-looming mahogany entrance and out into the world, so bold and confident.

Make a place for themselves. Get a career. Find a love interest. Get married. Have children. Die young or old in their bed with their family and friends at their side.

We’ve all left our marks here, you know. So future generations can see for themselves the blatant messages we leave for them. “We were here. We were like you. We came before you.” Nostalgic nonsense at its finest, but our nonsense can be found everywhere. In the foot marks in the apple trees, in the cracks of water pipes from tinkering with them so a bathroom or two will flood, in the miscellaneous paintings that decorate the art rooms.

Everyone here has their own story. Heck, everyone in the whole wide world has their own beginning, middle, and end. Everyone everywhere has their own purpose too, of course. With constant and consistent sources of knowledge and mentors helping to nurture their talents, they become artists, private investigators, entrepreneurs, culinary experts, dancers, freelance writers. A small fraction of us become the psychotic monsters that make up a slice of the discordant, two-faced kingdom known as society.

Perhaps that is why I do not wish to leave yet. I do not know how I will turn out. If I never leave this place, then I will not be a threat to myself or anyone else. I’m better off fading into obscurity here than shining brightly out in that spacious, beautiful, dark and judgmental world.

But I digress. As I have said before we all have a tale to tell, and we each have our own purpose. My purpose seems to be story-telling to... to whom? Who is my audience? Whoever is reading these notes that I have collected and written over the course of my years spent here, watching and observing... Never speculating openly...

You are my audience. You and whoever else may be with you now. What you do with these notes is of your own choice. Shred them up or burn them–it will not matter to me in the slightest. I imagine you will be one of the many students a generation or two after my own.

Let me start at the beginning... The very first letter each child is taught... A.

#Death Note #Wammy's ABCs #prologue #24 OCs huh?#ah what the hell?#I love a challenge; bring it on!#my first post that isn't related to Persona 5! holy moly!#tw: heavily implied suicide

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house-of-crows · 3 years

Text

He was only invited because they worked together. I was only invited because he was my father and it would have been rude to exclude me.

It was going to be a very long night indeed.

I woke to the Dreaming already in discomfort. I was sitting silently on my knees, hands placed appropriately, watching the youngest daughter of my father’s colleague open our gift. Her smooth brown hands reached into the box, already delicate and graceful, learning from her mother and imitating her fluidity of movement.

She withdrew a true silk and gold scarf in a glorious purple-red, the perfect complement to shining black hair and, I noticed as she turned her face towards her mother, seated directly behind her on her knees, clear hazel eyes. Her mother wrapped an arm around her waist, fingers disappearing into the many folds and furrows of her clothing. She said something, expectant, and I felt my tongue obey before I even consciously had the words.

“She is young, and every young person is royalty on their birthday. The color was chosen to reflect that, as well as complement such remarkable eyes. It was thought that it would suit her current and her potential coloring well into adulthood. A delicate compliment to the gift of being able to watch her grow in grace and beauty, and a reminder that we consider your family dear friends.”

I felt rather than saw her husband smile, seated on the couch away from his wife and daughters with the grandparents from both sides. There was a touch of anger that they; and my own parents and siblings; would not kneel. But I was here to be the sacrifice of a sort, and the Speaker it would seem. More weight put on me than I cared to acknowledge with my body already feeling like it would disintegrate around me.

The children were like ranks around the mother; by right it should be my own kneeling here in my place; the birthday girl directly in front, the further youngest to eldest to either side in a single-file rank of three. Luckily for them, their ages corresponded to height so the eldest could see easily over their younger sisters’ shoulders. I made no move to wrap the scarf around her head or shoulders, nor to lay it across her lap; any of which could be seen as condescending [I have given you your crown (power)] or compassionate [I offer you protection and care against the sun (outer world)] depending how they took my explanation of its origin. I could not dare to do either; whether for professional status when my father was his superior, nor because of the color of our skin vs theirs. I could not risk the offense for the very little gain the compassion could offer.

Instead, I merely bent forward, forehead hovering over my forearms, and rose, lifting my hands in the sun sign, blessing the child from afar. The role a less intimate acquaintance would take, a minor noble to a prince, the stream to the ocean. That was well received, it seemed, for her mother smiled bright and clasped my hand. The coolness of her jewelry brushing my skin like water in the desert.

“We thank you,” and my name on her tongue was static. I rose enough to move to my assigned seat, to the side of the proceedings against the wall, furthest from the couches. I could see the door to the living room, the three steps up to the right, leading away to bedrooms. The stair over the foyer to the front and left of me... leading to the upper floors. I understood, then. We were a courtesy invite, no more. Were this a family only occasion it would have occurred in a more intimate place. Were it work only, it would have taken place in a setting outside the house completely. But here we were... in the home but not of it. An awkward situation indeed. I only hoped I had navigated it with grace enough to not cause more strife..... even if I was an insult as neither my father’s wife nor her eldest daughter. It seemed I was the only one who cared enough to learn. An insult in potentate.....

I held my tongue and kept my silence. Waiting for our out. Three came and went before my father rose to his feet and moved to take the keys from his pocket. I rose, and immediately had to stifle a cry of pain. My body, not used to the position I had been kept in for hours as I waited for him to remove us politely... had gone stiff and numb. I managed a tight smile, and moved to follow the family. Instead, my father followed their grandmother into the kitchen. I could have screamed in rage.

That was not a place for men, and it was not a place for anyone not of the family to go. If he persisted- and there it was. His colleague tightly inviting him and his to stay for dinner... the dinner that they would have made larger just in case, but also the polite thing to do would be to refuse. Outright, and politely, insist that our own was waiting at home. But my father.... prideful, arrogant, assumptive... agreed.

Whatever pained color filled my face drained. I could not maintain for the further hours it would take to endure this. And I could not in good conscience stay silent at this point.... but neither could I leave. He had bound us to attend with his idiocy. And so I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came. No insight, no wisdom, no grace. Lost.

I stumbled along; literally and voicelessly; after my family. I knew we were intruding, I knew this was offensive, but I had no power to leave. I sent the mother an apologetic look and bowed my head silently. I could not refuse to eat or drink either, as that would be rude. Refusal of hospitality in a situation like this being tantamount to a threat. It ached, to be so bound. Were I free... but I was not.

I left the building after dinner was completed. The women were drinking coffee and teas, while the men smoked or were otherwise engaged with alcohols. The way down from the balcony was a difficult and long one, the staircase touched the beach, rocky shore and white sands in the dying light. I walked slowly, trying to disengage the tension in my back, but nothing helped. My shoulders were drawing out of alignment, my hips burned. In the end, I ascended the stair and returned, first washing my feet before I re-entered. I returned to kneel in my place, keeping to that small protocol even though it seemed all others had been cast aside.

My own mother had tried to enter with my father and been rebuffed, and she was more than miffed about it. She kept making cutting remarks about not being included.... when I knew it was to give each party a break from the others. To talk about work or children or even merely topics that would be no interest to the other. A chance to drop the social mask. But she.... was the proverbial bull in a china shop with none of its actual care.

I rose at that point, and lifted my glass, silently honoring the mother who had done everything right... and still had a foreigner intrude despite every polite urging to go that had gone unheeded. I smiled wryly and drained the cup, placing it upside down on the saucer.

“A blessing on your hospitality and my thanks for the peace you have offered freely with both hands. My sincerest apologies, Madam, for the uproar we have brought, and a blessing for your child on the anniversary of her first breath. May [god] grant you many gifts for your forbearance, and bless you richly for your spirit.” I bowed, removed myself three paces backwards, and immediately walked for the door. Looking neither right not left for any reason to stay, or to be forestalled in my leaving.

My entire body was on fire by now, and I wished uselessly for my cane. Not even for my harpyform, or my cloak, but the cane. The same I bore in the Waking, made and measured to my aching body. Instead, what I got was the enraged reddened face of my father shoving through the front door after me, tearing down the drive. I didn’t listen to any of the invective he hurled. Just raised my head and stared.

I waited, until he was finished, and then I unleashed hell.

“I was waiting on my KNEES for SIX HOURS while you dithered and fluttered like a sad pigeon seeking handouts from tourists! I have missed my medications, I have missed my own home, I have been waiting for you to take a hint, when all they have done is be pleasant and kind hosts. YOU however have taken every opportunity to TAKE instead of knowing when was enough. We were invited as courtesy, and only that, and you took it for more, and demanded more. Gluttonous, desperate, reaching, grasping PIG that you are! Rooting for yet more among the scraps taken away from the table for the dog. YOU would take your glut from the mouths of DOGS in their kennel, and the cat in the alley, and the birds that roost on the wires. Greedy is not yet the half of it!

You sat with the grandparents, who have given their fill and freely with both hands provided, you have taken their honors and sat in their midst as though you were deserving though you brought nothing into the house but a single gift for the queen of the day. When you SHOULD have brought wine, and a wreath of flowers to lay at her mother’s feet in gratitude for another beauty walking the earth. When you SHOULD have brought cakes for the elders, and gold for the father, magnanimous, generous, yielding of your own for engaging with what is his.

But you did none of this, and you did not even seat your own children among theirs, elevated them above your HOSTS as though you were the god-kings of old. And you did not honor them as you should with your WIFE offering gifts with HER own hands, instead delegating to one who is neither son nor daughter. God-touched and an insult in one. And I am ACHING with it! I am BURNING with it!

I have taken the pain for seven, and I am done. You should have sent me home when the giving was complete, such as you offered, and yet... I have been SAT HERE for SIX HOURS, while you gorged on their hospitality and begged more like an honorless beast. I am done. I am done. I am DONE, and I have been done with you for years. I do not know why I am constantly being dragged backwards into the mire of your shitpens to do the work you are meant to have done yourself, but I am not yours. I am not some creature wallowing at your heels for you to command.

I am not for you, nor your wife, I am not your child and I have not been in over twelve years you doddering, grasping, greedy, FOOL of a manchild. Do for YOURSELF, do not seek me again. You will be met with fire and wrath if you do, my tongue and my grace are not for YOU or yours. My Aegis is not for you to shield under. I am going.”

I woke to the Waking in more pain, arms and back and more, but I at least feel less burdened.

#Dreaming #other people's shit #Fuck the Clan #Fuck the Church #The Manor #Foreign Gods #Queen Of The Day

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theoldestweasleygirl · 6 years

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Underage Champions

This is the first fan fic I started writing back in 2015, so far there are 4 chapters, w ho knows if I will go back to writing it, I hope so. Any constructive criticism is appreciated. First chapter shown, rest are under the cut.

What if the Goblet of Fire had really messed up? What if, not only were there two Hogwarts Champions, but they were both underage? Fred's name is called as the Hogwarts Champion. Mix in an angry girlfriend and a twin who was left out of the plan, and you're in for a hell of a ride.

Chapter 1: A Little Background First

Not officially part of the story, but just a little background information to get you started. (Some of this information may be repeated through the story but I felt needed to be introduced to start as well) Written through the eyes of the main character.

My name is Dallas Millicent. I am a fourth year Gryffindor at Hogwarts. Growing up I lived not too far from the Weasley's. Since I had no siblings of my own I spent nearly every waking moment at the Burrow, sometimes for weeks on end without going home. My parents and I have never had a good relationship, and as I got older, I stopped going home all together, and to be honest I don't think my parents have even noticed.

The dynamic between me and the Weasley's is sometimes hard to wrap one's head around, but I'm really one of the family and honestly considered to be the 8th Weasley child (Or 6th if you wanted to get technical, being as my birthday is a few months before Ron's) and I fit right in with my (hair dye induced) red hair. Strangers have honestly mistaken me as one of the family. But anyway, Ginny and I have always been extremely close (being the only girls in a house full of boys will do that to you!) but no friendship rivals the pranking trio of Fred, George and I. Which is why, when the pair left for school, it was so hard on me. I knew that I'd see them at Christmas, and they'd be back for the summer, but I couldn't help but feel as though I'd lost my two best friends. And knowing that they had a whole nother year after this one before I'd join them killed me.

I had always been close to both twins, hell I’d been practically raised a Weasley. Growing up, it was always the three of us, locked in their bedroom, scheming up new pranks and reeking havoc on the house, laughing hysterically when someone was unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of our mischief. Molly had joked that, despite the 2 year age gap, I was the third triplet who had been separated at birth. And although Fred and I’s relationship took a romantic turn, I would still always be “one of the guys” in the sense that we’d been best friends for over 10 years, and nothing about our friendship changed except now Fred and I were more than friends. I really am the third triplet in a sense, I consider George just as much my brother as he is Fred’s. Which is part of the reason some people find it so weird that I'm dating Fred Weasley. I'll admit I'd always had a teeny crush on Fred, but I'd never admit it, not even to Ginny! When we were younger, George used to tease us both, insisting that I had a crush on Fred, and vice versa. Me, being "one of the guys" and not knowing how Fred would react, would simply roll my eyes at George and deny that the idea had ever crossed my mind. Fred too, had blatantly denied the idea and threatened to hide a dung bomb under his brothers pillow if he ever mentioned it again.

On the train to Hogwarts my first year I, unsurprisingly, found myself in a compartment with Fred and George. It was then and there that Fred, looking more red and nervous than I had ever seen him, asked me to be his girlfriend. I was shocked, but truthfully excited and I happily agreed. George just smirked at us and replied knowingly with, "Told you so." Ever since then, the two of us have been dating and the three of us have been reeking havoc across the school. Filch, needless to say, was less than excited (to put it nicely) at the addition of a third member of the pranking troublemakers.

Chapter 2: Finding Out

Fred's name is called as the Hogwarts Champion. Mix in an angry girlfriend and a twin who was left out of the plan, and you're in for a hell of a ride.

Dallas POV

It was Halloween, and this year the Halloween Feast was also the time when the Triwizard Champions would be chosen from the Goblet of Fire. I hadn’t been paying much attention up to this point, I was more focused on my boyfriend and my food (my food is very important to me). Fred’s arm was wrapped around me and I was nuzzled beside him as I ate my dinner, laughing in amusement at George’s look of disgust as Fred leaned down to plant a soft kiss on my lips. “Oh stop” I laughed rolling my eyes at him from across the table as George began to mime gagging. I knew he didn’t mean it, he’d been the one practically telling us to date since I was 7 and they were 9. He stuck his tongue out at me and Fred smirked, tossing a bread roll at his brother.

“And now, the Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore’s voice roared through the hall, and I turned to look just as the flames of the Goblet once again turned their glorious shades of red and shot a charred scrap of paper from the flames. Dumbledore smoothed the paper in his hands and read the name “ is Fred Weasley!”

I pulled back, looking at him as a million different emotions flittered through my body, anger, confusion, sadness, hurt... Time froze and what must have been seconds ticking by felt like hours. I looked at him with complete shock on my face and without even thinking, grabbed the plate nearest to me, and smashed it with surprising force against the table as a wave of anger took over. And with that, I stood up, turned on my heel, and walked out of the Great Hall, my thunderous footsteps echoing against the star studded ceiling, and the eyes of every person in the hall boring holes into my back.

As I stormed up the stairs I heard the footsteps behind me, and I knew before he even grabbed my arm who it was. He spun me around to face him and I shot daggers from my eyes as I turned. “Let. Go.” I growled trying to keep my voice from cracking, and I pulled my arm free continuing my thunderous exit.

Just as I was about to reach the common room, I heard footsteps behind me for the second time that night, and spun around to see the same face as before staring back at me, only this time it was a completely different person.

“He didn’t tell me either..” He choked out, and I saw him visibly cringe as his voice cracked despite his efforts to be angry. I knew that of all people, George knew exactly how I felt in that moment. He too felt the waves of emotions crashing over him as he tried to process what had just happened. Fred had always told me I was his #1, but I knew that in reality I was 2nd only to George, and I was okay with that. But this was also part of the problem, we were arguably the two most important people in his life, and he’d left us in the dark about such a big, what do I call it? Accomplishment? Mistake? Decision? Whatever it was, it was something he should have shared with us.

George must have seen how defeated I looked, or maybe how downright miserable, and he opened his arms and without even hesitating I found myself wrapped in them, sobbing into his robes as he did his best to hold back his own tears.

Most people would think it was strange, the way I wound myself into George’s arms just as I would Fred’s, but it was just our group’s dynamic. Others could never differentiate and on more than one occasion had seen the way I was with George and had started a rumor about how I was secretly playing both twins, much to all of our amusement. We’ve even played along with it before, pulling off one of Hogwarts’ “greatest scandals.

George and I made our way into the common room, sitting beside each other on the plush couch, and sat in silence as we both tried to process what was going on. We sat there, waiting for everyone to return from dinner, but nobody came, and hours after dinner the common room was still empty with the exception of us two. They must have had a celebratory party in the Room of Requirement. It was moments later that Fred finally appeared through the portrait hole, and you could tell that he knew what was coming for him.

Chapter 3: Confrontation

Fred faces the wrath of his twin brother and his girlfriend who are madder than he’s ever seen either of them before.

Fred POV

I stepped through the portrait hole and sure enough, there they were, sitting silently beside each other on the common room couch. It reminded me for a moment of the looks on my parent’s faces after they had discovered one of our tricks and were waiting to confront our trio about it. Somehow though, I knew this would be much worse than that, and if you’d ever seen Mom mad, you’d know that was saying something.

I took a deep breath and before they could even open their mouths I just crossed my arms and stood in front of them, knowing there was no use in trying to avoid them.

“Have at it, I know you two’ve got something to say” I sighed waiting for them to start firing questions at me. And sure enough, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, Dallas blew up.

“How could you fucking do this?! Sign yourself up for a tournament you very well could die in? Without even telling either of us?!” She shouted, springing to her feet, each word pelting me like a bullet.

I looked past her to my brother, still sitting on the couch, in a state of complete confusion. The hurt and confusion so plain on his face hurt me more than the venom behind Dallas’ words.

“I.. just...how? Why? Without me?” he finally managed to choke out, cutting me deeper with every word.

I sighed, defeated, and finally addressed them both. “I fucked up, okay? Plain and simple. I fucked up. I was just testing out a theory, and it was a long shot, more so than the aging potion, but somehow, it worked, and by that point, I was so confused myself that I didn’t know how to tell either of you..”

I knew from the moment I decided to do it that I should’ve told them. But George and I had already tried, and failed, to trick the age line with an aging potion, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up when, I thought, that my idea was even more of a long shot than that had been. And how could I tell Dallas, who disapproved of our schemes to enter the contest from the very beginning, and had been so relieved when our best bet had failed us? I didn’t want to worry her any more than was necessary and I didn’t want to get George’s hopes up only to crush them again.. and by the time it was done, I was so astounded that I couldn’t find a way to tell them then either, and then before I even had a chance to tell them, my name shot out of the goblet.

I saw what was coming next before the words even left her lips...

“That’s not an excuse Fred!” she shouted steam practically shooting from her ears. “Don’t you even have a brain in that big head of yours?! How could you even think to enter a competition that very well will kill you?! Forget the fact that you excluded the two arguably most important people in your life from the decision.. Don’t you understand? This isn’t a game Fred! You can’t just joke your way out of it!”

I did not, however, see what happened next coming. As I opened my mouth to reply, I was interrupted.

“Take a deep breath. We’ve all got a lot to say, there are lots of emotions here, but for the love of Merlin just quit shouting!” George yelled. He had hardly said one sentence this whole time, and George, the least confrontational of the three of us, had just actually yelled, at me and Dallas of all people. We both stared back at him, wide eyed, and he simply motion for us to both sit down. Dallas sat down beside him on the couch, and I pulled up an armchair so I could properly face them both. Once we were seated, my brother motioned for me to continue.

“Yes love, I realize it’s no excuse. I knew from the moment before I even did it that I should’ve told you two, and as I said, I simply fucked up. I realize that this isn’t a game, and I realize the danger i’ve just put myself directly in the middle of. But I never meant to hurt you, either of you.” I added glancing toward my brother. “You know you’re the two most important people in my life.. and that’s why I’m going to need both of your help if I’m going to have any shot at surviving this thing.”

Chapter 4: The other half

What does George think of this whole business? We’ve peeked through Dallas’ and Fred’s eyes, but what about the more quiet of the trio?

George POV

I hadn’t meant to shout at them… and you could tell they weren’t expecting it. They shouldn’t, I’m always the peacekeeper between the three of us, I almost never yell, and certainly never to my two best friends, but sometimes, the peacemaker has to yell. I couldn’t take another minute of the two of them screaming at each other like a couple of banshees, it wasn’t getting us anywhere. I knew Dallas was hurt and angry, and so was I, but Fred would never get a word in edgewise if I’d let her keep shouting at him like that. Did it hurt that he hadn’t told me, his twin brother, his best friend, the one he told everything, and I mean everything, to that he’d found a way to get his name in the Goblet of Fire? Of course it did! I’d never felt more betrayed in my life. I wanted to scream at him too, right beside Dallas, but I knew that that would do nothing but tear the three of us apart, and I’d never let that happen.

My brother may have just made the most bonehead move he’s ever made, which is saying something, but it was my job as twin brother and third member of the trio to keep the untamable wildfire that was Dallas under control. Don’t get me wrong, I love her as if she were my own sister (she practically is in more ways than one) but she’s been known to find the weak spot in any opponent she takes on, and using it to her advantage. And in that moment, her target was good ole Freddie and she had one hell of an advantage over him, we all knew what, or rather who, his weak spot was, and I feared she’d use that advantage as she would with any other opponent. That would be a disaster of brand new proportions, the end of the trio, Fred moping around, paying no attention to the tasks he was about to face. Fred needed us now more than ever, and I needed to make sure nothing got in the way of that.

I was still sore about the fact that he had left me out of this decision, but I could tell by the look on his face that he felt absolutely awful for the way everything happened, and I could see the pure terror in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Dallas was right, this wasn’t a game, there was real danger here. “I’m in.” I stated matter-of-factly looking my brother dead in the eye “We’ll find a way to get you through this, won’t we?” I added looking over beside me.

“Of course we will” She sighed suddenly deflated. “You’re not getting out of this that easy Fred Weasley” she added, a smirk spreading across her face, the teasing tone returning to her voice.

“Now kiss and make up you losers” I laughed, glad a complete disaster had been averted.

“Oh now you want us to kiss?” Fred laughed, referencing my gagging earlier in the Great Hall.

“You’re right, I take it back. Too much PDA from you two.” I laughed shaking my head. Fred gave me a look and I knew just what he had in mind, I nodded in agreeance.

“TWIN ATTACK!” We shouted lunging to wrap Dallas in a group hug, laughing as she squealed in protest as Fred started to tickle her while I held her arms back. In that moment, we were all back to normal, and nothing was wrong.

#Fred and George #George and Fred #Gred and Forge #Harry potter #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #weasley fan fiction #fred x oc #fred and george weasley #writing #the weasleys #Weasley #Weasley Twins #the weasley twins #harry potter and the goblet of fire #fred x original character

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shanastoryteller · 7 years

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my what a guy, gaston!

okay so i know i already did one of these for beauty and the beast (for fuck's sake shana write about some new fairytales why are you like this) but i listened to sam tsui's cover of a tale as old as time and OH BOY, OH MY HONEY OH MY DARLING

okay, so in the very early stages of the original beauty and the beast, gaston was an aristocrat. that eventually got scrapped, but oh what if it didn’t

so say gaston is the son of someone very high up in the royalty chain, someone who’s parents are important enough that he spends an awful lot of time at the castle? and our prince adam isn’t really down with this whole ~being a prince~ thing, he’s a brat, like so many other kids are brats (but these kids don’t get turned into beasts by random witches, like i’m sorry but i’ll never not think that beast didn’t get the short end of the stick there) and so he spends the least about of time possible parading about with a crown on his head. he likes going outside, like riding his horses and playing in the woods, and all sorts of other things that make his parents shake their heads and despair at the inability to have another child, because their son is a small disaster.

and here comes gaston, who’s older and more long suffering. gaston in naturally dramatic, okay, he likes being flashy and fun and loud, all the things the son of a noble shouldn’t be. so by the point he meets adam he’s listened to his parents, folded himself up nice and tight into this quiet boy who just doesn’t want any trouble. adam loves trouble. if he can’t find it, he invents it.

so he grabs onto gaston like glue, and gaston is irritated, but he’s the prince, he can’t say anything or his parents will kill him. so he lets adam keep dragging him out horseback riding and hunting and rock climbing and all sorts of things little noble boys aren’t supposed to do. they spare, and no matter that gaston is bigger and older he never wins, adam always ends up pinning him to the ground with his arm to his throat and he’d more irritated about it if the prince didn’t look so delighted every time he won. adam loves all the animals that he’s not interested in eating, and gaston tries to point out that it’s a little weird how thrilled adam is to take down a deer when two minute later he’s trying to entice a wolf to come closer so he can pet it, and also holy shit adam that’s a wolf what’s wrong with you

adam loves his staff, the people who do their best to reign in this little terror but don’t try that hard, because the thing about bratty kids is that they’re rarely brats all the time, as an adult you swing between wanting to strangle them and finding them so adorable and charming your chest hurts. so mrs. potts indulges him, likes the way he’s only ever really patient while he’s playing with her son chip when he’s snuck into the kitchen to beg her for some extra cookies. lumiere and cogsworth are his tutors and spend more time arguing with each other than teaching him, and he’s delighted by that.

and so adam is this loud, exuberant little prince who slowly but surely picks at gaston’s barrier until gaston almost feels like himself again, and adam doesn’t do what his parents did. adam doesn’t make fun of him for how much he cares about his hair, about how he hates dirt under his fingernails. as long as gaston keeps following him into dangerous situations, adam doesn’t care about much of anything, and gaston loves him for it.

and gaston’s on the cusp of teenagerhood when he realizes he loves adam, the prince, this is awful and he immediately has a panic attack over it, he’s to be lord and adam is to be king, it will never work, oh, and adam probably doesn’t like boys, and – oh my god, all those schoolyard taunts about him being gay we’re right this is a nightmare.

he’d freak out about this properly and probably go charging to the castle to confess his love in true embarrassing 12 year old fashion – except his parents set him down, pale, and say, “they’re gone, they’re all gone, the king and queen were found dead and the prince is gone and now a monster lives in the castle.” and of course gaston takes this to the most logical conclusion – a beast broke into the castle, killed the love of his young life, and now he’s claimed the castle for his own.

this is gaston’s defining moment okay, this is the point where he snaps and never goes back. he rebels against his parents, refuses to fit himself back into the mold of the perfect son, tries to live his life like adam would have wanted him to. that means being exactly who he is and damn the consequences. he focuses on his hair and his clothes and his looks, he pursues hunting because it reminds him of adam, because so much of their friendship took place in the woods, covered in mud and laughing. he pursues hunting because, one day, when he’s the very best he’s going to go the castle and kill the beast that killed adam. and his parents are furious about all of this and they disown him in favor of his young siblings and he just. doesn’t give a shit.

so he moves to the town, and everyone loves him, of course they love him. he’s loud and arrogant, but – he’s not cruel. he’s beautiful and brings in more pelts and meat than any other hunter and gaston doesn’t miss the days of being a young lordling in the slightest. but girls keep throwing themselves at him and he doesn’t know how to keep refusing either outing himself or hurting their feelings, so he goes to belle. belle, who is every inch as pretty he is. belle, who is smart and quiet and kind in a reserved sort of way. if there’s anyone who won’t judge him, it’s her.

so he goes to her, and tells her the truth – that he only likes men, that he’s not interested in advertising the fact, and asks her to pretend to be his lady. and belle, kind sweet belle, agrees. she does it out of sense of duty to help those in need, because nothing she knows of gaston says she will enjoy this. but she’s proven wrong, because gaston was raised to be a lord of course he’s educated, just because he doesn’t really care about any of that stuff doesn’t mean he doesn’t know it. and belle can speak with him like she can no other, because gaston has more formal education than anyone else in this village. and to their surprise, gaston and belle become friends, become the closest of friends, and gaston hasn’t known this closeness since adam, although it’s different because he loves belle but he’s not in love with belle.

and one day belle and her father are out traveling and sudden snowstorm forces them into the castle. belle knows there’s some sort of monster that supposedly lives there, but it’s either the castle for refuge or dying of cold outside, so into the castle they go. and instead of a hideous monster there’s adam, the beast. he’s rude and gruff and calls them twelve kinds of idiots for getting caught in a snowstorm in the first place. he offers them a room before sulking back into his study, watching the last petal threaten to the fall from the rose.

the castle is so excited to have guests, to have a young girl that may be their saving grace, and beast doesn’t know how to tell them that he likes girls well enough, but the only person he’s ever loved is a prickly, stuffy little boy who used to wring his hands together whenever they went looking for wolves. the storm doesn’t abate, and belle and her father stay. beast likes belle, likes how much she loves his library and the courteous way she speaks to all his staff even tho they’re all furniture, and he wishes he could love her, she is a woman that deserves to be loved. but he can’t.

back in the village, gaston has had it. the beast took adam from him, and he wont allow that thing to take belle. he rallies the villagers and goes marching to the castle, determined to save belle and her father, determined to kill the thing that killed adam.

so they storm the castle and he and the beast fight. belle and her father rush forward to stop the rest of the angry village men, and belle is screaming at gaston to stop, that things aren’t as they seem. but he’s mad with bloodlust, with revenge, and he’s about to take the beast’s head off with his axe when the beast lunges and pushes him to the ground, pinning him with an arm to his throat. and the muscle memory is so sudden and visceral that gaston freezes and stares at the snarling beast and whispers, “adam?”

and the beast blinks, and pulls back a little, and goes …… “gaston!?”

literally everyone is so confused, but they only get more confused when gaston throws himself at the beast and there’s a rush of magic as the last petal falls and the spell is broken. gaston sees beast for who he really is, loves him wholly and completely in the way only children can, and the curse is broken.

so gaston goes from having the beast in his arms to having a man, and he kisses him, outing himself in front of the whole village and not caring in the slightest. “i’ve missed you,” adam says, reaching out a hand to cup gaston’s cheek.

his staff are people again, and the cloud of darkness that had fallen over the castle is lifted. the old and irritable third cousin twice removed who’d been running the country is more than happy to hand it back over to adam, so happy in fact that he doesn’t question anything about this incredibly weird situation.

gaston and adam were children with a children’s love, but as adam gets his castle and kingdom up and running again, gaston is there. and their love deepens, and strengthens, and becomes something much more real and true than it ever was before. and gaston knows he can’t keep this, that adam will need to take a queen and gaston won’t be able to be with him after that.

except no one told adam that, because he goes to belle who just, never left the castle because she likes it and it likes her and her two favorite people are here. and also they’ll pry her from that library over her dead body. “hey,” adam says, “so, i’m kind of the king now.”

“i noticed,” belle answers, and doesn’t look up from her book.

adam considers closing it, but also considers that he likes his hands attached to his wrists. “want to get married? we’ll need to produce an heir or two, but beyond that you’ll get all the books you want and a whole country to boss around.” one of the things adam had quickly learned was that belle loved bossing people around.

belle doesn’t look up from her book. he hadn’t honestly expected her too. “okay. I’m dating plumette. im going to keep doing that.”

“nice,” he says, because plumette is a lot prettier now that she isn’t a feather duster.

so adam find gaston and tells him that he’s marrying belle, and gaston’s whole heart breaks but it makes sense, adam and belle make sense together, and he wishes he could make himself hate either of them but he can’t because he loves them both. but then adam is talking about how belle will have the rooms next to theirs, and gaston should probably stop paying rent for his house in the village, he lives in a literal palace, come on now.

and gaston figures out that adam is planning to stay with him, that belle is his wife and queen in name only and and gaston will continue to be the one in his heart and in his bed. adam is talking about how they all really need to sit down and do something about the redistribution of tax revenue, and they should probably do it before the wedding because otherwise their subjects will only show up to throw fruit at them. gaston cuts him off by pressing his king and love of his life against the wall and kissing him breathless.

cogsworth and lumiere walk by and pause mid-argument to wolf whistle at them before continuing on their way. gaston and adam end up having to hold each other up as they laugh so hard they can’t breath.

and everyone lives happily ever after.