#hisui rot is too strong

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

What about that kid who gives you the spiritomb quest who may or may not be apart of spiritomb too?? Like if she gets attached before becoming spiritomb again and that stays in the spiritomb so. Man's got an amalgamation of souls following him around too?

OOOOH

vessa's held off on asking anyone to help her, because she's waiting for a trainer strong enough that collecting all the wisps and freeing spiritomb won't be a death sentence. the one with radiance about them is strong, but they're young, almost as young as she is (was. was. she's much older now, though she doesn't feel it, she feels as small and scared as the day she-) and she feels afraid for them. which is why, when she sees ingo wrapping up a battle with them late one night, she can't help but think, maybe...?

she thinks she'll just give him the keystone, send him on his way, and then only occasionally speak to him to let him know where to search, but... he keeps coming back? not even to refresh his memory or receive rewards, he just... comes and talks to her, whenever he's in jubilife. he seems almost worried about her, alone under the tree with such a big strange quest all to herself.

it doesn't take long until she lights up at his approach, some part of herself long rotting away in isolation starting to heal. he's kind! he cares about her and it's been so long since anyone asked her yes, the spirits around hisui are spooky, but does she have a place to stay, is she eating well enough, if there's anything she needs to talk about she's too young to carry such a burden all on her own-

she is, she is too young, it's been so, so long since she was allowed to feel small. she lets herself hug him, be wrapped up in that dark coat like the child she is, and she feels safe, and she never, ever wants him to let go.

the rest of the souls merged with her own feel it too, and once the initial overwhelmed frenzy of being whole and free again is done with, they dimly recognize the man who's captured him.

ingo encounters an entirely new problem after calming the angry spirit pokemon: it has decided pokeballs are beneath it and it would much rather be glued to his side. he spends a little while trying to reason with it, until he recognizes one of the voices in the echoing whispers that surround it, as one that had cried into his shirt on a cold night in jubilife. and after that, he'll put up with all the frightened looks everyone else wants to give him, if it means the child won't have to feel alone anymore.

[floaroanemoia]

“You haven’t said a word since it happened. Are you okay?” --Howl

For those who’ve been hurt || Accepting @fireplxdge

     Silence is death, or so some might say. The death of courage and strength; truth and ideals; willpower and emotion. A catalyst for thoughts and feelings to fester rot, with their remains merging to form something far worse. Between the news reaching their ears until now, silence had befallen the already quiet medium, hollow and cold. Like the bitter malice that seeps from one of the creatures who loyally stands by her side. Atop the back of a Rapidash, she has sat, neither saddle nor reins in sight, for who would dare think of seizing the freedom of something that should never be stripped of it. How cruel would it have been, to throw them upon Sophora when in search for a child who has been given a death sentence by one who should have protected them

     High and low, Sarana and Howl have searched. Through the forest, up the mountains, by the coast, near the sacred lakes, at the camps, in the sky-- not a single location giving way to fruitful results. How could he? That horrific man who dare calls himself a commander, who had trodden upon land not belonging to him and built settlements over the homes of pokemon who long lived there. Acting as though he alone decides who must live, and who are ‘necessary sacrifices’. He who would send a child off to die over something he could not prove, and no-one could defend them against to his liking. A cruel, heartless thing, that Kamado is.

     Brows furrow. Her gaze does not shift, despite arming herself with words strong enough to break the woman’s silence. Howl must have guessed it already, felt the anger seeping from Sarana’s pores; the heightened focus; the chill in the air around her. And perhaps he feels the same, too, behind his calmer demeanour.

          “...I will strangle that man with my bare hands,”

     Low and acidic, like gravel fighting back against the sole of a boot.

          “If that child’s remains are found, the only thing that monster will be commanding is the dead.”

     They have to be somewhere, she tells herself. It has only been a day-- they could not have trekked too far; not with so little experience fending for themselves. An expedition is one thing, but to brave Hisui on one’s own, why it is so very unforgiving-- an artform in of itself, requiring guidance and so many years of practice without cessation. Hands ball into fits, settling themselves atop the fire-type’s back.

          “I will see to it personally. I do not think many in the village would complain, at that point.”

[nighted-mist]

Undertow Ch. 1

Undertow Summary:

Hisui had known, to some extent, what he was getting into by shoving Tokoyami out of the way, when he noticed that the masked asshole with the containment Quirk was gunning for the kid. But he wasn't expecting the price for escaping the League of Villains with Bakugou in tow to be quite so high.

Pairing: Dabi/Hisui

Chapter 1 Summary:

“I’m here ‘cause I wanna uphold Stain’s ideals.” Dabi pulled back enough to catch Hisui’s gaze again. He tilted his head a bit, causing the dull lighting to shimmer off the three small studs that pierced his right nostril.

“And you think Shigaraki’s the way to do that?” Hisui asked, skeptical.

“Sweetheart,” Dabi said, sounding much too bitter for his age; and Hisui would know, since he’d grown up around jaded Heroes from Gran Torino’s era. “Guys like me gotta work with what we get.”

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

The world expanded; or Hisui was expanding, and the blackness bled back into light and color. Suddenly, he was standing — thank god he was still standing, after whatever that masked asshole did — in a rundown bar. The poor lighting made it hard for Hisui to notice anything in a glance except the dull, polished shine on the wooden surfaces, like the bar and the shelves behind it, which only drew attention to the Villains surrounding him. Hisui kept himself painfully still, his muscles aching with the effort of it, of ignoring the adrenaline and the deafening thunder of his pulse egging his instincts to movemovemove.

He turned his head slowly, purposefully, looking around for a headcount: Bakugou, the masked asshole, a lizard man, a girl in a high school uniform, a guy with a dual-colored mask, a guy who looked like an okama, a scarred guy, that black mist guy from the U.S.J. report, and right in front of him, the supposed point man for the League of Villains himself. Shigaraki Tomura.

“…Senpai?” Bakugou said quietly, his voice gruff and hesitant. Hisui glanced at Bakugou’s stiff form to aim a brief, warning look at him. Bakugou’s jaw clenched noticeably, but the normally explosive teen shifted a half step to the side, so he was just behind Hisui’s shoulder. That was probably the best deference Hisui could hope for, from him.

“Senpai?” Shigaraki rasped, leaning in until the disembodied hand on his face almost brushed Hisui’s cheek. Hisui clenched his fist, forcing himself not to flinch. “What the hell, Compress? Why’d you pick up an extra brat?”

It was a good thing Hisui’s nails were already digging into his palm; he might’ve reacted to the “brat” comment, otherwise. If Shigaraki thought he was a high school student, it worked in his favor to let that misassumption continue…even if it did piss him off to be mistaken for a teenager.

“My apologies.” The masked asshole, Compress, dipped the brim of his top hat. “There was another student with a strong Quirk I was planning to pick up, but senpai here did an exemplary job sacrificing himself for his kohai.”

“Oh? How…heroic,” Shigaraki sneered around his hand-mask. “So cool, senpai.”

“…This is a recruitment effort, then?” Hisui said, managing to speak steadily. “Bakugou was your target; discrediting U.A. and Pros in general is just a plus.”

Though he’d half-expected it, based on previous reports of Shigaraki’s personality, Hisui still choked when Shigaraki’s hand hit his throat and wrapped under his jaw. He could feel four points of contact, the scrape of cracked finger pads and the painful snag of raggedly bitten nails against his skin. Predictably, the finger Shigaraki had chosen to leave up as a warning was the one just inside Hisui’s range of limited vision.

“Annoying,” Shigaraki growled. “You know what I hate almost as much as Heroes?” He leaned forward so his blood-red eyes glinted between the fingers of his hand-mask. Hisui almost gagged at the smell of him, at the stale smell of rot and death. “Smartass kids like you who think they know everything.”

Hisui swallowed reflexively, felt his throat bob against Shigaraki’s dry palm. Over the thunderous roar of his pulse, he heard the humming click of a TV turning on, and the familiar, deep drone of Shouta’s voice. Hisui had worked behind the scenes of enough Hero ops to know that the media was the best way to misdirect and distract criminals and Villains. If U.A. was holding a press conference now, that meant…

“You know,” Hisui said conversationally, as though his voice wasn’t raspy from the chokehold on his throat, or that his jaw didn’t ache. “You really should’ve done your homework before attacking U.A. again. You’re stupid if you think Bakugou has any desire to become a Villain; that you are capable of persuading him to be one.”

“Damn straight,” Bakugou said, a snarl in his voice.

“And,” Hisui continued, feeling Shigaraki’s fingers flex on his jaw. “If you knew who I am, you wouldn’t be standing so close to me.”

“Arrogant brat— ”

Hisui grabbed Shigaraki’s wrist, the one attached to the hand at his throat, and drained as much stamina as he could. Shigaraki’s hold loosened, allowing Hisui to wrench it away from his jaw just as Bakugou came from the side to blast Shigaraki in the face.

“Take that, asshole!” Bakugou snarled. Shigaraki flew back into the bar counter with enough force to knock the hand-mask off his face. “Like hell you fucks can get me to join you!”

Hisui brushed a hand against Bakugou’s bare arm, transferring some stamina over to the kid. He exhaled softly in relief as the nausea he usually felt when overstocking on stamina receded. Bakugo didn’t react to the boost, though Hisui hadn’t expected him to; the kid was probably too hyped up on adrenaline to notice it.

“Hold up,” said the scarred guy, leashing the tension that was ready to spill over into an all-out brawl. The tension felt tangible, like invisible rubber bands everybody in the room was straining against. The anticipation of a fight electrified the air and made him, and it looked like everyone else, twitchy. “Let me check somethin’.”

To Hisui’s knowledge, there wasn’t an indicator for when he drained stamina from, or transferred stamina to other people. He knew his eyes glowed when he used Regeneration on himself or others, but his Quirk overall was subtle, compared to Granny Chiyo’s.

Apparently, that slight contact with Bakugou was enough of a tell for one of the Villains.

Scarred Guy shifted closer, stopping a safe distance away as he tilted his head and gave Hisui a onceover. Hisui would’ve classified his gaze as “appraising,” if he didn’t recognize the beginnings of a leer on the guy’s face. A leer, Hisui had discovered in his second year of high school, caused a person’s lips — guy or girl — to tug at a very specific, sharp angle upwards, so that a smile or a grin became suggestive instead of sincere. Seeing one never failed to make his skin crawl.

But Scarred Guy’s leer made Hisui’s skin prickle, like he’d been out in the cold for too long and was suddenly getting warmed up. It was a surprisingly not unpleasant sensation.

“Yep. Thought I recognized him,” Scarred Guy said in a self-satisfied drawl.

“Don’t be an asshole.” The second masked guy, the one with a dual-colored mask, shoved Scarred Guy’s shoulder. “Say who he is already!”

“Chill, man.” Scarred Guy shoved Dual-Colored Mask back. “You’re Jinx, aren’t you?” he said to Hisui. “Rumor has it you’re related to Recovery Girl.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Hisui smiled tightly. “But yes, I’m Jinx. I’m surprised you recognize me.”

Though he’d never checked his rank, Hisui was certain he fell rather low on the Chart. It gave him a certain degree of anonymity, which he appreciated, since unlike the popular Pros — such as Toshi-san and the Top 10 — it meant he wouldn’t have enemies. Hisui could go around in public like an average civilian; or in his case, like a normal, twenty-year-old college student.

He had no idea how Scarred Guy was able to recognize him, much less manage to hear a “rumor” about his connection with Granny Chiyo. The guy was either really good at gathering intel, or there was a security breach. Most likely, there was a breach. If they — the Heroes and the Police Force — were lucky, then it was the same breach that resulted in the U.S.J. attack and this one, an attack on a secure, need-to-know high school training camp hosted by a team of Pros.

But Hisui knew better than to bank his hope on luck in this business. Toshi-san was a prime example of how Heroes didn’t always come out on top; or sometimes, even when they did, it didn’t always feel like a victory.

“I watched you work, a couple years ago. Gotta say, you’ve filled out since then.” Scarred Guy’s gaze lingered on Hisui’s chest.

Belatedly, Hisui realized the neckline of his shirt had been ripped at some point between the Villains’ initial attack in the forest and his capture. It was a good thing he wasn’t a girl; the tear exposed his collarbone, and dipped low enough on his chest to be considered indecent. Hisui traced his fingers along the jagged tear of the fabric pressed to his chest, and felt the familiar, warm stickiness of blood. The cut had already healed, but it must’ve been fairly deep if the leftover blood was still warm. He was also very aware of how Scarred Guy’s eyes followed his fingers, and the heat in them. Hisui didn’t know what Scarred Guy found attractive about him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use it to his advantage.

“You… You fucking smug bastard,” Shigaraki growled as he unsteadily pulled himself out of the bar counter, adjusting the placement of the hand-mask on his face. “Are you fucking flirting right now?”

“Well,” Scarred Guy shrugged, “it’s not like we’re doin’ much now, right?”

Shigaraki looked ready to dust his own teammate; or was Scarred Guy a subordinate? In any case, the other Villains seemed to be distracted by their byplay. Hisui caught Bakugou’s eye and nodded.

They lunged at the same time. Bakugou aimed for Dual-Colored Mask, while Hisui went for Compress. The black mist guy and Compress had to be taken out first, since Mist Guy could keep him and Bakugou trapped in this room, while Compress could capture them again.

Compress nimbly leapt up to dodge Hisui’s kick, steadying his hat as he landed. “Dabi never did mention what your Quirk is,” he said mildly as he darted forward with an outstretched arm.

Hisui diverted Compress’ path with a block to the forearm, and followed up with quick jabs to several pressure points in reach. “Figuring it out is half the fun.”

Compress jumped back, out of reach, and inspected the arm hanging limply at his side. “You really are a jinx, aren’t you?”

A black blur rammed into Hisui’s side before he could respond, and shoved him against the wall farthest from the commotion Bakugou was causing. Hisui gasped, and in the handful of seconds he was disoriented, found himself pinned to the wall by Scarred Guy — Dabi.

Dabi’s hands were dry and rough against Hisui’s wrists, but it was a dry roughness different from Shigaraki’s. Where Shigaraki’s skin was cracked like a craggy rock face, Dabi’s was smoother, like flint or wood ready to spark into flame.

Dabi smiled lazily as he pressed close to Hisui without actually making contact. The thin space between their bodies did nothing to diminish the intense, almost overwhelming heat emanating from Dabi. He had a fire Quirk, if Hisui remembered right; he could blast blue fire from his hands. Hisui had never had his hands burned off before, but there was a first time for everything. It wasn’t like he had a choice. He inhaled deeply to gather himself, and—

“Ah ah ah,” Dabi chided, tightening his hands around Hisui’s wrists like flexible steel bands. Metal piercings dug uncomfortable grooves into Hisui’s skin, and Dabi’s grip seemed to grind the fine bones of his wrists together. “Don’t even think about it, sweetheart. Can’t have you and Explosion boy over there wreckin’ the place up; though it’d make my day to see Hands-Freak flip his shit some more.”

Bakugou was doing well so far keeping the other Villains busy, and Compress was off to the side with Mist Guy, nursing his arm…or he was waiting for an opening to use his Quirk on Bakugou. It was hard to tell, with the mask. Since Bakugou seemed fine for now, Hisui decided it was worth trying to use Dabi’s strange fascination with him to angle for information.

“You don’t like Shigaraki,” Hisui noted, letting his arms go loose and pliant in Dabi’s hands. Dabi hummed and shifted closer; he smelled like smoke and burnt wood. If Hisui wanted, it wouldn’t take any effort at all to tear his teeth into Dabi’s throat, or follow the piercing-lined seam of pale skin and scarred purple flesh with his tongue. “Why— Why’re you working with him, then?” he asked, suddenly more aware of Dabi.

“I know what you’re doin’,” Dabi said, amusement coloring his voice and glinting in his bright blue eyes. This close, Dabi’s eyes looked unnaturally blue, like his eyes were stained glass that had a fire burning from inside. Hisui was startled to notice how pretty they were, and if they’d belonged to anyone other than a Villain, he would’ve said so aloud. But Dabi was a Villain, and Hisui had three main priorities: gather information, protect Bakugou, and get them both out of here.

“Yeah?” Hisui held Dabi’s half-lidded gaze steadily, ignoring how his stomach was twisting into knots that had no business showing up during a fight. “Is it working?”

“Saa,” Dabi sighed, dipping his head closer to nose Hisui’s jaw. “If only we’d met anywhere else…”

Hisui clenched his jaw. It was adrenaline, he sternly told himself, the anticipation for a fight, that was making his heart race. Over Dabi’s shoulder, he could see Bakugou getting herded to one side of the room, the side closest to the door. The Villains were confident in their ability — or Mist Guy’s ability — to keep Bakugou contained, if they were letting him get so close to freedom.

“I’m here ‘cause I wanna uphold Stain’s ideals.” Dabi pulled back enough to catch Hisui’s gaze again. He tilted his head a bit, causing the dull lighting to shimmer off the three small studs that pierced his right nostril.

“And you think Shigaraki’s the way to do that?” Hisui asked, skeptical.

“Sweetheart,” Dabi said, sounding much too bitter for his age; and Hisui would know, since he’d grown up around jaded Heroes from Gran Torino’s era. “Guys like me gotta work with what we get.”

Dabi’s phrasing raised a few flags, but Hisui wasn’t in any position to work through them. It was time to get himself free and help out Bakugou, since the kid sounded like he was in trouble.

Hisui balanced on the soles of his feet — Dabi’s hands tightened again on his wrists, but allowed the movement — and leaned in to whisper, “Can you work with this?”

He gently nosed the line of piercings and wrinkled purple skin on Dabi’s cheek, copying his earlier gesture. Dabi shivered and seemed to strain under his touch; when Hisui paused at Dabi’s lips, his breath hitched noticeably. His behavior was odd: weren’t Villains supposed to do whatever they wanted, when they wanted?

Without meeting Dabi’s eyes, Hisui carefully pressed their lips together. It felt…different. Dabi’s top lip felt like normal skin, lightly chapped; his bottom lip was rougher, drier, but still soft, like old leather.

Dabi went still against him— and that was good, it was the reaction Hisui wanted. Growing up around Granny Chiyo and watching her work decreased the meaning, the emotional value of kisses for Hisui. A kiss was supposed to mean affection, and in some instances, it did; but to Hisui, a kiss primarily meant healing. While Hisui mainly activated his Quirk using his hands, he was able to do so with his lips too, since, as Granny Chiyo liked to remind him, his Quirk was an evolved form of her own. And that didn’t just mean his healing ability was stronger.

But before Hisui could drain any stamina, Dabi surged forward. He pried Hisui’s lips apart, and suddenly his tongue was in Hisui’s mouth, hot and wet and demanding. Dabi was everywhere: pressed against him, inside of him, and Hisui had to remind himself to breathe before he could think about using his Quirk. Dabi’s piercings suddenly scraped against his chin and dug into Hisui’s wrists, the latter a startling reminder that snapped Hisui out of the heated daze Dabi had overwhelmed him with. Hisui latched onto Dabi’s tongue, curling his own around it as he started draining stamina.

Dabi caught on to what was happening faster than Hisui anticipated, and pulled away with a sharp inhale. “Fuck…” he growled, his voice rough and sounding like it was pulled out of him as he swayed a bit.

Hisui had taken less stamina from Dabi than he liked, but he made it work. He twisted his wrists free and kicked Dabi into another Villain, the lizard guy. He panted and struggled to regain enough of his composure so he could enter the fight as well.

Then there was a knock on the door, a fake pizza delivery, and Toshi-san burst into the room through the wall a few feet away from him, leading a charge of Pros.

Hisui relaxed a little, because he didn’t have to be on the front lines anymore. He inhaled shakily, and felt steadier as he exhaled. Once he stopped trembling, Hisui pushed off the wall and made his way to Toshi-san.

“Toshi-san,” Hisui greeted, nodding as he stopped near Bakugou.

“Hisui-chan!” Toshi-san beamed. “I’m glad to see you and young Bakugou didn’t suffer any serious injuries while you were held captive. Though, Hisui-chan, you do seem to have some blood, right here…” He swiped a thumb along his lower lip.

“Ah.” Hisui copied the motion with his tongue. He tasted the familiar metallic tang of blood, and tried not to think about Dabi’s lips on his. “Must’ve bit my lip, or something. Anyways, Toshi-san, you know I can’t get serious injuries,” he said, amused.

Toshi-san laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “Well, that doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned!”

“True,” Hisui allowed, grinning. He turned to Bakugou, who was watching their conversation with interest. “How’re you doing, Bakugou?”

“…Fine,” he said gruffly, briefly meeting Hisui’s gaze and then looking away. “Thanks for taking care of me, senpai.”

“You can call me Hisui.” Hisui carefully placed a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, and when the kid didn’t tense up or move away, gently squeezed it. “After what we’ve been through together, I think you’ve earned that much, at least.”

Bakugou met Hisui’s gaze, and nodded. There was a glimmer of respect in his eyes, in the relaxed lines of his face and the slouch of his shoulders. Bakugou really was an amazing kid, for keeping himself together as much as he had so far. Hisui hadn’t kept his head nearly as well, the first time he’d gotten abducted; and he hadn’t been abducted by Villains under All For One, just a bunch of white-collar criminals trying to set up some kind of healing Quirk enterprise.

“You both did well!” Toshi-san clapped a hand on each of their shoulders, jostling them both. “And Hisui-chan, Aizawa-kun insisted I give you these. Just in case.” He fiddled with an armband on his right bicep that Hisui hadn’t noticed earlier, unclasped it, and offered it over.

“…Thanks,” Hisui said dryly, taking his utility belt and clipping it around his waist. He was grateful Toshi-san had brought it; he’d left the belt in his room back at the lodge, since he hadn’t thought he’d need it while supervising Class 1-B in the forest during the Test of Courage. Even though the Villains were subdued, he felt better now that he was armed. But he was a little annoyed that Toshi-san had worn it looped twice around his bicep so it clung snugly to the bulge of the largest muscle there, and that he hadn’t recognized his own utility belt while Toshi-san was wearing it like some kind of fashion accessory.

Everything seemed to be wrapping up nicely. Kamui Woods had all the Villains subdued, Mist Guy was neutralized, Gran Torino had knocked Dabi out during the initial attack when he’d looked ready to set the place on fire, Toshi-san was speaking with Gran Torino, Bakugou was fine…

Bakugou gagged suddenly, and black sludge poured out of his mouth.

“Young Bakugou!” Toshi-san lunged for the kid.

As if following a signal, the same black sludge erupted from all of the Villains’ mouths as well. Belatedly, Hisui realized there was a pressure building inside of him; he hunched over and dry-heaved, trying to alleviate the pressure. Instead of tasting bile in the back of his throat, as he normally would when experiencing this kind of pressure, there was something equally acidic and disgustingly viscous forcing its way out of his mouth.

The last thing Hisui saw as he was absorbed into blackness again, was Toshi-san’s stricken, furious face.

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

Notes: Originally posted 3/30/2019

Next up, the showdown with AFO!

I've been wanting to write some Dabi/Hisui for a while now, but I couldn't figure out how I wanted to go about it... Then a couple of months ago I came up with three fic ideas for this pairing.

Anyways, this fic'll is in Hisui's POV. Dabi probably won't do much in the next chapter (since he's K.O.ed courtesy of Gran Torino), but he'll be back up and causing mayhem soon!

Thanks for reading!