Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The only thing Dabi remembered when he woke up in some back alley dumpster, head spinning and skin half melted off his body, was a handful of names and a few brief flashes of fire.

Not that any of those memories were helpful—he quickly (and painfully) discovered the blue flames that were his quirk, flickering over his hand for no more than a few moments before his what little of his skin that was unmarred began to turn an angry red.

So not only did he have a flame quirk that burned him because his body ran too cold, but it also rendered the memories of flames useless in figuring out who he was. Fantastic.

The names? Shou, Yumi, Nat, and Kei weren’t much to work with.

As soon as he’d checked himself out of the underground clinic that’d helped him staple his face on (and while Dabi might not remember shit, he knew that was super weird), he began trying to figure out who he was, amnesia be damned.

He kept a list of what he knew about himself in his pocket.

Admittedly, most of what he had beyond basic descriptors was speculation, but it was something.

With no legal documentation to his still unknown name, Dabi didn’t have many avenues in life to go. So for the next six or seven years, his main source of income was nothing but petty crime and odd jobs around his neighborhood for the employers who didn’t care about the random teen-twenty-something-year-old not having any form of ID.

His main (only) hobby and pastime was fondly referred to as The Ongoing Investigation Into Who The Fuck Am I?

He was almost on a given name basis with the librarians at the public library a half-hour walk from his dingy apartment. It was nice of them to clarify to the rare hero that bothered to patrol the area that no, despite his appearance (and didn’t that sting?), he was not a villain. He often went over to research new leads or reference a psychology book to figure out whether one of his weird, unexplained habits could mean something.

The way looking at his white hair in the mirror made him tense to the point where he just dyed it red, only to feel on the verge of tears when he looked at it, and then dyed it black? Had people with red or white hair hurt him before? He had no reason he could remember to hate the colors, so he wrote it down.

The way he flinched and hunched in on himself whenever someone raised their voice unexpectedly? Concerning. He wrote it down.

The time he realized that he couldn’t remember anything more than a few months ago that clearly? Brain damage, most likely.

So not only did Dabi have severe amnesia, he also had some sort of problem with his long term memory that he couldn’t figure out the cause of. Did the issue stem from physical or psychological trauma? How did he get covered in severe burns on over half his body, despite the fact that he had to have known how much it hurt his body? (Was the amnesia caused by an incident that gave him a force activated quirk? It would certainly explain a lot)

It’d be nice to not be a walking poster boy for health issues, both physical and mental, but Dabi did his best.

After realizing the growing extent of his memory issues, Dabi switched from just keeping a list of general notes in his pocket to some of those fancy 3-inch binders full of notes, leads, and theories that he had to lug around in a bulky messenger bag.

He was rather proud of himself for keeping the table of contents and index so well organized.

“Hey, you,” Shigaraki interrupted. “You can’t even do what that crazy high school girl was able to do.”

God, Dabi thought, I’d hope not. I have enough mental issues already, I don’t need whatever’s going on with her.

“Give your name first,” the handy-man continued (he literally had a severed hand as some sort of face mask what the fuck he thought that news report was exaggerated). “You’re an adult, right?”

“I currently go by Dabi,” he answered, smoothly stepping around the question of his age after years of experience because fuck he probably was? He looked like an adult, but it’s not like he had facial hair or anything to judge off of because he wasn’t growing any of that any time soon, what if he had just been a really tall ten-year-old? He could barely remember what he was doing in February, but he was pretty sure he was at the end of puberty when he washed up on the streets but he might be remembering wrong oh fuck-

“That’s not what I want to know,” Shigaraki snapped, uncaring and unaware of Dabi’s panicking internal monologue. It was times like that that he was glad his face was fucked up—it was easy to school your expression when it hurt to change, to begin with. “What’s your real name?”

And isn’t that the million yen question?

“I’ll tell you when it’s time,” Dabi said instead. “Anyway,” he continued, ready to move on from the question, “I will carry out the Hero Killer’s will.”

That changed the topic of conversation pretty effectively.

Apparently, becoming one of Japan’s most wanted villains was an excellent way to get the entire internet in theorizing your real identity as well, Dabi was thrilled to discover. He couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Seven years of chasing leads and hacking databases to no avail, and he’d absolutely ran out of ideas. The internet, on the other hand, was an endless pool of new theories.

Ever since joining the League of Villains, Dabi had been enjoying something of a lifestyle boost. Now, it wasn’t all comfort, but say what you would about All for One getting captured, the man had left bank behind.

Dabi now had a laptop of his own to do his research on, which was mostly a relief due to the fact that he kept popping staples in his wrist when he took notes by hand. Most of his days were spent in the corner of their hideout, dutifully ignoring whatever antics the rest of the League managed to get themselves into each day.

His heart went out for Kurogiri each time he saw the man glance consideringly towards the hard alcohol.

“... The government has been known to cover up unethical experiments in the past, especially ones including children—since the first appearance of quirks, secret government training, and experimental facilities have existed to test the limits of powerful quirks. Dabi has been seen to wield powerful blue flames, easily pulling off feats of both quirk and physical prowess that should be considered impossible to pull off if he had begun a sort of training regime at a normal age—let’s say around twelve.”

Dabi’s lips quirked as he listened to the theory video, hands briefly pausing their constant typing as the voice in his ear kept talking. He turned up the volume of his headphones, clicking over to the tab to check the sources in the video description.

“Going by what normal physical features we can make out on the few close up photos and videos we have of Dabi, I would say that it’s unlikely that he’s older than his late twenties, yet his movements and instincts and quirk abilities speak of experience of almost that many years, supporting the possibility that Dabi could be from one of these experiment or training facilities.”

Dabi paused as the information registered.

Government experiment?

His first instinct was to brush off the notion as ridiculous, but his second train of thought was what if?

Dabi had no clue what the fuck was up with himself, he couldn’t brush off anything.

It was true that he did have an odd sort of muscle memory for how to use his quirk offensively and how to fight, on an almost instinctual level—years of government training?—and that he had an unnatural pain tolerance—experiments without anesthesia?—and that he couldn’t remember shit—memory quirk from a shady government official trying to keep information from leaking?—and he woke up in a back alley—getting rid of the physical evidence by posing it as murder?—and fuck was he a government experiment?

Dabi held his head in his hands while the voice droned on in his ear as the information registered. Was he a government guinea pig? A lab rat? Did he even have parents? Oh god, what if he didn’t even have a name, what if he was just listed in a folder somewhere as nothing more than a number, fuck-

Dabi spent the next three days trying to figure out whether he should just find a way to call the government and ask, before realizing that if he was an escaped government experiment or something then they wouldn’t just tell that to some random stranger on the phone, but he still kind of wanted to try.

He put down ”escaped government experiment???” on his list of Potential identities/reasons why I’m like this.

Dabi knew Hawks was a spy. It was pretty goddamn obvious, the hero wasn’t subtle.

He asked too many probing questions about the rest of the league members and seemed a little too willing to do whatever Dabi asked of him, a little too casual and friendly. Dabi couldn’t explain why the way Hawks acted twisted something in his gut, but it seemed fake and wrong, and he couldn’t figure out why.

For a bird, Hawks was a pretty obvious mole.

But, Dabi reasoned, a mole that he could use.

It was easy enough to reason that Hawks’ purpose was to figure out information on the members of the League, identities, histories, and psych profiles. Dabi felt relatively few qualms about letting Hawks weasel the information out of him; it wasn’t anything you couldn’t find on the internet or in a police database.

No, the reason Dabi continued to encourage Hawks’ probing behavior was because Hawks was smart, and had the resources to conduct an investigation into who Dabi could be that the fire user himself could only dream of.

You didn’t get to be the number two hero at 22 years of age just by running around and stopping crime, no, Hawks’ agency was well known for its investigative prowess, and that was precisely what Dabi was betting on.

He let Hawks into the League, hoping the extended exposure would help Hawks figure out who he was because goddamnit, he was getting desperate.

It didn’t take long at all for conversations about Dabi specifically to come up in their meetings.

“You ever seen those conspiracy theory videos about you?” Hawks asked casually one evening.

Dabi gave an amused huff. “Practically all I watch, not gonna lie. I like them.”

“Any of them right?”

Dabi smirked and shrugged, and Hawks gave a good-natured chuckle in response, not realizing that Dabi was quite literal in the implied meaning of I have no fucking idea.

“You seen the one the hero kids made about you?”

“The what?” Dabi asked, glancing at him. Hawks looked over and gave him an amused grin.

“I’m pretty sure you’re aware of class 1-A, the one you guys attack like every other week?”

“Don’t lump me in Handy McFuck-Face’s obsessions, it’s insulting.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Dabi flicked a small burst of flame at the hero in retaliation, who simply smirked and ducked out of the way as he continued talking. “Todoroki Shouto and Kaminari Denki started a conspiracy theory channel together, and they made a video about you being the Zodiac Killer.”

Dabi had to stop and think about it for a second. “Isn’t the Zodiac Killer some American serial killer from like—the pre-quirk era?”

“Dude had to have died centuries ago unless he had some sort of longevity quirk from before the first registered quirk, and your quirk is blue flames, I’m pretty sure.”

“That aside, they think I’m the Zodiac Killer?”

“Yes.”

Dabi paused, staring at Hawks through narrowed eyes.

“...Show me.”

Hawks beamed and whipped out his phone, taking no more than a few moments to pull up the video and hold it between himself and Dabi, who leaned over to watch the screen.

There was something about the Todoroki kid that just tugged at something in the back of his head, but he brushed it off easy enough. Probably the hair, he remembered the notes he had on the shit reactions he’d had to his own when it was those colors.

The tug in his mind was quickly forgotten when Todoroki and Kaminari started putting up all their evidence on a corkboard, using honest to god red yarn to connect all their points together and-

Holy shit. They had a point. Fuck.

“... It’s well known that Dabi’s quirk is powerful blue flames, yet it is also known that he joined the League of Villains, who were previously sponsored by the supervillain known as All for One before his capture during the Kamino Ward Incident several months ago. Connecting all the ties that link Dabi to the Zodiac Killer, as well as the behavioral ticks that could also link them, it would not be far-fetched to assume that Dabi might have some sort of longevity quirk.”

Dabi was reeling as Kaminari picked up where Todoroki left off.

“He has some hella nasty scars, ones that after asking Recovery Girl, shouldn’t have been survivable assuming they were all received at the same time-”

“-which it is relevant to presume since all seem to be of the same severity, in the same state of healing-”

“-if you can call it that, have you seen the man?”

“-and their relatively uniform manner.”

“Yeah, he had to have gotten fucked up like that all at once right? Can you imagine surviving something like that? It’s clear he didn’t go to a hospital, since one of them probably would have reported getting a patient with that distinct a physical trait by now to help in the police investigation, so clearly, either Dabi has some sorta fucked up turtle quirk that gives him his weird-ass skin and longevity-”

“-or his original quirk was purely a longevity or immortality quirk, allowing him to survive his severe injuries long enough to join with the League of Villains, and potentially receive his famous blue flame quirk from All for One himself.”

Fuck, Dabi thought. Do I have a longevity quirk? I’m pretty sure I’ve had blue flames since long before I joined the League, but I can’t remember shit.

It took him a few moments to notice the video had ended, and that Hawks was staring at him expectantly.

“So?” the bird prodded. “Whatcha think?”

“Fuck man, maybe I am the Zodiac Killer.”

Dabi tried to not let the frustrated aura Hawks gave off at the answer reflect on his own face.

He really hoped Hawks was as clever as he heard because he was so good at keeping his identity a secret that even he didn’t know who the fuck he was.

Dabi was at the end of his fucking rope.

He’d hoped that after almost half a year of being a high profile villain, someone would have figured it out, and don’t get him wrong, a few of them had some pretty convincing evidence (maybe he was an escaped Canadian convict who’d escaped 60 years ago, he didn’t fucking know), but of none of them felt quite right.

He was steadily approaching his third night of no sleep, surviving on nothing but desperation and monster energy drinks as he stared blankly at his lists of theories that he hadn’t ruled out.

-government experiment?
-noumu?
-zodiac killer?
-demon summoned from hell?

Fuck, he needed another energy drink. Or caffeine pills. 5-hour energy.

He stumbled into the main room of the base, barely managing to catch himself on the edge of a table when he tripped over his own feet and fucking ow, he was gonna have to redo that staple in the morning.

Dabi looked up and made eye contact with Shigaraki, who had likely looked over at the sudden noise.

They stared at each other, and it took almost a full ten seconds for Dabi’s sluggish mind to realize that he was the one who usually looked away first, and he was about to when a thought lodged in his mind.

Shigaraki would probably be able to confirm or deny the noumu theory, at the very least.

Dabi was pretty sure someone would have mentioned it if he was a noumu, and he’s pretty sure that he joined the League at some point, but maybe he just imagined that? Could he ask Toga instead? Dabi thought she might’ve been there so maybe he could ask her?

But Shigaraki was right there, and Dabi was running out of patience for his almost decade-long investigation.

He also simultaneously realized that he and Shigaraki had been staring at each other for almost a minute, and he reminded himself to blink.

Fuck it.

“Okay, just to be sure, I’m not a noumu, right?”

Tomura sometimes wondered what he was willing to put up with, and he was fairly sure it wasn’t fucking this.

Dabi had stumbled into the main room, and Tomura had looked over, fully ready to mock the asshole of a Frankenstein’s monster. And then he thought to himself, Dabi looks like shit.

That’s not to say Dabi didn’t always look like shit, but he usually looked more aesthetically like shit, if that were a thing. His casual grace was also gone, and Tomura wanted to bark a laugh as he watched Dabi trip over his own feet.

Then they caught each other’s gazes, and Dabi just stared.

Tomura didn’t exactly look away either, but it became clear after a few seconds that Dabi wasn’t going to look away and Tomura refused to look away first.

Their staring contest carried on for almost a minute, and he could feel his eyes watering painfully from being held open for too long, when Dabi blinked lethargically, almost like a cat. Tomura was glad to give his own eyes relief, and was about to ask what the fuck was wrong with Dabi when the burnt Sasuke started talking.

And Tomura could never stress it enough, nothing could have ever prepared him for the conversation he was about to get into.

“Okay, just to be sure, I’m not a noumu, right?”

Tomura stopped, stared, processed the question, and felt his brain glitch like a fucking Bethesda game.

“I-” he cut himself off, trying to figure out if Dabi was fucking with him or not, and looking at the man, Tomura felt frustration when he couldn’t tell. “What the fuck—no? I’m pretty sure you’re not? Why the fuck are you asking me?”

And at that question, Dabi lets out an exhausted sigh as he begins to cross the room, and it was probably the most expressive sound Tomura had ever heard from him. Throwing himself down on the other side of the coffee table, picking a sluggishly bleeding staple from his ankle as he sat down, and looked at Tomura tiredly.

“I’ve tried figuring this out on my own but I fucking give up,” he grumbled before continuing. “Alright, all cards on the table here,” Dabi says, holding his hands up in a show of peace as Tomura raises an irritated eyebrow, “my memory is pretty fucked up.” And in hindsight, not leaving when Dabi said that was probably when Tomura passed the point of no return. “Probably has something to do with all the burns. Plus the heat stroke, which I assume must’ve happened at some point.”

Yeah, that adds up, Tomura thought, glancing at the bloody staple Dabi was fiddling with. Not for the first time, Tomura idly wondered how the fuck Dabi was still alive as the man kept talking.

“Anyways, basically I have no idea who the fuck I was or what I was doing any more than eight years ago, and like, honestly even a few months back is stretching it. I can remember things starting from eight years ago, albeit super unreliably, but anything further than eight years ago? Fucking blank. Been trying to figure this shit out for years. But I’ve been keeping an eye on stuff online to see if anyone else figures it out, and there was a really convincing video about me being a noumu. It didn’t sound right, but I wanted to check. You’re sure it’s wrong though, right?”

And Tomura has to take a minute to process that confession. He’d always just thought Dabi was trying to be edgy and mysterious, but he actually had no idea who the fuck he was, and as Tomura looked back on all his past interactions with Dabi, the concluding thought came to him unbidden, yeah, that checks out.

Tomura briefly entertained the idea of telling Dabi to fuck off and figure it out on his own time.

But on the other hand, the entire situation sounded like a shit show waiting to happen, and if there was anything Tomura enjoyed doing outside of playing video games, it was laughing at the suffering of other people. Bonus points if that person would finally be Dabi.

Fuck it, Tomura didn’t have any plans for his evening anyway.

“...Show me the video.”

Dabi runs to fetch his computer, and Tomura finds himself vaguely disturbed by the fact that he seems almost eager to show the video to him, like some sort of patchwork puppy.

But then whatever conspiracy theory Dabi had found himself enamored with started playing and-

Fuck.

That made… far too much sense.

Tomura was fairly sure that Sensei would have told him if Dabi was a noumu, but he was right, it was convincing.

As the video ended, sources flashing across the screen, Tomura turned in his seat to stare consideringly at Dabi, who stared right back at him. After a moment, Tomura broke the silence.

“Are you a noumu?” he asked, a bewildered note to his voice, because he’d thought Dabi was on drugs or something before, but now as he looked at him, he couldn't stop the pervasive thought of noumu rocketing around his head.

“I don’t fucking know,” Dabi whispered in the most defeated tone Tomura had ever heard.

“Give me a second,” Tomura muttered, fishing his phone out of his pocket and pulling up his contacts list. “I can figure this out.” Quickly scrolling through the relatively short list, he clicked on that one succinctly titled Dr. Ujiko and held his phone up to his ear, pinky curled into his palm as he listened to his phone ring.

“Ah, hel-”

“Is Dabi a noumu?” Tomura interrupted the greeting, deciding to get straight to the point.

“I-” The doctor cut himself off with a confused tone, and as much as Tomura had never liked the man, he could understand the confusion. However, he had less patience than Dabi (he’d been trying to figure this shit out for almost a decade and he hadn’t lost his shit yet how the fuck-).

“Is Dabi a noumu, yes or no?”

“...No, Dabi is not a noumu. Why would you think he’s-”

Beep.

“Alright,” Tomura said blandly, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “The good news is you’re not a noumu. The bad news is we still have no idea who or what the fuck you are.”

“Well, I can cross the noumu theory off my list at least.” Dabi sighed tiredly.

“You have a list?” Tomura asked incredulously. Dabi gave him a blank, unamused look.

“I’ve been trying to figure out who I am for almost seven years, of course I have a fucking list.”

But Tomura was invested at this point, and just pointed at Dabi commandingly. “Go get them. We’re leveling up our investigation skills and unlocking your backstory.”

Tomura wasn’t sure whether or not he should be surprised by the piles of thick binders Dabi brought back and dropped on the coffee table, which groaned worryingly under the sudden weight (and the man was a twig, he had no idea how he’d carried them without snapping like a glow stick).

“Is this… all of it?” he asked slowly, flipping open the binder closest to him and blinking at the tiny font of a fucking table of contents.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Dabi said, organized the binders into different groups before pointing at them one by one. “This one is just some general information I’ve been able to figure out about myself. These two are theories and leads that I’ve followed up on and we’re able to confidently rule out. The next two are ones that I’m currently looking into. These three have lists of ideas that I need to start looking into, and there’s a shit ton of them. And finally, these six,” he said pointing to the largest pile of binders, “are leads that I haven’t been able to follow up on fully, either because of a lack of resources or just hitting a dead end.”

Tomura simply stared, only able to comprehend the amount of information piled in front of him simply by thinking I thought Dabi killed a fuck ton of trees at that summer camp, but apparently this is somehow where he’s more effective at tearing down forests.

Tomura took in a deep breath and exhaled.

Standing up from the ratty couch without a word, he took a few steps up to the large wall on the far side of the bar and brushed his fingers along the surface. He walked from end to end until all the yellowed and torn old posters that used to decorate the surface laid in piles of dust around his feet, leaving the plain wooden wall in his wake.

Turning around and padding past Dabi’s confused stare and over to the bar, he leaned over the counter and grabbed a knife and marker. Carefully balancing the blade and marker in one hand with decaying them, tore another poster down from another wall in the bar and turned it to the blank side on the coffee table.

Holding the knife in one hand and pressing down the poster with his wrist, he took the cap off the marker with his teeth and wrote down in large, bold kanji, WHO THE FUCK IS DABI?

Then he held the poster up to the center of the recently cleared wall, and stabbed it with the knife, pinning it effectively in place.

He turned to Dabi, who was starting to gain some level of comprehension in his eyes at what Tomura was trying to accomplish.

“Start pulling out your most likely theories, you amnesiatic fuck face,” he said. “We’re figuring this shit out.”

Spinner really had no idea what he was looking at.

All he’d wanted to do was go into the kitchen and grab a snack to eat before turning in for the night, and instead, he walked in on Shigaraki and Dabi having what appeared to be a civil debate about whether or not Dabi’s burn scars were from time traveling?

Maybe he’d already gone to bed and what he was seeing was just a really weird dream or something.

He must’ve made a noise or something because Shigaraki and Dabi snapped their heads around to look at him simultaneously.

He gulped nervously under their combined stares.

“Spinner,” Shigaraki said sharply, and he snapped to attention at his name. “Settle something for us. On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that Dabi’s some sort of time traveler?”

“I, uh,” Spinner stuttered. “Um, four?”

Shigaraki cursed softly under his breath.

“Fucking told you,” Dabi said, picking a mug of tea from the coffee table and sipped at it. Shigaraki kicked his shin, to which Dabi only responded by saying, “If you pop a staple on my leg, you're putting it back in.”

Shigaraki returned his attention to Spinner, who wasn’t exactly eager to be getting glared at by their decay-happy leader again. “Spinner, go fetch the rest of the League. There’s been a change of plans.”

It was Hawks’ day off.

Now, he said that it was his day off, but it really only meant that he wasn’t doing any patrols or work at his agency, and would probably end up spending the whole day at the League of Villains hideout.

Technically work, Hawks supposed, but over time at least it had become enjoyable work. He was reluctant to admit to himself that he’d probably miss their company once he finished his mission and had to break cover to take them down.

They were better company than the suits at the Commission by a long shot.

Now, whatever Hawks had been expecting when he walked into the League hideout at 9 AM, it certainly wasn’t Shigaraki slamming his hands down on the table and yelling a question at Dabi, the rest of the league spread across the couches and chairs, watching intently. A wall that Hawks swore was decorated with posters of trashy old bands last time he’d been there was instead covered with papers, either hung up with push pins or knives, some connected by red yarn.

“Give us something to fucking work with here, Dabi! Hobbies, interests, skills, anything you can’t explain away!”

“Fuck if I know!” Dabi snapped back, sounding every bit as exasperated and defeated as Shigaraki did annoyed. “I’m pretty sure I was a person before all this shit, but I don’t remember a goddamn thing about it.”

The League seemed to let out a simultaneous groan at the answer.

“Don’t worry, Dabi! Recovering from any sort of brain trauma is a long journey, so take your time!” Twice chirped. “Maybe if we whack you in the head with a metal bat, all the memories will come back!”

“Wait-” Dabi said suddenly, holding up a hand, appearing to be in deep thought. Noise in the room quieted, and Hawks had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what was going on as he spied the WHO THE FUCK IS DABI sign in the center of the wall. Dabi held a hand to his chin, brows furrowing as he thought. “Actually I think I used to like soba. Maybe. I also might have never eaten soba before. Honestly fifty-fifty chance,” he said with false cheeriness, giving the group a thumbs up.

“What the fuck,” Hawks said softly, but with feeling.

The League quieted all at once and turned to look at him. Several seconds of silence passed before Shigaraki broke the quiet.

“Listen, either sit your ass down and help or get the fuck out. We’re not doing anything else until we figure this shit out.”

Hawks felt the sigh he gave out in response somewhere deep in his soul, shutting the door behind himself and shuffling over to an empty chair, grumbling under his breath.

“Well, this explains why I couldn’t figure out this shit either.”

Sometimes, Shouta wondered if it was really worth ever getting out of bed in the morning. Maybe he should’ve never crawled out of his sleeping bag, just laid there and let the ratty thing become his coffin.

Instances in which he wondered such a thing tended to happen whenever he had to deal with the League of Villains. Again.

Shigaraki was a manchild who was more difficult to reason with than almost all of his students, Toga was some sort of psychopath, Twice desperately needed a psychotherapist, Compress and Kurogiri were polite but frustrating to deal with and thus Shouta hated them by default, Dabi was a powerful and smug asshole, and Spinner was a cosplayer taking method acting too far.

So Shouta wasn’t exactly thrilled that he got into a confrontation with Shigaraki on the weekend when all he had been trying to accomplish was picking up more eye drops.

The underground hero in him was steadily becoming more frustrated as the year progressed at the sheer amount of confrontations he was getting forced into in broad daylight, in front of the news cameras. He might as well become a spotlight hero, at that rate.

Now, the cause of his headache during this particular confrontation, for once, didn’t come from Midoriya’s suicidal self-sacrificing tendencies. No, the problem child was back at the dorms, not getting pulled into yet another major villain fight.

It instead came from the fact that Shigaraki kept leaning in and asking about missing person cases he had worked on in the past—the majority of them ones he and the police had never been able to solve.

“What about Okamoto Shinju? Ever found him?” Shigaraki hissed into his ear as he shot past, barely avoiding the man's outstretched fingers. “Noguchi Kichirou? Yamauchi Misaki? Inoue Riko?”

Shouta growled lowly under his breath, whipping around and focusing his gaze on Shigaraki, thankful that it was only the one League member he had to deal with (though none of them would have been ideal).

“Why are you so interested in cold missing person cases?”

“Ah,” Shigaraki intoned, giving a bright smile that looked demented on his face. “So they’re still cold, hm? That’s very useful information.”

Shouta startled at the statement, not having expected the reaction. Why did Shigaraki suddenly care about decade-old missing person cases?

Shigaraki suddenly shot away from him, and at the top of his lungs screeched, “IT’S A LEAD!”

Before Shouta could even process what on earth that statement could possibly mean, a blast of blue flames poured down on Shigaraki, causing the leader to—melt, not burn. Shouta hissed as he jumped away from the flames, turning his glare to where Dabi was leaning over a nearby rooftop, furious at having been played in such a way.

Of course it was one of Twice’s doubles. Shigaraki, even childish as he was, usually had a better plan than just running up to him on the sidewalk.

“Thanks, Eraserhead!” Dabi called over the roof, before quickly retreating back and out of Shouta’s line of sight. “You’ve been a huge help!”

Shouta shot out his capture weapon, quickly grappling to the top of the building he had just spotted Dabi upon, determined to catch him before-

A few wisps of purple mist floated away in the wind.

Shouta tightened his hands into fists, growling a low “Dammit,” under his breath.

He was too late.

“Cold cases are cold for a reason, you know,” Hawks said dryly, dumping a box of files on the table with a grunt. It’d been a bitch to get his hands on the printed copies of the various cases, but the fact that they were considered cold was useful, in that they had a little less attention paid to them. One quick trip to the photocopier and back and Hawks had officially committed yet another crime.

He was vaguely worried about how nonchalant he was becoming about following the law, regardless of the wide parameters he was given on his mission. That was a problem for future him, however.

“They’re cold for the police,” Shigaraki said distractedly, already shuffling through the files. Hawks was relieved that he’d taken to taping two of his fingers on each hand unless he was leaving the bar, having accidentally disintegrated more than a few flash drives of potentially useful information. “Unlike them, we don’t have to deal with any red tape or listen to any higher-ups.”

“So we’re becoming back alley detectives? Like some sort of discount Sherlock Holmes roleplayers?”

“We’re not fucking LARPers, chicken wings. This is a serious investigation.”

“Alright, alright,” Hawks said, holding his hands up placatingly. “Also, if you’re going to insult me, go for something that’s actually there. Call me chicken legs or chicken ankles.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to-” Shigaraki cut himself off as he looked down at where Hawks was pointing, staring at the gap between where his baggy flight pants ended and his boots began.

“You know,” Spinner commented contemplatively from off the side after a few moments of silence, “now that you’ve pointed it out I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee it.”

“Detective Chicken Legs, at your service,” Hawks chirped, saluting sarcastically with a ditzy smile on his face.

“I fucking hate it here,” Dabi said.

Yuuta didn’t really know how long he’d been stuck in that damp basement.

He had a general idea, of course; other prisoners were occasionally tossed into the room with him, and they would tell him what date they estimated it was.

At the very least, he’d been there for over eight years.

It made sense, of course, that the Yakuza cell he’d been sold to would do well to keep their source of limitless energy from being discovered, but well—it still hurt when he realized, around his fourth year, that it was unlikely that anyone would ever come for him. Picked right off the streets in front of Ketsubutsu, and no one could track him down. He finally had his provisional license, and he’d been picked up, just like that.

He picked absentmindedly at the brace around his leg that chained him to the wall, a device that endlessly siphoned off the energy that used to crackle off his skin in abundance.

He startled at sudden sounds of fighting, muffled through layers of concrete. His hand slipped and his nail caught in a seam of the brace, pulling at an awkward angle that left a dull throb in his fingertip. He straightened up, a traitorous part of his mind flaring up in hope before he crushed it back down.

Yuuta knew that if they hadn’t found him by now, his case was more than likely cold and shelved. They wouldn’t expend more resources on him when there were warmer trails to follow.

It was significantly more likely that some rival Yakuza family was starting something.

Or at least, that’s what Yuuta thought until the sounds of fighting began to grow closer. He shifted on his ratty cot nervously—the screams outside his room made the fight sound very one-sided, and in the intruders' favor. That small flare of hope kept nudging at the back of his mind.

When the sounds of fighting faded, Yuuta sat tensely, picking at the frayed edges of his thin blanket, mind racing as he tried to figure out what might happen next.

When the wall of his room crumbled into dust before his very eyes, Yuuta only blinked confusedly at what he saw.

The group before him certainly had… a unique sense of style, not that Yuuta and his too-big-for-his-emaciated-body clothes were ones to talk.

But the one standing at the front of the group with his hand outstretched looked like he had a whole hand kink thing going on, another looked like a discount Frankenstein’s monster, and the last was wearing nothing more than a slightly too big school uniform.

Yuuta wasn’t sure what had changed since he had been kidnapped, but he was fairly sure that interns were meant to be given their real costumes before being taken on fieldwork.

“‘Sup,” the guy with the patchwork face and coat said casually, stepping forward as he pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “You don’t happen to be,” he squinted at the paper (Yuuta was struck by the horrific realization that the scars weren’t an aesthetic thing, but were very real as he spied the inside of the guy's mouth through the gap between the first and second staple on either side of his mouth as he spoke, and oh god Yuuta felt sick), “Serizawa Yuuta, do you?”

“Uh, y-” Yuuta coughed harshly into his elbow, grimacing at the rough scratch of his throat. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Awww, what a letdown,” the school girl whined, waving her arms around angrily, and Yuuta felt the feeling of being sick coming up again as he saw the very much blood-covered knife in her hand. How much more brutal had heroics gotten in eight years? “He’s not even that cute—he’s so skinny! There’s no blood on his bones!”

Yuuta was fairly sure that the saying was “meat,” but he didn’t get a chance to ask about the strange turn of phrase before the guy covered in hands groaned loudly and childishly. “This is a waste of time, I’m gonna call Kurogiri for a pick-up.”

The other two intoned a disappointed “Yeah,” as they followed him when he stalked away and out of sight, presumably fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Wait!” Yuuta managed to call out, his throat itching at the effort. The group paused briefly and glanced back at him, looking impatient. “I—are you three heroes? You don’t look like part of the Miyashita family…”

The guy covered in scars barked out a harsh laugh, waving blandly over his shoulder as the group continued walking away. “Don’t worry about it,” he said in an amused tone before they all disappeared from sight. After a few moments, Yuuta couldn’t hear their footsteps any longer.

No more than a few minutes passed before police and heroes flooded the room, and Yuuta allowed his confusion to be washed away by crushing relief as tears pricked at his eyes.

“Right. Yes, we’re at the location. I’ll text you the coordinates. Alright, thank you,” Atsuhiro said, before pulling his phone away from his face and hanging up. He turned to face Spinner and Twice, who had sat on the grass and started a game of chopsticks in the time it had taken him to call Kurogiri. Allowing himself a smile at this scene, he quickly shot off a text with their coordinates to the bartender before catching his comrades' attention.

“Shigaraki, Dabi, and Toga have finished up their objective. We’ll be joining them back at the base shortly,” he informed them, both looking up at him. “The police will be here soon, so get ready to move. Kurogiri will be sending a portal momentarily.”

“Alright,” Spinner said easily, standing up in tandem with Twice. “So, uh, they’re taking care of…” he gestured weakly at the pit next to them, a stale, vaguely nauseating scent rising from its depths.

“They’ll be taking care of the body, yes,” Atsuhiro confirmed, glancing at the skeleton still slightly buried at the bottom of the hole. “We’ll allow the police to run DNA analysis on whether or not this is Itou Ryouta. Hawks will be able to tell us the results before it's even on the news.”

“Right…”

“Relax!” Twice chirped, patting Spinner on the back. “Either we still have a lead on who Dabi is or we’ve helped a family find closure! Either way, there’s a silver lining to this! This entire situation is a fucking waste of time!”

“I still think Toga would have been a better choice for this kind of thing,” Spinner muttered.

“Perhaps,” Atsuhiro said noncommittally, “but she was getting stabby, so we decided to handle that efficiently while we could.”

“I guess.”

Atsuhiro was pleased to see the familiar purple mist of Kurogiri’s portal appear just a few meters away as police sirens screeched into the park. The police officers who exited the car froze upon spotting the three members of the League, but Atsuhiro did no more than tip his hat and stroll briskly into the portal, Spinner and Twice behind him.

“Bye-bye!” Twice called, and Atsuhiro could almost hear the cheery wave he was giving the officers in his voice. “See you never, fuckers!”

LEAGUE OF VILLAINS RESCUE KIDNAPPED HERO STUDENT
By Saitou Masahiko

Serizawa Yuuta was a student in Ketsubutsu Academy’s heroics course, with a brand new provisional license in his pocket when he was kidnapped right off the streets in front of the school. Having a powerful energy quirk, he was sold to the Miyashita Yakuza family and kept in their basement as a source of endless energy to power their bases, operations, and to make a little extra on the side. Serizawa lived in that basement for almost nine years, giving up hope of ever being found, before he was rescued.

Serizawa didn’t recognize the heroes that had dusted the wall of his damp basement room but brushed it off; the face of heroics can certainly change in nine years. Two pros and a work experience intern are what he presumed to have rescued him. He knew that he was not simply found by accident because one of the pros stepped up and asked him to confirm his identity—and Serizawa was relieved. The pro-heroes had come for him.

They must have been the advance team, he thought, when they spoke of contacting a ‘Kurogiri,’ perhaps another pro, for pick up. They went ahead, presumably to rescue other prisoners of the Miyashita. Other pros and police officers soon flooded the room, rushing him to a hospital to be treated for malnutrition and given physical therapy for his atrophied muscles.

However, it wasn’t until Serizawa gave his statement to the police that both law enforcement and Serizawa himself realized the truth: he had been reduced by the League of Villains. When he described the ‘pros’ that reduced him, their descriptions matched perfectly to that of Shigaraki Tomura and Dabi, and their ‘intern’ to that of Toga Himiko. When given police sketches to confirm for certain the identities of those who found him, Serizawa said yes—those were the people that had taken down an entire yakuza cell to find him.

Read more

“Alright, so,” Shigaraki announced, pacing back and forth to the League, sprawled across the couched of the bar, “while we’re waiting for the police to calm the fuck down so Hawks can finally be useful again-”

“Love you too.”

“-and get us some more of those cases, we’re going to focus on some of the alternative theories and ruling those out.” Shigaraki threw himself into a chair, looking around at them. “We’ll be splitting up into groups. Toga, Spinner, you’re working on the Zodiac Killer. Compress and Twice, time travel.”

“We’ve been over this,” Dabi groaned, letting his head fall back into the couch cushions in exasperation. “We ruled that one out.”

“No, you ruled it out. I’m still skeptical.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Dabi, you and Hawks are working on the demon from hell theory. Me and Kurogiri will be making a few house calls to the Yakuza.”

“Okay, wait,” Hawks said, visor pushed up into his hair as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I can suspend my disbelief for a lot of things, but there is no possible way that Dabi is a demon from hell. Hell doesn’t even exist.”

“Prove it,” Shigaraki responded blankly.

“I- what?”

“Prove it,” Shigaraki repeated, crossing his arms. “While some quirks can have scientific explanations, some don’t. How am I, scientifically, able to decay things with a single touch? How the fuck do Compress and Twice make Conservation of Matter their bitch? How do you control your feathers? For that matter, how does any form of telekinesis work?”

“I, uh,” Hawks stuttered, mind screeching to a halt. “Hah?”

“Exactly, you fucking pigeon head. Quirks are some wack-ass shit, so there’s nothing to say hell can’t exist, and that Dabi isn't a demon.” Shigaraki pulled a Bible from out of nowhere and tossed it on the table. “Get to work.”

“I—but-” Hawks blinked and stared down at his hands like he was having an existential crisis, which, Dabi supposed, was fair enough.

Despite that, Dabi couldn’t keep himself from cackling when Shigaraki huffed angrily, picking the book back up and nailing the hero in the face with it, growling, “Read the fucking Bible, Hawks.”

“Holy shit,” was all Dabi managed to say once they got all the information laid out in front of them. Shigaraki simply made an odd noise of affirmation, and Hawks only nodded dumbly. “I knew heroes were fucking corrupt but this…”

“Yeah,” Hawks agreed softly, looking vaguely sick.

“Okay, so Shinoda Kei is definitely dead,” Shigaraki said. “Our next question is what the fuck are we supposed to do about heroes taking on black market hits?”

“I dunno, expose them?” Dabi suggested, shrugging. “Tie into that whole ‘fuck heroes’ thing we’re doing.”

It was quite obvious that none of them had slept in the past two days when Shigaraki simply squinted at him for a few moments before understanding dawned across his face. “Right, yeah, that. We’ll get Toga to go drop off the files to a newspaper in the morning.”

“Tomura, Hawks, Dabi,” a strict voice suddenly interrupted. The three of them tensed, before slowly turning around to see Kurogiri standing behind them, arms crossed. He didn’t have a face, but Dabi could feel the disappointed stare. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Uh…” Hawks started, facing scrunching up in concentration as he started to count on his fingers, talons glinting slightly in the soft light of the bar (Toga had been thrilled when they discovered that Hawks had additional avian features, and Dabi would reluctantly admit to being worried for his continued health with Toga’s excitement).

“It’s been like… forty hours?” Shigaraki said, glancing at both of them for confirmation. Dabi and Hawks shrugged.

“It’s been fifty-three, actually,” Kurogiri informed them shortly. “You three are going to bed, now.”

All three of them groaned in unison, but with a pointed look from the team mom bartender, Shigaraki and Dabi began shuffling towards their rooms.

“Will you be able to make it back to your apartment safely Hawks?” Unlikely, considering that Fukuoka was an hour flight at the very least from Musutafu.

“Um,” Hawks hummed, thinking as he swayed on his feet. “Probably not.”

Kurogiri sighed. “Do you know the precise coordinates of your apartment, so I can drop you off?”

“Fuckin’ bird brains can’t even string a sentence together right now,” Dabi muttered, having stopped his mindless shuffle to watch the exchange. Backtracking easily, he grabbed the collar of Hawks’ shirt and began dragging him along. “Y’can stay with me tonight.” Hawks squealed in surprise and barely managed to snatch his flight jack off the couch as they went past. “Get Toga to go drop those files at a newspaper or something when she gets up,” he said to Kurogiri as he and Hawks left.

“Be nice to Hawks, Dabi,” the bartender called to him as they left the main room.

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” he responded. “‘M a fucking saint.”

Dabi elected to ignore the amused huff he could just barely hear from the man.

Hawks groaned as he blinked his eyes open, having spent the night at his own apartment for the first time in several days. Realizing that it was the jingle of his work phone that was waking him up and that if he was being called so early in the morning that it was most likely the Commission calling, he simply sighed and blindly reached out. Finally grabbing the correct phone after a few attempts, he quickly answered and held the device up to his ear.

“Hello?” he greeted, attempting to sound as awake as he possibly could.

“Hawks,” a clipped voice responded. “Are you aware of what’s on the news right now?”

“Uh…” Hawks trailed off, racking his brain for anything he’d seen recently that could possibly have pissed the Commission off that could be tied back to him. He couldn’t remember making any mistakes on his patrols recently, and he’d been pretty on point in all of his interviews, sticking to the script and getting in and out before Shigaraki would begin blowing up his phone to get back to base and help out. “No?”

“Well then,” the voice of his handler turned even icier than usual, if it were possible, “I suggest you check.”

“Alright, give me a second,” Hawks responded, obediently throwing off the thick comforter of his bed, and wow it was fucking freezing. Hawks was harshly reminded of how close winter was as his feathers ruffled at the sudden temperature change, cringing at the unimpressed noise his handler made in response to the noise.

Trying to avoid making his handler’s mood worse than it already was, Hawks walked along in his little bird hop to avoid any sounds of his talons clacking against the floor. Shifting his work phone to be held between his head and shoulder, he grabbed his personal cell and shifted through his notifications as he padded into his living room. Kurogiri texted him to pick up milk and tea bags before he came over after his next patrol, and Twice had sent a few memes that he didn’t really understand, but obligingly sent back a “lmao” regardless.

He probably shouldn’t have given the League his personal number, in hindsight, but the burner phone he’d used before didn’t do group chats and Hawks hadn’t slept in a few days at the time. At least it was convenient, ignoring how incriminating it was.

Picking up the remote to his TV, he flicked it on to the nearest news channel and suddenly understood.

“-pro hero Feedback has come under fire after newly published allegations of accepting, carrying out, and taking payment for a black market assassination contract of sixteen-year-old Shinoda Kei back in 2XXX, who until now has been presumed missing. The newspaper that broke this story cited their whistleblower as the League of Villains, and after police checked their CCTV, were able to confirm-“

Hawks switched the channel, not quite able to believe what he was hearing.

“-Feedback has come out denying the allegations against him, however, video footage uncovered while corroborating the information provided by the League is in direct contradiction to his statements. Police have reopened the case of Shinoda Kei, moving the investigation from a missing person investigation to a homicide investigation-”

“-how are we, as a population, supposed to feel that a hero, A: decided to do something like this of his own free will, and B: was able to cover it up for almost nine years without anyone suspecting a thing. We had to be informed of this by the League of Villains, and I’m not sure what that says for the accountability of heroes-”

“-new information brought to light by the League of Villains has revealed that pro hero Feed-”

“-can easily be convicted of first-degree murder, with this kind of evidence-”

“-the situation with Feedback is unprecedented, and how this is dealt with is likely going to have repercussions on society as we know it for decades to come.”

Hawks kept flipping through the news stations and would’ve forgotten his handler were he not able to barely make out the man’s breathing. “Uh, yeah, okay, I think I know what you’re talking about now,” Hawks said hesitantly.

“You’ve sent in notices that indicate you’ve been spending more time at their hideout these past two months than you have on patrol, and you failed to notify us of anything like this potentially happening.” It was a statement, not a question, and Hawks barely suppressed a wince. The Commission was so not happy with him.

“Um,” Hawks started hesitantly, trying to figure out how to best navigate the conversation. “I honestly didn’t even know they’d sent that information off. I was there when they uncovered it, but I don’t remember anything about them deciding to send it in as an exposé.” There, that was a relatively safe way to say ‘I do remember it happening, however, I had been awake for fifty-three hours on two hours of sleep and by that point, I could taste colors so I wasn’t too sure what had actually happened and what was a hallucination.’

“The Commission expects you to do better, Hawks,” his handler told him. He flinched at the cold tone and familiar reprimand, suddenly finding his talons very interesting, avoiding a gaze that wasn’t even there. “We expect you to better inform us of these events in the future.”

And then all Hawks heard was his dial tone. Hawks numbly pulled the phone away from his ear, simply staring at it in his hand. Well, that could have gone significantly better, but it wasn’t the worst possible outcome.

Sighing, he realized that the metaphorical cold bucket of water that was that whole situation meant he wasn’t going to be able to crawl back into bed and go to sleep anytime soon.

Deciding to at least have something interesting to watch (and maybe brighten up the shitty start to the day) as he turned off the TV, he simply tossed his work phone onto the couch while searching for the League group chat in the other. Shooting off a cryptic message, he simply watched and laughed to himself as replies rolled in as he got ready for his day.

colonel sanders
hey

hey turn on the news

hand kink
hawks its six thirty in the morning what could possibly warrant you waking me up

colonel sanders
its funny i promise

team mom
I’m already up, and I have to admit it is quite amusing how effective something the three of you came up with while that sleep deprived worked so efficiently.

Himiko, please stop changing my username.

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
wait what what did we do

shes not wrong tho

oh my fuCKING GOD

colonel sanders
y’all pissed off the commission big time

they just called me over this shit

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
“y’all” he says, as if he didn’t contribute as much as the rest of us to what happened

colonel sanders
shut

hand kink
what the fuck are you three talking about

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
lmfao come down and watch the news i gotta see ur reaction to this shit in person

colonel sanders
film it pls

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
don’t worry i gotchu pretty bird

💖🔪✨Himiko✨🔪💖
usually id find you two flirting adorable but it’s really early

colonel sanders
we’re not flirting

💖🔪✨Himiko✨🔪💖
👀👀👀

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
[shiggyshock.mp4]

colonel sanders
LMFAOOOOOO

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
HE LOOKS SO SHOCKED THAT FOR ONCE SOMETHING WORKED IN FAVOR OF HIS GOALS AND IT WASNT EVEN ONE OF HIS DUMBASS PLANS

💖🔪✨Himiko✨🔪💖
wait what’s going on

Double Trouble
^

StainStan
^

team dad
^

Himiko please stop changing me and Kurogiri’s usernames.

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
is she wrong tho

anyway come and watch the news im loosing my fucking mind

shiggy’s in shock

hawks got bitched at by the commission

mamagiri’s proud

StainStan
ngl this lowkey worth being woken up before seven am for

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
ikr

colonel sanders
hey can we get a “good job” from the team leader

for our outstanding performance with this stunt

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
^

💖🔪✨Himiko✨🔪💖
^

hand kink
no

colonel sanders
:(

Ochako knew when she woke up that morning, from some foreboding sense in the back of her mind, that something was going to happen. When she heard feet thumping down the hall to the common room, that feeling multiplied. When Deku slammed the door to the common room open with such force that she was surprised that it didn’t go flying off the door frame, she supposed that’s where the foreboding feeling reached its peak.

Deku clearly had something to tell them—he had that little hop in his step when he jogged into the room in a hurry, his hair still wet and dripping onto his shirt from his shower.

“Guys, guys, guys,” he said, out of breath. Most of the class was already in the common room, either lounging on the couch, doing last-minute homework, or getting breakfast. Deku made a beeline for the TV and snatched up the remote. “Turn on the news, oh my god.”

Their classmates made various noises of confusion and asked questions as Deku frantically turned the TV over from the DVD player, but they congregated around the TV regardless, curious of what had gotten him into such a state. 

When he finally got the TV tuned to a news station, the room went cold, and Ochako finally knew what the foreboding sense she had been feeling all morning was coming from.

“-pro hero Feedback has come under fire after newly published allegations of accepting, carrying out, and taking payment for a black market assassination contract of sixteen-year-old Shinoda Kei back in 2XXX, who until now has been presumed missing. The newspaper that broke this story cited their whistleblower as the League of Villains, and after police checked their CCTV, were able to confirm-”

“Oh my,” she heard Yaoyorozu gasp quietly under her breath.

Ochako found she quite agreed with the quiet shock.

Sometimes Shouta wondered if being a teacher was worth it. A majority of the time, his answer would be a resounding no. The day that Feedback was revealed to have taken an assassination contract as some sort of sick side business was one of the days that really caused him to wonder if it was worth it.

“Today,” he started, staring out at the faces of his homeroom class, “we’ll still be talking about Hero Ethics, however, due to current events-” most of the class cringed at his words, so it was nice to know that he could still count on Midoriya to keep the class up to date on major events so he didn’t have to, “-I’ll be going over basic things a hero should not do, even if it seems  painfully obvious.”

The class was silent, all of them paying attention.

“Number one,” Shouta said, turning around to write on the board. “Don’t take assassination contracts.”

SHINODA BILL PASSES WITH OVERWHELMING MAJORITY IN FACE OF PROTESTS
By Tsunoda Shin’ichi

Following the revelation last month of the murder of sixteen-year-old Shinoda Kei under a contracted hit by pro hero Feedback, the people of Japan have been up in arms and calling for accountability. While Feedback has since been arrested and is currently awaiting trial for his actions, much of the populous has been calling for the government and Hero Public Safety Commission to ensure that such horrific abuse of power does not happen again.

Three weeks ago, Representative Shimizu Saburou introduced the Shinoda Bill to the Diet. A preliminary action plan in response to the allegations made against Feedback by the League of Villains—absolutely not where action should stop being taken, he says, but certainly a start to regaining the shaken trust of the public.

The bill requires all heroes to publicly release their tax returns, disclosing their sources of income, as well as those of their agencies. All heroes will be expected to incorporate body cameras into their hero costumes before the end of the year, giving them a month and a half to make the change. Additional psychological evaluations and mental health checks are also being required.

The Shinoda Bill was passed yesterday with an overwhelming majority, bringing an end to…   Read more

“Where the fuck have you been?” Shigaraki snarled in question as Hawks stumbled into the hideout.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Dabi added on in wonder, glancing up and down at the interesting sweatpants/hoodie/combat boots combination that he’d decided to wear.

“Dealing with the fallout of your shit,” Hawks started, pointing accusingly at Shigaraki. “And I can’t wear my hero costume around off-duty any more thanks to the whole body camera thing, so Miruko had to drag me out and help me buy a whole wardrobe since I’ve never really worn anything else and overall it’s been a really shitty week so thanks for that.”

"Body camera thing?" Dabi asked, confused as to what precisely Hawks was talking about, but was drowned out by Toga and Twice.

“Don’t worry, you look great!” Twice chirped. “You look like shit!”

“Didn’t you wear anything cute as a teenager?” Toga asked. “You always look so nice with your red suits during your interviews! They remind me of blood!”

“Okay,” Hawks said in a tone that clearly displayed his displeasure with the topic, “we’re here to discuss Dabi’s tragic backstory, not mine.”

Kurogiri glanced up at the commotion, took one look at what Hawks was wearing, and sighed long-sufferingly. “Give me your sweatshirt, Hawks. The slits for your wings will fray if not hemmed, and I doubt you know how to sew.”

Hawks groaned, all his feathers detaching and floating around him as he tugged the article of clothing off, placing it in Kurogiri’s expectant hand. His wings quickly reattached themselves.

“Are you wearing a fleece halter top?” Dabi asked incredulously, a cackle rising up in his throat as Hawks’ feathers puffed out in agitation.

“Fuck off,” he growled, stalking over to the couch. “Shove over, Spinner, I’m freezing.”

Hawks and Spinner had converted one of the couches into a pile of heating pads and electric blankets fairly early into winter, and it wasn’t uncommon to walk into the main room and find the two of them swaddled in blankets, complaining in unison about how they weren’t made for the cold.

“Just migrate or whatever it is birds do if it's that bad,” Dabi said, sipping his tea with a raised eyebrow. In direct contrast to the two ice cubes across from him, Dabi reveled in the cold. His body was every bit made for the winter as it wasn’t for his quirk, and it showed as he kicked his bare feet up onto the coffee table.

“You seriously think Shigaraki and Commission aren’t going to bitch at me endlessly for skipping work if I take off like that?”

“You better not,” Shigaraki snapped at him as he walked past, taking his place in front of the WHO THE FUCK IS DABI? wall. “I’ll dust you no matter where you are if you don’t carry your weight around here.”

“See? Just like that.”

“Alright, here’s the summary of our search for Dabi’s identity as it currently stands,” Shigaraki announced, ignoring Hawks’ comment as he finally started the meeting. “We've managed to handle most of the possible leads dealing with the yakuza and the quirk trafficking rings, and thanks to Toga’s work in infiltrating various police stations, we’ve managed to confidently rule out Dabi being some sort of new pro who went missing and was covered up. Our current route of investigation is into mysterious disappearances surrounding heroes since that’s apparently more of a thing than we thought it was. We also want to start working on miscellaneous disappearances that have no apparent cause.”

“I finished looking into all the disappearances in Fukuoka, and my agency has moved on to combing the wider Kyushu region,” Hawks offered, voice sounding muffled through the blankets now wrapped firmly around his body. Dabi entertained the thought of calling him a chicken burrito, but saved the thought for another time. “Miruko’s started investigating Hiroshima and the other prefectures in Chugoku. She’s an independent, so she should be able to move pretty fast.”

“Miruko?” Dabi asked, looking over at Hawks in surprise. “How’d you get her in on this?” Without coming off as hella suspicious went unsaid.

The blanket burrito shifted slightly, and Dabi assumed that the movement translated to a shrug, somehow. “She’s competitive. I mentioned how the League’s closed more cases in the past few months than almost any agency or hero has in the past year, and she took it as a challenge.”

“Ooh, ooh!” Toga squealed, waving her arms around excitedly. “Does this mean we might run into Miruko on the job? She’s so pretty! Her outfit’s white, I bet it shows blood super well!”

“Maybe,” Shigaraki said dismissively, his face clearly showing that he did not care. “Since Hawks and his fancy agency and hero friends are taking care of Kyushu and Chugoku, that just leaves Hokkaido, Shikoku, and the rest of Honshu.”

“That’s like… seventy-five percent of Japan,” Spinner said.

“With a diligent work ethic, I’m sure we’ll get through it in no time!” Twice cheered, ever the optimist. “It’s gonna take forever!”

“This is certainly quite an undertaking, Tomura,” Kurogiri commented neutrally from the bar.

“My life is a nightmare,” Dabi muttered blankly.

“Nah, this is hilarious,” Hawks said, and while he wasn’t explicitly laughing, Dabi knew that those weird little chirps he was letting out were pointed at him. “Imagine if we go through all this effort and you don’t even have some sort of dramatic background or tragic backstory to justify you being this emo, you’re just a hot topic junkie or something.”

“That’s fucking worse.”

“Hawks,” Compress suddenly interrupted. Dabi and Hawks broke off from their back and forth to look at the magician, who had a contemplative look upon his face. “You said you were able to coerce Miruko’s help in this investigation, yes?”

“I mean, I don’t like the way you phrased that, but yes.”

“Would it be at all possible for you to ask other heroes to work on these cases? The more of these that are solved, the less work there will be for us to do.”

“I… guess?” Hawks agreed hesitantly, the bundle of blankets wiggling around until his hand emerged from the pile holding his phone up in front of his eyes. “Jeanist is usually pretty happy to help me out, so is Edgeshot… I talk to Uwabami at photo shoots occasionally, she might be willing to listen…” Hawks muttered, scanning through his contacts for a few moments before his arm disappeared back into the blanket and he began speaking. “I can think of some people who might help out, but I know literally nobody from Tohoku or Hokkaido, much less anyone I’m on speaking or asking for favors terms with, so you guys are gonna be pretty on your own there.”

“Right,” Shigaraki starting, redirecting attention to himself, “so while Hawks is busy being the kiss ass that he is-”

“See if I ever help you out again.”

“-we’ll focus ourselves on Hokkaido, Tohoku, and Tokyo. We’ll split into three teams. Dabi and Compress will be taking Tohoku since you’re the only ones who’ll be able to take the cold there and not bitch at me about it every five seconds.”

“Isn’t Hokkaido further north, though?” Spinner asked.

“Hokkaido at least has hot springs,” Shigaraki said. “Toga, Twice, that’s where you two will be working, though expect that you might be pulled occasionally if there’s a need for reconnaissance or backup from another team.”

“Spa day!” Toga cheered, high-fiving Twice.

“That leaves… you, me, and Kurogiri to work here then, right?” Spinner said.

“Astute deduction,” Shigaraki remarked dryly.

“Why do you wanna work with me?”

“I don’t.” Dabi almost winced for Spinner, because Shigaraki pulled no punches on how much he despised all of them. “You’re just here to crawl through the sewers so I don’t have to.”

“God fucking dammit,” Spinner muttered into his blanket.

AERY, GENIUS OFFICE, LURKERS, MIRUKO, AND MANY MORE JOIN FORCES IN LARGEST HERO TEAM UP TO DATE
By Fujimoto Aimi

It is well known by now that the League of Villains has taken a peculiar interest in solving missing person cases in the past four months, and the findings and success of their actions have been having ramifications all across the country. Accountability for heroes has skyrocketed, as well as transparency about their actions and incomes, and organized crime rates in Tokyo are at an all-time low.

So when the Aery, agency of the No.2 Hero, Hawks, announced a press conference on Wednesday in conjunction with No.3 Hero, Best Jeanist, No.4 Hero, Edgeshot, No.5 Hero, Miruko, No.7 Hero, Kamui Woods, No.10 Hero, Ryuukyuu, and many other top 250 heroes, it was only expected that such an announcement with the presence of so many top heroes would concern the actions of the League. It did, of course; Hawks, the Wing Hero himself, began the conference explaining the ramifications of the League’s actions on a level previously untouched. Vigilantism, and vigilante death rates have been at an all-time high since the success of the League became apparent. While organized crime have plummeted in Tokyo, it has skyrocketed in the Greater Tokyo Region as yakuza and traffickers who evaded capture when found by the League move their base of operations.

Then, inviting Best Jeanist, Edgeshot, and Miruko to the podium, the four jointly announced the largest pro hero team up to date, the previous being the team organized to strike in Kamino Ward, when U.A. student Bakugou Katsuki was kidnapped by the League. However, while the Kamino team, made up of U.A. alumni, was only together for a scant few days in the time it took to carry out the operation, the new team-up headed by Hawks, Best Jeanist, Edgeshot, and Miruko, with alumni from the top 4 hero schools and 113 participating pros and their agencies spanning from the Okinawa Islands to Chubu and Kanto, will be part of a what is likely to be a multi-month project. An investigation into cold missing person cases, a show of strength to prove that the heroics industry has improved by leaps and bounds since they were shelved, and that the populous should not have to rely on villains and vigilantes to find their loved ones, or even a sense of safety.

A complex web of agencies and heroes joined together to work in tandem, improving flow of information and backup, trying to track the league and close as many of these cases as possible, Hawks has created… Read More

Dabi wrinkled his nose at the cold pressure against his scars, Toga sticking her tongue out as she attempted to pat enough foundation onto his face to cover up the wrinkled purple skin.

“We done yet?” he asked as she pulled away, tilting her head as she inspected her work. “Pretty sure you’ve dumped half that bottle on my face by now.”

“It’s really hard to cover up purple, Dabi,” Toga whined, patting the sponge under his eyes a few more times. “It’ll be really obvious if I miss a spot or if it wears off, so it’s better to just smother you.”

“Smothering doesn’t really seem your style,” he said offhandedly, closing his eyes obligingly as the sponge pressed against his lower eyelids. Toga giggled in response.

“Bleeding out is much prettier, don’t you think?”

“Certainly leaves more of an impact,” he said neutrally. He sneezed as something was sprayed on his face, and was coughing by the time Toga let up on whatever she was spritzing on him. “Give me some warning next time, suffocation isn’t my thing.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She was pulling away and looking over him as he opened his eyes again. “Alright, that should be enough. The foundation says that it’s waterproof, but don’t take any chances.”

“Thanks,” he responded gruffly, rolling up the collar of the turtleneck he’d been stuffed into to hide the parts of his neck that hadn’t been covered up. Toga squinted at him as he completed the action. “What?”

“You look funny.”

Dabi raised an eyebrow at the response. “I usually look like a rotting eggplant, and me not looking like that is funny?”

“No, it’s just-” Toga waved her hands uselessly, mouth twisting as she searched for what she was trying to say. “You don’t look like Dabi,” she finally came up with after a few moments.

“That’s kind of the point.”

“No, I mean you look like someone else. I know what people look like, and your entire facial structure looks different. You don’t look like you.”

Dabi blinked slowly at her. “I’m not sure I’m following.”

Toga huffed, before taking out her phone and quickly taking a picture of his face, before handing it to him. Dabi took the phone and simply stared. Toga, as a certified shapeshifter, had always been particularly sensitive to people’s appearances being out of place, and he’d assumed that she was just overreacting, but actually seeing what she was talking about… yeah, Dabi could see her point.

His face was a lot softer, more round and less sharp, with his staples and scars covered. His face held a sort of youthful energy it didn’t have before, with his eternal eyebags weighing down his eyes. He looked like someone completely different.

“See?” Toga asked probingly. “You don’t look like Dabi, you look like—like—like not-Dabi!”

“Yeah, I can definitely see what you were talking about now,” Dabi agreed distractedly, still staring at his face.

“I don’t like it,” she muttered, across her arms.

Dabi sighed, racking his brain to figure out how to deal with the situation he was presented with. There were main problems to deal with. The first was that Toga could likely smell him as Dabi, but couldn’t see him as Dabi, which understandably upset and confused her slightly. The second being that Toga was exceptionally fond of his scars and staples, and not being able to see them was probably half the problem.

“I know you don’t,” Dabi said slowly, picking his words carefully as Toga looked up at him. “But me and Compress don’t know the back alleys of Tohoku as well as we do here, so it’s best that we don’t look like ourselves so that we can travel freely. So how about this: if I pull a staple or start bleeding anywhere, I’ll send you pictures, and each night, when I take the makeup off, I’ll send you a picture so you know I’m still me. Sound like a deal?”

Toga sniffed, and after a moment, nodded her head. Dabi gave her a smile and ruffled her hair as he stood up from her bed.

“Make sure you’ve got everything packed. You can call Kurogiri if you need anything, but it’s probably best to not bother him excessively,” he said, strolling out of her room as she chirped an affirmative.

Strolling into the main room, he announced, “Guess who’s got a new look, fuckers.”

Compress, Kurogiri, Spinner, and Hawks, who he didn’t even realize would be there, looked over at him simultaneously. Most of them simply blinked and squinted at him, while Hawks made a strangled sound and inhaled the mouthful of water he’d been trying to drink.

While Spinner thumped Hawks back as the hero tried to cough up his lungs, Kurogiri and Compress simply looked him over appraisingly.

“You certainly look… different,” Compress said after a moment. Dabi rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what Toga said. Anything else?”

Compress hummed for a second before shrugging his shoulders. “You look good, Dabi.”

“Thanks,” Dabi said, tilting his head slightly at the response. Hawks had finally finished hacking up his diaphragm and was looking at him like he’d seen a ghost or something, causing Dabi to raise an eyebrow judgmentally in his direction. “Too sexy for you?”

“I—what? No, no, that’s not it,” he said, shaking his head and waving his hands around. His wings fluttered slightly with his movements, and Dabi allowed his eyes to follow them for a moment before looking back at Hawks’ face as he got his words in order. “Not that you don’t look great, hot stuff, you just reminded me of someone and I really wasn’t expecting it.”

Dabi felt something tug in the back of his mind, like something wasn’t quite right, but, unable to figure out what the problem was, simply narrowed his eyes at the hero before shrugging. “Alright. What’re you doing here, then?”

Hawks shrugged, wings relaxing from their startled position as the topic shifted. “We’re all gonna be pretty busy for the next month or two, thought I’d see you guys off since flying up to Tohaku or Hokkaido in the middle of winter isn’t my idea of a good time.”

“Oh, but you’d still fly up here to Tokyo to visit lizard lips and hand fuck? I want a divorce,” Dabi snarked, letting himself fall onto the couch across from the furnace that was Hawks' and Spinner’s perch.

“Nah, I’m only coming up here for the food. Kurogiri makes the best yakitori I’ve ever had.”

“That’s fair.”

“Dabi, you’ve finished packing?” Kurogiri asked, interrupting the conversation.

“Yeah. It’s mostly just a bunch of turtlenecks and, like, fifty bottles of concealer and foundation. Not much to remember.”

“You’re sure you don’t need a coat?”

“I thrive in the cold. If anybody asks, I’ll just say my quirk’s cold resistance or something. Not too far off the mark.”

“Please bring one with you just in case,” Kurogiri said, turning away to head back into the kitchen. “Cold resistance does not equal cold-proof.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll toss one in,” Dabi responded, waving him off.

“Oh my god, he sounds just like Tsunagu,” Hawks whispered under his breath after a few moments. At the inquiring looks from both Dabi and Spinner, he clarified. “Best Jeanist. Kurogiri sounds exactly like Best Jeanist, guys,” he said, looking as if he’d just had a revelation.

Dabi felt a mocking smile across his face as he realized the implications. “Are you saying that Best Jeanist parents you?” Hawks blinked at him.

“Is that what it is?” His face scrunched up as he thought. “I suppose that explains why Miruko kept asking me why I didn’t buy him a Best Dad mug for his birthday this year. I was wondering about that.”

“Oh my fucking god, Hawks.”

Dabi wasn’t really prepared for the astronomically strange feeling of walking into a coffee shop and having absolutely nobody look at him twice, either because of his scars or his criminal status. Compress had gone off to raid a small gang a few blocks over and had sent Dabi off to get coffee in the meanwhile, as his quirk was incredibly distinctive, and they didn’t want alarms about League presence in Sendai being raised quite yet.

Was this what not looking like a discount Frankenstein’s monster felt like? Novel.

It was probably his tense nerves from being so openly out in public that caused him to almost snap his self-restraint and cremate the person who slammed their hands on his table when he finally sat down with drinks.

“Hey, can we ask you a question for a survey we’re doing?” He looked up to see the eager face of some guy with green hair and red eyes, flanked on each side by a woman with blue hair and green eyes and a guy with white hair and blue eyes, who was giving him an odd look.

Staring at them for a moment, he shrugged. He didn’t really have anything better to do. “Sure.”

“Great!” the guy chirped. “I’m Matsumoto Ryouichi, this is Takahashi Sho, and the polar bear is Todoroki Natsuo.” Dabi felt himself twitch at the name, trying to place it. Maybe he’d met the guy a few years ago and he just couldn’t remember him? That happened a lot, so it was certainly possible.

“Hashimoto Touwa,” he said in response, the fake name rolling off his tongue oddly. The guy with white hair, Todoroki—ah, like Todoroki Shouto from 1-A, that must be why he looked familiar—choked slightly at his words.

“Sorry, what did you say your given name was?” he asked stiltedly. Dabi raised an eyebrow at the response.

“Touwa. You know, kanji for lamp and wing?”

“Ah, right sorry,” Todoroki said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, as if his face hadn’t gone dangerously pale. “I thought you said something else.”

Dabi hummed skeptically, but let the matter go. The guy looked a little sick, and he really didn’t feel like getting thrown up on. He lived with enough infection risks as it was.

“We’re students from the Tohoku Medical and Pharmaceutical University,” Matsumoto said, skillfully brushing right along. “Our question is pretty simple: do you think doctors should be friendly and personal, or distant and professional?”

“I mean, a friendly presence is nice, I suppose,” Dabi started after thinking for a moment of the best way to answer the question when the only experience with doctors he could remember was sketchy underground ones who helped him staple his body together. “But I don’t really like getting casually friendly with people I don’t know that well, so keeping the talk strictly professional would be ideal.”

“So, a friendly demeanor but no questions outside of what’s needed?” the med student clarified. “Cool, thanks for your time!” Dabi inclined his head in response as the bubbly man herded his friends away.

What an odd interaction. It was weird, talking to people in the medical industry about something other than how the fuck he was still alive.

After a moment, he shrugged to himself, deciding that it must just be how people without debilitating trauma or mental issues must interact. Finally taking a sip of his coffee, he pulled out his phone to kill time while he waited for Compress to get back.

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
does my face really look that weird

this is the third weirdly visceral reaction i’ve gotten about it in as many days

mr steal yo hands
well considering that you usually look like an emo quilt fresh out of a tattoo salon to get piercings

and now the only thing you have going for you is the emo part

yeah you look really fucking weird

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget
did

did you just call me an emo quilt

mr steal yo hands
you can read japanese, yes?

even though i look like a burnt chicken nugget has changed their name to emo quilt

emo quilt
this the best descriptor i’ve ever had

mr steal yo hands
fuck off it was an insult

Mamagiri
Please stop before this turns into an argument.

Himiko, what have I said about changing my username?

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
… to not?

emo quilt
lmao she’s not wrong tho

how’s it going in hokkaido?

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
great!

me and twice hunted down a local radical quirk discrimination group and now we’re at the spa!

emo quilt
hokkaido has quirk extremists?

rent-a-personality
yeah, they saw toga’s fangs and started insulting her :(

mr steal yo hands
i’m assuming you took care of them

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
they weren’t cute at all but they still bled super pretty

rent-a-personality
yeah they’re pretty taken care of

fuckers are dead

emo quilt
nice

colonel sanders
see, shiggy does care about us!

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
awww!

rent-a-personality
awww!

emo quilt
awww!

Stain Stan
awww!

mr steal yo hands
shut the fuck up i hate all of you like i hate everybody else

colonel sanders
yes, but… maybe you hate us a little less than everyone else?

mr steal yo hands
… 

colonel sanders
i rest my case

mr steal yo hands
talking a lot of shit for somebody in dusting distance

colonel sanders
you won’t dust me, who else is gonna make game stop runs for you?

mr steal yo hands
i’m sure i can find an alternative

Mamagiri
Tomura, please don’t disintegrate Hawks.

Hawks, please stop teasing Tomura.

mr steal yo hands
fine

colonel sanders
fine

emo quilt
mamagiri strikes again

Mamagiri
Dabi.

emo quilt
sorry

also hawks we literally left two days ago

why are you back in tokyo already

colonel sanders
i would be surprised you don't know, but it's very clear none of you watch the news

got a big meeting early tomorrow morning

so i decided to fly down tonight instead of getting up super early

kurogiri letting me come over for dinner was half the motivation ngl

Mamagiri
It’s always a pleasure to have you over, Hawks.

emo quilt
this is favoritism

Mamagiri
Perhaps.

mr steal yo hands
you’ve literally known him for like six months how can you like him more than me

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
i mean

it’s not hard

mr steal yo hands
fuck off

Mamagiri
I like Hawks because he actually gets the groceries I want when I ask him, and he cleans up after himself.

Unlike the rest of you.

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
shots fired

Stain Stan
kurogiri’s disapproval hurts more than i thought it would

emo quilt
wait are you saying that hawks is responsible

Mamagiri
Yes.

rent-a-personality
that’s a little unexpected

since when the fuck has hawks been responsible

emo quilt
yeah hawks tell us

how does one do the responsible and become the favorite

colonel sanders
trauma

emo quilt
understandable have a nice day

Mamagiri
On another note, Dabi, where is Compress?

emo quilt
oh yeah he went off to go raid a gang a few blocks down

he should be done soon don’t worry

also is it usually this weird to go into a coffee shop and have people not look at you

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
it’s fun sneaking around with nobody the wiser, isn’t it?

emo quilt
hella weird but yeah i get your point

it’s nice not having people ask me if i need a medical professional

colonel sanders
i mean, you obviously need more than one

emo quilt
fuck off

Hawks tried to repress a sigh as he checked the text from the Commission, tilting his wings as he changed direction. He was already on a tight schedule, so of course they wanted to meet right now.

It was a short detour to the HPSC building, landing on the balcony outside the president’s office and knocking. The door was quickly slid open by the president herself, who gave him a distinctly unimpressed look at his method of entry.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, careful to keep a relaxed look on his face as he strolled into the office. He tapped his fingers along the can of coffee he held, taking a sip as the president took her seat.

“Yes,” she started. “Would you tell me why the League has been so erratic lately? You haven’t been turning in your reports.”

Ah. Hawks knew he’d been forgetting to do something. He should probably cut down on his visits to the League a little, the hour flight time to and from cut into his already tenuous sleep schedule.

“Hawks,” the president said, voice colder, snapping him out of his head. “Please explain the League’s current motivations.”

Hawks paused, running over the words in his mind.

The League’s current motivations.

Hawks wondered how he could best explain that the reason Dabi had burned down that church was to test the demon theory, or how Toga was only dropping all those exposés at the media because the files were taking up too much space at the bar, or Shigaraki being spotted helping out pros at several quirk trafficking ring busts was half to investigate, half something Hawks didn’t want to touch with a twenty-foot pole.

After sitting in silence for almost a minute, mulling his thoughts over, Hawks decided to make a rash decision.

He stood up, looked the president dead in the eye, said, “You don’t pay me enough to explain that fucking rabbit hole,” walked out the door, and jumped off the balcony.

Flaring his wings out and relishing in the harsh tug on his back muscles as his wings stopped his descent, he took another sip of his coffee as he fished out his phone, tapping out a text as he flew towards U.A.

colonel sanders
y’all are a terrible influence

Hitoshi didn’t think that anything could have ever really prepared him for his transfer into the hero course. Sure, Aizawa had made sure that he was caught up on all the heroics-specific coursework, and he was actually ahead of his new class in their other classes, thanks to gen ed having more rigorous academics. But he supposed he wasn’t prepared for the atmosphere or the socialization.

The first thing he’d said when he’d been introduced as their new classmate was his name and that he wasn’t here to make friends.

When he finally took his seat in the heroics course, the first thing any of his new classmates said to him was from Todoroki, who sat behind him to his right. The recommendation student had tapped him on the shoulder, and when he’d turned around to meet Todoroki’s blank look with one of his own, he was simply told, “Friendship isn’t an option here.”

Hitoshi had stared at him for a few moments, trying to parse out the possible meaning of the statement. Todoroki didn’t strike him as a social butterfly, and his statement sounded less like an invitation to socialize than a warning. “What?”

“Midoriya doesn't give you much of a choice. He has a tendency to beat your face in with kindness.” With that, he settled back into his own chair and continued going through his notes before class, unconcerned with Hitoshi’s alarmed look.

Hitoshi had turned back around after a moment to stare at the green-haired cinnamon roll that sat in front of him. That was ominous as fuck.

And it was true.

Todoroki had told him that Monday. Wednesday, Hitoshi and Midoriya had gotten into an argument while sparring during heroics, and Midoriya had shouted some profound stuff at him as he beat Hitoshi’s face in the ground, and on Thursday he was being dragged over to Midoriya’s table for lunch.

Hitoshi really understood the whole ‘beat your face in with kindness’ thing after that.

So yes, heroics was intense in a way he didn’t really expect or had prepared for.

So when the No.2 hero burst into homeroom chugging canned coffee and looking vaguely like he regretted life under a strained smile, Hitoshi spared a thought as to why he was surprised by anything anymore.

“What’s up, chickadees?” Hawks chirped as he strolled into the room. Aizawa’s frustrated sigh was mirrored by Tokoyami dropping his head onto his desk with a thud. Hitoshi wondered for a moment why Tokoyami would have such a strong reaction to his mentor’s appearance, before comparing Hawks’ bright smile to ‘revelry in the dark’ and answered the question for himself.

“Hawks,” Aizawa greeted in a less than pleased tone. “I hope you have a reason to be here.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry,” Hawks said, tossing the empty coffee can over his shoulder and landing it perfectly in the trash can (Hitoshi felt slightly tempted to clap at the trickshot) as he reached into his jacket and took out a file, handing it over. “Release forms. I’m here to pick up some first-year interns and escort them over where we’re having the meeting. Jeanist and Edgeshot are picking up the second and third years.”

Hitoshi had no idea what ‘the meeting’ was, but Aizawa nodded knowingly as he flipped through the file Hawks handed him, eyes critically scanning over each page. “Everything seems in order,” he grunted after a few moments, turning his attention back to the students. “Jirou, Shoji, Sero, Iida, Tokoyami, Kirishima, Uraraka, Asui, Bakugou, and Yaoyorozu, pack your bags and collect your cases,” he called, each named student straightening up as pulled out the remote and released the cases containing their hero costumes from the wall. “Your work studies are beginning early today. You will not be headed to your mentor's agency as you usually are, so Hawks will be escorting you all to location.”

“I know you still have a class to teach, so do you want me to send you the sparknotes of the meeting afterward?” Hawks asked their teacher as all the named students stood up from their desks.

Aizawa grunted, tilting his head ever so slightly in thought before he spoke. “Shinsou,” he called, and Hitoshi shot up straight in his seat as Aizawa looked at him. Aizawa made a quick beckoning gesture and he quickly made his way up to the front. “This is Shinsou Hitoshi, my intern,” Aizawa introduced bluntly. “I’ll send him in as my proxy.” Glancing at Hitoshi, he said, “Shinsou, this is Hawks. Consider him your mentor for the day.”

“Well, this isn’t sudden at all,” Hitoshi muttered under his breath. Going by the way Aizawa rolled his eyes and Hawks gave a small chuckle, he wasn’t quiet enough.

“Go get your stuff, chicklet,” Hawks said, smiling. “You can hang with me and Tsukuyomi for the day.” At Aizawa’s pointed look, he added, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get hurt, don’t worry about it.”

“Hearing that statement from you of all people only makes me worry more,” he heard the tired man grumble in response as he retrieved his case.

Hitoshi found himself sticking close to Hawks and Tokoyami as the hero packed up some kids from 1-B and herded the students out of the school and onto a bus that was to take them all to location. Sure, he sat with Asui (“call me Tsu-chan,”) and Uraraka at lunch, but he didn’t really know how to talk to them. Hawks, he supposed, was his mentor for the day and he knew Tokoyami could also appreciate silence and was unlikely to bother him with small talk.

“So, you’re the kid with the brainwashing quirk, right?”

However, that did not prevent Hawks from being a small talker himself.

“Yeah, what of it?” he said sullenly in response, his body already tensing defensively.

To his surprise, however, Hawks completely lit up at the revelation. “You were incredible! I was super disappointed you weren’t in the hero course, I had so many people I wanted to pester into taking you as an intern.”

“You didn’t want to take me as an intern yourself?” Hitoshi asked, raising an eyebrow as he tried to suppress the pleased flush that threatened to rise to his face.

“Oh, I absolutely would have,” Hawks said, shifting forward in his seat slightly to spread his wings a little further. “I’m just not sure I’d have much to teach you. Your quirk is voice-based, right?” Hitoshi nodded. “I’m primarily a spotlight hero, and if you’re interning with Eraserhead, I’m assuming you intend to go underground. I can give a few tips for that, and maybe teach you a few bird noises, how to deal with heights - maybe complex multitasking if you’re able to control more than one person at a time, though that would’ve been a gamble, but beyond that, I probably wouldn’t have had much to teach you for the week.”

“I have several questions about that statement,” Hitoshi said, and when Hawks nodded obligingly, he continued. “My first question is bird noises?”

Hawks smirked at him and let out a low, rumbling coo. Hitoshi blinked.

“You want some bread crumbs with that?” he asked, and wow he should really learn how to keep his mouth shut. Luckily, Hawks was a hero with a sense of humor and laughed at his comment.

“You’re not the first to basically call me a pigeon, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Hitoshi said, a bit off-kilter, before continuing with his second question. “You said you could give me a few tips for underground work? But you’re not an underground hero. You’re literally the opposite of that.”

Hawks shrugged. “I took a lot of night patrols when I first started out, and I still take about two a week. Hero rankings are heavily based on popularity and crime and case solving rates of the season, but it also incorporates overall crime and case rates from the course of your career.” He shrugged. “Working double or triple shifts every day is how I was able to reach the top ten so fast—because I had to compensate for not having that kind of history with underground work. So I’m pretty familiar with the operations of underground heroes since I work with them often enough. I’ve also done a bit of undercover work, which you have the potential to be pretty good at.”

“Undercover work?” Hitoshi asked, giving Hawks’ bright red wings a pointed look over.

Hawks laughed. “Yep! As long as you keep an open mind to those around you, you already have most of the tools you’ll need to be good at it, and with some refining, you’ll be great!”

“Really?” Hitoshi asked, beginning to get drawn in by the prospect. Aizawa had mentioned undercover work in passing to him but had recommended that he go to another underground hero for advice on the subject, not having done much of it himself. Hawks nodded.

“You’re pretty charismatic, which makes sense with your quirk, and if you’re underground, you’ll be an unknown, so there’s a relatively small chance of them identifying you. And if the way you got tensed up when I mentioned your quirk before is any indication, you have your tragic backstory and villainy reasons already laid out for you.”

“I’m not a villain,” Hitoshi snapped, almost on instinct. Hawks held up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not saying you are,” he said. “I’m just saying that we’re you to go undercover, sticking as close to your personal history as possible is ideal, since you’re less likely to forget anything. Just tweak some stuff, say you never made it into the hero course and became bitter or something, and bam!” Hawks clapped his hands. “Tragic backstory and villain origins. And since it’s personal, your body language will be more natural as well.” He shrugged. “Take all your hero-related trauma growing up and there you have your cover. It’s what I do.”

“You have hero-related trauma?” Hitoshi asked, mouth moving faster than his brain was able to say ‘that’s a bit of a dick question.’

Luckily, Hawks was probably one of the most chill heroes he’d ever met, and didn’t seem to take it personally and simply shrugged it off. “I’m the number two hero at twenty-three. Doesn’t come with a clean psyche, kid.”

Hitoshi shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not quite sure what to say in response to such a nonchalant admission. Hawks was right, in a sense, about him being charismatic, but he was only charismatic in getting people to talk back to him. He wasn’t, however, skilled in talking to people who were way too casual about their trauma. Talking to Hawks was reminiscent of talking to Todoroki, and that was something he never thought he’d say.

Luckily, Bakugou was there to save the day, which was a day of firsts because that was another thing that Hitoshi never thought he’d say.

“Hey, chicken legs,” Bakugou called over the noise of the bus. Hawks looked away from Hitoshi, identifying Bakugou’s scowling face with a smile.

“What’s up, Explosion Jeanist?”

Hitoshi choked. He couldn’t believe Hawks went there, and going by the sweet scent of burning caramel that suddenly began drifting through the bus, neither could Explosion Jeanist.

After a few moments, wherein Hitoshi was pretty confident he could hear Bakugou grinding his teeth into dust, he spoke. “Where the hell are you taking us?”

“Oh, right,” Hawks said, perking up as he clapped his hands together. “Listen up, chickadees!” he called over the noise of the bus, quickly gaining all their attention. “I know that work studies only started back up again last week, so you’ve probably been pretty busy, and that for some of you, you’re either at a new agency or this is your first work-study, and as a result, your mentors probably haven’t had a chance to explain what’s going on.”

“So you’re going to tell us why we’re here?” Uraraka asked, raising her hand.

Hawks nodded. “Yep! So, assuming you’re all keeping up with the news, you’ve all heard of that super team-up thing Jeanist, Edgeshot, Miruko and I have organized?” There was a wave of affirmative nods and murmurs before Hawks continued.  “Congratulations! All of the agencies you’re at for work studies are part of this, and your mentors decided to have all of you attend the first meeting so that you get some big team-up experience, and are aware of the details of what you’re likely going to be working on for the rest of your work studies.”

“So we’re going to be working missing person cases, right? Because of the League of Villains?”

Hawks hummed his agreement. “You should all be aware that the League of Villains has taken a peculiar interest in missing person cases. We’re not exactly sure why this sudden interest has appeared,” Hitoshi watched Hawks’ face twitch as he spoke—he supposed it must have been irritating to see villains rescuing people without understanding their motivations, “but it’s been having a pretty negative impact on hero society—take the assassination of Shinoda Kei.” Everybody on the bus winced or cringed in some manner at the reminder of the incident. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that it came to light and measures have been taken to prevent stuff like that from happening again, it’s just that we can all agree that the ‘how’ it came to light wasn’t exactly ideal.”

“So we’re doing this to show that heroes are still reliable as an institution?” Iida asked.

“Officially, yes,” Hawks said. “Have you guys had a class on hero politics or publicity yet? I’m not sure when you're supposed to get in-depth on that.”

“It’s a second-year class, kero,” Asui offered up from the back of the bus.

Hawks nodded, leaning back in his seat slightly to tilt his head to stare at the roof of the bus. “Okay, well you’ll understand this a bit better next year then, but what’s happening is something of a publicity stunt to save face, but we’ve also got an unofficial mission statement behind this as well. Unofficially, this is also being done in an attempt to intercept the League of Villains. We’ve noticed a trend with the cases they’re going after, so we’ll be focusing on many of the same. The fewer of those cases there are open, the higher of a chance we’ll have of encountering them while investigating.” He shrugged. “Close in the walls, see if we can get them. Like that one trash chute scene from Star Wars or something.”

Another hand was raised hesitantly, and Hitoshi was able to spot it belonging to Kirishima before Hawks inclined his head at him to speak.  “This team-up is super big, we’re not going to be doing anything like the Shie Hassaikai raid, will we?”

Hitoshi watched the way Uraraka and Asui’s faces twitched at the mention of the raid - he wasn’t even there and he could feel his stomach churn a little. Just reading the news about the incident had felt brutal, actually being there must’ve been horrible.

Hawks was quick to reassure them amongst the quickly deteriorating mood. “No, no. The Hassai Incident was an unusually large group; it’s one of the biggest yakuza or organized crimes cells we’ve had to take down in decades, and Overhaul’s quirk was… exceptionally well suited for causing maximum casualties. The Shie Hassaikai raid had oversights and gaps where there shouldn’t have been any, and new protocols have been put in place to try and prevent it from happening again.” Hawks placed his elbow on his knee and propped his cheek in his palm as he continued to talk. “Since you’ll primarily be investigating cold missing person cases, it’s more likely that you’ll be tracking down graves than yakuza. Your mentors will make sure you don’t see anything disturbing in those instances. But if you do end up going after someone who is hopefully still alive, it’s important that you understand that this team-up is primarily organized as a way to share information and call for backup. There are going to be many more sub-teams or groups within this little organization we’ve created that will carry out raids on smaller and less equipped cells. Nothing like the Shie Hassaikai raid. We’re actually expecting the amount of combative and medical personnel that we’re going to require at each raid to be overkill, considering that we’re going into this expecting to confront the League of Villains.”

Hitoshi and other students on the bus relaxed slightly at the hero’s words, but there was still an underlying current of tension at the possibility of encountering the League for a third (or in Hitoshi’s case, first) time. Hawks seemed to pick up on the slight uneasiness and gave them all a closed-eyed, easy, friendly smile. 

“I highly doubt any of you will run into them,” he said. “So don’t worry about them too much, okay?” Hawks opened his eyes again, gazing across them all. Hitoshi felt something incredibly sharp and dangerous about the look. “I’ll make sure you’re all safe.”

Hitoshi wasn’t sure whether the confident statement was comforting or worrying. Hawks’ smile wasn’t one of surety in his strength, it was confidence in his knowledge. Logically, Hitoshi understood that there would obviously be information that they wouldn’t tell student interns—levels of confidentiality and all that—but at the No.2 hero’s brazen statement, Hitoshi couldn’t keep himself from wondering what Hawks knew that they didn’t.

colonel sanders
[raidcaselocation.pdf]

list of cases being worked and raids being planned rn

don’t get caught

emo quilt
oh nice

that was fast

colonel sanders
fastest man alive, hot stuff

mr steal yo hands
is that all of them?

colonel sanders
yep

also something i want to say, but to you specifically, dust machine

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
oh tea?

colonel sanders
if you even so much as approach a student intern

consider your scalps ✨ forfeit ✨

emo quilt
that’s really fucking ominous

Stain Stan
literally don’t do it

he’s started giving me a detailed presentation on how his feathers are flexible enough to cleanly separate your scalp from your skull and its really terrifying

mr steal yo hands
are you threatening me?

colonel sanders
you have a track record

mr steal yo hands
dabi literally kidnapped a kid why are you bitching at me

emo quilt
hey leave me and my scalp out of this

also i did that?

Stain Stan
oh you did

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
wow ur memory really is trash

emo quilt
>:(

colonel sanders
dabi doesn’t carry around a picture of a student in 1-a and go around showing it to serial killers like toga with a crush

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
hawksie out here throwing some shade

also izuku’s really cute, why wouldn’t tomura want to show him off?

emo quilt
it’s really creepy not gonna lie

colonel sanders
and you’re also the one who decided to stick around and investigate tokyo

if anyone is gonna run into a kid at the mall, it’s you

mr steal yo hands
one time

colonel sanders
you strangled him in the middle of the food court!

mr steal yo hands
he was annoying

emo quilt
jfc shiggy calm ur tits

colonel sanders
moral of the story: shigaraki isn’t allowed near children

emo quilt has changed mr steal yo hand’s name to bad touch man

emo quilt has locked bad touch man’s username

bad touch man
i fucking hate all of you

change it back

emo quilt
it’s a beautiful day to be the server admin

Mamagiri
Dabi.

emo quilt
what? am i wrong?

Mamagiri
Stop harassing Tomura, the both of you.

colonel sanders
then tell tomura that he’s not allowed near any students bc he’s got a reputation

Mamagiri
Tomura, please don’t go after any students.

bad touch man
fucking fine

Mamagiri
Dabi, let Tomura change his username.

emo quilt
uuuugggghhhhhh

fiiiiiiiiiinnnnneeeeee

emo quilt has unlocked bad touch man’s username

emo quilt has changed bad touch man’s username to human dandruff

Mamagiri
Thank you.

human dandruff
i hate all of you

💖🔪✨Himikuwu✨🔪💖
:(

emo quilt
:(

human dandruff 
fuck off dabi you deserve it

“Did I really kidnap a UA student?” Dabi asked, looking up from his phone to where Compress was reclining on the other bed of their abandoned-cabin-turned-base, reading a book. “That sounds like something I should remember.” The showman looked up at him with an eyebrow raised in exasperation and amusement.

“You can’t even remember the time Toga stabbed your hand to a table a few months ago. But yes, you did. Just this summer, actually. It was quite an event.”

“Hm,” Dabi intoned neutrally, returning his gaze to Shigaraki’s pissed tirade in the League group chat, feeling a frown tug at his staples.