#aside from dogs. nothing is as pure and good as a dog. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crowtrobotx · 9 months

Text

Check Engine

Ya girl has completely gone off the deep end. Did someone order a Mechanic!Karl fic that’s just going to likely end up being filth? Well, too bad. You’re getting it. First chapter isn’t much aside from reader (GN) thirsting. (Never fear Chrysalis fans, this is but a temporary diversion into madness lol. My main focus is still that particular work.) Words: 3,533 Characters: Karl Heisenberg x Reader Warnings: Minors DNI - Eventual Smut and hysterically bad PWP to follow, provided everyone feeds my ego enough. Read on AO3

You had no idea what had possessed you to bring your car to this body shop, but you were simultaneously thanking and cursing whatever it had been that guided your hand and made you turn onto the lonely gravel driveway after work, finally deciding that you could no longer win the staring contest between yourself and the check engine light. The sign, the exterior - everything about this place had seen better days, but you didn’t have the money to fork over to a more reputable establishment and at the very least it was on the way to the little place you’d started renting just outside of the city limits. The yard surrounding the building proper was littered with rusted out cars and bikes that you were pretty sure couldn’t possibly be salvaged, and there was an unsettling abundance of signs taped to the window warning any trespassers of what might befall them if they tried anything sketchy. The faded logo on the lopsided sign by the roadside looked like it might have once been a stallion’s head framed by a metal horseshoe, but between the sun and pure neglect it had faded to something almost entirely unrecognizable. Still, every morning on the way to your new job you’d passed this place, and no one seemed to be actively being robbed or shot on the property. It was probably fine. You’d taken a cautious step out of your vehicle, the barking of an unseen dog giving you pause. If you hadn’t been feeling so bold that particular day, jacked up on a particularly adventurous coffee order, you might not have decided on a whim to pull in and would rather have called ahead and given the owner the courtesy of a heads-up. But, no. Today you threw caution to the wind and gave a middle finger to all the pragmatic thoughts that screeched at you to get back behind the wheel and peel out of there as fast as physics allowed.

Having only lived in this town for a few months, you didn’t yet have the luxury of knowing what businesses you wanted to frequent or who was trustworthy or even where everything was. Hell, you didn’t even have friends here – you’d left everyone behind when you’d accepted your new position and decided to start over fresh. It might have simply been easier to jump on the highway and go looking for a more populated area, one that had a massive cineplex and ten Starbucks stores and a respectable car dealership. Your ego simply wouldn’t allow it. Your parents had questioned your choice to move to what was comparatively such a small town, but the promise of a quiet change of pace had been enough to entice you to take the plunge. You felt the thrill of rebellion coursing through your veins as you straightened your stance and made your way into what seemed to be the main entrance, a silent pep talk fueling your every step.

Granted, nothing about this mechanic seemed quiet.

You’d heard the ancient radio blaring before you’d even parked your car, the tinny audio almost enough to make you want to overnight the owner something less outdated purely out of the goodness of your heart. Add on top of that the clangs and whirrs of the machinery that were to be expected, plus the periodic exclamations of FUCK and STUPID PIECE OF— and you were beginning to understand why the shop sat on the edge of town, with fields in every direction unmarred by the cookie cutter housing developments that tended to descend on these areas like locusts. It seemed that whoever operated this joint wasn’t very interested in mingling with the local populace - you hoped that meant that whatever they charged you wouldn’t completely bankrupt you, but you kept that little tidbit of information to yourself. As it turned out, the interior was much the same as the sight that had greeted you when you pulled up. A near cataclysmic pile of junk was present everywhere you looked - you could just make out the workspace in the back of the building that looked at least a little bit clear, but between the low light caused by multiple dead bulbs and the thick coat of grime that seemed to cover everything in sight, it didn’t look much more inviting. The voice you’d heard was coming from that general direction, it seemed, and you cleared your throat, hoping that whoever was back there would be alerted to your presence. Of course, no matter how many fake coughs you managed, you still found yourself standing alone but for the woman in the poster on the opposite wall, scantily clad and leaning seductively against the hood of a restored classic Chevy. Fuck you, Mom and Dad. I won’t be bested by a shady repair shop. A cautious ding of the call bell yielded no results. You ended up having to shout into the void, doing your best to sound polite while you hollered for someone, anyone, to help you. More than once. When the radio suddenly went silent and the intermittent curses ceased, you knew you’d been successful. You waited with baited breath until at last a man stalked up to the counter, his expression almost the comical opposite of the smiley face printed on the “Ring for service!” sign taped to the counter. “Yeah?” He looked less delighted at the prospect of a new customer and more irritated that you’d had the audacity to show up and offer him a job. You stared back, at first completely unsure what to make of him. He wasn’t very tall, but he was broad and struck and imposing figure nonetheless. His wiry gray hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, the flyaways zigzagging away from his face like thunderbolts, and his messy silvery beard was uneven and looked in desperate need of a trim. His forehead was lined with lines that told of a life not particularly easy, and his light blue eyes darted anxiously between you and the exit, as if he expected your presence to herald something terrible. If you had to guess his age - maybe 45? 50? He looked like the type of person who might have been older than he looked - there was a weariness to him that you got the feeling he might never admit to but was detectable all the same. The dark blue coveralls he wore were halfway undone, tied around his waist and leaving him in a stained, dirty tank top that presumably had been white at some point. Now it was threadbare and almost gray, but you weren’t complaining - it meant you got a peak at the dark chest hair peeking out over the brim, and his biceps that flexed beneath skin criss crossed with old and new scars. His undershirt also didn’t seem to properly fit him - it was particularly tight around the middle and seemed in danger of riding up at any moment and oh dear god you were not about to thirst over this complete stranger and his dad bod, what was wrong with you?

If you wouldn’t have felt like a character in a sitcom, you might have slapped yourself across the face to bring yourself back to reality. He raised a brow at you, hands busying themselves with a rag that seemed far too dirty to have any chance at removing any of the god-knew-what trapped beneath his nails. Somewhere in the back, an alarm rang - some machine protesting his lack of attention. Just as he drew a breath in to chastise you and no doubt ask if you were stupid or something, you managed to sputter out an explanation for your visit. “Hmm,” he peered out the window at your back toward where you’d left you car. “When did it start doing that?” “Just about halfway through my move here,” you said, your confidence waning with every passing moment. “I’m uh, I’m new to the area. I drive through here on my way to work and I thought–” “You thought you’d just show up without so much as calling and that I’d just be dying to fix that hunk of junk? That I’d be jumping for joy and kissing your ass for deciding to grace my shop with your presence?” You gaped wordlessly for a moment. “N-no. Of course not, I just–” The man barked a laugh, revealing straight but slightly tobacco-stained teeth. You hated that he was vaguely handsome - not in the way most people would consider, of course. In the way that someone with slight mental derangement and daddy issues might find attractive - lucky for him, the dry spell that had plagued you over the last year was playing into his favor. It was throwing you off of your game, undermining all of the conviction you’d built up before entering. “I’m just kidding, doll. Calm down,” he said, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Sheesh, unclench your ass. I know that model, got a good idea of what might be causing it. I can probably fix it within an hour but I’ve got this other piece of shit to get back to working order first. Owner’s a real bitch and I do not want to deal with it if it’s not done by closing - can you wait maybe a couple hours?” Relief flooded your body. A couple of hours out of your night was far less terrible than the scenarios your mind had thought up when you’d first noticed the issue. You’d imagined weeks without your car, paying not just for the repair but also for a rental or a rideshare service that would not only add to your expenses but also mean you had to make dreaded small talk with strangers on the way to and from work. “Yes - that’s fine,” you exhaled shakily. “Thank you.” He nodded. “Got a lovely little waiting area behind you - make yourself comfortable. You want a soda or some shit? I think they’re ah…. Expired, but not by much.” “No, that’s okay. I’ll just play on my phone or something, thank you.” After a gruff nod, the mechanic disappeared to the back once more, and the radio resumed its obnoxious screeching. You noticed, with some amusement, that the shouting seemed to have died down somewhat, though not entirely. He seemed to be doing his best to deliver on his version of customer service. Whatever, you thought, if he fixes the car tonight and I don’t have to sell a kidney to pay for it, he’s my new favorite person on earth. As it turned out, the “waiting area” was little more than a bench with a wobbly leg, an end table, and a television with no remote that appeared to be perpetually stuck on the History channel. It was mounted far too high on the wall for you to feel around for any buttons, but you weren’t overly bothered by it. You had a mostly full phone battery, and a three hour video essay to catch up on. Of course, as seemed to be your luck as of late, a problem immediately made itself known - there was no wifi here. You sighed. Really, you should have expected it - the service you got in your apartment was shoddy as it was, why would some backwoods auto body shop be any better? With a sigh, you glanced at the end table and noticed the collection of magazines provided for the entertainment of the guests unfortunate enough to get stuck here while waiting for their cars to emerge from the mysterious garage out back. There was an eclectic mix, and you decided to live a little and fish through the pile without looking, pulling out a copy of National Geographic and resigning yourself to whatever contents you found within. Your mind wandered while you read, as did your eyes. Left alone with your thoughts, you were forced to consider the possibility that you’d made a mistake. Your father probably would have been horrified to hear that you’d simply showed up somewhere without giving the business a thorough search online and reading reviews. The owner - at least, he acted like the owner - had seemed relatively normal, if a little odd, from your brief interaction. But who knew - it was also entirely possible that there was a reason this place sat so separate from the city center, and he might very well end up wearing your skin as a mask come morning. The way things had been going for you, you weren’t sure that was such a bad thing. Truthfully, your move had not been as serendipitous as the movies had made it seem. You had expected a wholly beneficial change, that by casting aside your old relationships and job and apartment you would finally shake the feeling of stagnation that had settled heavy on your shoulders these past few years. But instead, you’d been greeted with roadblock after roadblock. First, the movers had forgotten an entire truckload of your things. Then, the exceedingly polite but hugely inept lady in payroll had managed to make your first paycheck hit your account several weeks late. Add to that the general fish out of water feeling that was bound to accompany any move, and your car deciding to try to kick the bucket felt like the final nail in the coffin. You could not, under any circumstances, admit that perhaps you’d been unprepared. Giving up was out of the question. If this mechanic turned out to be a complete scam, it might break you. Your eyes flicked up periodically from the bright photographs of penguins in the Antarctic to take in the details of the small part of the shop you were privy to. There were scant few decorations - no real attempt to make any visitors feel at home. There wasn’t even a coffee machine, or a mini fridge with complimentary bottles of water. You could vaguely see into a side room that looked like it must have been the owner’s office. There were a few pictures on the wall of him with some fancy looking cars, a couple of certificates that indicated that the building and business had passed the most basic inspections for human habitation. And, dear lord, were there a lot of posters with terrible jokes on them. Your personal favorite was a metal sign peering at you from behind the service desk that read “Unattended children will be given candy and a puppy.” You couldn’t help the small smile playing on your lips. Most businesses would have plaques commemorating their customer service awards, or how they were voted on of the local Best of’s. This guy seemed like he was daring you, personally, to leave a Yelp review. You wondered briefly if he was single, then gave yourself a hard pinch on the wrist and reminded yourself that you needed to find a new therapist.

Time passed, at once both too quickly and unbearably slow. Every time you looked at your phone, it felt like it was playing a joke on you - more than once you considered standing up and hunting down the mechanic to tell him you’d just come back some other time, with the intention of not returning. But just when you’d mustered the courage to stand, he appeared as if summoned - a few locks of his hair had escaped the ponytail now and fell haphazardly near his shoulders. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat but flashed you an easy grin all the same. “Brought you that soda whether you want it or not. You looked so sad out here I could hardly stand it. I’m takin’ your car back now, should just be a little bit. Name’s Karl, by the way. It’s on the - it’s on the jumpsuit, but it’s hot as balls in here. You know how it is.” You accepted the lukewarm can with a quiet “thanks” before handing him your keys and stopping yourself before asking if he’d be so kind as to just run you over while he was at it. After he disappeared out of sight and you heard your car engine rev to life, you sighed and slumped in your seat, letting your head rest with a thump against the wall at your back. The drink in your hand felt like it weighed about 50 extra pounds. Now you were really deep in it. You couldn’t well tell him to just stop now that he was actually in the middle of working. But you did want that fucking light to stop glaring at you every time to fired it up - shit. You glanced at the can - the expiration date was six months ago. ….whatever. You switched between the magazine, a previously downloaded podcast on your phone, and staring thoughtlessly at the fuzzy television for the next twenty minutes. You were hungry, and tiredness from your day was starting to settle into your bones. All of the self-assuredness that you’d felt when you’d arrived had given way to loneliness, and with that, the feeling that perhaps you didn’t know nearly as much as you thought. The other problems you’d been ignoring started to loom large in your mind - the broken sink you had to call the front office about, the vinyl record of yours that had broken during the move, the fact that it felt like your new boss might have a vendetta against you. You glanced down again at the article it had taken you far too long to get through. You read over the same sentence once, twice, ten times without absorbing it. This was supposed to be your fresh start, your magical new leaf that would change everything. No more would you be trapped with jobs and partners and shitty landlords. You were going to prove to everyone that you were capable of doing something great on your own, that your judgment was sound and that you didn;t need anyone else to get by. Everywhere you went, you felt the sensation of otherness, for lack of a better word. The flyers pinned on the cork board at the grocery store were for clubs and events that didn’t involve you. People greeted one another by name except for you - oh, they were polite, but you still had the nagging feeling that you were just a novelty, something looking into the window from the outside that would never be invited in. Perhaps you hadn’t put as much thought into this massive overhaul of your life as you’d insisted. Perhaps everyone else had been right and it would have been smarter and more responsible to stay where you were - even if that meant standing still. Maybe it really had been as good as it would get, and you’d fucked it all up. Once again, Karl had impeccable timing. “So, funny story, turns out I might have lied.” He leaned easily against the doorframe, strong arms crossed in front of his chest.

You lowered the magazine and blinked at him owlishly. So engrossed had you been in reading about global political events that had long since come and gone that you’d almost forgotten you weren’t alone. “Oh?” A sinking feeling descended upon you. You’d tried to quash any thoughts of him pulling the classic repairman tactic of finding “extra” problems to charge you for while he was at work - you had told yourself you were smart enough to recognize it if it happened, but your spirits were so dampened at this point that you felt like just letting him do whatever the hell he wanted if it meant you could get out of here without a fight. “Don’t like the drink?” He nodded toward the unopened can at your side. He sounded, oddly, rather hurt. He scratched his beard thoughtfully, eyes roaming you once before meeting your gaze. You almost melted into a puddle. Wow, you needed to get laid. “Oh!” You waved your hands disarmingly. “No! It’s not that, I’m just - it’s been a long day. I honestly forgot it was there. I’ll have it when I get home. You were saying something about my car?” “The car? Oh, yeah. Ain’t nothing wrong with that hunk of junk. Just a stupid communication issue in the electronics. Without gettin’ into too much detail, basically the thing that’s triggering your warning light is less an actual problem and more just something misfiring. I can reset it for you and have you on your way - just wanna double check and make sure I’m not gonna be wrong twice. Not usually wrong the first time, mind you - I’ve also had a long day if you don’t mind me saying.” He shuffled in place almost awkwardly before stretching, almost as if to feign indifference to your opinion. When he did so, much to your delight and horror the tank top did indeed ride up revealing a thick stretch of hair that made its way from below his belly button to -

“Yeah, I can wait a little longer,” you said hastily, forcing the magazine in front of your face to hide the obvious and burning redness spreading up from your chest and burning a path across your cheeks.

#okay let me tag this so that the people who apparently can't handle the sight of x reader fic without having an aneurysm don't freak out #karl heisenberg x reader #x reader #x reader fic #READER INSERT #reader insert fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #KARL HEISENBERG x Y/N #x y/n #THIS FIC IS A READER INSERT WRITTEN IN THE SECOND PERSON ARE YOU ALL HAPPY NOW.#okay anyway #karl heisenberg #resident evil village

103 notes · View notes

demonslayedher · 1 year

Text

Since Daki and Tecchikawahara have both stated it was, as the swordsmith, Haganezuka's fault that Tanjiro's sword got so chipped in battle, I've been asked if Haganezuka is indeed a bad swordsmith. At the time I said that Haganezuka is a fine swordsmith, albeit a perfectionist surrounded by perfectionists.

However, I came across an interesting comment from real life master swordsmith Asano Taro in this video:

"Katana is a perfect instrument. It is perfect in its creation and the way it looks. The theory behind its creation is also perfect. It doesn't have any faults. And if you use it perfectly well, it will cut anything with perfect precision. But if your spirit and movements are not at peace, the katana will bend or break instantly."

He goes on to say that the samurai is the one at risk for damaging the katana if he isn't mindful of himself, and Haganezuka would be quick to join him in blaming the user for damage, but what with Haganezuka being prone to fits of passion, I'd like to reconsider the question of Haganezuka's skills and final product.

It bears restating that while the smith gets a lot of credit for forming the iron into the blade, there are many other entirely separate and necessary specialists who contribute to the completion of a sword--the engraver, the artisan who makes a sheath, etc. While we see some evidence of crossover in the production of swords in KnY, we don’t know if there is any division of labor in the swordsmith village, or how much. We're going to come back to this point, but for our purposes in this post, we'll focus on sword polishing as a separate discipline.

In historical context, sword polishing was respected as a unique art as far back as the Heian era, and even though the sword production industry took a hard hit when swords were banned in the Meiji Period, they nonetheless were popular as works of art. This means that sword polishers were still in demand, more for bringing out a sword's beauty than for sharpening its usefulness. One famous sword polisher of the Taisho Period, Hirai Chiba, was said to be the sort of genius that only comes around once in every two hundred years, and he could make even the oldest, most decrepit swords glisten, but his methods were so genius that if others tried to further polish his work, they had a tendency to ruin it. The techniques are as unique as brushstrokes; we saw Haganezuka hard at work at a series of rough and primary whetting against large whetstones, but Muichiro didn't let him even finish the first part of initial whetting. That's to say nothing of getting to the series of small tools, many of which are so minute that they can only be worked with a craftsman's thumb.

We see some of the attitudes of the Taisho Period in the light novel chapter in which Tecchikawahara tries find a wife for Haganezuka, but she doesn't appreciate Haganezuka's career because swords aren't necessary in modern society. (It still baffles me that Tecchin thought a woman with these sentiments should be married into the swordsmith village, but he did choose her purely for having a cute photo.) She tries to convince him to switch to making kitchen knives or tools instead of barbaric weapons, but Haganezuka affirms that it's an honor that his swords are used by someone who puts his life on the line to protect others' lives.

So, is he a good swordsmith or not?

Our protagonist assures us he is. However, I've heard it said that you should strive to be the person you dog thinks you are, but perhaps it is higher standard to try to be the person Kamado Tanjiro thinks you are, so we'll set this aside.

What's more revealing, perhaps, is that Urokodaki already knows Haganezuka pretty well. Since Haganezuka is 37 and Urokodaki was in his prime at least 47 years ago when he trapped what would become the Hand Demon, it's unlikely that Haganezuka has ever produced any swords specifically for Urokodaki. Possibly Haganezuka's father did, in which case Urokodaki might had been familiar with little Haganezuka's upbringing. But, if Urokodaki is familiar with adult Haganezuka's work and personality, perhaps he's seen Haganezuka deliver swords to Final Selection graduates before... which might mean Haganezuka is Giyuu's swordsmith, too. If that's the case, I'm willing to bet Giyuu's never earned any special ire.

However, let us not forget that Haganezuka likes Tanjiro because Tanjiro keeps requesting swords from him. Other swordsmen haven't been able to deal with Haganezuka's personality and requested swords from other smiths. Giyuu could very well be among those swordsmen who quit this artisan, and a series of people being unable to look past his personality and appreciate his work doesn't reflect well on Haganezuka as a craftsman.

Back to Urokodaki, though, he's always the one who blamed the swordsman for wear and tear to the sword. If he ever felt Tanjiro got a bad sword, he'd likely have told him so and put in a complaint, making a more valid reason to request a different swordsmith.

To recap the post where I first considered this question, I think a big issue with Haganezuka's fervor is that he was raised by, and presumably taught the most incredible swordsmith in the village. Tecchikawahara may have been hard on little Hotaru because he was talented, and therefore he was dismissive of anything less than genius.

So then where was does genius come into play? Oh yes, with the beautiful Sengoku era sword, and Haganezuka's polishing of it.

Let's take a step back to appreciate this element of the process in context, and assume Haganezuka is familiar with every stage of the process, and more skilled in them that you or I can ever hope to me. First, Haganezuka makes sure to make sure Tanjiro knows about the special iron his sword is made of--and since Haganezuka and Gotouge thought that was important, I thought it was important as a KnY nerdery blog to make sure all of you appreciated this too. However, due to the labor intensity of the process of making iron sand into lumps of ore, I suspect Haganezuke may not usually be involved in this part of the process, even if he may have some experience with it. When it comes to other elements besides the smithing, he perhaps wasn't a preferred artisan for things like making hand guards as the Rengoku clan likes them, or someone who had the right to engrave 悪鬼滅殺 ("eliminate all evil demons") on the Pillars' swords; perhaps there were village specialists, or other swordsmiths who improved their engraving skills because they were responsible for Pillars. Since Tanjiro didn't need a particularly crafty sheath, I'm inclined to think it was either average craftsmanship if Haganezuka made it, or it may have been outsourced to someone else in the village.

However, let's pause here on sheaths. Shinobu's Breath technique works due to the specialized sheath, so her sword and sheath must both be extremely high caliber. Tecchikawahara is credited with them, meaning the greatest swordsmith is adept in multiple disciplines. Tecchikawahara's son is as well, for he developed a special sheath for Iguro to draw his curvy blade.

I bring this up because Tecchikawahara has a son, presumably, the heir to his techniques. Although adopting a son to become an heir to a craft was common even in the aforementioned Taisho craftsman Hirai Chiba's circle, we can infer that Tecchikawahara did not consider Haganezuka Hotaru an heir, even though he raised him since the age of two.

But?? What is this in Chapter 105?

The Nichirin Blade Polishing Technique Passed Down Through the Haganezuka Clan??

Okay, but... Hotaru-kun, your dad didn't raise you, how did you learn these techniques??????

Whatever they are, Haganezuka has full confidence in them, which comes in contrast to how he was feeling about his smith abilities at the time. He was so upset about how his faulty blade might had put his favorite (only?) client in danger that he was off in the forest putting himself through training, the likes of which we can only imagine. If, as swordsmith Asano said, imperfections in the self may risk damage to the blade, does this mean his hot and volatile personality was being reflected in the metal; even if he was totally absorbed in the process, what there still some tension in his muscles revealing his excitement, shaking the delicate blade as it formed? Maybe, Haganezuka always saw something in his own work that he knew was lacking, and maybe Tecchikawahara has always seen it, too.

After all, Haganezuka knows very well how to appreciate good work; he was so absorbed in admiring a rusty sword that he could ignore an Upper Moon wanting to eat him. He could tell right away that it was likely good Sengoku era iron (historical note: we don't actually have good enough records to know why Sengoku era swords had higher quality iron, but it's possibly due to imported iron). Despite having no idea who the swordsmith was, Haganezuka could probably feel the strokes of his hands, like how a skilled calligrapher can see the pace at which someone moved with the brush, or how a master pianist can imagine the movements of the hands at someone else's keyboard. Haganezuka credited that mystery swordsman with choosing and making the engraving himself, and imagined him at work at a whetstone, thereby implying he'd have also done the polishing himself. Like how the tradition of engraving Pillars' swords came later, this may also be the origins of Nichirin blade swordsmiths taking more ownership of more parts of the process than their regular swordsmiths counterparts.

That said, like they have their unique styles and pride, they also have those things passed down in the family, and that might make certain artisans more specialized in some areas than others. If the former master of the Haganezuka techniques had no heir other than Hotaru, Tecchikawahara might have tried to amend the relationship between child and parent and encouraged Hotaru to apprentice under his own father.

So then what of the former Mr. Haganezuka now? Well... in Chapter 105, Tanjiro goes on to orate to Genya that the special sword polishing process takes three full days and nights (funny, so does making the tamahagane, but that's also requires a teams to constantly feed the fire). This polishing method is extremely taxing on the person doing it, and as Tanjiro was told, some people have even died doing this. So, you know, maybe that's some good angsty fanfic material if this has happened in recent swordsmith village history.

In other words, Haganezuka was already putting his life on line before Gyokko attacked.

However, whether it was a result of his recent solitary training in the forest or in his conviction in the Haganezuka Family Polishing Techniques and his own execution of them, he betrays no worry about whether or not he'll be able to finish, and insists that this task be entrusted to no one other than him.

Which is to say, Haganezuka may be an alright-to-very-highly-skilled swordsmith, but his true strengths may lie in what's usually an entirely separate discipline.

From a narrative and character arc perspective, this means that Haganezuka has been somewhat freed from the pressures to live up to Tecchikawahara's standards in overall sword production, especially since he can't manage to keep many clients, or perhaps hasn't managed to keep anyone but Tanjiro. With Tanjiro as his perhaps only client, that means he serves a different purpose for Tanjiro now, as Tanjiro is the owner of such a fine sword---like how no one could work with genius Hirai Chiba's techniques, likely Haganezuka is the only one who can be trusted with the care and upkeep of such a valuable sword.

He's found his true calling, one might say.

Not that this makes me think he'd give up making swords--not at all, he loves them too much! But maybe in feeling assured that he's serving Tanjiro's needs, it can allow him to relax more, and enjoy the process, and relax knowing that Tanjiro's not going to chip his new and possibly more creative works.

For Tecchikawahara, who presumably already has the heir to his own techniques, seeing Haganezuka reach his full potential in the Haganezuka tradition may be what pleases him more than any unfathomably unbreakable sword.

#kny fandom theories and meta #haganezuka hotaru #SWORDS SWORDS SWORDS

139 notes · View notes

twinkle-art · 8 months

Note

would you ever be in the mood to elaborate on what your emet/WOL dynamic is like? the bits you've posted have me curious

(gripping my thighs so hard i draw blood) yeah i don’t see why not

so as i’ve previously outlined, my particular brand of emetwol (platonic) hinges on the fact that he reminds andromeda of her mother. like. a lot.

i’ve gotten so deep in here that i’ve grown wholly desensitized to this premise and it’s not weird to me anymore so we will be moving right along

(fig a- silly joke i made early into shb before i knew how dark this was going to get)

the crux of their relationship, to me, is that they are two people who flatly, abjectly refuse to truly see each other past their respective projections for nearly their entire time together, and this renders the very intense emotions they evoke in each other all the more corrosive to them. the exact emotions they even have towards each other are also… nebulous and hard to define, but they’re definitely bad. well. mostly bad. it’s complicated.

This… might seem like a strange angle to take for someone who is pretty transparently sympathetic to emet-selch outside of all the atrocities but it’s definitely worth noting that andromeda’s difficulties holding him in her mind as a purely evil person despite her best efforts do not come from a belief that he is, in fact, secretly a good guy or anything. It’s first and foremost because she has a psyche that was shaped by an abusive upbringing, uncomfortable as that is.

Without dwelling… too much on the details because this is quite heavy and I prefer keeping it tastefully vague (after this aspect of her character emerged shockingly organically as a frankly very obvious explanation for a LOT of her personality) her home life as a bastard child in garlemald was Bad. her step-family was bad. her mother had good intentions but was simply not there when she needed her. and all of this left her as an adult who is, frankly, pretty easy to manipulate if you prey on her bottomless, ravenous hunger for love and recognition… or the fact that she is just straight-up conditioned to respond to a particular flavor of authoritative influence. it is nothing short of a miracle that the scions found her first.

i’m saying she’s dog-coded. is what i’m saying. you get it.

(there IS also the whole.. uh. garlean fascism aspect. I don’t think i need to spell out why that’s relevant to her relationship with the guy behind the god-emperor she grew up being expected to revere)

NOW. as the arbiter of this reality, it’s not my read of emet-selch’s character that he enjoys doing any of this shit- him inevitably taking advantage of this glaringly obvious weak point is a wholly pragmatic move that ultimately contributes to the fact that she’s unwittingly making him nearly as miserable as he’s making her. Like, once he realizes what’s going on I fully believe he’d feel kind of dirty about it (never mind that this is a shard of azem he’s psychologically tormenting more than is strictly necessary. the man is sentimental) (also he thinks the mom stuff is fucking weird)

this doesn’t stop him tho. lol

a quick aside on azem and emet’s relationship since that’s never not relevant to these; they were very close, I hesitate to say overtly sibling-like since i think that’s a kind of an easy oversimplification, but the type of love they felt for each other was definitely more of a familial one than anything else. she trusted him more than anyone else, and he loved her fiercely and unconditionally, even if their day-to-day dynamic involved taking the piss out of each other constantly, and the fact that the last time he ever saw her involved a blow-out screaming match between them has not sat well with him these 12,000 years.

And so, they each project these warped reflections of people they love and resent in equal measure onto each other- andromeda with the mother she never expects to see again, emet with the friend he can’t let himself admit he’ll never see again- and it makes their presence both painful and comforting. their unwillingness to detangle themselves because of that extremely twisted feeling of nostalgic comfort borders on emotional self harm honestly.

and that’s before factoring in that they’re championing opposite sides of a world-defining conflict

with her canon-divergent stint in amaurot that i swear i’m going to fully flesh out in art someday, no seriously, i mean it this time, the bubbling Weird Vibes that accrued any time they were left alone during shb come crashing down all at once and it is brutal. as she slowly loses her grip on reality (to the point where even she’s not certain what really happened that week and what was a hallucination, in retrospect) his mask also begins to slip, as the tiny part of him that so badly wants to believe he can get through to her gets louder and he decides that she’s not even lucid enough to warrant keeping up the act. despite his best efforts i do think this forces him to confront andromeda as Andromeda, not just as Thee Warrior Of Light or as 8/14th of his dead bestie

anyways it probably gets to the point where he’s fully trauma dumping on her while she’s half-consciously lying in his lap wondering why her mom’s calling her perseus before the scions bust in to collect her. you know, really normal stuff

ultimately andromeda takes his death at her hands hard for… a number of reasons (and as i’ve previously touched on, feels bad and weird about the fact that she’s taking it hard at all) the largest of which being that she simply had not parsed how she felt about him beforehand, and was left to sift through a LOT of intense shit tied up in some really fuckin sensitive parts of her psyche for the first time in her adult life all while knowing meaningful closure was out of reach. it sucked.

their surprise reunion in elpis was… both helpful and not to this end, on account of being extremely one-sided. much like emet did to her in the days leading up to his death, she only comes to finally understand him by observing him in this unguarded, regressed state- even if she is now a total stranger to him.

(hades found her.. unnerving, to say the least. she didn’t do a very good job leaving their Whole Thing out of her recounting of his future and he can’t deny that how obviously deeply affected andromeda still is by that gnaws at him even while he tries to reject it as total bullshit. it gets a bit lost in all the noise but he finds the thought that he’d do that to her a little stomach-churning)

i don’t know if i’d really call it cathartic but at least she can see him as a full person without it physically paining her now. that counts as progress

thank you for coming to my talk. here’s their playlist and here’s a drawing i did of them as dgs kitty mascots. i turned it into a cutesy phone background for myself. no i’m not sure what’s wrong with me either

#PART 2 OF “WHAT'S WRONG WITH ANDROMEDA” SUNDAY #THIS ONE IS LONG. THANK YOU FOR PLAYING. WE'RE NOT EVEN DONE YET #andromeda elo #emetwol #<- sorry to the denizens of that tag if my distinctly non-shippy posts aren't what you want. what do you even call this #ffxiv

50 notes · View notes

delugedecade · 5 months

Text

Scooby-Doo! Legend of the Phantosaur

forcefully review as watched by Deluge

spoilers, obviously, but then again, I’m the one watching it for the first time.

I've been told this is the origin of Ultra Instinct Shaggy

It feels weird not to have the normal Scooby Doo intro theme, with this one having a Beatles pop rock like song.

Scooby and Shaggy really do get the short end of the stick a lot of the time.

I think this one is the first one on this list with Matthew Lillard that I've watched. and then the next being Lillard's first time as Shaggy.

Is coffee even good for dogs?

Shakey Joe is like high on coffee back there

Scooby channeling his inner Tassie Devil

THESES GUYS ARE STILL IN HIGH SCHOOL? OR AT LEAST COLLEGE?

The US Bureau of Supernatural Forces definitely exists purely for the gang to fuck with.

I was wondering why the GPS sounded familiar, It's John DiMaggio. though I'll be honest, I thought it sounded like Danny DeVito

God that barbeque looks sooooooo nice

I forget you guys call scones "biscuits"

Damn, they're giving Velma a love interest. I mean, they did with Mystery Inc with both Shaggy and HotDogWater. but still

They just happen to find a bone by being DOG

Winsor is like, almost identical wtf

The Phantosaur is here!

The action of this is definitely a lot more dramatic than all the others.

Yeah fuck up the Europeans!

The Psychedelia of this movie has much evident. I guess that's why the intro was so Beatles like.

I guess this movie really is early in their career, if Daphne's Tsundere about Fred.

Some wild theories by Daphne, but I'd expect nothing less.

ULTRA

INSTINCT

SHAAAAAAAAAGYYYYYYYYYYY!

Hahahaha. Dude punched himself to avoid Shaggy

Hmmmm Thaumtrope Mining Co really introducing the sus ones.

Daphne really knowing Fred won't be satisfied without a net catching someone.

Damn that's a really good RP idea. Daphne wearing fishnets to catch their significant other.

Velma in her own world but still being the brains for Daphne's Brawn. Pretty sure she's brawn, doesn't she have like martial arts training or something?

Daphne has motorbike experience, good to know

Scooby... please...

They really said that.

メニュー

Okay, Winsor, that's a little rude

Even thinking of the word bad breaks him out.

Biker gang actually being helpful with the gang.

There's two Phantosaurs.

Meddling kids ✅

Hmmm... Yeah it usually would take longer, and there's a whole half hour longer.

Oooh, Another mystery!

That thing didn't even bake, how did that decoy end up solid?

HOLY FUCK IS THE TOWN ON FIRE?

THE REAL PHANTOSAUR!

But probably using a souped up version of the Hypnomachine thing

YEAH BIKERS!

Oh my, it's the paleontologists

The paint stripper thing doesn't make sense, how the fuck does it get directed through the mouth?

Ahh, so it was a whole plot to get people out. just its for a keepsake giant dino and not the silver mine

Oh, they planted the paint strippers everywhere.

DAPHNE....

Superhuman strength to break off quartz. unless the strength of quartz is pretty bad.

Awfully long belt between three dudes. and probably the belts off of the professor.

Damn, Fred do be the heart of the team at this moment.

And there goes the whole town.

Or looks like just the main road.

Velma really asking him out after he leaves.

Probably shouldn't have all of them in the room

Wait so the meme of all of them dressed up as shaggy is from this movie?

Memes aside. Fun, exciting, really interesting mystery.

10/10

@submissiveking99 @tokufan400 @freeusemuses @asexxxualauthor

#ShinxNapped

18 notes · View notes

smexy-slashers · 2 years

Note

Hi! i'd like to request a lester sinclair smut, with and AFAB nonbinary reader.

Steamed up windows

Lester Sinclair x Nb!AFAB! Reader

Warning!: Smut

You don't actually know how you got into the situation-ship you were in at the moment, but honestly, you weren't about to complain. You had taken a road-trip with a few people you knew from Uni, having been forced to come by one particularly pushy member.

You didn't like them. At all. But, travelling across Louisiana did sound pretty fun, and you had nothing better to do with your life, so, why not?

The plan was to pass through the town of Ambrose and head to a nightclub in the next city, but, none of you made it past the exit. Everything went to shit, and you knew the only reason you were breathing right now was because of Lester Sinclair.

He had taken a strong liking to you when you had been the only one to properly interact with him out of the group, even going so far as to scold your 'friends' when they laughed at him behind his back. Your kindness had been the key factor in saving your life, Lester convincing his two older brothers to let him keep you.

As bad as it sounded, to be kept like some pet, you found it to be way easier than struggling in a dead-end job with barely any money to buy yourself a carton of milk, let alone afford the rent. Lester treated you with respect, and never pushed any boundary you set for him. That's probably why he was your favourite out of the Sinclairs, because he was genuinely the only one who made you feel like a human being, and not some mutt on the street.

He was an interesting character, crazy even, personality bouncing off the walls of his small hut as he would ramble to you about his day, or his latest find, or his dog. You listened either way, no matter what he said, because in your eyes, Lester was probably the most amazing person you knew, setting aside the fact that he had the common decency to respect your gender indentity.

Somewhere along the lines of being your 'owner' and being your best friend, he had become the love of your life. You both got high one night, laying on his bed and talking about anything that came to mind, and then, in your red-eyed haze, you kissed him, acting on feeling and not thought.

Now, things were complicated, not because he made it so, but because you were so desperately in love with him that you didn't even want to look at him anymore. Avoiding him was hard, but giving him the silent treatment was probably the hardest thing you had ever done in your life.

You acted cold, quiet, moving away from his touch and you could tell it was hurting him. You wanted to hurt him so he would get bored with you, and you wouldn't have to feel so achingly upset anytime he begged you to atleast have dinner with him.

Eventually, it all came to head in his car. You had been arguing for about an hour now, him finally calling you out for your distance, and you retaliating with pure anger, because anger was better than breaking down infront of him.

Now, he had locked the car doors, and was glaring at you intensely, arms folded across his chest like a dissapointed mother.

"M'not lettin' ya out till you tell me what's goin' on bug"

Bug. God you fucking loved that nickname, him forming it when you expressed your love over ladybugs, and any insect you could find. Now, the harshness in the word made you sick.

"There's nothing to tell you-"

"Bullshit! Yer avodin' me like the goddamn plague and ya won't even tell me what I've done! How's that fair?"

You turned to him, lower lip trembling, because fuck, he was right. He was a good man, to you atleast, and he deserved some kind of explanation.

"You really wanna know?"

You croaked, anger filtering out of your face. Lester nodded silently.

"Because I'm in love with you. Okay? Happy? I can't stand being around you because I love you so much and it hurts to treat you like this, it really does, but what the fuck else am I supposed to-"

Lester had swiftly cut you off, gripping your face in his hand and kissing you clumsily, face scrunched in concentration. You were stunned at first, but eventually found yourself melting into it, clutching his dirty jacket and trying your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

Lester pulled away, panting and voice raspy,

"Shoulda' told me somethin' sooner, ya fuckin' idiot. Had me all worried n' scared for no good-"

This time, it was your turn to cut him off, kissing him again and clambering across and into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. He groaned low into the kiss, hand moving down to clutch your body closer to his.

"Love ya s'much, Bug, yer my favourite person, my favourite everythin'."

He whispered against your mouth, and you whimperer, unconsciously rolling your hips down onto his thigh. Lester watched you cautiously, pupils dilated and forehead damp with sweat, caused by both you and the heat of the locked car.

He guided your hips to allow you more friction, peppering kisses to your nose, cheeks and jawline, listening intently to the sound of your hitching breath. His, hands held you still momentarily, and you were about to protest when he began slipping off the shorts he had given you, tossing them to the backseat, along with your underwear, not before making a teasing comment about the dampness of the material.

You leant against his chest, and he eased his right hand down your body, his left resting atop your head. When he was finally where you desperately wanted him to touch, you tugged his jacket, impatient and incredibly aroused.

"Don't worry bug, gonna take care of ya, m'kay?"

You nodded into his skin, relaxing once more, before gasping out when Lester finally touched you, rough fingertips pressing against your centre, delivering one, slow rub.

"Lester-Please-!"

He shushed you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continued to rub your clit, stroking your hair as sparks of pleasure washed across your tingling body. You had wanted this for so long, so badly, that now it was finally happening you didn't know what to do with yourself other than incoherently mummble into his chest.

"Gonna make ya feel real good, bumblebee, only thing i've ever wanted is to make you feel good."

His hand left your clit and moved further to your hole, experimentally sliding over it to examine your reaction. When you moaned quietly, moving yourself downwards in an attempt to gain friction, he knew it was okay.

He curled his middle and ring finger and gently pushed his way inside of you, gasping out at the feeling of your warmth, cock twitching at the sounds you made when he slowly moved out and in.

You huffed, whining as you reached for him, pressing your palm against his bulge and grinding it against him, a satisfied moan leaving your mouth when he shuddered under your touch.

"Supposed to- to- fuck..this is about you not me bug-"

"Wanna make you cum, want it so bad" You breathed out, and Lester let out a sinful groan, tossing his head back as his fingers sped up, moving his hand from your hair down to your thigh, gripping it like a lifeline.

He couldn't actually believe this. You, his perfect person, squirming and moaning on his lap like something out of a porno, only this was real, and a thousand times better.

Minutes passed, and by that time you and lester could only thrust into eachother, him frantically against your palm and you down onto his pumping fingers, spare hand leaving his chest to clutch at his forearm.

"Feel so good Bug- P-lease don't fuckin' stop bumblebee-"

You had no intention to, and neither did he, both of you desperate to see the other finish. You could feel yourself becoming weak, coil in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment, but all it took was a few words from Lester.

"Thought about this all the fuckin' time, got me so fuckin' worked up hun'. Cum for me Bumblebee, plea-se God just-"

The love in his voice was what threw you over the edge, arching your back as your climax crashed over you, your entire body on fire, mouth open in a silent scream. Lester watched you the entire time, tears in his eyes as he felt himself right on the edge. He needed to see that face, what he had done, and fuck if it didn't make all the more in love with you.

"F-fuck! So fuckin' gorgeous f'me bug- p-lease don't stop- wanna cum f'ya"

You nodded dizzly, putting all your remaining effort into rubbing his cock, kissing his exposed neck as he whimpered below you.

"Yer gonna make me cum- g-gonna cum I-"

He threw his head back so hard you almost thought he cracked it, groaning loudly as you felt his jeans become increasingly damp, hips still pathetically thrusting against you.

You slumped onto his heaving chest, and he weakly leant down to kiss your lips, hot breath fanning your face.

"Love ya so fuckin' much bee"

"..love you too les"

This was all he needed. You, his person in his arms, and the steamed up windows of his rusty car.

~~~

If yall cant tell, im a sucker for soft smut with the sinclair boyos

Also Lester would call you smth along the lines of bug and yall cant convince me otherwise <3

#lester sinclair #slashers #slasher smut

156 notes · View notes

midnightstargazer · 7 months

Text

So I'm looking over the scene where the trio are searching Regulus's bedroom. Here are some things I've noticed.

The door is locked

It opens easily when Hermione uses Alohamora, so it wasn't locked in a way that would actually prevent wizards from getting in. And, in fact, someone has been there: Snape, at the same time he searched other parts of the house and took the second page of Lily's letter to Sirius. He made more of an effort to hide his search of Regulus's room, though, leaving behind damaged books and a broken inkwell in the desk drawers, but nothing that would make it obvious at a glance that someone was there. Very different from Harry and Ron's room, where "the wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes had been ripped back," and Sirius's, which had pages from books "shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers" all over the floor.

Maybe the door was already locked, and Snape locked it again behind him to keep it from being obvious he had searched the room. That would fit with hiding away the damaged items in a desk drawer. I'm not quite sure why Snape would feel the need to conceal that he had been in Regulus's room, though, when he didn't do so in the rest of the house.

As for why it was locked to begin with, my guess is Sirius. While the rest of the house was pretty ruthlessly cleaned out, Regulus's bedroom remained undisturbed. A locked door wouldn't keep members of the Order out if they really wanted to get in, but it would certainly be a sign that the guy who actually owns the house says that room is off limits. (Because nothing says "I hate you" like refusing to throw away someone's stuff more than a decade after their death, am I right?)

Scratch marks

I also noticed something else about the door:

There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign that he had not noticed in the dark.

Who left the marks?

Not Sirius in dog form; if he wanted in, he could've just used Alohomora as a human.

Possibly Crookshanks, but if so, it's such an unimportant detail that why include it at all?

My best guess is Kreacher. He clearly adored Regulus, and he spent decades trying to destroy the locket for him; it would make sense if at some point he tried to enter Regulus's bedroom. But would he have been able to? House-elves are bound to obey their masters' orders; because of the note on the door, Kreacher might very well have been unable to get in without Regulus there to give him permission.

Speaking of the note on the door ...

Comparison to Percy

It was a pompous little sign, neatly lettered by hand, the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might have stuck on his bedroom door

Aside from Sirius's description in Order of the Phoenix, this is the first glimpse into who Regulus might have been as a person. The comparison to Percy is interesting because, in a lot of ways, their narratives and family dynamics are polar opposites. In terms of personality, though, Percy is ambitious, hard-working, a bit arrogant, and takes himself very seriously. It's easy to imagine Regulus being similar. This is probably where the very popular idea of Regulus being a prefect and a top student comes from.

As a side note, in Half-Blood Prince, Dumbledore characterizes the Death Eaters as:

a mixture of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating towards a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty

I imagine Regulus to be one of the ambitious ones, wanting to make his mark on the world, to be powerful and important in a way beyond what the status quo would allow ("practically royal," remember?), and to prove himself as a "good" pure-blood heir in the wake of Sirius and Andromeda's scandals. The comparison to Percy is not the only reason I think that, but it's certainly a strong point in favor of it.

Sibling dynamics

I feel like this is very interesting:

Regulus's bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius's, though it had the same sense of former grandeur.

Even though we're told (by Sirius) that Regulus was the golden child of the family, Sirius still had the larger bedroom. Perhaps that dynamic wasn't as fixed, or wasn't even there at all, until they went to Hogwarts. As children, Sirius's bold and rebellious nature might have been tolerated, even seen as a positive sign, while Regulus was treated as more of an afterthought. Later on, of course, it became clear that Sirius was going a completely different route than what the family would approve of. At that point, they would almost certainly have been pitted against each other, and Regulus was probably viewed more and more as the "good" son. But the bedrooms give a hint that that might not always have been the case.

Speaking of which, let's talk about what the bedroom looks like.

The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR.

I don't know about you, but to me, this feels like a reaction to Sirius more than anything else. It's not about favorite colors or taste in decor. Maybe about House and family pride. But mostly, it comes across as a very strong statement that he's nothing at all like his brother and doesn't want to be associated with his rebellion.

It also feels as if so much of his identity is tied up in his Hogwarts House and his family name that he doesn't really know who he is as a person, without falling back on those two things.

The Death Eater collage

Underneath the family crest, they find this:

a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage

As Hermione begins reading them, she quickly realizes they're all about Voldemort, over a period of several years. This is one of the strongest pieces of evidence that Regulus signed up for the Death Eaters voluntarily. The older generations of his family might have quietly supported Voldemort, but they weren't Death Eaters. None of his close relatives were except Bellatrix. And yet here he is, tracking Voldemort's movements for several years before joining. That suggests not only that he was interested, but that he did his research before committing.

(Yes, I know there are alternate interpretations. But there is absolutely nothing in canon to suggest that he was secretly plotting against them all along or only pretending to support them out of self-preservation. Canon suggests - even outright says - that he started off as a loyal Death Eater but changed his mind later on.)

Humanizing details

Let's talk about that photo of the Slytherin Quidditch team. It's the first of several parallels between Regulus and Harry, who immediately notices that they played the same position. But I think the fact that the players are smiling and waving is even more noteworthy, because almost nowhere else in the entire series are school-age Slytherins shown just being kids and having fun. It feels jarring, like you would expect the photo of the Slytherin team to have them sneering or glowering at the camera. The photo is one of the most ordinary and harmless things about the room, and seeing it makes Regulus seem like more than just another Death Eater, even before it's revealed exactly how he died.

This scene is one of the few places where there's any insight into who Regulus was as a person, and he's portrayed in a very humanizing way. The comparisons are only mildly critical (there are much worse people to be compared with than Percy Weasley and much worse descriptions than "less handsome" than Sirius); the most disturbing detail is softened by following it up immediately with one of the nicest ones; and bits of personality shine through even despite the emphasis on conformity. This is very different from how villains and morally gray characters are usually portrayed in the HP books. The narrative very much wants him to be sympathetic, and it shows.

#Regulus Black #Harry Potter #Marauders Era #meta #obligatory disclaimer that I do not support JKR #trying to make sense of what she wrote should not be taken as an endorsement of her opinions

16 notes · View notes

awellreadmannequin · 2 months

Text

A favourite bit of mine is matching a person with a car that fits their overall vibe. Back when I was on twitter I did this with historical philosophers, but now it is finally time to bring this bit to homestuck characters. As an aside, I put a shocking amount of work into making this post for how shitty it is.

John Egbert - Base model C4 Corvette

Some quick googling revealed that Con Air has not one but TWO Chevrolet Corvettes in it. The first is a C2 from the 1960s but, as a millennial, John will never be able to afford a classic American sports car. So he’d wind up with a base model C4, the other generation featured in the film. But why a Corvette? John is absolutely the kind of guy to see a car he half remembers from a film and go, “oh sweet! I always thought these were sick!” So that’s how he winds up with the most 1980s looking sports car a person can buy, complete with the shittiest malaise era small block Chevy had to offer.

June Egbert - 2000 V6 SN95 Mustang

Yeah, June gets a different entry because estrogen changes your taste in things. Unfortunately, June is still an Egbert and thus has terrible taste, which is how she winds up with this heavily used hunk of junk. Frankly, this choice is mostly down to how easily I can picture her big stupid grin as it wobbles down the highway with the top down. The interior is falling apart, but that’s just part of the charm. So is June’s complete inability to drive a rear-wheel drive sports car. Do not let her drive you somewhere.

Rose Lalonde - Mercedes 500e

In contrast to the Egberts, Rose actually has taste. Excellent taste. And nothing says taste like a Mercedes designed by the Maestro himself, Bruno Sacco. Just look at it. The subtle tear drop shape, the timeless styling, the brutal 5 litre V8. Wait, what? That’s right, this beautiful piece of German muscle is the Mercedes 500e. Rose can’t drive stick, which is perfect because this DOESN’T HAVE ONE. Unfortunately, she is like the Egberts in that she also shouldn’t be driving a rear drive car and, unlike June, this one actually has enough grunt to get the her sideways if it loses the rear. Good thing it has state of the art (for 1990) stability control.

Dave Strider - EG Civic

Nothing says “I created SBaHJ” like a clapped out EG Civic. Enough said, really. The FF drive train says “I know how to have fun on the cheap" while the bullet proof reliability says “I was raised in an unstable environment where I was responsible for meeting all of my own needs.” Also it looks cool. There are more ironic choices out there (PT Cruiser, looking at you), but even a shoddy craftsman needs dependable tools.

Jade Harley - 2002 Subaru Outback

Look, we all know that Subarus of this era are lesbian cars. But that’s purely incidental to this choice. Jade picked the Outback for its spacious cargo area and all-wheel drive capability. It’s the perfect car for the girl who wants to go anywhere and still have space to get laid. Sure it smells like dog, but it was like that when Jade bought the thing. Plus, she’s easily the most responsible driver out of the gang, so you’re gonna want her behind the wheel on any and all road trips.

Karkat Vantas - Shotgun in Dave’s clapped out EG Civic

Frankly, I don’t even know if Karkat’s legs are long enough to reach the pedals. Even if they are, he’s definitely never passing a driving test if he keeps swearing at the car, the other drivers on the road, the test administrator, and himself. He’ll never admit it, but he also just likes being a passenger. It’s nice not having the responsibility of keeping everyone in the car and around the car alive.

Terezi Pyrope - VW Polo Harlequin

Hey Claire, what the actual fuck am I looking it here? That, ladies and gentlemen, is a VW Polo. It’s like a Golf but smaller. Oh, you meant the colour scheme? What can I say, Germans are fucking weird. Just like Terezi Pyrope.

Kanaya Maryam - NA Mazda Miata

Look at it. Tell me that Kanaya would drive literally anything but this. You can’t. Everything about the original Miata perfectly compliments her. It’s elegant, light on its feet, and achingly beautiful. Like, picture it: Kanaya with her hair tied back with a kerchief, driving beside the ocean at sunset. It’s sophisticated in ways that the imposing 500e never could be. Rose would die to see her wife behind the wheel of one these things. Honestly, I might too.

Vriska Serket - Porsche 911 930 Turbo (Stolen)

To understand why Vriska drives a 930 Turbo, you first need to understand what a 930 is. The 911 is, in many ways, an anachronism. It traces its origin to the Porsche 356, itself a sports car built out of VW Beetle parts. As such, the 911 has its engine mounted behind the rear axle, which is also its only driven axle. This leads to unique handling dynamics. In corners, the weight of the engine initially pushes the 911 to understeer until it begins to pivot whereupon it will rapidly begin to oversteer. At this point, an inexperienced driver will lift off of the throttle. This is a mistake. The 911 has liftoff oversteer, meaning that it needs power to keep itself steady. Without power (i.e. lifting off the throttle) will cause it to spin. Now this is what 911s were like before Porsche strapped a big ol’ turbocharger to the engine. A turbocharger pushes more air into an engine which allows it to create more power. However, it cannot do this until the engine reaches a certain RPM. In older turbo engines, this power came on very suddenly. This characteristic of turbochargers combined with the already skittish nature of the 911 earned the 930 an infamous moniker: the Widow Maker. Liftoff oversteer + a sudden wallop of power a few seconds after you press the accelerator = a lot of dead yuppies. There’s no way in hell that Vriska fucking Serket isn’t going to be behind the wheel of the most dangerous car she can steal. It goes without saying, she drives exactly how you’d imagine Vriska fucking Serket would drive. Is she a good driver? Well, she’s not widowed Terezi yet, so…

Jane Crocker - Aston Martin V12 Vantage

For those who don’t know, the automotive prestige hierarchy looks like this: America (shitty quality, poorly engineered) < Korea (getting appreciably better lately!) < France + Nissan (respectable but weird) < Japan (legendary reliability at a budget price) < Italian (beautiful, vascular, so unreliable that it wraps around to being charming) < Germany (cutting edge engineering and reliable so long as you are meticulous with maintenance) < Britain (aristocratic class, respectable power, truly terrible build quality and worse reliability). Yeah, I know, it’s weird. But among those legendary British luxury brands is Aston Martin, notable for being the signature automotive marque for Agent 007. But that’s not why Jane drives a V12 Vantage. No, this car was her Dad’s dream car and he pulled some strings to get one for her for her sweet 16. She doesn’t really get why it makes him so happy, but it does. And it’s not like she’s complaining about how easy it is to overtake people on the highway with twelve cylinders of pure British gumption at your disposal.

Jake English - Jeep Wrangler YJ

Yeah. It’s the Jeep from Jurassic Park. And also Clueless. Come on, this is Jake English we’re talking about. Vriska? Vriska’s ride needs a whole history and vehicle dynamics lecture to appreciate. Not Jake. Not our man English. He drives a car from a movie. A car from TWO movies. *le sign*

Roxy Lalonde - Citroën DS

Look at it. This one is pure vibes. Roxy drives this weird, frog looking thing because she’s the kinda girlie who looks at a weird, frog looking car and thinks to herself, “ong look at this little guy this funky lil fella i gotta own em!” Fun Fact: people used to rally these things. Like. Off road. And they were pretty good too. Food for thought, I guess.

Dirk Strider - 1986 Toyota Pickup (yes it’s called that in the NA market)

On one hand, it’s ironic for philosopher rap prince to drive a pickup. On the other, the bed is really useful for hauling around robot parts, carrying dj equipment, and helping your friends move. Plus, the towing capacity means that when Jake’s stupid Jeep breaks down (again), he’s not stuck on the side of the road forever. He feels like a Japanese pickup is on brand for himself. Which is sort of ironic since a real ironic rap ninja eschews brand integrity. Idk, my brain doesn’t operate on irony levels high enough to comprehend this bullshit.

Callie - Shotgun in Roxy's DS

Unlike Karkat, Callie probably can drive. It's just that she likes it when Roxy drives her places. It basically takes two to figure out how to make this damn thing work anyway. The French were really on something when they designed this thing. Callie doesn't know what the French are, but if the DS is any indication, she's pretty sure they were a nation of madmen and possibly perverts.

#claire thoughts #hs #homestuck #you people better appreciate how much work this was #claire talks about cars

7 notes · View notes

river-muse · 4 months

Note

Wall-of-text comment, coming right up!

Okay I think I forgot to mention this before, but I love the Mundus powerscaling you've settled on, and the story of Vergil running away after dmc3!

I think the dmc3 novel or smth gave fans the impression that a 'rested' dmc3 single twin could have defeated Mundus, which, while truly tragic as so much trouble could have been avoided, I think it's also very underwhelming. I guess you upscaled Mundus even higher than dmc1 Dante (30-smth yo) + DS Sparda? Anyway, I really love this. Mundus is a very dangerous and tangible threat, and it's a great pressure point on the twins to figure out their bullshit faster.

And the story you've come up with for post-dmc3 Vergil is very true to him, or at least, I think it is very true for him. Vergil's been on the run from his issues for the last decade, and the ending of the last twin fight just showed him that...all that growth was still enough. His newly awakened little brother was able to defeat him, then what chance does he stand against Mundus? As painful as it looks, that defeat was be a significant blow to him, and Dante's attempts to help would not be able to remedy that, if anything they would only aggravate Vergil's wounds. So yeah, it makes total sense Vergil ran into the night one after that.

Birthday chapters commentary:

(regarding the notes at the beginning of the chapter - I Am Looking Forward To Seeing Your Older Nero)

My best guess is that Vergil was thinking of his 'hiding' habits and how they affected Nero, so, berating himself in front of his mom, before the beginning of the chapter. Then, Dante mentioning that Eva would be proud of Vergil's parenting (which she would) triggered him and he bolted.

Lemme just quickly say here that the frustration Dante feels when Vergil runs? So. Goddamn. Relatable. To. The. Reader.

Love the twins' strategy of constantly picking Nero up, adorable))) Also love that Nero came up to his uncle for the support there (I am weak for Uncle Dante), be clearly needed some support there to tell his dad. That entire scene is great and I love it. The moment Nero interprets Vergil leaving wrong is small but heartbreaking all the same.

The description of the uncle-nephew nap had me crackling in tears xDDD So accurate too!

The scene of Dante waking up automatically looking for a gun is another sneaky, yet powerful heartbreak. I guess he anticipated something like this before and started keeping his girls away when family visits occur? Also wonder why didn't Nero run and jump full speed on his newly-awakened uncle. Missed opportunity, birthday boy!

Twins almost starting another fight, but wrapping it and tossing it away just as quickly in front of Nero is definitely progress, and another prime example of 'forcing the dogs to lie'. Perfectly in sync, even if their actual opinion on the topic are opposites, and the question before them is in dire need of discussing.

Car space for legs being too short is just. Pure torture. All-too relatable, sadly. Poor bois, they did nothing to deserve this(

Nero&Dante teaming up in 'zebra is a horse' arguement is everything to me. Vergil was laughing at his favourite idiots, no doubt xD

My live reaction at little Nero trying to get Dante involved in zoo activities (follow your own advice for your brother, loser): 😭😭😭

Surprisingly accurate common zoo layout description! Very well done there.

"Lizards are not crying aside- [topic switch]" demons? Was that a Devil May Cry reference? What next, a fic Featuring Dante???

I love every single one animal interaction. Like, you could have easily glassed over those, they don't affect the plot or character interactions between each other. Yet, they are all so detailed and lively, I adore those. It's clear you've had a lot of experience with animals, OR your research is obsessively-crazy good. I bet both.

My live reaction at Nero holding hands with twins: 😭😭😭

"I can't Birthday Boy out of this one" - snorted out loud at this one xDDD I feel like the zebra debate is based on personal experience xD

UNCLE DANTE SHOULDER RIDE UNCLE DANTE SHOULDER RIDE UNCLE DANTE SHOULDER RIDE (Vergil absolutely got jealous, and it was his own fault)

Kyrie is a certified otter lover. Love Vergil's little queue to not bring her up and how quickly Dante adapts to his advice.

The plushie naming scene is precious.

Dante seeing that the gift for Nero is hand-wrapped by a clearly inexperienced Vergil is another sneaky little, but very powerful heartbreak. While Dante would make a truly awesome uncle, I also feel very strongly that he would be jealous of Nero. Dante was never enough for Vergil, but Nero had to just..appear and boom! almost-domesticated Vergil. (this is absolutely Dante's issues speaking and not what actually happened, I can also absolutely see the reverse of this happening - Nero being jealous of Dante's twin-telepathy with his father.

Vergil's little cake admission. OUCH. Bad Dante, you shouldn't deflect your closed-off brother's rare emotional moment, you should encourage those to happen more, Bad Dante, Bad.

Twins pool scene can solve all of reader's mental health problems, guaranteed. Precious. Soul-healing. Very touching.

(why was Vergil shaken after that shoulder pat?...my best guess is touch-starvation, but Nero should have been able to keep that one at bay I think...)

I'm enjoying this reread and note-taking very much)))

I GET TWO IN ONE DAY????? 👀

Ohhh you were CHEWING on this one I can see! For your guess on my knowledge of zoo layouts/animals- I grew up obsessively watching Animal Planet and have been to zoos and aquariums quite a lot before! I LOVE animals even if I don't have the skills/certifications/heart to work closely with them in a professional setting. When I was super little I'd been thinking about pursuing that as a career but set it down because I get way too attached to things. Besides my beloved massive american wirehair cat that roams my house like an overgrown baby I also keep a corn snake I've raised since he was younger than a month old.

Mundus! Yes! I wanted him to be an actual threat that's looming in the background of the narrative because let's be real that guy can create other demons wholesale on a whim and can- well- wait that's spoilers hold on I can't say that 💀 either way I wanted his presence to have actual weight to it rather than just seem like a little speedbump that the twins can take down without issue and have just been avoiding for no reason. He's got his own plans in motion that get hinted at in the narrative but not said outright. He's acting like a persistence predator in that respect. Strategically hunting at random points, cutting off escape routes, and keeping his quarry on edge so their capabilities diminish little by little until they get desperate and tired. :)

I'm not gonna lie I think you even picked up stuff in the narrative I HADN'T PLANNED but it all works so good!!! The case of the writer subconsciously pulling off genius narrative strikes again.

I'm in love with all of this I'm dipping you lowly(platonically) because while I'm going to keep being self-indulgent in this series until it's over it's so exciting to get interactions with it!! I spent a while worried that my method of situational characterization with this divergent AU would be off-putting to anyone else but you're proving me so wrong.

Also yes Older Nero in this AU is going to be fun! I have quite a lot of that content already written or planned. He grows up to have a very similar to canon personality with- a different flavor that you'll see as we progress in the series.

I have a fun question that doesn't need an answer, but is a little extra tidbit to think on because you've made my day:

If the official DMC team said once that Nero wouldn't be who he was without Kyrie- then what do you think Kyrie would be without Nero?

EDIT: No you know what I am NOT DONE TALKING!! I keep dwelling on how you noticed every single moment of action that reveal scars that haven't healed!! The one that still kills me is the description of how Vergil wrapped the gift because if it had been from his perspective we would have just seen him berating himself for not being able to do better but through Dante's eyes we see the MEANING behind the gesture and how significant it is.

Also the zebra argument was by far one of my best things and if I've had that hyper-specific argument before I don't remember but I have FEELINGS about it!

The pool scene. Oh, how soft it makes me feel. Writing it was such a nice breath of fresh air it makes my heart melt and was a sign that with time Vergil can heal and open back up to his family.

#Kat's Dadgil AU #Fic Comments #The Fridge(affectionate)#The very first fic in the series warns in the notes that we're going all the way to the DMC4 events #so I hope you're prepared for a trip through canon events but a few feet to the left!!#i am. so unwell and I regret nothing my mental health has been flourishing from the long-term dopamine release of writing this

9 notes · View notes

infernalmelancholy · 10 months

Text

bsd ch. 108 spoilers ahead !!!!

okay, so, i wanna do an actual discussion aside from the incoherent screaming last night so if anyone wants to hear my thoughts, enjoy

the thing i'm most curious about it this:

because it seems so real. his eyes light up and his expression changes so drastically it's actually horrifying.

and yeah, he says he faked it later but how do we know which fyodor to trust? cause he might very well be lying, saying he faked it, to cover up the fact that his "other self" broke through to the surface for a second.

and the way his ability acted in dead apple...

idk but having him actually be crime and punishment, be the evil that's done and then also the suffering and guilt of that evil, both coexisting, a constant fight between the killer and his conscience contained within one conflicted person so divided that those two aspects of him literally split - art. pure art.

or, equally terrifying, he's just that good of an actor and liar. which means nothing he says ever can be taken at face value and he's such a master manipulator that he's not only deceiving characters within the plot but the audience as well and there's no way of telling what's what anymore. help.

either way - i adore him as a character. he's one of the most interesting and compelling antagonists i've ever seen.

(also i need to know where the fuck nikolai is going to fit into all of this because i'm beyond making predictions at this point)

and then, of course, there's this:

i have no coherent thoughts. it's all just sobbing.

god, i love them.

akutagawa is my favorite character too so...yeah, this shit hurt

(just imagine me at 2am yesterday, curled up in bed, sobbing as that bit of 'i bet on losing dogs' that goes "my baby, my baby..." just repeatedly plays in my head)

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd chapter 108 #bsd manga #bsd manga spoilers #fyodor dostoevsky #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke

25 notes · View notes

suiana · 10 months

Note

"Do you... Do you love me?" There it is again. You feel like it's your daily routine now to answer these types of questions. But on the other hand, you loved it. Yeah, that's just what you expected from a relationship. Well, same question, same answer! "Sure, ---..." your voice was like a resuscitation session to his useless, worthless, horrible life. He couldn't believe it. He just... couldn't believe it was really happening to him. After all, from an early age he had already recognized himself as a perpetual virgin with no personality and a good face, so that any woman would only spit in his face.

And that's partly true. Even you, at first, didn't see him as anything but a strange student who decided to be a lovable idiot. And that first meeting? God, you still remember it all with wild laughter. That image of a "great guy for a relationship" had nothing to do with your current boyfriend. But what is this, lifeguard syndrome? Pure pity or something more? After all, after that incident, you started following him more. Certainly not in terms of stalking or anything that he did - unlike this idiot, you had ideas about social norms.

You just decided to take this wet, dirty, poor puppy into your life. And at first it was all set to go your separate ways very quickly: he was awkward, clumsy, rude to others, and clueless about many topics besides anime and manga. But you didn't give up, even though you should have.... First of all, the looks! He didn't look after himself at all - you had to open him up to the world of makeup. Turns out he really didn't know that makeup is used not only in cosplay, but just for fun. When he saw your normal face it was like he fell in love all over again - which only made you laugh.

The same reaction was with other aspects of his life - proper diet, sports (oh he only got over running after a week), and even simple socialization! You were very interested in his idiot parents, but when he told you about them... Oh. My. God. Rich, normal parents. Did you imagine your shock? Multiply it by a thousand, because their son was a real antonym! It was weird to take a family photo on the same day, but your loser persuaded ...

And after all that, he got pretty ... Okay, more or less socially acceptable. At least one girl talked to him first! He was glowing with happiness when he told you how "cool he then blew her off" (she actually just asked for directions to the hypermarket, to which he flipped and ran away as fast as he could)... Well, if you put aside the other moments in life and basically summarize - you really did become a helping hand for him, a light at the end of the tunnel, whatever else people say... And you really do love him. It's as if every rise and fall of his life becomes your result! Oh boy, you really didn't make lover, you made a dog.... but he loved it!

"Are you sure you're in love? Then tell me your favorite character from attack of the titans!"

"...I don't watch this, honey."

For the next couple of hours, you had to become a participant in the home marathon of Attack of the Titans. In the original voiceover. No subtitles. Well, an ordinary evening, what can I say?

BRO I SWEAR U NEVER FAIL TO SURPRISE ME

UR LITERALLY EXPLODING MY MIND IN A GOOD WAY RN I WANNA KISS U??? DUDE PLS BE A WRITER TY???

#suiana's sinners

20 notes · View notes

wolferine · 2 years

Text

Laws of Attraction - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Sequel to my “Family Feud” series, featuring Wolverine-powered!Reader and Natasha.

There’s no such thing as a day of peace when you’re an Avenger...

Warnings: Violence, language

Word count: 7163

Part 2

AN: If anyone is still reading this, thank you for your patience and support. This is it.

“I’m a monster,” you say.

“Maybe that’s what the world wanted you to be. But that’s not who you really are.” Wanda’s staring at your mouth and for the first time, you realize your student is in love with you.

In your defense, you only had eyes for Natasha, and your teacher-student relationship with Wanda meant you never saw her as anyone more than your pupil.

But now she leans forward with daring confidence and before you can react, even with your superhuman reflexes, she presses her lips against yours. It takes you far longer than you wish to process what happened, before you push Wanda back and jump off the bench to get away from her.

“Wanda…” you start, at a loss for words.

Her eyes are wide, like she can’t believe what just happened either.

“What the fuck is going on?”

Natasha’s here. And she saw everything.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Nat! I…uh…” You don’t know what to say, and anything that comes to mind wouldn’t be good enough anyway. Not that you enjoyed or initiated the kiss with Wanda, you also didn’t try to stop her out of pure shock. Your heart slams against your chest at the thought that you not only betrayed your girlfriend, but she also was there to witness it.

You would rather be anywhere else. Even fighting your brother Victor with both hands tied behind your back suddenly doesn’t look so scary as Natasha stomps towards you.

“Agent Romanoff!” Wanda’s face is the same shade as her hair as she stands up. Natasha continues advancing as Wanda staggers and trips to create some distance between herself and Natasha.

Even though she hasn’t laid a hand on Wanda, you have never seen Natasha so physically aggressive with a student before, and while it may be warranted, you already know you’ll be in enough trouble with human resources and want to prevent her from the same fate.

“Nat, stop it,” you demand, your arms circling her waist to pull her back, but your strength is basically on the same level as hers now, and her pure rage overpowers you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Natasha screams in Wanda’s face.

Wanda squeaks and flinches back.

“Leave her alone, Nat!” You yank Natasha backwards, although the only effect it has is spinning her to the side. Natasha has her sights set on Wanda and cannot be distracted. She pushes you aside and your fingers catch in her shirt, holding her back like a rabid dog on a leash.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Wanda whimpers.

“Hasn’t your family fucked up my life enough?” Natasha snarls at her.

Even though she isn’t speaking to you directly, her words cut you like a knife.

“She doesn’t mean that,” you say, trying to make up for your girlfriend’s behavior. You look at Wanda’s, whose eyes are now brimming with tears. “Wanda, you have nothing to do with what your dad did–”

“Are you kidding me? Look at you!” Natasha turns on you as Wanda hovers in the background, wanting to run away but too afraid to.

“What? What are you talking about?” Your voice drops weakly.

“You’re a mess!” Natasha says. “You’re not fun to be around anymore. Your mood swings are all over the place and all you do is mope around and act like you’re useless.” You feel like your heart has stopped beating as she airs your insecurities not only for you to hear, but Wanda.

“You have no idea how hard it is to be with someone like you. I know you’re hurt, and I want to help, but you make it so difficult sometimes!”

“Natasha, I–” Your whole word is falling apart.

“I’m the one who’s been here for you this entire time, and yet you go to Wanda–”

“No, no, that’s not what happened at all!” you squeak.

“I should have never let her into your head.” Natasha is practically steaming with rage. “She brainwashed you–”

“It doesn’t work that way, Nat–”

“How can you be so sure?” Natasha fumes.

“Because…” You’re ready for her to jump down your throat, but when she doesn’t, your brain struggles to think of an explanation. “Because Wanda’s not like that.”

“Of course you’d say that. I’ve heard enough from you.” She stomps away as you stand there with your jaw hanging open. Did she just break up with you? You’re so stunned you can’t even breathe.

“Y/N?” Wanda asks softly.

You glance at your student. “Why did you do that?” you say, even though no answer will satisfy you.

Wanda sniffles, hiding her face behind her hands. Without saying anything, she runs past you back to the Tower.

***********************************************************************

Against every urge in your body telling you to go after Natasha, you decide the best thing to do is give her some space. You pace around New York City for hours, turning off your phone so no one can find you. You replay Wanda’s kiss (although not because you enjoyed it) and Natasha’s reaction to it over and over in your head.

As painful as it had been to hear how frustrated Natasha had truly been with you the past two months, you think she’s completely justified. You had been a lousy, selfish partner for not taking notice of her own struggles. There were no excuses for your behavior.

You had no idea what you were going to say to Natasha when you finally saw her. Unfortunately, you couldn’t avoid the Tower for the rest of your life, and once the sun falls, you suck up your pride and head back.

Steve passes you in the lobby, and despite your best efforts to avoid him, he takes notice of you.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I texted you a few times and you never responded.”

“Phone died,” you lie. “Have you seen Nat?”

“She wasn’t with you?”

You shake your head.

“Everything okay?”

“No.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t ask for an elaboration.

“Have you seen Wanda?” you ask next.

“Well, it’s the weekend, so she could be anywhere,” he says. “But I think the recruits were getting together for dinner tonight.”

“Cute.” Although your main priority is Natasha, you know you’ll have to confront Wanda eventually. “Out of curiosity, who’s in charge of the HR department again?”

“That would be Faccino.”

“Good to know.” You walk past him to the elevators. Nervousness fills you to the point that your hands are actually trembling. But you put on a brave face as you march down the hall to yours and Natasha’s bedroom, knocking with your elbow because your hands are still bandaged.

“Um, Nat? It’s me.”

No response.

“I’m gonna come in.” You open the door slowly. Natasha lies on the bed, curled into a pitiful ball, surrounded by crumpled tissues. It feels like a stab to the gut to see your girlfriend (?) so miserable, especially knowing you were the cause of such misery.

Silently, you walk up to the bed and sit next to her.

“I’m sorry,” you say, not knowing how else to start. “Wanda’s my–our–student, and I shouldn’t have let her kiss me like that.” You pick at the bandages wrapped around your hands. “And I’m sorry for being so…difficult…these past few weeks. I didn’t even think about how it would affect you, and I’m sorry for being so selfish.”

Natasha sniffles, and you glance at her over your shoulder.

“I know I’m old as hell, but this is all kind of new for me,” you continue. “But I know you might not trust me anymore after what happened earlier, and I understand. Just give me like an hour to grab all my stuff and I’ll be out–”

“Why?” You feel Natasha tug on your arm to stay seated.

“Because I…cheated?” However, as soon as you say the word, you know it’s not quite right. You’ve never been into Wanda, you had no intention of ever kissing her, but you were also passive about letting it happen. That was enough.

“Did you know?” Natasha whispers.

“Know what?”

“That Wanda had a crush on you.”

“No, I didn’t.” Your ears flame red in embarrassment and shame.

“You know, for someone with super senses, you’re really dense,” Natasha teases.

“I didn’t care if Wanda liked me because I already had you,” you defend.

“Until she kissed you.”

“Yeah…” Your shoulders sag. “HR is gonna have a field day with me.”

“Me too,” Natasha admits. “Although it would’ve been much worse if I’d actually roughed her up the way I wanted her to.”

“You’re welcome,” you mumble. Then, in a softer voice, you ask, “Do you still love me?”

Natasha’s hand trails down your arm to rest on top of yours.

“I never stopped,” she answers.

You lift your legs onto the bed and crawl towards her, lying your entire body on top of her–something you’ve never really done before out of fear of crushing her when you were 200 pounds heavier than you are now. Your arms wrap around her chest and you press your front to her back, closing your eyes as her familiar strawberry-vanilla scent washes over you.

“I love you, and only you,” you whisper.

“I know.” Natasha turns in your arms, hiding her face against your chest and you feel her tears wet your shirt. “I’m sorry I said those things earlier. I was just so upset when I saw you and Wanda…”

“It’s okay. You only spoke the truth anyway,” you admit.

“Still. I should’ve at least told you in private, not in front of Wanda.” She squeezes you tighter.

“Don’t worry about Wanda,” you say. “If they want to put me on suspension for inappropriate relations with a student, then so be it. As long as I get to spend my time with you.” You kiss her forehead gently as she snuggles closer to you.

“We should really take that vacation now,” Natasha murmurs.

“Where should we go?”

“As far away from here as possible.”

***********************************************************************

Wanda storms into hers and Pietro’s shared bedroom, grabbing the empty duffel bag by the foot of her bed and unzipping it aggressively.

“What’s wrong?” Pietro asks, jumping off his bed where he had been reading a comic book. “Wanda, are you okay?”

Wanda looks away from him, fighting tears as she grabs handfuls of clothing from her dresser and tossing them into the duffel bag. “We have to go,” she says.

“Go? Wanda, what happened?” Pietro stops her from running towards the closet.

“I…I messed up,” she sobs. “I kissed Agent Y/N.”

“Oh, no,” Pietro says. “Was it…Was it the hair?”

“This is serious!” Wanda slaps her brother away. “Romanoff saw it, too.”

Pietro hangs his head, lost for words.

“So, we have to leave before she kills me,” Wanda continues.

“She wouldn’t kill you over something like that.”

“You weren’t there. She was so angry, Pietro.” Wanda takes a jacket off a hanger and drapes it over her arm. “She had every right to be, but…” Wanda shakes her head. “Are you staying or coming with me?”

“Where are you going?”

Wanda inhales. “Somewhere I’m actually wanted.”

“We’re wanted here, too,” Pietro insists. “We’re training to be Avengers, remember? That’s the most exciting thing we’ve ever done–”

“So they can turn us into their pawns and send us to fight their battles? Let us get blood on our hands and then lock us up when we were just following orders?” Wanda says. “They’re using us, Pietro. That’s all anyone’s ever done. You think the Avengers are any different?”

Pietro scratches his head. It was clear this had been bothering Wanda for quite some time.

“Remember what they did to our country?” Wanda says. “Then they brought us here, told us we were ‘free,’ and recruited us for their Avengers Initiative program? That’s not freedom, Pietro.”

“But we can leave at any time if we want to–”

“So, let’s leave now.”

Pietro sighs. “Where do you plan on going?”

She takes a moment to answer. “Where…Dad is.”

“Wanda, I…I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Pietro says.

“Why not? We know where he is.”

The day Erik had attacked, as he was fleeing and Pietro was the only would who could keep up, he had dropped a slip of paper. Pietro picked it up and discovered it had an address in Canada on it. He didn’t tell anyone but Wanda, and both of them had known what it meant.

“Yeah, but…We saw what he did to Y/N.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Wanda says, although inwardly she hates being so dismissive of what happened to you. She thought you were going to die, and even though it brought you two closer, it hadn’t worked out the way she wanted and she couldn’t hang around anymore.

“We’re outcasts here, Pietro. No one–except Y/N–has special abilities like us. They don’t understand what it’s like, and they never will.” Wanda thinks about the conversation she had with you on the bench before the disastrous kiss, then what Natasha had said about her using her powers to trick you into falling for her. But that was something she would never do–it hurt her that Natasha thought she was capable of such selfishness.

“Dad would understand,” Wanda says.

Pietro’s shoulders slump when he realizes Wanda cannot be persuaded otherwise. “Well, I can’t let you go alone.” He mourns the loss of his new friends. Unlike Wanda, he isn’t so pessimistic about the Avengers, but understands where she’s coming from. But as her older brother, he vowed to be by her side no matter what.

“When are we leaving?” he asks.

“As soon as you’re ready.”

“So, we walk out just like that?” Pietro only needs a few seconds to pack his belongings, anyway.

“We’ll be okay.”

“What if they try to stop us?”

“They won’t.” Wanda looks at him with sadness. She fiddles with the watch on her wrist for a few seconds before slipping it off and placing it on the bed. “Remember to take yours off,” she says. “Or they can track where we’re going.”

Pietro has his watch off before she can even blink.

***********************************************************************

You and Natasha emerge from the bedroom in time for dinner. She has her arm around your waist possessively, keeping herself glued to your side as you two walk to the kitchen.

Steve is already there, but he’s not alone. Sam, the recruit, is here too, and he quickly lowers his gaze to the floor when you and Natasha walk in.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, untangling yourself from Natasha.

“Why are you here, Wilson?” Natasha snaps, pouting at the loss of your contact. But she understands your desire to always appear professional in front of the recruits (although that had gone out the window with Wanda).

“Tell them what you told me,” Steve says, frowning upon Sam like an upset father.

“Uh…We can’t find the Maximoff recruits,” Sam reveals, still avoiding eye contact with everyone.

“Relax, Wilson,” you say, reading his anxiety. His shoulders roll forward, but he keeps his hands behind his back. “What do you mean, you can’t find the Maximoffs?”

“Well, all the recruits were supposed to meet for dinner, but neither of them showed up. I went to their room to check and they weren’t there. Their watches were on one of the beds, though,” Sam explains. You look guiltily at your own watch, the equivalent of a computer. It was a communication device, monitored your vitals, and most importantly, could track your location at any given second. SHIELD had full control over its assets and their whereabouts. The Maximoffs leaving theirs behind was a statement in itself.

“I noticed some of their stuff was gone, so I told Agent Barton, and when he checked the security cameras, he said they left the Tower a few hours ago with duffel bags,” Sam says.

“Here.” Steve passes you his phone, and Natasha pulls down on your shoulder so she can look.

In crystal-clear footage, Wanda and Pietro, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, carrying one duffel bag each, walk out the front doors of the Tower.

“Did you know they were going to leave?” you ask.

“No.” Sam shakes his head.

“And you have no idea where they are now?”

“No.”

“What about you two?” Steve asks, turning to you and Natasha. You hesitate, not wanting to talk about what happened with Wanda in front of another recruit. Natasha senses your discomfort.

“Thank you, Wilson. You’re dismissed,” she says suddenly.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Sam scurries out, having no desire to stay and listen to the gossip.

Steve raises an eyebrow when the door slams behind Sam. “What did you do, Romanoff?”

“Nothing,” Natasha growls, moving closer to you as if she’s afraid Steve will hurt her.

“Leave her alone,” you bark, your arm coming around her shoulder protectively. “She didn’t do anything.”

“You know where the Maximoffs are,” he says, but he doesn’t phrase it like a question.

“No, I don’t. We don’t,” you answer.

“But you were asking about her earlier.”

Natasha looks between you two in confusion.

“I saw Steve when I came back,” you say. “And I asked if he knew where Wanda was, because I hadn’t seen her since…” You grit your teeth. “...since what happened in the garden.”

“What happened in the garden?” Steve prompts.

“Wanda kissed me.”

“Oh.” However, he doesn’t seem overly surprised or horrified. “With a student, Y/N?”

“I didn’t initiate it,” you snap.

“We really need to get you a haircut.”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

Steve stifles a laugh behind his fist as you glare at him. “So, I’m also guessing that Natasha saw…?”

“Yes, I saw,” Natasha says.

Steve closes his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Natasha says, and Steve opens his eyes to squint at her. “Well, I mean–I didn’t lay a hand on her.”

“That was very generous of you.”

Natasha throws her hands up in exasperation. “Are you blaming me for Maximoff running off like that?”

“No,” Steve responds. “But I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

“What happened today was probably the tipping point for her,” you say. “I’m sure Wanda already had the idea of leaving in the back of her mind for a while. I mean, she never really struck me as an impulsive person–”

“She had a crush on you since she first met you and you never noticed until she kissed you,” Natasha interrupts.

You are silenced painfully quickly.

“But Pietro went with her. He…He didn’t kiss you too, did he, Y/N?” Steve deadpans.

“Enough about the kiss!” you snap.

“So, we basically just lost two million-dollar SHIELD investments,” Natasha sums up.

“They’re not just investments,” you say. “They’re not soldiers. They’re goddamned kids. Maybe if you’d all treated them like that, they wouldn’t have run off.” You always related to the Maximoffs more than the other recruits because you knew what it was like to be different. You had been hunted and enslaved by the government for decades because they wanted to turn you into the perfect weapon. If the Maximoffs felt that SHIELD was trying to do the same to them, you couldn’t fault them for leaving.

“If they couldn’t handle our training, they shouldn’t be here,” Natasha says, and although her words irk you, you don’t argue.

“So, what are we going to tell Fury?” you ask.

“Everything that we know,” Natasha says.

“And what do you think he’ll do?” you say.

“At least track them down.” Natasha shrugs.

“But you don’t think he’ll force them to come back, right?” You would draw the line there. As much as it hurt you to lose two very talented students, you knew better than to force them to stay against their will. While you didn’t support their decision to run, if they wanted nothing to do with SHIELD, that was their choice and you would respect it.

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve says, seeming to share your view of the situation. “He’ll just want to make sure that they’re safe at the very least, wherever they are.”

“Okay.” That’s all you can ask for now, anyway.

Steve presses a few buttons on his phone, and suddenly the room is filled with the dialing tone.

“I’ll let you two do the talking,” he says.

“Ass,” Natasha mumbles.

***********************************************************************

Wanda is relieved when she can withdraw money from an ATM without the card being denied. She and Pietro take a taxi to the airport, purchasing tickets on the soonest flight to Canada. She knows it’s next to impossible to evade SHIELD’s eyes if they were actually being searched for, but nothing had happened so far to indicate that, so they would need to move as quickly as they could.

When they board their plane, Wanda plants herself next to the window, looking out at the wing and bouncing her knee anxiously.

“It’ll be okay,” Pietro assures, sitting next to her and taking her hand.

“This is all my fault. I ruined the one nice thing we finally had for ourselves,” she whispers.

“No, you didn’t,” Pietro says. “I mean, did you really think we were going to be working for SHIELD the rest of our lives?”

“It didn’t sound too bad at first,” Wanda admits. “I mean, we had a place to stay, food, friends…it was like having a family again.”

Pietro’s hand tightens around hers. “We are a family, even with just the two of us.”

“And now we’re going to find our father,” Wanda says. “What if he doesn’t want us?”

“He knew we were at the Tower. He gave us his address because he knew that we would want to meet with him,” Pietro says. “He wants to see us, Wanda. He won’t turn us away when we find him.”

“Right.” But the nerves are already getting to Wanda and she doesn’t know if this is such a good idea anymore. “Do you think we’re acting irrationally?” she asks her brother. “Running away like this?”

“We’ve run from government organizations before,” Pietro reminds her.

“I know, but…” Wanda chews on her lip anxiously. She thinks about what Erik had done to you, the pure brutality of the act and dismissal of your life. While she doesn’t believe he would do the same to her or Pietro, she knows Erik is willing to cross boundaries that no one in SHIELD ever would.

“We can’t go back now,” Pietro says.

“What if it doesn’t work out with Erik…Dad?”

“Then we’ll go somewhere else.”

But even Wanda can tell that Pietro is sick of running–figuratively, at least. However, there is no returning to SHIELD, not after that stunt she pulled. All she wants to do is curl up and cry, but there is no time for that now.

She can only pray that Erik doesn’t make her regret her decision.

***********************************************************************

“...so…yeah, that’s where we’re at now,” you finish lamely, feeling like you’re sitting in the principal’s office for a crime you didn’t commit.

“And this all happened in the last…eight hours?” Fury asks, his voice deep and penetrating from the speaker on Steve’s phone.

“Yes,” Steve answers.

When Fury doesn’t respond, all three of you glance at each other fearfully.

“Well, the good news is that we know where the Maximoffs,” Fury finally says. “They’re on a plane. To Canada.”

“Canada?” As far as you were aware, neither of them had any Canadian heritage.

“How did you know where they are?” Natasha asks.

“Friday alerted me when she saw them leave the Tower without their watches,” Fury explains. “So, I authorized some tracking and we learned that Wanda stopped off at an ATM to withdraw a few thousand dollars, Pietro exchanged some of the cash for Canadian currency, and they were last spotted on security footage at the JFK airport boarding a plane for Vancouver.”

“Why are they going to Canada?” you ask.

“You tell me,” Fury says.

You have no answer for him and drop your head. Natasha squeezes your hand in encouragement, but you feel nothing but the urge to pull away from her in shame. Despite what anyone said, you take most of the responsibility for the Maximoffs leaving.

“It doesn’t really matter, though,” Fury continues. “Because we’re not going after them.”

“We’re not?” Your head snaps back up. “Why not?”

“Because they’re adults,” Natasha says.

“But they don’t know any better!”

“Well, they’ll have to now.” Your girlfriend shrugs dismissively.

“Agent Romanoff is correct. From the sounds of it, no one forced the Maximoffs to leave,” Fury says. “Sure, they may have felt especially motivated after what Miss Maximoff did to Agent Y/N, but she was not told to leave. She was not threatened to leave.”

You glare at Natasha, certain that the events might have played out differently if you hadn’t interfered.

“The Maximoffs were still in the early phase of their training. They don’t know any more SHIELD secrets than someone could learn off of Google,” Fury continues.

“But they’re our students,” you protest.

“Not anymore,” Steve says. “Fury’s right, Y/N. We gotta let them go.”

You balk, surprised to see yourself standing alone. “Really, Steve?”

“We’d make things worse if we went after them now,” he argues. “All we can do now is give them the space they’re seeking. If they want to come back, then we’ll talk about how to proceed. But if they want to stay away, then that’s their choice.”

You’re so frustrated you can’t even think straight. The Maximoffs deserve someone to fight for them, and you can’t believe how ready your colleagues are to just let them go.

Wanda was right. No one here, besides yourself, could ever hope to understand her and Pietro. They just didn’t have the same life experience. But while everyone else was quick to dismiss the Maximoffs as not being cut out for this line of work, you know it’s because they’d rather be somewhere or with people that were more accepting of them.

You’re heartbroken you couldn’t provide the security and support they needed. You enjoyed your mentorship role to the both of them, and were devastated that it would not continue. Hopefully, they could find someone who could teach them as you did (although you would argue that your near 200 years of experience was incomparable), and would be just as respectful and supportive as you hoped you were.

“Hey.” Natasha nudges you sharply, taking you out of your thoughts.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” you blurt out.

“It’s not your fault,” Fury responds. “This lifestyle isn’t for everyone. It’s better they realize that now than later.”

You bite your tongue, wanting to say that you didn’t think it was the Avengers’ lifestyle that turned away the Maximoffs. But it would be good for them, in your opinion, to find a place where they could be around superpowered individuals, more than just yourself, not ones that got their gifts from a bottle.

“They must’ve really hated us,” Steve says, “to move all the way over to Canada.”

“They don’t have any family over there, do they?” Natasha asks, and the room goes completely silent when everyone makes the same realization. Your eyes dart to Steve and Natasha anxiously, and even Fury is quiet on his end.

Your stomach does somersaults at the thought. While you don’t really think of it as a betrayal, you can’t believe Wanda and Pietro would run to meet someone they witnessed firsthand as an extremely violent and dangerous individual.

Even with your dry mouth, you manage to whisper before anyone else:

“Where’s Erik?”

***********************************************************************

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Wanda complains, wrapping her arms around herself tighter. They hadn’t prepared very well for the Canadian weather, and now their hike through the wet, claustrophobic forest did nothing to ease her nerves.

It had been almost an hour of walking now, and no cellphone reception since they set foot past the first row of trees. Wanda could only pray they were going remotely in the right direction–they never made it to Steve’s map-reading class.

“Yes, we’re going the right way,” Pietro says, glaring at the flimsy paper map fluttering in his hands. He pauses, then turns the map on its head. “Never mind.”

Wanda sighs. “You think Dad would’ve tried to lay out some better signals if he wanted us to find him so badly,” she says. She sits down on a rock to rest her legs, while Pietro stops next to her, still trying to find north on his map.

“Maybe I can just scout ahead?” he offers.

“Don’t leave me.”

“Never.” Pietro feels a twinge of guilt for even making the suggestion.

After a few minutes, the twins start moving again. Wanda feels drained, physically and mentally. She has played every scenario of what could happen if they did find Erik. There was little chance that he could hurt them; after all, his powers were limited to metal manipulation, an element both of them made sure not to bring with them. Pietro was the fastest being on Earth as far as they were aware, and Wanda had practiced shield magic enough to be comfortable defending herself and her brother.

“Wanda, look!” Pietro explodes suddenly. Wanda’s head snaps in his direction and her eyes follow the row of dark tents, almost resembling uniformly-shaped bushes, about a quarter-mile away. Her heart hammers against her chest and her hands feel clammy. She didn’t know if she was ready to confront Erik, but there was no way she was turning back now.

“Let’s go,” Wanda says, with as much determination as she can muster. She leads the way, Pietro on her heels, towards the perimeter of tents.

They are within 100 feet of the tents when a large man, bigger than Captain America even, with tattoos covering every inch of his bald head, emerges from the bushes with a rifle held loosely against his chest.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing here?” he growls.

“Uh…” Wanda is at a momentary loss for words, until the tattooed man tries lunging for Pietro. But no one has better reflexes than Pietro, and he easily dodges the man’s efforts without even blinking.

“We’re here to see Erik,” Wanda finally says.

“Erik?” the man scoffs. “He doesn’t do appointments like that.”

“We don’t have an appointment.” Wanda feels herself grow bolder. “We’re his children. Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.”

“C-Children?” The man’s demeanor changes instantly. “My apologies.” He bows until Wanda can see the black-and-white eyeball tattoo on the back of his head. “Follow me, please.”

“You couldn’t have said that earlier?” Pietro asks, sticking close to Wanda’s side.

The tattooed man leads them through a gap in the fences, and more people close in to observe the visitors. Most of them wear long, heavy jackets, not unusual given the weather, but Wanda knows they could be concealing weapons–not that she is concerned for herself or her brother. She hears their curious murmurs, but resists from reading their minds. Not that she has the concentration to do so, anyway.

As they walk further from the perimeter of the tents, Wanda takes notice of the large, metal dome in what seems to be the middle of the campsite. There are no doubts on who must reside there.

“Wait here,” the tattooed man instructs, before knocking on the doors. “What did you say your names were again?”

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff.”

“Right.” With some apprehension, the man pushes the door open and disappears. A few moments later, he emerges, Erik right behind him. Although he is dressed casually–a plaid button-up and jeans–he still wears the same bulky helmet he had when he came to the Tower the first time.

“My beautiful children!” Erik crows, striding towards them with open arms. He embraces Pietro in a hug first, then Wanda. It feels completely wrong, as Wanda awkwardly pats her father on the back before pulling away first. “I knew you’d both come. My children are not stupid.”

“What is all this?” Pietro asks.

“A gathering of like-minded individuals,” Erik says, keeping one hand on each of their shoulders. Before Wanda can ask what he means by that, he says, “Let’s talk inside.” He leads them into the metal dome, whose inside looks much comfier and inviting than the outside.

There are enough furnishings to decorate a house, although a little more cramped together. The one room splits into a bedroom, kitchen, and lounge area. The only door on the opposite must lead to a bathroom, Wanda guesses.

Erik directs them to sit in squashy armchairs around a wooden table. “Tea? Coffee?” he asks, waving his hand and pushing a jug of water onto a boilerplate.

“No, thank you,” Wanda and Pietro say in unison.

“Relax,” Erik barks. “You are both safe here. Your own people would not turn against you.”

“Own people?” Wanda repeats.

“Don’t be afraid to embrace who you truly are, Wanda,” Erik says, taking a seat across from them. He lifts a metal tumbler from the counter and floats it over to his open hands.

“What are we?” Pietro asks.

“Mutants.”

It was a derogatory term, almost on the level of a slur, that Wanda had only heard when she and Pietro had been locked up by HYDRA. It surprises her that it’s a term her father willingly uses to identify himself with.

“Do not look down upon yourselves for it,” Erik says. “‘Mutant’ is simply a term they gave us to make us feel inferior. But they are really the inferior ones that God did not deem worthy to be born with such powerful gifts.”

Wanda does not ask who “they” are, but can assume from the context who they are.

“I am so proud of the both of you,” he continues. “Working for the Avengers? Very ambitious. Very, very ambitious.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Pietro corrects. “We only went with them because they freed us from HYDRA in Sokovia. Something you didn’t do.”

“I’ve been busy,” Erik says with a wave of his hand. “But I found you eventually.”

“You hurt our friend,” Wanda says.

“A casualty in the grand scheme of things,” Erik replies.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She doesn’t miss the way Erik doesn’t even ask if you survived.

Erik chuckles. “You must not have cared that much though, if you’re here now.”

Wanda flicks her fingers and the tumbler jets out of Erik’s hands, sloshing coffee over the rim. “You can control metal,” she says. “But I can control anything.”

Erik glares at her challengingly until she puts his tumbler back on the table. “I’m sorry for what I did, but I had to get your attention somehow. And it worked.”

Wanda wonders how much of this her father had planned. Obviously, he couldn’t have known about her crush on you, and the inevitable fallout once she tried making a move on you. It seemed like the entire universe was playing to his favor.

“The Avengers weren’t good for you, whatever you may think of them,” Erik says. “They were teaching you to be soft. They were trying to control you.”

“They didn’t stop us when we left,” Pietro points out.

“Could they have?” Erik asks. “Even if they came out–all of them–to stop you two, would you have let them get in between us?”

The Maximoffs are silent.

“No,” Wanda murmurs.

“Exactly. It’s not because they didn’t want you. It’s because they know you’re too powerful to be stopped. They said they were ‘training you,’ but they were really just keeping an extra close eye and putting on leash on you to make sure the people you hurt weren’t them,” Erik explains.

“Everyone here has agreed to join me in my fight for equal rights for mutants,” he says. “We are not a kind to be enslaved, or put down because of our differences. Our gifts.”

Wanda thinks that her father sounds exactly like the kinds of people the Avengers fought against. Pietro seems to share her thoughts and glances at her uncomfortably.

“The Avengers probably told you that people like myself are to be feared, didn’t they?” Can Erik read minds too? “But if they had powers like ours, they’d be singing a much different tune.”

“What do you want from us?” Pietro asks.

“Your support. You’re both my children, and I figured it was time for some family bonding. I can also show you how to use your gifts properly. Imagine how unstoppable you’d be then,” Erik offers.

Wanda had always been told her power was something to be restrained, or she could cause serious harm to everyone around her. She had never even thought about its potential if she were given the chance to release it any way she wanted.

“Of course, you’re free not to stay either,” Erik says. “The choice is completely yours.”

“We have nowhere to go now that we’re here,” Wanda points out.

Erik stands up and holds out his hands. Pietro and Wanda take one each with some hesitancy.

“Then welcome to the Brotherhood, my children.”

***********************************************************************

Three months later

Even after Erik had been traced to a provincial park in Canada, there was no way Natasha would let you go after him, even if all the Avengers agreed to go with. You no longer had your metal skeleton, making his powers all but useless against you now, but nothing would convince your girlfriend. She was terrified (and rightfully so) that Erik would find a way to permanently kill you, and forbid you from going anywhere near the northern border.

It was a rough few months in the Maximoffs’ absence. Again, you blamed yourself entirely, but when nothing in the news popped up about a woman who could make things move with swirling red magic or a man who could move faster than a person could blink, you rested a little easier.

Natasha, as usual, notices your low energy and suggests the two of you take some time off for a vacation. She picks Norway, since it was one of the few places even you hadn’t been to yet, and Fury sets up a little camper for you two away from any major populations. The nearest store is a 20-minute drive, but you didn’t mind. It was nice to have some alone time with your girlfriend, and with no work-related duties to distract you.

The two of you take a day trip to Oslo to visit the National Museum of Art. You’ve always enjoyed history, having lived through quite a bit of it yourself, and enjoy the calm setting as you peruse around with Natasha’s hand in yours.

You’re admiring Edvard Munch’s iconic The Scream when Natasha excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“I’ll be out here,” you tell her, your attention drawn to another art piece behind a glass case. In the glass’s reflection, you see the people behind you suddenly stop moving mid-walk, and when you turn to look at them, it appears they’ve turned into mannequins.

Immediately, your senses are on high alert. You step away from the glass case, trying to remember which way the bathrooms were, when a noise catches your ear in the otherwise deafening silence. It sounds like rubber scraping across the floor and your claws shoot out of your hands. There’s still a sharp ache as they slice open your skin, but you heal fast enough to not bleed instantly anymore.

Whirling around, you lift your arm and find yourself staring down a bald man in a wheelchair. He has one arm raised, an invisible force holding your arm back from stabbing him in the face with your claws.

“Who…the hell…are you?” you growl, your arm trembling as you try fighting him.

“Relax, Y/N,” the man says, although every part of your body is screaming at you to do anything but that.

“How do you know my name?” you ask.

“I know everything about you,” he replies. “You’re a hundred-ninety years old and you have a brother named Victor. Your girlfriend is Natasha Romanoff, who is in the bathroom as we speak. You met her on your first assignment working for the Avengers.”

“Oh, so you know how to use Google. Very impressive,” you snarl.

There’s a twinkle in the man’s eyes. “And until a few months ago, you used to run around with an adamantium-laced skeleton.”

You drop your arm and sheathe your claws. That had not been made public knowledge, and even though you had just showed this man your metal-less claws, he knew when you had lost the adamantium.

“What do you want with me?” you ask. “What did you do to Nat?”

“She’s fine. Just like everyone else in this museum, time is stopped for her.”

“What do you mean, ‘time is stopped?’” you repeat.

“You are not the only ones with gifts, Y/N,” he answers. “But I’ll make this brief, because I know you’d rather spend your time with your girlfriend rather than me. My name is Charles Xavier, and it is my understanding that you had an unfortunate encounter with a former friend of mine that led to the loss of your adamantium.”

“Loss is a subjective term,” you point out.

“Yes, it is. Your girlfriend might not miss it, but you do.”

You swallow hard. How could Charles know this?

“I’m trying to find Erik Lensherr, and I think you’ll be able to help me with that,” he continues.

“And what makes you think I want anything to do with him after what he did to me?”

“Closure.”

Natasha had made you swear that you would never even go looking for Erik, and while you would do anything to make her happy, you hated that you had to live the rest of your life in fear of what he had done and the disgrace of not being able to get your revenge.

“I believe Erik is building an army, and he needs to be stopped before he gets out of control,” Charles says.

“How do you know that but you can’t find him?” you ask.

“Because he’s blocking me.” You hear Charles perfectly clear, but you don’t see his mouth move. His voice echoes like it’s literally inside of your head. “And he has something–someone–he didn’t have before. She’s by far the most powerful being I’ve ever encountered.”

It takes you a moment to connect the dots. “Wanda?” you guess. “Wanda Maximoff? His daughter? Look, she’s just a kid, Charles. I know her well, she used to be my student until…well, until…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence, but Charles seems to know exactly why.

“Until she kissed you in front of Natasha?” His voice comes from inside your head again.

“Yeah. That,” you mumble, staring at the floor.

“It seems that Erik has been teaching her how to use her gift in ways that could absolutely annihilate the entire human race,” Charles says.

“Wanda wouldn’t do that,” you argue. “She would never–”

“Wanda is not your student anymore,” Charles reminds you. “She’s Erik’s now.”

That thought churns your stomach. If you hadn’t helped drive Wanda away, she wouldn’t have turned like this.

He rolls his wheelchair forward and offers you a business card. It reads “Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” His name is underneath, with an address in New York.

“Enjoy your vacation, but please consider stopping by. We could really use your help.” Charles backs away from you and leaves the room. Everyone begins moving again, like a play button has been pressed, with no indication that they had missed anything.

You stand in place until you feel Natasha by your side.

“Everything okay?” she asks, bumping your shoulder with hers.

“Huh?” You tuck the business card safely into your back pocket and wrap your arm around your waist. “Yeah, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @toouncreativeforausername @fayhar @jujuu23 @bbwidowxc @screamsin-gay @how-to-disappearrr @when-wolves-howl @kermy48 @druggedduck @t00manyfand0ms @someobliviousgirl @theprinceofmarvel @lightssx @maria-403 @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @i-need-somebody-else @natasharomanoffswifeyyy @thewidowsghost @alexzz13 @zombies1ayea @lattayhottay16 @likefirenrain @

AN: The end! I know I left it a little more open-ended than I normally do, but I wanted to try something different and felt it was the only ending that made sense with this storyline.

This is likely my last fic with the Natasha Romanoff fandom. Thank you to everyone for the kindness and support. I never expected to be writing fanfics again, but this past year was a blast and I don’t regret any of it.

I’ll be lurking around, so feel free to reach out. Take care and be safe. 💙💛

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x reader #black widow fanfiction

183 notes · View notes