#The Unfinished Clue | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcfleurish · 6 months

Text

The Parent Trap AU, where Techno and Wilbur are identical twins who were separated at birth and somehow ended up at the same summer camp eleven years later.

Wilbur felt as if he were on top of the world. He advanced toward his opponent and lunged, saber flashing in the sunlight.

The other boy stumbled back. He was quick to take advantage of the opening and attacked without thought.

In a blink of an eye, his opponent hit the ground and their counselor, Dan, was lifting his arm up in victory. “The winner and undefeated champion, Wilbur Soot!” he announced.

Underneath his wire-mesh mask, he was grinning from ear to ear. Fencing lessons paid off after all— he’d have to thank Mum after the summer was over.

After being let go, Wilbur gravitated toward the fence next to the arena, where his friends hung around and cheered him on.

“That was sick!” Fundy exclaimed immediately.

“Right? You beat him in like, ten seconds flat!” Tubbo was perched atop the fence, legs swaying. “I swear we’ve been here all day. How have you not lost once?”

He laughed, face burning red from exertion and embarrassment. “Don’t jinx me.”

To his left, Dan scoured the clearing for more participants. “Do we have any challengers?” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“I’ll have a go,” an unfamiliar boy answered, masked and already snapping on a vest. He had an air of self assurance about him, lazily flipping the saber in the air and catching it with one hand.

Dan blew the whistle. “En garde!”

The boy saluted, saber in hand.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. He welcomed the competition, yet hesitated briefly before returning the gesture.

With another blow of the whistle, it begun.

His first thought upon dueling the boy was that he was quick. If Wilbur came near he would simply glide away, the reflex seemingly automatic.

Through a flurry of thrusts and a parries, he attempted to knock the blade out of his opponent’s hand.

His opponent deflected the attack and whirled around, catching him off guard and getting him in the shoulder.

0-1

They danced back and forth for another eternity. Wilbur managed to get a touch in by going low, though now he was sweating and his opponent still seemed to be going strong.

1-1

Their sabers locked together and Wilbur swept them in a circle, hand steady.

His opponent twisted his wrist, breaking away. Then, to his surprise, charged directly at him.

He sidestepped, but his opponent pivoted last minute and forced him to hop back on his heels. Now off balance, Wilbur retreated, forced to parry blow after blow.

Focused on defending, he failed to notice the water trough behind him before it was too late. The back of his knees hit wood and within the millisecond only gave him enough time to let out a surprised shout.

He fell hard. Sun baked water buzzing with water skippers splashed around his ears and soaked through his clothes. Sputtering, he wiped the murky liquid from his mask and stared up at his opponent in disbelief. A chorus of laughter rung out in the clearing, to his mortification.

The boy had one hand over his mouth, as if holding back his own laugh, and the other outstretched as an offering.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. He’d lost, but it wasn’t fair. There weren’t water troughs in fencing arenas— at least not in the UK— and he was doing well before the incident.

He took his hand roughly and yanked the boy in with him. Petty? Yes. Jerk move? Definitely, but it made him feel slightly better.

He careened into the space next to him face first, sending up a wave of water. When he surfaced he was thoroughly drenched. He couldn’t see his eyes but his body language implied he was glaring daggers toward Wilbur.

They were both silent as they clambered out of the trough, water pooling in the dirt below.

Wilbur unfastened his mask and crossed his arms over his chest. He refused to look at Dan or his former opponent.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new champ, Mister Techno Craft! Let’s shake hands, gentlemen.”

Water dripped from his curls and into his eyes, forcing him to swipe it away. He still didn’t acknowledge the counselor.

“Boys,” Dan said warningly.

He rolled his eyes, heaving a dramatic sigh as he turned, hand extended.

His opponent, Techno, must’ve turned at the same time because their eyes met. His hand hovered in the air between them, mask dangling at his side.

Techno had curly brown hair that reached the nape of his neck and freckles dotted along his nose bridge.

His eyes were drawn to a birthmark below his lower lip. That would be all well and good if Wilbur didn’t have one in the exact same spot.

After scanning the rest of Techno’s face, he deducted he even had the same curved jawline and pointed ears as him. A portion of his hair was dyed pink and both his ears were pierced, but minus the cosmetics, they were identical. It was as if he’d just been transported into The Twilight Zone or something.

Dazed, Wilbur shook his hand. Surrounding campers close enough to see both their faces gasped.

“Why’s everyone starin’?” Techno asked, blinking familiar brown eyes. His accent was painfully American.

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what, exactly?” His tone was curt.

Maybe he was going insane. “The resemblance between us.”

“Uh, no. Not really.” He shrugged. “Your hairline is way worse than mine.”

Wilbur’s jaw hung open. “Hey!”

“Just sayin’,” Techno continued. “Plus those glasses make you look like a wannabe Harry Potter.” He mimed the circular frames of his glasses with his hands.

Some blond kid was crying with laughter over the fence railing. It wasn’t even that funny.

Tubbo slid off his perch, frowning. “Want me to punch him for you?” he offered with a crack of his knuckles.

Wilbur waved him away and took a step forward, balling his own fists. “You want to know the real difference between us?” he began.

Techno seemed uninterested. “Let me guess, that I know how to fence and you don’t?”

He was about to punch his identical “twin” in his identical nose when Dan stepped back in.

“Okay, okay, gentlemen. Break it up,” he scolded. “Techno …” Dan did a double take upon seeing them together. “I mean, Wilbur, sorry—“

The lunch bell interrupted him mid-sentence and Wilbur was pulled away from the encounter by Tubbo before he could get into trouble.

“Do we really look that similar or am I going insane?” he asked his friends.

“Probably just a coincidence,” Fundy said, kicking a stone on the trail as he walked. “Freak of nature type of thing, yeah? Or a glitch in the multiverse— he’s like, the discount version of you.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Please accept my condolences, Wil. I can’t imagine having your sworn enemy look exactly like you,” Tubbo added solemnly.

Wilbur glanced back and saw Techno being pulled away by his friends as well— one of them being the blond kid who thought him being compared to Harry Potter was peak comedy. He caught Techno staring back at him and quickly looked away.

He’d get his revenge soon, and he had the perfect idea for it. Wilbur would show Techno Craft not to mess with him.

—

They were returning from a morning hike and even Techno was feeling weary, boot soles digging into his heels with each painful step.

“I’m crawling into bed and sleeping for the next week,” Tommy groaned, backpack slung over his shoulder bouncing as he moved. Even exhausted, he still somehow oozed energy with exaggerated motion.

Quackity nodded. “I’m crawling into bed and sleeping for the next year.” He was the shorter of the two, and wore a navy blue beanie with various colorful pins stuck in the wool.

Techno wondered how he could wear a beanie in the heat of the summer outdoors without dying.

The trio rounded the corner, pine trees retreating and revealing the Pogtopia Cabin.

He expected to be greeted with cozy pine logs and screened windows, the usual sight, instead he was met with something abnormal. Techno froze. “That doesn’t seem to be a possibility,” he drawled, pointing at their cabin roof.

“What the hell?” Tommy and Quackity exclaimed in unison.

Every one of their cots were nailed onto the roof, crooked yet somehow stable. The British flag flew high in place of the American flag, stars and stripes no where to be seen.

“This has got to be some sort of hate crime,” Tommy muttered under his breath.

Quackity snapped his fingers. “I know who did it.”

So did Techno.

There was no doubt who was responsible. He’d only offended one British person so far during his time at Camp Manberg and that was Wilbur Soot.

Quackity’s face was scheming. A lightbulb must’ve gone off because he suddenly brightened. “Hey, I have a payback plan.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Tommy asked eagerly.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Let me get in touch with an associate of mine.” He rubbed his hands together, then ran off in the opposite direction— giggling all the while.

Techno mentally stalled and had to boot himself back up. “Alright, then,” he said hesitantly, gaze following Quackity’s retreating back. He didn’t know who his “associate” was nor did he want to know. “Now … how do we get our beds down from there?”

“Beats me, man.” Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dibs not it.”

“Bruh.”

—

The prank war continued, with Techno and his friends retaliating via rigged booby trap in the enemy cabin.

Quackity’s “associate” turned out to be an older boy dubbed Slime, who— and quote, “don’t ask why”— had a huge reservoir of honey, shaving cream, and maple syrup.

“No, you really don’t wanna go in there, trust me—“ Techno tried nervously, leaning all of his weight against the screen door in an attempt to keep it shut. His gaze wandered to the bucket rigged above.

Schlatt rolled his eyes, foot thumping against the wooden deck. “Give it a rest, kid. You don’t think I’ve seen some sick kids before?”

“He’s contagious,” he blurted out.

Wilbur, still in his pajamas, smiled sweetly at them from inside. “I have no clue what he’s on about. Come right in, guys.”

“Listen,“ Schlatt started and brute forced his way past Techno, yanking open the door. “I’ve had the pox before, no big—“

The bucket tipped.

Five gallons of water crowned both counselors, soaking them through and splashing onto the floorboards.

Schlatt let out a string of expletives that would’ve got him fired if any higher ups were around to witness. He stumbled forward, farther into the mess of a cabin. Dan followed suit.

Techno could only stand and watch in horror.

Wilbur backed away with a smug grin.

They both screamed, scrambling feet finding purchase on nothing but oil slicked wooden planks. Twine filled the cabin like a spiders web, so naturally they hit every possible one on the way down and triggered all the other traps. Feathers drifted in the air like snow along with glittery plastic confetti. At one point Dan tried to grab onto something to steady himself, only to trigger the next sequence.

Wilbur’s friends sat upright in their cots, shaving cream still formed into shapes of beards and wild hairstyles. The brunet one looked like he was having the time of his life, while the older was pale and looked like he was seeing death itself.

It summed up Techno’s feelings pretty well. He was horrified. Shouldn’t Quackity have warned them if they were doing cabin checks that day?

Soon enough, the counselors were covered in syrup and feathers and thoroughly filled with rage.

“That’s it!” Dan roared. “You two— start packing.” He jabbed a finger at Techno, then at Wilbur.

Wilbur’s expression dropped. “What?

“I have never, in all my time here,” Schlatt grunted, steadying himself against the doorframe.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Wilbur pleaded, gesturing around the ruined cabin. “It was all him.”

“The blame game, really?” Techno cocked an eyebrow. The last thing he wanted to do was get sent home because of him. Phil would be furious.

“Well? Get going,” Dan prompted, face red.

Wilbur scowled, turning to leave.

It couldn’t get any worse.

—

It got worse.

“Coming from two brothers that should be setting an example—“ Dan lectured. He’d taken a shower since the incident and no longer resembled a plucked chicken.

“We’re not brothers,” Wilbur spat.

He gave him a dead stare. “I’m sure you understand why I don’t believe you.” Dan nodded toward Techno.

The pink-haired thorn in Wilbur’s side held a duffel in one hand and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. “It’s true,” he responded slowly. “Pretty sure that’s the whole problem here.”

“Now, me and Schlatt have come to decision. Since we can’t send either of you home yet— we had to improvise.”

Uh-oh.

—

“You two will be sharing this cabin for the next six weeks. You’ll eat together, you’ll bunk together, and you’ll be doing all your activities together. Either you’ll find a way to get along or you’ll punish yourselves better than I ever could.” It’s said with finality, with Dan gesturing to the interior of the remote cabin.

Wilbur dropped his bag on the floor with a thump. He made sure to shoot Techno hard glare, saying, “you got us into this mess”.

The message seemed to get through just fine. Techno responded with a middle finger behind Dan’s back.

His nostrils flared.

—

They spent the next morning at breakfast in dead silence. A tacky sign with hurried marker read: “Isolation Table - Do Not Disturb”.

Wilbur could only stew in his misery, shoving forkfuls of salad in his mouth while glaring at Techno between book pages.

Meanwhile, Techno clicked away on his Game Boy, unbothered.

He wanted to slap the stupid machine out of his hands. Wilbur could tell it was going to be a long summer.

—

“Of course you do ballet.” Techno sighed inwardly, meeting Wilbur’s gaze in the wall mirror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“Nothin’, nothin’. Just suits your amazing, definitely not stuck-up personality.” He made sure to lace each word with heavy sarcasm.

“I am not stuck up.”

“Then start acting like it.”

He could almost hear Wilbur’s jaw crack with the force of how hard he ground his teeth.

“Leave me alone,” he said.

“You leave me alone,” Techno retorted, setting down his boombox. He pressed a button and began blasting music. It had an upbeat tempo, the lyrics incomprehensible.

A challenge.

Wilbur seemed thrown off. “Fine, whatever.”

He went back to the barre, but Techno could tell the music was bothering him.

Served him right.

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #wilbur soot #technoblade #twins duo #threadfic #going to be honest no clue what to tag this …#unfinished #wip? might not come back for this #fleur writes

31 notes · View notes

note-boom · 2 years

Text

I was thinking about BSD's female characters again (as one does) and being mildly frustrated that a lot of their trauma comes from being controlled by an outside male source....and then it hit me.

Almost EVERY BSD character has a past and trauma rooted in being controlled or having a lack of control.

Atsushi under the orphanage headmaster. Akutagawa under Dazai. Kyouka under Akutagawa (and keep in mind Koyou helped get her out in the end). Yosano under Mori. Kenji losing control after his best friend dying. Chuuya under the government and then the Port Mafia. Koyou losing control over her freedom thanks to the old boss. Ranpo having no control over his own self and having been isolated from the world. The Hunting Dogs under the government. Sigma under the DoA and the Book. Even Dazai a little (more on that later).....just this persistent theme of people not getting control over their lives.

And you know what that sounds like? Characters in a story being manipulated by an author.

We have this persistent theme of literature and writing and books throughout BSD, after all. And this incessant use of a character having a tragic past rooted in lack of control or losing control and being manipulated by some superior force screams (to me at least) literary imagery. And what's most interesting is that Dazai both is a character and a manipulator.

Of course he's not the only one pulling the strings, as we know. But he does eat up a BIG part of the narrative, I think...a character who previously had no will to seek out anything to do (and thus adopted the values or reasons of the people around him) trying to craft a narrative of his own after the death of his friend. A character essentially trying to become the author (the light novel Beast just makes me wonder more about this, tbh). But also one whose story is told through the stories of other characters.

And what I find interesting about that AND Beast with regards to Dazai is this page from Vol 17...

People writing. The writer including their own self into the story. Being both a character AND an author and in that sense taking control of your own life and your circumstances....

I'm not sure where I'm going with all this, but I just wanted to really point out that part of a lot of the BSD characters' narratives have to do with this lack of control over their own lives....and we see the ADA full of people trying to take back control. Kunikida and his ideals, Yosano and her healing, Ranpo being the agency's core, Atsushi trying to save people, and Dazai trying to become the author in other people's lives if he can't be the author of his own (his inability to die, you know?).

So my question honestly is just what's the deal with that? Am I making mountains out of molehills or seeing themes and motifs that aren't there? And if not, what does the existence of the Book say about these characters struggling to write their own narratives? (Or the narratives of others, in Dazai's case). Just....literary imagery in BSD and the "toxic" relationship between the author and the character....

#yes my ponderings are always a bit of a stretch #blame my sleep deprived mind for that #im gonna make it even more a stretch though #by saying that koyou a female character helping kyouka write herself out of the control of others also feels literarily significant?#its the BOOKISH THEMES #the way all these characters seemed trapped under something greater that guides their actions #even mori with natsume's tri-something scheme #you ever wonder if natsume also kind of serves as an audience for the lives of the characters?#something something i am a cat being a book about a cat watching society go about in its nonsense #and something about the audience being able to influence the characters through their own interpretations #as i clearly am absurdly doing please forgive this #truth be told tho there are so many angles one could take on bsd and this is why ill always kick past me for getting into unfinished media #also yes this post came after me pondering the female characters post i reblogged (both of these are queued so no clue when it will appear)#of course there's a lot i havent considered...such as the postwar angle and philosophical one #man i think way too much about a stupid manga that decided to protect author thirst into a supernatural genre....#does this kind of poking about even fit the depth this manga is trying to go down to?#oh well i said what i said and this is ultimately a blog where i release my unhealthy fixation on bsd in attempts to calm it #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd musings #bsd theories #too lazy to tag all the characters #rambling in the tags sorry #bsd manga spoilers #manga spoilers #bsd spoilers #spitting nonsense #oh...tho shoutout to fitzgerald for the person controlling him being two women...dead daughter and wife #yup there's more in the reblogs because i have no self control

127 notes · View notes