#I consume the “fix it” fics about him like a dog which found the food hideout

[elfecassepied]

"Ice is forming on the tips of my wings

Unheeded warnings, I thought I thought of everything

No navigator to find my way home

Unladened, empty and turned to stone

A soul in tension that's learning to fly

Condition grounded but determined to try

Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies"

_Learning to Fly_Pink Floyd

I like the character of Hawks because he's so double faced. Free but a prisoner, a hero but a murderer, Hawks but also Keigo. He's never quite what he seems to be and what he is we never really know. I like to think himself doesn't really know. The only certitude is that he's a bird. And birds will always, almost desperately, reach the sky.

[bracefacefreak]

So I just finished the first fic I have written in AGES and the first thing I’ve ever written for TMA, so I thought I’d post it here. 

It’s an alternate take on S3 from about MAG 98 in which Nikola kidnaps Martin, not Jon. Basically very angsty with some realisation of feelings and implied canon-typical violence because I like to make my boys suffer apparently. May write more if I feel like it but for now this is just a peek at my idea. 

CW: implied violence, knife violence, strongly implied graphic violence, implied blood, implied skinning, captivity and kidnapping, restraints, stalking. 

I cut you a piece of me 

also available on ao3 

“Martin? Tim?”

Jon pokes his head out of his office, tired eyes squinting through murky lenses to try and make out anything moving amongst the shelves and teetering boxes. A chill creeps up his spine, the sensation akin to the slow tickle of spider’s legs over his skin. It makes his stomach turn; the sour taste of bile rises at the back of his throat. A light flickers somewhere on the other side of the archives. It is brief, likely nothing more than some dodgy wiring - or a plastic body passing in front of a bulb. Jon bites down, catching his tongue between his teeth.

His fingers twist in the wool of the cardigan he wears, tugging at the well-worn fibres as if they are some sort of lifeline. The garment is too big on him, the fabric spilling over his shoulders and bunching in thick folds around his wrists. He had found it shoved under a shelving unit in document storage, the crumpled, butter-yellow lump too inviting to ignore. It has quickly become a comfort for him during long nights in his office poring over statements, something soft and warm to counteract the increasingly dark world he finds himself inhabiting. He pulls it tight around him, but finds today it offers little more than a thin veneer of safety.

CLUNK.

He starts.

His eyes flick towards the stacks to his left, scouring the shadows that rest heavily between the shelves. The noise comes again, more drawn out this time and followed by a series of metallic taps. It doesn’t take much imagination to hear the snap of huge, mechanical jaws in the rhythmic sound.

Jon swallows thickly.

“Martin? I-is that you?”

The hollow clang comes again; this time Jon is able to trace it to somewhere above. Lifting his eyes, he half-expects to see a grinning plastic face staring down at him from the highest shelves. Instead, he is met by the sight of decrepit pipes, quivering slightly as the ancient heating system struggles against the pervasive chill. His shoulders droop as the pipes rattle in reassurance.

Slowly, he turns back to the original source of his suspicion, staring down the narrow walkway that leads to the assistant’s office and break-room.

Beneath the occasional clang of the heating, the archive is silent, still.

But he could have sworn he’d heard footsteps earlier: the soft shuffle of shoes over carpet and the squeak of the bottom stair that no-one seems bothered enough to fix, despite the numerous emails Jon has sent to maintenance. He had been recording a statement, one from the early 2000s about disappearances from a travelling funhouse, when he had heard it. He was certain. But then again…He takes a shaking breath; could this just be his rearing its ugly head?

No.

NO.

He was over that.

He knew what he had heard. Jon squares his shoulders, knowing that his small stature and bright yellow cardigan will hardly strike fear into the heart of any evil creature that has managed to get into the Institute. He pulls the pen out of his hair anyway. It will not be much use if it comes to a struggle, but it is better than nothing.

Measured steps lead Jon across the archive floor.

He calls out in a tight voice, rising to shrill at the end.

“Melanie?”

His pulse thuds in his ears.

“Tim? Basira?"

Sweat coats his palms and pools in the well of his clavicle, turning cold and tacky.

“Martin?”

He rounds a corner and is greeted by three empty desks.

Since arriving, Melanie has settled at Sasha’s old desk; it no longer bears its previous look of organised chaos but is strewn with shredded paper, a few crumpled fast-food wrappers, and pages covered in black scribbles that are indecipherable to Jon. It sends a pang of grief through him that echoes around the empty space where Sasha’s memory should be.

Tim’s desk is clear, no work having been done there in months.

And Martin’s is….

Jon frowns.

Next to an empty mug and a collection of pastel fine-liners Martin sometimes uses to make notes, is a cassette tape. It is unmarked, the brand different from any he has seen before in the archive. Jon reaches for it, hesitates, and then snatches it up. He turns it over in his hands, the shape and weight familiar. Something is building beneath his skin, fizzing, crackling, a flurry of static that rises and rises the longer he holds the tape. It calls to him. The white noise is a siren song drawing him in until he is moving towards his office and the tape recorder he keeps on his desk. His hands shake as he pushes the tape into place and snaps the recorder shut. For a moment the world narrows down to the feeling of the play button beneath his finger, its weight as he presses down, the soft whir-like a sigh-as the tape begins to play.

“Hello, my dear archivist.”

The saccharine voice that spews from the tape washes away the frantic desperation that had sent him scurrying to his office like a starving dog. He shivers, the memory of hard plastic hands around his throat making it hard to breathe.

The Eye drinks in this flash of terror, consuming it with abandon.

“It’s so luvely to be able to talk again. I was hoping to see you in person but ….I’m sure we’ll get to that later.”

There’s a tinkling laugh; the sound of fairground chimes, or blood dripping on porcelain.

“I thought now would be a good time to check in about that old skin you’re supposed to be getting for us. Not that I really need to. I am having you followed. It’s not because I don’t trust you but…well, I don’t trust you and I want to be sure that when you find it you don’t do anything silly. It is very powerful after all. I have to say, little archivist, I’m mighty….disappointed….by your lack of progress. It’s been a week now and nothing and I am on a bit of a deadline, you know. The world won’t dance itself new on its own.”

Nikola stops with a breathy gasp.

Jon waits, fingers clenched in the sleeves of his too-big cardigan.

He can make out the creak of plastic, followed by what sounds like a heavy door being opened. He leans in, straining to hear the dull thud of feet on stone. The jaunty melody of carousel music lingers in the background, ever-present and just flat enough to set his teeth on edge.

“Unfortunately for you, that means I need to up the stakes a little. We can’t have you getting complacent, that just won’t do.”

Another grating sound, metal against concrete and then a jumble of muffled grunts, almost as if someone is trying to speak against restraints.

“Do try and keep him quiet.”

Nikola hisses to someone whose response Jon cannot hear.

Something coils in his gut, cold and heavy.

“He spotted one of us outside the Institute one evening, tried to follow us. A rather stupid move if you ask me. You may want to rethink your hiring strategy.”

The mumbling intensifies.

Jon feels sick. His stomach churns, a deep sense that something is very wrong knotting up his insides.

“He seems awfully fond of you, I must say, putting himself in all that danger to try and keep you safe. What on earth did you ever do to deserve such devotion, little archivist?”

He shakes his head, trying to speak around the hard lump in his throat even though he knows Nikola can not hear him.

“P-pl…”

“Would you like to say hello?”

There is a painful ripping sound, then a scraping and a few ragged breaths.

The cold dread in Jon’s gut begins to unfurl, spreading out, freezing him to his chair.

“Jon?”

His heart stutters.

“Jon, p-please….please…d-don’t…”

Martin’s familiar voice, shaking and edged with panic, erupts from the speaker like a scream.

The copper tang of blood spills over his tongue. He looks down, realising he’s been biting his knuckle so hard his skin has split. Even as he watches the blood pool and trickle down his fingers, he feels no pain.

Nikola laughs again, something knife-sharp behind the sweetness.

Jon is cold, so cold, even beneath his tea-scented cardigan. His hands are like ice as he claws at the tape recorder, smearing blood over the plastic casing. He is not sure what he’s trying to do, his thoughts too muddled. He thinks he may be trying to reach through to wherever they are, to wherever Martin is.

“You see archivist, now we have some collateral. So, if you don’t manage to find that ancient relic, well….shall we have a demonstration?”

A strangled whimper is all Jon can manage as he listens to the squeak of plastic fingers, the tearing of fabric, the clear zhing of a blade. His eyes lock onto the tape recorder, transfixed with horror as he hears Martin grunt and then…..

Jon has never heard screaming like that before.

It cuts through him, reverberating down to his bones and settling in his marrow, so deep he will never be rid of it.

At the same time, it drowns him. Each new cry washes over him, relentless, never giving him time to breathe. He is suffocating beneath the sound, helpless and guilt-ridden, hands twitching as if trying to pull himself up for air. He can’t think, can’t speak, can’t breathe – chest too tight, pulse racing. His vision swims, blackness creeping in from the edges as Martin screams and screams and screams.

Jon squeezes his eyes shut, cold tears spilling down his cheeks. He presses his hands over his ears, but no matter how hard he tries he cannot escape it.

It feels like a lifetime before the screaming begins to quiet and an eternity until Nikola speaks again, high and airy.

“Impressive. That was even through a gag. What fun we’re going to have!”

A sob fills the silence, faint and broken. Jon matches it with his own.

Somewhere the Eye swells and glows in gluttonous satisfaction. Jon can feel it preening, brimming over with stolen terror. He shoves it away in disgust.

“Lucky for us there’s plenty of him to use.”

Something slaps wetly. There’s a squelch, like fingers being shoved into dough.

Jon retches.

“This will make a luvely pair of gloves, don’t you think?”

He doubles over, heaving dryly into his wastepaper bin, for once glad he didn’t have lunch. Sweat beads at his hairline, spots dancing in front of his eyes as he gasps around the convulsions of his nauseated body.

“Now now archivist, no point getting upset. The sooner you find us the gorilla skin the more of your assistant there will be left. I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you. Goodbye.”

The voice fades, leaving only panting breaths and pained groans before the recording ends with an abrupt click.

Jon lets it run on while he struggles to find a rhythm to his breathing. The background whir is a comfort, something to dampen the horrific shrieking that still rings in his ears.

Guilt sits heavy on his shoulders, a deadweight. First Sasha and now Martin. How many more people will he fail before the end? Who else will have to suffer because of him? He curls himself up in his chair and tries to consider what he should do, but his thoughts either will not come or fly past too fast to crystalise into an actual plan. Eventually, he gives in to the lingering heaviness of his limbs and the hollowness in his chest and he cries.

---

He isn’t sure how long he sits there.

The tape finally finishes and cuts off with a burst of static and the pop of the play button.

He is sat in silence when Basira finds him, folded up and trying to ignore the screams in his head. Her firm footsteps alert Jon to her presence as he can barely see out of his tear-swollen eyes. Her breathing pauses as she takes a moment to assess the situation.

Jon can picture the scene clearly: he sits, knees to his chest, hands tangled in his greying hair. The tape recorder perches haphazardly on the edge of his desk, smeared with blood that has dried a rich, rust colour. There are gouges in the surface of his desk and matching splinters beneath his fingernails.

“Jon?”

He thrusts out an arm, knocking Basira’s hand out of the way. The tape recorder falls to the floor with a crack, the cassette flies out, magnetic tape spooling on the floor. He stares at it for a moment. At least now she cannot….will not….and he does not have to either.

“Jon!?”

Her voice is clipped, hard. There is no room for argument or bullshit, no hint of concern. He would expect nothing less of Basira, and he has always respected her bluntness and the ability to bury her emotions so she can get the job done. As much as he would like to believe he can do the same, he knows it is a lie. Today has just proven that.

“Jon!?”

He opens his mouth to answer but only manages a strangled whine, which devolves into a sob. He takes a shuddering breath before trying again.

“M-“

It hurts. His throat is raw, almost as if he has been the one screaming. He is not entirely sure he hasn’t been. No one would have heard him all the way down here. He thinks Elias meant for it to be that way.

“Ma-“

The name sticks in his throat, coats his tongue with a sour taste, and lodges itself behind his teeth. He can not say it….does not deserve to say it…Nikola’s words repeat in his head, over and over.

What on earth did you ever do to deserve such devotion?

Jon thinks of all the times he has berated Martin, the mornings he has purposefully left his tea undrunk just to spite him, the cold manner he has used to decline every offer of help or comfort. And still, Martin had smiled, had rinsed out his mug and stubbornly left another on his desk made to his exact taste, had even pushed himself to research the Vittery case, almost risking his life just to try and get a good word out of his boss.

Martin, who writes poetry that overflows with tender melancholy. Martin, who had stayed up into the early hours with Jon while he had been staying in the archives, somehow aware that Jon was alone and afraid. Martin, who had persuaded the ECDC to hand over a jar of Prentiss’ ashes so he would feel safe. Martin, who had made it his mission to ensure Jon got at least one hot meal a day. Martin, who had lied on his CV to help his ailing mum. Martin, with his mop of curls and goofy smile and stupid hipster glasses and…oh…Martin....

Jon buries his nose into the yellow wool at his shoulder, inhaling the faded scent of Early Grey and spearmint toothpaste and lavender laundry detergent. It only leaves him feeling emptier.

Nothing, he wants to shout in reply to Nikola’s question, less than nothing!

“JON! What's going on?”

He sniffs, lifting his eyes to stare blankly down at the ruined tape recorder.

Basira’s gaze flicks to the device, before landing back on Jon.

He shivers, licking his parched lips and forcing the words out, voice cracked and tight.

“M-Martin….I-I need to f-find Martin.”

[leagueofidiots]

People keep referencing the one chapter of you're NNWM, what happened??

Shigadabi, but my subconcious was shipping Spinnerdabi on main in retrospect/ Magnetmagic briefly

Song fic for Billie Eillish's Listen Before I Go

Last two chapters, needs a little context, but all the important stuff is explained

I'll also include the chapter after because I'd feel bad if I didn't

WARNING!! I'M VERY SERIOUS!! THERE IS A SUICIDE ATTEMPT HERE!! I EVEN TRIGGERED MYSELF WHILE WRITING THIS, AND THAT IS VERY RARE!! BE SMARTER THAN ME, AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE NOT SITTING ALONE IN A DARK HOUSE AFTER SKIPPING TWO MEALS!! HUG A PILLOW!! GET SOME WATER!! BE CAREFUL!! 💜

•Take me to the rooftop•

Tomura's asleep next to me, face still turned up to the stars. We've been up here for about two hours, but he finally fell asleep.

The promised celebration was nice. We had it as soon as I was well enough to be close to normal as I could, which only took about a week. They learned how to make a few things from what Hawks gave us before the battle, which I ended up eating some of to make them happy.

They did end up having to take me to Ujiko. My burns spread, now uneven again. He says he'll bring my aesthetic back next time I go in to get my staples fixed. I agreed. There will be no next time, after all.

•I wanna see the world when I stop breathing, turning blue•

After Tomura brought me up here, we simply talked. No unnecessary emotional dumps. No tears. No drama. Just simple things.

And now he lies next to me, a bandage he tied around his pinkie allowing him to grasp my hand in his own. It's nice, I'll admit. Breathing in the cool air as I sense his every small movement.

The stars are beautiful tonight. We snuffed the flame of our lantern, though that was nice too, just to see them better. The city lights make it so there aren't many, but it's still a good night for the sky.

•Tell me love is endless, don't be so pretentious•

Careful not to wake him, I carefully pry my hand from my boyfriend's. I'll do what I need to do, but I'd rather him not be awake for this. It's my time, no matter what.

I'm ready for the end, and apparently whoever it is that decides my fate agrees. All I can hope for is that Tomura doesn't blame himself when they find me dead on the sidewalk tomorrow.

What will they do? At least I'm not their leader, but I do still have an influence on the league. Even as useless as I am now, surely they'll still react.

Standing at the edge. It's coming. The end of it all. I'll never have to think about any of it ever again. The brutal training my father put me through. My mother going insane. Burning. Ujiko's experiments. The streets practically eating me alive. Giran's guidance into crime. Killing my father only a week ago.

•Leave me like you do•

The news has been all over the case. Endeavor and Hawks found dead. Witnesses say it was Dabi that killed them. Both burnt to a crisp, Hawks with half-grown-in wings.

Dabi's body hasn't been found, not even a trace. They think he might have burned too, that the black and purple flames seen from outside the wall of blue may have consumed him entirely, taking even his ashes with him.

•If you need me, wanna see me•

And they're right. Dabi's dead. Lost in the flames. Dabi carried rage and purpose, and all he stood for was taken with my piercings and my skin.

Touya died with his innocence, along with his weakness. And now Dabi has followed with all of his anger. Everything that fuelled him, that kept him going, is gone now. So now I am nameless.

•Better hurry 'cause I'm leaving soon•

I wonder what they'll do when I'm really dead. Will the news care? Or will it just pass by like anything else?

They certainly care about the rest of the Todorokis. The thoughts of my mother and siblings make more sense to me than my own at this point.

Rei Todoroki. Wife of Enji Todoroki. Recently released from the mental asylum. Deep in grief. She's planning the funeral for a month from the day of his death. Their deaths. She's set up a shrine for her late husband next to the front door, though reports say it's more for his identity as a hero than the shrine for her son.

•Sorry can't save me now•

Fuyumi Todoroki. The daughter of Enji Todoroki. She says she can't grasp that her brother is dead. She says she feels it in her soul that he isn't. That it's freeing, her father's death.

•Sorry I don't know how•

Natsuo Todoroki. The son of Enji Todoroki. He's avoided all reporters. Hasn't left his room since getting the news. His family says that he and Touya Todoroki used to be close, and Natsuo was elated to hear he wasn't dead. All that is gone now. That his only consolation is that his family is safe from the pro hero.

•Sorry there's no way out•

Shoto Todoroki. Son of Enji Todoroki. He's been busy with school, so not a lot of reporters have been able to talk to him, but his grades are suffering. UA is considering making him take a year off to focus on his mental health.

•But down•

The family as a whole is in general agreement. It's a tragedy to them. Both deaths. And while Endeavor may have had a negative influence on them in life, and they feel safer with him gone, they still mourn his death.

And while it's a painful blow that Touya has died again as Dabi, it is also a good thing. He had turned villain after all. It's for the best.

Well, I guess they'll really get what they wanted. Touya, Dabi, and whoever I am now are about to be long gone.

•Down•

What were my last moments with each of them? I want to think of each of them before I go. I at least owe each of them a thought.

•Taste me, these salty tears on my cheeks•

Start easy. Eri and Butt. They were together on the couch, weren't they? Yeah.

Eri was tired. Once it hit around nine, she lay down on the couch, calling up the dog to curl up next to each other. There was almost a smile on her face as she drifted off, and Compress carried her in.

•That's what a year-long headache does to you•

Hawks. He had done things, after all. And it was my fault he was gone. Even if he was a traitor, he still did the best that a pro hero could do. It's not him I'm mad at. Was mad at.

His last moment was spent trying to get Endeavor to stop. For legal reasons, surely not because he cared at all. And then my father just had to burn him up, like everyone else in his way.

•I'm not okay, I feel so scattered•

Compress. Where had he been?

His date with Magne had been postponed once I ended up injured. He'd said I was more important. Like I had any importance. After he'd taken Eri to her room, he'd gone to bed, saying he wanted to rest for the date.

I wonder if they'll move it again when they find me? I hope not.

•Don't say I'm all that matters•

Kurogiri. Tomura was right, he really is good.

His last action towards me was pretty simple. Before he went to bed, he gave me a pack of beers that we'd ended up taking to the roof. Told me not to drink too much.

I probably should have respected that wish more. I'm on my fifth can. I don't regret it though.

•Leave me, déjà vu•

Spinner.

His last action hadn't been anything much. Just said good night. Still, before that he'd told me off to the side how proud he was of how much of their food I'd eaten.

•If you need me, wanna see me•

Magne. Bless her, I wish I'd said goodbye to them.

Tonight she was having problems with her stomach, so she spent her evening in her room. The last I saw of her was her smile as we did each others' eye liner.

She was very helpful during my healing process. Brought me the closest to normal out of anyone.

•You better hurry, I'm leaving soon•

Toga. What will Toga think of me when she sees? Will she hate me?

Toga spent most of her time singing karaoke with Jin. My final memory of her is the sound of her cheery voice as she spun around, nearly forcing her hairbrush down her throat as a makeshift microphone.

What was the song? I wasn't listening. I wish I had been so I could hum it to myself now.

•Sorry can't save me now•

Jin. I'm a terrible person.

After most people had gone to bed, he'd pulled me aside. Asked if I was okay. That it was okay if I wasn't. And you know what I did?

I lied.

And he'd smiled. Like I'd said something amazing. And he spent the next five minutes saying how happy he was that I was happy.

He'll definitely hate me when he finds me.

•Sorry I don't know how•

And Tomura.

Tomura.

Before he'd slept, he'd looked me straight in the eye, my hand closed gently in his, and he'd said he loved me. That he needed me.

I'm so selfish.

His red eyes shone beautifully as he'd said it, filling me with butterflies. They'd died as soon as he broke eye contact, but it was the first thing I'd felt since the attack.

I'd told him that I needed him too.

•Sorry there's no way out•

I'm glad I saw them all. That I can recall what our final words were. Their last smiles at me. That I can picture them all in my mind. It'll help me when it's time.

There's no way I'd be strong enough without it. Even now, a foot away from the ledge, I'm scared. The end.

•But down•

The end has always been a comfort. Something to look forward to. Whenever my head got dark, and I couldn't see a way out, I just reminded myself that there was an end that drew closer with every second.

•Down•

And here it is. Waiting for me a short drop and a few seconds away. Since getting up has already felt like an eternity, but the six steps from where I started aren't that far compared to the path of life I've been lost on for so long.

•Call my friends and tell them that I love them•

The league helped me find it. Find life. They showed me where I was, and they've led me to this point. I'll have to thank them when we all end up dead and I see them again. If I see them again.

•And I'll miss them•

Even before Shigaraki bribed us with those dumb gifts to stay in the bar and treat it like a home, I considered them a safe place. Safer anyway.

•But I'm not sorry•

And they kept me on the path I needed to be on. Kept me alive. For the most part, kept my additional burns to a minimum.

The streets never did that. They left me to defend those younger than me, even if only by a few years, at the cost of my life if need be.

•Call my friends and tell them that I love them•

If not for the league, if not for seeing that newscast when I did, Endeavor would still be alive and active as a hero. Life would still be a spiral with no clear end in sight.

•And I'll miss them•

I step onto the edge of the roof, looking down at the end. Like in storybooks. The villain dies, and they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

•Sorry•

I drape one leg over, closing my eyes. I'm ready for it. My ending. I lean forward.

And just as my eyes snap open and a feeling of paralyzing panic fills me with regret, it happens.

A hand, one finger bandaged, reaches out and grabs my wrist, leaving me dangling by a foot and an arm off the roof of the bar.

Shigaraki's arms feel strong. So strong compared to me. After he caught me, he didn't waste a second getting me down from the roof. I can't say I wanted to stay up there.

My whole life led up to that moment. Everything I went through was just to end it all. And then I didn't want to. Right at the last second. Is that weakness?

Shigaraki's heavy breathing of panic and sobs managed to wake somebody up, and eventually they've all filed out to the scene of the two of us sitting on the floor, Tomura holding onto me tightly, my sight fixed firmly into the distance.

"Shiggy, what's wrong?" asks Magne, rubbing her eyes. 

He doesn't answer, still clutching onto me, and I can't find it in myself to answer. "Be careful of Dabi's burns," warns Kurogiri.

I can't feel them. Even if I could, I don't think I'd care. He's anchoring me, and right now I desperately need that hold on reality. Still, he loosens his death grip.

"Did something happen?" asks Spinner, his hair cascading around his face.

"Well obviously something happened. No, they look peachy!" Jin plops down in front of us. "Dabi, did you…?"

I finally snap my gaze to him, staring at his masked face. "I'm sorry, Bubaigawara, I just---" 

His arms wrap around me too, pressing my face into his shoulder. "You don't have to be sorry," he says in a broken voice. I wait for his contradiction, but it doesn't come.

I hear Compress kneel behind us, pressing his hand on Shigaraki's shoulder. "He's okay, Tomura. We'll look out for him."

My boyfriend's body shakes, his available fingernails digging into my chest through the front of my shirt. "Dabi, please don't, please, you said you loved me, please don't leave me," says his quiet voice.

I feel awful. I hurt him for nothing. And Jin. And I can feel in the air that the rest of the league is slowly figuring it out too. It didn't even come to anything but hurt.

"Dabi, I swear, you need to stop being so blind," says Toga, sitting behind Twice. "You know that we love you, right?"

"I know," I whisper. "I know. I'm sorry."

Kurogiri sits to the side of me Tomura doesn't take up. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, you know. You just wanted the easy way out of your suffering. There's nothing so terrible about wanting it to stop. I just hope you'll learn someday that we can help you end it in a way that will let you keep going after that."

I nod, reaching up one of my hands to place over Tomura's. Geez, I'm crying. Again.

"And even if it's selfish of us," says Magne, sitting herself next to Shigaraki. "You're good to have around. And not just for your quirk, either, so don't start that nonsense again."

Tomura grabs my straying hand. "Don't you ever pull that crap again."

I squeeze his hand. "I won't. I swear. Thank you for catching me." And I mean it. There's something in me now that I think I've been stuffing down.

I love these people. And while it does scare me because of all that's happened with those I've loved and trusted before, I don't think it'll end like that this time. I love them. And I want to keep going, even if for a while it's only because I have them, that's okay.

I love them enough that I want to keep living. To keep trying. Past all the pain.

"I wish you'd told us before now," says Spinner, tying his hair back to keep it out of his eyes. "Maybe we could have helped before it got to this."

"No, I knew," says Twice, face still pressed into my shirt, dampening it with his hot tears. "I knew, and all I did was give him a little slap on the wrist. You people are just blind!"

"No," I say, bringing my other hand to his back. "It's not any of your faults. If anything, you guys already helped a lot. Please don't blame yourselves for this."

Magne ruffles my hair gently. "It's nobody's fault. Sometimes things are just like that. What's important is that you're still here with us, and nobody got hurt."

"Did you want to talk about it?" asks Kurogiri.

I shake my head. "Nothing new. I just had it set in my mind as the only option. It got to be too much a while ago, and that's what I decided, so then once Endeavor was dead...I just sort of went on auto-pilot."

Toga smiles at me faintly. "Well, don't worry about it. Just a week ago I killed a guy on a whim; we all do weird stuff sometimes. That was a bad example, huh?"

Shigaraki grunts. "It kind of was. I'm in a weird mood though, so I'll allow it."

The next hour is spent in silence as Tomura cries the rest of his feelings out and we simply sit in the bar. It's not the same, but it's good. I feel lighter.

The next day brings awkwardness and hangovers, but it really doesn't matter. We're all just sort of happy to be around each other. Grateful.

Magne and Compress do end up going on that date, and they end up having a lot of fun apparently. Whatever Sako did must have been very impressive, with the amount of blushing Kenji was doing when they came back.

Tomura and I go on an official date too, a few days later. It's very nice. I really do love him.

And now, it doesn't really matter what we're doing as a group, or where or next mission will take us, because regardless of whatever it is, we're doing it together. And really, that's all I've ever wanted in a family.

[dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition]

tazchat: Lucretia Was Right

MAGNUS: let’s go lesbians let’s go LETS GO LESBIANS LETS GO here we go lesbians.. here we go lesbians C'mon! LET’S GO LESBIANS!! oh my god lesbians…. oh my god lesbians- move outta my way ROUNDING THE MOON WITH A BUNCH OF LESBIANS HERE WE ARE CAN YOU HANDLE IT?!

have you been paying attention?

i went into this ep originally just straight up dreading the canonization of the lup theory and. look at me now, Gay For Lup

now, it’s dos lonely boys.

“my god, i’m so—i’m so sorry—“

“she speaks eight languages!”

genuinely happy to see you, anxious about the Fate Of The World. she’s heartbroken about magnus.

“a memorial service for maggie.”

“I’M NOT LAUGHING IN GAME!!!!” justin says in TEARS

“our good friend, magnus.”

“ah, barry, what a douche.”

She Was Eighteen!!!! EIGHTEEN!!! That’s My Age!!!!!!!! i’m not gonna fuckin make a decision in the trolley problem now!!!!!

“...barold?”

“you have veered off sentence, and are hurtling toward paragraph, my man,” jeez i love that! good words justin

“i feel like i trust you.”

magnus just gettin his bangles

sorry i was thinkin about the various deaths of the boys and i remembered that merle’s final death count after her (naturally) passes will be 69. so good. also magnus’ is my lucky number (33) so that’s fun!

Fish Time

“my dexterity’s actually pretty good as a mannequin!”

they’re singing!!! (i do stand by the hc that they sometimes sing D A D @ mags or johann lol :’))

johann is voiced by owen wilson, canonically

“...we’re unemployed, after this. so let’s do this.”

“i didn’t SIGN anything!”

a kick-proof door.

luke is so. good. i love her.

she made a dumbass puzzle with orbs that barry figured out VERY QUICKLY all of which is to say that she is so predictable.

“is the room lit?” / “dude it’s lit as fuck dude.”

i know that this is a real 5e spell bc i had luke use it in the roleswap fic but i’m blanking on its name—the fear trap spell???

merle is afraid of abandonment and the failure of nature, taako is afraid of being alone — isolation, but he sort of instinctively knows: he’s never alone. OH BOY.

okay the spell was either FEAR (lvl 3) or WEIRD (lvl 9)

“start talking. i need to know what you know!”

magnus fixes the harp :’)

parlay w/ fisher!

the fish gives magnus a hug and now that he doesn’t need to breathe he can accept the hug!!! yay!!!

baby mags, in his jacket, arm outstretched!

he brings the whole fam to meet his fish friend

he just fuckin brings the fish food like different food every day.

“you mean julia? aw, yeah, that’s all real.”

Flesh Magnus’ hand twitches

Fish Buppy

i do love the dynamic of the Space Kids like “lucretia it’s like a DOG” / “magnus you’re my brother and i love you but this is an eldritch alien beast that consumes art” / “yes, and it’s our DOG”

also do love the total disregard by fans of the regular wearing of uniform on the ship, though like i feel dav WOULD try and enforce it for the first decade at least

The Hunger Is Here

the seven of you managed to hide for a really long time, but it was all for nothing.

how dare this be a mfd episode that means it’s hard to skip ads!!! damn!!!

reunion tour the song is a jam and a half

LITTLE BOY!!! casting cleric/bard spells like a good lil magic prince

barry’s claustrophobic

“i am a holy man... so let’s kill him!”

“i rolled an eighteen, do not try to control my fuckin’ shit”

“i trust angus mcdonald implictly.”

“i love the director. she gave me a home!”

“THE ONE’S LOOKIN’ FOR THE TRUTH, WELL, THEY’RE NEVER THE BAD GUYS.” (mag: god, i love angus : taa: precious)

seven spaces. i assumed until ttazz that it was one for the first initial of each bird lol but also fuckin weird that homeworld didn’t even have 10 million people on it. i guess that’s why they hired two TEENAGERS for their SPACE MISSION???

NAT 20 AXE HIT!!! MY MAN

rip travworld npcs...

JOHANN :’(

“don’t let them erase me.”

lucretia’s a very neat person.

two empty journals.

lucretia canonically has a coexist bumper sticker. i love her.

oh my god the fucking comedy of errors that is lucretia and barry’s assumption of each other for the twelve years. i love it. just TALK, idiots.

live menos!

live NO más!

magnus befriends baby voidfish.

“boys, don’t try to remember—“

his magic done ran out

BUT WHO WILL HEAL US!

“don’t put up a fight.”

Here She Is But First Let’s Check On Magnus

he just throws away the mannequin sheet!

Baby Boy Cannot Remember Shit And He Gets Stabbed

magnus tits out burnsides with a giant flaming sword thanks

magnus socks first tits out burnsides

LET’S GO LESBIANS LET’S GO!!! LET’S GOOO RUNNING DOWN THE MOON WITH A PACK OF WILD LESBIANS

carey just lizards the FUCK out thank u lizard lesbian

and she just punches him in the fucking face. thanks queen.

“hail and well met,” he says, and she rolls a 22 on punch friend.

“YOU TOOK THE BIG HIT, DIDN’T YOU BUD!”

lucretia voice: i can’t believe you’ve done this.

she’s already bubbled... queen of orbs

remember the thralled!luc theory? shit was good

there were seven of us.

scientists (five adults) and explorers (two CHILDREN!!!)

“we DAMNED this world the moment we landed.”

i found you, the three of you.

a grand story.

“you did... so well!”

i can build a home that all of us can be safe in together

you remember lup, of course! how could you forget lup?

outcast! but! never! alone!

“Lucretia, what have you done?”

fuckin’ love the image of just, like, everyone’s crying, and taako’s straight up about to murder luc and davenport is fucking talking and magnus and the lesbians just mosey on in like “hey guys what did we miss?”

SEEING HIM ALIVE, SHE GASPS, NOT OUT OF SHOCK, BUT OF... HAPPINESS.

it’s the end of the world... again.

we see the portrait, seven people:

lup, with her arm around barry, smiling, taako cheezing it, merle and dav next to each other and flexin, magnus, behind them, kinda goofy, and—lucretia, soft smiles. a rare moment of peace and happiness.

ok next few episodes, guys? It’s_Lucretia’s_Time.mp3