#its MY blog and i get to be cringe

[laylaisthename]

you know im down bad when im actually posting my fics on tumblr.

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Lincoln McQuoid/M!MC || SFW || 3900 words :pensive: ||

Fic about two guys with terrible birthday experiences that are trying to do better. Set in a theoretical time after everything's been resolved. Timeline doesnt exactly match up since we're probably like a week away in game from Linc’s birthday but uuuh just pretend ok.

tw; mentions of under (american) age drinking (idk im european and he's 18 so its fine to me) 

"Lincooooln." Horus calls lazily from the couch.

"What?"

"You know what day it is?"

Lincoln pads into the living room, his eyes narrowing at Horus. "The day the Elric brothers set their house on fire?"

Horus snorts, "Of course you would say that you weeb. Aaaand...what else is today?"

Lincoln sighs. "Who told you?"

"I'll let you take one guess at who'd be texting me about your well-being."

He buries his face in his hands and lets out another deep, soul-weary sigh.

"Abel says to tell you 'happy birthday' and to make sure that, quote 'he doesn't spend the whole day moping around his apartment alone watching daytime tv and getting drunk.' unquote. Ouch. You really spend your birthdays like that?"

There's a thoughtful frown on Lincoln's face, a look that Horus knows a little too well by now. He opens his arms invitingly, and a small smile plays on Lincoln's lips as he moves to join him on the couch, resting against his chest.

"Bad birthday memories?" Horus asks.

"Melancholic ones. I told you what happened on my seventh birthday. My mom still tried after that but it just... hasn't been the same since. And then I lost touch with Abel, and she..." his words trail off. 

Horus' voice is quiet when he responds. "I know. I'm sorry." 

Unsure of what else to say he simply wraps Lincoln in his arms. Instinctively Horus' eyes flicker to the empty spot on the wall where Silvia's portrait used to hang, a pang of guilt lancing through his heart. He must have apologized a thousand and one times already, but it still never felt like enough. Sometimes he catches Linc glancing over too, expecting it to still be there- for her to still be there. 

His thumb subconsciously moves to twist at his mother's ring. It was a feeling he knew well. 

"Okay I'm gonna be real depressing here," he starts, "but stay with me on this. Every year on my birthday my dad used to take us to this nice Egyptian restaurant. I'd get baklava and chocolate cake and some damn good chicken and then we'd go home and watch any movie of my choice, so we'd usually end up watching A New Hope again."

"And you're calling me a weeb? Nerd."

"Shut up, I'm being genuine here for once in my fucking life. Anyway. Point is. We'd get dinner, watch a movie together, I got some gifts, and it was the best day I could wish for. Then after... everything happened, Amalia and her parents took me out somewhere." He takes a moment to gather himself. Talking about the past five years was still hard at times, actually telling the truth of his hurt rather than lie and say he was fine. "I spent my eighteenth birthday crying my eyes out on the floor of a restaurant bathroom. Told Lia I got food poisoning, but I knew she didn't buy it. Next birthday was barely any better. Amalia was off to college by then, so me and my new best friend 'Fake ID' hit up every bar in town for a free drink for the birthday boy. I vaguely remember making out with some hot girl in a bathroom stall, but mostly I just remember feeling incredibly alone. And, well, nauseous."

"Is this story going anywhere or are you rambling?"

"Right. I'm trying to be profound. Well, tl;dr, birthdays sucked. At 20 I ignored my birthday and 21 I got shitfaced again, but this time legally. Then this year I happened to find myself in the area after a hunt. So I walked into that Egyptian restaurant, I got myself dinner and some baklava, found the nearest movie theater and watched, uh," he falls quiet for a moment, thinking hard, "I don't remember the movie's name, it was pretty forgettable I'll be honest. But it was the best day I'd had in longer than I'd like to admit. Whenever I closed my eyes I could almost feel my family sitting next to me. My dad's lame jokes, my mom's laughter. Annie stealing food off my plate when she thought I wasn't looking..." Horus is quiet for a moment. "Sorry, I'm making it about me again."

Lincoln turns over in his arms to face him. "It's alright. Honor their memory instead of burying it deep, right?"

"Yeah. But, if you do wanne just laze around all day and watch shitty movies I'm down for that too." he tightens his arms around him a little. 

Lincoln hums, lying his head back down on Horus' chest, and he wonders if Lincoln could hear how his heart raced. Neither of them would spend another birthday alone if he had any say in it. They lay there a little while longer in comforting quiet.

Lincoln rouses after a while, quieting Horus' whine with an achingly sweet kiss as he heaves himself off the couch. "I think I know what I want to do today."

***

Their first stop was Westchester Elementary. Lincoln hadn't told Horus what exactly they'd be up to, wanting it to be a surprise. It was a warm autumn day, the warmth of summer not quite gone yet. 

The sounds of children playing outside  accompanied by a quiet ambiance of rustling leaves and birds' song. It was strange how nice Westchester could be when horrible men and creatures weren't actively terrorizing it. 

"So, this is where baby Linc took his first steps into becoming a menace to society?" 

He rolls his eyes, but smiles regardless, "You know Russ, I don't actually know much about what you were like as a kid." 

"Me? A model student once they got me to stop cutting up my clothes." 

"That's what I thought." he holds out his hand, and by now it's second nature for Horus to grasp it as they walk along. Lincoln leads them to the side of the building, stopping before they round the corner. 

"Close your eyes for me?" 

For me.

The gentleness in Linc's voice over shadows any dirty jokes in Horus' mind. He simply smiles, "Alright." letting Lincoln lead him a little further away with his eyes closed. 

He stops Horus, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning him around. 

"Okay, now, open your eyes." 

So he does. And before him, Horus sees something that was-

A stunningly painted mural adorned the old plaster, a deep indigo blue of a night sky, swirling into the yellows and pinks of dawn. Against that backdrop was the silhouette of a woman, leading a chain of children of different ages toward the light of a new day under a bright shining star. More stars dotted the dark sky, painted in such a way that they almost seem to shimmer in the sunlight. Among them Horus managed to recognize a few constellations; the Scales of Libra, Aries the Ram, the Eagle Aquila, the Archer Orion-

His eyes flit to Lincoln, who in turn is watching him with searching eyes and a kind smile. 

"It's gorgeous." Horus says after another breath. It was hard to put into words, but it felt as if a hopeful wish had been put into every brushstroke. 

Having apparently found what he was looking for, Lincoln turns to the mural. "My mother painted this. She told me she started the first draft a few weeks after she found out she was pregnant. The actual mural didn't go up until I enrolled here, and I got special permission to 'help' her out during recess." 

They walk up close, where painted in white, surprisingly neat, yet childish letters;

LINCOLN & 

and then in a beautiful curling script;

Silvia McQuoid

Lincoln traces his fingers along the letters, closing his eyes, a smile painting his lips. 

"There's more murals like these all around town. She'd always say this was her way of giving back a little kindness into the world. Something to inspire people." his eyes open again, looking up at the silhouette. "A couple were painted before I was born, but I loved coming along whenever I could. She always insisted that even if I just painted a single line, that I'd put my name up next to hers."

"She sounds awesome, wish I could have met her."

"She would have loved you, I'm sure of it." 

Horus laughs, "Ha! You're just saying that because I'm your boyfriend." 

Lincoln bumps his shoulder, "I mean it, Russ. Someone so full of life like you? She'd be making wedding plans after our first date." 

Horus was not a shy or bashful man by a long shot, so the blush creeping up to his ears and the sudden stutter in his throat caught him off guard. His eyes flick over to Lincoln, who also seems to realize what he'd said with a start. He didn't want to read into it too much, his racing mind already looking for a way to change the topic, but a small voice in the back of his head tells him that if Lincoln had asked him right here, right now, that he would not mind at all. But then a suitable deflection comes to mind, blurted out a little too tense, a little too fast. 

"I already promised to take you out for dinner today, no need to butter me up."

"Maybe I'm hoping to get free dessert too." 

"I dunno, you find me a dark and quiet corner and I can get right on that if you're so impatient." 

"At an elementary school? Really?" 

"Ah, you're right. So are we going to your highschool next? Behind the bleachers maybe." 

Lincoln laughs again, "Speaking of dinner, there's a few more murals I wanted to show you. Come on." Linc turns to head back to the motorcycle. 

It was like a light bulb flickering to life over Horus' head as he realized exactly what he would get Lincoln for his birthday. He pulls out his phone, sending out a dozen texts as they walk, nearly missing the helmet Linc tosses him. 

The last message is off and confirmed by the time they reach the second mural, and hours blur by as they ride all over Westchester. Every painting is somehow more gorgeous than the last, accompanied by anecdotes from Lincoln about inspirations, color choices, meanings. It was something incredibly dear to his heart, anyone could tell. 

Horus steps up close to Lincoln, leaving a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

"For what?" 

"Sharing this with me. But," he reaches his hand into Linc's back pocket, pulling out the motor keys, "I have a surprise for you too." 

Lincoln raises a brow, but doesn't make to grab for the keys. "Where are we going exactly?" 

"Ah-ah, wouldn't be a surprise anymore if I told you. But it's close by, I promise."

***

It's a short drive over. Horus parks the motor out on the side of the road, walking ahead down an alleyway to the back. 

And as his friends had promised, strewn around a blank wall was everything needed to paint a mural of their own. 

Brushes in all sizes, a dozen different colors of paint, lights that illuminated a smooth, blank canvas waiting to be filled. Off to the side lay a cooler filled with drinks, and a bag full of takeout food. 

"But how…?"

Horus counts it off on his fingers, "Had Connor call in some favors at city hall for the permit, Lia brought the food, Joss got us drinks, Dee and Noah took care of the supplies, aaand," Horus lets out a sharp whistle, and Abel appears from around the corner carrying a cake, followed by the rest of their merry little gang. A chorus of "Happy birthday, Lincoln." rises from the group. Joss rolls her eyes. 

"I'm just here for the cake." she nods her head toward Abel. 

Linc's eyes grow wide."Is that…?" 

"My mom's recipe? Yeah, I promised, didn't I?" 

Horus pulls a lighter from his pocket, lighting the candles. 

"Happy birthday to you." Abel starts, and Horus, Amalia, Connor and Dee are quick to join in, "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Lincoln, happy birthday to youuu." 

The look in Lincoln's eyes is part horrified, part touched and wholly embarrassed as the song comes to an end. 

"C'mon make a wish." 

Lincoln walks up and thinks for a moment, and if Horus wasn't head over heels before, then the way that the candlelight flickered in Linc's eyes surely would have done the trick now. The moment passes as he closes his eyes, blowing out the candles in one big breath. 

"Let's see if this cake lives up to the hype." Noah walks up, knife in hand, offering it to Lincoln to cut the first piece. 

Abel looks offended, "You doubt my baking skills?" 

"Cut him some slack," Connor says, "being a ghost for a few years made him forget his manners." 

Noah just shrugs, taking back the knife to cut up pieces for the rest as Lincoln takes the first one. 

The silence is broken by an incredibly inappropriate moan from Lincoln that almost sets something off in Horus. But that would have to wait until he had him all to himself.

"Just as good as you remember?" Abel says, unable to keep a large, goofy grin off his face. 

"Better somehow." he takes another large bite. 

Horus is handed a piece next and wastes no time shoving a large piece into his mouth. "Oh shit, this is good." Agreements ring out as everyone digs in. Their impromptu party is however quite short lived.

"As much as I wish I could stay," Abel says, "I was in the middle of grading papers that I really need to finish by tomorrow."

 Amalia pipes up, "I should go too, I got a long drive ahead to get back in time for my lectures tomorrow if I want to get any sleep. Cake was totally worth it, though." 

Connor walks up to Dee and Noah, slinging his arms around their shoulders. "The three of us promised Harper we'd stop by tonight to check something out, so we should get going too." 

Jocelyn grabs another bite off the last slice of cake. "And I'm not hanging around to play third wheel to these two, so bye."

Horus waves her off. "Good night, Joss." 

"Night, Red. Keep the old man’s spine intact.”

“Old man? I’m not even 30 yet.” Lincoln replies.

“I make no promises about his ability to walk tomorrow.”

Jocelyn grins, “Nice.” and heads off.

Abel hangs back for a moment, watching the others leave. He walks over to Lincoln, whose eyes still betray his feelings of guilt. Apologies were exchanged a while ago, but Horus could tell that Lincoln still had a hard time letting go of the hurt he caused. 

"Abel, I-" but his words are cut off as Abel envelopes him in a hug. Lincoln hesitates for a moment, before hugging him back. 

Abel lets him go, a kind smile on his face. "Happy birthday, old friend." he turns to Horus, giving him a nod, and Horus nods back. 

And just like that it was only the two of them left again. Horus polishes the last crumbs off his plate, quietly thanking Abel and his mother for what was maybe the best cake he'd had, ever. 

Lincoln walks up and hugs him tightly, burying his face in Russ' neck. And now it was Horus' turn to stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do, before he returns the gesture. 

"Thank you," the words are a quiet murmur against the crook of his shoulder. "Thank you."

"I'm glad you like it." 

"No, I liked spending the day with you. You doing this for me? I love it. I-" he hesitates on the word. Lincoln pulls back a bit, cupping Russ' face in his hands. "It means a lot to me. I just don't know what to paint." 

He pulls him in for a kiss, short and sweet. But being pressed up against Lincoln's back all day on the motorcycle has left Horus with a desire for something more than that. He walks Lincoln backwards until his back hits the empty plaster wall, nearly tripping over a bucket of paint in his haste. He opens his mouth, and it was delicious, both of them still tasting of whipped cream and cake. 

Lincoln flips them, so Russ' back is now to the wall and pulls back. A groan escapes him as he leans forward after Lincoln, 

"Don't move." he places another kiss along his jaw. 

"Hm?" 

"I just figured out what I want to paint."

Horus stood there, chest heaving, pupils blown wide. "You're just going to leave me like this?" 

He laughs, a bright and joyful sound, "I didn't exactly bring lube along." 

"I'll run to the corner store and make the most suspicious purchase of my fucking life, I'll even throw in some roses, don't test me."

Lincoln comes back with a bucket of paint and brush in hand. "You can do whatever you want to me back at my apartment. Just keep still." 

He opens the can, a deep blue, and gets to work tracing an outline around Horus, lingering around his hands, leaving kisses as he goes along. Up his arm, over his shoulder, a kiss under his ear. 

"You're making it very hard to stand still, you know." 

"Better keep at it. Don't want to get paint in your hair- hold out your hand a little."

Horus does as asked, moving as little as possible, as Lincoln traces the paint over his head and down his right side. 

Lincoln steps back, admiring his handiwork- or maybe admiring Horus. With the way his eyes darted around it was hard to tell. He turns, reaching for a new brush and another can of bright red paint. It doesn't escape Russ that it's the same shade as the color of his hair. Lincoln holds them out for him to take. 

Horus shakes his head "I'm not much of an artist."

"Just the rough outline, I'll take care of the details." Lincoln stands with his back against the wall, hand overlapping with the silhouette of Horus beside him. 

"Alright, fine. For the birthday boy." 

Horus then realized that he probably had not held a paintbrush in his hands in a decade, if not more. He wasn't nervous per se, but still very cautiously went to work, part of him afraid to mess it all up. He kneels down to get started by Lincoln's legs. The red paint stands in stark contrast against the gray wall, overflow dripping down, and suddenly Horus freezes. 

His hands shake, breath catching in his throat, whole body tense and ready to spring. Blood dripping down the brush, out of a creature's mouth, covering his hands his eyes seeping into his chest the ground thick in the air-

A hand clamps on his arm and distantly his name reaches his ears -"Russ!"- his father telling him to run, Annie calling after him- he tries to pull away, hand balling into a fist so tight that his knuckles ran white, nails digging into his palm, fight or flight instincts setting in and he was afraid and wanted to, no had to fight there was no one else left-

"Horus!" Lincoln's hands frame his face, forcing him to look into his eyes. 

"I'm-" the word comes out as a ragged breath. Adrenaline ebbs out, his heart still racing at a thousand miles a minute, but he was back in the here and now at least. Realizing what had just happened, Horus slaps on his trademark grin, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. "I'll get lost in your eyes like this." 

"You're shaking." 

His hands still tremble a bit as he pries himself loose, "Low blood sugar, you know how it is. Maybe we should eat some of the take-out before it goes completely cold." he drops the brush back into the bucket, avoiding looking at it too closely. 

"Horus-"

"There's one with chicken and one with beef, which do you want?"

Lincoln wraps himself around him from behind, plucking the beef noodles from the bag. "Talk to me, Russ. You were gone for a moment there." 

Horus hops up onto a crate, opening his food up, his voice quiet, but finding its confidence as he talks. "Ugh. It doesn't usually happen, red is my favorite color, and I've seen worse whenever I need to dye my hair again- seriously makes my bathroom look like someone died there." he lets out a breath, combing his fingers through his hair, "but, I guess the paint just… took me off guard. I'll be fine after I eat something." 

Lincoln sits next to him, frowning, 

"I should have realized-" 

"Don't. Don't start pitying me or, fuckin' saying its your fault. We were just making such good progress in getting you to stop blaming everything on yourself-" 

"That's not true," Linc says matter-of-fact, "I blame plenty on Matthias." 

Horus laughs. "True. But, yeah. I don't want my little episode to ruin this. I won't let it." He nods over, gesturing for Lincoln to go stand at the wall once they're done eating. 

His hand still shakes a little as he traces the outline around him, but everything was further from Horus' mind now. Focus on the motions, focus on his warmth, his voice-

"Look at that. You're a natural." Lincoln says as he draws the final line, vaguely linking the hands of the silhouettes together. 

"Are you gonna start pulling out gold stars next, or what?" He grabs himself a soda from the cooler, and a beer for Lincoln,

"Is that something I'll need to keep in mind?" 

"Everyone likes being told they're doing a good job, no? Don't worry about the drinking by the way, I'll drive us back." 

"Sure, but if I start lamenting about Naruto, cut me off." 

"No, please tell me more about how Naruto and that black haired guy were totally in love." 

"Oh, like you're any better about your space movies." 

"I just have a lot of feelings about the Clones, okay!" 

Conversation flows and time flies as Horus watches Lincoln get to work. It was mesmerizing to see how the piece came together, stroke by stroke; two silhouettes, hand in hand with a ribbon tying their hands together. Horus' figure set in a royal blue, Lincoln framed by an explosive red, the tie that binds them red on one side, blue on the other. The message rang clear; I’m a part of you, you’re a part of me.

"Now all that's left," Lincoln cracks open a black can of paint, dipping in a smaller brush. "is signing it."

He signs his name in beautiful curling letters;

Lincoln & 

Before holding out the brush to Horus, who glady, if a bit messily, adds his name underneath;

Horus Asar

[necrophiliak]

[omgcatboi]

I don't often post my non kink related art but I'm tryna get the attention of someone else in the community and am too shy and cringe to reach out so. Here, have this portrait I did of Hanzo Shimada. With my finger. On ibis paint. This took me four hours. Progress for proof below.

[slightlyunconventional]

long overdue second dbhwks fic (2.8k)

SLAVED AWAY at this for days (i didnt. i could have done it in one but i procrastinated so much it’s unbelievable. but heres some food) quite happy w how it came out too if i do say so myself,, hope u enjoy!! 🫶

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“Sorry I’m late.” Dabi. He’s picked the damn lock again. 

“Oh my god, do you seriously not know how to knock?” Hawks calls back, practically skipping into the living room. 

“Don’t wanna stand around outside your door like a creep, thanks,” deadpans the villain. Hawks rolls his eyes.

“You look like more of a creep picking the lock, but sure. Come here.”

He takes Dabi by the hand and leads him toward the couch. His fingers are warm, like usual. God, has Hawks missed that. Between hero work, villainy, and conflicting schedules they’d barely had time to see each other and, man, was it miserable. It takes everything in him not to bowl Dabi over with an absolutely suffocating embrace - it’d probably kill the man. 

Dabi raises his eyebrows. “You cleaned?” 

Hawks had expected Dabi to notice, but not point it out, so he’s a little caught off guard by the halfway-question. “Oh, yeah,” he says, a fraction sheepishly, “Is it too much?”

“Mm, no, looks good,” Dabi smirks, “Makes a nice change from all the crap you’ve usually got lying around.” Hawks hits him playfully and he laughs, clear and smooth, not at all like the peals brimming with malice he’d usually hear from Dabi.

“Uuugh, I hate you, leave me alone,” he complains. When Dabi’s eyebrows raise again, Hawks pulls a face and adds, “I’m a busy man! I don’t have time to clean!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m flattered.”

He sits Dabi down on the couch, maybe a little too eagerly, and comes down to straddle the taller man’s lap. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, before pressing his lips to Dabi’s with an urgency that only comes from being deprived of seeing one’s lover for far too long. Dabi loosens underneath Hawks and they quickly fall into a long practised pattern, all pretences dropped for this moment of touch-starved tenderness. Nothing exists outside of this room, everything is so warm, and Hawks melts even more when he feels Dabi smile against his lips.

“Seems like someone missed me,” murmurs the villain, voice sleek and low. The response is simply a hand laced through the dyed-black hair at the back of Dabi’s head, taking hold of him and pulling him closer with nothing short of absolute need. In turn, Dabi’s hands find the small of Hawks’ back, and heat begins to pool in his stomach as they slowly threaten to sneak closer to the bases of his wings. And his lips are warm, so warm, and he always seems to know exactly what to do with them to make Hawks collapse like putty in his hands. For a crazed villain who incinerates shit for fun, Dabi’s a fucking good kisser. 

…And a tease, apparently! Hawks knows that Dabi knows how badly he wants this, and how long he’s been waiting - yet he still seems to be taking his sweet time. He can feel the villain absently tracing circles into his back, with the same pace as his mouth is working against Hawks’. The little shit. He knows exactly what he’s doing; well, two can play at that game. Hawks takes it as a challenge, takes Dabi’s scarred face between his hands, and takes control. He presses closer, kissing the man with some previously unseen vigour, practically forcing him to match the increased pace. A little wave of triumph passes through Hawks as he hears Dabi’s breath catch in the back of his throat, nearly silent, but they’re close enough that nothing can really go unheard. Feeling like he’s succeeded, Hawks goes to indulge further, perhaps elicit some more reactions like that, when he feels Dabi’s hand leave his back. Before he can register it properly, the hand is upon his chest, pushing with some insistence. Hawks pulls away, panicked.

“Oh, shit, fuck, sorry, was that too much?”

The arm Dabi has outstretched towards Hawks’ chest slackens slightly, as do his facial features. He doesn’t reply, but rather his lips part and his eyes glaze over, forming an expression so laced with vulnerability that Hawks is almost taken aback - though, he can’t dwell on the display for long, as he’s quickly instead watching Dabi bring his other hand, curled tightly into a fist, up to his own face and press it most firmly to the underside of his nose. His chest rises once with an inhale not unlike before, only this time a little louder and deeper, and he ducks forward slightly with two slightly-awkwardly stifled sneezes.

“hhahh-! ..hh’nGXT! kxNTsh! Ugh, fuck.”

“Oh!” Hawks says, a little surprised, “Bless you.” A part of him wants to chide the villain for holding it in like that, but he refrains, knowing full well he himself would stifle exactly the same.

Dabi hums in lieu of a thanks, and Hawks returns his hand to his boyfriend’s face and leans back in.

“Can I go back to kissing you now?” he murmurs.

Dabi rolls his eyes but drapes his arms lazily over Hawks’ shoulders, an invitation, yes, you can go back to kissing me now. Their lips interlock once again, picking up where they left off, with Hawks feeling absolutely on top of the world from the fact that he’s doing the work here, he’s the one kissing Dabi, not the other way around. He’s never been opposed to Dabi taking control, in fact he loves being ravaged by the man, but sue him, sometimes it feels good to be the one doing the ravaging. However, his elation at this seems to be poorly concealed, or perhaps Dabi just wants to knock him down a peg, because Hawks feels teeth closing on his bottom lip. Not so hard that it hurts, but just enough to tease an audible gasp from him as he tenses up on Dabi’s lap. He’s fairly certain he’s never needed someone all over him so badly until this point. Clearly it shows, too, since Dabi insists on being such a menace and playing the long game with him. Well, Hawks decides that’s not going to fly; he presses in closer, almost entirely closing the gap between them and slides his other hand behind Dabi’s head, not-so-subtly tugging him closer and kissing him harder, once more regaining the upper hand. He takes to gently thumbing back and forth against the base of Dabi’s neck, to which the man lets out, involuntarily, a little noise of satisfaction, finally accepting submission. Hawks is almost tempted to bite Dabi back, but maybe that’d be pushing his luck. Besides, this side of Dabi - soft, pliant, accepting - is one he rarely sees, and he’s kind of into it. It’s a good look on the villain. 

Before long, however, their rhythm is broken once again. One of the arms laying around Hawks’ neck begins to move, and the hand meets his shoulder. Hawks has a sneaking feeling he knows what’s coming (for the second time), as Dabi’s hand pushes against his shoulder - slowly, though, as if he’s really trying to prolong the inevitable. It really doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away, so Hawks does it for him, gently separates their faces, strangely endeared by Dabi’s reluctance - and it seems he did so at exactly the right moment. Being so close to him, Hawks can easily see the way his face immediately crumples, eyes flickering shut and lips parting with an inhale that sounded as though it had been waiting to be drawn for… a while. In a split second, he’s tugging the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand with some urgency, and Hawks catches the flare of his nostrils right before he pinches his nose, clamping the thick black fabric over the bottom half of his face. There’s hardly six inches between the two of them, so Dabi twists awkwardly to the side with a set of cruelly stifled sneezes.

“hh’GKTtch! ‘KXXSHh! Ugh, god– h-hahH’KGXt’sh!”

They sound harsher this time around, harder to stifle, probably.

“Bless,” says Hawks, “You okay?”

“Mm… yeah, just something really… stings,” Dabi replies. He’s knuckling the side of his nose with some force.

“You’re, uh, not getting sick are you?” Hawks asks, unable to conceal the tinge of nervousness that seeps into his tone. As much as he loves the man, he’s got some long days on patrol coming up soon, and a cold from Dabi would severely compromise him.

Dabi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not that much of an asshole, Kei.”

“Right-! Yeah, no, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t really think there.” Hawks grimaces internally at himself, and Dabi shakes his head.

“Ugh, Jesus, hold on–” He turns away again, breath wavering, “hehh’nGXKt!” A shaky exhale escapes from him as he releases his nose.

“So, what’s got you all worked up, then?” asks Hawks, teasing.

Dabi half-sighs, half-groans, and replies, “Don’t know, but I wish it would fucking stop.” As if for emphasis, the sentence is punctuated with an irritated-sounding sniffle.

“Well, it probably would if you stopped stifling like that,” Hawks says pointedly. That earns him a hazy blue-eyed glare… that doesn’t last long, since Dabi’s squinting again, and his mouth curls up into the beginnings of something akin to a snarl. Hawks smirks as he ducks into the crook of his sweater-clad elbow to muffle yet another sneeze.

“hehH’DSHHh’uh! What the fuck?”

At least he didn’t stifle it.

Hawks hums. “Bless you.” He sends a feather to retrieve a box of tissues, then decides the villain probably also needs some space, so he manoeuvres himself gracelessly off Dabi’s lap to sit beside him on the couch. 

“Very elegant,” Dabi remarks.

“Ugh, shut up,” he replies, elbowing Dabi in the ribs. The laugh this elicits almost straight away rises into a staggered gasp, that itself turns into a pair of hastily covered sneezes.

“hhahH’KXXTshuh! hh’huuhh’DZSHHhue!”

“Jeez, bless you.”

Dabi sniffles thickly. “Yeah.”

Hawks’ feather zips back into the room and drops a box of tissues into Dabi’s lap - the thicker, softer ones that the hero always insists on buying despite them being double the price of regular ones. 

“Sounds like they’re getting stronger,” Hawks observes, a note of concern in his tone, but then adds, more teasingly, “Not allergic to me, are you?”

Dabi scoffs and tugs a couple of tissues from the box. “I wish,” he says, scrubbing at his nose. “Then I’d actually have an excuse to avoid your annoying ass.”

“Wow, okay, that was so uncalled for. Just say you hate me at that point.”

It’s Dabi’s turn to elbow Hawks back. He probably deserves it. 

 “Ow, bitch,” he says in mock offence. 

“You’re the bitch,” comes the reply, from behind a handful of tissues (which are then promptly screwed up and tossed, flying in a neat arc, straight into the trash on the other side of the room). 

“Whatever, bitch. Are you done sneezing yet? This couch isn’t as comfy as your thighs-”

“Ugh, shut up, you are so weird,” Dabi interjects in fond disgust. 

“Oh my god, what if you’re allergic to my apartment being clean? Then I never have to clean ever again, hah!”

Dabi gives him a look. “You say that as a joke, but honestly, you migh-might be right…hh.. hehH’KXNTtsh’uh!”

Dabi’s expression falls midway through his sentence, brows drawing together and eyes narrowing as he gives into another sneeze, hastily half-stifled against the back of his hand.

“Seriously,” Hawks deadpans, eyebrows raised. That’s new, he thinks.

“Well, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a pet cat - which I doubt - then yeah, seriously,” says the villain flatly, though with a note of congestion starting to creep into his voice. “Last I checked, your place didn’t reek of fuckin’ –all of spring and then some.” 

Hawks suddenly remembers the air freshener he’d used–the only one he had, some floral one found right at the back of a cupboard, unused for entirely too long. He hadn’t had a clue what clean apartments were supposed to smell of, so he’d sort of just… went ham with it. Definitely a mistake.

“Don’t slander my choice in scents,” he teases, “Are you sure it’s… that?”

“Nothing else changed ‘round here, has it?” Dabi pauses to give his nose a brief rub. “I’m here practically every week and I’ve been fine, so, you tell me.”

Hawks will never not poke the bear when he’s got the opportunity, so he says, “So this does mean I never have to clean the place ever again, right?”

Dabi’s mouth falls open as he feigns offence. He says, dramatically, “Wow. That’s all you have to say? When I could literally die right now in front of you? I’m.. hah- I’m-”

Hawks snickers. “Bless you,” he sing-songs prematurely, utterly pleased with himself. It’s almost cute, the attempted glare Dabi gives him through his glazed over expression. Nobody can look menacing in the slightest when they’re trying not to sneeze (and that’s a fact!).

“Sh-shut uhhhp..” replies Dabi, his voice quavering. He lifts a hand slowly, bringing it to hover weakly before his face. His breathing is unsteady and his eyes half-lidded, and the crease between his dark brows deepens.

“Okay, point proven, idiot,” Hawks says with a laugh, “Just sneeze, this is torture even for me.”

The hazy glare returns, and Hawks clocks it. 

“Oh!” he laughs, giving Dabi a slightly bewildered smile. “Oh my god, I jinxed it. You deserve that ‘cause you’re mean to me.”

“I hahh-hate you-” Dabi responds breathily. He rubs at the side of his nose with two knuckles, pressing decently harder than is probably necessary. The bridge crinkles in irritation when the rubbing clearly has no effect. “Jesus, it won’t go away.”

“Mm, what a shame.”

There goes a third bleary glare from the villain. “I’d like to remind you wh-whose fault thhihhs.. was in the first place,” he says. Any malice intended to be behind his utterance is immediately negated by his breath catching and wavering through the words. Though, at a point, Hawks begins to feel a little… voyeuristic just watching Dabi struggle. Sure, he’s his boyfriend and all, and yeah, he’s definitely seen worse, but it’s easy to tell Dabi’s getting a little self-conscious about this… spectacle. He’s never been a fan of having things out of his control, especially not displays of vulnerability like this, and Hawks knows this, so why prolong it?

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing for it,” he says, taking matters into his own hands. 

“Fuck off- what–” Dabi gets out, as Hawks takes his face between his hands and begins to press kisses softly down the bridge of his nose. Hawks doesn’t let him twist away from it, trying not to laugh to himself about how dumb this probably looks. At least one of them is having fun. He considers pulling away with a “Gonna sneeze yet?”, but refrains - he’d probably end up on fire. He does, however, pause for a moment when he reaches Dabi’s trio of silver nose studs, hovering. There’ve been feathery, wavering breaths coming from his boyfriend consistently but, nothing has come to fruition, so Hawks decides–those piercings have always been sensitive, a fact he’d discovered about Dabi rather early on (and maybe, possibly sometimes used to be a menace). He plants a final, delicate kiss right upon where the three studs lie, and finally lets Dabi pull away.

“Oh, oh, fuck– s-screw you–hh’ehH’IIDTSSHh’uh! ‘kXXTS’SHhue! …Christ, you’re such an ass.” The pair of sneezes that result are harsh to say the very least. And even after all that, he still tries stifling the second– unsurprising, but at that point is it even worth it?

 “Sorry! I had to!” Hawks says, really trying to look like he isn’t laughing. It doesn’t work.

“You absolutely did not have to,” corrects Dabi. 

“Okaaay, okay, sorry. It was funny though.”

“Yeah, for you, maybe,” Dabi mutters, shaking his head, “Oh, fuck’s sake, hold on–”

“I’ll wait till you’re done to say bless you, this time,” says Hawks with a fond snicker. 

“Good plah-an–! hhuh’hHDSHH’SHuh! …Ugh, fuck.”

“Bless,” Hawks replies. He averts his eyes, a little sheepishly. Dabi pulls a face.

He asks, “What the fuck’s with the guilty face?” to which Hawks throws his head back with a groan and slides his hands across his face.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” he says, “You know, clean the place up a bit. Since it’s always kind of a massive mess.”

“Jesus, Kei, I don’t care about that,” says Dabi, breathing a laugh. “It’s you I’m here for, not your fuckin’ apartment. I can kiss you whether or not there’s crap on every surface.”

Hawks isn’t used to Dabi outright saying nice things, so his cheeks flush slightly hearing this. He’s unsure what to say. Thankfully, Dabi speaks again.

“Okay. Where didn’t you spray that shit?”

Hawks scoffs. “I sort of went crazy with it, uh… my bedroom? If that works?”

“Very forward,” Dabi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Almost like you wanted me in there.”

Hawks jabs him in the ribs but still smirks. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

[assassin-artist]

i am free

[plasma-packin-mama]

I did the meme

[mandiemegatron]

Selfshippers with "selfshippers DNI" in their bio make me laugh, but its like... an awkward laugh.

"How dare you love the same character i do. How dare you wish that the guy I SHIP WITH would love and support you 😤😤😤 HOW DARE YOU GET FANART WITH MY F/O!! HES MINE YOU CANT HAVE HIM!!"

Babe... go touch some grass and drink some water. Maybe you'll feel better. 😬

[vixendoesstuff]

OH MY DAYS-

Just when I was coming up with designs for my Transformers OC's, my brain is suddenly screaming images of them being in the Prime cartoon doing shenanigans with the Team and getting involved in the plot, why is my mind like this AAAAAAAA-

Anyway, since I'm feeling lazy typing them all out--again--I'll just use screenshots of my ramblings from my Discord for you all to see the madness I've been having.

I am suffering, so it's only fair y'all get to suffer with me too :)

Enjoy!

I am--

Fine.

And totally not thinking of writing a fanfic of my OC's adventure in the cartoon with Team Prime, hell nah--

[every-sanji]

[scouting4love]

I'm being cringe and posting modern Usagi au ✋😑 my conscious called out through the blank void of my mind and said I could

Today's content: how Yukichi got zapped, Keiko bullying Jotaro and yes I made her a wolf because I'm SICK of cats.., and posting jokes I thought were funny..

[yuanwang]

hiiii <3 <3 <3 twirls hair

[tianhai03]

i went to the beach with my family today and i brought dante bean along!!! so have the dumb doodles i did last night before going + pics i took today with regular sized dante(?) drawn over them :D

[this-is-a-nice-show]

I adore any and all Supernatural and Good Omen crossovers because On one hand, you have a show comprised of at least 60% male brooding and emotional heart to hearts with jarring, nonsensical, violent plot points almost always with a devastating season finale.

And on the other hand, you have a show featuring an unlikely pairing who constantly bicker but also would die for each other in a heartbeat exclusively in the most stupid, chaotic, and unnecessary way possible.

They both have extremely established lore in their universes that do not line up whatsoever. My favourite part is someone trying to combine the lore or totally disregard the rules of these universes like a prophet who has heard whispers of the word of god/Chuck directly and is communicating their word to us. And they are beautifully creative every time. Every take is completely different on how the lore is combined and I'm still like "You're so damn right. Cheers, I'll drink to that."

But ignoring the biblical themes of both shows they have so many similarities...

A vintage car is kept in pristine condition and is almost exclusively the main method of transportation. "Get in the car, angel! Alpha Centuri!" - Crowley (2019, colourized). Okay, were you planning on driving to Alpha Centuri??? "Hop in the car, Sam. Time to go on our day-long road trip for the second time this week." For fucks sake, you have infinite money. Buy a plane ticket.

We listen to One Song. A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square. Carry On My Wayward Son.

We will extend our musical selection To A Certain Extent. Queen only. No modern music.

Angst.

Weird Haircuts.

Zombies, Nazis, Witches. Unclear definition of what the capabilities of witches are in both universes. Dean killed Hitler, Crowley killed three nazis.

Female love interest? Ehhh... No, thank you.

Male love interest? Ehhh... No, thank you. I'm rolling with genderless Crowley/Aziraphale. But don't worry because Castiel is happiest when he says he loves Dean. If that doesn't say platonic male friendships, I don't know what does. /s

Dumbass Behaviour. "Yes, I am playing detective searching for Clues for Archangel Gabriel. No, I did not inspect the Clue that he showed up with." "Yes, I have many, many contacts throughout not just Earth but also Heaven and Hell. No, I will not contact anyone for help."

Pornography and Sex Workers.

Risking death and destruction for others. Crowley rescues Aziraphale in France, Aziraphale saves Crowley by getting the photo back from the Nazi zombies. In Supernatural wtf, where to start...

The line between 'good' and 'evil' is virtually nonexistent. However, humans are regarded as 'closer to evil than good' or 'more likely to be evil than good'.

Found Family. "Hey hellspawn, you want two dads? No? Well how about a Nanny and a Brother Francis?" & "Hellspawn #2, tell your dad to fuck off and then bing-bang-boom, adoption complete. Adopted parents are just parents." "Hey hellspawn, you want three dads? No-oh wait, you do? Great."

God/Chuck is treated as a neglectful parent. They still seem hopeful that they'll receive help at some point but understand that they are required to fend for themselves and that can include going up against god/Chuck. It is cannon in Supernatural that all beings project their daddy issues onto Chuck.

They drink an extraordinary amount of alcohol and can sober up quickly. Good Omens is self-explanatory. But I've never met a person who can shotgun four beers back-to-back and shoot dead center. They have to be sobering up in between these activities.

They only own One Outfit. Coat/trench coat, waistcoat (optional), tie/scarf (optional), one or more layered shirts, jeans/slacks, and shoes. And of course, you have the accessories. Dean's necklace and Aziraphale's ring + watch. And it is cannon that in Supernatural, the characters (not the actors playing the characters, but the actual characters) wear a full face of makeup. And you can see Crowley/Aziraphale's makeup. Their lip colour changes pretty frequently. The angels in Heaven wear gold lipstick iirc.

Both of their main 'bases' are filled with books. The bookstore (for obvious reasons) and the Winchester's bunker has their hunter's manuals and the fucking Supernatural books.

The actors that play the characters canonically exist in their universes as well as thier characters. Dr. Who exists in Good Omens -> David Tennent exists in Good Omens along with Crowley. There is an episode of Supernatural where the main 3 exist in the 'real world' -> those 3 actors also exist in Supernatural. (There are multiple episodes where this happens without Castiel, but there is only one where Misha Colins plays himself.)

The most glaring difference between the shows is: one is developed starting with the characters and one is developed starting with the plot. Sam and Dean are inserted into a plot that they had no control in creating. Their father placed them into situations, and they were forced to find a way to survive. Crowley and Aziraphale literally started the story. They should understand the concepts of anything that happens in the plot (to a certain extent). As in, unlike the Winchesters, they don't need to do copious amounts of reading to foil nefarious plans.

Dean, Sam, and Castiel are pessimistic and dismissive of help. Other beings have to prove themselves worthy of their trust and usually not the other way around. Crowley and Aziraphale are optimistic and see the good in humanity. They enjoy the simple everyday joys of being human and they had the trust of Hell/Heaven for 6,000 years, up until Michael found the pictures of the two on Earth.

But would Crowley/Aziraphale drink bargain bin beer? Go to the greasiest diner imaginable? Directly commit murder? Participate in hand-to-hand combat? Would the Winchesters/Castiel drink a fancy, expensive wine? Go to the Ritz? Analyze their thoughts from a different perspective? Read a book for fun?

NO, and that is why I love you fanfiction writers and artists. I appreciate everything you do. <3

Something a little sad under the cut

I think the reason why I haven't been able to see more fun? silly? (idk how to describe it) fan fiction of SPN without crossovers is because Good Omens has never made fun of its audience or belittled how much effort goes into making content. When you know that you're actively being mocked by the show you like, you have to be on your Best Behaviour and Don't Fuck Up.

I remember that they were upset that the show attracted an audience of teenage girls. They made multiple episodes making fun of cosplayers, what I can only describe as an "obsessive fan girl", and destiel.

It feels like the people involved in Good Omens actually care about it and give a shit and that feels like putting lotion on a sunburn. Y'know?

[pioripan]

I forgot I ship Pan and Baal

[bmpmp3]

fish......

[abyssalmermaiden]

Turn your face away from the garish light of day Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light...