L.O.V Camping

The fire crackled softly in the depths of the forest, its glow licking at the shadows that surrounded the League of Villains. The air was cold, the kind of sharp chill that crawled under your skin, but none of them complained. For once, the chaos of their lives was distant. No battles, no plans to destroy heroes, no blood staining their hands—just the muted rhythm of flames and the rustling of leaves high above. Dabi sat closest to the fire, the eerie blue light of his quirk occasionally sparking at his fingertips. His patched, stapled skin reflected both the firelight and the cold night’s menace, but his expression was unreadable, lost in the hypnotic dance of flames. Every so often, he gave a quiet chuckle, as if sharing a joke only he understood. Across from him, Toga hugged her knees, eyes shining mischievously. She hummed under her breath, twirling her knife and occasionally casting sidelong glances at Shigaraki, who sat slouched beside her. He scratched at his neck with twitching fingers, his gaze heavy on the fire as if it mocked him. The fire didn’t crumble to ash at his touch, and that bothered him. Twice busied himself with the tents, arguing with his own voice about whether he’d tied the ropes too loose or too tight. Every few minutes he’d stop, turn back to the fire, and laugh at something Toga said—before correcting himself and laughing again, louder, to make sure both versions of him agreed. Mr. Compress sat farther back, mask reflecting the fire’s glow. He moved with a performer’s grace even in this wilderness, tossing a small rock from hand to hand as if it were a stage prop. His voice carried a tone of elegance, narrating the scene like a play. For a fleeting moment, their ragtag family looked less like villains and more like outcasts finding warmth against the cold night. The forest was vast and empty, but in the circle of firelight, they belonged—to each other, and to the darkness that awaited. (Be whoever you want voice is Dabi’s)