My first assignment in my class was to pick a coloring book page provided by the professor and this funky bird was the obvious choice for me (my professor has great taste)
No, actually, i want cables and not bluetooth, i don't want touchscreens, i want buttons and knobs, i want to be able to take the battery out of my phone, i want to charge my phone and plug in head phones at the same time, i want a cd drive in my laptop and not have to buy an external drive, i want a car without a display, i want to turn on the lights with a switch not with my voice, i want to have a paper cinema ticket not a QR code, i want to listen to illegally burned music on a 00s cd player, i want to watch movies that i actually own, i want to read news once a day on paper, i want to aimlessly flick through magazines and not doomscroll on social media, i want to write emails and not talk to chatbots, i want to own stuff without hundreds of digital subscriptions, i want
The fact that Aizawa knows it's Hizashi's scream that made the building collapse and Hizashi knows it was Aizawa who was supposed to die instead of Shirakumo yet they keep it a secret and never blame the other,only themselves
Ok, this is something I've been thinking about for a while, but, like, Hawks in the scene where he kills Twice is framed as a villain, right? At least visually. Like, I'm not crazy am I?
In that scene, the visuals are set up in such a way to make Hawks look like the villain. He's shown standing menacingly above Twice. His entire face is obscured in shadow. Hell, even his dialogue sounds villainous. "Don't get up" sounds like a villain speaking to a hero they've just beaten.
And if we want to talk about tropes, oh boy. The act of betrayal is almost always used as a villain trope. When a character pretends to be an ally only to betray the group during a moment of crisis by killing or injuring another member of the group, that character is usually a villain. When a character the story labels as a hero (in the narrative sense) "betrays" a character the story labels as a villain (again, in the narrative sense) it's usually not framed as a bad action. But Hawks's betrayal of the League? The story seems to treat it like it actually is a violation of trust. Hawks going undercover with the League, on a narrative level, is framed like a villain gaining the heroes trust, not a hero spying on the villains.
On top of that, the whole fight between Hawks and Twice frames Twice as the hero. Twice is the underdog, fighting against impossible odds to protect his friends, a trope usually used for hero characters. And Hawks is an insurmountable force, offering help and saftey if only Twice would just surrender to him, give up his freedom to the man threatening to kill him, which is a trope usually reserved for villain characters.
In that scene, Twice is framed as the protagonist, while Hawks is framed as the antagonist.
All of this is why I believe that Hawks was originally supposed to be seen as this morally grey character. Someone willing to do the dirty work the other characters were to "heroic" to do. And then Horikoshi walked it back, finding a way to justify every action Hawks took. He frames Hawks's predecessor, Lady Nagant, as an unhinged psychopath for killing her boss, and has her tell the audience that she should stay in prison for all her terrible deeds while Hawks gets to walk free after doing almost the exact same shit.
I feel like I'm rambling, but I'm not crazy about the way Hawks vs. Twice was framed, right?
this art will always make me want to bawl my eyes out because what do you mean we could have pro hero touya and health assistant toga only if they had decent parents??
if u are ever scared of yapping about your blorbo or your life or your creative projects on the dash bc u are worried that no one wants to see it. know that I am holding your hand and supporting you. I want to see it. make that shitpost I need it to read it posthaste
unnamed WIP (for now) the whole fic will be posted on my ao3 when itâs done
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post war hawks recovery in the hospital. he meets a therapy dog.
cw: injuries, feeding tubes (mentioned), prosthetics (mentioned bc rumi)
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when hawks woke up, the war was over.
he briefly remembered uravity defeating toga, someone on the battlefield defeating dabi, and a helicopter piolet. other than flashes of faces and the remembrance of pain, he didnât have any recollection of anything else before he woke up in the hospital. his wake was unlike the movies heâd seen, the hero startling awake, looking for his loved ones and friends, already surrounded by them, ushered back into bed, and taken care of. doctors bustling to check on the hero, tears of joy and hugs and smiles, sun shining through draped windows-
hawks woke up alone, in a quiet room, lights off, in the middle of the night.
he didnât know how much time had passed, only that his mouth felt like it was full of cotton balls, his everything was aching, and his back was mournfully empty and flat. he laid, undisturbed, until the early morning light began to brighten his room, tear tracks long dried on his cheeks, and he couldnât help but feel grateful that he had woken up when he did. no one had to see his breakdown, his crumbling facade, his emotions spilling out over his lashes and down his cheeks; they didnât have to see his acceptance of the loss of his quirk, the outward projection of the emptiness he felt on the inside and the amount of wrong, different, broken, he felt screaming through his veins.
his recovery process wasnât easy; countless surgeries to repair shattered bones, metal plates and screws installed in his joints, pain of waking, pain of sleeping, moving, eating, everything causing him pain. it had gotten to a point that he stopped talking, smiling, or interacting with anyone. even tokoyami couldnât make him crack a smile after his first month in the surgical wing.
hawks knew he was lucky to be alive, that he had survived when so many hadnât. the doctors and nurses, other heroes, the UA students, all of them told him how impressed they were that he had survived a fight against all for one. the media praised him, the public mourned the loss of their number two hero, and hawks turned further into himself. he didnât see a purpose in trying to act like he was fine because he wasnât, and he had no reason to put up a front. hawks was gone, wings ripped away, body broken and full of metal plates and scars. he would never move the same way again, never fly; his team of doctors informed him that he had a long road ahead of him, and he began to wonder if it was worth it.
three days after his, what he hoped would be, last set of knee surgeries, they hauled him out of bed and onto his feet despite the fact he was fighting them with what little strength he had left. it hurt. moving new metal joints on weakened legs with a weakened mindset had made it nearly impossible for anyone to get him moving. he just... didnât want to anymore.
it wasnât until the head nurse threatened to shove a feeding tube down his nose that he started putting in some sort of effort. he ate the meals they brought, even if it didnât taste like anything to him; he drank the water they offered, chewed the ice chips, swallowed the jello, slurped down anything they gave him because he wanted to have some sort of dignity left. it certainly didnât have anything to do with best jeanist coming to see him, talking to him about the hero scene, the after war efforts, his and other fellow heroesâ recovery. the older blonde loved to hear himself talk, but hawks knew he was trying to get through to him. he was trying to talk to him, not at him.
hearing about his chickletâs efforts in repairing the cities, helping clear danger zones and fight the villains left on the streets made him realize what and why he had stepped between all for one and tokoyami. the boy had so much to look forward to, and hawksâed be damned if he let that tyrant take that away from him. he began to remember what he had been fighting for the entire time he was a hero.
so, he tried more. be
once he had finally gotten his weight back to a reasonable level, he was moved to the physical therapy ward of the hospital, where he reunited with rumi. she had gone through her own set of surgeries, repairing what limbs and stumps she had left. when he saw her again for the first time, she was being fit to a new prosthetic, chatting with the doctor in her usual loud and rash tone, grinning ear to ear as she moved her arm up and down.
hawks had been wheeled in, his first day on the floor, prepared to take his own shaky steps on the bars they had lined in the middle of the room. he felt a rush of embarrassment, expected rumi to turn to him and make a joke about a flightless bird, point out how small he had gotten, how awful he looked, but she had simply given him a familiar large grin with a âhey chicken little,â a nickname he had grown fond of since knowing her.
it was then that Hawks noticed a black nose and golden-haired head resting on the skin of rumiâs thigh.
the dog was large, some kind of retriever mix with a coat like sunshine and a calm, steady gaze. its dark eyes flickered up to hawks as he was wheeled in, but otherwise, the pooch didnât move. slow, calm, almost sleepy eyes blinked at him a few times before a small huff left its lips, and the gaze dropped from his form, going back to whatever it was dogs in hospitals do.
he blinked. for a long second, he couldnât find his voice to respond to rumi or say anything, really. he didnât know what he was expecting, but a dog sitting in the middle of a clinical, pale white, mechanical room wasnât it. its golden hair was a bright splash of color against the white of the room, like it didnât belong.
the bunny hero followed his gaze, then looked back at him with that same toothy grin, like nothing was out of the ordinary, âoh yeah- this is kona. therapy dog. sheâs been my unofficial shadow for the last two weeks.â
hawks furrowed his brow, âtherapy dog?â
he had heard of rescue dogs, service dogs, police dogs, but never a therapy dog. they couldnât speak, couldnât contribute to any healing, so what was the point? she was just, well, a dog. he had never really been a dog person anyway, so he was way out of his comfort zone, more so than he already was. and maybe she could tell, but if she did, she didnât give any indication.
rumi carried on without a beat, âyeah,â her hand carded through the gold fur covering the dogâs head, âapparently, letting us pet dogs helps us not spiral into a black hole of ptsd or whatever. she just kinda hangs out while I do pt; sometimes comes to my room. doesn't say much, but she listens better than you ever did.â
that earned a tiny huff of air from his nose. not quite a laugh, but close enough. it was more than he had let out in the months heâd been hospitalized. god, he had missed her.
âshe bite?â he asked, eyeing the retriever as she lifted her head to study him again. the reply came easier than he expected, a tinge of teasing and humor lacing the words, somewhat like his old self.
âonly if you insult her fashion sense,â rumi quipped, nudging at the purple flowered bandana tied loosely around her golden neck. kona didnât react other than nudging at her dark hand, a small huff escaping her lips. âgo ahead, you can pet her. she wonât explode.â
he swallowed dryly, eyes darting to rumi, her physical therapist, and back to the dog. he had never been a dog person. his heart was beating too loudly in his own ears, something in konaâs deep brown eyes making his throat tighten. it was like she didnât have a care in the world, calm, content, happy even.
oh, to be a dog.
he felt envious.
âiâm good.â he replied quietly, fingers curling into loose fists in his lap, âdonât need a dog babysitter.â
rumi shrugged and didnât push him, simply turning her attention back to her own physical therapist while hawksâ began speaking to him about their training regimen. it would take a period of weeks before he could really move without restraint, but if he followed their instruction, he wouldnât be down for too long. the blonde soaked up the information readily, like he always had. listening to orders, following out said orders. being good at listening and acting, although this time he was acting in regards of his own health.
there was no commission breathing down his neck anymore; no more harsh looks, disappointed lectures, secret missions, no more dirty work. he had been in contact with mera, the new commission president, but there was no talk of needing hawks to do anything for him. the man was simply checking in on him, discussing new policies and hawksâ opinion on them; it was like he truly mattered to mera. he found himself having a new appreciation for the older man, regardless of the way he turned his sight away from how hawks was raised within the commission.
things seemed to be turning around. for him and for society as a whole.
hawks was brought back to focus when the nurse hooked her arms under his in order to get him standing, guiding his arms to the bars on either side of him. underneath his feet was a blue exercise pad, soft with a slight squish, there in place in case patients fell while trying to walk. he swore to himself right then that he would never let himself fall. he might have fallen and failed as a hero, but he wouldnât fail in his own recovery. hawks had used his wings to fight for society, for his chicks, his country, for the world, but now he was fighting for himself.
he gripped the bars so harshly his knuckles turned white, legs shaking, and thatâs when the dog, kona, moved from where she was laying by rumiâs chair.
she didnât try to touch him, didnât try to gain his attention or make herself known; she padded over, laid down a few feet from where his wheelchair sat, and watch him. her eyes traced over him with patience and interest; he hated how much that made his chest ache. instead of focusing on kona, determined to ignore the pooch because he needed to focus on himself, he put all his attention into standing while the nurse counted down the seconds.
sweat dripped down the sides of his face, teeth clenched as pain flared up in his legs, shooting up his spine. his still healing ribs ached, as did the places he knew were no longer bruised.
foucs, hawks. youâre better than this. he couldnât tell if it was his own voice or that of someone long gone.
it wasnât long before he was collapsing into the wheelchair behind him, arms visibly trembling, wheezing breaths coming out of his throat. the nurse told him he did a good job for his first try, that he stayed standing longer than some of her other patients; he thought maybe she only said that to quell the self-hatred flowing through his veins. he was the number two hero of japan, and now he was reduced to, to what--? a broken shell, a man barely able to stand, let alone walk. he should be better than that, he had to be better- he had things he needed to do and-
his breath became shaky for a whole other reason, and it felt like his lungs were being squeezed and his neck was being squeezed by a hand. a pale, smaller than his own, hand, his feet werenât touching the ground, he could only hear his own pathetic attempts to keep breathing dispite the injuries and the blood loss and the-
kona moved. she didnât wait for permission or to be told; she ambled over on soft feet, unintrusive, barely noticed. the golden dog sat right next to his chair, and leaned gently, deliberately, against his leg. not too much pressure, not invasive. just... there.
it was enough to get him to blink down at her, thoughts muted as she titled her head up, waiting. waiting for him, but not pushing, not judging, not expecting anything from him unlike everyone else, including himself.
slowly, hesitantly, he reached out a still trembling hand and brushed his fingers against her soft fur. warm. real. s solid.
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