#ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴅᴇғᴇɴᴅᴇʀ † main

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You had known that whichever choice you made, you would ultimately end up hurting someone. It was then a question of who you thought yourself capable of hurting. At least, you had thought so. But then you finally learned the truth about your mother. And in that moment, your choice was made. Taking your winged brother by the hand, you agreed to step into your new life, leaving everything you had ever known behind in favor of something new.

Something in your soul tells you that you should have known. That you should have seen this coming. Everyone leaves. Everyone is hiding something. No one can be trusted. You had been foolish to think she could be any different. She’d been too good at acting from the start. She’d fooled the heroes and the students with the ease of someone with years of acting experience under their belt. Foolish of you to assume she hadn’t been playing the same game with you and everyone else in the League. Still, it was infuriating. To know it had all been a game to her-- the comforts she’d provided to all in the League, the way she had even defended them at every turn. Had those all been lies? Empty words and actions, void of any real meaning? Or had that damned bird, that damnable traitor, corrupted her while he had infiltrated their ranks?

What a cruel child, either way. Dabi figures it’s time he taught her a lesson. That conviction, that raging funeral pyre, called louder for her demise when Compress returned, so very clearly broken and defeated by the finality of her betrayal. If even Compress hadn’t been able to persuade her to return, then perhaps only the fires of hell could absolve her of her sins.

Your encounter with Compress, the man you had always thought of as a father, had been horrible. Your current encounter with Dabi, though, is torture. Quite literally, at that. Flames lick at your skin, leaving painful blisters or searing through skin depending on how quickly you could or couldn’t manage to dodge them. And you’re suddenly reminded of why you could never hope to defeat him in any manner. He can ignite flames without apparent end, whereas your quirk is limited by the amount of iron in your body. To make matters worse, heat worsened your quirk’s abilities. Needles meant to be sharp and deadly become limp steel noodles capable on inflicting exactly zero damage. That leaves you with only the sword sheathed in your umbrella. Certainly you’re an incredibly skilled swordswoman by now, but Dabi has more experience and knows your fighting style more than anyone else. That fact is becoming more and more apparent by the moment.

Endurance is not your ally. You know that, if you want to defeat Kitiara, you have to make it quick. Despite only being around eight years younger than you, she has so much more endurance than you could hope to have. The lucky little brat-- she’d had proper training even before falsely attending UA, and the school had only served to hone her abilities. The openings you had known to be there before ( from those times spent sparring ) are few an far between. She’s quick, too, dodging your blue-hot flames left and right. But she isn’t always fast enough. There are plenty of instances where she burns, but even in that moment of weakness, she’s on guard and doesn’t give you the chance to take advantage of it.

One thing hasn’t changed, though. She’s too focused on one thing at a time for her own good. Doesn’t see the bigger picture. Doesn’t see that the burns you leave on her with your flames are strategically placed.

You’re too foolish to realize his game. Not until you’re collapsed on the ground, knees burnt too horribly to even think about moving your legs. You try to go for your blade, but he’s quicker on his feet than you are flat on your stomach. He swipes it up, and when your hand reaches out to grab hold of him to retaliate, he stabs the blade through, pinning your hand to the ground. It rips a cry of pain from you, one which dies out halfway through due to the disuse of your voice. Tears well up in your eyes, but when your other hand moves to try and free the blade from your flesh, he pins it down with the heel of his boot. Makes a show of digging it down into your hand, grinning at the sickening crunch and the way you writhe in agony. Breathing labored, you struggle to lift your head and glare at him through your tear-blurred vision. You know where this is to end. He’s always threatened you with burning you to ashes, even when you were both on the same side of the fight. Now that you aren’t, there’s nothing stopping him from finally making it a reality.

You say nothing, but the challenge is evident in your eyes.

You leave that deserted alleyway filled with smoke and blue flames by yourself. The screams of the burning girl have long since stopped, but the flames that brought them about still burn. This area is utterly abandoned, so there’s no chance her screams were heard. The smoke, though, would surely attract attention. So you figure it’s time to leave your masterpiece behind and return to the new hideout. But you don’t leave without a sort of trophy. Or rather, two trophies. They’re not for yourself, though. No, you have no use for such things. Instead, you plan to leave her old beloved parasol to Compress, figuring maybe he’d want something to remember her by. Plus, she’d lent it to him several times to serve as a makeshift cane if he lost his own for any reason. Maybe it’d give him something to remind him of better times.

The mask she wore, you save for Hawks. You have it sent to him in all of its singed and soot-covered glory, with nothing else. It’s a warning to the hero and all other traitors, loud and clear.

Never betray Dabi, lest you want to burn.

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This is her first Christmas alone. She hates it already.

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carefully drapes his coat around her shoulders. she'd been shivering for a good few minutes. the least he can do is try and help warm her up. proceeds to then nudge her towards the bar. ' go ahead inside. i can finish up out here. ' // dadpress dadpress dadpress

Surprise colors pale features, mismatched eyes turning upward. Gloved hands come up to grasp the edges of the coat, tugging it tighter around much tinier body. But attempts to nudge you toward the bar are met with stubborn resistance, heels digging down, weight leaned backward. The cold is distasteful, but you were never one to stop and drop anything you had started. Besides that, the cold does serve a purpose. To you, anyway. Perhaps your only takeaway from your time at UA, 

“Mm… I can help.” Unused voice cracks partway through, but it does little to stop you. It never has and it won’t start now. Instead you bury your face into the warmth of the coat, even if it does slightly muffle your already soft, low speech. “Besides. Cold helps quirk. Makes better needles. Need to learn to withstand cold. Like at camp.” If you could withstand being put in a barrel of near-freezing water at camp, then surely this wouldn’t hurt.

Then again, you’re not trying to use your quirk. And you don’t have your usual jacket either. So you’re not doing yourself any favors.

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*yeets Shinsou at Kit* 💖 *runs*

⨳ — SEND 💖 TO HOLD MY MUSE’S HAND;

Status: Open!

It is not joy or thrill or anything positive that first flashes through you when you feel a hand in your own. Rather, it is a jolt of fear and surprise that sends you recoiling from the touch. Those feelings are brief, though. You quickly realize you are not even in a situation that remotely requires you to fear any kind of touch, and that you ought to grow out of your conditioned touch aversion. That is, if it were possible to do so, though sadly you don’t acknowledge that it has to do with your neurodivergence, not the manner in which you were raised the previous few years.

Still, you force the tension from your shoulders to turn your head and take a look at who it was that had, admittedly ever so gently and seemingly with no ill will, taken your hand. 

The sight that greets you is none other than your fellow traitor. His familiar visage causes your features to soften, a ghost of a smile playing at your lips, According to Toga, he is one of the few people you allow yourself to be ‘soft’ around, for one reason or another. Why wouldn’t you be? Who were aware just how ugly Shigaraki could be with his student pawns when displeased. Both of you have the scars to prove it. 

That’s why, when you give his hand a squeeze in return, it’s the gentlest of actions, void of anything hostile and instead filled with comfort and some kind of affection you couldn’t name. The same is true of your tone when you speak in that ghostly, raspy voice of yours, asking only a question of genuine concern. 

“Are you doing alright?”

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.@leftoverquirks :

─── ❝ That’s why it failed. The simpler your plan, the easier it is to dismantle. ❞ The most basic thing one could know. ❝So? What will you do now? ❞

It’s difficult to hide your annoyance. Not that it’s Shinsou’s fault. If anything, the fault is your own. Months of feeding intel to Shigaraki, months of planning and waiting, and it ended in disaster. You had underestimated the heroes, how quickly they, with the help of the police, would be able to track down the hideout and attack. Even the intervention of All for One, a whole other mess you’d surely go off on Shigaraki for hiding from everyone, hadn’t been enough. The heroes had won and now your group is unfortunately powerless.

It was supposed to be simple. That at least is true. The mission had been simple. Get in, get information, plot an attack. How could you have possibly messed up so horribly?

You decide to avoid going down that train of thought in favor of finding an answer to his question. What are you going to do now? You can’t go back to being a mole in the school-- everyone knew your allegiance the minute you attacked your supposed classmates in that clearing. It’s not as if you have a shapeshifting quirk to disguise yourself either. It’s time to take on a new role, then. 

“...Whatever I must.” Voice soft and raspy, barely above a whisper. The disuse of your voice has taken its toll over the years, but at least you still have it-- even if it might be unpleasant for others to listen to now. You don’t really care in this moment-- signing isn’t an option as your hands are currently occupied in stimming with that damnable putty. A horrid texture, but the only stim you’ve got on hand. “A change in roles is in order, I guess.”

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“ how could you do this…? “ / from compress. mmm maybe in that redemption verse :)))))

Send me   “ how could you do this…? “    for your muse to confront mine about a choice they’ve made.  

Status: open!

If there was one thing you had been dreading more than anything else, this would be it. In fact, it probably is. The feeling he brings about with just those words, so clearly full of hurt, brings about a feeling that is foreign, though not new to you.

Guilt, Hawks had called it. That was when you tried describing the weight sitting on your chest, tugging at your heartstrings, blurring your vision with tears when you saw him again after the attack on the camp. That same feeling had been weighing you down upon hearing Tooru had been sent to the hospital due to Mustard’s gas, unconscious for days because of your actions. But now. Now the feeling is so much more intense than before. It’s ripping at your heart, blinding your vision, crushing you under its weight and taking all air from your lungs. Suddenly you can’t remem how to breathe, let alone speak. Not that either would be easy with the massive lump forming in your throat, even if you could breathe properly in this moment.

If anything or anyone could make you reconsider your horrendous decision, it would be Compress. The dear old father you had never been blessed with. But could you even call him that anymore? After all you’ve done? Taking everything you and he and everyone else had worked for and throwing it all away for a hero? Probably not.

Maybe you ought to take Dabi up on his offer threat to burn you to ashes. Maybe it could serve as some repentance for your crimes against your beloved father.

But Dabi isn’t here right now, for better or for worse. It’s just the two of you, the air thick between you two silent aside from the rampant, loud, and too-quick beating of your heart that you’re sure even he can hear.

Finally, you find your voice, though you’re sure words aren’t enough here. They never are, even though you’re nothing but sincere in this moment. 

“I’m sorry.”

[needlxd-a-blog]

Similarly, hero au Kit dies trying to take on the league (with the exception of @atshro bc Dad™) and uhhhhh @crmtn and I have a sad sad thread planned to do with that c:

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@cmprssd || hero/redemption au feels

Kitiara is... ashamed, truthfully. To look someone she called a father in the eyes after deserting the league to become a hero. All for the sake of the winged pro she calls a brother.

Shame and doubt fill her mind suddenly. What had she been thinking? She was born for villainy, had been so damn good at it. She had s family in the league. She thought she had been prepared for the pain her betrayal would cause. Hell, it's been easy to fight Dabi, since they never really got along. Toga's easy enough to fight too. And Kitiara has had the fortune to avoid Shigaraki.

But coming face to face with Atsuhiro again makes her want to break down and cry. She can't draw her weapon on him nor create her needles to fight. All she can do it collapse to her knees with tears in her eyes.

'I'm sorry.' She can't manage to sign it, nor speak it. She only mouths the words, and it just makes her feel worse. At the very least, he deserves to hear an apology, even if it would do no good. And she can't even manage that.

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‘First crush? My boss.’

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She’s wondering why Hawks can’t meet the boss yet. She got to meet boss on first day, so she’s confused.

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You see the explodey loser attacking the autistic quirkless boy. You find it extremely repulsive anyone would do such a thing, even though you know Bakugou is just... ill-tempered. Still, that’s one of Hawks’ interns. He wouldn’t want this, would he? Maybe you should step in.

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“Surprise bitch. I’m still alive.”

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@acremate liked

“Aw, you don’t look too happy, Dabi.” She grins as she ever so casually seats herself beside the older villain, parasol open and resting on her shoulder away from him. Her legs are crossed, and the top foot gently kicks back and forth. Her free hand toys with one of her needles absentmindedly though her gaze remains on him. “What’s the matter? Little kids wreck your shit again? Or are you just pissed about the plague-doctor wannabe?”

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@xcrematedx || x

Amusement shows in her features, and she simply tilts her head at the other. ‘I won’t clean.’ She signs her sentences with one hand, and the other points to the carnage. ‘Mess not mine.’

She’s not sure if the other can even read sign language, but she figures she might as well try. If not, she can just resort to pen and paper.

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You revel in being the favorite child. He is also your favorite dad.

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jxjivisha replied to your post: She’s a villain, yes, but she’s not going to curse...

Eri is aware this is a bad woman. But she’s offering protection from the scary adults so she’ll go with her anyway.

Offers a hand. Come, small child. Kitiara won’t harm a child. She’s better than those Yakuza fucks.