#burntgod

a meme from last night  /  not accepting.

      ‘   i know,   ’   she says,   barely a moment between her voice and his.   the affirmation hurts.   it cuts like glass in her ribcage,   aches in her heart and in her lungs.   i failed you.   how many times has she said it herself?   i’m sorry.   how many times has she looked at those blue eyes staring down at her from the butsudan and said those words?   she inhales,   shakily,   and quieter this time,   she repeats herself:   ‘   i - i know.   ’

      those eyes stare down at her now,   older and colder and bitter,   and the guilt suffocates her.   is it me?   did i do this to you?   if i’d only been there sooner,   if i’d only reached for you more,   would things be different?   when fuyumi was younger,   she spent every day wishing for this;   wishing for any last chance to see her brother again.   how desperate she’d been,   back  then.   she should’ve been more careful what she wished for.   there’s a cruel irony in him being here now,   in front of her like this,   while fuyumi finds herself unable to look him in the eye.

       her heart breaks.   it breaks,   and it breaks,   and it breaks around her.   once,   she would have been able to pick up the pieces      -      one shard at a time,   fuyumi had worked tirelessly to fix her fragile heart over these long years.   her heart breaks and breaks and breaks again,   until it’s nothing but fine dust.

@burntgod​​:   💋 if u already got five ... i dont care kith me

     once again the moth is drawn to the flame.   a simple text sent him to the sky after an ash tinged being.  there was a certain  freedom  in this despite how quickly the acts of response were.  consciously these decisions were his  :  to chase a flame  ,  to indulge himself in the allegorical whiskey  ,  to receive burns  ,  and little by little it hurt a bit less than before.  maybe it felt righteous to orchestrate his own demise  ,  to warm himself up within kerosene  ,  but that isn’t quite what resides in his mind currently.  he standing before the funeral pyre reclining on the couch.  hawks doesn’t sport the heroic garbs currently besides the black diamonds in his ears.  a loose baby blue shirt partially unbuttoned hangs on his shoulders  ,  is half tucked into tattered khaki’s.  it’d be easy to interpret him as a simple civilian if it weren’t for the previously known perspective.  if it weren’t for the frankenstein skin and black aura  ,  maybe the other could be too.

     THE PET NAMES FALL UPON DEAF EARS.    much like hawks’ previous ones must have.  the secrecy that veils dabi’s identity clings to him like the smoke that seeps from stapled skin.  the stench would be enough to drive anyone  sane  away  ,  but hawks’ doesn’t appear to fall along that alignment.  instead the bird of prey pecks and attempts to blow back the smog with mighty wings.  these attempts only thicken the cover and make him choke in the process.  he’d be choking now if he weren’t so damn arrogant.  the hand that outstretches reeks and hawks has half the mind to shy away   ,  but he refuses to give dabi that lick of satisfaction.  instead he stands as a perfect statue in reply to the fingers which play with the feather-like wisp of his hair.  he was the one to beget the to and fro confrontation  ,  he’d be damned if he backed away now.  

he’s compliant even as the fingers turn into a full palm against the base of his skull  ;  the graveyard man’s hand ever so gentle.  hawks condemns himself silently for the chill that races down his spine.  pretends to call it fear as to not give  himself  the satisfaction of it being anything but.  the feign of humane treatment fades away as his neck is craned back. those  rotten fingers  that close around soft tendrils act as a cage to the bird and keep the body fully pliant.  the same can’t be whispered about the wings that spread on his back on instinct  ,  calling a bluff that hasn’t been vocalized.  dabi could burn him from head to toe here if he wanted to  ,  but he’d receive more than a little pinprick at the attempt.  they push and pull and neither of them seem to give.   the hard line of hawks’ lips contrast the grotesque slasher smile on dabi’s.  the staples lining his cheeks strain and give a peek to the sinew of muscles beneath dead flesh.  fear has no place between the gap of their bodies  ,  only silent ferocity.   finally a laugh bubbles in hawks’ chest as he picks at him  ,  lips curving at the corner’s.  the long awaited chirps of reply follow suit.

  “   my pants aren’t on fire  ,   ”    he begins  ,  “   how arrogant can y’ be to demand answers from me when i started the conversation  ,  dabi.    ”   gold-tinted eyes bore into the propane depths of dabi’s searching for a key to this cage  ;  for an air of knowledge.  the fuck does he know about him ?  why doesn’t hawks know a damn thing about dabi in turn  ?  it makes his stomach twist.   “    is it something so silly that it’s  embarrassing  to speak of ?   ”   as if a man with a face like this would have a comical past.  yet again hawks refuses to back down from his rouse  ,  from his own arrogance to fan these flames.  gloved fingers raise to drag against the metal that holds the skin to his wrist  ;  pressure anything but polite from the fingertips.

oh really :)