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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

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Brothers in Arms, Part One

Umbrella Academy

Author’s note: This is Part One of the fifth installment of my Sheepdogs series. If this is the first time you’re seeing it on your dash, you can start with Part One, He Saw the Ghosts, a slight AU exploring what could have happened if a kinder vet had approached Klaus at the VFW. Dead Ringer, Tattoos with Better Stories, and Missing in Action follow the vets Klaus meets as they try to unravel the mystery surrounding his photograph hanging on their memorial wall. All installments are available on my AO3 account.

A quick warning: This installment features a character expressing homophobic attitudes typical of the era.

1968

Humid air, heavy with rain, wrapped around Art’s skin as he sighted his target.

Klaus never strayed too far, when he wandered, never went too near the edges of camp, but that didn’t make him easy to track down. For how high he could raise his voice and how loudly he could laugh, the guy could be quieter than Spurlock when he wanted to sneak around.

Speak of the devil….

Art went over the story in his mind. His latest contribution to the Spurlock canon had brought laughter, sure, but most of those stories earned at least a chuckle. This one, though—this one had garnered a piece of advice, echoed and approved by every man who heard it: “You’ve gotta tell Klaus.” Being encouraged to share a joke with the rest of the group was one thing, but to hear your joke should be brought to the man who could make an entire tent laugh with a quip and a scowl? Well. There were greater achievements, higher honors, but none sent Art out in search of them.

A few steps took him close enough to see Klaus wasn’t smiling. Nothing Art hadn’t seen before, but that just made him quicken his pace. The second he heard what Art had in store, that frown would disappear and he’d—

It was the finer nuances in the look Klaus wore that stopped him first. He’d seen Klaus upset before, of course, seen him distraught and nervous and plain old scared. He knew of no man who could make it through a war zone without having to fight through any of those things, and if one existed, Art wasn’t sure he’d like to meet him.

But there was no gunfire nearby. There was only Dave, standing across and shaking his head as Klaus spoke.

For a few seconds, Art could only watch. Klaus spoke at full tilt, hands upturned in a gesture resembling a plea, words inaudible from that distance. His lips moved too quickly for Art to read much of what he said, but any bozo could tell this was not the sort of conversation Klaus usually involved himself in.

“That’s a sin, you know.” The warning came to mind with such speed and clarity that Art’s grandmother might as well have spoken directly in his ear. He could hear the rest of her lecture, too: Eavesdropping had no purpose aside from gathering information that was never yours to hear, and the only reason why one might want that information was to spread gossip, which was a big enough sin that Art’s grandmother had always pursed her lips and pointedly changed the subject whenever something resembling gossip entered her home or church. She might tell a white lie now and then, down one too many glasses of wine on occasion, but gossip was the one sin on which she never compromised.

Art pressed his back against a nearby tree, trying to ignore that old pang of guilt. Even separated from notions of sin and damnation, even stripped of its connotations to old biddies quilting and shooting the shit, his grandmother’s disdain for gossip was far from baseless. Rumors never did anyone a bit of good, and he couldn’t recall a time when they didn’t do the opposite.

But then, it was only gossip if you shared what you knew.

Klaus was still speaking, words tumbling over each other in a rush too fast for Art to read. Dave shook his head, and Klaus spoke again, more briefly this time.

Dave cupped a hand to Klaus’ cheek. Words followed, words so slow and clear Art would have needed to look away had he wanted to miss them.

“I love you.”

Klaus didn’t gasp. No confusion twisted his features, no apprehension made him take a step back. The statement was expected—and so was something else, something that didn’t follow even after a moment’s pause. “But?”

Hurt and confusion, disbelief and heartbreak crossed Dave’s face, not warring for dominance so much as gathering into a force of their own, blending together and becoming something new. Without a word, Dave pulled Klaus into his arms.

Neither spoke after that.

“One tat doesn’t prove a thing.”

“They share more than one tattoo,” Richard said. “You know that.”

Art did know that. And a part of him wanted to be content with it, to take that fact and turn it into something resembling closure. “Look, Klaus—the Klaus I knew—he had ‘em on his hands, too. Hello on one, Good Bye on the other.”

Richard and Jim traded glances, and Art knew what he’d hear before they spoke. “Our Klaus had those, too,” Jim said.

There was no point in asking whether the locations matched; as best he could recall, the tattoos on their Klaus and the tattoos on the Klaus he’d served with were in the same places. Klaus, his Klaus, hadn’t been the only man to wear that Sky Soldiers tattoo—Art was living proof of that—but he knew of only one with an umbrella on his arm and pleasantries on his palms.

“You said he looked like that picture.”

“Just like it,” Jim said.

“Like he’d stepped right out of the frame,” Richard added.

Art drew a breath, but the small sip of oxygen did little to ease the dizziness threatening to tip him out of his chair and onto the floor. “So what are you saying? That they’re the same damn guy?”

Again they traded glances. Art waited for one to speak, waited for some statement he could shoot down, but Jim looked at the table and Richard looked to the photo again.

Art got to his feet so quickly the dizziness overtook him a moment, and he clutched the table for support. When his vision returned, he crossed to the photo and found Klaus in a second.

“Fifty years.” He heard the scraping of chairs against the floor but didn’t turn from the photo. “It’s been fifty years since that photo, and you’re telling me he looks exactly the same?”

“As best we can tell.” Richard’s words carried a sigh. “That picture’s not the clearest.”

He hadn’t recanted what he’d said, but he hadn’t backed it up unequivocally, either. Art’s mind went frantically over the details he’d been given, the details he’d handed over, searching for any inconsistencies or alternate interpretations that might end this bizarre charade before he started to believe it himself. Yet all that came to mind were moments fifty years past. The time he’d heard Klaus humming to himself and recognized the tune, years later, in a Disney movie. The way he’d simply appeared one day, with no dog tags and no apparent memory of the training he would have received….

“You saw him crying over this picture?”

Jim nodded, joining Art at the wall. Before Art could think of another question that might cut whatever Jim might say short, Jim pointed to the man beside Klaus, a man at the edge of the group. “Over this guy right here.”

Dave.

“You sure?”

“He was wearing Katz’s dog tags, too.”

Another wash of dizziness threatened to take him, but this time Art steadied himself with a deeper breath. There was an explanation. There had to be. A logical, rational explanation. “Maybe—look, assholes pretend to be vets all the time. Maybe he just put more thought into it than most of ‘em do.”

“Yeah, vets,” Jim said, leaning on the plural. “Not one vet in one picture.”

“We didn’t even know that guy’s name until you came in.” He sensed, more than saw, Richard approach the wall. “And you can’t see his tattoos in the photo.”

It was true, Art had known it was true, and yet hearing it made him want to whip out some fact that would bring the whole illusion crashing down in a second. He settled for pacing toward the nearest table and back again instead. “He tell you his surname?”

“No.”

“Did you ask?”

“Didn’t get much chance,” Jim said.

Bullshit. Art stopped short of saying it. He didn’t know if they’d had time to ask, how many chances they’d gotten or whether or not their conversations—if they’d happened at all—made such questions impolite and insensitive. Better not to assume.

“Look.” Art wasn’t sure of exactly what he was about to say, but he plunged ahead, snatching up whatever words came to mind. “He went MIA fifty years ago. If he popped in here, there’s no way in hell he’d look just like that picture, unless time travel’s involved.”

No derisive snorts followed those words. No chuckles, no rolled eyes, not so much as a smirk. It wasn’t until the silence settled over them, until Jim frowned thoughtfully at the photo and Richard opened his mouth as if to speak and shut it again, that Art realized he hadn’t simply expected them to scoff.

He’d wanted them to.

1968

Art’s instincts screamed for him to run for the first person he saw and spill everything. It would all tumble out in a flurry of words that might not swing anywhere near coherence, but it would be out and someone else would know, someone who could judge what to do with it better than he could. The secret would no longer be his; it would belong to whoever he found, and the decision would be in their hands. Knowledge would remain, but responsibility would not.

It didn’t take him long to find someone, or for someone to find him. He wasn’t sure which and didn’t much care. He only knew George crossed his path, smile disappearing at the look Art couldn’t shake.

“You okay, man? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Seen a ghost. That was more than an idiom—or it was now, anyway, now that Klaus was a part of their unit. Art was free to respond with some generic brush-off, but a failure to follow up an invite like that with a Spurlock story would be a greater indicator that something was wrong than any sort of honest answer.

Art knew what he had to say, knew what he had to share, but the words wouldn’t surface. He forced a smile instead. “Yeah, Spurlock’s out there, edge of camp. Took the biggest shit I’ve ever seen, wiped his ass on a baguette.”

George sighed. “Shit sandwiches again?”

“C’mon, you try cooking with those hooves.”

George’s snort wasn’t quite a laugh—nowhere near one, in fact. After the resounding approval Art’s last joke had earned, this reaction stung less like disappointment and more like failure. Then again, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to come up with a better quip even if he’d had more than two seconds to prepare.

“You seen Dave?”

For one awful second, Art was certain the truth had bloomed on his face. Heat rushed to his cheeks; he had to remind himself to draw a breath in and let it out. “I know when you’re lying,” Grandmother had said on more than one occasion. That she’d said it when his lies were all in her head and the truth was all he’d given her had eroded his faith in her ability to pluck out his falsehoods on sight, but that didn’t make others blind to them.

The second passed, and George did not react. No narrowed eyes. No concern. No questions.

“Nope. Haven’t seen him.”

George sighed again and continued on his way. His chosen direction took him toward the pair, technically speaking, though they’d have the advantage of a few minutes’ lead.

Art had time to call after and steer George in the right direction. He had time to think of a way to mask it, to make the truth covert enough to fit with his earlier lie. He could do it. He should do it.

Instead, he watched in silence as George moved out of earshot and out of sight.

“Klaus Hargreeves.” Jim’s emphasis was not lost on Art. “Means he’s Reginald’s son.”

“If he’s the same guy.”

“If he is,” Richard said slowly, as though mulling it over as he spoke, “then it might explain some things.”

“Like what?” Art spent a second resisting the urge to pace before walking the length of the memorial wall and back again. It wasn’t near enough to clear his head—but then, he doubted a jog around the city block would manage that. “All that explains is how he got the same name as the Academy kid.”

“You read his sister’s book.”

It wasn’t a question. When first published, Did you read it? had been the question on everyone’s lips. The book was mentioned by name only at first; before the publication passed its first anniversary, inquiries as to whether or not a friend or acquaintance had read it had become common enough that most anyone listening understood that it meant Vanya Hargreeves’ autobiography. The question wasn't asked so much anymore. Asking was pointless when you knew the answer would be Yes.

“Yeah. I read it.” Parts of it, at least. As he read, the sense of discomfort had progressed from nagging to grating, and the cause went beyond the psychological torture that had been Vanya Hargreeves’ childhood. Something about the way she included no contemporary quotes from her siblings, no insight from their adult selves that he could see, had left him with the sensation that he was peering into their lives through the lens of assumption and hearsay, seeing moments and hearing conversations that they would have kept to themselves. No matter how he tried to shake it, no matter how he told himself that she must have consulted her siblings before publication or that she could tell her own story without their input, he’d eventually set the book down, removed his bookmark, and returned it to the library.

“So you know what he’d do to those kids.”

A pit formed in his stomach, not unlike the one that had been his companion while reading Vanya’s autobiography. She hadn’t known all the details, hadn’t been privy to them—and that was just as well. The word experiments only belonged in talk about children when the conversation centered on the project you were helping them build for the school science fair. “I figured he hadn’t seen his dad in years.”

“Could’ve lured him back,” Jim said. “Hunted him down, sprung it on him out of the blue.”

If Vanya Hargreeves’ account was remotely accurate, than what Jim proposed was a possibility, albeit one that came with a laundry list of assumptions. That time travel was real. That it had happened. That it could happen again, that it could snatch anyone from their life in the present and drop them in the past, or the future, or some unholy combination of the two, if those old cliches about tearing holes in space and time had any validity.

But more than anything, it assumed Klaus Hargreeves—the one he knew—was alive.

1968

Maybe he’d jumped to conclusions.

Art had only seen a hug, after all. A hug prefixed by a cupped cheek and a rather unambiguous phrase, if nothing more. The notion they were only friends crumbled beneath the sheer weight of what he’d witnessed, but he entertained it nonetheless. Best to be sure before he leaped to action.

He could see Dave from where he stood, offering Lawrence a smile and a few words—inaudible from where he stood, but knowing Dave, they weren’t the sort to leave the other man angry or despairing for the next hour or so. Sure enough, Lawrence’s frown became a smile before Dave clapped him on the shoulder and turned away.

Art didn’t know a man who wasn’t Dave’s friend. Even those he didn’t see every day, even those he’d only met in passing, were treated to the same smiles and warmth. Give him half a minute and he’d pull you into a quick conversation about things back home, things you’d forgotten you’d mentioned; give him longer and he’d make the worst snafu look solvable.

He’d heard of men like that, from the stories his Dad sometimes dusted off and brought out for company, but he’d never understood what it was to serve with one until Dave had walked right up, chatting away as if they’d known each other since first grade. Never appreciated it until Dave had found him after their first firefight, brushed some lingering dust and rubble away with a shaking hand, and asked if he was okay. Herman, weaving in and out of Dad’s time in France, had been a favorite character, one who brought a smile to teller and listener alike each time he entered the story. Art wasn’t certain he had the proper word to describe what Dave was and didn’t want to seek it out at the risk of sounding too sentimental.

Klaus wandered over. If he wasn’t marching, he didn’t walk or run. He wandered and ambled. The sight of Charlie sent a smile to his lips, and whatever he said brought a laugh and a response in kind. Dad had served with men like that too, men who could find a joke nearly anywhere they looked, but none like Klaus. None who would begin a meandering story, drop it at the first distraction, and deliver the punchline hours later, all the funnier for having been delayed. None who could turn a simple question about the mail into a humorously suggestive one. It was a different sort of gift Klaus possessed, one that brought laughter to a war in the business of silencing it.

The image of that embrace, that cupped cheek and those words, resurfaced in Art’s mind.

A part of him found a certain amount of sense in it. The way they always seemed to be together, when excuses aligned. The little smile Dave wore when Klaus spoke, the smile he never brought out for anyone else. The way neither seemed bothered by a brush of the skin, a chance moment that brought their faces too close.

Another part of him, a larger part, would have cheered their match, had one been a woman.

He didn’t have to tell someone. Just them. Find Dave or Klaus alone—probably Dave, he knew Dave better—tell him what he’d seen and watch his reaction. He wouldn’t need a renunciation, or an apology, or anything of the like; he only needed to let Dave know the cat had put a paw out of the bag. Let him know he’d been spotted, let him know he was accountable to someone, and the problem would solve itself.

The impromptu battle of wits between Klaus and Charlie ended with chuckles on both sides. Klaus looked off in the opposite direction, then back to Dave; he didn’t begin walking until Dave did and then he fell in step. Art didn’t try to read their lips, but their easy smiles had returned. Whatever had led to Klaus’ impassioned pleading earlier seemed to have been, for the moment, resolved.

“I love you.”

“But?”

Art tried to keep the moment from resurfacing yet again, but it bubbled up for the umpteenth time. He’d heard of people who witnessed things like that, secrets that could destroy the one who held it and everyone around them. People who had come forward, who addressed what they saw and made sure help was received and all was put to rights. He’d heard the glowing terms with which they were described, of the humble quiet with which they received whatever accolades were due them. “It was nothing,” they tended to say, with a modesty betraying the warm glow of satisfaction from within. “I was just doing my part, that’s all.”

When Art thought back to what he’d seen, when he made up his mind to do what needed done, he felt none of the steely resolve such responsibility was said to provide. He only felt sick.

He shouldn’t have been watching in the first place.

Dave, Klaus—they were his friends. Brothers, even. Spying on siblings might be a time-honored tradition in families fortunate and unfortunate enough to have more than one child, but there came a point when things left the realm of friendly teasing. He wasn’t sure exactly where that line might be, but he knew he’d crossed it.

Even so, what he’d seen couldn’t remain in the dark. They were his friends, and they needed help. He could bring it up with Dave, word the question to offer him as many loopholes and escape routes and possible, and then never address it again. Pretend he’d seen nothing and move on.

Yet the moment he revealed what he’d seen, even to Dave and no one else with nobody around, he’d acknowledge that something had happened. Something had happened, he’d seen it happen, and all the trust he’d placed in Dave and the trust Dave had placed in him meant nothing next to the chance to lurk in hopes of seeing something worth pouncing on.

Klaus came back around. No Dave, but that was just as well. He raised a hand in greeting, Klaus returned it, and they met in the middle.

“Hey.” Klaus drew out the word. “Somebody said you were looking for me for something?”

He’d made a decision, loosely speaking, but it lacked the peace and surety of a resolution. It felt like cowardice, like surrender.

But he still had a good joke to tell. That was something.

Art cracked a smile. “You hear why Spurlock never goes up on mountains?”

They said Klaus Hargreeves was alive.

Alive and talking and knitting and here, in the city, looking near identical to his photographic double.

It was impossible. Art knew he shouldn’t believe it until he saw it with his own eyes, yet here he was entertaining the possibility on the word of two men who had been unknown to him days before.

Two men who had gone out of their way to find him because of the soldier in the photograph.

Because of Klaus.

A dozen half-formed questions swam through his mind, circled him and fell away before he could snatch them out of the air. None of the theories or possibilities quite fell into place, but Art thought he could spot where they might fit; there were holes, of course, but the picture remained, incomplete but comprehensible.

Klaus.

Alive.

In the city.

Art tried to wrap his head around it. For as long as he’d held out hope, for as long as he’d waited for news and excused Klaus’ continued absence and clung to stories of soldiers who’d gone missing and resurfaced decades later, now that he had what he’d sought, it kept slipping through his fingers. He tried to picture Klaus ambling into the same VFW bar in which he sat, tried to imagine him wandering down the streets, but his memory remained tied to the A Shau Valley. Try as he might, Art couldn’t separate Klaus from Vietnam.

He had to see it for himself.

A question at last burst through the flurry in his mind, and Art knew before he voiced it that it was the only one that mattered.

“Where is he?”

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erraticgiggle · 2 years

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〖 rami malek. cismale. he/her. ┇ that’s ARO , an ORIGINAL VAMPIRE that just blew out 24( 1000+ ) candles on their last birthday. i heard them listening to KNIFE PARTY BY DEFTONES the other day. rumor on the street is that HE sides with t/he VOLTURI in this time of war. they remind me of manipulation has seen no bounds worse than yours, cheery disposition is fraud to the knowing eye, a keen eye for oppositional pollution, the king of kings, defiance ends in beautiful bloodshed.

first off can i just say how TRASH my boy is ? aro is seemingly very boisterous however these energetic & loud behaviors act more as a dramatic façade to disguise the anxiousness & displacement he’s been feeling a lot of lately. my portrayal of aro is a lot less , mind the silly ass blog title i gave him ---- he’s not as i guess kiddish.

aro barely gets his hands dirty , in the events he does it means whatever has happened is pretty personal , aro hates the idea of hybrids ( save for his children being heretics ) but the idea of the stench of wolf + the strength of a vampire is less than amusing to aro and does cause reasonable room for anxiety since the wolf bite IS in fact lethal to all vampires.

aro doesn’t care about many things. to a certain degree he does *feel* things but it doesnt necessarily mean that in conjunction that feelings are relevant for long periods of time. he switches himself back and forth. i do think that the wc witch i have - she is one of the few things aro tries his hardest to emulate love for --- however the extent of how far that goes is truly unforeseeable.

a change to aro is - when jane and alec were young they belonged to the gemini coven , they’re both witches to their own right and have always had miraculous powers. he watched them for a while and found himself utmost bewildered by them. as some time past and research was made , he started to understand how the gemini coven worked and learned that one of the twins would be sacrificed during to what their coven refers as a “merger”. aro finally made his appearance and offered the two young witch immortality , and in return of their devotion he would save them from this horrible procedure. both in agreeance , aro turnd both jane & alec making them the first ever known vampire / witch hybird.

key differences : aro wild man, he rules with an iron thumb but i think he can be in some situations more forgiving and less in others. i think hes utterly fascinated with witch craft. hes kinda a pig ngl / i think he loves to sleep around , hes def more of an asshole. he lets time progress and acts with the times. aka he has a cell phone , computers , doesnt talk like all old-timey. still giddy but less i’d say.

connections -

f buddies - he’s probably got a plethora of women for this in my imagination

werewolves & witches & other vampires who want to help him in aid of stopping klaus get his way of making a hybird army.

marcus !!!!

someone who willingly lets him feed off of them straight from the vein bc mf is EXTRA as shit

#vapor.intro #i know this is like #idk #i hope it helps u understand him better

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 4 years

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What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader

Chapter 9- 743

Summary: Having reunited with Diego once again. You, Diego, Allison, and Klaus do your best to save Vanya from starting doomsday.

Tagged: @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch If you want tagged just hit me up.

Holding up your hands tightly pressed to your ears, you take a deep breath. Your eardrums are almost ringing with how loud it’s starting to become in the hallway. “Vanya’s in the room at the end of the hall!” Shouts Diego, still leaning his back against the front desk, along with Allison. While you sit in the corner where the wall at the desk meet. Klaus to your right who’s currently taking sips from his flask, while depressingly gazing down at the floor.

You give Diego a no-shit-I-have-eyes-too sassy look, “How do you propose we get her?” Shouting back at him.

“I haven’t figured that one out yet.” He says defeated, giving you a glance. “You can count me out.” Whines Klaus, flask still in his right hand.

“Klaus.” Allison snaps.

“What? You guys should save her. You’re great at all the hero shit.” A second later you swat at him while Allison gives his boots an annoyed kick. “Listen, listen. Vanya would understand ‘cause she has realistic expectations of what I am.” He moans in surrender, tired of how wild his life has become. You just throw your hand up in defeat, he’s being ridiculous.

“What is that, huh?” You look over at him with a frown.

“And what I am is sexy trash!” He exclaims, looking between the three of you.

Diego turns to Klaus, “Your’re a big pussy, that’s what you are.”

“Guys, now is not the time.” States Allison, fed up with her brothers bickering.

“Why? Because I don’t wanna die? Who does? Y/N said it sucks ass, I can’t disagree with that statement. And martyrs aren't around to enjoy the victory party...’cause they’re DEAD!” He yells the last part while shaking you for emphasis.

Reaching over you and Allison, Diego goes to grab Klaus, “You are going out there..” Klaus hides by shoving you in front of him. “I’m not! Go away! Get him Y/N!” Shout Klaus, goddamn all this fucking noise and these two idiots, you think frustrated with your current situation. Diego pushes you off to the side to properly grab Klaus, “...or I’m gonna beat you, and not in the way you like it!” He grumbles irritated with Klaus’ hindrance yet again.

Allison looks up, making eye contact with you, “That’s my cue.” She confirms, before suddenly turning around to crawl her way down the hall.

You reach out, just missing her leg, “Allison, wait!” You cry out, but she doesn’t listen. Diego and Klaus yelling for her to come back as well.

You haul yourself half-way onto the desk, gripping it tightly with both of your unnaturally strong arms. Holding on with slight difficulty, you hear her shout for Vanya as she struggles to push forward. The energy becoming too much to bear, Allison looses her footing. You scream for her as she gets knocked backwards, sliding into the hard wooden desk with a thud.

“All right. I’m going.” Diego announces, ready to risk it all for the greater good.

Klaus stops him by pulling at his shirt, diverting his attention to Klaus, Diego looks at him with a what-the-hell-do-you-want, face. “No, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Pleads Klaus desperately.

“What?”

“If we don’t make it back, there’s one thing that I need to tell you.” Klaus tells him breathlessly, as Diego rolls his eyes waiting for this important statement.

Diego turns back to him, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Please.”

“What?” Grumbles Diego, who’s ready to go save Vanya.

Klaus’ voice begins to tremble, “You look like Antonio Banderas with the long hair. I just thought you should know.” He ends with a small huff, looking sadly at Diego.

“Thanks, man.” Diego whispers, grateful for the oddly random compliment his brother just gave him. You would even have laughed if not for the currently intense situation you’re all in.

Diego stands up, holding onto the gate-less desk door as he struggles to walk through it. He turns to give you a small smile, “I love you.” He says softly before looking forward again and attempting to make it down the hallway. So dramatic, you smile at him from your position, still holding onto the top of the desk while more wind and powerful energy continues it’s assault down throughout the hallway.

You watch in anticipation and worry as Diego pulls out two knives and stabs them into the tiled floor, as he begins to army crawl his way to Vanya, using his knives for support. He almost looks like a rock climber, as he forces himself onward. A couple more ragged inches closer to the door, Diego shouts to you, “Y/N! I’m not gonna make it. It’s up to you and Klaus now!” He frantically shouts at you, barely hanging on to his knife that’s stabbed into the floor.

“Shit.” You mutter quietly to yourself as you glance down at the desk top, thinking deeply for a moment. It’s now or never, and Vanya needs us. You’ll be damned if you let her down once again. Not this time. You look up in deep worry as Diego climbs forward, reaching up with all he’s got left, and pulling the release hatch that holds the fire-hose. He then let’s go, skidding back down the hallway as you cry out for him.

You look down at a scared Klaus who looks back up at you with a sad smile, “I believe in you, Y/N.” He tells you quietly, tugging slightly at your dark jeans. A small act of comfort to get you ready for “battle”. You nod, giving him a crooked half-smile, before turning back to the brightly glowing door at the end of the hall. You can do this, for Vanya, and the rest of existence. Filled with determination and pure adrenaline, you make your way around the wooden desk. Falling to your knees in the process, you glance over at an unconscious Allison and Diego.

It feels like your arms and legs are being tugged back by someone holding a rope. Like when you try and run in a dream but you feel like you’re going in slow motion. That’s how you currently feel, but the first step is always the hardest after-all. You begin by throwing your whole palm to the ground, digging your fingers physically into the tiled floor, creating small dents in your wake. It helps more then you’d expected, finally something going right for once.

Inch by inch, you climb your way up the hall, leaving what looks like five fingered claw marks behind you. Surprised by your own strength at times, but indubitably thankful for your gifts. At long last you’ve made it to the wooden door, your fingers puncturing through the floor for stability. The only thing keeping you from failing your personal mission. Gripping onto the front of the door with your left hand, your fingers practically slice through the wood, as you hold on with everything you have left. You stop for a moment, saving your energy for when you go to twist the door handle.

“Klaus, I can’t make it all the way, it’s up to you buddy!” You yell at him, breathing heavily and feeling more drained by the second. “You gotta save the world. You have to summon Ben!” You tell him, feeling like your muscles are about to give out. “No, Y/N, that’s a terrible idea!” He shouts, not believing that he has what it takes to be a hero. You look up at the door handle, reaching out your right hand and giving the knob a quick twist. The door flies open with an extreme burst of white hot energy that burns your skin and sends you violently down the hallway. Where you crash into the wooden desk, leaving a noticeable dent, the collision now positioning you right next to Diego as you lay on your back, your head facing his unconscious one. Klaus comes into your blotchy line of vision, he’s holding onto the fire-hose for dear life as his nose and ears start to bleed. You watch as he slowly makes his way almost to the door before another huge wave of energy sends him sliding on his back right into Allison. Fuck. It’s hard to see or hear anything, the energy fucking up your senses. Everything feels too much. Your skin feels like it’s on fire. You suddenly watch as a silhouette walks past you standing over Klaus for a brief moment, before it begins walking down the hallway and into the room with Vanya. Your eyes slowly shut, to tired to fight back.

——

Coming back to your senses, your eyes flutter open to Diego who’s starting to wake up as well. You raise your head up to the sound of bare feet padding on the cold floor towards the four of you. “Are you okay?” Vanya says while running to all of you, who are slowly getting up. “Vanya.” Allison says surprised, unsure for a moment if this is all a bad dream.

“Physically or emotionally?” Whimpers Klaus, still laying on the floor. She gives you all a small smile. The rest of you returning one yourselves, grateful that everybody appears to be fine.

“You’re alive?” Diego asks her, shocked that she’s completely unharmed.

“Did we save the world or what?” Klaus wonders, finally rising into a siting position.

“I think so, or at least I hope.” You mutter, pulling yourself up onto your hands and knees.

“Building’s still here.” Sighs Allison from the floor while leaning her back against the front desk. Your eyes flicker to Diego, who’s checking at his watch. “Kennedy’s a few minutes away. I can still save him.” He says quickly getting up. You stand up with a rush, “No, Diego, wait!” You call after him, as he runs down the hallway and towards a window. You following close behind him as Allison gets up and begins to follow you two.

“I still have time to stop Dad before Kennedy makes his final turn.” He assures you, turning swiftly to leave. You reach your arms out quickly to grab him, “No, no, where are you going?” You question, as you pull him to you. “Look, I saw the explosion. I saw the tapes, Y/N.” He says looking into your eyes, while you study his face, you frown with doubt. He shouldn’t be messing with the timeline like this. “The explosion causes doomsday. You’re safe now.” Diego pauses for a second, looking deeply into your unbelieving eyes. “He doesn’t have to die.” Giving you a quick smile before turning back around and promptly exiting through the double doors. You don’t even have time to yell out for him to stop. It’s not like you’re going to fight him physically to stay. You’d for sure win, but at what cost? Will he even be able to prevent the assassination?

You wondered on in uncertainty, Allison touching your shoulder gently, “The stubbornness of that man, I swear.” You nod to her in understanding, shaking your head as you wait for the events that are soon to unravel.

——

You and Allison watch out the large window, the both of you scanning the grounds below for any potential danger. You keep looking for the man in the umbrella or Diego, if he actually manages to make it to the parade that is.

“Hey. Is that? Diego?” Klaus says, while pointing downward towards the grass, you look closer, adjusting your eyes. You can clearly see Diego, hauling ass to stop Reginald. You shake your head in disbelief. Don’t do it, Diego.

Standing between Allison and Vanya, you glance at each of them, “Kennedy’s going to die, I can feel it.” You whisper, just enough for them to hear you. A moment later you watch as Diego body slams, now looking closer, a stranger into the grass. Shit.

Gunshots go off and the presidential parade scatters, police sirens wailing in the distance. The four of you look on, feeling your own amounts of sickened dismay.

#diego hargreeves #the umbrella academy #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves x you #the umbrella academy x you #the umbrella academy x reader #number two #what a time to be alive fic #falcor the luck dragon stories

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anonymous-note · 3 years

Text

A Valley Song

Chapter 1 - Pulchritudo in Turpis

Masterlist

Even if he hadn’t fallen into the camp in the middle of the night with a flash of blue electricity, covered in blood and wearing nothing but a towel and an overcoat, Dave doesn’t think he’d possibly be able to not notice Klaus Hargreeves. The innocent, puzzled look on his face when he saw Dave was too much on its own, like he didn’t know where he was, as if he’d taken the wrong turn off the highway, or gotten off at the wrong stop. Then the look of shock and surprise at the bombs exploding and the drill sergeant screaming orders as he dresses robotically, holds a gun with the tips of his fingers, and follows the others dumbfoundedly. It’s all too much to ignore.

No one else seems to notice. They’re all too busy talking about how many more Vietcong they need to kill before they can return home. Too busy with their letters from their parents and girlfriends, with little pictures they hold up to their faces in the flickering firelight. Too busy playing cards or swatting away bugs or visiting the medics to have another look at the damp sores on their feet. Too busy to notice the most beautiful man ever in their presence.

But Dave notices. He doesn’t have letters from home, except for his uncle, who only ever talks about his own war stories from the second World War, or his boss at the hardware store, writing once in a while to check up on him and mention that Helen Weaver came by to ask how he’s doing. It’s not the same as his fellow soldiers, all of whom have families to start if they manage to make it out of this jungle. Especially since he isn’t excited to return to Helen Weaver, like all his buddies are excited to see their girls again.

It took a few years for Dave to figure it out. His uncle has never accepted queers before, only speaking intolerably whenever it was brought up in passing. It was ingrained in Dave from an early age to hate them too, these other folks with their disease and their lust. When he could never comment further on a girl besides an uncommitted shrug and a simple, “She’s pretty,” he began to worry he was like these sex-obsessed demons his uncle spoke of. Hated by God, destined for Hell, preying on children. He thought the army might fix that, might make him a man again, and a real one at that.

The army did the exact opposite of “fix it,” though. Instead of becoming like his uncle or his friends, he was suddenly surrounded by grown men, all in incredible shape and always covered in a sheen of sweat, their tanned skin glowing in the jungle sun. Even with the stink of body odor and vulgarity of men detached from society for so long, he wasn’t repulsed. Instead, it only made him more aware of his attraction to men, and more aware of the fact that he was the kind of monster his uncle abhorred most.

He was lucky enough to meet a soldier who knew how Dave felt, someone who could help him come to terms with himself and understand he wasn’t an unredeemable freak. Someone who listened to him, and kissed him, and touched him, and taught him about himself. Someone who was transferred six months ago, leaving Dave on his own once more. But at least now he doesn’t hate himself anymore. At least he has that.

The firefight was a few nights ago. Dave has been keeping a careful eye on the newcomer, watching him adapt to their surroundings. He keeps to himself, a constant deer in headlights, taking everything in with wide, startled eyes. He’s a mix of working on autopilot and copying the other soldiers, like he doesn’t know what to do or how to act. He can barely hold a gun properly. It’s like he hasn’t had any training whatsoever.

So on the bus to their next location, Dave moves up a couple seats until he’s somewhere behind the man. “Hey, did you just get in-country?”

He jumps slightly, turning to look at Dave. He breaks into an uncertain smile, nodding as he angles his shoulders to face him better. “Uh, yeah.”

“Yeah, shit’s crazy, I know,” Dave says, giving him a reassuring smile. “You’ll adjust. I’m Dave.”

“Klaus,” the man says, taking the hand Dave offers him. The skin of his fingers and palm is soft, none of the callouses Dave developed while being here. But at least he looks more relaxed now, his smile coming easier, his shoulders not quite so tensed, his green eyes the same color as the shrubbery outside, framed by the darkest lashes Dave has ever seen.

He’s beautiful. And he certainly doesn’t belong here.

#anonymous-note #a valley song #klave #klaus x dave #klaus hargreeves #dave katz #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #klave fanfic

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a-home-for-stray-stories · 4 years

Text

I’ve got some thoughts/ predictions for The Umbrella Academy - yes, spoilers

Just binged the last few episodes of season 1 and all of season 2 so crack some knuckles and here we go:

- Because Klaus enraged his uncle into having him enlist in the army earlier than the original timeline, Dave survives the war and we could see him in season 3. He’d be around 74, but they may pull a Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter thing (not the going back in time to spend the rest of his life with him, just the reconnecting in 2019 part).

- In the original timeline, Grace didn’t get suspicious of Reginald and stayed with him which ultimately led us to The Umbrella Academy, bastard Reggie, and robot Grace. OK, you’re gonna have to hang with me here -

- We know from Luther’s earliest interaction with him in season 2, presumably before Reggie met Grace, Reggie HATED kids.

- But then he and Grace started to care for Pogo and we all saw how that went. I think it’s safe to assume he fell in love with Grace and even safer to assume she fell in love with him.

- The original season 1 timeline: I think they could have gotten married and maybe Grace died in childbirth. His hatred for children would return tenfold and that’s why she’d be a robot and he’d be so abusive to the children. Maybe he buys them in the hopes one can time travel. Which Five can, but before he can fully develop his power and go back and save Grace, he gets stuck post-apocalypse.

- Now fucked up season 2 timeline: Diego tells Grace that Reggie is planning to kill JFK. This actually causes her to leave him and at the end of season 2 we see Reggie with a group of kids and Ben’s picture hanging above the fireplace. But also, he realized his buddies lied to him and he unzipped his face and ate them? What I’m taking from that is because he was trying to do the right thing, but he found out he was being manipulated. Maybe he gets Grace back and (maybe they do have biological children, idk why they wouldn’t in this one and would in the original) actually is a better father to the Sparrow Academy.

- Point is - I think Grace staying vs. leaving is going to be key

- Something that’ll be interesting is Harlan. He obviously has some residual effects on Vanya’s powers. By 2019, he should be somewhere around 70, so we’ll get to see how those powers effect the aging process in the very least.

- Will Herb be overcome with power?

- Is the Sparrow Academy made up of the same kids as the Umbrella Academy? I think Ben’s presence suggests that.

- Is that floating box their version of Pogo?

- Lila was so ready to call the Umbrella Academy her family. Why’d she just pop out? *Luther*

- Is the Handler reeeaaally dead? Did someone poke her with a stick? Like a sharp metal one in a chopping motion and throw the parts over flames?

- I love our characters, I really do, but I’m so thankful that we’re getting an expansion pack. I need someone to thirst over. Luther’s too much of a puppy, Diego almost does it but not quite, and Five is a kid - he isn’t, but he is.

- Ooh - maybe Sparrow Academy has a grown up, but not season 2 old Five

#the umbrella academy #luther #five #diego #umbrella academy vanya #umbrella acedmy #allison hargreeves #luther hargreeves #umbrella academy klaus #umbrella academy luther #umbrella academy diego #umbrella academy ben #umbrella academy allison

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rahullkohli · 5 years

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okay, so, for the headcanon thing and because i'm too lazy to write this myself, BUT, consider: they get dave to the modern timeline through Plot Convenience, and he and Klaus attend pride, which is simply Mindblowing to Dave, this sweet guy coming from such a place of social prejudice and homophobia, who's seeing all this overwhelming positivity and support and love out there in public in all its colours, and is just... shocked. essentially, dave crying from joy & holding klaus' hands a lot

i am so sorry this took me a while to get to, but i think about this scenario a lot, and i have to put this under a cut because it turned into 1.3k words of dave experiencing a whole new world.

okay i know that i am completelyminority here, but i don't feel like klaus is the kind of guy whoneeds to flaunt his sexuality. tbh i don't even think he even thinksabout it. i think he mostly just gets with whoever he is attracted to(or can offer him a warm bed or a couch for some time) regardless ofgender. so to me klaus doesn't go to pride for the community, or forthe social aspect. whenever klaus has gone to pride it has been tofill his needs for alcohol, drugs, sex and because pride is fuckingloud.

but then dave is there in the moderntimeline with him, and even though klaus is like ”this is dave,he's my guy, we're a thing, you shut up” to his siblings, dave isstill closeted. dave has been closeted his whole life because heliterally didn't have a choice. and the changes from his timeline toklaus' are an extreme culture shock. klaus' wardrobe alone is enoughto make him need a stiff drink and a moment to clear his head. davewasn't exactly a hippie back in the sixties, and he never really hadmuch to do with them back then. and it's confusing, and he is havinga really hard time. and klaus isn't the most evolved when it comes totalking about feelings, because who the hell would have taught himthat? old reggie? i think not! he's done it in rehab, and grouptherapy in prison, but he always followed up with sarcastic remarks,and he is not about to do that to dave. so instead klaus sits withhim, tells him he doesn't have to be out until he feels like it'sright, and that it all comes down what dave needs. but he also tellsdave about all the good progress the lgbt community has seen sincethe 60s. and then he tells dave about pride – how we have an entiremonth to raise awareness and remember our history. he tells daveabout how pride is a place where nobody cares, where everyone ishappy, and even closeted people get to be themselves for at least acouple of hours because at pride eveeryone is themselves. and klausshows dave pictures and videos from pride, videos of drag queensperforming, and boys kissing boys, and girls kissing girls. picturesof colorful floats and huge, hairy guys in thongs and colorful boasaround their necks.

so they decide to go. dave hesitant,and klaus promises that they don't have to do anything, they can justwatch from the sidelines. klaus even wears pants and a full lengtht-shirt with sleeves and everything to make dave feel as neutral aspossible as they're on the bus to the nearest big city where thefestivities are going down.

and when they arrive it's big, andpompous, and it's colorful. and it's so happy! the energy is booming,and there are so many smiles. big men are making out, unashamed, inthe middle of the city square. women with buzzcuts are holding handsand looking each other in the eyes like they're seeing the sun forthe first time. drag queens taller than dave are dancing in thehighest heels he has ever seen, and teenagers whose genders davecan't even figure out are laughing so hard they can barely stand.there are so many people, and literally every one of them is lookinghappy, and content, and excited.

the air is exploding with love, and forthe first time in the entire time they have known each other, klausfeels dave carefully lace their fingers together in front of otherpeople. and he can't stop grinning, and he so want a drink right now,but he also wants to keep his head clear in case dave getsoverwhelmed. but as a float marked gay soldiers do it better filledwith ripped guys in army pants passed them, dave inches closer tohim, and when klaus looks at him he sees tears in his boyfriend'seyes. so klaus squeezes his hand and dares to move closer.

”everyone is just so happy. andopen,” dave says, but he can't pull his eyes away, and klaus isn'tabout to be the one to break the spell for him. so instead he juststands there, letting dave digest it all, take it all in as much ashe can handle. klaus never considered himself closeted, and he neverfelt like he had to come out to anyone either. it wasn't like hisfamily even cared whether he was alive or dead, so why should hebother to feel like he owed them that part of himself? but it was abig deal to dave, and klaus was not about to take that away from him.

so they spend the whole day in the citysquare. klaus meets former drinking buddies and people he used to domolly with. he meets at least eight different people he has sleptwith, and dave is overwhelmed by how klaus isn't gay or straight butsomething entirely different. but dave is polite and greets everyone,even if he doesn't like the idea of anyone else having ever touchedklaus the way he gets to. he watches klaus dance with other people,and listens to him have conversations that he knows are in englishbut doesn't make the tiniest bit of sense to him. but he doesn'tmind; dave enjoys seeing klaus having a good time, and he likes to beon the sideline to observe without having to put himself in themiddle of it, and he tries not to blush whenever klaus proudlyintroduces him to whoever comes their way, or whenever other mencalls him cute in front of other men. so he holds klaus' hand, andevery time klaus has been wandering off and comes back, he pullsklaus just a little bit closer than he previously has allowed himselfin public.

and they stay the whole day, over theevening, and even though dave's head is pounding from all the loudmusic and the sun baking down on them for hours, he wouldn't want itany other way. his heart has been feeling like it was going to poundright out of his chest the entire day, and he has been scared todeath since before they even left the house, but now that it's darkand the music is transitioning to slower beats, there's no place davewould rather be.

slowly he gathers up his courage to lethis arms wrap around klaus, even though they are surrounded bystrangers. but everyone seems focused on their own moment, and withcouples dancing around them dave tells himself that this is as good amoment as any, and with klaus' arms softly around him he starts tosway, letting them blend in with the other couples moving to the softtunes. and when klaus rest his cheek on his shoulder, dave's stomachdoes a small jump, but he doesn't fight it, and allows his own torest against klaus' messy curls as they are swaying in place.

it's terrifying, and dave is constantlyexpecting someone to come attack them, but then he watches the othercouples around them, and reminds himself to breathe. so he squeezesklaus tighter and takes his hand, dancing like the slow dances he didwith girls in high school, where he used to close his eyes andimagine it was a cute boy, but he never would have imagined that hewould actually get to have a dance like that with someone thatactually made his heart flutter like klaus does. but here he is;fireworks popping over their heads, and a sweet pop song playing overthe biggest speakers he has seen in his life. and he's with klaus. sonothing else matters.

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smokedstorybara · 5 years

Text

everyone seems to describe writing fanfic, and their motives for doing so, as “fixing canon”

which is totally valid

it’s just not how it is for me

(I make a lot of long introspective posts like this on my main, like one every couple months, but since this one is about writing I figured I’d put it here instead; I’m gonna put a readmore here so y’all can skip over it all if you want)

for me writing fanfiction is almost like an experiment, an exploration of variables - circumstance, setting, choices - and how they affect the characters trajectories and the outcome of the story as a whole (though tbh I tend approach writing in general as an exploration of tropes and structure and psychology so I guess it’s just how I am)

(I’m gonna use some fanfics I’m working on, as well as the couple I’ve actually posted, as examples to help me explain what I mean, so if you don’t want spoilers maybe don’t read)

first: exploration of circumstance (then setting, choices, and ending with all three together)

my two examples for this are my published Dear Evan Hansen fic (Apprentice) Park Ranger Handsome and a role-reversal Arrowverse au I’m working on

(A)PRH started with the thought “what would’ve happened if Evan and Connor had first interacted over the summer, at the park Evan worked at?”

my first answer was a simple “their first meeting would likely have gone much smoother - the environment and circumstances of it being much more relaxed”

this led to “they both would’ve latched on to that; this conversation is going well lets try to keep it going as long as possible I’m starved for positive interaction turning into if I talk to him again maybe it’ll go as well as last time it hasn’t gone wrong yet keep coming back keep talking to him maybe this can be good”

which leads to them becoming friends (and likely developing crushes on each other) and then opening up to each other >> relying on each other >> supporting each other >> each realizing that if they want to support the other they need a more stable support themself >> Evan likely being the first to actively reach out for outside support since he already has a therapist and relatively better relationship with his mother >> Evan doesn’t fall from that tree and Connor doesn’t commit suicide >> the entire plot of the play no longer happens but the boys are happy and their families are at least on their ways to healing

the Coldflash role-reversal (which does not have a name yet) actually started with the question “what element would I need to change for Barry to still be a CSI for the CCPD but also use his superspeed to become a criminal?”

the element I went with was him not being allowed access to the file on his mother’s murder

the cause-effect diagram so far is as follows: Barry isn’t allowed access to the file and thus can’t investigate >> he’s upset about this fact >> in a better mental state to be aware of corruption and laziness in the police force (as well as other factors that lead to the wrong person getting arrested) >> becomes bitter and disillusioned but hides it because he still wants to do what he can to prevent innocent people from going to jail >> when he gets superpowers he decides to use it to bring light to the failings of the city’s law enforcement >> becomes a thief >> tries to steal the Khandaq Dynasty Diamond at the same time as Leonard Snart does >> Leonard Snart gets a hold of the cold gun >> they both try again at the same time but because Flash is faster the public see him as a thief and “Captain Cold” as a hero >> because Snart is a giant nerd and also because he’s frustrated with all the chaos in his city from the metas, he decides to go along with it and becomes a superhero

second: exploration of setting

my only example for this is a fantasy au I recently started for Pacific Rim

so the variable I changed was “instead of a war between humans and beings from another world, it’s a war between the two fae courts”

and where changing a circumstance leads to a cause and effect of characters choices, changing setting leads to a map of what that changes in the characters circumstances and identities

some examples from this au:

Hannibal Chau is a human who uses deals with what I’ve been calling “J Court” in my outline to boost his black market business - instead of just being a shady black market dealer with ties to the PPDC, he’s one of the few humans who even knows the fae exist

Stacker Pentecost is either the king of the J Court or the leader of it’s army, giving him much more power than he had in canon

Raleigh left the Court after Yancy’s death, separating himself from his people and instead immersing himself in humanity, but somehow Stacker convinced him to return

(on the flip side: Newt is still an expert on Kaiju biology and just as obsessed with studying them as he is in canon)

third: exploration of choices

this exploration is where I look at one choice made in canon and ask myself “how would everything change if a different choice was made here?”

two examples again; an Umbrella Academy fic (tentatively named “The One Where He Stayed” in my drive) and a Check Please fic currently titled Moving On

the choice in TOWHS is Klaus going back to 2019 after Dave dies - instead he stays, serves a full tour in Vietnam and then returns to the US with his surviving war buddies

this changes his circumstances, setting, and leads to a cause-effect chain of decisions

he’s now a veteran in early seventies USA, he has friends who respect him and care about him; he still decides to go sober to see Dave again but there’s more behind the decision; he makes himself a home and a family - even if a good portion of them are dead soldiers, some of them are the spouses of his brothers-in-arms, their children and siblings; he learns to control his powers, all of them; and when he finally ends up back in 2019 - either the long way or from accidentally opening the briefcase - he still has this family waiting for him to show back up, willing to help, he’s powerful and knows it, and there’s no way he’s going to let the apocalypse happen

Moving On is less changing a choice made in canon and more answering the question of “what would happen if this choice that wasn’t made was?”

or, more specifically, “what if Bitty and Jack broke up before the Stanley Cup win? how would that affect Bitty’s friendships, his life?”

because many of Bitty’s friends are also friends with Jack, or at least look up to him, and in fact several were friends with Jack first

this one is mostly about exploring the psychology of the comic’s characters and how they all would react

I was happy to realize there would likely not be too much side taking, but there would be awkwardness for most of them; Bitty would likely gravitate more towards spending time with Tango, Whiskey, and Ford who would be the three most likely to not make a big deal out of it or make things awkward; also Bitty would be unable to tell his mother, which would eat at him

then there was the question “if Kent found out would he sympathize? would they become friends?” (slightly harder to answer, since Kent is a tiny bit of an enigma, but I chose to be optimistic there)

and the most important question: “how would I want to end this story? would it be a more satisfying conclusion for Bitty to find a new boyfriend and be happy with him, or to decide he doesn’t need a man to be happy? should Jack end the story single, or in a new relationship?”

the answers I decided on were: while Bitty doesn’t need a man to be happy, he was closeted his entire teens and at this point has only had one relationship and he deserves to get another chance at romance; and on the other side, Jack’s personal story is more about his hockey and becoming comfortable being himself and really all he needs is to win the Stanley Cup or something

fourth: all three at once - or in other words: The Soulmate AU

soulmate AUs are the best way to cover all three at once because the very existence of soulmates changes the circumstances of the story and how the world works, and affects what choices the characters would make

once again, I have two examples: my published Moomins fic Perchance To Dream, and an Arrowverse one-shot series titled Dream A Little Dream

Perchance To Dream was started by the question “in what way could I make Moomin and Snufkin soulmates without them immediately knowing upon meeting? which soulmate trope would I have to use?”

my tentative answer was soul dreams

which was quickly followed by the acknowledgement that if young Snufkin had started having soul dreams he’d likely be unhappy >> if Moomin knew his soulmate was unhappy with their soul bond and he had a way to cut off the bond - say, an herb that you take every night to stop your soul dreams - he’d do that for them, even if it would make him very sad >> time passes and they meet how they do in canon and they’ve both grown enough that they don’t immediately recognize each other >> Snufkin would figure it out first, but exactly when and how would depend on Moomin >> Snufkin would keep it a secret, nervous about telling Moomin >> Moomin would find himself drawn (and attracted) to Snufkin and would have very conflicting feelings over it >> they’d both spend an awfully long time feeling conflicted and guilty before Moomin decides he wants to be with Snufkin, soulmate or not, and Snufkin decides to tell Moomin the truth - probably around the same time

Dream A Little Dream exists entirely as an exploration of the soulmate trope and the different possibilities within

instead of being a romance focusing on one or two ships, it’s a non-linear web showing both how the existence of soulmates affects all the characters and how the events of canon affect the relationships of all the soulmate pairs

(I tried to separate it into primary pairs, secondary pairs, and tertiary pairs to make it easier on myself but all the pairings were too important to the whole idea behind the story to limit their chapters(literally I have, like, nine endgame ships and two of those are polyam(as in I’m counting a four person polyam chain as one ship, even if it might technically count as three, and the other is three people: one relationship); and around fifteen soul pairs(yes there are more soul pairs than endgame ships, there’s a reason for that)))

because of the way I’m exploring the trope there’s fairly little, aside from romantic relationships, that changes from canon (at least up to season four of the Flash, cause that’s as far as I’ve seen)

mostly it’s things like Leonard Snart returning to life because him and Barry are one of the soul pairs I plan on having end up together - after a very long process of Len spending nine months thinking his soulmate died >> then several months of Barry knowing Len’s his soulmate but Len being in the dark >> a period of Len trying to win Barry over but failing a bit >> Len dying and Barry mourning him >> Barry marrying and then divorcing Iris >> Len coming back to life >> Barry and him finally getting together

which is a parallel(in that they both have the “good guy is soulmated to bad guy” dynamic) and contrast to Cisco and Hartley who don’t realize they’re soulmates when they first meet and totally hate each other >> when they can no longer deny it, they start to work together and accept each other >> end up together

Iris’s soulmate is Eddie, and she, Caitlin, and Ray are explorations of moving on after the loss of your soulmate and the different forms that takes - Iris and Caitlin ending up together(along with Shawna, who was left behind by her soulmate) and Ray trying to fill Anna’s spot with other romantic relationships before finally realizing that that isn’t actually helping and finally properly coming to terms with the loss

and I’m gonna stop here instead of going any further into this one, since it’s got so many moving parts and also it’s a little harder to separate from canon than the others

#writeblr #fanfic talk #storybarambles #sorry this doesn't have a proper conclusion #I'm very tired

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petertingle-yipyip · 6 years

Text

Right Here, Right Now - Klaus Mikaelson

//Requested: hello, idk if you do crossover but could you write imagine where used to date dean winchester but later they broke up and she moved to new orleans and klaus takes a liking in her? thanks //

//Disclaimer: I don’t watch Supernatural so this is simply a name drop. The anon who requested it is OK with it so let’s proceed.//

//Warnings: Some talks of a breakup. Tag List: @simonsaysyasss @akshi8278 @aomi-nabi//

//Part Two//

Things were never simple, especially when you were with Dean. He wasn't a normal guy, and neither was his brother. Together, they were a supernatural hunting team. And sometimes, it put you in harm's way. Dean swore that he would protect you, that nothing would ever hurt you, but you couldn't risk it. After all, Dean was human. He could die just as easily as you could. So you left.

You left Dean and left your old home to move with your cousin in New Orleans. You knew a change of scenery would be the best option for you, or else you'd run back to Dean the first chance you got.

You sat on the patio of your cousin's work, waiting for her shift to end. She was a bartender at the local hot spot, Rousseau's. Everyone loved her and everyone was her friend. And you weren’t at all surprised. Growing up, she was always the better of you two. The sugar to your spice. Over time though, your spice didn’t kick the same.

“Bit lonely out here, isn’t it Love?” Someone suddenly asked, snapping you from your day dreams. Without necessarily trying to, you were thinking about that last day with Dean, the day you broke his heart. But you knew you couldn’t look back. You couldn’t let yourself reminisce anymore.

“Huh?” You said as you look up, taken aback by his looks.

He was effortlessly beautiful. His eyebrows were quirked, a smirk of amusement tugged his lips. His hands were neatly clasped behind his back and he radiated confidence. His eyes were a mesmerizing blue-green, seemingly hiding some mischief behind them. You were intrigued to say the least.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the seat next you.

“By all means..” You replied, sitting up a little straighter. “God knows I need to take my mind off things... I’m Y/N, by the way. Even though you didn’t ask..”

“Klaus.” He nodded with a small smile. “You’re not from here, are you?”

“That obvious, huh?” You chuckled. “But no, actually I’m not. Well, kind of. I grew up here with my cousins before my parents decided to pack up and get out of New Orleans.. It’s always been my favorite place to be though, no matter how far away we went.”

“Your cousin?” He questioned. “Is that who you’re staying with?”

“Mhmm. She’s the bartender here.. Camille? You know her?”

He laughed a little, glancing to the door and back to you. “I do, actually. She’s a friend of mine, believe it or not.”

“Wow.. Never would’ve guessed that, actually.”

“Well, now I’m offended.” He said with mock offense. “Is it cause I’m devilishly handsome? It’s a curse really.”

“Oh yeah, I bet it is.” You teased. “No, I just meant that you don’t seem like you’d be friends with her. She’s everything good about the world rolled into one soul, y’know? But you... You’re different than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I’m not sure.” You said honestly. “For all I know, the devil takes human form in Klaus...” You trailed off, hoping he’d fill in the obvious blank.

“Mikaelson.” He nodded proudly.

For some reason, that name was familiar. Klaus Mikaelson. Was he an associate of Dean’s? Was he someone Dean had hunted? Should you know that name? But then it hit you like a ton of bricks. You had read that name in one of Dean’s thousands of books. But he was a myth... Wasn’t he?

“Niklaus Mikaelson, commonly under the alias ‘Klaus’, the equivalent to the devil’s darkest desires, walked the earth when the earth was new. He is said to have more power than any creature in existence, for he is a whole new beast. No man will conquer the Hybrid.” You quoted the book and watched his ears perk up, his eyes widened.

“Ah... So you’ve heard of me?” He smirked devilishly.

“You were a myth... A vampire-werewolf hybrid was a myth.” You explained.

“I’m quite real, Love. See?” He said plainly, taking your hand as if to prove he was actually sitting in front of you.

“That’s...” You paused, searching your vocabulary for a word that could do this feeling in the pit of your stomach justice. “Amazing.” You settled on.

“You’re not afraid?” He asked curiously. You couldn’t tell if he wanted you to be afraid or if he was relieved that you weren’t. Either way, you weren’t. You wondered if maybe you should’ve been, but at the same time, you knew you had no reason to be. You hadn’t wronged Klaus in anyway. He had no reason to hurt you. So what was there to be afraid of?

“Are the stories true?” You asked eagerly. “Did you really wipe out an entire pack and then some back East to build a hybrid army?”

He chuckled and released your hand. One hand came under his chin and the other waved through the air, as if to say it was no big deal.

“That is badass!” You exclaimed in excitement. “I always thought it was impossible to mix a werewolf and a vampire.” You said in a more modest tone of voice. “So how did that happen?”

“My mother had an affair with a neighboring tribe and the man happened to be a werewolf. So, I was born as not only the bastard, but a werewolf. She created us vampires through a spell, to protect us from said werewolves.” He explained simply.

“And the curse has to be activated, right? Take a life and become a ‘slave to the moon’ and all that?” You asked, putting air quotes around a few words.

“Yes, and once I fed for the first time, it triggers the other part of me. My mother did yet another spell on me to force my wolf side to lay dormant until I freed it.” He finished and glanced at your face to gauge your reaction. Maybe he was hoping to scare you off, or entice you into his life more.

“Dude..” You said in awe. “There are so many people that won’t even say your name in public. They act like you’re Beetlejuice or something.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head with a small smile. “I’d never wear such tacky stripes.”

“Could you imagine?” You laughed. “Oh my god, yeah, I don’t think you’d look good in blocky, vertical stripes. Sorry, buddy.”

“What do you mean? Devilishly handsome, remember?” He joked.

You burst out in laughter again, genuinely happy. You didn’t think you could happy after you left Dean, not this soon at least. Something in your eyes must’ve given that away because the next question from Klaus practically called you out on it.

“What are you running from?” He asked, more to himself than to you, as if he was still trying to figure you out. “So, what brings you to New Orleans?” He asked, a little louder than before.

“Dean Winchester.” You sighed, a smile staying on your face when remembering him. “He was my boyfriend, of a long time. But I broke up with him... He was great, don’t get me wrong. But I couldn’t stand by him and live his lifestyle anymore. I couldn’t have him worrying about me over himself anymore.”

“What was he?”

“A hunter... Anything and everything supernatural, alongside his brother. The family business, I guess... I don’t know, at the end of the day I loved him and I still do. It’s just... exhausting being with someone who knows they’re mortal but who acts like they’re invincible.”

“Hey, Y/N/N.. Oh, Klaus...” Camille said, suddenly at your side. “Is he bothering you?”

“Not at all.” You smiled genuinely. “He was keeping me company, actually.”

“See, Camille?” He said with a joking smile. “I’m great with new people.”

“You hate people.” She argued with an amused eye roll.

“Nonsense, I love people.” He shook his head.

“Anyways. I’ll be done in a few minutes, I promise.” She told you.

“Take your time, Cousin. Klaus isn’t too bad.” You replied as she was called back inside.

“How do you know Cami?” You asked once she was out of earshot.

“My friend, Marcel, had a bit of a crush on her not too long ago. We invited her to a family party for him and they didn’t really spark anything exciting. In my efforts to get her to notice him, her and I became friends.” He explained.

“Cause that happens, all the time.” You nodded, trying to keep your sarcastic smile back.

“You’ve got your wits about you, don’t you?” He said in amusement.

“Cami was always the sugar, I was the spice.” You shrugged, slightly proud of how quick you could combat with your words.

“You know, I think you’d get along well with my younger brother, Kol. He’s an absolute ass but I think you two would be great friends.” He said with some admiration.

“Cause I’m an absolute ass too, yeah?” You joked.

“Seems that way.” He teased in return.

“Oh, that one hurt.” You faked offense. “Maybe you’re really not a people person.”

“Poppycock!” He exclaimed and you tried so hard to maintain a straight face.

“Who says that?!” You managed through your laughter.

“You know, Y/N,“ He said gently. “I’d love to see you again.”

“Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Big Bad Wolf?” You teased with a smile.

“Seems that way.” He smiled in return. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before...”

“Well, since I’m oh so special, I’d like that.” You nodded and exchanged phone numbers before leaving the patio with your cousin. As Klaus returned to his house, he couldn’t help but look at the new contact with your name and smile. He had the most mundane exchange with the most extraordinary girl.

She talked your ear off all night with what she knew about Klaus, both what he had told her and what she had figured out on her own. She said he was troubled, closed off, and had plenty of emotional baggage to spare. But he was interested in you. And apparently, he wouldn’t stop until you either told him to buzz off or he has you by his side. Either way, you were excited to see where it would go.

#klaus tvd #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus imagine #klaus x reader #tvd #tvd imagine #the originals imagine #the originals #camille o'connell

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klaroline-4ever · 5 years

Text

The Pact: Chapter 17

Klaus heard Elena's phone call with Alaric Saltzman and how she was now going to train with Elijah's help. Klaus wanted to go fight with Elijah but before he needed to go talk with Elena.

Once Elena's phone call ended, he took her away from the kitchen and put her in her room so they could talk without anyone listening.

"Klaus, What is it?" Elena asked.

"I want to know what the bloody hell are you planning on doing behind my back."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you need Elijah to train you? Why do you even need training? You're only function in here is to provide me your blood so I can make more hybrids. I simply haven't killed you yet because it would break my pact with Caroline. But if you try to flee I will quickly break that pact and kill you after killing everyone you care about."

"I'm not just an object you keep around and when you remember to make hybrids suddenly has a reason for exist. I have a life, Klaus. We all have a life. You aren't the center of the universe! I only asked Elijah to help me with my training because I want to be able to defend myself if Marcel or someone tries to take me away from here to get to you. After all, everyone knows how much you care about your little army of hybrids." Elena said.

"If you dare to do something that will put in jeopardy my plans, I will punish you and won't be pretty." Klaus growled stepping closer to her, in order to make her feel intimidated.

"Hey, Elena! I was wondering if you wanted to..." Caroline said as she opened the door, quickly falling into silence when noticed Klaus and Elena very close to each other. "Oh... Sorry. I didn't know... I should have knocked. Sorry to interrupt your... Yeah... I'll go now. You two carry on."

Caroline left Elena's bedroom and went to her bedroom, wanting to be alone and try to understand what was she feeling and why she was feeling that way.

When Caroline saw Elena and Klaus, she at first was surprised and at shock, but then she felt something else... she didn't enjoy to see them so close, she didn't know why but she just didn't like it... And she also felt like a fool because now she was starting to wonder with how many girls Klaus has been acting all nice and gentlemanly with besides her and, apparently, Elena.

"Love, is everything alright?" Klaus whispered as he got in Caroline's bedroom.

"Yeah... I just... I didn't know you and Elena were becoming so close. I thought she could barely stay in the same room as you... But I'm fine." Caroline whispered, acting like she wasn't affected by seeing him and Elena so close.

"Okay. And in case you're wondering... it wasn't what it looked like."

"I wasn't wondering anything." Caroline quickly said, then Klaus locked them inside the bedroom, making her ask. "What are you doing?"

"I need to talk with someone and I can see you're not in the mood to talk but I trust you to talk about this and... you don't even have to say a word. I just need to talk." Klaus said and Caroline nodded so he would continue. "Elena asked Elijah to help her improve her fighting skills and I am wondering if she asked that for being able to run away from me or for getting closer to Elijah and turn him against me."

"And why does the reason of her wanting to improve her fighting skills needs to be about you? She's been training even before we knew about your existence. It was something she used to do with Ric and now she probably wants to continue because it sucks to stay in this house without doing anything." Caroline said.

"But what if the reason is her planning on run away?"

"Klaus, she didn't ran away when you used her for the sacrifice. I'm sure she won't run away now. She lost so many people, she wouldn't do something that would make her lose the few people she has left." Caroline said. "But is that it or is there something more to it?"

"What do you mean, love?"

"Maybe what you are really afraid is that someone will run away and leave you... Maybe you started to care about people that aren't your siblings." Caroline whispered, thinking that maybe he was so close to Elena because he felt attracted to her and to how she wants to keep fighting.

"Maybe..." Klaus whispered, thinking about how Caroline in a short time has been able to make him care about her.

"Then why don't you tell her?" Caroline asked.

"What do you think she would say about that?" Klaus whispered.

"I don't know but you and Elena seemed to have some tension going on. Maybe that's a good thing." Caroline smiled to him, trying to be a good friend.

"What? I wasn't talking about Elena. And you saw tension between me and her because I was intimidating her so she wouldn't think on running away."

"Because you are starting to care about her and don't want her to leave." Caroline said.

"No! Because the only reason she's here it's so I can make more hybrids. I don't care about her. I barely talk to her." Klaus admitted.

"She's a person, Klaus. You can't think she is just an object for you to use when you want to get more hybrids." Caroline said.

"Wait. Did you act like that because you thought I cared about Elena? Were you jealous, love?" Klaus smirked.

"What? Of course not! Why would I be jealous?"

"I don't know. I can't see why a woman like you would feel jealous of a girl like Elena." Klaus whispered, stepping closer to her.

"You don't need to tell me that. I wasn't jealous. If I was I would understand you saying those things but I'm not." Caroline said.

"If you say so..."

"I wasn't!" Caroline argued, suddenly realizing how close they were now.

"Good." Klaus whispered, grabbing her by the waist, pulling her closer to him. "A woman as beautiful and as extraordinary as you, should know how incredible she is and shouldn't feel jealous of anyone..."

"Klaus..." she whispered and he pressed her against the wall.

"How could I look at Elena like that when I have such an amazing woman right here...?" Klaus whispered.

"Stop it... You can't say things like that to me. I'm your hybrid." Caroline whispered.

"You broke the sire bond." Klaus smirked. "Very rebellious and brave of you, may I add."

"That doesn't matter. I can't be your sex buddy nor anything like that. At most what we can be is friends." Caroline said and moved him aside so she could have some air to breath, because she was starting to feel hot by being so close to Klaus.

Next on The Pact

"What the hell?" *** "Are you planning on telling Klaus?" *** "It sounds urgent."

to be continued...

#the pact

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fourthseal · 5 years

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“How did you get this?”

scar meme / @violints

It’s no secret that Klaus has never exactly been shy about his body. With so much other terrible stuff going on in his life, being concerned with his looks simply never seemed worth the effort. Klaus’ wardrobe is full of mismatched items, skirts, crop tops, his outfits are always chaotic but he wears them in a way that simply begs anyone to question him. It’s not unusual to see Klaus wondering around in nothing but a skirt-or at least it wasn’t before the motel. Before hours of pain and fear and withdrawal and please, please I promise I don’t know anything no one’s coming they won’t notice please-PLEASE! When he came back from Vietnam it took weeks for Klaus to wear a skirt again, partly it was the strangeness of it all after spending ten months mostly in army fatigues, but it there was something more sinister staying his hand when he dressed in the morning too. Something about the memory of a sweaty, blood streaked town around his waste while he watched ghosts explain all of the painful, traumatising deaths Hazel and Cha Cha had forced them into. Even when he finally dons his skirts again, Klaus has not been shirtless in front of anyone since that night, no one but Dave who had frowned in concern, “Jesus Klaus where did you get these?” but was too nice of a guy to push it when he saw how Klaus froze, paled even under his jungle tan.

He slips up, it was bound to happen sooner or later, but god he wishes it wasn’t in front of Vanya. It’s a few weeks into them living together, things are finally calming down a little and he’s changing his shirt in the living room because the one he slept in is drenched in sweat. Vanya’s making coffee in the kitchen, he thinks he’ll have time but then she comes in and he, the idiot that he is, freezes for a moment like a deer in the fucking headlights. Her eyes go wide-there’s no hiding the whites of his scars in the morning light. Even with ten months of healing in Vietnam they’re plane to see-a divot of messy, circular scars in a v formation his collar bones to the bottom of his sternum. Klaus tries not to think about them too much, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t remember the agony each one caused. When Vanya puts the coffee cups down on the table Klaus jumps a little, despite himself. Barely even 10am and he’s already so on edge his shoulders hurt with the tension. Vanya crosses the room before he can blink and Klaus flops down heavily onto the sofa. If they’re going to have this conversation he’s sure as fuck not doing it standing up, it’s already bad enough that he’s having to do it sober.

“How did you get these?” her voice is soft, as always, but there’s a sharp edge to it too that comes from concern, he thinks, or confusion. Her eyes narrow and Klaus’ mind raises the image of what they looked like that night-pure white, and devoid of anything that makes Vanya the sister he loves so dearly. It’s not a look he ever wants to see again, but he knows talking about this will upset her, because she’s a good person and even though Klaus tries not to think too hard about it, what happened to him is all kinds of fucked up and terrible. Silence hangs heavily between them as he weights up his options. He doesn’t want to lie to her, not when they’re trying so hard to be open with each other, but he also doesn’t want his shit to upset her.

“I uh-” he starts, then stops, licks his lips. Every cell in his body is screaming at him to run away from this, to go shoot up somewhere so he doesn’t have to think about it. Taking as steady a breath as he can manage he clenches his hands into fists, forces himself to stay in the here and now. It’s been ten months, he shouldn’t still be so freaked out over it. “Five’s buddies from the commission. We had a chat about Five at one point and let me tell you they are not as friendly as they seem,” it’s a weak attempt at humour and the following laugh sounds forced even to his ears. “Who knew someone in a bright pink bunny mask could be so mean, am I right?”

#violints #torture tw #&&. goodbye (answered)#{will klaus ever talk abt his trauma without making it a joke?#absolutely fucking not. next question}

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

Text

Missing in Action

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: This is Part Four of my Sheepdogs series. If this is the first time you’re seeing this series on your dash, I’d definitely recommend going back and starting with Part One, He Saw the Ghosts, a slight AU exploring what might have happened had Klaus spoken with a kinder vet in the VFW scene. Dead Ringer and Tattoos With Better Stories follow the vets he meets as they try to offer support while trying to determine just why he looks so much like an unidentified soldier in a fifty-year-old photo.

All installments are available on my AO3 account.

The man’s name was Arthur, and tracking him down had proven, from the beginning, to be more difficult than Richard liked.

Sometimes he enjoyed the search. He liked to find a clue and follow the breadcrumbs down a trail to a discovery both expected and surprising, examine and marvel at all the little facts he picked up along the way. He’d never been fond of puzzles, but after putting the metaphorical pieces together on more than one occasion, he thought he’d finally grasped the appeal.

But there was a difference between struggling to find where a puzzle piece fit and putting the picture together only to find pieces were missing.

The friend of a friend put Richard in touch with a friend, who wasn’t home but—thankfully—was up on answering messages. A call to the number Richard was given also ended at an answering machine, but he’d only waited a short while for a call back before his phone rang again.

“God, I’m sorry,” the friend—Trevor—said. “I forgot—he’s visiting one of his kids. You want the number where he’s staying?”

Under ordinary circumstances, Richard would have said no, he’d left a message and that would be fine; but thoughts of Klaus made him hesitate. Accept the number and interrupt the man’s vacation, or delay the call and delay answers until after Klaus showed his face again—perhaps long after.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter. He’d faced Klaus more than once without an answer to a single one of the questions the younger man raised; doing so again wouldn’t be impossible. The kid needed a place to run to, a friend to listen. Richard could provide that without knowing where he’d come from or where he’d served or even his last name.

And yet….

He couldn’t face Klaus again, not with all those questions nagging at him. Not with doubt gnawing away at compassion and suspicion threatening to push concern aside.

“You sure he won’t mind?”

“Nah. If he can’t talk, he’ll let you know.”

Richard wrote the number down, thanked Trevor and hung up, but didn’t dial it immediately. The digits scrawled on a piece of notepaper—they were just a number. A sequence that would bring an interlude to a stranger’s visit with his family, if not grind it to a halt. Maybe things would stop there, end with the voice on the other end of the line announcing that he knew next to nothing about the unnamed soldier in the photo.

But maybe not.

Richard brushed a thumb over the paper. It was just a number, but it felt like a key.

Arthur preferred to be called Art, and if a stranger intruding on a family visit bothered him, his voice didn’t show it.

“I’ve spent the last forty years bouncing around the whole country,” he said with a laugh when Richard apologized for the interruption yet again. “Probably made me hard to track down.”

“Just a bit.”

Art laughed again. “So you want me to come on down today, tomorrow, when?”

Richard glanced again at the number he’d taken down. He’d been told the man had somewhat settled in Arizona, but the area code looked familiar. “How close are you?”

“’Bout forty minutes away.”

So his daughter had wound up in one of those towns scattered around the city, the ones that lured tourists in with a cultivated quaintness and a Main Street designed to separate them from their money. “We’ve got his photo at the VFW here in town.”

“I can get there tomorrow. You got directions?”

Art beat Richard and Jim to the VFW, and despite only starting his walk once hands were shaken and introductions made, he beat them inside and reached the memorial wall a few paces before they did.

“This the guy?”

Even before he closed the gap, Richard knew which soldier his pointing finger highlighted. “That’s him.”

A smile tugged at one corner of Art’s mouth and then the other, but no sooner had it spread than it lost whatever innocence it might have had, turning wistful at best. He shook his head. “Should’ve known Klaus would show up in the last place you’d expect.”

The name was like a thunderclap. Richard tried to think of something, anything to say besides asking him to repeat it, something that wasn’t incoherent stammering.

“Klaus?” If Art heard Jim’s voice increase in pitch, he didn’t show it. “That’s his name?”

“His parents were ahead of the curve, I guess.”

“My great-grandpa’s name was Orange.” Richard wasn’t sure how he managed to get the words out at all. “Married a woman named Blossom and never heard the end of it.”

“Klaus. He have a surname?” Jim asked. It sounded casual enough, but Richard heard the strain in it, the forced nonchalance.

“Hargreeves.” Art frowned, looking to the photo again. “Always did think that was weird, once the Academy started making headlines.”

Klaus wasn’t too unusual of a name—not like Orange. It hadn’t been the sort of name most mothers would bestow upon their children back in the forties, but it had existed. So had Hargreeves. If the parents of a perfectly harmless baby boy who had done nothing to deserve it could nevertheless choose to saddle him with a name like Orange back in 1843, then a Mrs. Hargreeves in the 1930s or 40s could name her son Klaus.

Richard tried for an unhurried gait as he moved closer to the photograph of the unnamed soldier—toward Klaus Hargreeves, if Art wasn’t the perpetrator of the world’s strangest and most twisted practical joke. Maybe if he were able to remove it from its frame and study it without the glass, he’d be able to find some discrepancy between this Klaus and the one he knew. It was the light, he decided. The light kept him from seeing it clearly, gave an admittedly spooky coincidence more meaning than it deserved.

Out the corner of his eye, he saw Art frown. “You okay?”

Richard didn’t try for a smile, or even a reassuring tone. Art struck him as a smart guy—too smart to be brushed off with something like that. “You want to sit down?”

There was a table somewhat close to the photo, and that was where they set up operations. Jim fetched a few drinks from the bar and passed them around; Art held onto his beer a moment before speaking.

“You know, I figured I’d just come in and name the guy.”

Richard kept both hands wrapped around his soda as he tried to find the proper words. It was tempting to toss all the cards on the table and let Art sort them out—but there was still a chance that all this was a coincidence or something darker. Throwing everything out into the open could muddy the waters before they had an inkling of what lurked beneath.

“We’ve had some….weird shit happen, these last couple of days,” Jim said without looking up. “And it all ties back to that guy in the photo.”

“To Klaus,” Art said.

“Yeah,” Jim said with a hint of a sigh. “To Klaus.”

“We still don’t know shit about him,” Richard added, motioning between himself and Jim. “But you do. Maybe you can help us clear a few things up.”

Art fell silent, gazing down at his beer. Richard tried not to hold his breath, tried not to let anticipation and disquiet show on his face. He tried not to watch, too, but that proved fruitless. Slowly, Art’s expression softened. Slowly, it became a smile.

“The guy was a trainwreck.” He shook his head with a soft chuckle. “But God, he was fun.”

He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. Richard had seen that smile before, wry and expectant all at once—the smile of a man who knew he had some good stories to share.

“This one time, I was just sitting there, minding my own business, and Klaus walks up, plops himself into my lap and goes ‘Trust fall!’” He chuckled again. “Of course, he didn’t get to that part until I was already cussing him out.”

It wasn’t that Richard forgot the reason for Art’s presence. It wasn’t that he tossed the purpose of hearing his stories aside. But as Art told another story followed by another, as he relaxed into memories he may not have shared before, reason and purpose took a backseat. They remained in the back of his mind, but he was laughing too hard to hear their guidance.

Richard still hadn’t gotten his wind back from laughter at the last story when Art slapped the table. “The ghost moose! Almost missed that one.”

Jim coughed on his beer. “The what moose?”

Art leaned forward with his elbows propped on the table. He liked to do that and gesture broadly as he spoke, Richard had noticed. “So, Klaus didn’t know how to drive once he got in country.”

“How old was he again?” Richard asked.

Art frowned, as though he’d never considered the question before. “I…I dunno. Late twenties? Anyway.” He waved the question aside. “So we’ve got to teach him. He’s in the driver’s seat, bumping along—and there’s nobody for miles. Out in the middle of nowhere. But everything seems to be going great, he’s finally getting the hang of it, and then all of a sudden—bam! Guy slams on the brakes, almost pitches us all out. We’re all ‘What the hell, you almost got us killed,’ and he just stares at the road a minute and then he goes, ‘I thought I saw a….moose.’”

“You’re shitting me,” Jim said.

“Nope.” Art chuckled. “He said it just like that, too—like he knew he had all of two seconds to think of something good and that’s what he came up with.”

Richard gulped his soda. “A moose.”

“Yep.”

“In Vietnam.”

“That’s what the rest of us said, but he goes, ‘Well, maybe they lived here millions of years ago and now there’s a ghost moose walking around, ever think of that?’”

Art grinned through the laughter that followed.

“I’ll bet that story took off,” Richard said when he’d straightened out enough to speak.

“God, yes. After that, every goddamn shadow we saw was the ghost moose. Officers pull some new bullshit? Ghost moose. Mail’s delayed again? Ghost moose.”

Richard grinned. “Did the ghost moose have a name?”

“Spurlock,” Art said after another gulp of his drink. “Think it was Charlie who said we should call him Reginald. I thought it was a great name for a moose, but Klaus didn’t like that one, and since the ghost moose was his idea—”

“You wanted to go with something he liked,” Jim finished.

“Yep. Not sure where he came up with Spurlock, but it stuck.”

The name sounded familiar, but Richard couldn’t quite place it. He was still trying to match it to a face, a news article or anything else when Art nodded to the photograph on the wall.

“Every man in that picture came up with at least one story about the ghost moose. Dave started writing them all down one night. Gave the collection some long and important name, like For Those Who Have Seen Shall Never Unsee: Visages of Meese in Their Spectral Forms. But those stories...God, they were wild. That moose was into some weird shit.”

As much as he wanted to remain where the stories and laughter had brought him, Richard couldn’t ignore the nudging back toward the purpose of the whole meeting. “Dave….Katz?”

Art nodded. “He and Klaus were pretty close.”

Richard thought the way Art averted his gaze signaled something more behind those words, but the silence lasted less than a moment before Art shook his head slightly.

“Klaus was no idiot, though. Said some dumb shit, but he was a smart guy.”

Jim gave a wry smile. “Think everybody served with that guy sometime.”

“Better than a dumb guy who says a lot of smart shit,” Richard added.

“Yeah….” Jim exhaled, setting his beer on the table. “Served with him, too.”

“I tell you he knew Nixon would get elected?

Richard couldn’t say what about the question sent a jolt through him, but he’d learned years before to listen to that. Instincts could be off, but they could also be like a sound from far away, signaling danger not yet visible. “No.”

“Yeah, we were talking about the race, who everybody was gunning for—and Klaus goes ‘Eh, Nixon’s just gonna win anyways.’” Art shook his head again. “Figured it was the drugs talking, but come November, guess who’s president?”

The image of Klaus stumbling into a laundromat, covered in sweat and on his way to another club, resurfaced in Richard’s mind, but he pushed the thought back. “He knew?”

“Said it was a lucky guess.”

Richard looked to Jim, saw the same disquiet he felt reflected back, and pressed on. “Nixon won with—what? Forty-three percent?”

“Something like that.”

“And he just said Nixon was gonna win.”

“Like he knew,” Jim added.

“Look, the guy….” Art paused, pressed his lips together. “He wasn’t the only one who used, all right? Not by a long shot. And he said a lot of things like that. Just weird shit. Some of it made sense, some didn’t. But at the end of the day, he was a guy you wanted with you when shit hit the fan.”

Art sat back, and It took more of Richard’s willpower than he cared to admit to keep from slumping in his chair. He wasn’t defeated, he wasn’t chastised, because this wasn’t a fight. Just a misunderstanding. A misunderstanding he couldn’t clear up until he corralled the bizarre ideas and half-baked possibilities swirling through his head into something resembling coherent speech.

After a long silence, Jim was the one who spoke. “When’d he join your unit?”

“I don’t remember exactly when.” It was thoughtful, a consideration. There was still a hint of temper behind it, a note of irritation, but nothing more. “I know he did, since he wasn’t there from the beginning, but I don’t remember him ever joining. He was just kind of…there one day.”

“He ever say where he was from, when he got drafted?”

Art’s frown deepened. “Never did say. He was from here, though. Pretty sure.”

Jim’s questions had set Art pondering things he might not have pondered before—and sharpened the cold unease in Richard’s middle. Details no longer swirled past one another like debris in a tornado; they fell to the ground, snapped into place like pieces in a puzzle. He wasn’t sure he understood the picture they formed, but he needed to be sure. He nodded to the tattoo on Art’s bicep, the bottom half visible beneath his sleeve.

“Did everybody in your unit get that tattoo?”

“This one?” Art rolled up his sleeve, revealing the same tattoo Klaus had worn: a skull emblem below the words Sky Soldiers and 173rd Airborne Division. “Yep. Same place, same everything.”

Not quite the same. Where Art’s tattoo had faded and blurred with age, the one Klaus wore—the Klaus he’d met, at any rate—appeared more freshly inked. “How long was he there?”

Art looked down at the table. Any trace of mirth had vanished the moment questions took a turn he didn’t like, but Jim’s more routine inquiries had brought a sort of wistfulness, as if decent memories had begun to simmer at the back of his mind—the sort that needed no defense or explanation, only sharing. Every bit of cheer drained from him at Richard’s question.

“He didn’t even make it a year.”

Richard felt the bitterness in those words—had felt it time and again, when yet another friendship ended at the front line. He shut his eyes, trying to turn the flood of unwanted memories into a stream, turn the deluge into a current he could stand against.

“Him and Dave both. Fight ended, dust cleared. Dave was dead, Klaus was gone without a trace.” Art’s intake of breath shook. “Lost ‘em both that night.”

There was nothing to fill the silence that followed. Richard could have tried. Could have repeated some of the same platitudes he’d been given, knowing they’d remain empty no matter how much sincerity he poured into them.

Once again, Jim spoke first.

“You said they were close.”

It was an observation, and a gentle one at that. Art didn’t lift his gaze from the table, hands wrapped around his beer.

“You know, I think Dave might’ve been the first one to talk to him. Can’t say for sure, since I don’t remember when Klaus joined, but Dave? Saw the guy looking around like he still couldn’t figure out how the hell he wasn’t back in the States and thought That guy needs a friend.” His mouth tipped, more in rueful memory than genuine mirth. “There was a while, in the beginning, when the rest of us were wondering how the hell Klaus made it through basic without learning a goddamn thing, and Dave’s there with him, showing him what to do. Just all, ‘Try it that way. Do it like this. You got it.’”

The image of Klaus—the Klaus he knew—wearing David Katz’s dog tags surfaced in Richard’s mind. A quickly traded glance with Jim said his friend entertained similar thoughts—with similar disquiet.

“You never heard anything else, after he went MIA?” Richard asked.

Art exhaled. “I’m sure he’s dead by now.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to glance at Richard, meeting his gaze with a frown. Richard gave a small shrug, and Jim returned his attention to Art.

“You remember if he had any other tattoos?”

Art frowned. “Why?”

“Like Jim told you,” Richard said slowly, “there’s been some weird shit around that guy in the photo.”

“Yeah, but what do tats have to do with it?”

“We’re not sure we know, either,” Richard said.

Art gave them both a long look, let out a short sigh, and leaned forward. “Yeah. Had an umbrella on his forearm. I…always thought it kinda looked like the Academy logo, but never….”

His train of thought ended as his gaze shifted between Richard and Jim.

Richard knew he ought to speak. He didn’t trust himself to offer a full explanation, but he knew he should say a few words at least. Stammer something. Begin a sentence and end it too soon. But the more he fought for words, the more they eluded him. In his mind’s eye he saw Klaus concentrating on his knitting, Katz’s dog tags around his neck as the umbrella on his arm flicked in and out of view.

Klaus.

Klaus Hargreeves.

Klaus Hargreeves, haltingly asking about Richard’s time in Vietnam as he practiced stitches.

All the impossibilities bound up in that one, all the questions that went along with it, were nothing compared to that one certainty. He didn’t know how. He couldn’t say why. But in that moment, Richard would have bet money that the Klaus he knew, the Klaus Art knew, and the Klaus Reginald Hargreeves had adopted as an infant were one and the same.

Art’s gaze managed to pin them both down. “Are…you guys gonna tell me what’s going on, or….”

Richard drew a breath and then another. The first one shook, the second was steadier. He needed a way to phrase what he had to say, a means of softening it, but there was nothing. “I don’t think Klaus is dead.”

For a fraction of a second, Art’s face went entirely blank; then half a dozen emotions warred for dominance. Confusion. Shock. Anger. Relief. Despair.

Hope.

“If you’re shitting me—”

“I’m not. Swear to God, I’m not.”

“So what the hell made you say it?”

Richard opened his mouth to answer, traded a glance with Jim and thought better of it.

Jim drew a long breath and pointed to the photo on the memorial wall.

“Because I caught him crying over that picture just a few days ago.”

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