#storm hawks ask blog | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hopelesshawks · 10 months

Text

Safe Haven

Hawks x Reader

The coffee shop au that I thought would be quick and then got so out of hand so fast omg. But hopefully it's in a good way

While this fic is sfw, the blog posting it is 18+ only, minors dni

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, egregious use of italics, unreliable narrator (almost entirely on Hawks' end), Keigo being touch starved and desperate for affection bc he deserves more of it

General Masterlist Kofi

You flip the sign at the front door of your shop from open to closed. It’s late and you’ve cut off the main lights to discourage anyone from trying to come in. The only thing lighting up the interior of the dining area is the neon sign of your logo and the spillover from the fluorescent light of the stock room in back. It’s a friday night which means it’s time to go back over your inventory in detail and make note of what needs to be restocked. Your apartment is right upstairs so you don’t mind staying even later. There’s something peaceful about the area when the moon is high in the sky and every other business has closed for the night. There’s not much foot traffic at 1am, understandably so, which makes you feel like your shop is its own little lofi haven.

You’ve got a special playlist just for wrapping up for the night and it plays softly over the speakers as you wipe tables and counters and put away chairs. It’s easy to get lost in the familiar routine and the fall of rain outside only contributes to the easy atmosphere. As you finish up cleaning you know the stock room is waiting for you but you decide to take a second to just enjoy the moment. You lean against the front counter and let your eyes flutter shut, focusing instead on your other senses.

The smell of roasted coffee lingers in the air, cut by the smell of the disinfectant you’ve just used to wipe everything down. Life Goes On by Agust D plays over the speakers and it pairs perfectly with the heavy patter of the rain on the windows as the storm grows a bit stronger. It hasn’t started thundering but you wonder if it isn’t far behind. If it continues into the morning the foot traffic on the road will be less which means a slower day for the shop. You can comfortably afford to have some slow days so you’re not too worried by that, if anything it may be nice to have a peaceful day considering the approaching summer will likely mean workers, students, and tourists alike flooding in to escape the heat with fresh pastries and iced drinks.

You may have stayed wrapped up in your musings for a while yet if not for a sudden thud at the front door that interrupts your thoughts. You jump slightly as your eyes fly open. You’re not 100% sure what you expected to find. You don’t usually get entitled customers demanding entrance after closing considering you’re open until midnight and crime is rare in the area considering how frequently Hawks stops by.

Speak of the devil…

Hawks’ silhouette is impossible to mistake. His prosthetic wings aren’t quite as grand as his original ones were but they are just as recognizable. Especially considering it’s his back that’s pressed against your door, his head thunking against it with a quieter thud than the initial one that had caught your attention. As you slowly approach the door you can already tell he must be exhausted. You can hardly believe he’s flown in this weather considering how much it’s coming down and on closer inspection he looks absolutely drenched. He’s a regular at your store, likely because it’s the only coffee shop that stays open late in the area, but that still doesn’t explain why he’s here now. Alarm bells are going off in your head that something may be wrong, which is perhaps why you find yourself unlocking the doors and pushing open the one he’s not leaning against.

“Hawks?” you ask hesitantly as you lean out to look down on the weary pro hero.

He blinks up at you, his eyes slightly widened in surprise. It’s clear he didn’t think anyone was still in, which only makes you all the more curious why he’d come in the first place.

“You’re still here,” he notes and it’s not really a question but you find yourself nodding all the same.

“Sorry didn’t mean to bother you,” he mumbles and he seems millions of miles away. It’s a bit off putting considering the version of him you’re used to seeing. Sure he’s been a bit more subdued ever since the great war against All For One and the League of Villains, but he’s still made most of his public appearances with a reassuring if not cocky grin and a quick witted tongue. None of that seems present in the man at your feet now.

He stands again and it’s concerning how much effort it seems to take as he moves to leave so you’re quick to intercept him. You quickly surge forward to help support his weight, wrapping a hand around his arm as the other goes to his back to help support him.

“Why don’t you come in?” you find yourself offering.

“But you’re closed,” he protests, eyebrows furrowing as he starts to shrug out of your grasp.

You tighten your grip to prevent him from going anywhere. He’s plenty strong enough that he could easily have still escaped if he wanted to but the movement still gives him pause as he brings his gaze to meet yours, confusion and something else that looks suspiciously like smothered hope marring his golden irises.

“Doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t stay out in this weather anyway you’re soaked,” you insist.

That seems to be enough to convince him to follow you as you bring him into the warm safety of the cafe, closing the door behind you both and locking it again. When you look back to Hawks he’s frowning down at his feet where a puddle is slowly forming as rainwater dips off every inch of him and onto the floor.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up in a moment,” you assure him as you pull him with you behind the counter.

The store room light reminds you of what you still need to get done but you ignore it for now. You’ll get Hawks set up and then come back for it. You’re not entirely sure what he needs but you have a guess of what could at least start to help him feel better, so you guide him deeper back into the store where no other customer has ventured before. He’s tracking water with each step but you don’t really care as you guide him up a tight stairwell and into your apartment. It’s small and cozy, the lighting soft to make the transition to bed easier after the brightness of the stock room lights. You pull him past all your various succulents, stuffed bookshelves, and worn leather couch, into your bedroom and then the en suite bathroom attached to it.

“Get out of those wet clothes and take a warm shower. I’ll leave some clothes for you to change into on the bed and then you can come down and find me in the stock room if you’d like,” you explain gently.

You wait until he’s given you a nod of understanding, clearly still trying to process the generosity you’re showing him, and only then do you give him a soft smile and leave to give him privacy. You raid your drawers to find a hoodie and drawstring sweats that are oversized on you to leave for him. You leave them on the bed as promised and then head back downstairs.

The first order of business is to clean the floor back up but it doesn’t take long. You can’t help but think of the look on Hawks’ face when he’d realized he was making a puddle. It was far from a catastrophic mess and it took you almost no time at all to clean, yet he’d looked as if he’d committed some criminal offense; as if his presence was nuisance enough and dripping water on the floor was only adding insult to injury. Part of you wonders what could possibly make such a beloved pro hero, someone who must be used to being met with praise and adoration wherever he goes, look like that.

Then you remember the broadcast years prior that had revealed who his father is and you wince. With a father like that… Well it’s not your place to speculate, especially considering the basis for your speculation is information Hawks hadn’t willingly given.

To distract you from wandering thoughts and the memory of weary golden eyes you begin taking inventory as you’d originally intended before Hawks showed up at your door. It’s an easy enough process, comforting in its monotony, and you almost forget entirely about Hawks’ sudden appearance at your doorstep until the man himself makes his reappearance. You’re about halfway done with inventory at this point but you pause to briefly appraise your guest. He looks more present than when you first found him outside and soft in the borrowed clothes. He’s left his prosthetics upstairs, probably to dry off with the rest of his things, so you can fully take in the much smaller remnants of his natural wings. You can tell he feels a little wrong footed so you decide to offer him a lifeline.

“Want to help me with taking inventory?” you offer, figuring it will ease some of his discomfort if he feels like he’s helping instead of burdening you. Your instinct seems to be correct because he straightens a little at the offer and gives a somewhat eager nod. He doesn’t respond at all verbally, which throws you a little considering you’ve never seen him so quiet. Still you decide it’s best not to point this out, instead carefully explaining your process and handing him a notepad to take note of what you tell him to.

The process moves a little faster with you able to just call out what you will need to Hawks instead of pausing to take notes yourself. Your music is still playing and it fills the silence between each note you tell him to write down. It should feel odd considering this has always been a solo process for you. You’ve got a few employees who help out but you always take the closing shift yourself since it’s never too packed for one person to handle and that way no one has to make their way home so late at night. It feels natural working with Hawks though and he seems to appreciate having a task to do.

“That’s the last of it, how about you head up and put the kettle on while I finish closing stuff up down here?” you offer once you’ve finished. It’s ticking past 2am by now but you still can’t imagine sending Hawks home yet. Especially considering the rain is still coming down pretty hard. Again having a task to do seems to help him relax into the space and he gives you a short nod before disappearing back upstairs to do as told. You finally turn off your music and the neon sign in front, leaving the stock room light for last before going back into your apartment.

You’re not sure how much losing so many of his feathers has dulled his heightened senses so you make sure to make a decent amount of noise as you enter your apartment, intentionally stepping on the creakier floorboards so he has plenty of warning that you’re coming. You notice that he cleaned up the puddles he made earlier and when you enter the kitchen he’s already gotten two mugs out and set them by the stove. Your gaze lingers on them as you realize he’s inadvertently grabbed down one of your favorites. He seems to misinterpret why you’re looking at them because he suddenly gets a bit sheepish. A slightly self-deprecating grin that looks closer to the Hawks you’ve seen on tv spreads across his face as he reaches one hand up to scratch at the base of his neck where he still wears his hair shorter than he once did.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to rifle through your cabinets too much but I figured I should at least get mugs for us,” he offers with a chuckle that may have been convincing if you hadn’t seen the state he was in when he first arrived. You wave off his concern with a flippant gesture of your hand, moving to the drawer where you keep all of your tea.

“No apology necessary, thanks for getting them for us,” you reassure as you select out a chamomile tea for yourself and an even more soothing blend of lavender and butterfly pea for Hawks. The latter is one you crafted yourself, still a bit of a prototype before you’ll roll it out into the shop. It’s worked for you on especially stressful days, so you hope it can similarly help him shake off whatever it is that sent him to your doorstep.

When the kettle goes off you quickly move to fill both mugs, pressing your favorite into Hawks’ hands even if there’s no way for him to know the significance of the gesture. Tea now in hand, you guide him over to your couch, allowing you both to settle in comfortably with your hands wrapped around your mugs and your backs pressed against opposite arms of the couch. Your knees are pulled towards your chest, he’s got one knee bent and resting on the cushion so that foot hangs off the edge and the other foot is firmly planted on the floor. He looks torn between settling in more comfortably and bolting, but a deep inhale of the steam wafting off his cup seems to help ground him.

For a moment silence dominates as you’re unsure whether to pry or not and Hawks seems to have no intentions on being the first to say anything. It’s not a particularly comfortable silence but it’s not quite awkward either, just laden with tension at all of the things being left unsaid. It’s not like the two of you have ever done this before, although the ease of the whole process to get to where you are now may suggest otherwise. This is uncharted territory and as curious as you are to explore it, you don’t want him to spook him either.

Just as you’ve resigned yourself to the silence, Hawks finally clears his throat to catch your attention. His gaze doesn’t leave his tea and he still looks vaguely uncomfortable, but after another moment you watch a mask slip into place as he finally forces himself to address the elephant in the room and meet your eyes.

“So I’m guessing you’re wondering why I just showed up like this,” he chuckles and it’s more convincing this time.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you shrug and for a moment his mouth twitches into a more authentic smile before he carefully schools his expression once more. It’s almost a jarring contradiction to see such a curated look on his face while he’s wrapped up in your comfiest clothes.

“I owe you an explanation,” he starts but you quickly correct him.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

The words seem to catch him off guard in how absolute they are. From someone else it would probably sound like a platitude but you say it with such conviction that he can’t help but believe you. A part of him that sounds suspiciously like his HPSC handler warns him against opening up, but your insistence that he need not explain himself has ironically made him want to explain himself to you even more. Whatever pretty excuse had been on his tongue melts away and instead he finds himself formulating something more sincere.

“Thank you for that. Thank you for all of the hospitality actually. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here when I showed up,” he replies and the only word he can use to describe the way you tilt your head in apparent confusion is adorable.

“But you came anyway?” you ask.

“But I came anyway.”

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

He feels his smile go a bit sad. He doesn’t mind the question, actually he was sort of hoping you’d ask it. As deep down as he buries him, Keigo’s never quite managed to completely cut out that inner child that craves love and understanding while only getting contempt or indifference.

“I was just… exhausted. This was on the way and I just needed a safe place to catch my breath. It’s–”

Keigo’s eyes shut as he leans more heavily into the arm of the couch and blows out a breath.

“It’s been a long day. Too long. I needed to land and wait things out for a bit before I could make it the rest of the way home.”

When he opens his eyes again he expects to find something akin to pity on your face but instead only finds understanding. It makes his stomach do an odd flip and he quickly takes a sip of his still too hot tea to hide any reaction that may have shown on his face. He burns his tongue in the process but at least it gives him a physical sensation to focus on and ground himself in before he does something stupid like pour his whole heart out to you. His heart’s beating just a little too fast for comfort and he needs to slow it down if he wants to avoid embarrassing himself.

“I’m really glad this is a safe space for you. If you ever need a place to crash land, I’ll always welcome you here,” you reply so innocently, so genuinely, and just like that his heart is racing all over again. Do you know what your words are doing to him? Do you realize how rare and precious a gift you’re offering up so casually?

“What if you’re not here or I show up even later next time?” he asks because part of him needs to find the catch. Every salvation he’s ever received has had a catch, why should this one be any different?

“I’ll let the employees know you’re allowed in back if you come during opening hours and I’m not here. I’ll also give you my number in case you come after hours. Just call me and I’ll come let you in, even if I’m still half asleep when I do it,” you shrug. You shrug. As if you aren’t offering him the world. He could almost cry with it so instead he just nods and drowns himself in his tea, now a safely drinkable temperature.

Silence dominates the room again as you both drink your tea but it’s definitely comfortable this time. It’s almost unnerving how much he feels his guard lowering and the lower it goes the more he longs to reach out to you. You’re right there. If he stretched out his legs they’d likely brush yours where you’re curled up at the opposite end. It could be so easy to just close the distance, just a little bit, just enough to soothe the growing itchiness beneath his skin that creeps in when he’s at his most vulnerable. But years of abuse and strict HPSC approved training aren’t so easily overcome.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to touch the way he so desperately wants to, doesn’t do anything even though his inner child screams and begs for it in a way young Keigo was never actually allowed to. He just sits there, drinking the tea you picked out for him and hating himself and his parents and the HPSC for turning him into someone so incredibly starved for affection and yet absolutely terrified to receive it.

He mourns when he finishes the last of his tea. A quick look out the window reveals that the rain has stopped, which means he’s all out of excuses to stay in the warmth of your apartment. He’s got his own little safe space hidden away in his apartment that he’ll likely sleep in tonight but it feels so far away and lonely right now. Maybe you’ll hug him goodbye. You seem friendly enough to be the type to hug people goodbye and even the HPSC couldn’t begrudge him accepting it since not doing so would be rude. It would be all too brief but it would be something at least. Maybe just that much will be enough to soothe the ache inside him for a while, calm the longing until the next time he cracks and brings himself to your doorstep. It could be enough. He wants more, so much more he feels it viscerally, but it could be enough.

“Come here,” you suddenly say, setting your now empty mug on the floor next to the couch since the coffee table is just out of reach before stretching your legs out across the couch and reaching your arms out to him.

He blinks at you confused for a moment. Do you have a mind reading quirk or is he just that obvious? Do you really mean what you’re offering or do you just feel bad for him? Thousands of doubts fill his head and threaten to pull him into a downward spiral but when you just continue to extend the offer with a soft and genuine smile on your face, they suddenly don’t seem so loud. He still moves hesitantly, like one false or too quick move may break the trance of the room and cause you to withdraw from him. Hawks is famous for his speed, but right now Keigo’s pace is almost glacial as he sets down his own mug just as you had and then shifts forward in your space. He expects you to meet him in the middle and give him a quick hug but instead you take hold of his wrist and tug him into you with surprising strength. Before he knows it you’ve settled his head against your chest, your heartbeat right beneath his ear, like it’s nothing. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like this is a normal thing the two of you do together even though prior to tonight the most the two of you have done is talk and banter while you prepare his coffee.

At first he’s stiff in your arms and it must make you worried you’ve overstepped some boundary because your arms around him start to loosen but he won’t have that. Can’t have that. Not now that what he’s craved for so long is finally right here. So he hurries to reciprocate the embrace, bringing his arms up to wrap around your torso and squeezing, perhaps a bit too tightly.

“Don’t,” he pleads, and the word comes out so soft, so sad, so pathetic that he can hardly stand it. But you don’t judge him. Of course you don’t. You just lean down to press a kiss to the top of his head before bringing a hand up to card through his hair.

“I won’t. You’re safe here Keigo. You’re safe,” you assure him.

It should feel like a violation when you say his real name. It’s certainly felt that way any time someone else has said it since it became public knowledge. But somehow he just knows you’re only doing so because this moment feels too intimate for his hero name. If he told you not to use it he has total faith that you’d listen and maybe that’s naive of him. Everything from his training and upbringing tells him that it’s beyond foolish to put so much trust in anyone, let alone someone he knows as little as he knows you.

But you’ve also been a constant in his life ever since he first wandered into your coffee shop maybe a year or so ago. At first he was just coming in because you make a mean cup of coffee and the shop is conveniently located, but at some point he knows he started coming in just for the sake of speaking with you however briefly. After all, now that he thinks about it there were definitely times he stopped by only to see one of your employees at the counter instead of you and make some flimsy excuse for why his daily caffeine fix could wait. Maybe everything has been building to this without him even realizing. Somehow you’d carved a space inside him without his notice and it should terrify him but it’s hard to see it as a bad thing when he’s here now, your heartbeat steady beneath his head and your fingers gentle against his scalp.

“Why’re you doing this?” he asks, his voice rasping softly.

“Because heroes deserve to be taken care of,” you say but he can tell there’s more to the sentence you’re not saying.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, searching your face for some sign of discomfort or regret, but he’s only met with the same hesitance he had already picked up on from your tone of voice as your hand stills in his hair.

“But?” he prompts but you shake your head and resume running your fingers through the blonde strands.

“Not ‘but’, ‘and’,” you clarify as you gently bring his head back to your chest. He goes easily enough and braces himself for whatever else you’re about to say.

“And since you’ve been coming in, I don’t know. It feels presumptuous to say but I feel like the more I see you the more I can see just how much is on your shoulders all the time. I can’t even imagine how difficult that must be. How lonely. I just… I want to give you some place to lay all of it down for a little while. It’s not like I can go out and do what you do but–”

“Thank you,” he interrupts, cutting off any attempt you might make to diminish what you’ve done for him tonight. He feels more than he hears the start of your protests, so by the time you’ve actually started to say them he’s already had enough time to sit up and force your eyes to meet his.

“Don’t. You have… you have no idea how much this means. So don’t say ‘it’s nothing’ or ‘anyone would have done it’ or something really stupid like an apology. Just accept my appreciation. Thank you,” he insists.

He watches you nod your head with wide, stunned eyes, clearly not expecting him to be so insistent with his gratitude. It would be so easy to lean down and press his lips to yours. He can feel it in the air, that subtle tension that makes the space between the two of you feel electric. But he’s been selfish enough for one night and he doesn’t want you to think he’s only doing it because you’re here and he’s feeling vulnerable. So he uses the grip he still has on your torso to shift you both until you’re laying on your sides, legs slotting together as if your bodies were made for each other as he settles you both comfortably into place.

“Let’s just stay like this a little longer, then I promise I’ll get out of your hair,” he whispers, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Stay the night. Only if you want to, obviously, but… I’d like it if you stayed,” you confess, smiling so warm and sweet.

“Okay, then I’ll stay.”

“Good.”

The two of you end up falling asleep there on the couch, and wrapped up in you and the smell of old leather and roasted coffee, Keigo thinks it’s the first time he’s known what a home could feel like.

A/N: This was so shamelessly self indulgent and self-inserty oops. Low key worried Keigo’s dialogue came out ooc but I’ve literally been working on this all day and it’s 1:30am now so we’re sending it lmao hopefully y’all have enjoyed

Taglist: @ahtsuwu @karamfilmare @larkspyrr @hutaoscoffinn @black-rose-29 @touyasdollmain @izukiss @moonstormmyuna @kingdomkeigo @dnarez @mandalorian-baby-bird @reinersbrat @simpsfortodoroki @unlogical-ella @crowned-peony

#hawks hurt/comfort #hawks x reader #hawks x y/n #hopeless.oneshot

95 notes · View notes

far-side-skies · 4 months

Text

Crystal Headcanons - Fan-Crystals

So over time I've come up with a big collection of fan/headcanon crystals for Storm Hawks. It's such a fascinating concept to me that I feel didn't get explored often enough in the show, despite them making up the entirety of the world's established magic system and being crucial to other parts of life such as travel and combat. I love making up new crystals to fill the world with so here's all the ones I have so far. I may have missed some, but this is most if not all of the crystals I've made up for stuff like plot, macguffins or just because I saw a random game mechanic I liked and thought "can I make up a crystal that does that?"

Some of these were made in collaboration with @ashe-alter. The raystones, hex crystal and channelling stone are the main three, but they've helped me figure out bits and pieces of other ones in this list. Go check out Grimm's stuff, they just made an ask blog for their awesome oc Austry too.

Borealis crystals: The colour of the Aurora. Popular in ski and snow resorts across Atmos, Borealis crystals are capable of changing the weather to snowfall. High-grade ones in the hands of powerful mages can even be used to summon vicious snowstorms. Must be handled with care, as an unstable, leaking Borealis crystal can cause Borealis poisoning, a chronic condition that shortens your lifespan.

Magnesis crystals: Silvery crystals with a metallic sheen. These are crystals that produce their own powerful magnetic field. Frequently used in heavy lifting equipment.

Leechlights: Black-purple in colour. Rare. Adjacent to leech crystals, leechlights are able to absorb light in order to create pockets of darkness. They are a favourite of Cyclonia's Nightcrawlers, awarded to their highest ranking officers.

Orbital stones: White, shard-like crystals. Splintered bones of death itself. Capable of severing the soul from the body. Handle with extreme caution, deadly to undead beings and dangerous for individuals with a silver allergy. Do Not channel into a Crescendo.

Memory stones: Yellow. Used to store memories for safekeeping. Legends tell of an ancient demigod who first created these crystals to record history.

Adreno crystals: Another crystal with origins in myth. On the surface they seem like standard purple energy crystals, until you realise how uneasy they make you feel. Their true power is that they cause an increase in adrenaline and stress-related hormones, triggering one's fight or flight response and heightening anxiety.

Rally stones: Myth origin. Comes in red or green. Red triggers passion, green triggers fury. Has disturbing uses in brainwashing rituals.

Raystones: Gold like the sun. Uncommon. Adjacent to sol crystals, they turn sunlight into concentrated blades and are better suited for weaponry.

Echo crystals: Light blue. Used to record audio and play it back, a common component of record discs and tape players.

Saltpetre crystals: Often colourless. Explosive crystals used for fireworks. A vital component to most firearms.

Glowstone: Can come in many colours. A Minecraft reference. Popular among crystal smiths for weapons development, glowstones aren't particularly bright and absolutely useless in combat. They do, however, leave a trail of light wherever they go that lingers like a long-exposure photograph. This makes them useful for navigating caves without having to scratch marks into the walls, and smiths use them to check the energy-conductive tracks in crystal powered weapons.

Bifrost crystals: Range from purple to blue-green. Incredibly rare but usually found among deposits of borealis crystals. At a glance, they're not anything special, but when struck by a bifrost powered weapon, the target is swathed in a shroud of shimmering light. A second strike causes said light to detonate around the target. If this sounds familiar, it's because I took this from a God of War Ragnarok mechanic.

Avia crystals: Green. A unique legendary set of crystals belonging to the Amazonian royal family. With these crystals, users can take the form of a bird, and if used in tandem with the rest of the set, they can turn other people into birds too.

Thunder opals: Opalescent stones that can create loud cracks of thunder and a wave of force when activated. High grade thunder opals are indicated by their white colouration. Lower grade ones with less force are popular with sound effects artists for use in movies, songs and radio productions. Black ones are silent but still produce a deadly shockwave when used.

Deadwood crystals: Dusty brown in colour. Frequently making up the cores of arid Terras, deadwood crystals create dry winds that can escalate into dust storms and twisters if used in the right environments.

Channelling stones: (aka Godtrapper crystals) There are many debates as to whether or not these crystals actually exist. They can be used to steal the power of divine beings for mortals to use for themselves.

Hex crystals: One of the only crystals with a 'liquid' form, hex crystals produce a purple substance known as Hexane that can be used to store oxygen, carbon dioxide and other chemicals. In the right conditions, creatures submerged in this liquid can be kept alive in a sort of "stasis" indefinitely

#storm hawks #storm hawks headcanons #storm hawks lore #storm hawks lore headcanons #lore headcanons #sunnyverse lore #crystals #crystal headcanons #crystal magic #long post #long-ish post

16 notes · View notes

austrydieder · 2 months

Note

What's the least tame thing you've dealt with as a beast tamer?

Probably a Pegasus they brought in last year. Big, corvid type, bronco. Carnivorous bastard that kept trying to eat me instead of his meals.

#storm hawks #storm hawks fan character #storm hawks ask blog #storm hawks oc #all hail cyclonia #ask blog #cyclonia #talon #austry

10 notes · View notes

buridans-darkace · 21 days

Text

Okay, I'm on bedrest because some brats dropped a ceiling on top of me. My friend suggested this 'blog' thing to me so I wouldn't die of boredom while I'm recovering. I guess if anyone's got any questions for me, then fire away?

This is a horrible idea.

OOC - Hi! @far-side-skies here, I decided to make an ask blog for my version of Dark Ace, centered around the AU for my current main fic, Buridan's Storm!

14 notes · View notes

shivunin · 9 months

Note

Fic writer asks: 26, 43, 49?

Hey, thank you for asking! c: I am horrible at choosing just one thing, so here are several answers instead lol

(Fic Writer Asks)

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

No dialogue!

I usually write a very close 3rd person and a lot of what's going on at any given time is internal, so I could pretty easily get around not writing dialogue by writing thoughts instead c:

I love dialogue (especially if people are arguing with each other), but writing something that's just dialogue immediately brings to mind that one short story by Hemingway that I had to read for a class and despised. (I am not a fan of his work, no offense intended if anyone enjoys it.) It could be an interesting challenge, though!

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

OOOOH that's a really tough one!! I am going to pick my top four instead, because I can't choose just one.

Only a Kiss, which is the first thing I wrote for Wen and Zev. It has this air of intense anticipation that I still love so much whenever I reread it.

The Small Hours, because it has such a cozy atmosphere and I love the idea of Hawke and Fenris talking late into the night because neither one of them wants to stop listening to the other

Corpus Animaque because I love the "person says tender things in another language because they know the other won't understand" trope

A Storm's Aftermath because they are both so awkward oh my god

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Here is a little from two different projects. I am mostly working on a Mass Effect thing right now, but this is a Dragon Age blog so I'll put that one first.

From a fic about Zevran leaving for Antiva just before the events of Awakening:

“You did,” but she’d thought he was talking about leaving to find food or wander the city, not… Leave. “Now, you mean—how soon?” “Today,” he said, and there was a soft noise when he strapped his pack shut. “There is a boat at the docks that I can board without a name; they have agreed to take me back to Antiva City as soon as I…What? What is it?” Tabris ignored him and finished pulling her leathers on. Her hair was still loose, in her way—she gathered it with both hands and began to pull it into a braid. Her grip was tight enough to sting her scalp, but she ignored that, too. “Arianwen?” She finished tying her hair off. A hand brushed her arm in the space between her breastplate and her bracers, but she stepped away from the touch. Something horrible and acid was churning in her chest and she did not know what to do with it. “Mi vida?” he asked, far too close to her. Wen took her weapons from the table and slid them into her requisite sheaths: ten throwing blades, a dagger and longsword for close combat. There was a crossbow, too, but she left it beside the dressing table. When she would have started for the door, Zevran stepped in front of her and blocked the way. Wen stopped, her eyes focused past him at the door. Leaving. Today. Now. She should’ve known this was coming, but she’d let herself think... “I am coming back soon,” he said quietly, and reached for her face. Wen let him take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, let him kiss her carefully and softly, but she might have been a stone statue for all the response she gave him. When he pulled away, frowning, his eyes fixed on hers, Tabris went on looking past him. “Are you leaving or not?” she asked. “Wouldn’t want you to be late for your ship.” When she stepped past him, he moved aside. When she held the door open, he took his pack silently from the bed and stepped through it.

From a Shakarian fic about memory (what do I write that isn't about memory?) and....coming back from the dead? Hard to summarize currently:

Shepard huffed when she turned around again, cheeks slightly discolored. “No idea why I’m telling you all this. Must be drunker’n I thought.” “No,” Garrus said, waving a hand. “No, I…I’m glad you told me.” “Sure.” The song wound to a stop and she scraped her hair back from her forehead again. Her chest rose and fell quickly, sweat beaded her skin. When he looked at her, she avoided his eyes. “She used to dance?” he asked. Shepard blinked and looked up. A billboard nearby cycled through pink and purple, tracing the edge of her skin in vibrant and strange colors. “They both did,” she said. After a moment, she held out a hand. “I could teach you, if you wanted.” For a moment, he almost took it. This was the most casual she’d ever been with him, the least he’d ever felt like he was coming up just a little short in her eyes. But—well. He didn’t really dance. Garrus held up both hands in surrender, taking a step back and taking her jacket from the wall. Handing it to her seemed like the least he could do if he was going to tell her no. “I think I’ll pass,” he said. “Don’t think turian legs are meant to bend that way.” (A few months later, when he stood in silence at the memorial ceremony, his C-Sec armor abruptly weighing more than the whole Citadel combined, Garrus wished like hell that he’d just taken her hand.) That night—the last night—Shepard laughed and snagged her jacket from his hand, grazing the side of his finger. She shrugged it back on in one easy motion. The music cut off when she tapped her wrist again, and for a moment they waited in silence.

#ask response #shivunin scrivening #zevwen #sorry for the length aijbkfbf #i tried to pick smaller sections but i got excited!

13 notes · View notes

not-the-dark-ace · 11 months

Text

Squadron log:

Anyone ever seen a cloning crystal before? How do we undo the thing? The condor has too many of Aerrow's friend on it and we might go down if we can't figure this crystal out.

#dark ace #storm hawks #skyknight of xerxes #storm hawks fandom #skyknight #atmos #skyknight ace #knight of xerxes #ask blog #squadron log #infinnity #Finn #Aerrow

13 notes · View notes

ashe-alter · 11 months

Text

So I've realized I have a lot of art I haven't shared for storm hawks so in honor of changing up this blog I'm gonna start dropping more art on y'all

Most of it's been around for a bit so theres a stock pile before I'll really post some of my newer stuff.

But any ways

Besides all that

Here's two different au versions of my man Hobo Cat. The blind wanderer of the Atmos. I have so much fun with him.

Please ask me about him

I love gushing over him

#storm hawks #atmos #cyclonia #storm hawks oc #nerd corp storm hawks #original character #digital art

22 notes · View notes

gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 2 days

Text

Darkness Looks Like Haven

Author’s note: Third part in the series with Claude. Past - Next

Summary: Claude is dealing with Captain Asshole, who’s nice to everyone else. What the fuck?

Warnings: Bullying, swearing, abuse of power? Ish? Tell me if I need to add warnings in the notes.

@sleepyfan-blog

He had been trained, as all Primaris marines in many things, how to endure, how to fight, plans and orders go to die in Actual Battle. How to listen and heed the orders of those above him, to put aside his personal feelings and emotions. How to control himself and use his mind and body For The Good Of The God Emperor and The Imperium.

For the Lord Regent, for his brothers, First born and Primaris alike. One of the First Born Captains of the Storm Hawks, for reasons that he can’t ascertain has noticed Claude. And at first he’d been honored by the attention of the Elder brother, First Born Marine and Captain. But, no matter what Claude did, the Captain always found him wanting that he was failing in some way. This stirred up anxiety within him. He was doing his best to obey, to heed orders, to train, and be a good team player.

To move on swift, silent foot steps as he fights for the God Emperor. He’s trying to figure out what flaw in his being, or failing in his practice at combat, stealth, and other things he’s doing. He does all the tasks required of him to the best of his abilities. And yet the Captain can find the faults and flaws in everything that he does. Demanding he redoes it again. He’s asked his squad, wanting to know what it is that he’s done so wrong.

None of them have any ideas, and they have been, understandably, even if it hurts, distanced themselves from him. Not wanting to gain the Ire of the Captain. The whispers giggle and croon and rage in his ear. Murmuring madly of what he should do. Could do. How they’d help him make that Captain suffer and be the one who’s humiliated publicly.

He closes his eyes briefly and silences the voices that cackle and forces the voices back down into silence. Well, not actually quiet, but more manageable levels as he goes over his forms again. Hours after the rest of his squad, and the other Primaris marines are off to bed, the Captain glowering down at him as he continues to practice, at quarter, half, and full speed repeatedly until the Captain tells him to stop.

“You Primaris are not only Taller, but faster,” The Captain spits out, almost like a curse as he scowls at Claude.

Claude remains quiet, there is The Correct and Only Answer, as well as Traps in the forms of verbal conversations. He’s not going to be lured into making himself suffer more than he has to by Saying The Wrong Thing. Even though no matter how Correct the Answer (supposed to be) is, it’s the Wrong One, at least if he says it. His brothers would give the answer that at the tip of his head and would get a scoff or a grumble, but allowed on. But if he says the words, he will get Punished for it.

Part of him wonders what would happen if he asks, why the Captain has singled him out specifically for this treatment out of all of his fellow Primaris brothers. Just what was it about Claude that upset the Captain so much. Why he had fixated on Claude. His mind snaps to Potential and the Captain rears back as if he’s been slapped due to the question and he snarls and gets into his face.

Drags Claude down to eye level, the First Born are shorter than Primaris and gets scolded for several hours and the Captain shoves him away and orders him to his bunk. Also, as punishment for his audacity he’s not to have rations for the next three days and to submit to correctional flogging. He blinks and snaps back to Now and keeps the words strangled in his throat and he shrugs.

“I was made this way, Captain.” He says quietly.

“Tch, to showers and bunk, you Stink, boy,” The Captain growls at him after a few minutes.

He snaps a salute and heads off to the showers and then to bunk. The rest of his squad are already asleep, and have been for a few hours. He closes his eyes to rest and wakes up to the sound of the morning alarm. Astartes don’t need much sleep, but even he hasn’t had enough. But he gets up and into armor and follows his squad to morning chow. Quietly listening to his squad mates and older brothers as he keeps his eyes almost shut.

He's not supposed to where his helmet in the refractory and the lights on the ship are really fracking bright. His brother’s don’t seem to have a problem with the light levels, so he keeps his mouth shut. Head bowed a little as he speaks a little to his squad when spoken to and eats the nutri-mash and drinks the electrolyte-infused water.

“It’s an honor that the Captain is training you personally,” One of the other Primaris marines, not of his squad tells him.

Claude blinks at him. “What?”

“The Captain,” Jono says impatiently, “He’s not seemed to notice any of the rest of us Primaris, you’re lucky enough to be getting personal training time with the Captain.”

Claude just stares at him. That is not true, the Captain isn’t training him to help he’s seeking to punish him. For some perceived sins that Claude doesn’t know what it was that he’d done to piss off the Captain. But to articulate that, or to complain would seem as if he’s ungrateful. Apparently, to most of the rest of the Prmaris, and from what he hears of his elder First-born Astartes, the Captain is a wonderful, stern man. Good Officer who, while distant with his underlings, isn’t a complete shit head.

#warhammer 40k #adeptus astartes #warhammer #OC: Claude #OC: Jono #storm hawks #storm hawks oc #Space Marine OC

3 notes · View notes