#mm d

[mourninglamby]

oldie from patreon

[ohitslen]

Promises

He should know better. 

Wolfwood has seen Vash make promises, or hear about the ones he has made in the past. He has also seen the end of each one and how every single time the outcome is less than what was promised. 

Vash likes to say embellished words, with a soft and determined voice that lures you into his hopes and dreams, it almost feels like a spell, as if he was calling for you to come closer and believe him. But Wolfwood knows better.

He believes in him, but Vash is much closer to being an idealistic dreamer than a realistic person like he is. He might not be aware of it, but his beautiful promises of a better future give people hope, a hope that is usually embraced with things like disappointment and abandonment. 

He doesn’t think that Vash does it with the intent of looking for any of those things. Far from it, he might even do the impossible in order to accomplish said promises, but life is too short and humans are too mortal for his wishes, so in the end, most of Vash’s promises end up being empty or they come to haunt him as a reminder of his failed vows. He admires the man, for his perseverance and idealism, but he also hates the man, for his stubbornness and lies. 

Wolfwood knows all of this perfectly to a tee. And yet, he has also found himself being drawn to his world. Because he also dreams of it.

A world in where his always present calls for love and peace exist, a world that is far more kind than what he might deserve, a world in where the kids can be happy and roam around without any worry in their heads, a world in where he can peacefully turn grey with age and his hands can shed the harsh callouses of his life. Who knows, maybe a world in where he and Vash can finally know the peace that was taken away from them, in where they can share the calmness that comes with the passage of time, indulging in every tick of the clock welcoming with open arms whatever comes their way without any fear.

It is a beautiful promise. But Wolfwood is a person that has to keep his feet on the ground, indulging in “what ifs” would only make things harder than what they had to be. He can’t have any ifs if he can’t make it through the now. And by the way he is carrying his present, he is doubtful he will even get to see a shed of that promised world that Vash tries to drag him into. So why mourn something he doesn’t even have, or will ever have for that matter.

He hates the way Vash seems to promise things so easily. His tongue silky and pliant, slipping divine words one after the other, promises way too big for what that barren world can actually fit. 

But when Vash talks to him in that holy voice of his, when he hears him say “It’s okay, everything will be alright, I promise” so gently right on his ear, while he holds his face so tenderly making him focus on him and nothing else, he wants to believe him.

He has seen the end of his promises. He knows how impossible they are. But for once, he wants to believe it too. Believe in that loving world that will cradle them both until they fall asleep, listening to the soft sound of the wind laughing while the moons smile upon them. 

So he allows himself to indulge in the warmth of his palms, leaning into the comfort of his existence, feeling the soft air of Vash’s breaths against his skin while their foreheads meet in a touch that feels like a hot brand that will melt him.

For an instant, he allows himself to be selfish and believe that maybe, that is how living in that world Vash so desperately fights for would be. Soft and warm, making him feel safe in the hollow of Vash’s hands where the world seems to fit so well. A world where the blue sky is a blanket that covers the love and care that is nestled in it like the one in Vash’s eyes. He wants to see that world.

For now, he will selfishly think that the world that fits in Vash’s hands is right there in where he is holding him, where his blue eyes are drowning in the light of the sunset dripping with love and care while looking at him, that the gentle touch of Vash’s thumb wiping his tears is the same as the kiss of that laughing wind in that distant future, where the smile of his eyes overcomes the smile of the moons.

He should know better. But he loves the thought of that world. And he hopes that Vash will get to see that world, because that gentle sight is more fitting for someone like him than the one of his violent world.

He promises to himself that he will do what it takes for that day to be possible. Even if the end of that promise will be empty for Nicholas, he knows it will be a full one for Vash. So it really isn’t that empty for him after all.

He hates his lies, and he hates how true they sound, but Vash’s embellished words are far sweeter than his bitter thoughts so they feel better on his insides, almost like a balm that cares for the wounds of his throbbing, painful reality.

He should know better.

But aren’t humans weak at the promise of love?

[dustbon]

And this is what Milo's days look like now

✅ Collect all Omiscan Artifacts (2/16)

✅ Max the archaeology skill

[idiot-mushroom]

they are bad influences on eachother

[theblorboscalledtheturtles]

2012 mutagen is what 🌌🪱🥛

2012 Leo & MM Donnie, 2012 Raph & mm Mikey

[sashimew-the-cat]

The bounty and the hunter

(Click for better quality, non shredder under the cut!)

[synthshenanigans]

condemn him to chonnys inferno or memento mori

[silverpsychedelic]

It's been over a year since my DnD group started our Zelda campaign, and I wanted to celebrate by updating all the art for the player characters (and one NPC who we dragged along for the ride). Our DM has created an entire universe worth of unique lore that draws on so many of the Zelda titles, It's been so much fun and I can't wait to see where the story goes next!

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVI)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here and this is sixteen *SixTeen theme plays*

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts

Where we last left off... Martian Manhunter finds out that,yeah, dude, when your brain is missing chunks, you can't write or access data without the hardware to store it. My dude remembers nothing.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Days pass. Nights pass.

(He thinks.)

He gets a new room. This one has a window. He can’t stare at it all the time, but when he does, he can feel himself growing stronger. Steadier. The change in his body is borderline tangible.

If only it was physical. He’s still too weak to lift anything but his arms, and not even all the way. Moving his head is tiring. Lifting his head is impossible.

But he tries.

A lot.

The doctors and the lady have to make upset noises with him when he does, but he wants to be able to see everything they’re doing to him. So far it’s a lot of tubes and needles, but what if they become scalpels and clamps?

…Danny tries to assure himself that they probably won’t be.

But they might. Things could change.

And that eats at him constantly.

Someone puts a big circle on the wall in his room. It’s large. It’s a little fuzzy at its distance on the far wall, but it’s got little arms on it, and little dots in equal degrees around the circumference. It takes him almost two napping periods to realize that it’s a clock.  

Danny squints. He can...almost read analog. (Probably.) It sure doesn’t help that he has no idea when night is and when day is, though. He sleeps at one hour and wakes up at another, and the room will look entirely the same. Was it a few hours’ sleep, or a day’s? Was it longer? The world spins outside his window, big and blue, and he spins against it in a station on a lonely moon. There’s no way to tell.

Someone eventually notices that he’s bored, though, because he gets a television and a remote.

It’s a super thin television. At first, Danny spends time wondering why they put a screen with no system in his room, and then hour later the lady starts pressing buttons on the remote, and the screen lights up with a news program.

…The TV is too far away to see all that clearly. He can see some of it when he squints, but then all the colors turn lime green.

The banner on the bottom of the screen scrolls with headlines, and cool, it looks like they invented new letters while Danny was asleep. Fantastic. His head hurts from trying to squint to read, but it kind of looks like a kindergartener scribbled all over an otherwise serious news report.

Great. Now he’s getting a headache.

But the noise is…nice. It’s distracting. The news anchors chatter seriously as Danny gets yet another IV swapped out in his arm, and the heavily geared-up doctors have started telling Danny things he doesn’t like to listen to too much because if it is threats, great, he should ignore that; if it’s not threats, then, well, Danny’s bored of it all anyway.

“—Wel?”

Danny blinks. Well. That sounds like ‘Well’.

He shifts just enough to make eye contact. A doctor looks down at him from their place at his bedside. Their scrubs are kind of blue-green, with little flowers on the trim.

They have human eyes. The sight of soft, brown eyes probably ought to be reassuring, but they just make Danny more nervous.

“Eow eart wel?” They ask again, soft and slow. That middle bit sounds kind of like ‘art’. Ha. Old timey Shakespeare. ‘Art well,’ like ‘you art well—‘

Wait. Danny takes a deep breath. Blinks. His chest arcs up, just a little—just enough for the doctor to realize that Danny’s more than just looking, he’s paying attention. Are they asking him if he’s well?

Danny reflexively opens his mouth and flexes his throat, tries to answer—

Nope. Ow. The noise he makes sounds like the garbage disposal is backed up with angry blob ghosts. It hurts just to make. But the sound makes the doctor look at him; they see him.

“Inne cwic tima!” Danny hears, and then they’re jogging out of the room, and Danny is left alone. His throat hurts.

His head thumps back onto his pillow. The news program plays on. There’s a damaged city he’s never seen before on the news.

…And then the doctor comes back. Danny’s head is swimming, so he almost doesn’t notice their return, but they’re holding something, and that something has a sippy straw.

Danny is perfectly happy with a sippy straw.

The straw is put into his mouth. Danny goes sippy sippy.

…The water sloshes a little weirdly through his throat. Some of his tubes might not be where they ought to be, which is weird. Isn’t he supposed to be human right now? Or. Uh. Kind of human? Human equivalent? …Close enough…?

Danny drinks. When the pain in his throat goes to normal pain levels instead of new and angry pain levels, he lets go of the straw, and the doctor lets him.

Their fingers carefully brush Danny’s hair. Not very hard. A little too slowly. Just at the hairline. But it reminds Danny so much of sitting at home with Dad on the couch, home from school with a fever as Muppets tapes play in the background, that tears leak out of his busted eyes. The tears are probably just as green.

“Eow eart wel?” the doctor asks again. So gently. So careful.

“I’m tired,” Danny rasps.

The effort of speaking crashes into him in seconds. If things are happening around him, he doesn’t understand any of it. Nothing reaches him. He’s so tired.

He’s out before he knows it.

[decaffeinated-heads]

Quality doodles (and ddlc and mm3 stuff- original idea from @angelveiins)

[if-mirrormine]

i'll always save you

summary: grayson is called out on a case involving the mc.

pairing: grayson x mc

word count: 8029

based on the request: i was wondering what would happen if grayson got a call while on duty that mc crashed into a river somehow, and when they get there, mcs body isn't in the car, but there's evidence their body was there, like blood or broken glass, but mc happened to get out of the car and swam to the bank/shore of the river? like mcs just laying on the shore, soaked, out of breath, and kinda injured👀

**unedited//me? writing a drabble at 1 a.m.? it's more likely than you think.**

request a drabble here!

grayson sits idly at his desk, his leg bouncing up and down as he flicks in his pen between his index and middle fingers. he's bored. it's a slow night, which he should be grateful for, but the lack of crime means only one thing: paperwork. mountains of it. taking up the entirety of his desk and blocking his view of the other half of the precinct. perhaps if he didn't put off the task until last minute he wouldn't be here now but even with nothing else to, he can't bring himself to do it.

he's just about to convince himself to get to work when kelsey comes into view. he didn't even hear her get up from her desk across from his and walk over. but now that she's in front of him, he's happy to have something else to do.

"i'd ask how its going over here but given that you've been staring into space for the last half hour, i'd say that answers my question." she sits on the edge of his desk, her arms crossed over her chest as she glances down at the files behind her.

"can you blame me?" he sighs before tossing his pen on the desk, leaning back on his chair as he drags his hands through his hair. "i'm this close to blowing my brains out."

quirking up an eyebrow at him, she smiles. "do i need to take your gun and put it on a high shelf somewhere?"

he grins. "aren't i taller than you?"

"semantics," she says, waving him off. "you want something to do?"

resisting the urge to bolt out of his chair and out the precinct, he sits up straighter, entirely more alert at the prospect of getting to put off doing paperwork slightly longer. "why didn't you lead with that?" he questions and she rolls her eyes playfully. "what is it?"

"got a call while you were daydreaming," she says. "some idiot drove their car off a bridge. my money's on drunk driver."

at that, he stands up, whipping his jacket off the back of his chair and pulling it on. "it usually is." looking at his partner, he gestures to the exit. "what are we waiting for? let's go."

sliding off the desk, she rolls her eyes again and follows him out.

the bridge has been cordoned off, the night illuminated by red and blue flashing lights. there's an officer waiting for them when they arrive, explaining what happened without so much as a hello. there had indeed been a drunk driving, swerving in and out of lanes before throwing themselves out of their vehicle and into traffic. they currently sit in the back of an ambulance, mostly unharmed, and their car still sitting on the bridge.

"i though the call was about someone driving off the bridge," kelsey says, confusion twisting her features.

"someone did drive off the bridge, ma'am," the officer says and she narrows her eyes at him. "probably to avoid killing the guy. though they're probably worse off now than if they had run him over."

"probably?" grayson questions. "you mean no ones gone down to check?"

the officer pales slightly, shrinking back into himself as he avoids looking at him in the eye. "n-no, sir. it's really difficult to get down there, we were waiting for more experienced personnel."

"unbelievable." taking a deep breath, grayson fixes the officer with a look that would be sure to kill. "we'll go check. make yourself useful and get the witness statements."

"yes, sir!" the officer runs off quickly, nearly tripping over his feet in an attempt to get away from them.

"do i really look like ma'am?" kelsey asks as they begin walking over.

"what would you have preferred he called you?"

"oh, i don't know... detective montgomery maybe?"

"he probably doesn't know any better," grayson grumbles. "he barely looks old enough to be a highschool student, let alone fresh out of the academy." kelsey snorts as they come to a stop at the side of the bridge. the ravine falls off into darkness at a near ninety degree angle and when he shines his flashlight down, rocks and mud pave the way down to the water. looking at kelsey, he finds she's already looking at him.

straightening her back, she salutes him. "godspeed, soldier."

he sighs at the thought of having to go down there by himself but he doesn't argue the matter. "at least there are paramedics on standby," he says. "i imagine i'll be needing one by the time i get to the bottom."

kelsey grins at him. "on the bright side, you won't have to do any more paperwork."

"because i'll be dead? yeah, i'd sure hope so."

"i'll tell your mother you loved her."

he rolls his eyes in amusement as he begins his descent. his shoes slide slightly in the mud and he has to slow his pace to not fall but after what feels like forever, he makes it to the bottom. the river is oddly calm, the waves lapping softly at his feet and he shines his flashlight over the water in search of the car. in the middle of the river, somewhat under the bridge, black metal sparkles under the light. the tail end of the car stick out of water, the window of the backseat just barely visible and he swings the beam of flashlight around to look for the licence plate.

"how's it looking, gray?" kelsey calls down to him and he glances up at her briefly to see her standing with her own flashlight.

"well it's not great," he calls back. "im looking for the plates."

as soon as the words leave his mouth, his eyes latch onto the sequence of numbers and letters and he quickly realises its one that he's got memorised. his blood runs cold, his heart damn near stops beating and he's filled with all the same dread and panic he felt ten years ago.

mc. it always come back to the mc.

he's in the water before he even knows it. kelsey is calling him again, demanding to know what the hell he's doing and why but he can't think of anything else but his best friend. he has to get to them, he has to save them. nothing else matters.

his own name is the last thing he hears as he dives below the surface, the ice cold water shocking his system that he almost exhales all his oxygen. weighed down by his clothes, he forces his limbs to work even harder and before long, he sees the vague outline of the car in the murky water.

confusion takes over when he presses his face to the passenger side window and sees that the car is empty, the drivers door hanging open. empty. they mustve been able to escape before the car went under. relief begins to take over as he swims to the surface. oh, his brilliant mc.

gasping for the breath when he breaks the surface, he thrashes around, attempting to search for them in the darkness. he dropped his flashlight somewhere between seeing the licence plate and diving in the water, and he regrets not holding onto it a little tighter. he screams their name, hoping with everything fibre of his being that they're nearby and can hear him.

"grayson!" kelsey calls to him and he looks back to see her standing where he did just moments before, having made her way down the ravine when he dived in.

"it's mc!" he calls back. "they made it out; look for them along the shoreline!"

he doesn't wait for her response, instead swimming as fast as he can to the other side of the river. pulling himself out and wiping the water from his eyes, he takes off running again. his panic comes flooding back in full force, the relief he felt dwindling fast the further he goes. he screams their name, over and over again, only to be met by silence each time. not again, he thinks. please not again.

he skids to a stop when he sees a body lying on the shore and he stops breathing for a moment before he's moving again. dropping to his knees beside them, the pale light of the moon illuminating their face and he cries in relief upon seeing its mc. they're bruised and cut up, blood drying on their face but their chest rises and falls ever so slightly and that's enough for him.

"i'm here, mc," he says, pulling them into his arms and eliciting a groan from them. "you're okay." he rises to his feet, holding them close to his chest as he makes his way back to the bridge. he hates the thought of almost losing them a second time but he tries to focus on the positive, of them alive in his arms. pressing a kiss to their hair, he makes a vow to himself to do whatever it takes to keep them safe, no matter the cost.

[mourninglamby]

redraw

[zynoox]

☆☆☆

[dustbon]

New gen, new adventures 🐒

Milo grew up to be a formal linguist and archaeology aficionado. He somehow managed to enter an extraofficial (?) military exploration program in Selvadorada, where it seems to be remains of an ancient culture. How exciting!

Don't ask me how the kid got involved in this, because not even I know. Anyway, it's a party of three: Olga and Kyle, the soldiers in charge, and Milo their walking library.

[slightlyunconventional]

hi snz squad (Sorry. Not funny.) i got some food for the h/awks fans FINALLY sorry for the wait i had writers block for like a month straight 😜 love that. anyway heres about 1.7k of allergic h/awks and some really badly written fighting/sparring LMAO enjoy!!

“You ready, birdie?” Dabi says, his lopsided grin wicked as usual.

“As I’ll ever be,” replies Hawks. The villain’s left hand is swallowed by bright cerulean flames, so hot there’s already faint plumes of smoke puffing out around it. In turn, Hawks draws his two longest feathers and sharpens them with ease, and raises them into a defensive position. He wonders, briefly, who’ll make the first move, then decides that these sparring sessions are for him to improve against fire; Dabi’s skills are perfectly fine as they are (Perhaps. He does sometimes think the man could do with some extra precision training, but he’s here to incinerate, not sauté, so who’s Hawks to judge?). Hawks lunges forward, feather-blades brandished, aiming straight for Dabi. Don’t hold back runs through his head over and over as he moves, the words Dabi keeps having to say to him every time they do this. It’s not Hawks’ fault he’s got such a hero complex. 

“Don’t hold back,” Dabi had said, flexing his wrists after their spar, “There’s no point in doing this if you aren’t gonna show me your full potential.”

Hawks had sighed. “Easier said than done, hot stuff.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow. “Is it?” he said, “You seem to be just fine facing off against any other villain when you’re on fuckin’ hero patrol.”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Hawks had replied, “This is training. I can’t just- make myself fight you properly without good reason.” He let out another long breath and drank from his water bottle.

“It’s cause we fucked, isn’t it?” Dabi had said, smirking. That had made Hawks splutter on his water. He glared indignantly at Dabi.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he declared. “You wish that was why.”

“Relax, I’m just messing,” said Dabi, with that shit-eating smirk still on his face. “Just fight harder next time, or whatever. Ain’t gonna learn anything if you don’t try.” He left the room, and Hawks had frowned after him.

Dabi sidesteps Hawks, but only just. Had he moved a millisecond later, Hawks’ blades would probably have been stuck in him. Whether that’s for the worse or the better, Hawks can’t decide - Dabi’ll probably chastise him for it later, but there’s only so much potential you can exhibit before stepping the boundary of actual murder. The villain’s blue flames have caught on the very edge of Hawks’ feather, and are creeping down its lengths with some pace, threatening to reduce the entire thing to ash. He quickly shakes it out and lifts the blades once again. If he can convince Dabi he’s planning on sticking this whole spar out melee-style, then maybe he can discreetly send some feathers behind for an ambush. He just needs to find the right moment. 

Then, Dabi raises his own hand and throws a stripe of glowing blue fire straight at Hawks. Right as he does so, Hawks takes his chance and releases a few medium-sized feathers, sending them to hover in position behind Dabi, ready to make their move from the rear. He ducks down, and just in time, too, as he feels the searing heat of Dabi’s attack barely inches from the top of his head. He does his best to ignore the sting in his eyes and how every blink threatens to send irritated tears sliding down his face, but it’s unexpected… that doesn’t tend to happen, and there’s normally a whole lot more fire involved in their fights than there is now. But, Dabi’s unrelenting nature doesn’t allow Hawks more than a moment of thought, and he’s almost instantly back upright, sharpened feathers pointing outwards, stalking Dabi back towards the wall. He keeps having to blink against his blurring vision, though, and it’s affecting his focus. If Dabi picks up on it, he doesn’t say anything. There’s still a thin plume of smoke issuing from his feather, too; those flames are no joke. Hawks crosses the feathers in his hands, preparing to drive forward and strike - if all goes to plan, Dabi will assume that’s all he’s going to do, and counterattack accordingly, then Hawks can compromise him with the feathers he has poised behind the villain. If all goes to plan.

And thankfully, it does, if you look past the single tiny snag. As predicted, Dabi releases a billowing explosion of fire straight forwards. Hawks’ blades are both ignited, but that’s neither here nor there, since he’s focused on bringing his other feathers back from behind Dabi, and up to his throat, mere millimetres away from his skin. They aren’t sharpened, but he doesn’t need to know that. Hawks knows he daren’t step into them to test. 

Dabi’s eyebrows lift up, his expression a mix of amused and impressed. “Not bad,” he says, glancing down towards the feathers at his throat. “Not exactly a technique that’ll work every time, but I didn’t see it coming, so that’s gotta count for something.”

Then comes that tiny snag. Hawks stops listening halfway through Dabi’s sentence when his sinuses start stinging like crazy, with such sharpness that it makes his eyes water even more than they already are. He sniffs, half testing the waters, half hoping it’ll make the sting go away, but unfortunately it only makes it worse. Just as Dabi lifts his hands up to incinerate the feathers in front of his neck so they can begin another round of sparring, Hawks sends said feathers rapidly towards the villain’s arms and pins him against the wall.

“Sorry, what–” he begins, startled.

Hawks lifts the fur-lined collar of his jacket and ducks down into it. For a moment, nothing happens, but–

“heHt’sSHHhue!”

Dabi pulls a face. “I swear to God, if you’re doing this and you’ve got a fucking c–”

“ah’hAH-! eH’SHHhyu! No, you cock, I don’t have a cold. I’m not that stupid.”

“You are, but okay,” Dabi says flatly, “Why do I have to be pinned to the fuckin’ wall?”

“‘Cause your psycho ass would probably attack me while I waahhs s-sn-hahh! hheh’sHHh’hiew!”

He pitches forward into his collar again, cutting himself off mid-sentence with a third desperate sneeze. They’re already getting harder to keep in check; and what the fuck is itching this badly? Sure, it’s mid-spring, and his hayfever’s probably acting up a bit, but no way in hell is it this bad. Maybe he’s just… sensitive today. He didn’t bother checking the pollen count this morning, so…

“You think I would do such a thing?” says Dabi dramatically in mock offence, “Sweet, innocent me?”

“Shut up. Yes, you absolutely woul- Jesus– h-haHh!...” Hawks’ breath catches sharply in his throat, but he’s exhaling shakily a moment later. 

“Lost it,” he says, only a little breathlessly, “You are the furthest thing from innocent and we both know that.”

The need to sneeze hasn’t left Hawks, despite the last one having eluded him. It’s laying dormant (for now), an incessant buzzing high in his nose that seems to also be accompanied by profusely watering eyes. He tries scrunching his nose to quell the feeling - it doesn’t help but rather slightly the opposite. Dabi arches an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You gonna let me go or what?”

“Uhh… oh! Right, sorry. Instinct, I guess,” Hawks says. He withdraws the feathers holding Dabi in place and the villain subsequently takes a few steps towards him. There’s still smoke rolling off of his arms, where he’d used his quirk, and it floats lazily upwards in greyish plumes. That smoke has always been mesmerising to Hawks, the way it curls and twists, almost as gracefully as Dabi’s flames themselves. It seems different to regular smoke, though, realistically it probably isn’t, and Hawks has just convinced himself it is so he has something else about Dabi to admire with childish adoration. The smell of it often clings to Dabi, though, fainter, obviously, but it’s still distinct if you’re up close. It’s filling the air now, the bitter scent comforting, strong, but stinging, and–

“-ah’hHahH-?!” Caught completely off guard, Hawks desperately draws in a staggered breath before he’s truly able to comprehend it. 

“hh’heHSHHh-iihHSCHHh’ue! Huuhh… fucking Jesus–” The double volleys through him with unexpected force, leaving him more than a little winded (but almost certainly not finished).

Dabi’s staring at him now, his expression half concerned, half incredulous. Can’t exactly blame him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Hawks is already cutting him off with another sneeze.

“haH’iihtTSHHhyu!”

“So, about that cold you don’t have?” Dabi says, after Hawks has recovered - for now - with a series of pitiful sniffles and a less than kind rub at his nose with one gloved hand. 

“No, it’s–” his voice wavers slightly as he speaks, “it’s not that, I think it’s, ihh-it’s–”

Dabi shakes his head. “Sneeze first, speak after.”

“Rihhh– right, yeah I– hah-hhaHH’sSHHuuhh! ehHISHHhue! Jeez, okay, done now..” Hawks isn’t one to sneeze loudly per se - they’re usually softer, fairly subdued - but these ones are well on their way there. They’ve got the same intonation as usual, but with the intensity amped up a shocking degree. He’s not quite used to it.

“Done, done?” 

“Yeah, whatever– ‘m not sick, I think it’s your-” Hawks gestures vaguely at Dabi with one hand, and the latter’s eyebrow raises again, “-yourhhHehHTSChhnn!”

“What did I just say?” Dabi says, exasperated, and maybe a little fond.

“Leave me alone, that one didn’t give me any warning-!” whines Hawks in response, “You are so mean to me.”

“I know. Now spit it out, you’ve got me on the edge of my seat,” replies the villain dryly. 

Hawks rolls his still-watery eyes. “Shut up. It’s your smoke, I think,” he finally gets out.

Dabi looks slightly perplexed by this, and he voices it, “Never bothered you before.”

“No, I know, but,” He needs desperately to sneeze again. It’s all-consuming, but he’s determined to at least get a sentence out; “spring allergies’re making me s-sensitive to it.. I think that’s it, anyway–hhah sorry, I reahhllyneedto-hhiihSHHh-ehhH’shHHuue! Ugh.”

“Oh. Okay,” says Dabi, “so probably best we take a break for today, then?”

“Mm, yeah,” Hawks replies, knuckling at his nose. 

“Postmature bless you, by the way,” Dabi says with a funny look. Hawks nearly laughs.

“...Postmature?” 

“Yeah, like the opposite of premature. Is that the opposite of premature? Screw off, you’ve got me questioning myself now,” he replies, trying and failing to hide a stupid smile.

“It is now, I s’pose,” says Hawks, not at all fondly, “Thanks.”

[safetycar-restart]

D/s au with a mix of drivers (F1 and MotoGP) where their dom has a family emergency and has to leave them before a race for a few days and some of them r really worried for her and some are just sobbing cause she's not there with them

OOOOHH Okay okay I've actually never even thought about this before and I kinda love this concept? It's so angsty but also so good. So I'm gonna discuss this concept with a few different drivers and riders and then I can always expand on some of these thoughts in another ask or discuss someone else, just let me know :))

I also made this happen during a race weekend or just before a race weekend, so that they didnt have the option to come with.

CHARLES:

Charles's first instinct is to go with you? In fact he doesn't even consider the option that you might be leaving him, because he's your sub? Of course he would go with you? But then you remind him that he has to leave the next day for a race weekend, so there's no way he can go with and he has to go to the race weekend by himself.

That's when Charles starts panicking, because no? No that's not an option? Of course he understands that you have a family emergency and you need to go, but he has to go with you. Because firstly, how could you handle the family emergency without your sub and secondly, how can he handle a race weekend without you?

He is an absolute mess that entire weekend, he crashes constantly, so much so that his team almost considers getting their reserve driver to race for him because it's genuinely dangerous. The moment the weekend is over, he flies straight to you, equal parts worried about you and upset from having to go through a race weekend without his dom.

MAX:

So I think for a very brief moment, Max would actually be angry with you? Because you always promised him that he would never have to go through a race weekend without you. You earned his trust by convincing him that you would never leave him, that you would always be there for him. And so when he finds out that you have to leave for a few days, there's a part of him that feels almost betrayed?

Almost immediately he feels terrible for that, and he feels terrible for it the entire time you're away. So much so that when you get back, he's actually a sobbing mess for that exact reason, apologising for not being more understanding about what you were going through and for only thinking about himself.

LANDO AND OSCAR:

So I think Lando and Oscar try to lean on each other the whole race weekend, seeking comfort in each other and cuddling together and trying their best to get through it. But they also try their best to down play how bad things really are?

Of course you keep in contact with them, calling and texting regularly and they both just act like they're doing okay. They both decide that you have too much to deal with and you can't also have to deal with your subs needing you, but the truth is that they cry themselves to sleep every night and are driving terribly and really really need their dom back.

LOGAN:

Logan, poor darling selfless Logan, immediately just feels terrible about the fact that he can't be there for you? He knows him not racing that weekend isnt even an option, so he has to go by himself while you handle your family emergency.

As much as he isnt looking forward to not having you with him at the race weekend, he's far more upset about the fact that you'll have to handle your family emergency without his support.

FABIO:

Fabio tries to put on a brave face, really he does. This lasts about 5 hours. And then he's calling you crying because his bike his shit and he needs his dom and he knows you're having a hard time and it's all just too much for your good boy.

It's the hardest race weekend he's ever had and he only gets through it because you instruct him to submit to Tom every night to stop him from dropping. He takes a red eye from the race straight to where you are and doesn't leave your side for the next month.

MARC:

I think Marc starts off okay, reassuring you that he'll be perfectly fine on his own and promising to send regular updates and that he'll take good care of himself. And for the first two days of the race weekend, that is true.

Until he crashes in qualifying on Saturday and doesn't have you there to look after him afterwards and he drops hard. He can't get out of it, no one can help. And it's so bad that you have to fly to the race weekend because they're actually considering hospitalising him because no one can help him and no one knows what to do.

You help him through it, and then he goes back to your home with you, in no place to race for the rest of the weekend.