#Death is Nothing at All

[apoemaday]

Death Is Nothing at All

by Henry Scott Holland

Death is nothing at all I have only slipped away into the next room I am I and you are you Whatever we were to each other That we are still Call me by my own familiar name Speak to me in the easy way you always used Put no difference into your tone Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow Laugh as we always laughed At the little jokes we always enjoyed together Play, smile, think of me, pray for me Let my name be ever the household word that it always was Let it be spoken without effort Without the ghost of a shadow in it Life means all that it ever was There is absolute unbroken continuity What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind Because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you for an interval Somewhere very near Just around the corner All is well. Nothing is past; nothing is lost One brief moment and all will be as it was before How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Written by Henry Scott Holland (27 January 1847 – 17 March 1918) was Regius Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford

[Guillaume Gris]

[selcouthdiaries]

Death Is Nothing At All by Henry Scott Holland

[missamerica0414]

I love this poem so much

[mysteroads]

Okay, nerds! With all the MHA 426 spoilers floating around, I humbly offer you this to hopefully help soothe the ache. Still on the bittersweet side, but more sweet than bitter, and Mon-chan and Shiggy are there! And it's one in a series.

What? Did you think dying would stop the League from shenanigans? Never. 😉Here's the link to AO3, and the fic itself is below.

It's All About the People You're With

Much to his displeasure, Dabi wakes up after his final confrontation with his family. However, he finds that his family aren't the only ones waiting for him. Shigaraki is there to offer him a choice, and he brought his dog Monchan with him!

For the first time in his life, Dabi was cold. He was cold and everything else was dark and velvet soft silence. 

Fuckin’ bliss.

So naturally, he was pretty damned irritated when the curtains of darkness began to pull back, letting in the far more familiar and very unwelcome sensation of pain.

Oh fuck, he hurt. 

Not everywhere. A lot of his body felt numb, but not the floaty numbness of really good painkillers. No, this was the numbness that said, ‘hope you waved bye-bye to your nerve endings, you deep fried dumbass!’

Well, good riddance, pity he couldn't get rid of all of them. 

Dabi tried to move, to shift his body to a new position—as if that could possibly make it hurt less— but couldn’t. If he believed in a god he would curse them right now. Was he still on fire? Fuck it hurts! It hurts. It hurts so damn much! He couldn't swallow down the groan that crawled its way up his throat and dribbled out between his teeth. 

That groan apparently flipped a previously unknown switch, because as soon as the miserable little noise escaped, a wave of sound struck him and sent him reeling. 

Going from a blanket of silence to freaking bedlam knocked loose whatever tenuous grip he had on coherent thought, and he flailed around in a panic. What the hell was going on? What had happened? What was happening right now? Where was he?

When Dabi got himself back together, he at least had a new and different pain to focus on whenever he wanted a distraction from the burns! A migraine! What a fan-fucking-tastic bonus! More important: he could hear voices. Actual voices. Not just the one in his head that made smartass comments. The voices made him curious enough to pay better attention. He couldn't make sense of them—everything was weirdly muffled and distant— then one loud, all-too-familiar voice broke through the general hubbub and scratched nails down the chalkboard of his soul.

"You said there was no hope!”

“Mr. Todoroki, we discussed this possibility. Occasionally, a patient will continue to breathe on their own for some time after being taken off the ventilator. They may even make sounds. That does not change the inevitable outcome. I know this was a difficult choice, but—”

Dabi lost track of what the whiney voice was saying. He didn't care anyway. Fury overtook his confusion and irritation, fresh pain flaring across his body as his quirk tried to activate. For fuck’s sake! He hadn’t managed to take out his piece of shit father? After all that had happened?! What was the damned point then?! All his planning and suffering, all the bodies—including his own!— sacrificed, the League broken up… was it all for nothing?! He wanted to scream and weep and beat his fists against the floor like a child throwing a tantrum. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair that he'd lost everything, only for that motherfucker to survive!

Heh … motherfucker. Literally. 

The thought came from so far out of right field it left him stunned for a second, then his body jerked as he tried to laugh. Oh, now that was a whole new world of misery, and the motion clearly set off a fresh clamor with a frantic edge to it, but he didn't mind this time. Yeah, calling his father a motherfucker was stupid, but sometimes you needed a stupid joke the way you needed junk food. Right now, a laugh was just the thing he needed to pull himself that little bit farther into real consciousness. 

Dabi couldn't laugh, but he could open his eyes. 

Hey, I still have eyelids. Neat. 

Felt like they were attached to weights though, and once he got them open, everything was a haze of colors and vague shapes. Well, he couldn't really complain, since he’d kind of thought, what with all the fire and ice getting tossed around, that the water in his eyes would be frozen solid or boiled away. Blurry vision was better than raisins for eyeballs.

“He opened his eyes!” 

The shriek, while sounding like it came through a layer of cotton, made him wince away. The blurs around him burst into disorienting motion and the noise swelled into a cacophony, forcing him to shut his eyes again as he fought back another moan of pain. Fuck, why couldn't his ears have been scorched off? Wasn’t it bad enough his insides still burned and ached, but then these jerks had to make it worse with their gabble? 

He tried to shout them down, tell them to shut up and get out! He was a fucking A-ranked villain, dammit! Have some fucking respect! 

All that came out was a hissing sound. 

His throat and mouth felt more like sandpaper than flesh, and there was something wrong, more wrong than usual, with his face.

"He’s trying to talk!” 

“Oh my god– Toya! Toya! Can you hear us?”

“Nii-san!”

Shit, did they have to sound so excited? Something wet and cool was pressed against his mouth, and he couldn't help his relieved whimper as it rehydrated the strip of jerky currently serving as his tongue (eyelids, ears, and tongue had all survived? Holy shit!), and damped the fire in his throat. It took him two more tries, but he finally managed to whisper, “Shut… up. Fuckin’... noisy.” 

He didn’t recognize his own voice. Every word crackled like radio static and was horribly slurred, almost to the point of incomprehension. Shit. My lips. I guess those did burn away after all. Three out of four’s not bad though.

It didn’t seem to matter to the people around him. They laughed and sobbed, and he felt hands on him, even through the pain and numb areas. Cold hands, which felt nice against charred skin, and a large hand that burned almost as hot as fire kept running across his head over and over. Dabi wanted to knock them all away, but he was exhausted. Whatever rush of energy had brought him back here was running out, and he was so tired.

Tired down to his blackened bones.

Opening his eyes again, he tried to look around. Still blurry. Lots of white though, so, hospital? Why was he here? Why were they wasting time and medicine on a wreck of a villain? They sure were kicking up a lot of fuss about something. He could see people-shaped blurs wearing white running around like there was some kind of emergency. He wished he could roll his eyes, but that was too difficult. Idiots.

In a world of motion, the eye is naturally drawn to stillness, and so his gaze fell on the figure in the open doorway.

“Dog.” The word was startled out of him.

“What?”

“Did he say dog?”

“Toya, baby, what did you say?”  

Cold fingers touched his cheek, and he answered without thinking, “There's... a dog...”

A rush of confused whispers around him, as if they couldn’t see the freaking dog right in front of them. It was the damndest thing though: The rest of the room and the occupants were nothing but splotches of colors to him, but the dog was perfectly clear, practically haloed in high definition. Some type of medium sized brown dog, a shiba inu or corgi maybe. It sat as if waiting for something, and even from across the room he could tell its eyes were a warm, melting brown. He wondered idly if its fur was as soft as it looked.

“Her name’s Mon.” The new voice cut easily through the babble, and was familiar to Dabi as his own quirk. He felt the muscles in his face pull as they tried to form into a smirk.

“Tomura… Shigaraki… You crusty bitch.”

“Shigaraki? Did he say Shigaraki?”

“I heard crusty bitch.”

“What?!” 

His insult was answered by a low chuckle. “I don’t want to hear that from the guy who looks like a hotdog that fell into the campfire.” 

His former boss stepped into view and Dabi had to take a moment. Shigaraki looked… normal. Last time Dabi had seen the man, he’d been somewhere between a ‘roided up megavillain and a goddamn eldritch abomination. Now he was back to what he called his “rogue build,” all slender limbs and lean muscle, made for speed and close quarters combat. His mop of white hair was cut above his shoulders, and there was no corpse hand hiding his face. Garnet colored eyes were almost fond as they ran over Dabi’s bandaged form. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you…” Dabi mumbled, ignoring the sudden flutter of happiness(?) he got from the familiar exchange of insults. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the easy banter of the League. “What… What are you… doing here… Shig?”

“Oh, you must be feeling all soft and mushy to use a nice nickname,” Shigaraki teased, tucking his hands into the pockets of his long black coat and stalking forward. The (theoretical) doctors bustling around seemed to avoid him without effort, but none reacted to the villain or the dog that trotted happily alongside him.

“Go die, ugly,” Dabi repeated, or tried to. It was hard to get enough air to talk. He ignored the urgent voices and insistent touches trying to get his attention, and focused on his boss’s face.

“I already did, you dick.” 

Dabi sneered, even as his stomach dropped. Shigaraki had lost? It seemed impossible, and yet… “Look good… for a dead man.”

“I look better than you do for sure, bacon boy.” 

It really wasn’t fair how true that was. Dammit, he honestly couldn’t call Shigaraki crusty anymore! The scars on his eye and lip were still there, but the lines around his eyes and the splits in his lips seemed less like flakey, dried skin and more like weathered, cracked stone. His neck wasn’t all scratched and scarred up either. The brat looked healthy. It was disgusting. Dabi tried to flip him off, but couldn’t lift his arm. He couldn’t even make his fingers move, so he settled for, “Still prettier… than you…”

Chuckling, Shigaraki stopped next to Dabi’s bed and gave him a small smile. He’d never seen such a calm smile on Tomura Shigaraki’s face. It made his chest hurt for some reason. “Keep telling yourself that, you emo bastard. To answer your first question, Dabi, I’m here because I’m the leader, and you’re one of my League.”

Dabi scoffed. “Didn’t you hear… what I told the… damn pigeon? Don’t care… about the League. Never did.” 

“Oh, I did hear about that,” Shigaraki said, and his tone made Dabi stiffen and his eyes widen. Oh Shit. Something started frantically beeping, probably his heart monitor. He'd forgotten that Shigaraki could be a scary son of a bitch when he wanted to be.

“Toya? Son, what’s wrong?”

“What’s happening to him?!”

“And I expect you’ll get an earful from Toga and Jin, but that doesn’t matter in the end.” Shigaraki softened, voice turning from wrathful to patient, which was annoying coming from a spoiled brat like him. “I never asked you to give up your own goals when you joined the League. In fact, I recall saying specifically that my comrades could do as they pleased. But, Dabi, for someone who didn’t care, you sure stuck around for a long time.” He smirked and Dabi wanted to punch his stupid, uncrusty face. “You could’ve left after All For One was captured. Hell knows that I was a mess and the League was barely holding together. No way you could’ve known that we could help further your goals. There was no reason for you to stay.”

Not exactly true. He’d only stuck around out of a sense of obligation, because he’d found out that Shigaraki had emptied his personal bank accounts on equipment and supplies for his League, as well as on bribes and informants… and had spent a large chunk of that money on a reputable healer for Dabi’s head injury and to redo his staples before they got infected. He could’ve been permanently crippled, or even killed, if it hadn’t been for Shigaraki. There was a debt owed, and even the underworld had rules. You paid back your debts. Dabi wanted to explain, but his throat hurt too much to go into it all.

He got the feeling that Shigaraki guessed what he was thinking though, because the other man continued, “You helped us avenge Magne.”

Maybe small words? He’d managed those before. Talking was painful, but Dabi was used to pain, and he couldn’t just let Shigaraki ramble on like this without replying. The little shit would get cocky and start thinking he was right!

“Magne… was nice…” Too fucking nice. She flirted with him and it was really damned irritating (and embarrassing), but Magne had been kind. She really lived up to her title of ‘Big Sis.’ She made everyone feel wanted and welcome, and that complete acceptance had fed a hungry part of him he thought had starved to death years ago. “Overhaul… deserved… it.”

“Mhm. You helped us with the MLA and Deika City, became one of my generals.”

“Geten’s… a bigger bitch… than you. Easy. And general… is a cushy job.”

Shigaraki reached down to rub Mon’s ears. He used all five fingers, and she sighed in appreciation, leaning into his touch. His eyes never left Dabi’s face, though. “You cried for Twice.”

He couldn’t deny it. Tried to anyway. “Not… for him.” Everything he’d said to Hawks was true. Twice would’ve tipped the scales in the League’s favor, in Dabi’s favor. His dream would’ve come true with Twice’s help. So he’d wept blood for that lost dream… and for a lost friend. For someone who had loved and trusted with a completely open heart, stabbed in the back while trying to save his friends. It still hurt, dammit! And Shigaraki, that fucker, kept right on talking, twisting the knife.

“When the war broke out, you came when Gigantomachia was sent to fetch you because you knew that I’d woken up early. You knew that I was surrounded by heroes, and that the operation wasn’t complete.”

“Opportunity,” Dabi muttered hopelessly. It had been the perfect opportunity to confront his father.

“Two birds with one stone, Dabi. You still distracted the heroes enough to give the rest of us a chance. You saved me, even if it was indirectly or by accident," Shigaraki insisted. “ And you stuck around after that debacle too. There was nothing there for you, really. You did leave for awhile, but you came back to check on me and Spinner. For someone who didn’t care, whose goal lay elsewhere, you sure seemed concerned.”

“Nowhere… else… to go.” Why did he keep nagging?

“You found Toga and torched her old house, told her to smile, encouraged her to keep going, and gave her some of Twice’s blood.”

Dabi didn’t have anything to say to that. Shigaraki patted Dabi’s leg and it felt more solid than the hands shaking him, the same way Shigaraki’s voice was close and the others’ distant as they called his name. "I'm fine," he mumbled to the voices, his head falling to one side. Jeez. Would he ever get some peace?

“Dabi,” his name brought his wandering focus back to Shigaraki, “We already know you’re an asshole. You don’t have to try and talk me out of bringing you back.” He leaned closer and met Dabi’s eyes, bloody red to clouded crystal. “I see you, Dabi. We see you, Dabi. We’ve always seen you. We want you anyway. Magne, Jin, Toga, Spinner, Kurogiri… they’re all waiting for you.”

Those words hit him like a punch to the gut, wringing out a soft sound of pure longing that he didn’t know he was capable of making. 

Arms— hot and cold, slim and thick, both of them ghostly— wrapped around him. He suspected them of trying to comfort him, but he didn’t need comfort. Shigaraki wanted him. The League wanted him. They didn’t care that he wasn’t perfect, that he had been born to be a failure, that he was a broken, twisted caricature of a human being. Knowing he was wanted despite all that… it healed a wound in his soul that had been bleeding as long as he could remember, and suddenly it didn’t matter that Endeavor was still alive.

The League wanted him. They were waiting for him.

And he was tired. 

So very, very tired.

Even so, he mustered up the strength for one last bit of snark. “So… you… expect me to… just, what? … Waltz into Hell… with you?”

Shigaraki raised his eyebrows. “You could stay, if you'd rather.” His eyes flicked to the blurry people around Dabi, lingering on the ones who seemed to be embracing him. “Your family would prefer that, I think. They seem really upset. It’s your choice, though. It’s always been your choice, Dabi. We'll still be waiting if you want to stay for a little while longer.”

Dabi considered for less than a second. “Let’s go, Duster.” He’d been toying with that nickname for months, now seemed like the perfect time to use it. Judging by the pleased light in Tomura’s eyes, he was right.

Grinning, Tomura held out his hand.

Dabi felt something shift inside him, the pain and numbness retreating, replaced by a kind of pleasant, tingling feeling. But when he tried to reach out for Tomura’s hand, he could barely raise his arm an inch off the blanket. He tried again, and still couldn’t. Sudden frustration and anguish made his already dry eyes sting.

“I can’t reach you! Tomura! Fuck!” Why couldn’t he do this? Just this one, last, final thing?! Why was it so hard to reach the things he wanted the most? “I… I c-can’t…”

Then his arm was being lifted, supported gently by someone else. 

Surprised, he looked in the direction of the red and white blur that held his damaged arm so tenderly. The blur wavered and came into sudden, sharp focus. It was Shoto. Shoto, his youngest brother, his father’s perfect masterpiece, the kid he barely knew but had tried his best to kill… and Shoto was crying. Crying so hard he had snot coming out his nose and his pretty porcelain skin was all blotchy. The sight made Dabi chuckle, even as it reminded him of Toga’s sad eyes. 

“Hey, little hero, don’t cry,” he said, and found that speaking didn’t hurt. He sounded like his old self too, the words clear and firm. Still raspy, but that was just the way he talked. “`S like I told Himiko. It doesn't matter whether we laugh or cry, the sun’ll still rise tomorrow... so you should choose to smile, baby brother.” Shoto’s lips wobbled as he tried to obey. Dabi smiled back and thought it probably looked like a nightmare, but for once, he felt genuinely happy and didn’t hold himself back. “That’s better.” 

Dabi was distracted from any reply his brother might’ve made as a cool, dry hand wrapped around his, and pulled him to his feet.

His boots hit the hospital floor with a satisfying thump. Dabi stretched, reveling in the absence of constant pain and exhaustion. He felt amazing. Like he could run a mile in a split second or fight a tiger quirkless if he wanted to! A quick survey showed that he was wearing his old villain coat, a clean white t-shirt that actually fit, and leather pants that felt soft as butter. And he had his right arm back!

Tomura reached up and playfully flicked a finger against the staples on his cheek. “Still stapled together, even after all that?”

“`Cause I’m not Toya,” he explained, snapping his fingers to cause a spark and delighting in the painless blue flame. Finally, finally, his quirk was truly his and the blue glow had never been more beautiful. Reluctantly, he let the flame die and faced his boss again. “Not Toya any more than you are Tenko. Toya's a part of me, but this is… me. This is who I chose. I’m Dabi. Dabi has staples and scars and a fuck ton of piercings.” It was true, and it felt so good to be comfortable in his own skin.

Tomura nodded, smiling. “Black hair suits you better anyway. Freaking emo.” 

“So speaks the dead man wearing a long black coat, with a black shirt, black pants, and red fucking sneakers,” he taunted. “Who’s the real emo, huh?”

“Shut up. I bet I can still dust you like this, matchstick.”

“Bring it on, mophead.” 

They were grinning at each other and Mon frolicked around them both, overjoyed. Dabi reached down and gave her head a pat, finding that she was just as soft as she looked. “Where to now?” he asked Tomura. In answer, Tomura went to a door Dabi hadn’t noticed before and opened it. He smiled over his shoulder, then stepped though, vanishing from sight. Dabi followed eagerly, but paused at the threshold and, despite himself, looked back.

There they were, no longer hazy or muffled, though they were somehow still far away: 

Enji, Rei, Fumiyu, Natsu, Shoto… his whole family, all of them clustered around a sad, empty vessel, holding it tight and crying like the world was ending. Strangely, seeing his own broken body was less distressing than watching his mother press teary kisses to its bandaged face.

Mon licked his hand and looked up at him with those big, melting eyes. She whined a little and he smiled at her. No wonder Tomura had her with him. She was a very good girl. “I’m okay, Monchan. Just wish they… that they knew,” knew that he wasn’t hurting anymore, that he was going to be with friends, that he was ready to leave all the old aches and sorrows behind, “But I guess they’ll figure it out eventually, huh? Maybe I can tell them myself one of these days.” Not today though. 

Dabi turned away from his family for the last time and stepped through the door.

As soon as he was through, he knew where he was. Their first villain hideout, the bar where they’d both lived and worked out of for months. So familiar, but changed. The wood floorboards beneath his feet still creaked and he could smell alcohol and something baking, but there were no booths or tables. Instead, right along with the bar and the stools, there was a comfortable looking couch and two armchairs, a coffee table, and a tv. That was all he got a look at before two bodies hit him and took him down.

“Dabi! It’s about time!”

“We missed you so much!”

Trying to breathe, he looked down at the two people trying to crush his ribs. Toga and Jin, of course, who else? Both of them with big anime tears streaming down their faces. “Can’t breathe!” he gasped, attempting to wiggle free. They loosened their hold enough for him to suck in some air, but didn’t let him get up. They looked different, of course, but like it had been for him, it was as if someone had peeled away their outer layers to show the real person beneath. 

Jin wore his villain costume, because he had been happiest being a member of the League, but he had no mask and there was no scar on his face. When he smiled, it was the same wide, happy thing it had always been. Toga had abandoned her school uniform, and was instead in something pink and silky, with bits that were black and sparkly, her hair left loose down her back. 

He ran his fingers through that mass of blonde waves. The changes suited her. “Hi, princess. You look cute.” She beamed at him, showing her fangs, longer and bigger than in life. He was struck by a wave of affection. Cute little vampire bat. Then he looked at Jin, not Twice anymore, and his heart clenched. He remembered a red feather and a burst of blood. “Jin… I’m sorry—”

Jin cut him off by giving him an extra hard squeeze. “Don’t be! I’m sad I couldn’t be with you guys longer, but I am so happy for the time I had. I’m the luckiest guy in the world to have you all with me still!”

After more hugs and tears, they finally got off him, though Mon took the opportunity to give him a doggy kiss before he could scramble to his feet. “Gross,” he muttered, wiping at his face.

“Probably the cleanest your face has been in ages, patchwork,” teased a voice. 

“Can it, gecko,” he told Spinner, and flipped him off. The lizard heteromorph grinned at him from his spot on the couch, and returned the gesture in good humor before scooting over to make room for Tomura and Mon. Spinner hadn’t changed much, just a few details here and there, mostly in the lack of Stain iconography. Dabi had wondered if he’d find Spinner looking human, and was glad the man finally felt happy with his looks. 

“Hey there, big guy, no greeting for me?” 

This time, he did a double take at the woman sitting on the floor among a pile of pillows, which made everyone else snicker at him. “Magne?” he asked, a little unsure. She laughed, and the laugh he did recognize. “Holy shit, Magne, you look…”

“Fantastic! I know, darling.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and gave him a lecherous wink. “Why don’t you come give Big Sis a little kissy kiss?”

“Uh, hard pass,” he said, edging his way around her. Jin and Toga jeered at him, plopping down on pillows he was sure hadn’t been there a second ago, and Toga holding up a manicure kit that was definitely pulled out of nowhere. Dabi didn’t question it though. The three of them were happy, doing each other's nails and chatting, so where the kit came from didn’t matter. 

He made it to the bar unmolested and unmanicured, and squinted at the stranger there as he took a seat on his accustomed stool. The man behind the bar was youngish, dressed in a blue martial arts Gi and a brown bomber jacket, a bandage across the bridge of his nose. His hair was insane, like someone had stuck a cloud of cotton candy to his head or something. “The fuck are you?”

“I’m Oboro Shirakumo!” the man chirped, sounding waaaaay too perky for a stranger in what was supposed to be a villain hideout. Dabi eyed him and wondered if he could actually use his fire here and roast this cotton candy loser. Shirakumo seemed to sense his homicidal intentions and quickly added, “Kurogiri! I was Kurogiri for awhile! You might remember me?" He motioned toward his wild blue hair. "Still with the cloud theme, but more purple and black and swirly?”

Dabi’s confusion vanished. He had heard something about Kurogiri being a nomu, but hadn’t paid it too much attention, laser focused as always on killing Endeavor. “Weren’t you a hero student when you died?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

“I was also Tomura’s caretaker and protector!” Shirakumo reminded him, and shot Tomura a fond smile. Tomura returned the smile almost shyly. “He's my boy, and dying didn't change that. Anyway, I’m waiting for my own friends to make it to this side, so I figured I might as well make myself useful and keep an eye on you miscreants.” He smiled a big, sunshine smile, and Dabi let out a huff. Figures even here they couldn’t shake off the heroes. Whatever. Shirakumo or Kurogiri or whoever he was… he was half-villain and that would do for now. 

“So,” he asked, leaning his elbows on the counter and asking the really important question, “can you mix a drink as good as Kurogiri could?”

“I sure can. You want your usual?”

Dabi blinked at him. “You remember?”

Shirakumo’s smile softened. “I do.”

“Then yes, please. I just died. I think I deserve a drink.”

Laughing, Shirakumo agreed and turned to do just that. While he waited, Dabi entertained himself by watching the game Tomura and Spinner were playing. Eventually, though, he had to ask, “Where’s Mr. Compress? He’s the only one missing, right?”

“Mhm,” Tomura hummed, concentrating hard as Spinner cursed him for killing his character.

“Mister Showman’s gotta make a grand entrance!” Magne cooed, then giggled. “Who would’ve thought he’d be the last one?”

“Me,” Dabi said dryly. “He was always better at hiding than fighting.” He accepted his drink from Shirakumo with a nod. “What happens when he comes? Anyone know?”

Tomura paused the game and turned so he could see the room, running his eyes over each of them. “Whatever it is, we’ll decide together. Whether that’s us storming Hell or crashing Heaven, or even haunting Disneyworld for shits and giggles… we’ll stay together this time.”

“And we get to decide that?” Dabi pressed. He had been sure that, if there was an afterlife, he’d be giving the Devil the finger on his way down to the pits. Being allowed to have his friends seemed a little too good to be true.

“What comes next isn’t one-size-fits-all, you know,” Jin said unexpectedly, sounding very sure of himself. “There’s no checklist of good or bad, no racking up points either way. We’re not good people, we’re villains, but we’re not all bad either. Not all the choices were ours to make. And yes, we’ll be together, because we’re a family and Love is too strong a tie to break easily, and not a tie whoever is running this operation wants to break. Love is the whole point of living, you know? Why would it be taken from us when we worked so hard and lost so much? For most of us, the League is our one good thing. We can keep our one good thing.”

“That was so beautiful, Jin,” Toga said, her golden eyes shining.

“Thanks! I have no idea where all that came from!”

Everyone took a minute to absorb that little speech, and Dabi found himself relaxing back against the counter. His gut told him that Jin was right; that whatever came next, they’d be together, and that was all he cared about. He’d spent almost his whole life alone except for his obsession, and he’d resisted opening himself up to his friends like he should have. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. This time, he'd hold onto his League with both hands and burn whoever tried to take them away, be they God, Devil, or in-between.

Contentment washed over him at the decision, an emotion echoed on the faces of the League. It seemed they were all in agreement then. When Sako finally arrived, they'd be right back in step with each other, no matter where their path went. (Personally, when the time came to choose a path, he’d vote for storming Hell. That sounded like a party he could get behind.)

Sipping his drink, his elbow hit something on the bar top. It was a book, some young adult novel he vaguely remembered enjoying. 

He’d never gotten to finish it. 

Opening to the first pages, he took another sip and started reading. Behind the bar, Shirakumo smiled and cleaned the glass tumblers. On the floor, Magne, Jin, and Toga giggled and gossiped. Spinner and Tomura laughed and cursed, Mon yapping whenever Tomura got really excited, the music from the game a pleasant background. All that was missing was Compress’s soft humming as he practiced his slight of hand in the ratty armchair. Dabi realized just then that he was actually happy, and silently reveled in the sensation.

In death, same as life, it's all about the people you're with.

Reblog if you enjoyed! Thanks for reading!

[a-j-s-the-only]

Death is Nothing at All

Death is nothing at all. I have only shipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name. Speck to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner.

All is well.

-Henry Scott Holland

[twicedailyquotes]

Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner.

All is well.

Henry Scott Holland Death Is Nothing At All

[music-despite-everything]

An excerpt from Death is nothing at all by Henry Scott Holland

Henry Scott Holland (1847–1918) was Regius Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford. He was also a canon of Christ Church, Oxford. The Scott Holland Memorial Lectures are held in his memory.

Henry Scott Holland studied at Oxford University where he was interested in social justice and formed PESEK (Politics, Economics, Socialism, Ethics and Christianity) which blamed capitalist exploitation for contemporary urban poverty. In 1889, he formed the Christian Social Union. This excerpt from his book Death is nothing at all comes from a sermon he delivered in May 1910 following the death of King Edward VII, eldest son of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.

---

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

Published December 31st 1987 by Souvenir Press

[kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate]

DEATH IS NOTHING AT ALL by Henry Scott-Holland

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

[stromblessed]

Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows

In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.

If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.

So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.

I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?

However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.

Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)

And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.

Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.

It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.

Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?

While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:

She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.

You see where I'm going with this.

When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:

And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD

When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.

MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS

No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.

And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:

Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!

The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.

And, uh

Yeah.

I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.

But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.

Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:

But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.

There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.

After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:

"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.

Kind of like another bird in this show:

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[aroundmyhead]

Death Is Nothing At All - Henry Scott Holland

“What is this death but a negligible accident?… I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well.

All is well.”

[hellenhighwater]

In a truly shocking twist, my house has NOT been leaking heat since the furnace died six days ago. I normally keep the house between 66-68 in the winter, because it does heat unevenly and if I go any warmer, it's too hot in the bedrooms. The furnace died, and the house dropped to 58, but with the addition of three small electric space heaters, the house has held temp between 61-65 F the entire time, which is remarkable given that it's been sub-freezing the whole time and this sucker is made of 1860s wood. I'm not complaining! I was just hoping to make sure my pipes didn't burst. I thought old houses were supposed to be leaky and drafty and hard to keep warm.

My current theory is that Malice and Vice have been stuffing their shed cat hair into the walls, and it's fantastic insulation.

[mysteroads]

Death Is Nothing At All

Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to the next room. I am I and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner.

All is well.

-Scott Holland

[sems-diarie]

death is insane. wdym i’ll never see my grandmother again

[bbelovas]

AUBREY PLAZA as RIO VIDAL/LADY DEATH in Agatha All Along (2024)