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get yourself a main character whos two primary emotions are "little cunt" and "catatonic with grief"

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with hargreeves luck, one of his siblings could very well bat a fucking eyelash and end the world, but there's no point in saying this aloud. five shouldn't have said anything aloud— usually doesn't ; family tradition and whatnot, but he'd like to think the last several days years of this unbroken silence have taught at least one of them a little something. silence was five's oldest and most effective teacher, after all. he swallows it now, ignores the better taste of it going down. “ . . . there's always more to lose. ”

was there a point in saying that either ?

five isn't a superstitious man, but he fights the impulse to chip the bartop with a fist, knock on wood, just to be safe. he shifts in his seat, body suddenly stiff, itching, something like impatience. he fights the sudden impulse to apologize too ; pointless. love and loss should cancel each other out, by all rights, but they don't follow the same cosmic rhymes or reasons as the equations scrawled out over every spare inch of his bedroom wall. unquantifiable, unfortunately. unchangeable. why apologize for that ?

still. when has unchangeable stopped him before ? he joins his brother in eyeing his glass rather than upending it, twirling a finger aimless around its surface, watching the ripples without seeing them. “ what was their name ? ”

There are lots of things Klaus appreciates about Five— he's brutally honest, smart as a whip, and most importantly: he's consistent. Five won't say no to a drink, and that is precisely why Klaus asks him in the first place. Surely you can't be a raging alcoholic when it's a social occasion, right? It's not pathetic— it's sibling bonding!

He's already pouring out their drinks before the last syllable even leaves his brother's mouth; his hands are trembling, but fuck it, most of the liquid makes it to the glass one way or another. He doesn't stop to toast, doesn't even really look up from the dismal swirl of the wood grain countertop as he lifts his glass with the intention of throwing it back in one swift gulp to let the buzz sear through his veins for just long enough to make him forget about the Dave-sized hole in his heart.

But then Five goes and ruins it all with his question, and Klaus stops for a minute, his glass raised mid-air, as his brother clunkily tip-toes around the goddamn alcoholic elephant in the room (tip-toes is, perhaps, even too kind of a word for the vague, deflated words that come out of Five's mouth— less of a tip-toe and more of a flat-footed kick to the shin).

"Yeah, I'm sure!" Klaus laughs, though the amusement never quite reaches his eyes. "What, is the world gonna end if I start drinkin' now?"

Leaning forward with his elbows on the bar, he cradles his glass in two hands like something precious, brings it up to eye-level so that he might study the way the ice makes the colors swirl a bit.

And then, in a smaller voice, tight in the back of his throat, he adds: "I got nothing left to lose."

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oh 🥺

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heyy guess who's been dealing with irl drama and also binging the boys which they now have a verse for lol [me!] BUT even though i work the weekend unfortunately i'm gonna try to crank out a few replies in the next few days and perhaps apply for crossover mutuals if i'm feeling brave <3

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so no five and claire interaction?

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@umare. . . 𝙻𝙸𝙻𝙰 𝙿𝙸𝚃𝚃𝚂.

❛ it’s okay to be afraid. fear can be good. use it. ❜

a hollowed - out hysteria has taken hold of this body, age - softened, almost paternal how it cradles him ; familiar. familial. it smells of scorched earth and tastes like rust, red and flaking, an old scab picked loose to reveal the scarred skin waiting patiently underneath. an old man's flesh and bones, emaciated, the walking dead ; five hargreeves, bad person and a worse brother, here lies— lives, always lives. fucking hysterical. “ fear can be good ? ” bubbles out of him almost as a laugh, strangled 'round the neck, the head, the hands, blue - less and gnarled and grasping at nothing, always nothing. he feels rabid, suddenly, possessed, like he could tear out her throat with his own teeth if she were anyone else.

the image itches, curdles low in the stomach, and he takes a step back as if the motion will tear the air between them in two before it can manifest. “ fear clouds the mind, lila. fear never did anything for anybody short of making shitty situations even shittier. ” i'm fucking trying, he doesn't say, watching instead those hands clench and un - clench in a quick rhythm, palms up and far too soft to rip space apart and crawl through it, too young and six years domesticated. he thinks of the old and grizzled form laid out alone on a table, choking on his own spittle just warn his past self against saving the future. five should have fucking killed him himself.

you're never getting out of here.

he lets his hands drop like dead weights, a sigh softening the rest of him, now, turned down and away from the scorch of her gaze. “ if we're gonna get out of here. . . ” he begins, as if to interrupt her, himself, anything. he has no idea. he has no fucking idea. “ i'm— i'm trying. alright ? ”

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working against the clock to stop the apocalypse for so long, the start of 6 years without that could only have been rough, to put it mildly. not only would it be a tad overwhelming ; c - ptsd developed from decades of always needing to be prepared for the other shoe to drop otherwise you and / or your family die, but also bring out the reginald in five. i'm always on my reginald + five parallels bullshit, but five's operating would not only be quite similar to reginald's, but almost inherited ; the same mantra of 'we must always be prepared for the apocalyptic' that's haunted their family since they were born. five obviously lacks the same means as reginald to monitor his siblings, but he absolutely would monitor them. each apocalypse thus far required their powers as a major element of causation, but the last time five assumed they were in the all - clear, a kugelblitz almost unmade all of reality, so he can't really afford to take any chances. he keeps tabs on where his siblings live and work, and creates profiles to keep updated information on. he finds some shithead who owns a van he can steal [ don't need teleportation to break someone's unsuspecting neck because all they see is a teenager harmless enough to turn their back on ] and keeps his meager belongings in there, the majority of which are little debbie's snacks and a filing cabinet he nicked from the junkyard. he keeps tabs on their father as well, seeing as you can't separate any of their apocalypses from him either, and starts building a profile on who he doesn't yet know to be their mother, but he makes uneducated guesses. if anyone were to stumble upon his van, one could only assume him to be a federal agent of some kind or a very shitty serial killer.

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The Umbrella Academy + Five Hargreeves + Left-Handed

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home. as the months, years, decades of ash and ruin and loneliness dragged on like road - rash against the softest parts of him, filing them down to the bone ; pieces of him left behind and buried there with everything else— home was. . . memory. it, too, whittled down to something skeletal with time, as all things do, but the shape of it stayed the same. its outline, faded impressions of the foyer five just stepped through today, the sharp corners of the fireplace, the picture frames hooked to every wall. the slant of light on the kitchen cabinets, on golden curls. the blurred, hurried sound of too many pairs of shoes racing down over hardwood all at once. a static voice droning over breakfast, cords tucked behind his ears before bed. sprawling out on the cold floor after training, full - body wracked with aftershocks, even the gleam of lamplight off a monocle. scavenged leftovers of his life. beggars can't be choosers.

no, luther isn't wrong. contrary to what he and the rest of their siblings might believe, five actually thinks luther's right about things more often than he's wrong about them. home was always in this shape ; same ceiling, same floors, and luther may have spent the larger part of his own months, years, decades taking the shapes of their house and trying to make a home out of them. playing house. “ when i was stuck in the future that first time. . . ” he begins, the words feeling threadbare before they've even left him. ash, more ash in his mouth. he frowns at the cobwebbed corners of the room. luther hardly needs a personal anecdote for this.

he thinks of dolores, suddenly, set about whatever corner of the apocalypse he called home for the week with the utmost care.

“ it was never wrong to want to make this place a home, ” he answers just as suddenly, rather plain, dusting off the back of his throat. luther looks just as lost as he always did, if not at least a little less in his own body. five considers the space left between their shoulders, now. still. “ does it. . . feel like home to you ? ” he prods further, born and bred button - pusher ; even his very skin, pushed and pushed and pushed without ceasing. huh. unsure, his body leans in like an answer, nudging an arm that used to be wider than his own head, once upon a time ; a mirrored motion. copy 'n paste. he thinks of dolores' plastic elbow, cold and interlocked with his own. luther's body is warm and solid beneath the pressure.

it's not that he wants to be alone  —   it's just that it's something he's grown accustomed to,   something that rarely felt like a choice.   and he knows that's nothing compared to what five's been through,   but maybe that's what he struggles most with.   all the time luther's lived in the academy,   his family was in reach,   yet it hardly felt that way.   the longer he was there alone,  the easier it was to start resenting them all,   assuming they left him rather than their father or the systems he'd created.   that resentment often turned into guilt,   forcing himself to really look at the way he'd driven them away himself.  he longed for the days even one of them would return home,   apologize to luther for leaving him there all alone,   or to simply just tell him about the lives they were building on the outside.   

things are different now;   they've found their way into each other's lives,  but it's hard not to feel like they're not moving on without him even still.    some of them have families,  careers,  real lives  —   something luther always dreamt of but never knew how to build himself,   as if his life started far too late and he can't possibly come back from it now.   that's why he's here,   in a rotting building that was never truly a home to him as much as it was a prison,   because it's all he knows.   and his home on the moon is no longer an option,  as much as he may long for the feeling of serenity it provided him,  but only briefly—     it nearly killed him the last time he was there.   he's still not sure how the moon hadn't become his tomb.

his face drops at the question,  almost as if he's offended,  ready to jump to the defense.   but does he have one?   his only real defense is that he has nothing else.   nor does he know how to reach for it,  either—     in the '60s,   things fell into place.   ruby brought him in,   and it felt familiar,   like he was seeking what he thought he had with his father rather than what it actually was.   but ruby didn't respect him,  didn't love him the way luther once believed reginald did,   and he soon realized he was only caught up in the same cycle.    this is finally his chance to be free,  on his own,   and yet,   he's so afraid of taking the leap,   like he missed out on his chance when the rest of his family moved on as they were teenagers.  

❝  ah,  come on,  it's not so bad,  ❞    he says,   the tone of his voice casual yet forced,  an empty grin tugging at his lips as he leans over,  nudging five's shoulder gently   (   too gentle,   like he's still being careful,   still used to the weaponized body he once knew and  was afraid to hurt. )    ❝  i've put in a lot of work to this place,   you know.   you should've seen it when I first got here.  total mess,  really,  ❞   he claims,   as if that's not still true,   save for the small projects he'd started here and there.    but when he really looks at five,   he remembers that it's never been easy to put on a front with him—    something about him,  perhaps the solidarity of their similar yet different experiences in total isolation,   urges luther to want to share truths he won't even admit to himself.   he pushes out a breath,   leaning back.    ❝  —   is it really so wrong to want to make it a home?  ❞    a confession:    five's right,  it was never really a home,   but luther's desperate to believe that he could fix it,  make it into a real home now,  like that's going to make up for the torture it had been all his life.   

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remember when grace was an actual character... kinda actually get mad if i think too long about how unimportant she gets over the seasons. that is literally their robot mom and you put her in the attic

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the parallels between luther's "you're not alone anymore" scene with five in season one and five's "you're not alone" scene with luther in season two can be so personal..... luther reaching out in that moment stuck with him so much that he parrots it all back to console luther feeling so adrift and out of place and alone.... no it's fine it's whatever

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"this is the price of being powerful. sometimes we step on ants." spoken like a guy who fucked around and found out with Time Itself at the cost of many human lives and will continue to fuck around if it means his siblings aren't the ants being stepped on anymore

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five lurking behind klaus' shitty interaction with lila's family and jumping in to conveniently remind him of his accomplishments and progress. top 10 big brother moments fr

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The Umbrella Academy Season 4 (Deleted Scene)

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it is actually so crazy that the first three seasons are something like 25 consecutive days of nonstop trying to save the world for five and they have him mention this canonically in 3.01 and then. don't do anything about it lol. so he goes from 40 years alone in a wasteland to killing people for a living for 5 more years and then jumping through time to get back to his family straight into we have apocalypse next week and next week and next week and. and then they trap him in a time labyrinth for 7 years. i'll kill you

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self indulgent gender thoughts because i'm incapable of having cis muses ; man does not give a fuck about gender due to first being raised as a tool, living in a world without the rest of society let alone gender roles at thirteen and onwards for forty years, and then living as a weapon for five more <3 he does not care about pronouns, he does not care about societal rules that have zero sense or incentive and he will bite you if you misgender anybody in his presence because he identifies as an Ally and he is a Menace. however he is still a fucking boomer so he has no idea the semantics of anything, but he's got the spirit <3

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when i remember in the original script for season 1 five's favorite siblings are viktor and klaus, five and klaus' little roadtrip in season 3 becomes even sweeter and it was already sweet as hell :(