HB

Current stories, drabbles, and other things can be found here!

My asks and DMs are open for prompts or suggestions (which I would love to try out) but please keep things respectful and appropriate.

You guys have been so patient so thank you for that :)

You were going to choke the life out of him. Poke poke.

You were going to pluck every stupid feather from his lifeless corpse if he pokes you one more—! Poke poke poke poke.

You swat the little red feather again and give him another glare. While he can't fully see your face, he's well aware that there's a hideous glare hiding beneath it.

"What?" Hawks asks.

You gesture to the feather currently circling around your head, then to yourself, quickly followed by a punching motion directed at the hero.

He shrugs, "Sorry I don't know what you're talking about. Could you say it again?"

Poke.

Your eye twitches as his grin only widens. You knew he was only doing it to piss you off. So far your little patrol together had been rather uneventful. You had stopped a petty robbery before Hawks had found you for the night. Now, the two of you were on a building overlooking a portion of the city.

And that stupid feather just wouldn't stop—!

It makes another jab towards your cheek but you're quick to catch the little bugger, keeping it firmly locked up between your balled up hands. Now it's your turn to grin at Hawks as the rest of his feathers fluff up in surprise.

"Now that's not very nice."

You shrug in response as the feather continues to tickle the inside of your hands. But Hawks could easily make the feather break out from your grip—you're well aware of the strength the little feathers possess—though he chooses not too.

When the thing stops buzzing around, you're cautious, eyeing Hawks who doesn't seem to be paying attention. So you're movements remain slow, calculated, as you open your hands to look at the feather.

It remains motionless, as if it was never alive to begin with, and you can't help but marvel at it. You kept it pinched between your fingertips as you brought it close to your face. The very center was a deep, rich red as the barbs remain a few shades lighter. You can see the slight transition of color the further the barb is from the center. You trace a finger down the center, finding the soft barbs fluff up in surprise.

If you had been looking at Hawks, you'd find a few shades of pink dusted across his face and the wings on his back puff up from your touch. He tries to remain composed and hide the slightest of tremors from wracking down his back but it's you. Most people weren't as gentle with his wings, or feathers—the constant grabbing and pulling had made him almost numb to the touch. But your careful and delicate fingers were surprising to him. Hawks pulls the collar of his jacket to hide his face in case you look.

When you're done examining it, you keep your palms open to allow the feather to leave and join the wings its familiar with. But it doesn't leave. Instead it flies around you gently, nudging at your cheek, before keeping itself in the collar of your neck.

You look at Hawks in confusion as you try to pluck it away but it simply returns to your neck.

He shrugs, "Seems like you've made a new friend."

Your eyes widen as you try to return the feather, the little thing acting on its as it refuses to return to Hawks—finding your neck rather comforting.

"Don't worry about it… you can keep it." The feather zips around excitedly as you give him a weary look.

Hawks rolls his eyes, "If I really need it, it'll come back to me ok?"

You nod but you can't help but worry. Hawks gave the vigilante a feather not the shopkeeper. You'd have to hide it or leave it somewhere as to not set off any alarms towards the hero because… well… you weren't exactly sure how'd you explain yourself.

Your childhood was always revolving around the little supermarket. Memories of you running up and down the tiny aisles as your father restocked the shelves while your mother worked the checkout counter. They held a special place in your heart unlike the admiration heroes have—like most kids.

You were bullied in school for it, when asked who your favorite hero was, to which you proudly said your parents. It earned a roar of laughter from your classmates while the teacher had hushed them and said it was a perfectly reasonable answer.

Maybe that's when you started to spite heroes, unbeknownst to you.

As you grew up, your focus still remained on the family business. While those around you spoke about working as a hero, you were already operating a store. And it seemed a little ridiculous that the heroes were ranked—both their ability to be a hero and their public reputation.

So you never applied for the hero courses or tried out for the top-rated schools in the country. You were merely content with your life, your adaptive quirk, and the work you were just now doing in the shadows.

Except now you felt torn between two separate lives. The one you were currently living and the other you secretly wished for, beneath the mask.

A gloved hand waved over your face and you blinked, eyes refocused on the hero standing before you.

"You still with me, Angel?" His gaze is searching your face with a hint of worry.