#𝐯𝐢𝐢.⠀⠀···⠀ dabi⠀⠀:⠀⠀writings.

[fireburial]

"I GO BY DABI THESE DAYS " ... the scarred arsonist with black-dyed hair and icy-blue eyes runs a life shrouded in mystery. . . Rude, merciless and apathetic, the 25-year-old is hell-bent on a path of r e v e n g e — working actively together with a group of supernatural outcasts that terrorises the world.

Y O U 'R E A L L THE S A M E.

But when people start to question their F A I T H in you, it will finally SHAKE SOCIETY TO ITS VERY CORE ... We don't need a large number of thugs to achieve our g o a l ... all we really need is a small group of experienced elites . . . [ & ] SOON YOU WILL REALIZE ... that your precious PEACE is resting in OUR hands.

# FIREBURIAL ; selective. mutuals only. indie rp. manga based portrayal of the villain "DABI" from "Boku no Hero Academia" by Kōhei Horikoshi. & stuck with @kettensaege.

( CARRD.)

[fireburial]

"Thought the boss told ya to take it easy", he drawls where he's seated on the couch that could have seen a lot of better days. It is hard not to notice her restlessness after that mess of an encounter with Overhaul. His chin is held up by his palm, and he scrolls through his phone with a bored expression on his face as he reads the news. Normally, he'd be out and about, doing his own thing, but he's heard of the incident and he doesn't believe that Compress' and Magne's instincts were wrong to engage in a fight. The people they'd met were dangerous, untrustworthy, and impulsive. All of these factors made Overhaul an unworthy ally to the League, much less of a leader. He seemed like a loose cannon. That didn't necessarily fall into Dabi's own plans, he'd have to look out for himself. More so than usual.

And it's not like Dabi followed Shigaraki because he always agreed with him, he was fairly certain most of the League only tagged along because it benefitted them. With a new leader, things could drastically change. While it was not Dabi's call to tell Shigaraki what to do, he doubted the boss would leave this incident alone. Shigarani was the definition of a man-child. Too proud to let it go. He says as much when the beer is placed in front of him, leaving out the child comparison, however. His blue pair of eyes give it a short, casual glance before they revert back to his phone screen. "So you'll get your revenge eventually", he drawls matter-of-factly. The bottle still remains untouched as they talk. "It's just a matter of time..." He was almost regretting a little on missing out on the encounter, too busy recruiting members that ended up being worthless trash and burnt to a crisp by him soon after in dark alleyways. Maybe Overhaul deserved the same. "You bet Compress will want to tag along too once he gets his arm prosthesis by Giran."

   it was just the two of them left at the hideout. the rest of the league off doing odd tasks set upon them by the boss. magne had hoped shigaraki would assign her something, anything to do, but he had told her to take it easy for now and rest up. she swears this is some sort of punishment for her ill timed temper. as if dying and coming back to life wasn't enough. that fucking yakuza coward would pay for what he did to her and to compress.

   that still doesn't explain why dabi was there, but she doesn't want to ask. probably wouldn't like the answer, anyway.

   “do you want a drink?” she strides to the small fridge that hums rather loudly. she would have to take a look at that. she pulls two beers from it before @fireburial even answers closing it softly.

[fireburial]

# FIREBURIAL ; Known under the alias of 'DABI ' ... the scarred arsonist with black-dyed hair and icy-blue eyes runs a life shrouded in mystery. . . Rude, merciless and apathetic, the 25-year-old is a prominent member of a terrorist group of supernatural outcasts that pursues the destruction of society. Dabi is capable of generating and controlling blue fire at will, but at the cost of his own life.

stuck with @kettensaege

ooc!! selective. mutuals only. single muse. indie rp. manga-canon portrayal of the villain "dabi" (boku no hero academia) by kōhei horikoshi. mun is 21+. open for plotting.

this blog/character deals with: tw self-harm, ableism, suicidal ideation, body horror, gore, emotional regression, identity issues, patricide and mental illnesses such as borderline personality disorder and sociopathy.

[fireburial]

Send 🌳 for our muses to get lost in the woods together

Dry branches were cracking underneath his boots. And with every step they took deeper into the woods, he was convinced that they had gotten lost. The solution to their problem was an easy one as Dabi had suggested to her at least a couple of times by now: His fire could reduce this place to ash, and then they would be quickly finding their way back with no irritating trees left.

But as he had expected of Vika, she was determined to find another way. Of course she was. He suppressed an eye roll as they kept marching forward. After all, her connection to nature was a hindering factor in burning it all down.

"You misunderstand", he argues at last, a dry attempt to convince her of his plan, "I am all about the environment, me."

As if to accentuate his point, he gives another flick of his wrist and sends the blue embers of his cigarette up in a sparkling inferno of blue flames. He doesn’t actually try to leave out the sarcasm and he pointedly ignores the doubtful look she's probably giving him now — still, case in point: they're wasting time here and he's growing impatient.

Originally, she'd wanted to lead him to her garden, the one he'd heard so much about... and the little detour they took wasn't as short as originally anticipated. So here they were. Finding themselves suddenly lost in the woods.

Dabi clicked his tongue as they continued down the same path, chidingly and his patience thinning. "Can't you like ask... the trees which way we should go? Or whatever else living fucking thing is out here?"

He feels stupid for even saying it out loud — plants do not speak — should not be able to speak. If he were stuck in the woods with anyone else, his questions would probably be considered a bad joke. But it was not. For her, it was a reality.

And yet, the sight of overgrown dark tree stems looming all over them grew very depressing after a while. He could barely make out the sky this way. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard any birds either. Something was definitely not right about this place. Or maybe someone didn't want them to find their way back.

Either way, he found himself almost tripping, cursed quietly under his breath, and stomped his foot on the root that almost made him fall face forward onto the dirty ground. "Do you have a better plan then, Tinker Bell?", he mocks her, clearly irritated by just walking and doing nothing at this point. He couldn't even tell if they've been walking in circles because this forest simply didn't seem to have an end.

Burning it all down became with every passing second a much more attractive solution.

🌳 for our muses to get lost in the woods together

[fireburial]

❝ look at me! ❞ || (hi!! up to you the timeline/verse, in my mind, it's the same as: i want you to LOOK at me, like in their battle in the second war arc)

"Haven't had enough attention yet, Shōto?", his voice is loaded with venom and his eyes are narrowed into slits as he stares down the abomination that is his brother. The very thing that had robbed him of everything.

He can't count the number of times he's daydreamed about his youngest brother disappearing from this world. And then it would only be him, Natsuo and Fuyumi. His father's attention back on himself. And maybe then he'd have gotten his rightful place back. Maybe if Shōto hadn't been born, he could have still fixed things. Could have proven his worth and ensured his father that he wasn't a mistake.

But this was long in the past by now. A childish dream he's buried along with his emotions.

Because they were both here now. Both sons of the great number one hero, but on opposite sides of the battlefield.

There was no other way.

He'd chosen this path of revenge and hatred ever since he's seen he was nothing but a memory, a ghost, a failed experiment.

A forgotten shrine put up in his old room.

And hatred, he'd learned quickly as he survived on his own, was the antidote to sadness. It was the only safe feeling. Because hatred does not make you cry. It isn't vulnerable. Hatred is efficient. It does not grovel. It does not disappoint. It is pure power.

What he had lacked in his father's eyes, his hatred had grown tenfold in comparison. He's grown stronger without his help. He's got greater fire power than any of them.

If only his father— Endeavor— could have seen that before he'd tossed him aside and replaced him with a half-hearted son that didn't even make use of his full potential, then— then what?

"Oh, but I've looked at you. Watched you", he admits. He sounds gleeful in all the wrong ways and there's a malevolent smile on his face. "And I've seen... how very disappointing you are. You got everything thrown at your feet, but you make no use of it. You're being weak, hesitant, for what? You'll never be a hero, Shōto. You're just a waste of space. A half-baked puppet."

He could already see it. The end of them.

He'd let all of his resentment pour out of him in a stream of light, the blue flames too hot for anyone to handle. His father’s throat would warp in the heat and he'd bring down the city with him, and the last thing he would see is his eldest son backlit in blue, taking down his favorite — his masterpiece Shōto—before the only light left in their eyes would be Touya's fire. Reduced to a husk.

It would be beautiful.

Poetic justice.

[fireburial]

032

He can hardly make out Denji's words over the noise of the fight club. The roar of cheers, loud cursing and drunken betting, the battle cries of the contestants, fists meeting fists, men and women howling in pain or victory as the commentator yells above it all. "Place your bets now! Place your bets NOW!", the man repeats over the continuous noise, his voice loud through the speakers from every corner of the battle ring: "Oh no— and another's down!"

A round of boos and curses follows while some are cheering at the loss of another contestant. "Only six are left! Who's going to be our champion? C'mon, place your bets, place your bets, and win a fortune!" he keeps chanting as the fight continues in the pit down below. They're standing against the railing, looking down at the several quirk users who are battling each other. Quirks and powers aren't allowed, however. It's a fight of brute strength - using every available advantage to win. Nobody said you couldn't play unfairly. To expect a fair fight was a certain loss in this place anyway.

And it was a rotten crowd. Everyone had blood on their hands, betrayed, cheated, hurt, or killed someone before — the underground was no place for a lost civilian.

But... they've been here before, watching much the same, like now, an ongoing battle.

The drink in his hand was cool and refreshing, unlike the air down here or the fight. And in the underground, there was no reason for him to hide his face from the public either. Most of them were indifferent or friendly to the League of Villains. And even if they weren't, nobody wanted to risk this place to be found out or unleash Dabi's wrath. They knew better than that and it would be pointless to everyone involved.

More important matters were in people's minds. Particularly freedom. And money. Lots of money, drugs, and alcohol. If one wanted to get a hand on a weapon, you'd be led to the underground. Thus, this place was no stranger to Dabi. This place was brimming with business. He knows because he's done it himself. Many years on the streets he's spent dealing, working, and sharing information with the one crowd that paid him best. It was a paradise.

"Don't you want to join them?", he asks his company with a lazy smile on his face as he watches on. His head is tipped sideways, close enough to reach his ear and make sure he's heard him over the noise. Only 5 are left in the ring. The three men and two women fight like their lives depend on it. And it may as well. Killing and getting killed wasn't out of the question for this place. It was a calculated risk.

He sways his drink in his left hand, the liquid inside a clear blue, as they bear witness to a female contestant getting knocked out and declared a loser. "Ouch, that must have hurt! Well, only five are left! The top 5! Come on, people, join them or place your bets! The winner gets it all!"

"See", he points out after the woman's unconscious body is dragged out of the pit. "You'd even have a chance now."

He can't help the shit-eating grin that takes over his face, a quick side glance thrown at the blonde as he raises the glass to his lips, attempting to hide his smirk - without success. His elbow brushes against him with the movement, another subtle touch, a nudge just to provoke him into a fight — either here or inside the pit. "The world knows you only as Chainsaw Man..." His gaze flickers back to the fight down below, his free hand reaching out as if he could squish the fighters underneath his palm from their perspective on top. "Why not make a name for yourself as Denji the Champion as well?"

032, in the crowd of spectators during an underground fight.

[fireburial]

🗡️

"Someone's tailing me", Dabi says, half-leaning on the barkeeper's counter. His voice is muffled behind the black medical mask he is wearing, only slightly pulled down for the next warning he throws at the blonde: "Thought you could give some assistance, mister." The polite speech was foreign on his tongue, his voice too unserious as well. So, if the blonde hadn't found out who he was by his voice alone, it would definitely be clear enough to him by now. The sight of his face is too easily recognizable after all.

He grins at him with amusement glinting in his eyes, as if this was just another normal Thursday for him. He's hardly as troubled as the situation calls for it, both of them knowing better. He's not as innocent as he claims to be, but he's already being followed and the bar Jasper worked at was just around the corner. So why not pay a visit?

And he wouldn't risk getting caught in the middle of the city just because he was shit at running. He's already trying to keep his face and scars hidden in public, not risking being spotted. And yet... here he was. Maybe it had been the glare he'd thrown at the older lady in front of him for taking too long to pay in the supermarket's queue that she deemed him scary and suspicious in his cloaked get-up, so she must have called the cops on him afterward. Or maybe it was because he's kicked a guy's head in after the man's made a stupid attempt to rob him of his belongings with a gun fixed on him a couple streets later. And rob him of what even? Money? He shoplifted regularly if he didn't pickpocket some himself now and then. The contents of his purse were the equivalent worth of a mere 20 dollars. And even now, grabbing groceries was completely legit. So who could really know? Dabi didn't care enough to find out who and why, he just knew it was more than just one person that was following him for a while now, their intent not as friendly as one would like to hope for. They surely didn't come for a chat.

He was very aware that leading them here would just make things worse for Jasper. But why not share some of the misery? Surely, the guy had enough brains and heart to help a poor guy out if he didn't want a murder case inside this bar. In truth, Dabi counted more on the fact that Jasper didn't want to lose his job than on the kindness of his heart. In the end, you couldn't trust anyone.

"The blue flames aren't exactly low-maintenance, y'know," he drawled off-handedly, sounding bored for the fact that he was probably leading a group of cops, assassins, or heroes into this uninvolved place. The bag of groceries he'd placed on the counter next to himself. "Nice place you got here", he tapped against the wood. The hood of his black jacket was pulled over his head, the mask falling back into place to hide the lower half of his face when he spoke again. There's only so much he could do to hide his presence. Stealth just has never been his strong point anyway.

And it's not like he couldn't get rid of his stubborn followers on his own either. He absolutely could. It's just... he could likely turn this place into a pile of ash in seconds, its guests unaware of the imposing threat, blue flames devouring everything in its wake, but he would leave behind nothing but the smell of burnt flesh and lots of wasted alcohol of a perfectly fine bar. And well, maybe, he didn't necessarily need to make an enemy of Jasper too, if he could help it. So he was counting on his cooperation to get rid of the threat.

There's not that much time left to decide anyway when a group of three men enters the place. They are quick to scan the area, their faces serious as they seem to look for him. He doesn't notice a badge on them, so he might be wrong in his assumption for them to be cops. Maybe it's just the yakuza he's pissed off plenty times before too. The list of his enemies was long.

Nonetheless, it didn't matter because they were coming right at them, hands poised behind them as they closed in with hurried steps. A gun? A knife?

In the meanwhile, Dabi's made a good show of attempting to be drunk, swaying as he grasped for Jasper's arm firmly, seemingly giving himself and him an out to take this fight outside and leave through the back entrance of the bar before it got too ugly inside.

Once outside, the stench of vomit, piss, and trash hit his nose. It's not unfamiliar, living on the streets as long as he did, he knows it well, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. He keeps the mask on, letting go of Jasper's arm he's holding onto for the bad show of acting drunk and wobbly when he's taken a good distance of the back entrance by now, his own arm raised at the group of three men bursting outside, two of them with cocked guns as they shout "There you are, you bastard!" at him while the other, more burly man, doesn't seem to wait to swing his fists already at Jasper.

"Now, that's not very nice," Dabi interrupts, sounding too insincere, too light of caring about the insult, much less about the attack. There's a trace of amusement audible in his voice as he steps back, his palm hot, ready to burst into blue flames any moment. The stench would get worse in a matter of seconds.

🗡️ for our muses to get attacked by a third party