𝕹𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝕱𝚒𝚟𝚎.

𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 ; ❝ ⠀ 𝖜𝗵𝗼 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔 if dad ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀messed us up ? ⠀⠀ are we gonna let ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ that 𝐝͟𝐞͟𝐟͟𝐢͟𝐧͟𝐞͟ us ? ⠀⠀❞ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝚈 .

╱ love him or pick a fight with him he’ll take either

And Luther. They’re not done with this yet, he’s still in danger.

He 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 managed to peel himself away from the carpet, readjusted his hat and is now aimlessly scouring the place for cereal. And coffee. He needs 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐬 of it.

( Sharp inhale . . . exhale . . . 𝘄𝗵𝘆 is he even listening to Klaus? Furious eyes snap up, wordlessly daring them to 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆 him one more time. ) 𝗬𝗼𝘂 were dead for three minutes, had that been anyone else, they’d have been dead 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝! I have to go talk to him.

He’s 𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 on the floor . . . and he’s staying here until the world stops spinning and he knows 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭 is going on.

“Watch where you’re going . . .” He mumbles angrily as he pushes past her, before, upon recognising the voice as one of his siblings, coming to a sudden stop on his current warpath and making a sharp turn in her direction, “Have you seen Luther?”

There’s an evident strain in his jaw, fingers cramping around the handle of the bat, before, at last, and with quite some willpower on his end, it comes loose and hits the floor, “Yeah . . . I’ve decided that I’ll deal with that clumsy ape later.“

. . . If Luther thinks he’s safe because he ( fell asleep ) was otherwise occupied for a few hours, he’s dead wrong. They’re having a talk about this and if it’s the 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 thing they do should the world come crashing down again.

A full-body jolt shakes him awake, limbs slipping off the armchair and hitting the carpeted floor with a dull thud that’s accompanied by the clanking of empty glass bottles, his 𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐭 hat landing next to him. . . .

Disturbing a man on a mission, holding a baseball bat moreover . . . it’s an instinct, if not something more than that, to whip around at once, the weapon held high in the air as he 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒔 at his opposite.

Roaming the corridors . . . 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 Luther.

If Luther’s hiding . . . he won’t be hiding for long.

( Quite literally, he’s technically furiously prodding around in the fabric of spacetime . . . and very soon, those hands will be knocking some sense into that hairy klutz’s skull. ) Oh, he feels bad . . . he 𝑭𝑬𝑬𝑳𝑺 𝑩𝑨𝑫?! He plummeted you to your death, Klaus!

𝗔𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 bang of the bat —— definitely an angry one this time. Where’s the monkey?