❛In a family of extraordinary individuals, sometimes the most dangerous power is the ability to be ordinary. ❜
𝖎𝖓 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍...
zero wishes the apocalypse
would take her with it
umbrella academy female insert
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HIS COLD, DEAD EYES ? ❛thank christ he isn't our real father❜
VIKTOR TRACED the rain-streaked window, the cityscape blurring into a watercolor mess. Dread gnawed at him. Was it his father's funeral, seeing his siblings again, or the looming return to the Academy's suffocating embrace?
The mansion materialized in his mind: cold marble, polished wood gleaming under nonexistent warmth. Family portraits hung like grotesque trophies, a constant reminder of their fabricated reality. Reginald's showpieces, not children.
Distance couldn't sever the bond with his siblings. He ached for them, especially Ben and Five, forever lost. Or so he thought. Memories flooded back - a torrent of emotions. The rhythmic echo of his father's footsteps, each one a thud in his chest, a physical manifestation of Reginald's control. Mom's cinnamon rolls, a fleeting escape into warmth and comfort. The gaping hole left by his missing brother, a harbinger of the fracturing family.
The cab lurched to a stop. Stepping out, Viktor surveyed the Academy. It loomed oppressively, a physical embodiment of his childhood. Inside, the grand entrance echoed with a hollowness that mirrored the emptiness Viktor felt. The ornate chandelier cast a dim, flickering light, dwarfed by the vibrant hues filtering through the stained-glass windows. Despite years of self-discovery, Viktor couldn't shake the feeling of being a small, powerless child beneath his father's unforgiving gaze.
Viktor traced the cool marble columns with his fingertips, his gaze traveling upwards. The grand foyer, unchanged despite the years, felt oddly sterile. A stark contrast to the warmth he sensed from the adjoining living room. In the periphery of his vision, he noticed a flicker of movement from the shadows. Zero stood by the grand staircase, her figure almost blending into the darkness. Her eyes, twin pools of icy indifference, met his briefly before returning to the shadows. A figure sat bathed in the flickering firelight, a beacon of familiarity in the cold halls. It was Mom, seemingly untouched by time, her golden hair and vintage attire a stark contrast to the modern world Viktor inhabited. But something was wrong. Mom's usual vibrance was absent, replaced by a vacant stare.
"Hey, Mom," Viktor said tentatively, his voice laced with concern.
Grace remained motionless, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
"Mom?" Viktor tried again.
"Vanya?"
The voice startled Viktor. It wasn't Mom, but Allison descending the stairs. Gone was the icy demeanor he remembered, replaced by a hesitant smile.
