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terresdebrume · 10 months ago

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Heyyyy are you still playing the ask game? If yes: Shaka's pov in TBU??? If not, have a nice day 💞💞💞

[From this asking game]

Hiiiiii! Thank you for the ask! The game is still going, I was just away playing DND when you sent your message xD

This piece is probably going to be on the more experimental side compared to what I've written for TBU before but hopefully it'll give our boy Shaka an occasion to have his behavior understood a little better ^^

Snippet under the cut!

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Shaka hisses when he trips on a rock and lands hard on his hands and knees. He feels dirt knock on his shell as he digs into the earth and winds in his feathers when he dives to catch a mouse. The sun, languorous against his fur as he licks himself clean and water through his roots as he grows—feet on his floor, echoing against his walls, and hands carrying his soft dough to an oven, Shaka’s cosmos popping up at the entrance of the Sanctuary, when he hasn’t felt it for an entire week—

Shaka gasps.

Breathes.

Lets himself notice the other Saints as their cosmoenergies rise in curiosity, shifting towards him each in their own time. He ignores the way his muscles pinch between his shoulder blades and straightens up.

“You good?” Aphrodite asks from behind him.

Shaka is a bird, an insect, a cat, a rosebush. He is Mû and Aldebaraan and Shion and all the servants whose names he doesn’t know, and he is the sky and the clouds and the sparse blades of grass. Somewhere at the very back of his multiple minds, a skinned knee, a bruised hand shout for his attention. He ignores them, and finds the head that will actually nod at his command.

“Good,” Aphrodite says.

Above them, Mû’s cosmos is the closest, already past the coliseum, and Shaka turns the darkness from his eyes towards it.

“See you ‘round,” Aphrodite says.

Shaka almost opens his eyes.

“So soon? Won’t you stay and greet the others?”

Aphrodite snorts, like he does at bad jokes. The bird and the scarab and the cat inside Shaka are unmoved, but somewhere behind the rosebush and the olive trees and the stones of the temple, something shrivels.

“Yeah, right,” Aphrodite sighs—there is something there, something the ants in the ground and the mice in the grain storage do not understand but know they should. Aphrodite speaks before they can sort it out. “See you around, Shaka.”

Aphrodite turns around and leaves an emptiness where the bees and the bugs and the servants were. Something cold and small and alone, lost in a way the stone seats of the Coliseum never are. The void stands for a moment, reaching for Aphrodite and never quite making contact, until Mû is near and the void fits itself around his cosmos.

It fits…wrong. Here is the same energy the earth and the springs and the birds have ever known—the same polite affability, the same calm and assured welcome as before—but where the Void used to disappear around it, there are gaps now. The Void must be doing something wrong, but he has no idea what.

“Shaka,” Mû says, and the Void fits itself back into the Body. “It’s good to see you again. I was worried.”

“Thank you,” Shaka says. “It is good to be back. It has been a long time.”

The Body feels…far away. Distant in a way it never was, and the Void is trying to fit itself back into it when Mû asks:

“Shaka, are you alright? You look…ruffled.”

Mû sounds—feels—like he wants to say something else but can’t find the words.

The polite veneer of his cosmos shivers, unsure what to do, and the Void tries to fit around that but fails, too. It makes the Body feel tighter, makes it impossible to stay inside it, and the Void feels itself slip, until a hand claps the Body’s shoulder, and Shaka gasps, pulled back into something almost whole.

“You can’t really blame him,” Milo says from where he rushed to their side. “I’d be looking ragged too if I got stuck with the Thornbush for a week. Where the hell were you, man?”

Milo’s hand burns and itches on Shaka’s shoulder, but it’s the only thing keeping the Void inside the Body, so Shaka stays silent. He turns back to the stairs instead, where Aldebaraan is coming in, closely followed by Camus, Aiolia and Aiolos. Far behind is Shion and Shura, walking close but not together.

Shaka waits for them in silence, lets them come to him while Milo removes his hand from his shoulder. They come down and ask questions, want to hear the details of Shaka’s misadventure in a way the Void is unable to provide. The Body feels too far away, almost impossible to control. It must answer questions on its own, though, because no one stops to ask what is wrong until Shion finally steps off the last march and, stepping up to the group, makes everyone step back.

When he speaks, the Void struggles to hear anything at all.

“It is good to see you, Shaka,” Shion says.

He is relieved and curious, and his voice vibrates in his chest when he speaks, as it always does. He inclines his head on greeting, and watches Shaka do the same. Shaka looks unharmed, equal to himself, yet there is something unsettling about him that Shion can’t quite put his finger on.

“I came down as soon as I felt you,” Shion says. “Are you quite well?”

The Void untangles itself from Shion’s aura.

“I am,” Shaka says, voice somehow stable even when the Void and the Body can barely hold themselves together. “Thank—”

Somewhere between the Taurus and Gemini temples, pitch-like cosmos bursts into flame, flooding the area with animosity so strong it makes the rest of them recoil as one. Aphrodite’s cosmos flares up in response, bright and achingly foreign.

“Do you think it’d kill them to wait for five freaking minutes?” Milo mutters.

#Saint Seiya #saint seiya fanfic #Virgo Shaka #Pisces Aphrodite #aries mu #s: times between us #matt writes #I said I was going to sleep and I will soon but in the meantime I might as well share this

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cultoficarus · 2 months ago

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@nandalikesstuff Here's a little thing from that girlboss Hen/vampire lord Lucien AU :3

It's not her first "first date", nor is it the first one at a restaurant as fancy as this one, and certainly not the first where she can tell the man across the table from her is straining at the seams to jump her bones. This is an unremarkable occurrence, in spite of being the impudent bastard daughter of a fallen noble house. She has met dozens, if not hundreds of similarly irritating men over the course of the past 10 years.

She's somewhat pretty in her appearance, and the common belief is that her uncle has tamed her. Strangers think she's not the same little spitfire she was when she was orphaned at 16, even if she is still unmarried at 26. But that's fixable, you know? A man with enough decorum to hide his desperation just needs to come along, and Henrietta will keel over. She must be desperate to settle down by now, seeing as the time for her to have children is drawing to a close.

What a crock of shit.

She can tell what he's thinking as he smiles at her, droning on about the grape harvesting methods of the wine they're serving with dinner. She'll be easy, all he needs to do is get her a little drunk, and promise her the world at the end of the night. She's certainly so far beneath him that people would laugh at *her* for thinking she had a shot with *him*. It's fucking sickening, how transparent all these bastards are. She smiles back at him, though. Bares her teeth the same way, hoping he can see the venom in her fangs.

She does have something on him, though. That is also usually the case when she agrees to a dinner with some bastard like him. Not that she's agreed to dinner with other sorts of bastards. She's certain she saw him that night, she only had to see him a second time to be sure of it. He was the one she witnessed dragging the corpse of a poor baron's maid into an alley three nights ago. She'd met the girl briefly, and detested her. It was a work related affair that went smoothly because the girl was an idiot and, frankly, she was better off dead. Given that the man across from her is a duke, some going so far as to claim he's a relation of the king, the courts would definitely side with him. But Henrietta doesn't care about filing charges or pretending to be an aggrieved friend. She is only concerned with how to turn the tide of public opinion on him.

The duke, it is rumored, is looking at finding himself a bride at the upcoming foundation day banquet. Or was it a charity ball? It doesn't really matter. His chances will be shot either way if she can spin this information. It didn't even have to be true, but the disappearances of other young women since his recent arrival in the capital in anticipation of the event bodes well for this ploy. She's waiting for Ivonne to verify his identity and assets before she starts pushing, though. Since he's a duke, she could probably squeeze a decent parcel of land out of him. She's almost salivating at the idea.

She's snapped out of her thoughts when he takes her hand and calls her some cringe worthy pet name.

"Hen? My little bird? Have I startled you? You look like your feathers are ruffled," he coos. Disgusting. She has to stop from obviously recoiling. Freak. Pervert. Bastard.

He bites his lip, and something about it strikes her as odd. His eyes are... different suddenly. Once a warm, inviting brown, now they glow a honeyed yellow. She gets the sense that she's looking at something dangerous, which only makes her dig her heels in. Doesn't he know he's stuck at this table with her, not the other way around?

"Isn't it a bit soon to be calling me that way? We've only just barely met, Lord Durant," she deflects and squeezes his hand. He's chomping at the bit already, and she resents how difficult he will be to rein in later on. It would seem he's the one who needs taming.

He laughs as she has that thought, and only then do they break eye contact. Asshole. It's not like what she said was all that funny, but the hunger in his eyes intensifies when they look at each other again.

“Strangely, I feel like we’ve met before. Perhaps in another life.”

#lurich #oc posting #:3

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possibly-god · 1 year ago

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The Stand-Up Job, a.k.a. Leverage's Bizarre Adventure

Time for a crossover AU maybe 2 people will care about! Because you know what the JoJoverse's trademark uniquely skilled ensemble casts and "I outsmarted your outsmarting" remind me of? Heists.

February 2011, 2 months out from the San Lorenzo job. With the heat finally dying down to Nate's liking, the Leverage crew has had enough of laying low - they're ready to start taking clients again, get back to stealing the world a better place. So when the Horsell family shows up at McRory's, it couldn't be more perfect.

Good old boy Holden spins them a yarn about hostile workplaces and head wounds that still trouble him 20 years later. His wife Mariah tells of a road accident that left her paralyzed and of massive hospital bills when company insurance refused to pay out. Their son Benji recounts losing his older brother to a work accident. Lives full of pain on account of the place meant to provide for them - the Speedwagon Foundation.

Sure, maybe the Horsells' story doesn't quite add up (Sophie's grifter sense is tingling from the jump), but neither does the Foundation's - a privately-owned multi-million dollar "environmental research institute" with no notable output or major publications, ties to the oil industry, international paramilitary operations, and organized crime, and seemingly only answerable to some old-money family (what kind of name is Joestar anyway)? That ticks a lot of Leverage's boxes - definitely something to look into.

Meanwhile in their hotel room, Hol Horse, Mariah, and Boingo celebrate the incoming payout, plus a little long-coming revenge on those damned Joestars, not realizing that, once again, they've underestimated their marks.

Not that the Speedwagon Foundation doesn't give Leverage trouble. Getting into their New York offices, digging around in their files, that's small potatoes - hell, it's weird how little security the place seems to have. But then a manager taps Sophie on the shoulder and she literally can't lie. The others try to bail her out, and then their earpieces are just gone. Guards are called and Eliot starts taking hits from something he can't even see. They have to go all the way to Plan J to escape (too close to Plan M for Hardison's liking), and when they blow the wall of the lab Parker gets hit with some shrapnel. Only it's not concrete or plaster they pull from her shoulder - it's antique bronze, a shard of an old arrowhead. Still plenty sharp too, no one can touch it without getting cut...

They regroup. Nate and Hardison start going through anything they can find of the Foundation with a fine-tooth comb, finding more and more bizarre details with each sweep. Sophie and Eliot start sniffing around the Horsells, poking their shoddy story into a veritable fishing net of holes. Parker starts coming down with something, starts worrying when the rest of the team does too, worrying about secret bioweapons, about viral hallucinogens when she starts seeing things.

It's almost a relief when they come back to a strange man in their office - this is familiar, this they can handle. This "Dr. Kujo's" explanation sounds like bull, but it's hard to deny when a ghostly figure lunges out from him - and when Eliot does the same thing right back. The next several hours are full of discussions, and of discovery -

Nate - 「Rock of Ages」

An ornate doorknob which can be inserted into any solid surface to create a door through to the other side. Once placed, anyone can see and use the door until Nate calls the knob back to him.

Sophie - 「Like a Prayer」

An elegant jeweled cameo choker which allows perfect vocal mimicry of any target whose name she knows - she doesn't have to know their voice, and the cameo changes to show the subject even if she's never seen them. She can give the necklace to another person to wear, but she can only change the target while wearing it herself, and she can call it back to herself at any time.

Parker - 「Free Bird」

A feathered suit stand which reverses gravity for the user. Any person she touches directly matches her gravity, returning to normal when released, while inanimate objects retain normal direction.

Eliot - 「Red Right Hand」

Come on, you know this boy has a punching ghost. Beyond simple melee utility, a touch (or punch) from the eponymous hand to any part of the body deadens sensation in that area. Eliot throws off regular combatants with invisible backup and other stand users by fighting in tandem with his stand instead of letting it have all the fun.

Hardison - 「Fools Gold」

Typically a small humanoid made of gold computer parts, it can morph into any electronic device it touches, copying the data and capabilities therein. However, it can only hold one device in memory at a time. These mimicked devices can be passed to and used by other stand users and do not require a charge to function, but do require WiFi/data/etc. to do any tasks that would ordinarily require such things.

After much deliberation, it's decided that both sides will be allowed to continue as before - the crew may call upon the Foundation if need be and vice versa, but they'll be keeping their noses out of each other's business. Of course, things change around Leverage - Parker spends days finding new hiding spots and new ways to use her gear, Sophie pranks the others with their voices over the comms, Hardison calibrates face and voice recognition to work with LaP, Eliot discovers the best sous chef he's ever had, and Nate incorporates a new dimension of skills and contingencies into their plans. New abilities also mean new scrapes to get into, new crimes to bust, and general shenanigans -

Their immediate job is going after the idiots who tried to con the con men and got them into this mess - Hardison gets got trying to plug his laptop into Bast (he just about goes insane with the magnetism wiping every electronic he touches until he figures out Fools Gold is immune) and Eliot hates Emperor with a burning passion (not only is it a gun, it's a gun that *cheats*), but in the end the "Horsells" are still just a cut-rate cut-and runner, an egotistical knife pervert, and an utterly useless comic book junkie (Hardison berates him for "giving nerds a bad name").

Hardison calls home to catch up with his Nana and siblings, and while reminiscing he realizes "hey that wasn't normal" and that he showed Hamon potential as a child. Not that it really affects him after 20 years without any further incidents or training - but it sounds like little Breanna might be following in his footsteps in more ways than one...

They call Tara in on a con and, at the vehement behest of the Speedwagon Foundation, do their damnedest to keep Stands and the paranormal a secret from her... and in the end she knew about it long before they did (perks of an FBI background)

Conversely, Sterling is perpetually on the verge of an aneurysm as the bane of his existence has somehow become even banier - before this he could at least catch up with the con after the fact, but now?

A job busting a drug ring in Italy runs the team afoul of Passione, and after shots fired on both sides and the intervention of the Foundation, the two organizations come to an uneasy understanding - Giorno and Nate each see the other as naive in method but admirable in ambition.

Come October, Dr. Kujo returns to personally hire the team as "expert consultants" in the matter of his daughter being sent to prison - their intervention perhaps brings about a happier end to Part 6.

Idk how I came up with this, or why I spent so much time on it - ultimately, I guess I just want to give the Leverage team some new gadgets to play with :)

#leverage #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #crossover au

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giggly-squiggily · 2 years ago

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~Nozel Silva Headcanons~

Hi hello your girl Squiggily is brain rotting still over this beautiful man so here's me yelling about him for however long it takes me to write these :P

~For tickly headcanons~

First things first we must address the elephant in the room: He does his own hair. Actually, he does all his siblings hair- he had since they were toddlers. He's got that whole "personal bubble, back off" attitude to pretty much everyone that breathes, so he feels more comfortable doing it himself. Also- big brother energy.

Absolutely believes in ghosts- not just curses but spirits and such (might also believe in Yokai- thanks Yami) He'd never admit it cause he doesn't want to come off a coward or weak, but if there's a loud noise in the middle of the night you KNOW he's searching for whatever the sound is, grimoire in hand. One time Solid dropped a spoon during a midnight snack run and a half-asleep bed headed, no shirt, battle ready Nozel busted in like: "BRING IT ON DEMONS!"

No one knows after the first time he treated Noelle harshly he flew up high into the sky with his mercury bird and screamed until his throat was raw and the tears on his face stopped feeling like acid. Nor does anyone know about the sting in his palms from digging his nails in when sitting by Fuegoleon's bed, willing him to come back. He's too proud of a person to ever let even his family see him break.

He's feather sensitive- I'm calling it like it is. His neck isn't even that ticklish but if you manage to steal a feather off his uniform and torment him with it he'll die. (Rill found paint brushes also worked nicely for this- he almost lost them though through a sludge of mercury. He's since got Yami and Fuego to help.)

Has a stupidly nice singing voice- especially when it comes to lullabies. Before all the bad happened, he used to sing to Noelle when she was a baby, rocking her in his arms as he hummed out a song their mom sang him. He won't ever confess to it, but sometimes if it's late and his guard is down you can catch him still singing it.

Nozel's got a sharp glare and even sharper tongue, so verbal comfort isn't...his forte. That said, he has the patience of a saint and has the best advice for most if not every situation. He looks at things logically, and if you can get past his sharp tongue you'd find a rather helpful solution waiting for you. (That said- he isn't stubborn; if you feel like he's being too harsh or blunt say something. He will try to soften his words if requested.)

Absolutely amazing with kids. No one expects it cause he's so...him, but he grew up with three younger siblings and two of them still act like brats even today so he's got the whole child thing down. Whether he actually wants kids depends heavily on where he's at in canon- pre You-Know-What, absolutely not. Post You-Know-What, maybe? He'd be a good dad y'all I'm calling it (Credit to @/duckymcdoorknob for Dad!Nozel thoughts)

Very few things make him laugh naturally but the ones that do are as follows: Fuegoleon attempting to cook; the one time Solid as a kid tried to feed a goose and got chased for a good 30 minutes (he still grins at the memory from time to time) and watching Mereoleona and Fuegoleon bicker. It won't earn you full belly laughs (Well- Fuego's cooking and the goose memory will) but you'll see him smiling in his hand from time to time.

For someone so proud, if you're his S/O and kiss his cheek without warning, he will get so flustered. I'm talking ears bright red, stammering through his words, won't meet your eyes cause he's suddenly very interested in the ground or the thread of his sandals or just- anything else. It's stupid cute and he'll never acknowledge it. Same thing if you kiss his hand, he's DEAD.

Can't draw to save his life. Even his stick figures look bad. "Hey Nozel why are you drawing a wiggly turd on your notes?" "....it's a stick figure, Rill." "*sucks teeth*.....yikes." Yami hasn't let him live that one down, even after Nozel threatened to stab him with a pen.

That's all I got for now! Thanks for reading!

#black clover #nozel silva #headcanons #fluff and angst #crack headcanons #whoops I wrote some lols #I promise this'll be the last Nozel related post of the day #I just- I'm in love with the captains help #okay I'm off to write bye y'all! :D

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hathorneheiress · 2 years ago

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Hawthorne Chickens.

So the Hawthornes defiantly have chickens. Every breed you can think of they have! But what are the boys favorite breed?

Nash: Honestly, he could care less about the feathered creatures. They're cute and can be entertaining to watch but it's not really his thing. If he was to go with one, it would either be Rhode Island Reds or Barred Rocks. They are a hardy breed and lays well. Not to aggressive either.

Grayson: He thinks the feathered friends are a unique animal. He loves watching them as they run around in the grass. Dust bath in the sun. Acting all annoyed with each other. And just being themselves. He admires that they all seem so wide awake and alert, even if they haven't had a good night. His personal favorite are the bantam Silkies. With their soft, fur like feathers small and good natured temperament. It's no wonder he loves bringing them into the House for pampering.

Jameson: His favorite breed isn't a chicken, but is in the chicken spectrum if you will. The guinea fowl is Jameson's favorite kind of bird. He thinks birds are just a bother. Leaving their manure everywhere. Digging up the plants. Nothing he likes. But the guinea fowl, well... they are different to him. They are cute in a way they shouldn't be. Unique. Most people find their call annoying and their stubborn attitude unnecessary. But just like Grayson finds joy in watching the chickens, Jameson finds the same in the guineas. He especially loves it when they chase Grayson's prized Silkies!!

Xander: He loves any kind of animal, especially the cute ones!! He thinks guineas can be rather annoying at times. Just like Jameson! He doesn't mind the original breeds like what Nash likes or the cute, fluffy Silkies. But his al time favorite are the Polish. With their funny hair style and lovable personality, what is there not to like? Having done mountains of research on the breed, Xander makes sure they have a warm pen and they aren't allowed to free range because they get lost and have trouble coming back. Like Grayson, he also loves bringing them inside and even going so far as to put little tou-tou on them!!!

There you have it!! I guide to Hawthorne chickens. I hope you liked it.

This was another animal head cannon in which @riddles-n-games and I partnered on. She will be doing one with quails and I did chickens. Please go check it out when it does come out. You will not be disappointed. (She is one of the best!) I loved doing this so much. Thanks again @riddles-n-games for this. It was amazing!

#the brothers hawthorne #the inheritance games #grayson hawthorne #jameson hawthorne #nash hawthorne #xander hawthorne #chickens #favorite breeds

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anarchy-and-piglins · 2 years ago

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I have been binge reading your entire Ao3 profile and I have fallen in love with your work. Your Dark SBI works are my favorite, particularly 'you bring out the worst in me' with close runners up 'Birds of a Feather' and 'Tasting Your Blood (Means I Love You)'. Wilbur is probably my second favorite after Techno but I adore how you write all of them. I know you probably get a ton of messages saying more or less the same thing, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to send in my appreciation as well. Admittedly, I also have a couple of questions, if you care to answer them.

First of all: In 'Birds of a Feather', are Phil's flockmates any less instinct driven than him, or do they also register Techno as a weird lil runt avian with social problems? If you could ever be bribed into writing a follow up with the flock's reactions, please let me know so that I can contribute.

Second of all: I have loved reading your stories over and over again, but I was wondering if you had any authors or fics you might suggest that are similar in content to yours (Techno-centric, whump or fluff)?

If you don't feel inclined to reply to this ask or answer these questions, I understand, and thank you for all the wonderful work you've done!

Gosh, Anon, what a sweet message. I'm glad you've been enjoying digging through my repertoire and finding stuff you like! And I'm always more than happy to answer questions about my writing :D

I'd say that all the avians in 'Birds of a Feather' are pretty similarly instinct-driven, though how much they get caught up in those instincts can fluctuate for many reasons, down to what season it is. It was supposed to be a plot point (that I cut for word count) that Phil's instincts were on high alert after being gone from his flock so long. Hence the near-instant imprinting with Techno. SBI does realize that Techno isn't technically an avian runt - rather, he's a whole other species - but that won't stop them from treating him like one. How to look after runts is the only point of reference they have, really.

Writing a continuation for that AU would be pretty pog and might happen someday. On that note though, I can be bribed into writing (almost) anything since I do take commissions, info is in my pinned post. If you're commissioning some type of fic set in one of my own AU I'm usually happy to give discounts too.

As for the second question: Floristkills would be the first to come to mind. She is an excellent Techno-centirc writer and a friend of mine. And I'd say our tastes are VERY similar. If you like Techno-centric Dark SBI, you should definitely also check out CleanLenins. And I also enjoy Who's work a lot.

I'm definitely forgetting some other really cool Techno-centric authors but it's 2 am and I have work in the morning, so I'll head to bed. Thank you again for the ask <3

#asks #compliment bin #getting asks just makes my day hehehe #the gay little people in my phone /ref /affectionate

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galercin · 1 year ago

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There are plenty of reasons to come to a party like this. Free food, for one. To find those with the loosest lips and hear the local gossip, for another. And of course...

There are so many people here with expensive, valuable items on their person.

Now, Naesala is not about to shy away from a challenge of dexterity, especially one of such low stakes. When he sees that absolutely stunning and beautiful woman alone under the mistletoe, he knows that this is the opening he has been looking for.

Direct, to the point. He comes up to her and smiles. It's not a charming smile; the thing is wry, half baked, and a little mischievous. He looks up at the mistletoe above them and laughs.

"Well, I am a man of tradition. Who am I to say no?"

He leans in, kisses her forehead between her brows -- not so forward to kiss her lips, but wanting to make her feel flustered. It's oddly tender, and he hopes it will have the desired effect. He reaches down, and with feather-light fingers and incredible skill he slips the ring from her finger.

Oh, this will get him a pretty penny, won't it?

He pulls back, smiles at her, and bows a little. His hand slips into his jacket pocket to he does to hide the ring as he smiles. "Naesala of Kilvas, what an honor it is to make your acquaintance."

When he approaches her, he is confident in a vainglorious way. Rinea has no time to reject as she is caught by the sight of gigantic wings of ebony. She sees no fire nor ice around him to denote him fallen and even further from anything deemed holy. A bird then, swooping in for its prey.

She shuts her eyes when he moves closer, not quite rejecting the gesture, but to say she did not flinch slightly when he begins to approach her and not a less offensive part, like her hand, would be a lie.

She expects it to scratch her, in the same way that birds’ talons do when they find you as a perch. They leave red scrapes in the beginning and the points dig into skin, but once they leave, there is no true harm. The kiss to her head is like that, yet where she expects it to leave a mark, she finds none. It is gentler than she gives him credit for and if her heart were not trapped beneath a cage of sorrow and longing for someone else, she might have rewarded his action with a soft flush.

Her eyes flutter open when he speaks again, that lopsided smile beaming back at her.

“Rinea… of Rigel,” she lets him have that much.

“Are all residents from Kilvas this forward,” she levels his own mischievous smile with her own small tilt of her lips, raising a brow slightly, “Or could that be just you?”

…

It is much later that she notices her finger much lighter, when she is packing up what is left of her tin that she brought. The lid clatters to the floor.

Quickly she begins her search, but never does she suspect anyone but herself to blame for its loss and what’s left of her heart with it.

#(( don't worry naesala she'll invest the monthly skill point in bow... just for you ))#corvuschriisti #toabaldrsbounty #(( also didn't know if u wanted or intended this to be a mini but lmk if u do and i'll take off the last bit haha ))

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doomxdriven · 5 months ago

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Celeste was quick for an Arrancar or Hollow who wasn't utilizing their Sonido, Jin had to admit, but he follows their movements with his eyes all the same, nothing being lost on him or overtaking his senses. Jin could have easily evaded Celeste's grasp if he wished, or if he were feeling particularly vicious, he could have seen to it that the winds tore her limbs asunder the moment she reached forth to him. Instead, Jin stands still while Celeste digs her claws into his coat; he's an immovable force, a dark presence that peers back at her with a mix of malevolence and amusement, amusement on account of what her actions spelled out to him.

"There it is, there's the truth," Jin glibly says after he dusts his coat off in the seconds following its release from Celeste, "your reaction tells me all I need to know about how you're connected to Lyric; its adorable to know they have people who care, truly it is."

Jin, his crimson eyes still trained on Celeste, looks on with a wide, and smug grin, a dismissive grin, as though he could not accept anything she said or did except as a sort of joke-- and why wouldn't he, what was she compared to him in the grand scheme of things?

"If ever you or any of your friends, bar Lyric, show me reason to take them seriously," Jin says with a short, derisive laugh, "it will be an interesting day, I tell you," there were only a few individuals of note within Hueco Mundo as far as Jin was concerned, and Celeste was not one of them, she was insignificant insofar as he could feel and see, when it came to matters of power.

"You call my words threats," Jin continues, while he starts circling Celeste, moving around her in the way a beast might circle its prey, and as he does this, the wind begins to kick up ever so noticeably, "I call them reality, because there's only two potential fates for Lyric, Harpyie, each one birds of a tragic feather."

Jin, with a hand tucked into one of his coat pockets, the other vaguely gesturing to and fro, continues on, flippant and malicious, "I do personally dream of a day where I engorge upon their Soul and make them a permanent part of my being, but equally-- no, perhaps more likely, is that Lyric succumbs to darkness like every Dragonclad before them has."

Lyric was the first Dragonclad in nearly a thousand years that Jin was aware of, but he knew the histories of their kind well, for he had walked the Living World alongside them and the Dragons, back when they were both more commonplace. Things could always change, Lyric could be a special case, but Jin was ever the cynical monster.

"When that happens, when they become an uncontrollable beast you can no longer recognize," Jin says, mockingly, derisively, "will you be able to put them out of their misery, you who are soft of heart, you who detest fighting, you who clearly care so much about them, you, the poor tethered creature?"

The wind begins to intensify now, circling Celeste and Jin in much the same fashion that he circled her, until it formed a notable cyclone.

"Ponder their destiny, and enjoy the time you still have with them, because one day you may be faced with more than their loss; one day you may have to strike the killing blow yourself," Jin flashes Celeste one more vicious, and smug grin, his sharp teeth prominent, "what a fun thought, no?"

The cyclone surrounding Jin and Celeste would then quickly close in on them both, howling and screeching as if it were a malevolent and sentient monster, but as the wind went on to die down and fade away moments later, Celeste would find that she was unharmed by it. Celeste would also be alone, freed of Jin's company, if it could have ever been called that.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMen. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Men who liked to drone. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAnd speak, when their partner was not interested. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤMen, of arrogance. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHow she found herself tired.

LYRIC, AND SHE ; Nothing akin to them, prowled the wastes known as Hueco Mundo, and though she, herself, some form of hollow ...she was so far set aside from others, it was almost unbelievable. He speaks on, and she listens. Secretive, hardly. Untrusting, ENTIRELY. She'd never met the man before, and he did not exactly belong here, lacking a mask, lacking a HOLE, punctured through him.

Threat, that comes at the end of his droning ... threat, that she takes so seriously, was a mistake, however. Her speed is nothing to scoff at, WITHOUT SONIDO. Claws, the pair of them, fist into his clothing, their faces brought close. Her expression remains somewhat neutral, for, he was no Aizen. She had looked the Devil in his face, and served him still, and wayward demons were but trash.

❝ WATCH YOUR MOUTH, ❞ She warns, laugher soft, ❝ For I may be soft, I may detest fighting, but I detest more, those that make threats in my direction. ❞

He's released, the corners of her eyes crinkled with that smile, but pupils mere pinpricks, in a sea of mercury's grey. LYRIC WAS A SPECIAL CASE ; as close to a child as this barren body could have, and she would do all possible to preserve them, in tandem with HE WHO WOULD KEEP THEM. If she were to be cast aside, battered and bloody, the fourth would not concede, so easily. If anything ; injury, death by her hand, was a MERCY.

❝ You're a fool, if you take them so lightly. If you take us, so lightly. BE fortunate I'm a bird on a tether ... be so, so fortunate, ser. ❞

#mikroteros #jin: ic #;the unforgiven (jin mainverse);#//a little short bUT!! very fascinating!! ill have to think on how they can interact further beyond this sometime but!!#//this energy is great SDFGHJSDFGHJSDGHJF #//i know it goes without saying ofc but regardless i am also sorry about jin lMAO

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corrodedcoughin · 3 years ago

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Hi I cannot sleep and you don't seem to mind me so I'm gonna dump some more aus with you.

Hananki au (inconvenience not death if you have seen the post): okay so I think in a hananki au Steve would relize sooner that Nancy doesn't love him because he would start getting flowers when he falls and she's faking being in love him coughing up yellow tulips (hopeless love)

Steve tells her he love her but he does move on. She is hurting him he has done what he can even if she never feels the same way

Robin he doesn't make it to love before it turns completely platonic

Steve is really getting tired of falling in love when the world is about to end by the time they're going to fight venac Steve knows he has a crush on Eddie (eddie survives I don't know what we rewrite but eddie lives)

Months later after co-parenting the kids with Eddie after finding out he's not the only one who isn't leaving steve starts coughing up Morning Glories (love, life, death and sometimes love in vain) but in the mix are sunflowers.

Robin is the first to know. After all who else would he tell. Surprisingly hopper is the next to know, he much like Steve cannot sleep well if he doesn't know everyone is safe so he checks on his kids Steve is one of them. Hopper (through hoper joyce knows and has her suspicions) doesn't know who it is, until he does because he sees Steve interact with Eddie only for Steve to immediately cough up sunflower seeds. Nancy and Jonathan finds out next, she knows something is up and as always she digs she drags him with her. Argyle is with them when it's revealed he's suprised they don't know.

From there it's an open secret among the adults other than eddie

Then Dustin walks in on Steve coughing them up and is convinced that he needs to confess to Robin. Steve doesn't know how to tell him how wrong he is. Dustin drags the other kids in on it to get him together with Robin (Will suspects Dustin is wrong and tells him but ultimately goes along with it max takes one look at the plan and tells Dustin it won't work and will not elaborate(max may know about a certainneighbor of hers who happens to be coughing up very similar flowers))

It all comes to a cumulative one day when Steve has hellfire over to play and cant leave soon enough he Coughs up a bouquet of Sunflowers and Morning Glories in front of everyone and the kids freeze while the other members of hellfire all immediately whip around to look at Eddie

Steve retreats to his room.

Eddie gets mobbed by his band freinds because "hairington really you fall for the jock and somehow he falls for you to, yes of course it's you who else would it be" (they knew about his flowers but eddie refused to tell them who they were for)

Eddie is frozen watching Steve leave only for him to cough up some tiny sunflower blossoms bringing the kids attention back to him.

Eddie knows he isn't leaving the house without a confession and he doesn't think he would want to.

They talk and both feel the flowers stop

They grow sunflowers and morning Glories around their houses where ever they live

Ineffable husband's au: only Steve as anathema and eddie as newt

I think Robin is Aziraphale and Nancy as Crowley. El as Adam and Mike as Warlock

Wing aus: I just like he idea of the kids having fluffy little fledgling feathers and Steve with osprey wings (considered one of the most protective of their young as well as a fairly fast bird that typically mates for life also theyre a water bird they do that) and eddie with some sort of owl wings maybe great horned owl? Less thoughts on that but after passing through the gates and being pulled through everyone struggling with their wings other than Steve who has protection due to him being a water based bird. But eddie in particular having really big heavy wings and if it was another situation other than life or death Steve would leave his wings along but it is life or death and those need to get straightened out so they can dry and you can walk or even better run or fly, while eddie is helping with any damage the demobats did to Steve's wings.

Okay so my brain has calmed down some I'm gonna try to get some sleep I hope you like at least some of these

-✏️

I’m really just posting these on hopes that you write a full fic this is by no means pressure but if you do write it then I’m first in line ESPECIALLY the hananki please I’m just so enraptured but what you’ve already laid out. I really do mean it. I may sound like I’m not excited but I think I’ve shouted at you too much as it is. I’m trying to entice you in with quiet voices so you might publish some fic

#✏️#anon #ask #my head is so full for your aus #and the fact you wrote this while very tired?????#if I had hHALF the skill you did I’d never stop posting #thank you I Mean it

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inhuman-obey-me · 4 years ago

Text

Payback's a Murder

Word Count: 2k Description: Mammon may be the Avatar of Greed and may constantly try to con his brothers, but others who try to do the same will find themselves at the wrong end of his murder. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Finally got back to this, so here we go with Mammon's turn! Note: Mulciber is a demon mentioned in John Milton's Paradise Lost. He served under Mammon and was an architect. Can also be found on AO3 here. content warning: blood, body horror, torture via the sharp ends of birds

The Avatar of Greed often found himself in trouble, whether it be because he stole personal belongings to sell or tried to cheat someone out of cash or … well, there were a lot of ways. Call him reckless, but when he saw an opportunity to make some cold, hard Grimm, he wasn’t about to pass it up!

But if someone tried to cheat him out of something? That wouldn’t do. Few dared to try it if they knew just who they were dealing with, but that didn’t stop some from trying anyway. They always regretted it afterwards.

The real issue, however, was if someone tried to cheat his brothers out of something. After all, he was the only one allowed to rip them off (that was his justification, anyway). The moment he finds out someone else tried to play confidence demon with any of them, it was a one-way ticket to the Great Mammon’s Beatdown Extravaganza.

He was walking by Leviathan’s room earlier when he heard a loud crash, some swearing, and a slight rumble under his feet. After some door breaking, tackling, and forcing his hotheaded brother to not summon Lotan, he found out what had made him so upset. Apparently, there was some demon running around with elaborate schemes swindling others -- well, nerds -- out of their money. He went on to explain something that Mammon did not at all understand -- as was usual when he got into his otaku rambling. If his brother had not been so upset, Mammon would have commended the guy for knowing how to target and hit a jackpot.

After some additional pestering, Mammon managed to get a rough description of this third-rate demon and realized he had a pretty good idea of just who it was. It was someone far closer to him than he’d like to admit.

So now here he was, leaning against the bar at one of the Devildom’s many clubs, drink in hand as he monitors the floor. If he was right, he would see the other cozening demon somewhere here tonight, so now it was just a waiting game. As Lucifer had told him repeatedly, You have to show that you’re Number Two. He planned to make that very clear tonight.

He felt the pulse of the bass vibrating through his body as the DJ amped up their music, more and more demons flowing into the space as the prime clubbing hours arrived. A few who noticed Mammon acknowledged his presence, some whispering about how he seemed to look way more serious than normal. The Avatar of Greed, not partying the night away already? Strange.

His patience was just about to run out when he caught a glimpse of just the demon he was seeking out. Hair as orange as a flame, he wasn’t too hard to spot amongst the crowd of more muted succubi surrounding him. Mammon downed the rest of his drink in one go, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket as he made his way to his target.

“Mulciber. Already getting started, huh?”

“M-Mammon?!” He seemed startled to see the other, but cleared his throat as he regained his cool composure. “It’s good to see you, man! Why don’t you join us all for a drink?” The succubi around him giggled, one daring to lean towards Mammon in an attempt to latch onto his arm, but he quickly placed a hand up to stop her.

“No touchin’, sweetheart.” He shot her a look that made her immediately back away, a pout on her lips. “And that’s a nice offer, Mulcey, but I was hopin’ I could talk to ya real quick in private.”

Mulciber could tell that no was not an option in this conversation, given the serious look in the Avatar’s eyes. “Oh, uh, sure. Sorry ladies, I’ll be back soon. Gotta take care of business!” He gave them a wink as they continued on to the table for their party. Clearing his throat again, he turned back to his superior. “So, what’s shaking, boss?”

Mammon just gave him a smile before nodding his head towards a side door, motioning to accompany him there. The lesser demon complied, following him outside to a side alley. The night air was brisk, causing a shudder to run through Mulciber’s spine. At least, he hoped it was the weather that was making him feel like this …

“I heard ya got up to another scheme.” Mammon fiddled with a lighter, flipping the top off and on with his thumb and a jerk of his hand as he spoke. Click, click, click, click. “Wanna tell me about it?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, totally!” Mulciber nervously replied, wondering why Mammon seemed so interested. Did he want a cut of the check? Fishing for ideas for his own next get-rich-quick scheme? Or --

Oh.

Oh no.

He suddenly remembered that one of the victims of his scheming had been the very Avatar of Envy. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, delighting in the fact that he was even able to rip off a Greater Demon. Meant his plan had to be pretty genius, right? But now … now he was starting to realize that he may have just made a big mistake.

“Hm? Ya haven’t said a word, Mulcey-boy.” Mammon turned to face him, tucking the lighter into his pocket. He took a step towards the other, who immediately took a step back -- only to be met with a hard brick wall. “Or didja have a moment of realization?”

“L-Listen, Mammon, I’m sorry! I didn’t know at the time, I swear!” Mulciber brought both his hands up, as if that would stop the other from approaching him.

“Oh? ‘Cuz your face says differently, buddy.” He bared his fangs, the usual gradient in his eyes now glowing a furious gold. There’s a malicious grin on his face as he takes a step back, and then he begins to … whistle?

Mulciber does not like where this is going. He’s heard that tune before and it makes his hairs stand on end. “Look, man, please, I’ll do whatever I have to do to make it up to you!” There’s already desperation in his voice, which almost makes Mammon laugh.

“Glad to hear it. Then ya won’t have a problem with what’s about to happen next, yeah?”

It starts in the distance, a noise that made it feel as if your eardrums were being pierced by a thousand shards of glass. It grows louder and louder, closer and closer. An omen.

Mulciber shrinks against the wall, his grey eyes wide in fear. He knows running is pointless -- the other demon would quickly catch him, and leave him even worse for wear as repercussion. “P-please, Mammon, sir, don’t do this … “

“Didn’t you just say ya’d do whatever ya have to do?” Mammon shakes his head, his wings stretching out wide as if to entrap the lesser demon where he stood. “And you really think suddenly pullin’ out the formalities is gonna get ya any mercy here?”

The flapping of numerous wings now filled the air, a large murder of crows circling in the dark sky above. Their bone-chilling caws and cries rain down upon them as the birds eagerly await their master’s command.

Mammon lunged forward and grasped the other’s jaw, his claws digging into flesh as he brought his face threateningly close. “Pretty ballsy of you to think messin’ with any of us was the right move.” He growled, a rumble in his throat. “Looks like someone needs remindin’ of his place.”

“I-I wasn’t thinkin’ at the time! C’mon, you know how that is, don’t you? I was just thinking of making some big bucks, I didn’t mean to go and step out of line--” Mulciber frantically rambled, trying to ignore the searing pain he was feeling from Mammon’s grip.

“I’m sure that was the case, Mulcey, sure!” If it wasn’t for his mocking smile, the Avatar would have nearly sounded genuine. “But that doesn’t mean you can escape the consequences, ya’know?” He let out a tsk, watching as blood dripped from where he had pierced the other’s skin.

He let go of Mulciber, taking a few steps back as he shook his hand as if to clean it of the ichor. There was no denying the glee he was feeling from this -- it had been a while since he decided to flex his abilities and powers on another. Looking up to the sky, he whistled out another tune, causing the crows to descend.

“He’s all yours.” He commands them in a language only they could understand, and in a flash the black-feathered birds rush in to attack. Their squawks mix with Mulciber’s shrieks as they begin to peck at him with their beaks and scratch him with their claws. Mammon fishes out the lighter from his pocket once more, grabbing a cigarette from the box he had on him with his other hand. Leaning against the opposing alley wall, he lights up and takes a slow drag, watching as the flurry of feathers pulverize his inferior.

The crows tear at Mulciber’s flesh, their sharp beaks riddling his body with small cavities and painting him with his own blood. He continues to cry and scream, though it’s obvious he’s losing energy by the second as they grow weaker in intensity, his body slumping towards the ground. Perhaps he had learned his lesson? Surely, he’s just waiting for it all to stop now, right?

Mammon takes a glance around, humming in delight as he catches sight of a discarded iron pipe. He drops the remains of his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out before retrieving his now makeshift weapon. It feels cool and light in his hand, and he gives it a small toss in the air before catching it again with a satisfied smile.

“Alright, alright. You all can leave him alone now.” Mammon commands his murder once more, followed by another whistle to let them know they could go back to doing whatever they were doing before now. One of them flew over to Mammon, perching on the metal rod in his hand, looking up at him with a puffed up chest in pride as blood stained its beak.

“Yes, who’s my good lil’ birdie?” Mammon cooed, scratching the crow under its chin. “Go get yerself cleaned up, okay?” It cawed in delight before flying off to join the rest, who were fading back into the dark night sky. The Avatar of Greed shook his head fondly before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

Mulciber lay crumpled on the ground, though was making efforts to sit upright as he gasped for breath. His body hurt all over, as if every inch of him had been pierced with needles. He feebly looked up to meet Mammon’s gaze, a whimper leaving him as he noticed the rod in his hand.

“What? I couldn’t let my birds have all the fun, now could I?” Mammon grasped the rod firmly in both hands before swinging it down with a deafening crack as it hit the other, who let out another sharp cry of pain.

“Hm, perhaps just another for good measure.” Whack. Another wail.

“Okay, okay. One more.” Whack. Another splatter of blood.

Content at the shuddering and sniveling mass that was left, Mammon kneeled down to get close to Mulciber’s ear, his next words full of menace. “Ya really should have stuck to the building business. Keep that in mind in the future, ‘kay?”

Mammon stood up and let the iron rod clatter to the ground, its hollowness ringing into the night. He made his way back inside to order another drink, ignoring the whispers and stares from the others in the club. It was doubtful that Mulciber would make an appearance here after what had happened for a while.

He knocked on the bar counter, getting the attention of the bartender. “Give me a glass of your finest whiskey. Put it on Mulciber’s tab.”

#obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me mammon #om! mammon #obey me fics #demons being demons #series: a demon's nature #writings #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos #a side of mammon I would like to see more <3

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pokemonispain · 3 years ago

Text

Sick bird-Dabi/Hawks

Summary: In which Hawks finds himself sick during one of his patrols

________________________________________________________________

Keigo Takami, also known as Hawks was many, many things but first and foremost he was incredibly dedicated to his job as a hero. Rising up the ranks to be one of the top 3 Pro heroes that the world had to offer.

And yet at the same time, this dedication was probably the thing that led to his current predicament in the first place.

Hawks gives a low, weak groan of discomfort as he shakily lands on the relatively low rooftop of a low nearby building, halfway stumbling and halfway staggering to a stop as he folds his wings back slightly.

He closes his eyes, running a trembling hand over his face, his other gripping the nearby railing to keep himself steady on his shaking legs as harsh, shuddering breaths slip from between his lips.

It’s hot, stupidly disgustingly hot worse than even the most humid of days in Japan. It's the type of heat that seemed to drain a person’s energy leaving them wanting to do nothing more except lay down and not move for the rest of the day. Hawks feels almost as if he’s being melted into a puddle, even the air he drags in through his mouth feels unnaturally hot.

His throat is dry, each breath feeling as though it were sandpaper brushing across his throat.

Hawks’s body, which was normally as light as the very feathers on his wings now felt as though it were as heavy as a boulder. A strange weight settling in his limbs, making him sluggish and uncoordinated.

The feverish hazy blanketing his mind makes even thinking a struggle, his thoughts slipping through his fingers in half-formed jumbles as exhaustion settles over his body wrapping around him like a blanket.

His head is throbbing viciously in time with his heartbeat, so much so that it feels as if someone is trying to squeeze his eyes out of his skull. The usual everyday noise of the city that he was so familiar with, the murmuring and chatter of people, the honking of horns, and the rumbling of engines as cars made their way down the road, all of it feels far, far too loud.

As if it's trying to claw out his eardrums as it echoes around his skull, the noise practically reverberating off its wall. He can feel each and every noise echoing in his feathers and making his wings ache which has him folding his wings in closer to his back, as if he could escape the noise, this horrible sensation.

But the most concerning part in Hawks’s opinion, and the one that terrified him the most was nausea. The dizzying, intense, almost unbearable nausea.

Another low groan leaves his mouth as he swallowed thickly, almost convulsively in an attempt to clear the near river of drool building up in his mouth. It feels sticky and strangely heavy on his tongue which does his nausea no favors.

Hawks brings a hand to his stomach, internally cringing when he feels it churning almost violently beneath his fingers as if it were a pot of water threatening to boil over. His stomach feels strangely heavy as if his lunch from earlier were sitting in his stomach like a rock refusing to budge, his normally form-fitting uniform feels too tight.

Suffocating and smothering as it clung to his skin due to the fine layer of sweat coating it, his uniform feels as if it's digging into his stomach and he grimaces when his stomach makes a loud almost harsh gurgling noise, a deep ache darting across its surface. Hawks can tell just by touching it that his stomach is bloated, his fingers sinking ever so slightly into the now soft skin there.

A sense of dread weighs on Hawks, settling over his body as it looms over him ever-present.

He hated to admit it, or rather he all but refused to admit it. As if acknowledging it would make it tangible all too real in his eyes, and yet it's not really something he could ignore any longer, especially not at this point.

Hawks closes his eyes as he gives a shaky exhale although whether it's due to the fever or his own anxiety he has no clue. “Fuck,” he whispered shaking his head slightly and he flinches, a grimace twisting at his face when a deep ache seems to punch him in the stomach.

It felt as if someone had his stomach in a vice grip and was trying to tie it into a knot. He clutches at his stomach, practically clawing at it as he squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth against the pain, his wings open slightly as he pulls them closer to himself, the gesture subconscious more than anything.

His stomach growls loudly, a sickly noise that has Hawks quickly swallowing. The heat isn’t helping his nausea either, if anything it made him feel as though the contents of his stomach were curdling inside of him as waves of dizzying nausea washed over him relentlessly.

“Fuck,” Hawks whispers his voice trembling slightly as he opens his eyes a bit, that fear is looming larger now. Hovering over him like a hungry violent beast ready to strike at a very next sign of weakness.

And yet he can’t ignore it anymore, he feels completely utterly awful in every sense of the word. His body trembling as if threatening to collapse like a house of cards. He…he was sick. He didn’t know what from or when he may have caught it but he could neither ignore nor deny yet anymore.

Hawks groans sniffling as he runs his hand over his face, trying to stuff down the sense of fear and dread writhing in his chest, sinking its icy fangs into him.

Hawks has never done well when it came to the topic of himself getting sick or even worse throwing up, he doesn’t truly know when this feeling, when this fear began to take hold of him. Initially, it was something that had just made him feel a bit weary and disgusted as anyone did but as the years went on and he got older, this fear seemed to grow and evolve with him.

Maybe it was the time he spent under the thumb of the Hero Public Safety Commission over the years where it didn’t matter if your body was on the verge of falling to pieces, a job was a job, and if the Commission said jump it wasn’t a question of what but how high instead.

It was hard to determine for Hawks honestly but he did know what deeply terrified him about getting sick. And especially throwing up. The visceral loss of control, how once you started you were helpless and at mercy to your body until it decided when enough was enough.

Just the thought of it has Hawks shuddering, he opens his eyes briefly when another wave of intense nausea rolls over him so strong that it leaves him breathless and dazed for a moment. Drool trickles from his lips running down his chin as the world seems to swim before his eyes, the ground feeling as if it's shifting like a living thing beneath his feet.

It's a horribly, sickening sensation that has his stomach sloshing and Hawks quickly clamps a hand over his mouth as a nauseated, almost sloppy sounding hiccup leaves his mouth. Hawks swallows frantically, faintly tasting bile bubbling at the back of his throat for a moment. It’s a sharp bitter yet also sour almost rancid taste, and the stinging burn it leaves behind in his throat has Hawks coughing for a moment or two.

As his nausea fades a bit, at least enough where he doesn’t feel as if each breath he takes is going to make him gag. Hawks shakily lowers his hand from his mouth a small noise akin to a soft chirp of discomfort leaves his lips that he doesn’t bother stopping.

He turns his head slightly to look over the guard railing of the building he’s standing on, to look out at the city. It's still so, so horribly loud, each and every noise like nails on a chalkboard to his already overtaxed senses but his pain, the nausea, his discomfort, his fever none of that matters.

It never does, especially not when he has a job to do, first and foremost he was a hero and it wasn’t like any potential villains or disasters were just gonna bide their time waiting until he felt well enough to deal with them. And so that’s why, despite every part of his body screaming at him to lay the fuck down and rest that Hawks turns around to face the city, opens his wings, and leaves the rooftop to finish his patrol route.

~~~

Dabi scowled as he stared at his phone with narrow eyes, the bright white light of the screen incredibly bright, almost piercing in the alleyway he stood in hiding away from prying eyes.

The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize him and cause a commotion even with a disguise there was always that risk. And yet at the moment, Dabi finds himself worried less about that and more about the text that Hawks had sent him that had him coming out here in the first place. Three simple words seemingly sent in haste, ‘I need you’.

This area is where Dabi and Hawks usually met up when Hawks was finished his usual patrol, although sometimes Dabi would just break into his house despite being given a key, claiming that just breaking in was both easier and funnier.

Hearing familiar footsteps coming down the alleyway Dabi briefly glances up noticing Hawks coming his way. “Finally you’re here, what’s up with this text you sent me?”

Hawks is quiet for a moment and then he gives a low groan that has Dabi quickly looking at him with a frown, and this time he looks at Hawks, really looks at him.

Hawks is dressed in his street clothes more than likely having just finished his patrol from the looks of things, he has his wings partially curled forward around himself almost as if he were using them as a shield. He’s swaying in place and has a hand pressed to his head, clutching loosely at it. In the darkness of the alleyway, Dabi can’t be sure but Hawks seemed to be a bit paler than usual.

Pushing away from the wall he was leaning against, Dabi shoves his phone in his pocket and begins walking over to him. “Hey, what’s wrong with you? Headache,” Dabi asked, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Hawks, his eyes roving over him.

He knew that Hawks got migraines at times, often triggered by exhaustion combined with too much stimuli. But the way he’s acting, the swaying in place, the way he’s curling his wings around himself as if trying to hide it seems like something else than a migraine. If anything he seems dazed at least to Dabi.

Hawks gives another low groan, although this time it borders on something similar to a pained whine or distressed chirp. “I…I’m…” Hawk begins his words slurring together heavily as if he was drunk and Dabi’s frowned.

Hawks closes his eyes for a moment in an attempt to get his bearings even slightly but finds the task practically impossible. The ground feels as if it's swaying sickeningly beneath his feet, his stomach sloshing violently like an overfilled glass, each breath he draws in has his throat spasming slightly, threatening to make him gag.

Dabi is saying something to him, the sound of his voice distinct to Hawk even if his words are not, the world is pure noise around him, incredibly muffled as if coming to him from underwater. And yet despite that, his head is still throbbing violently, nearly turning his brain to mush.

He feels a hand on his arm, and slowly raises his head, his vision blurring as he meets Dabi’s eyes, he can’t be sure but Dabi looks almost…alarmed or concerned for some reason.

“H-Hey,” Dabi exclaimed, steadying him when Hawks began to sway dangerously. The moment he does Dabi instantly becomes aware of a few things all at once, the heat rolling off of Hawks skin, the sweat soaking through his clothes, and the fact that he was trembling slightly in Dabi’s grip. Now that he’s this close Dabi can also hear a strange soft gurgling noise that seems to be coming from Hawks’s stomach.

“Hey, what’s up with you? Did you get hit with some weird quirk…” Dabi begins but trails off, his word dying in his throat when Hawks raises his head slightly and Dabi sees that his eyes are completely glassy and unfocused. Not truly seeing him.

In the very next moment, Hawks gives an audible exhale as his eyes roll back and his legs give beneath him. A series of curses leave Dabi’s mouth as Hawks goes completely limp in his grasp, and would’ve fallen face-first to the ground if not for Dabi’s grip on him.

Instead, he winds up pulled close to Dabi, Hawks’s body leaning heavily against Dabi’s chest as his ragged, breaths fan across Dabi’s neck. Hawks’s wings are outstretched, drooping behind him as his head lolls limply to the side.

“Shit,” Dabi murmured under his breath, he glances towards the opening of the alleyway before quickly turning back to Hawks.

Sighing, Dabi gives a soft huff as he adjusted Hawks in his grip, he brings one hand to Hawks’s forehead gently placing his palm there. A soft hiss escapes his mouth when he feels the heat there, nearly snatching his hand back as if he’d been burned. Hawks’s fever is so high Dabi has absolutely no clue how he hadn’t passed out sooner, especially considering he was definitely out doing his normal patrols like this, probably even fighting like this.

“Fucking idiot,” Dabi huffed ignoring the way his heart seemed to be pounding in his chest right this moment, that feeling of unease and worry nagging at him. As if hearing Dabi’s words Hawks gave a soft groan shifting slightly in his grip.

A sloppy, breathy hiccup leaves Hawks's mouth and Dabi felt Hawks’s body jolt in his arm, tensing up slightly. Dabi hears something audible gurgling and surging up Hawks throat, that sounds similar to someone drowning almost. Hawks makes a strange noise akin to a closed mouth gasp, just catching the liquid as it fills the back of his throat.

Dabi hears him give a very audible swallow a shuddering slightly, giving a small chirping noise of discomfort.

Hawks groaned again but from the looks of things, it seemed as if he were actually waking up.

“What’s…happening…” Hawks mumbled his words still heavily slurred. He shifted slightly again, tilting his head back a bit to look up at Dabi as he tried to push away, but Dabi held him firmly in place.

“How long?”

Hawks frowned confused at Dabi’s words as well as his strangely curt tone, but with his headache seemingly trying to turn his brain to mush, and the fever fueled hazy in his mind not to mention the dizzying nausea still swirling heavily in the pit of his stomach makes thinking just as much of a chore as standing up at the moment.

“Huh,” Hawks mumbled as he clutched at his head, his words slurring. He hates this, he hates this, he hates every part of this, this horrible sensation of his body threatening to come apart at the seams but most of all how helpless and at his mercy this made him feel.

He did everything he was supposed to, so why was this happening to him?

“How long have you been sick Tweety,” Dabi huffed his eyes narrow.

Hawks shakes his head slightly but stops when that makes him feel like his brain is rattling around in his skull, his nausea swells for a moment and he swallows thickly cringing slightly at the sharp bitter taste of bile coating the back of his throat and tongue, the slimy texture doing little to help his nausea.

“I’m not…sick…” he mumbled in a slurred rush. Just because Hawks may have been slightly willing to admit to himself that he was sick didn’t mean that he was willing to admit it to someone else.

Whenever he’d told someone he hadn’t felt good in the past, it never ended well. There were no words of sympathy, no gentle touches, just the repeated saying of ‘get up and try again now’ or asking ‘can you continue’ when his body was clearly seconds away from giving up on him.

“Bullshit, you look like either about to puke or faint,” Dabi grumbled, he’s not angry at Hawks not for getting sick at least but he is irritated and annoyed that Hawks has clearly been pushing himself while he’s like this.

Hawks said nothing, his hand shakily leaving his head to cover his mouth as he gave another soft whimper of discomfort. His stomach is still killing him, that feeling of heaviness and tightness not leaving him even now that he’s out of his uniform.

Dabi sighed as he grabbed Hawks’s free hand. “Come on, you can walk right,” he sighed after a moment.

Hawks has his eyes squeezed shut, his face eerily pale as he swallows quickly, almost convulsively. A low gurgle comes from his stomach that has Dabi giving him a weary look because it sounds all too much like a pot of boiling water. “Flying is quicker,” Hawks murmured as he spoke through his fingers.

Dabi gives a snort rolling his eyes. “Yeah no, we’ll both end up puking or smacking into a window or somethin.”

Hawks surprisingly says nothing in response, too afraid that if he opens his mouth the already shaky control he has on his stomach will shatter to pieces. So he can only take deep shaky breaths in through his nose and allow Dabi to guide him by hand as they both begin the walk home.

~~~~

The walk to Hawks’s apartment is a slow process, and by the time they finally reach the building Hawks wants nothing more than to just collapse in bed and pass out for a good long while.

His stomach is killing him, as if someone had it in a vice grip and were squeezing it. A deep ache settling alongside the nausea as it churned violently, the dizzying nausea washing over him in waves leaving him lightheaded. He could practically feel the contents of his stomach brushing against its walls and to say it was an unpleasant feeling was an understatement.

It was so hot that he felt as if he were melting into a puddle, his brain literally numb by this point from the continuous headache stabbing at his skull in combination with the loud stimuli from the world around him.

Dabi can’t help but glance back at Hawk as they walked noticing the way Hawks brings a trembling hand to his lips occasionally, his eyes fluttering slightly as his body jolts a bit with what seems like a soft repressed gag if the tiny, choke gasping noise he makes is anything to go by. Dabi has a good feeling that Hawks would feel a bit better if he just lets himself throw up, especially considering the loud almost snarling gurgling noises he can hear his stomach making are anything to go by but Dabi also knows that Hawks wouldn’t do so.

But Dabi has a good idea of how to make him do so, which should provide him with some temporary relief.

“We’re here birdy,” Dabi told him as they arrived at the apartment building.

Hawks raised his head and looked up, his eyes still glassy and dazed but there’s more awareness in them despite that, especially more than there had been in the alleyway so he didn’t seem as if he were going to faint on the spot. Although Dabi is a bit worried by the fact that Hawks’s breathing is even more ragged, he’s practically panting, a red blush coating his cheeks more than likely a combination of the fever and exertion.

“Tired,” Dabi asked with a scowl.

Hawks merely nodded, which had a few alarm bells ringing in Dabi’s head. If Hawks of all people was saying little to nothing then it pointed to one of two things he was either pissed beyond all reason or he was sick, and that combined with the fact that he’s actually admitting his exhaustion to Dabi instead of pushing through like usual meant that he was reaching his limit in every sense of the word.

“We’ll take the elevator instead of the stairs then.” Is all Dabi says as he leads Hawks inside the building.

Hawks relaxes ever so slightly once they’re in the elevator, the exhaustion weighing on him heavily as his wings droop slightly behind him. He just needed to take a few more steps once the elevator opened on the top floor and he would be free, he’d be in the comfort of his own home to collapse, cry, whatever he wanted.

Maybe it’s because of the haze in his mind and the fact that he’s trying to put all his focus into making sure his stomach contents stay where they’re supposed to that he doesn’t even register the effect the elevator may have on him until it’s far, far too late.

Seconds after the elevator door closes and begins moving a strange sensation washes over Hawks similar to the feeling he got whenever he used his wings to take off from the ground, except it’s a lot more intense. The sensation of falling freely through the air hits him as the world swirls in a myriad of colors before his eyes, his stomach seems to plummet down to his feet as an intense wave of nausea hits him like a truck.

Before he can stop himself Hawks gags harshly and he quickly covers his mouth with his hand almost out of reflex as a trickle of bile leaves his mouth, burning his throat and leaving him coughing and spluttering as he falls to the floor of the elevator on his knees, his wings flapping less in an effort to fly and more ruffling themselves in discomfort.

He feels Dabi’s hand gently running along his back, between his wings as he pants, nausea boiling and twisting in his stomach as he struggles to get his bearings even slightly. To get his twisting stomach under control as it heaves and spasms from his attempts to force back the wave of vomit threatening to surge up his throat.

“Let it up dumbass, you’ll probably feel better anyhow,” Dabi told him, yet despite his harsh words there’s no venom or malice in his voice if anything he sounds worried.

Hawks says nothing frozen in place with his lips clamped shut as his stomach heaves violently, the contents of it filling his mouth almost instantly, coating his mouth in a sour, rancid, taste like spoiled milk that overpowers nearly everything.

Hawks is practically curled into a ball, his eyes squeezed shut. There are tears gathered on his lashes and rolling down his sweat-streaked face. He was pale as a sheet with an almost slight green tinge to his skin and his cheeks were bulging out as he took shallow, shaky breaths in through his nose in some last-ditch effort to keep himself from being sick.

He needs to swallow it, Hawks knows he has no other option, he can’t let this happen. This never ends well for him, a situation like this, he just has to push through it to get his body to listen to him, he just needed to hold it back at least until he got to his home, his safe place.

And yet Hawks severely underestimates both how much his stomach has had enough of his shit and how the elevator will affect his already horrific nausea. As the elevator continues moving upwards, the motion sends Hawks's stomach sloshing violently like a water balloon.

Hawks gives a low desperate almost pleading whine in his throat, his entire body trembling from the effort of trying to stop himself from being sick. His stomach makes a loud, harsh growling noise as it heaves again forcing more of its contents into his mouth, a tiny bit of vomit squirting past his tightly sealed lips and dribbling down his hand through the cracks in his fingers.

It feels hot, almost searing on his hand and disgustingly sticky, as well as lumpy like touching wet food in the sink and he despises it. His stomach heaves again forcing even more vomit into his mouth, and this is the straw that breaks the camel's back and sends the large, thick, lumpy wave of vomit spraying through Hawks’s tightly sealed lips like a firehouse.

The surge of lumpy pale and green vomit sprays through the cracks in his fingers, coating his hand in the disgustingly thick smoothie-like slurry as it splatters the carpeted floor of the elevator heavily as if someone had spilled a bucket of liquid on the floor.

Hawks manages a broken strained whimper right before a loud gurgling burp slither past his lips, rumbling in his throat as it echoes in the small confines of the elevator, the noise turns wet at the end, sloppy almost as another large wave of thick, pale lumpy vomit sprays through his fingers, forming a glistening sickening puddle on the ground in front of him.

The mess feels absolutely disgustingly warm, almost searing against his skin, it’s slimy as well the sensation of the chunks of his own barely digested meal slipping between his fingers makes him shudder.

Dabi cringes slightly briefly glancing away as he continues patting Hawks on the back, Dabi would be lying if he said the smell wasn’t awful, but he does his best to attempt to ignore it. After all, speaking from experience Dabi knew that once Hawks had gotten everything up he’d more than likely feel a lot more aware, and the dizziness he was experiencing wouldn’t be as oppressive.

Hawks shakily lowers his hand from his mouth, his eyes wide and glassy with tears as threads of bile and drool drip lazily from his lips into the mess before him. He lurches forward suddenly with a gurgling garbled retch, his wings lifting slightly flexing behind him in the cramped space of the elevator as his body tenses up. This harsh retch has one final enormous surge of vomit gurgling out of him, sounding a lot like a pot of water furiously boiling, the mess pours from his lips steadily for a moment or two.

As it eventually tapers off Hawks is left coughing and spluttering, drool dripping from his lips like a faucet. A small ding echoes out in the elevator as it stops moving and eventually the door opens.

Hawks swallows thickly, panting as he shakily raises his head to look at the door, tears in his eyes. Then he shakily looks down at the mess in front of him and cringes a wave of guilt washing over him. He couldn’t do it, why couldn’t he just force his body to cooperate for a few more fucking seconds, just push through his limits like he usually did.

“I-I need to clean this up,” Hawks whispered, his voice raspy and completely shot from his vomiting episode.

Dabi gives a sigh of exasperation. “You need to fucking lay down is what you need. Besides, don't worry about it, they’ll probably just think it was some drunk or something.” When Dabi was hoping that throwing up would make Hawks more aware this wasn’t what he really had in mind but truthfully it's what he expected.

“No, I need to do it. I have to, they-”

Another loud sigh from Dabi is what cuts Hawks off because he can’t help but think Dabi sounds frustrated and he figures, at least in his fever-addled mind, that Dabi is upset with him for some reason.

Reaching out Dabi stops the door of the elevator from closing before turning back to Hawks and grabbing him under one arm to help to his feet. “How bout we do this, I’ll clean this up and you go lay down and don’t move unless it's an emergency sound good?”

To which Hawks simply nods the look of shame and guilt still plastered on his face, the next time Dabi speaks though instead of frustration and what he’d assumed to be anger, Hawks hears something akin to reassurance and concern.

“If you’d just let me burn the commission to the ground you wouldn’t have to deal with this, but it's fine I guess. At least you’ll finally get to rest now,” Dabi said as he helped Hawks to his feet and out of the elevator.

Despite how horrific Hawks, feels at Dabi’s words he can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. While Hawks wouldn’t mind just putting this day behind him doing his best to ignore it and forget, he’d be lying if he said he’d soon forget Dabi’s words.

#emetophilia #Boku no hero emeto fic #sickfic #boku no hero academia #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero sickfic #My writing #hurt/comfort #hawks my hero academia #dabi my hero academia #hawks needs a hug #I like the idea of Hawks having certain bird traits

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