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thoughtsofedin · 1 month

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ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀʏ Qᴜᴇᴇɴ

ᴀxᴇʟ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏᴛᴛᴏ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ/ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set one year before the events of season 2.

They say he’s dying all for love, but that can never be: They say his heart is breaking, mother what is that to me?

In where the brothers find themselves obsessed with their hostess.

This deviates into four different stories. One for each brother and one with all three brothers.

Oscar carries the suitcase and so he stands in the middle, protected by his two older brothers. Otto's to his right, tired and angry. Axel didn't have time to change after their last mission, he smelled like sweat, like the damp earth he had been thrown into over and over again. There's a bit of blood in his hair, down the back of his neck. The skin beneath his left eye is bruised, the corner of his mouth is torn open.

They're all in horrible shape when Otto knocks on the light blue cottage door, leaving behind a stain that he doesn't care to wipe away. It could be blood or dirt or a mixture of the two. It’s not important. Inside, someone sets something down loudly and Axel notices a woman peek behind the curtain of a window to his right. She doesn't linger and stare, she doesn't gawk and try to hide, pulling the curtains around her and acting as if she hadn’t been seen.

Instead, as if she had been waiting for them, she gives him a light smile and makes her way to the door. They could hear her footsteps as she went. The door in front of them opens and she stands in front of the three brothers. She wears a thick knitted sweater and light blue jeans. An apron a shade darker than the door is wrapped around her.

Otto is impatient, fumbles through his pockets and pulls out the ripped newspaper they had found when they stepped out of the portal. The ad stated that she had a room available for weekly rent. Private bathroom, shared amenities. Meals Included. No pets. He holds it out to her and Oscar smiles. Smiling at people made them feel at ease. But he didn't have any issues disposing of a body if it came to that.

Oscar wonders, as she takes the ad, if perhaps there is something wrong with her. If perhaps she's commission, like them. She doesn't question the blood, the stench, the ominous way they stand there in front of her door ready for her to either run or scream or shut the door in their face. They'd kill her then. Toss her into the lake and take her home as their own until they no longer need it. His smile almost falters, Axel already reaching for his gun. But she opens her mouth, saves herself from almost dying right then and there.

“I only have one room available. The bed’s pretty big, but I don’t think it’s big enough to fit three… are you alright with an airbed?”

Oscar is in the shower, Otto took his first and sits on the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, he has a flesh wound on his forearm he’s inspecting with a frown. The room is on the second floor, overlooking the garden in the backyard. The airbed is still in the box, placed in the corner of the room. Axel stands by the window, watching you. You’re crouched over, grabbing something from the earth. You had invited them for lunch when you brought over the bed.

Otto had agreed with a grunt, Oscar shooting him a glare. Axel was indifferent. It’d save him the trouble of cooking.

Axel watches as you wipe your hands on your apron, sitting up and stretching before standing and grabbing the basket full of vegetables. Axel turns away when you disappear back into the house.

Oscar leaves the bathroom then, hair wet and dripping against the collar of his shirt. Closing the curtain, Axel turns his attention to his brothers. They had yet to receive a proper mission from the higher ups. All they were given was a set of coordinates for the suitcase. He didn't know where in the timeline they were. He didn't care enough to ask.

"She seems stupid." Oscar says, dropping his towel on the floor. Otto, who had always hated any sort of mess, hisses and tells him to pick it up. Oscar ignores him.

"Stupid is good. Stupid won’t ask questions. Won't meddle." Axel says, picking up his brother's damp towel and setting it over the back of a wooden chair. Oscar was spoiled, it was too late to ask him to change.

Oscar sits on the windowsill, frowning. "Not yet."

"I'm going to shower." he says, slipping into the bathroom. It's bright, there are no curtains to draw close in here. The thick foliage outside tells him that no one will see him. He undresses, the water still cold when he steps in.

There's a knot on the back of his head, tender to the touch. Above that, near his ear he finds a wound, coagulated blood knotting his hair. He scrubs at it until the pain has him clenching his teeth and his eyesight doubles. The water runs red then pink then clear. He stands there for a little longer, muscles tensing from the cold.

When he steps out, dressed in only his slacks he finds Otto alone in the room. There’s a tray on top of the dresser and Axel inspects it. He finds a bowl of dark berries, garnished with a mint leaf. Besides it there’s half a loaf of bread, sliced and steaming with a tiny ramekin of butter. There are three cups of lemonade as well.

“The girl left it for us.” Otto says, patching a tear on his coat. “Oscar wasn’t happy about it.”

Axel picks up a glass and sniffs it before taking a small sip. He never really cared for sweetened drinks, so he sets it back and instead goes for the loaf of bread, sinking his teeth into a slice.

“Is that why he left?” he asks after swallowing; the next slice he grabs he slathers with butter.

“Says we should have killed her.” Otto sets down his coat, annoyance in his eyes as he looks at his brother.

“There’s no reason to.” Though it’s still not fully off the table. He tosses Otto the last of the bread.

"Äta. It's good."

Otto sinks his teeth into the bread. "Do you think she's commission?"

"No." People from the commission didn't settle down and buy homes they couldn't fully afford.

Satisfied, Otto goes back to his mending. Axel slips his boots on, then his shirt. He takes a single glass of lemonade and sets it on the table. Otto would drink it. Oscar was out there throwing a fit; he wasn't going to save him one.

Axel takes the tray and heads downstairs to talk to the girl.

He finds you in the kitchen, the scent of rosemary thick in the air. Something sizzles in a pan off to the side. The window in front of the sink is open, cool air wafting in. You're humming something he doesn't know. He sets the tray down roughly, startling you.

If he had known that you had been cutting something, perhaps he would have been a bit gentler. But what's done is done. The knife clatters to the ground as you turn around, blood weeping from your palm.

He doesn't say anything. Just watches as you grab a towel and wrap your hand in it. "Shoot, sorry." you apologize as if it was you that had startled him and he that had cut himself. It's amusing, in a way.

He takes a few steps towards you and whatever it seems you were about to say gets caught in your throat as he bends down in front of you and grabs the knife by the blade. He holds it out to you, so close that if he wanted to, he could have sunk the blade between your ribs.

It would have put an end to Oscar's tantrum.

He lets you grab the knife, unmoving. You place it in the sink, taking a step to the side. "Thanks, um...?"

He doesn't want to tell you his name. Not yet at least.

"My brother," he starts, holding his hand at Oscar's height. "Have you seen him?"

"Oh, uh." You seem to think for a second, your fingers tightening around your cut. "He stepped out. Didn't really seem to be in a good mood."

"He's never in a good mood." Axel says, holding his hand out. It wasn't exactly guilt that he felt, but you had cut your hand because of him. He could, at the very least, see if you needed stitches.

"Oh no," you say after a moment, having realized what he was silently asking for. "It's fine. It's not so bad."

Axel doesn't say anything, simply looks at the way the towel darkened with your blood. He's been stabbed plenty of times, among other things, he knows that small cuts don't bleed like that. He reaches for you, gently tears your hands away from the towel.

You startle under his touch, but let him peel your fingers away, taking the towel with you. "Good." he tells you and it’s almost a praise.

"I really think it’s fine," you say quietly, watching him. "It's just a scratch."

He hums, tracing the edges of your wound with his index finger, ignoring you.

"It's not too deep," he says after a moment. You wouldn't need stitches. "Where are your bandages?"

"In the bathroom, I can go get them." you try to pull your hand away, but he holds it in place.

"Sit. I will bandage it for you." there's no room for disagreement in his demand and you seem to be smart enough to understand, slipping your hand away and sitting in a chair across the island.

'Good,' he thought. He did not like to repeat himself.

He finds the bathroom easily enough, finds the first aid kit tucked inside the cabinet underneath the sink like you told him it'd be at. He takes the whole thing back into the kitchen.

You must have turned the stove off while he was gone, the sizzling settling down to a few unruly pops.

Setting the kit down, you open your hand. The bleeding had stopped, and you seemed to have washed the wound. It would make this easier. He stands across from you, slowly opening the kit and pulling out disinfectant, gauze, and antibiotic ointment.

He had done similar for his brothers, countless times. But this was the first time he had taken to bandaging up a random stranger.

"Ouch." you hiss when he sprays the disinfectant into your cut, almost pulling your hand away. He shoots you a look of annoyance, gripping your wrist.

"Don't move."

"Sorry," you apologize again. "It startled me."

He rips open the tiny sachet of ointment and squeezes it against the length of your cut before using his thumb to smear it directly into the wound. The gauze comes next, and he wraps it around your hand three times before tucking the end in place.

"Thank you." Your voice is soft as you take your hand back and inspect his work.

Axel doesn't respond, setting back the rest of the gauze and disinfectant and closing the red box.

"Did you come here to work the farm?" you suddenly ask as he was about to head back to the bathroom.

"The farm?" he repeats.

"Yeah. Adler is always hiring hands, but he can't keep them for long. I've been trying to wrack my head around why anyone would come this far north and it’s the only thing that makes sense."

You stand, pushing the chair back in and he gets out of your way. “There’s not much this town offers; Adler’s farm just happens to be the biggest one so it’s always looking for people.”

Axel pauses, watching as you discard the bloody towel in the trash before turning back to face him. “Not that it’s any of my business, of course. I’m just happy someone finally found the ad.”

“Aren’t you worried? Sharing your home with three strange men?” Axel takes a step towards you, but you don’t flinch or step away, just frown at him.

“A bit, you did show up at my house covered in bruised and bloodied. But isn’t slaughter work messy? As long as you don’t track blood or mud, or anything weird inside, I don’t see the reason to be wary.”

He’s almost tempted to laugh, to tell you that you were wrong, so very, very wrong. But he doesn’t, instead he takes a step back. “We’ll try our best to keep things clean.”

Its all he says, walking out of the kitchen.

“She is not as stupid as you thought.” Otto says to Oscar, who had returned just in time to find his brothers out in the garden. You were still in the kitchen, flitting between the stove and the table, setting plates and glasses for them. You had told them that lunch would be ready in the hour.

Otto had thought that it was odd that you had not questioned their disheveled state and had accepted them so fast, but when Axel came back and told him that you were under the impression that they were working as butchers in the local slaughterhouse, it all began to make sense.

You must have truly been desperate, to let them in without a single cautionary pause. But even if you seemed aloof and unintelligent, you were clearly watching them as much as they were watching you.

Oscar, who had managed to settle his anger, sat to the side, listening. “We do not have to stay here,” he says bitterly. “I checked- there’s a motel we can stay at. It’ll be more private.” He did not understand Otto’s obsession with only staying in homes shared by other people. Nor did he care to find out.

“No.” Axel says, squinting from the sun. “This is fine. Moving will raise questions.”

Oscar bites the side of his mouth, Axel was already in a bad mood, telling him that those questions would be easily avoided with premeditated murder would probably make him snap.

"The house is nice." Otto says, as if that was the most important factor. And maybe it was to him.

Oscar's anger flares but he keeps his composure.

"She's wary, but we don't have to worry about her delving into our business." Axel reassures them. Even with the sun in his eyes, he had been watching you through the window. You seemed preoccupied with whatever you were cooking. Not once had you looked back at them. He watches as you open the oven and pull something out.

“She is kind hearted.” Otto suddenly says, catching Axel’s eyes. “She does not see the very danger she is in.”

“Is she in any danger?” Axel asks, trying to gauge his brother’s thoughts.

“No,” Otto turns to look at you, the glare across the window making it hard. “Not yet.”

Out of all three of them, Otto was, by loose definition, the kindest of them all. He did not kill unless necessarily. Did not hurt unless he was forced to. He had been a cry baby as a child, and perhaps he still was. Axel wasn’t stupid, he knew that Otto longed for more than they did.

If they had all gone down a different path, where would Otto be right now? Where would he?

Oscar grunts, uncaring of the way his older brothers talk about you. He did not see the interest there, the gentleness his brothers seemed to carry in their hearts. You were a liability. You were bound to grow curious of them; you would put your nose where it did not belong and then Oscar would be able to show them that he had been correct all along. Maybe then they would start listening to him more.

As if summoned, you open the door to the backyard and step outside. The sun stuns you and you blink and frown, trying to get used to the brightness. Giving up, you bring your hand up to shield your vision from the sun.

“Lunch is ready, if you’re hungry.” She sounds hopeful that they’d join her, and that joy manages to irritate Oscar even more. She should just leave them alone. But he is hungry, and his anger wasn’t enough to turn down a warm meal. Not when the last time he ate a proper meal was becoming a blurry memory.

Otto is the first to stand, the corners of his mouth raising in an attempt at a smile.

Otto might be the kindest, but out of all three, he had always fit a scowl better. He was tall and imposing, the scar across his eye adding to his unapproachable looks. The smile comes out rather chagrin, but you smile back at him, nonetheless.

“Thank you.” Otto says gently, following you inside. Axel and Oscar linger outside, the oldest brother sighing and sending a silent warning to Oscar to behave. He’d hate to spend his afternoon cleaning after his mess. Oscar stands and leaves him there.

Inside, a table full of food awaits them. While you had rolled the blinds up, you kept the curtains drawn shut, sunlight filtering in through the cream-colored linen softly. On the table, there’s a basket of bread cut into squares, a roasted chicken sliced for ease. There are potatoes, covered in rosemary and butter. Around that, many other dishes of various sizes are filled with greens or vegetables and sauces. Otto finds that most of it, he can’t identify. Not that it mattered, his mouth watered at it all.

The bread from earlier had only reminded him how hungry he had truly been.

He watches your tongue swipe along the length of your bottom lip as you wring your hands together. “I’m looking at it now, and I definitely got overexcited.” She mumbles, Otto almost not hearing her. “I haven’t cooked for anyone in a long time, I hope it’s not too much.”

Axel is the one to answer you, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “It’s not often we have someone that wants to cook us such a feast.”

You smile, a warmth spreading across your face. “Then I’m glad I made so much.” You move to sit next to Axel, Otto taking the one on your left.

“Is she eating with us?” Oscar asks his brothers instead of you, pulling out his own chair. He did not want her there. Sitting across from him.

“Oh,” you say, your smile faltering. “Is that weird? I can just-”

Otto cuts you off, shooting a glare at him. “Yes. She is feeding us. Why should she not eat with us?”

“No, it’s okay, really. I don’t mind eating somewhere else.” You try to plead, inching away.

“Sit.” Otto and Axel say at the same time, Otto pulling your chair for you. “Oscar did not mean anything by it.” Otto continues, drumming his fingers on the wood of the chair.

You look unsure, but Axel nods his head towards the chair before picking up the bottle of wine and inspecting it. “We will not eat without you, isn’t that correct?”

Otto hums in agreement.

After a single beat of silence, you take your seat, fingers brushing against Otto’s knuckles as he tries to move out of the way. His skin is warm, calloused, and you catch the indent of a scar between his index and middle finger.

He pushes you in and takes his seat. Oscar tries not to look at you, reaching for the potatoes.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” you say softly, watching as Axel plucks her wine glass from its place and fills it halfway. He fills all of theirs.

“We are not picky,” he says, grabbing the bowl of potatoes from his brother and putting some on his plate before handing them to you. “Though I think you’re going to spoil them, I’ve never made anything as elaborate as this.”

Oscar scoffs, spearing a piece of chicken.

“You like to cook?” you ask, sitting up in your seat.

“Yes,” Otto answers for him. “He’s always taken to the kitchen.”

“I had a good teacher.” Is all Axel says, taking a long sip of his wine. He did not like talking about his mother. None of them did.

“I did not take you for a cook.” you say with a smile.

“Looks are rather deceiving, aren’t they?”

You laugh, licking your lips. “So, where did you all come from?”

Otto wonders, as he chews on a bite of meat, if perhaps for you, meals were eaten in conversation.

“We’re from Sweden.” He answers anyway, not missing the way Oscar looks at him, as if he had just told you that they were assassins who traveled through time.

Your eyes seem to brighten at that. “Oh um...Det trevligt att träffa dig." You say quietly, stumbling over the accent.

Otto is startled, unsure if he heard correctly. “Pratar du Svenska?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No. Not really. That’s all I know. I had a feeling you were Swedish.”

“Is it that obvious?” Axel asks, watching you bring a bite of food to your mouth.

“Mm.” she covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers, swallowing. “If you know what to look for.”

"Vilken intressant händelseutveckling, tycker du inte det? Hon pratar svenska...lite" Otto tells his brothers, watching as you frown, trying to decipher what he’s said. You look between all brothers, Oscar finding her bewilderment amusing.

"Prata inte på svenska framför henne, Otto. Titta så förvirrad hon ser ut." Axel replies, the corners of his lips curling towards a smile, replying in Swedish even after telling his brother to stop.

“I feel like you’re talking about me.” You interject, setting your fork down.

"They are." Oscar says nonchalantly, reaching for more meat.

"It took us by surprise. We don't really meet many people who speak it." Axel clarifies, finishing his wine.

"What did you say?" you ask. But instead of an answer, Axel simply shakes his head, his smile never leaving his face. He would not tell you. Part of him liked the way you seemed to squirm in your seat. Unsure of what to say, who to look at.

“Where did you learn?” Otto asks instead, pulling your attention back to him.

“I want to go to Sweden one day. Figured I should learn the language first, so I picked up a language book from the library. I don’t think I ever returned it.”

"But all you can say is 'Nice to meet you'? It doesn't seem like you're really interested in it." Oscar pushes his plate away, finished.

"It's not that. I haven't given up on it...It's not exactly the easiest language to teach yourself..." you pause, frowning at the youngest brother. “It’s just been a slow process.”

"What if I were to teach you some more?" Otto offers before he can stop himself. The thought of teaching you, of having more to offer the world than just his mercenary skills… he could not help himself.

The offer manages to surprise both Oscar and Axel, though Axel does a better job of hiding his emotions. Oscar slams his hands on the table, pushing his chair back.

"Du slösar bort din tid på den dumma tjejen! Vi kommer inte att vara här länge!" he says bitterly, shooting you a glare.

"Tillräckligt." Axel says with a warning.

Throwing his napkin onto his plate, Oscar turns and heads upstairs, the anger palpable in the air.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask, the tension making you wring your fingers again.

“No… Oscar’s a bit overprotective.” Otto doesn’t do anything to hide the annoyance in his voice, wiping his mouth.

You don’t say anything, your eyes glued to the stairs even after Oscar’s disappeared into their shared room.

"Don't worry about him. He's always been a spoiled brat." Axel is calm as he refills his glass before offering her some more. Oscar was right, not about storming out like a scolded child, but about how they weren't going to be here for long. It wasn't good for Otto to try to form a bridge between himself and you. Not when it could be as soon as tomorrow that the Commission sends them their mission. They'd take care of it and move on. They never stayed in one place for too long. Trying to plant roots would only come back to haunt them in the end.

He finishes his wine in one swallow. “Otto, do you mind helping her clean up? I should go check on Oscar.”

You turn to look at him, blinking a few times. “No, it’s okay, I don’t need the help.”

“It’s alright.” Otto says, already gathering dishes towards him.

Axel stands, smiling at you. “Lunch was lovely. Thank you.” With that, he stands and makes his way upstairs.

Otto watches after him, a silence falling between you and him.

You sip at the wine, looking over everything left on the table.

“So,” you say after the silence grows to be unbearable. “Are you the oldest?”

“Hmm? Oh no, Axel is.”

“Axel.” You repeat. “Maybe I should have asked for your names earlier.” Setting the glass down you stand up, grabbing your plate and walking over to the garbage can. Otto follows you.

“We have not asked for your name either, so don’t feel bad.”

Realizing, you tell him your name, scraping the food off of the plate and setting it in the sink before holding your hand out for his.

“Oscar, Otto and Axel… söta namn.”

“Cute?” He asks, tilting his head in confusion.

Feeling your cheeks grow warm, you freeze. “Did I say cute? I meant to say nice. I think they’re really interesting names.”

Otto chuckles, grabbing the rest of the plates from the table and hands them to you. “Your Swedish is really horrible.”

“Oh god, this is really embarrassing. Can we act like I didn’t just say that?” you take the plates, your face hot.

Laughing, Otto shakes his head. “You think we have cute names. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He’s teasing you and for some reason it just feels normal. Right now, in this moment, Otto didn’t feel like a stranger in his own skin, nothing more but a man who only knew how to kill and harm.

He did not know you, but in this tiny little moment, he felt like he was no longer missing anything.

You groan, shaking your head. “Please? I might die of embarrassment.”

He only smiles in return, corking the bottle of wine and placing it in the fridge. “If it helps,” Otto says softly, making you turn your head to look at him. “I also think your name is cute.”

For a moment, you look startled but then you huff and turn around, laughing. “You’re making fun of me!”

Otto doesn’t tell you that he meant it. Instead, he asks you what to do next.

You show him where the dirty linen goes, and he helps you put the leftovers into containers that line the fridge. It felt rather…domestic. As if this was where he belonged. After wiping the table and taking out the garbage, Otto stands beside you, drying the dishes as you hand them to him.

“Do you think Oscar is feeling better?” you suddenly ask.

He felt guilty that for a second, he wondered who Oscar was. “He’s…” he pauses, trying to figure out how to best explain it. “Oscar sometimes forgets that the world is a lot bigger than us.”

You nod, handing him a cup. “I’m sorry again, if I did anything to upset him. I probably should have just let you eat alone instead of forcing myself into the group.”

Setting the cup down, Otto shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I know but I just feel like it… like I said, it’s been so long since I’ve had any company at all that I kind of forgot that while yes, you guys are company, you are also renting out a room. I’ll give you your space from now on.”

“Why is it that you’re out here all alone?”

“It’s a long story.” you say, and Otto doesn’t push for more. “Anyways, thank you for helping me.” Your smile returns, as you rinse off the sink.

“Ingen orsak.” He replies, drying his hands.

“Is that my first Swedish lesson?”

He chuckles. “Ja. It can be.”

“I’m guessing that means you’re welcome?”

“It’s more like ‘no problem’.” He clarifies.

“Ingen orsak.” You repeat slowly, rolling the words over your tongue. “I’ll have to go write that down before I forget.”

Pushing his hair from his face Otto finds himself smiling at you. At the way you seemed so excited over something so simple.

“I should probably go check on my brothers.” The reluctance in his voice goes unnoticed by you.

“Oh.” Otto wonders if he’s imagining the way you seemed to deflate slightly. “Yeah of course. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

He wants to tell you that he would rather stay down here with you for a bit longer, but he doesn’t, a flash of hot guilt making him keep his mouth shut. He has to remind himself that this wasn’t permanent. That while it was nice, none of this was meant for him.

You tell him that dinner will be ready at 7 and he heads up to the room.

When Oscar comes back downstairs, he has a swollen lip. It’s slight, not really noticeable unless someone was looking for it. But he could feel it when he swiped his tongue against it. Axel had been mad at him, at his outburst at the dining table. But he hadn’t hit him until Oscar threw the first punch, calling him a traitor.

He was mad that his brothers seemed so interested in you. How many had they killed already? Why were they so against adding one more body to that list? You didn’t know them. You talked too much, input yourself where you didn’t belong.

They’ve only been here for half a day and already you were worming your way where you didn’t belong. When Axel had slapped him across the face, Oscar had thought about finding you and slitting your throat. He almost had, but Axel had noticed and told him that killing you wouldn’t solve anything.

‘You want to kill her because she was kind to you?’ he had said with a scoff, pulling a dagger from his boot and offering it to him. ‘Then go ahead and do it. See how that will do nothing to fix whatever anger you are so insistent on carrying inside of you.’

He almost took the knife. But stopped and slapped it away. Part of him knew that he was being irrational. That his brothers weren’t stupid. That the conversations didn’t mean anything. Humans were social creatures by default. Of course, it did not help that you were physically attractive. That you looked at them with interest instead of judgement. For heaven’s sake, even if you had butchered every single word, you had spoken to them in their own language, greeting them in your home as if you were old friends.

Part of him knew that you weren’t going to steal his brothers away from him. But that part was miniscule in comparison to the worry that he carried inside of him that told him that maybe, just maybe, it had been a mistake coming here after all.

He wanted the commission to send them their mission already so they could move on. He wanted you to fade into the back of his mind until you were forgotten.

It scared him how easy it would be for you to destroy what they had. It wasn’t anger that he carried in his heart, but fear. Fear that one day he would lose his brothers just like he lost his mother, and he would be all alone.

Downstairs he finds himself alone, the setting sun casting shadows across the house. He had heard you leave, the rumbling of your car as you drove off making him sigh in relief. Otto had found a room where you kept some books and had made himself comfortable in it, flipping through vintage books that caught his attention.

Axel had kicked him out of the room, telling him that he had given him a migraine and he wanted to sleep it off. Oscar gladly left.

But down here, in the silence and darkness, there was nothing to do. He could go back upstairs and join Otto, but his brother was still upset with him, so it was best if he didn’t.

He finds himself heading back outside, past the tiny patio they had sat at and into the garden. He was careful not to step on anything, mother had always gotten mad at him when he had destroyed her crops, accident or not.

He almost keeps going into the forest that seems to line the back of your house but stops when he hears a meow from behind him. He turns to find a fat Russian blue digging her paws into the carrots. The cat looks up at him and rolls over itself, stretching her paws towards him and meows again, inviting him over.

Oscar complies, carefully making his way over and bending down. He holds his hand out and the cat leans over and presses its forehead onto it. Automatically, everything that had been bothering him is pushed aside as he smiles and coos at the cat, scratching it between the ears.

He’s always had a soft spot for animals. Gently, he picks it up and presses it against his chest. “Are you here to keep me company?” he asks it gently, taking its meow as a yes.

“Come then.” he makes his way back to the patio, wondering if his brothers would let him sneak a cat inside. Not that he cared if you kicked them out because of it.

Taking a seat, Oscar runs his hand alongside the back of the cat, letting it stretch and get comfortable on his lap.

“Are you hungry?” he asks, rubbing its tail. It’s kind of funny how he waits for an answer.

“No?” he presses, smile growing. “Did you steal enough from the garden that your belly is full? Is that why you’re so fat?” he pokes it on the stomach.

The cat meows, swatting his hand away as if it didn’t like him talking about its weight. Carefully, Oscar squeezes its paw, shaking it. The cat kicks him and he lets go.

He must have been really distracted, the sound of the door opening startling him and the cat, who froze with his finger in its mouth.

He should have known that it was you.

When you push open the door and step outside, his smile falters and he almost let’s go of the cat.

“Oh,” you say, startled. “I didn’t think anyone was out here.”

He doesn’t say anything, glancing down at the takeout box in your hands. You look down at it as well.

“Oh. I got a bit busy, so I didn’t have enough time to make dinner and offering leftovers seemed a little rude, so I picked up some takeout.” You rambled, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “I wasn’t sure if you guys liked Chinese food, so I got you pizza instead. You like pizza, right?”

Oscar doesn’t answer you. It was so obvious that you were uncomfortable being near him and that irritated him. Sure, he liked that he made you want to run as far away from him as possible but at the same time, why was it that out of all the three of them, he had to be the unapproachable one?

On his lap the cat meows, almost slipping from his arms as it stretches. He’s quick to shift it around. Right now, he did not want to be alone with you.

“Oh shoot,” you say once you notice the cat. “She got out again.”

“Is she your cat?” Oscar asks.

“No. She belongs to a neighbor. Though she’s always running away and destroying my garden. Isn’t that right, Maple?”

The cat meows at her name, her tail shooting straight up and Oscar starts to let go of her, but you shake your head.

“Please don’t. I’m really allergic to cats.”

It makes sense why you keep your distance, and Oscar almost sighs, relieved that it wasn’t him that you were worried about.

Maple yawns, her tail swaying side to side and Oscar scratches at her chin, stealing her attention from you.

“She really likes you,” you say softly, closing the door behind you. You linger at the door for a second before taking a deep breath and making your way towards the seat next to his, a small round table separating you two. “Have you always been this good with animals?”

Oscar sighs, letting Maple get comfortable in his lap once more. He didn’t feel like making small talk with you. But he forces himself to anyways. “I guess.”

You set your food on the table and Maple perks up, sniffing the air. “Did you have pets growing up?”

“No, we didn’t have the space. Though our village was full of strays.” He pauses, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You seemed so interested in what he had to say that he almost felt embarrassed. “I would always go feed them scraps after dinner… It drove mother mad.” He finds himself smiling lightly, remembering the way his mother would scold him only to give in and let him keep doing it. “They used to follow me home some nights and then I’d sneak them inside.”

He could almost remember how he’d keep them under his bed, in a cardboard box that he had cut holes out of and lined with old clothes that no longer fit him. But it only ever lasted so long, the cats would start whining for food and then Axel or Otto would find them and set them free.

You laugh softly at his story, bringing one leg up on the chair. “My sister used to do the same thing with anything she could get her hands on. Though one time she was so scared that she would get caught that she put a garden mouse in my bed. Imagine my horror when I wake up in the middle of a bed to find it crawling all over me.” You shiver as if the memory still haunts you. “I think I refused to sleep in our room for like a month.”

Oscar can’t help the tiny smile that curls his lips as he listens to your story.

You glance over at him and raise your brows. “Are you smiling at my childhood trauma?” you tease. “I’m glad you find it so amusing.”

“Are you and your sister close?” he asks, changing the topic.

Your smile falls and you lean back in your chair. “We were.” You mumble quietly.

“Did something happen?” he presses, wondering why you looked as if you had suddenly been kicked in the ribs.

“She…” you inhale loudly, looking up at the sky for a second. “She passed away last year. Traffic accident.”

A silence falls between them, and even Maple keeps her mouth shut, looking up at him as if she was telling him ‘Nice going idiot.’

“I-” he starts but you cut him off, shaking your head. You didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s alright. Life’s unfair sometimes.” There’s a bitterness to your voice that softens into sadness by the time you’re finished talking.

He doesn’t know what to say, though he understands completely. He still carried the pain of losing his mother with him. He scratches Maple between the eyes.

If he were to lose his brothers, would he be able to get up every morning, like you seemed to do?

“I’m sorry, by the way.” You whisper into the silence, pulling him from his thoughts. “I didn’t mean to upset you earlier.”

He’s suddenly reminded of his outburst, of Axel slapping him across the face. He runs his tongue over the bump on his lip, sighing.

“For a long time it’s just been my brothers and I ever since…” he trails off, frowning. He didn’t know why he was telling you all this, but now that he’s started there’s no way to stop. “Seeing them talk to you…” he grows frustrated at the lack of words that could explain what he was feeling.

Maple, sensing his frustration, jumps from his lap and stretches before curling herself around his boots. He misses her already.

“I get it,” you say. “At least I think I do. Otto said something earlier, that sometimes you forget that the world is a lot bigger than just the three of you… But that’s not it, is it? It’s not that you forget, its just that for you, your brothers are your world.”

“You act like you know what you’re saying.” He says bitterly, looking away from you.

You laugh lightly, and his frustration rises and falls into the pit of his stomach. “It’s okay, you don’t have to agree with me.”

“I don’t.” he lies and it’s so obvious that he’s lying that he feels a warmth crawl up his throat.

“Just know that I get it. For a long time, it was just my sister and I against the world. Our parents…” you shrug, and Oscar is almost tempted to tell you to keep going, to tell him more. And it’s like you hear his thoughts because you do.

You, unlike him, have the words that he doesn’t.

“They weren’t good parents. My mom left when I was young, and my dad was an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job long enough to put dinner on the table. I hated him. I still do, some days. For everything he put my sister through. For not being a father when we needed him most, but life’s a little unfair like that isn’t it?” you shrug, resting your chin on your knee and looking at the ground in front of you. “I had my sister though. She made the pain bearable. She made me realize that while the world was cruel, it didn’t mean that everyone was.”

“Sorry,” you say suddenly, laughing. “That’s such a mood kill. Just, I get it, okay? I know what you’re worried about, and I can assure you, its not going to happen.”

He wonders if you’re truly aware of what it was that he was afraid of. Did you know that it was you that he was worried about? That you’d show them, show him, that the world outside had enough space for them all?

He’s the youngest, the one they took care of… If someone else were to come into their lives, would he even be important to them anymore? Would they no longer care about him? Could he live a life where it wasn’t just Oscar, Otto and Axel against the world?

Did they see what it was that you were doing to them? Oscar felt as if someone had turned a stagnant hourglass over and he was running out of time, the ground before him holding him in place as his brothers moved forward.

It might not be you that caused the foundation to break and his world as he knew it to change, but by leaving you alive did they realize how much of a catalyst you could be? The commission had taken them in when they had nothing, but would you be the one to lift the veil over their eyes and show them that they could be so much more? That they deserved so much more than just endless death and running?

Why did it seem that he was the only one who saw just how much of a threat you posed?

It was irrational of course, but isn’t fear odd like that?

Oscar looks over at you, what little light filtered from the stars above shining on you and yet making it hard to see clearly. Your eyes were still on the ground, your food forgotten between them. You don’t seem to notice that he’s staring, and he wonders if perhaps you too have lost yourself in your thoughts.

He watches in silence as you lift your head to look up at the sky and he stops himself from following suit, from wondering what the stars looked like in your eyes.

You turn to look at him suddenly, smiling gently and something vile comes to his mind in that moment;

Would his brothers forgive him if he found someone more important than them?

#tua the swedes #the swedes x reader #the swedes #the swedes/reader #the swedes x y/n #the swedes axel x reader #axel x reader #the swedes oscar x reader #oscar x reader #the swedes x otto #otto x reader #the umbrella academy

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fiveisnumber1 · 11 months

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Concept: the scene of the Swedes sending off their brother on the lake from season 2 but instead of the Swedish version of Hello it’s If I Die Young instead.

#the umbrella academy #tua #umbrella academy #the swedes #the swedes tua

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acidburnsthings · 5 months

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Ok so im rewatching TUA and i got to s2

IS IKEA MAFIA ALIVE??!! Like is anyone here

@jossambird @voidpotatooooo @ogaforogaalskling @oga-for-oga and whoever else was a part of it, are ya people alive??? How are y'all doing???

#the umbrella academy #the swedes #tua otto #tua axel #tua s2 #tua

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thermodynamic-comedian · 2 years

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shout out to that one swede who chose not to kill everyone and instead got on that bus with the hippies. i hope ur doing well, king.

#this is incomprehensible to everyone who hasn't watched the umbrella academy-#tua #the umbrella academy #tua memes #tua s2 #tua season two #tua spoilers #tua shitpost #the swedes #the commission #tua netflix #five hargreeves #the hargreeves

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pernillemagda · 11 months

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I see no lie 🇸🇪

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A post shared by Magdalena Eriksson (@magdalenaeriksson16)

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#Instagram #14.05.2023 #magdalena eriksson #pernille harder #zecira musovic #johanna kaneryd #the swedes

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snippychicke · 1 month

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Aftermath--Chapter One

Summary:

Raymond Chestnut gets a harsh surprise when he realizes the body in his living room isn't actually dead. Now he has a severely injured white man, who tried to kill him, to deal with. Thankfully he knows a friend who might be able to help.

Lorelei was used to people coming to her for medical attention. But when Raymond brings Otto to her home, nothing could prepare for how her life was about to change.

--------

Well, if you followed me like... 3-4 years ago, you may remember I was quite into the Swedes from The Umbrella Academy...

I never got over them to be honest.

So here we are, I am proving my screen name yet again with a rewrite of an old story! That I never finished! But hey, my writing skill have definitely improved.

For those unfamiliar, go watch season 2 of the Umbrella Academy. The blonde assassins? Those were the boys that inspired the rise of ol' Ikea Mafia Fam. As well as the following story in which a white woman born in the 80's tries to write the perspective of a poc woman in the 60s. (and prays she is not being offensive in any way and begs forgiveness if she is.)

Also:

Herb did not, in fact, take away the dead body of the Swede Assassin.

It was still laying in Raymond's living room, long after everyone else had disappeared in flashes of blue lights. Wrapped tightly in the rug his sister had gifted him and Allison on their wedding day.

Silent.

Foreboding.

Raymond watched the unmoving figure as he sipped at his scotch. There was no way in hell he could move it by himself. And who could he trust to ask for help to move it?

To move him, Raymond reminded himself harshly. It wasn't an it, it was a ‘him.’ That was a human body resting in his living room.

Who, admittedly, had tried to kill him and Allison. But still, Raymond could at least acknowledge him as a fellow human. After all, Raymond had tried so hard to be the respectful and peaceful man his grandmother raised him to be. Even when faced with the violence because of his involvement with the protests, or being unfairly treated time after time because of racism, he never raised so much as a hand to another human being.

He shouldn't try to deny another man his humanity, even if he was a dead would-be murderer.

But he was still stuck with a dead white man in his living room. It didn't matter that the man and his brother had forced their way into their home (his home, now that Allison was gone, but he didn't want to deal with that heartache on top of everything) with intent to kill both of them.

All the law would see was a white man dead in a colored man's house.

He would go to prison… No. He was going to be lynched for this. Old-fashioned hung from a tree for the whole city to see.

Raymond tipped the rest of the scotch back and poured another full glass as the liquid burned its way to his stomach. All of his work, gone. He had abandoned his education and teaching position so he could do his part for the Civil Rights movement. He had hoped he could do some good.

And instead, he had made things worse.

It was probably a good thing Allison had…left to be with her family. It was comforting to know she was safe and alive somewhere somewhen. A small, cold, comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

His lips touched the glass for another swig when he heard it. A noise so soft and quiet he was sure he had imagined it. Still, it made him freeze, his body tense as he held his breath, eyes darting to the rug.

No. The man was dead. It had been hours since the attack. There was no way he could be somehow still alive.

Raymond shook his head, deciding it was probably just the house settling, and shot back the drink once more, feeling the burn in his throat match the burn of his eyes. His whole life had just ended. It wouldn't be long before he would join…

His somber thoughts were cut off by another sound, this one unmistakable.

A groan of pain.

Raymond startled and jumped to his feet, throwing his glass out of reflex towards the body, which grunted as the glass bounced off the rug and shattered on the floor. He grabbed a butterknife off the table and held it towards the body; the cutlery shaking in his hand as he stared at the body.

But there was only silence. For what felt like hours, Raymond stood frozen yet mentally daring it to do something. Anything. If it did, he would… he would…

The rug moved as another groan cut through the heavy silence. There was no doubting the haggard breathing and muffled moan of pain that quickly increased in both volume and frequency. Raymond cursed every foul word his grandmother would've washed his mouth out for and ran back to the kitchen to grab an actual knife. The long thick butcher’s knife his wife had used so skillfully once upon a time.

He pushed that thought away and stalked back to the living room, gripping the wooden handle tightly in his shaking hand. Raymond towered over the rug, knife poised to strike where he assumed the man’s chest was. He had to do something swift. Otherwise…

Otherwise what? He was already a deadman walking.

The knife clattered harmlessly to the floor as Raymond regained his senses. He was going to die either way, but wouldn't it be better to die innocent than guilty? Not just for his soul, but for the Civil Rights movement? His brother and sisters?

Raymond dropped to his knees and desperately undid the knots he and Allison had tied, allowing the rug to fall open. The man's face was no longer placid with death, but grimacing in pain, pale lips pursed as he sucked in haggard breaths. Blood was caked dry around the remains of his right eye, dark purple and black bruises colored his neck, while the rest of his skin was as pale as his blond hair.

"Hey, uh buddy," Raymond said as he placed a hand on his shoulder, earning a painful grunt that caused him to yank his hand away. "Right. Sorry. Let's… let's get you to a hospital." Except questions would be asked, and Raymond would definitely be arrested.

But… what if there was a chance he could avoid that? Someone that could help him and the man before him.

"Actually, on second thought..."

~❖~

Lorelei groaned as she fell into the old couch, slipping off her shoes and rubbing the ache from her feet. The third twelve-hour shift in a row at the hospital had left the young nurse sore and exhausted. This week had been crazy between the street shooting and the asylum patients escaping.

Then there was the man found in the woods. She grimaced at the memory of being briefed by the operating room's recovery nurse as she was assigned to John Doe for the rest of her shift because the white nurse had been overwhelmed and needed help (nevermind the black's unit had been just as understaffed before they had dragged her away). Even though the nurse had rattled off the injuries--including the traumatic amputation of his leg-- seeing the young man as white as the sheets, covered in bandages, left her heart sore.

Dr. Wilson and his team had done their best, but they all had their doubts. No one knew how long the man had been in the woods, wounded. It had been a miracle he hadn't bled to death. But there had been plenty of time for sepsis to set in.

Lorelei's eyes were starting to drift shut when somebody desperately knocked at the front door; hard and frantic enough to rattle the glass panes of the windows. Her eyes shot back open and she jumped up out of instinct, her heart thundering in her chest as she stumbled around the coffee table to open the door.

She knew it was going to be an emergency, knew that she should expect anything, but yet she wasn't prepared for Raymond Chestnut to be standing on her old porch, a man nearly twice his size leaning heavily on him with an ill-fitting tan suit covered in blood.

A very pale, very white man.

"What the hell?" she started, automatically shifting to the white man's side, having to lift his arm to sling it over her shoulder to help support his weight.

People coming to her was no surprise. It was normal for her the way people in their neighborhood would knock on her door for help, ranging from childhood bumps and bruises, injuries from teenagers getting into fights, and other emergencies.

But that was from people in their neighborhood-- which was very much a black community. And while she was about as white-passing as they could get-- barely passing the paper-bag test most days--her skin was still far darker than the man she helped Raymond half-drag inside.

Her stomach curdled at the wounds she saw, though the bloody mess of an eye was probably the worst. One slight touch to the unconscious man's cheek and he snarled as he shifted away, his other eye fluttering beneath its closed eyelid. "Shit. We need to get him to a hospital, Ray!"

"I know!" he hissed back, keeping his voice low despite the fact the door was closed and no one else in the old two-story house but them. "But can you imagine me pulling in the ER with him like this? I'd be lynched by dawn!"

"What even happened?" She asked, noticing the darkening bruise around his neck. Without hesitating she quickly undid the silk tie and ripped the white shirt open. There was no mistaking the shadowing of hand-prints that wrapped around his neck. Obviously not an accident, but if Raymond got in a fight, and one serious enough to do this kind of damage, why would he bring the man here?

Nevermind that Raymond was as pacifistic as it got, and she couldn't see him doing this. Hell, even if Raymond was fighting for his life, she doubted he could cause this kind of damage.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said with a dry tone, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Hell, I barely believe it, and I lived through it."

She shot him a look, "I worked in the ER on a full moon on Halloween this year. Try me."

Before he could begin, however, she stood and quickly disappeared into the kitchen. Raymond could hear the faucet running as she rummaged through drawers, and within a minute she was back with a basin of water and more than a few washcloths. "Well?" She snipped as she soaked a washcloth and wrung it out before starting to work on the caked blood around his eye, making the man hiss and flinch but not wake up.

"Him and his brother came to my house and attacked Ally and I. Allison did that," he gestured to the eye covered by a washcloth, "before telling his brother to kill him. Which I certainly thought he did when he strangled him, but…obviously not. So, here we are."

Lorelei paused and looked at him, confused and sure Raymond was lying to her. In fact, she was about to call out bullshit when she noticed the solemn look on his face. Raymond was a poor liar, and there was no way he could lie about something like this when he could barely keep a straight face about who had stolen the collards out of her abysmal attempt at a garden.

Yet there was nothing but complete honesty when he met her gaze, making her swear under her breath.

Allison, while always a bit different and headstrong for sure, was still a lady. Lorelei had a hard time seeing the hairdresser stabbing someone. Granted, being attacked in her own home would make anyone lash out.

But the attempted strangulation? And she told the man’s brother to do so, and then he apparently followed through with her command? How? Why?

As perplexing as the mystery was, right now it didn't matter. She had a patient to tend to, the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ did really matter. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and shifted to stand. "Come on, let's get him back in your car and get him to the hospital. We can say we found him on my doorstep like this. Dr. Cahoy is working tonight, and..."

The man's hand suddenly shot up and gripped Lorelei's wrist tightly, making her freeze and Raymond tense. The man's other eye was open and staring hard at her, the soft blue somehow violent. "No," he said, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper.

"No?" She repeated, incredulous. "I can't treat the trauma to that eye. We need to take you to the hospital."

"No," he repeated, his hand tightening slightly, his fingers easily encompassing her small wrist. For a moment, Lorelei feared he would pop her wrist out of joint. Yet after a brief moment his grip relaxed, though he didn't let go.

"You do realize you could lose your eye," Lorelei started, mentally adding 'if you haven't already.' The bloody mess concealed most of the damage, but she feared the worst already. Eyes couldn’t take a lot of damage before becoming blind, or needing to be removed. And, well, this one had been rather severely damaged.

The man stayed silent, his gaze not leaving hers. There wasn't an ounce of fear or worry in his expression. Just stubbornness and acceptance. "Fine," she sighed, giving in. "But in return for my services, you have to promise not to go after Ray and Allie, okay? Or any negro for that matter."

That was a big bluff for her to take, trying to demand that a white man make her a promise? Yet instead of being incensed, his gaze glanced briefly at Raymond before his eye fluttered close and he let go of her in apparent agreement.

Lorelei stood, rubbing her wrist as she mulled her options. This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. White men could get the care they need at the drop of a hat. They could get quality care no matter where they went. She needed to save her stores for those not so fortunate.

Yet something in her gut was leading her towards an idea that there was something was not quite right with the situation beyond the obvious. He only said one word, but there was a definite accent to it, and not one she was familiar with either. Her gut was telling her that she had to help him, and not just dump him off at the nearest ER.

"Ray, start boiling some water. Grab the pack of gauze and gloves under the sink too."

Raymond didn't ask any questions but nodded his head and followed her directions. Lorelei sighed as she touched the man's shoulder, making him crack open his good eye once more. "I'm serious here,” she continued softly yet firm. “I am not a doctor. I can do my best, but I doubt I can do anything to save your eye. You need a hospital."

"No," he repeated, though this time softer. Almost apologetic, as if he understood the moral quandary he was putting her through. Which, sympathy from a white man was just about as unbelievable as the rest of this.

She pushed the thought away. "Do you have any plans to hurt Ray or Allie?"

"...no." he closed his eye, becoming stoic but not before she saw a flash of something. Anguish? Regret? Or just pain?

"I'm holding you to that.” She didn’t much care about herself, but she wanted to protect her old friend and his wife. “Now, give me a name I can call you-- I don't need to be your real one," she continued as he looked at her strangely. "I just need a name you'll answer to."

"...Otto." That time she caught the accent but still didn't have an idea of where. Definitely not any of the local American drawls. Maybe that was why he was so much kinder than the usual white.

"Well, Otto, I'm Lorelei,” she returned with a tight smile. “And this is probably going to hurt like a son of a bitch."

#the swedes #tua #tua the swedes #tua otto #oscar tua #otto/oc #the umbrella academy season 2

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thecoffeelorian · 3 months

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I may be older and greyer, but I'm certainly not dead yet, so...here's Chapter 4.

Tagging: @hadtomakethisone @orange-twilek-guy @jossambird @gun-roswell @pennycrumb-stan @maybethatfanfictionwriter @chaoticvampirejedi @eclec-tech @guppyfreedom @shiversdownyerspine @m0naca @drowzynoctu @lllostgirlll @ubhqueen @gggoldfinch and anybody else who MIGHT want to read about someone other than Klaus Hargreeves.

#random status update #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua fanfic #tua fandom #tua fanfiction #the ikea mafia #the swedes #tua axel #tua otto #axel tua #otto tua #tua: origin story #the handler #random swedish folklore #skogsrå #you are axel #axel!reader

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dan-0-nino · 3 months

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Dear Swedes,

Do yall have any funny, stupid, amusing podcast recommendations in swedish? My swedish matriculation exam (a big ass test) is coming up and I am trying to find low-effort ways to study

Sincerely,

Your Finnish friend

#help needed #sweden #the swedes #swedish #finnish #finland #studying #language #podcast #svenska #funny #educational #education #send help #sverige

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sharkaiju · 2 years

Conversation

The Swedes: We're Swedish

Five: Oh, I thought you were Finnish

Klaus: No man, they're just getting started!

#incorrect quotes #incorrect umbrella academy quotes #incorrect tua quotes #incorrect tua #incorrect umbrella acadamy #Umbrella Academy #The Umbrella Academy #the swedes #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves

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ydidntyoustopme · 2 years

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the swedes fine as shit nobody talking about that

#umbrella academy #the swedes #tua triplets #umbrella academy triplets #umbrella academy x reader #the swedes x reader

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c0ffeeb1ack · 2 years

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eyyyy just realized the cat the swedes brought to elliott’s place was polydactyl!

look at those paws!!!

#the umbrella academy #tua #the swedes #s2 rewatch

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guppyfreedom · 7 months

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Oscar meets Anton

Oscar does not approve his brothers' new colleague.

For those who are unfamiliar with the Swedes, they are from a Netflix show called "The Umbrella Academy." Their first and last appearance is in season two. They are brothers who are assassins that work for an organization called the Temps Commission.

Oscar (Thomas Sinclair - in gif) Axel (Kris Holden Ried) Otto (Jason Bryden)

For those who are unfamiliar with Anton Chigurh, he is from a novel/film called "No Country for Old Men." He is a psychopathic professional hitman. His employers are unknown.

(Javier Bardem)

With one last hard push, Oscar managed to fit his victim's head inside the freezer. He had finished hacking the woman to death after finding out she was abusing her cats. The poor kittens were malnourished and neglected.

Sighing heavily, Oscar retreated to the woman's couch. He sat down and picked up one of her...well, his cats and laid them onto his lap. He shushed the animal gently, rubbing their back.

Even though she wasn't their assigned target, Oscar's two older brothers didn't mind the slaughter as long as there were no other witnesses.

Plus, they understood Oscar's empathy for animals.

"That was foolish," a deep voice commented.

Oscar looked up, his blue eyes narrowing at his brothers' new...colleague. He snorted at the man's ugly haircut since it reminded him of his brother, Otto.

"All that for miserable animals," the man, Anton, continued.

Anton was sitting on an upholstered chair across Oscar, his hands resting on his lap.

"That tiken deserved it," snapped Oscar, gently putting his cat to the side.

"I don't think you understand. Typical, for someone as young as you. You took too much time with her. A bullet to the head is quicker and the outcome easier to clean and dispose of."

"And so what? The Commission takes care of our mess anyways," continued Oscar.

"Alright. That explains your lack of care."

Oscar's clenched fists and angered expression looked as if he wanted to have a go at Anton while Anton's dry smile was challenging him to try it.

"Enough, we have more important matters to attend to," a commanding accented voice spoke.

The two men turn, seeing Axel walk into the living room. The eldest brother was holding his navy blue trenchcoat, carefully draping it on the back rest of the wooden chair.

"Yes," replied Anton, "your impulsive brother on the other hand..."

Axel heavily sighed, gesturing at his brother with a stern look.

"Knock it off, Oscar. You're letting your temper best you."

Oscar clenched his jaw, turning away from the two older men. He hated that Axel was right and he hated how it seemed Axel was favoring this Chigurh man over his own little brother.

With a hissed curse, Oscar stood up and stormed out of the living room to the bedrooms upstairs.

He doesn't like his brother's "friend".

#anton chigurh #no country for old men #ncfom #the swedes tua #the swedes #axel tua #oscar tua #i hope this is okay!#im rusty with my writing skills #this is meant to be a short fic anyways

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bathtub4rats · 8 months

Note

Trade offer accepted.

You've woken him from his slumber

#im holding you at gun point #he’s so eepy #catboy oscar #the swedes

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auroracalisto · 2 years

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don’t let them see you cry chapter eight, honey, it's alright | previous chapter — the handler—the very reason for your personal slice of hell. haunting your every move… in your sleep, during the slow hours of the day. the swedish brothers—should have been strangers who show up and show you that you are more than what she told you. you are more than your mind allows you to believe. and you—the very person who will end the misery that plagues your mind. word count: 2.5k words tw: love confessions?? is that a possible trigger?? the handler shows up in this. a/n: this is a bit of a shorter chapter, BUT, i wanted to let you guys know that i am alive and i plan on continuing this when i have the time!! between working and my master's program, i've quite literally just been trying to survive outside of the constant chaos that is currently my life. thank you for all of the love and support! i appreciate it so much. i also wanted to use this chapter as a way to move things forward!! hope it makes sense LMAO title is from the song by gregory alan isakov also i had already posted this on my ao3 like... a bit over two weeks ago

Just like the weeks before, the air was tense. However, now, it was because Axel was scared of saying something to upset you. He tread around you like he was stepping on broken glass at any given point. He already fucked up this much—he didn’t want to make things worse for you or for his brothers.

A part of him continued to berate him any time he saw you. But he almost wanted more. He wanted to be punished for the way he made you feel. Was that fair? To be punished for making you feel so alone in a world you were forcibly stranded in?

Axel was stressed. That much was obvious. Otto suggested finding a sauna somewhere, and lo and behold, there was one in downtown Dallas. Convenience wasn’t always the Swedish brothers' friend, but today, it was.

They left you alone, Oscar promising they would be back soon enough. Otto glanced at you, giving a faint smile before they left. Axel didn’t look at you, keeping his gaze on anything but your face.

You knew he felt guilty, and when he came back, you would talk to him. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t your fault, either. If anything, every problem you ever had can be traced right back to your mother. But he needed to know. You couldn’t allow him to continue living like this—angry with himself. With the fact he was only protecting the ones he loved.

How could you blame him for something like that?

It was simple—you couldn’t.

You knew you couldn't. Or at least, you wouldn't.

You sighed, collapsing onto the sofa. You stretched out, hands covering your face soon after. They would be gone for a few hours. You could get some stuff done before they returned, but at the moment, you wanted to do nothing more than relax in the comfort of your silent home.

A knock came from the sauna door, quick and repetitive—an all too familiar sound.

Axel stayed leaning against the wall, staring right at the door. Otto sat up straight, glancing towards Oscar who sat closest to the door.

Oscar’s eyes narrowed, fists clenched by his thighs.

And in walked the Handler. The one face each of them didn’t want to see.

The one face that caused more problems than any of them ever wanted to have… The very reason Axel can’t even look at you without feeling immense guilt.

“Hello, boys,” she said, a sickly sweet smile appearing on her lips as she walked in, towel wrapped around her body and hair done up as perfectly as ever. She walked over and sat near Axel, a sigh leaving her. “Enjoying yourselves, aren’t you?”

Not one of them answered her, but they had all turned their attention to her.

The Handler’s smile fell and her expression turned grim. It was obvious it pissed her off, even if she wouldn't say it.

“Surely, one of you will speak to me. Why the hell are you all taking forever? What is going on? It never takes you all this long for a mission," she said, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. These were her best soldiers. Could she be any more forgiving?

"The Commission has been more than lenient, but this is getting ridiculous,” she continued, crossing her arms over her covered chest.

“Don’t tell her anything,” Otto blurted, chest raising as he took in a deep breath.

Axel’s head shot in his direction.

Steam clung to the air like a cruel friend, making the awkwardness of it all even worse than it already was.

“What was that?” the Handler scoffed. “Really.”

No answer.

Silence joined the steam, choking the words out of Axel’s throat. Did he have to answer her? If they kept silent, would she just leave?

“How are your daughters?” Oscar nonchalantly asked, glancing over at the Handler. His face was unreadable.

Otto’s breath caught in his throat. What was he trying to do?

“Oscar,” Axel said, jaw clenched as he watched him. “Watch it.”

Oscar went to speak, but the Handler’s scoff stopped him.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, a laugh leaving her. “What are you talking about? I only have one daughter.”

Axel growled in his brother's direction. “He is just being stupid,” he said. “Pay no mind.”

Oscar narrowed his eyes at his eldest brother. What was the worst that could happen? Surely, the Handler knew. She couldn't just forget about her daughter, no matter how insistent she was.

“I only have one daughter,” the Handler continued, voice hard as she stood back up. “You three will complete the missions. Or else. Do not fail.”

She looked at each of them before she turned to leave, forcibly shutting the sauna door behind her.

She knew. She knew her daughter was there, to begin with. Oscar could tell as soon as the words left him—the way her body tensed, the way she reacted.

Axel waited until the Handler had left the room before he lunged towards his brother, grabbing at the back of his neck.

“What the fuck was that?”

“It’s nothing she didn’t already know!”

“Why would you say something? You’re going to get her killed!”

Oscar shoved his brother off of him, scowling. Axel’s shoulder dug into the chipped wood, his jaw clenching at the mild pain.

“She will not die! We will be with her. You act as if I did this impulsively.”

“You did, ” Axel growled, indignation flowing through his veins. His brother was far more brazen than he or Otto, but what the hell was this? Oscar had never done anything so foolish. You were in danger, now, and it was up to them to protect you (regardless of whether or not Oscar believed so, yet).

“I didn’t, ” Oscar spat, standing up from where he sat. “ The Handler knew. She knows . But now we know that she knows.”

“You are acting like a child, ” Axel said through clenched teeth. “ If you get her killed—”

“—I won’t get her killed.”

“If you do, I will never forgive you.”

Oscar paused, sucking in a deep breath.

Axel glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not 'nothing' ,” Axel scoffed. “ You do all this and all of a sudden, you have nothing to say? Spit it out, asshole.”

Oscar clenched his jaw. Did he make a mistake? Was he reading his brother all wrong? Was he hurting you more than he was helping you?

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you love her?”

Axel sputtered, eyes wide. Was he hearing him right?

“Do I what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t know her well,” Axel defended himself, sitting on the edge of the wooden bench. His body was tense as if he knew where this was going.

“That’s not what I’m asking. Do you love her?”

Otto groaned and buried his face in his hands, his elbows digging into the meat of his thighs. What was Oscar getting at? This was ridiculous.

Axel didn’t say anything more, running a hand through his damp hair.

“I will not get her killed, ” Oscar repeated. “ The Handler knew she was here. We do the missions, we keep Y/n safe. It will be fine.”

“And if it’s not?” Otto interjected, completely and undeniably dismayed.

“We will make it okay. I will make it okay if you two won’t, ” Oscar said. “ You both act as if you don’t care for her. I see it. I see how much you care for her.”

Otto huffed through his nose, standing up. Instantly, he towered over Oscar. He said nothing, but Oscar could see right through him. He knew the truth. He pushed past his brother, leaving the heat of the sauna and heading toward the locker rooms.

Oscar looked back at his eldest brother.

Axel mumbled something, but it wasn’t anything he could hear.

“What?”

He repeated himself, and when Oscar just gave him a dumbfounded look, he sighed, getting to his feet.

“I do. I care for her. But you have only made her life harder.”

Oscar jutted his chin out defiantly, eyes narrowed. “I guess we will see.”

Axel shoved past his brother, storming off to the locker room. He was pissed, but he wouldn't allow himself to take it out on his brother. It was a mistake. Surely, Oscar meant the best.

When Oscar and Axel left the sauna, Otto was nowhere to be seen. Little did they know, he had hurried on home to you.

You were sitting in your living room, two of your cats that usually stayed hidden, Poppy and Steve, reveling in the love you were showering them with.

You were expecting the triplets to be home at any time now. And when you heard the door, you instantly turned your attention to it.

Otto stood there, alone.

A look of utter frustration had taken over his normally stoic face.

You blinked, slowly standing up. Poppy and Steve took off running at the movement, Poppy finding solace in the warmth of the knitted blanket you had placed on the side of the couch. Steve disappeared into the kitchen.

“Otto?”

Otto took his time coming in, shutting the front door behind him. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were looking anywhere but you.

You walked up to him, frowning softly. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

He said nothing, reaching forward and wrapping his arms around your body. He held you tightly to his chest, and you returned the hug, confusion not far behind.

“I will protect you,” he said, a lump forming in the back of his throat.

Death never truly scared him, but when it came to his brothers, he always worried. And now, he’s realized that you have added that small list of people who would completely destroy him if you died.

You'd be the catalyst that drove him crazy... the poison that would end his life, if you were to leave, now.

You looked up at him, gently gripping onto his shirt. “Otto?”

“Please,” Otto tilted his head to face you. He was far taller, observing as you craned your neck just to look at him. “Please promise.”

“Promise what?”

Otto paused, frowning. What could he say without it being weird? Would it make you uncomfortable? In haste to get out some sort of answer, he chose the safest option.

“You will be safe.”

You cracked a faint smile. “I should be safe. I can promise that.”

That seemed to be enough for him as he pulled you back into his body, his chin gently pressed against the top of your head.

But he knew the truth. The Handler knew you were here—maybe she forgot and Oscar’s pestering only reminded her.

For now, he knew he and his brothers would keep you safe. Oscar, included, the stupid bastard.

As he looked down at you, watching as you hugged him back, his heart lurched in his throat. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he realized the truth he tried to keep hidden from himself for so long. He cared for you… and he wasn’t about to let the Handler ruin that for him or his brothers. She would die by his own hand if it came down to it.

Eventually, Otto pulled away from you, a hand gently coming up and brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Where are the others? Did you leave them behind?" you asked, a smile forming on your lips.

Otto sheepishly nodded. He had a hard time lying to you, no matter how small of a lie it may be.

"I made dinner, but I'd like to wait for them to get back. We could go sit outside? On the porch? It's nice enough," you said, taking ahold of his hand. "We could watch for them."

"You want to watch for them?"

"Why not?" you smiled, tilting your head. "It's getting dark out. Maybe we can watch the sunset."

That's one thing Otto never did. He never sat down and took things easy. He bit the inside of his cheek, giving you a small nod.

You tugged his hand, leading him outside with a grin. But before you could sit on your porch, Oscar bombarded you with a tight hug. You nearly jumped out of your skin, eyes wide as you looked up at the man.

Oscar was immediately grinning. "I missed your face," he teased, only pulling back when Axel grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back.

"What happened?" you asked, looking between the two of them. "Did you get left behind?"

Axel raised an eyebrow while Oscar only smiled.

Oscar missed how happy you could be. He could only hope you stayed this way.

He glanced back at his brother, who remained silent. Axel wasn't about to spoil your mood... but he knew he would have to, at some point. He walked past the three of you, disappearing into the house. You watched as he left, a bit disappointed, but you said nothing about it.

Oscar placed a hand on your shoulder. "I'm going in. Need a shower."

You smiled and nodded, not stopping him.

As he left, you and Otto remained on the porch, alone with the sky painted with yellows and oranges and pinks.

Otto hesitated to place his hand on your shoulder, but he fought the need to. He kept his hand by his side, silence soon following.

You let out a sigh, running your fingers against the scars on your neck before you glanced back at him.

The Handler sat on the hotel room's red sofa, perfectly manicured hands wrapped around a champagne flute. A celebration, it was not. But she now knew what was keeping her prized assassins in the sixties far longer than she anticipated.

Her impetuous daughter.

She rolled her neck between her shoulders, a satisfying pop sounding throughout the room.

Death would meet her daughter soon enough—perhaps even sooner if she had any say in the situation (which she did). Your blood would be on her hands, no matter what. She would make sure of it.

The Handler downed the rest of her champagne, standing up and sitting the flute down on the mahogany coffee table.

Danger was coming for her daughter, and fast—the very one pulling the lever was the one person who should have always protected her.

It's a shame she never once had a care in the world for anything but herself.

The Handler glanced over her shoulder, staring at the unmade bed. She had only been here for the night, but she knew she would be staying here a little longer, now. If anything, it would be to see what the hell you were doing. Or rather, what you had done to make her best employees a shell of their former past.

next chapter

#the swedes #tua #tua otto #tua oscar #tua axel #the swedes x reader #don't let them see you cry #tua x reader #tua otto x reader #tua oswald x reader #tua axel x reader #x reader #reader insert #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy x reader #tua s2 #the swedes imagine #ikea mafia #ikea mafia x reader

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