#dark Enji todoroki

[artemis32]

Transilience iii

The long-awaited part 3 is here, thank you all for being so patient <33 (you're all going to hate me, but yes, there is going to be a part 4)

word count - 10.1k

tw: mentions of past child neglect, abuse, kidnapping, violence, medical malpractice (they're bad people, what did you expect??), LoV being bad people (mainly Shiggs and Dabi), slight yandere LoV (kind of, but not really), reader is delusional - like, very delusional - dismisses red flags like its nobody's business

mbe masterlist

transilience masterlist

Dabi was… different.

You’d given up what little hope you’d had of Touya still being there, but you didn’t expect there to be such a vast change in his personality.

How could someone who was once so obsessed with the idea of being a hero, of overtaking All Might, become this horrible? And really, there was no other way to describe him but horrible.

From the very first day that you’d been there, he’d done his utmost to isolate you from the other members of his group, whisking you away if they ever got too comfortable around you.

To their credit, none of them had laid a finger on you, though they hadn’t said anything when they saw the freshly burnt handprint on your shoulder either. It felt like a branding mark, a sign of ownership.

You remained wary of them, forever on edge. It became exhausting after a while – never breathing too loudly when one of them was near, hardly eating or sleeping. It got to the point where you nearly passed out from sheer exhaustion.

If he cared, Dabi never said anything. 

The isolation was probably what got to you the most. The fear, the anger, the exhaustion – none of it felt as torturous as the loneliness. You weren’t allowed to talk to anyone but the leader, Shigaraki, and Dabi. Who’d decided that, you weren’t sure, but it ate away at your psyche day-by-day until almost nothing remained.

Most days, the only interaction you got was someone bringing your food to you. It was usually the man in the mask who had taken you – Mr Compress, or, you’d learned his name was, though sometimes it would be others in the group.

It was awful. They’d open your door and set a tray of food on the desk next to your bed.

They wouldn’t look at you. 

They wouldn’t talk to you. 

Nothing. 

And you tried. You tried so hard to hold a conversation, to get them to say something, to look at you, but still, nothing.

Shigaraki’s visits were few and far between. Most days he came to see you, it would be to accompany the doctor he brought with him.

You didn’t like that man. He was cold and harsh, and he left bruises that would take weeks to fade away. He’d take samples of your blood too, poking you harshly with the needle if you squirmed too much.

Shigaraki said nothing. He only stood in the corner, silently staring at you.

It was the same when he came to see you alone. He’d come in quietly, sit down by your desk and stare at you for hours.

Sometimes he would speak, but those days were rare.

He’d ask you about your life before they’d taken you, before you’d gotten your quirk.

Originally, you had ignored him, but after weeks of isolation, you’d told him what he wanted to know. He smiled that day. It hurt.

Dabi’s visits were even rarer. 

You thought you might dread his visits more than you did being alone.

He told you stories. Stories about his life – both while he’d been living with you, and after. You weren’t sure which you hated more.

While you’d understood how horrible your father was, to hear it first-hand, to hear from Touya himself what he’d gone through… it was almost more than you could handle.

Though right now, you’d take your father and his anger and violence. If you had a choice, you’d choose him over Dabi in an instant.

How pathetic – that you’d choose a monster like your father over your own brother, one who you’d looked up to, one who you’d mourned.

But that sort of thought had become surprisingly common. You’d been missing your family – Shouto, Fuyumi, Natsuo, even your father. Though you couldn’t bring yourself to miss your mother, and you were sure the feeling was mutual.

You tried as best you could, but nothing could stop your gradual descent into despair. You were so lonely, so scared that they’d decide you’d outlived your usefulness.

It was a shame that you were nothing like your family – you lacked Touya’s resolve, Shouto’s strength, even your father’s tenacity and anger. That would surely have helped you, but you were weak.

You were weak and scared, and even gaining a quirk had done nothing to change that.

****

If you had one complaint about how your days went, it had to be about the food they gave you.

It was plain, bland. Not to mention, you received the same thing every single day. 

Plain oatmeal for breakfast, plain, dry bread for lunch, and plain, flavourless ramen noodles for dinner. If you were lucky, they’d occasionally throw in a bruised, overripe fruit, or give you of the takeout they’d had for dinner.

You’d gotten to the point of having to choke it down, trying not to gag whenever you saw the same food day after day. You wouldn’t call yourself ungrateful, but it was pretty obvious that no one knew how to cook. After the first two weeks, you’d liken the experience to eating cardboard, taking hours to pick at the plain, odourless lump on your plate before giving up.

That’s how Dabi found you thirty minutes after Mr Compress had bought you your dinner - picking at your plate with half-hearted interest, doing nothing more than moving the now solid pile of ramen from one side to the other.

He shoulders the door open without knocking, kicking it shut behind him with no regard for the slamming that rings out in the corridor beyond. Members of the League knew not to bother him when he was with you - everyone except Shigaraki.

A brown paper bag is chucked your way as he slinks over, slumping down in the chair next to your bed.

The sigh he lets out is one of exhaustion, and if you actually cared about him, you might’ve shown some concern for the weariness in his eyes and the weight on his slumped shoulders. But you don’t.

Instead, you stare down at the paper bag next to you.

“Well?” he asks when you make no move to touch it. “Aren’t ya gonna open it?”

You shrug, still staring.

“That depends.”

He huffs. “On what?”

“If I open it, do I get to leave this room?”

He lets out a frustrated groan, head leaning against the wall as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. “This again?”

After about the first month and a half of being cooped up in the room they’d shoved you in, you’d decided enough was enough. Seeing the same four walls all day, every day, was driving you insane. So you’d begun asking Dabi if you could be let out, even for a short ten minutes, just to walk around the base, to the end of the hall - anything.

Unsurprisingly, your request had been denied. 

So you’d asked again. And again. And again. 

It had become routine at this point, and though he had yet to agree, you felt as though you were slowly wearing him down. 

Asking Shigaraki didn’t have the same effect. He’d fix you with this eerie, wide-eyed look, sitting in silence until you looked away or changed the topic.

So you stuck with asking Dabi instead, refusing to go along with whatever he asked of you unless you got what you wanted.

It seemed as though the two of you shared the same stubborn streak, and neither of you had given in yet.

“Yes, this again,” you say stubbornly, jutting your chin out at him.

“I’ll go crazy in here if you don’t let me out. It’s not as if I’m asking for a kidney, I just want to take a walk. Blindfold me if you have to, just let me out for a few minutes.”

He says nothing, staring at you for a moment.

“Please?” you ask – no, you plead.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

“Fine,” he says, sighing heavily, nodding slightly. 

“Fine. I’ll let you walk around for a bit. There – happy?”

You perk up at that, nodding eagerly, happy for what you consider to be a small victory. 

Honestly, considering the circumstances, it’s a massive victory. Any amount of autonomy is cause for celebration, and this was as good as it was going to get for a while.

“Are ya gonna open the bag or not? Or should I change my mind?”

“No! No, I’ll look.”

You scramble to grab the brown paper bag, ripping it open in your haste.

“A… burger?”

Indeed.

It’s a burger, and the smell makes your mouth water. You want to eat it, but you don’t. Instead, you look over at him, quirking your brow in question.

“Eat up, Cupcake,” he says with a smirk.

You scowl at the nickname. It was one in a sea of many – he seemed to sense how much it annoyed you, so he took great time and care in finding different nicknames for you each time he came to visit.

His smirk flattens into a scowl when you don’t immediately respond or go to eat.

“What’s this about?” 

“Huh?”

“You only ever bring me food like this- You’re only nice if something’s about to happen. So, what is it?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to grip at his chest, gasping in feigned horror.

“Oh! My own sister doesn’t trust me. Whatever shall I do?”

He rolls his eyes.

“Can I not just be nice? Why’re you so suspicious all the time, huh?”

You squint at him. “So… you really don’t want anything in return? You're not going to knock me out and move me to another room or something? You’re not going to run some kind of painful quirk test on me?”

His palm still rests on his chest, right over his heart. He bows his head and closes his eyes.

“Cross my heart. Come on, eat up.”

He stands with a huff, slinking over to your bathroom as you hesitantly begin eating.

There are some clattering sounds as he moves around the bathroom for a moment before it falls silent. He emerges fifteen minutes later, right as you finish the burger.

“Ah, you’re done. Great. Put this on.”

He hands you a jacket and a pair of shoes. You slip them on without question.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?” you ask, palm rubbing contentedly over your full stomach.

“For your damn walk, what else?”

“Now?” you ask, mouth open in shock.

He hums, coming up to you and grasping your forearms before hauling you up.

“Come on, I don’t have all day.”

You stand and trail after him.

****

“Still nothing?”

Hawks hums, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he says with a shrug.

Endeavour lets out a frustrated huff, slamming his hand down on the desk. Everything atop it rattles.

His frame remains tense for a moment before his shoulders slump.

“We’ve checked everywhere,” he says in an even, measured tone. “Why, after six months, have you still not found my daughter?”

Hawks gives him a good-natured smile, eyes crinkled in the corners. “Hm, dunno. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

The temperature of the room steadily climbs the longer Hawks talks.

“After all, it’s been a while. Surely if she wanted to get away from wherever she is, she would have by now, what with that nifty new quirk and all.”

At the mention of your strangely acquired quirk, Endeavour finally cracks. His fingers melt through the surface of his desk, the ornately carved wood caving beneath his warm grip like butter. The look on his face betrays his emotions – it’s a look of pure pain, what with his furrowed brow and quivering lip.

The mighty Endeavour did have a heart after all.

He slumped down into the seat behind him, roughly swiping over his face with calloused palms.

“I–” his voice cracks.

He clears his throat, sniffing and straightening up before he speaks again.

“Hawks, please, be honest.”

Keigo tilts his head to the side, eyeing the redhead curiously.

“Have you done everything in your ability to find my daughter? Does she– does she truly not want to be found?”

He lets out a heavy puff of air, carefully taking a seat across from the distraught man. After a few long, quiet minutes, he finally settles into a seemingly comfortable position, leaning back with one leg propped up over the other.

“I’ve done everything I can,” he says, looking directly into the other man’s eyes. He places his hand over his heart – a gesture of his sincerity. “I haven’t seen her – she really doesn’t seem to want to come back. That, or…”

He shrugs. “Never mind. I’m sorry Endeavour, but there’s nothing more I can do. I’ve helped as much as I can because we’re friends, but I can’t keep neglecting my own work for this.”

The chair scrapes harshly against the polished tiles as he stands, dusting off his jacket while he strides to the door.

“I’ll let you know if I find anything. For now just… relax.”

Hawks leaves the man to wallow in his ever-growing despair.

****

Your legs burn slightly from the stretch, but you welcome it as you pace each corridor eagerly, Dabi trailing a few steps behind you with a slouched frame and barely concealed scowl.

He’d made it clear that he thought your eagerness to go for something as silly as a walk was stupid, but he’d kept many of his comments to himself, choosing instead to mutter under his breath as he directed you through the dimly lit base.

“Left here.”

You turn left, trying to keep yourself from skipping like an idiot. It was one thing to be excited for a walk, but to skip like a child? Dabi would never let you live that down.

The corridors are as dingy as the rest of the building, flickering lights, cracked tiles, chipped paint on the walls. It truly looked like the prison it was. 

Oh well. It wasn’t as if you expected any better from a group of villains, especially those that had kidnapped someone without a second thought.

“So, what exactly do you do?” you ask, eyes still flitting from one side of the corridor to the other, taking in as much as you can while you have the opportunity.

“What?”

Dabi sounds bored. He drags his feet as he walks, shoes scuffing against the worn tiles.

You shiver. It’s freezing out here. A part of you was thankful that Dabi had given you the shoes and jacket. Not that you’d ever mention it.

“I mean, I get that you guys are villains and all, and you spend your days coming up with ideas on how to take over the world, but like – what do you do?”

You chance a glance over your shoulder.

He looks perplexed, lips pursed as he stares at you.

“What a dumb question.”

You splutter out in indignation.

“Hey, it’s not a dumb question!”

He hums, staring at the ceiling.

“Take a right.”

You do, waiting in silence for his response.

“We make deals, gather intel, threaten a few people – fun stuff like that.”

He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants. 

“I don’t know, that’s about it I guess.”

You pause. 

“Sounds boring,” you say with a shrug.

He grunts, prodding the small of your back with his fingers to urge you forward.

“Keep walking.”

You walk past a familiar looking door.

There’s a slight stumble in your step and Dabi has to grab your arm to keep you from landing on your face.

“Come on,” he says, shoving you forward roughly. “Don’t make me regret this by acting all stupid.”

You nod in apology, eyes lingering on the door.

That day you arrived is still stark in your memory – the way they all laughed at you, the fear and anxiousness you’d felt. 

Shigaraki and his touch.

The way he’d turned your jacket to dust with a simple brush of his fingers.

Dabi. 

Touya.

The mark seared onto your shoulder.

You shiver again, though not from the cold.

The memory of your first night there opens the floodgates, and you’re forced down memory lane as you walk, Dabi’s hand still a warm fixture between your shoulder blades.

You remember the first time Shigaraki came to visit you. You remember the first time he truly hurt you.

You remember what he made you do with your quirk – the quirk shoved upon you, one you’d give up in a heartbeat for the chance to escape this place, to go back in time and be thankful for your lack of quirk.

But would you?

Yes, everything that had happened to you was horrible, and you woke up everyday praying it was some kind of sick nightmare, but would you really give up your quirk in exchange for your freedom?

It was something you’d battled with for a while now.

Would you rather be here, locked up and used as a lab rat, or would you choose to go back to your family and crawl back into their cold, unaccepting arms?

No matter how you looked at the situation, there was no lesser evil amongst the two.

The thought made you laugh to yourself whenever it crossed your mind.

Had you truly reached the point where you lumped your family, your own flesh-and-blood, together with a group of villains?

Yes.

They were one and the same.

Your father, your siblings – your mother.

Everything about them shunned your existence. 

If they weren’t overwhelming you, they acted as if you didn’t exist.

You wondered, not for the first time, if they were looking for you – did they miss you? Did they even realise you’d been kidnapped?

Thinking about it - them - got you nowhere.

Your family.

Family. 

The word didn’t exactly fit.

The League… They treated you similarly.

They hurt you, physically, mentally, emotionally. They ignored you when you served no purpose to them or their cause. They overwhelmed you, they controlled you when they felt like it.

Dabi – he was the epitome of both.

Both your family and the League, but especially Dabi – they had a certain intensity about them when they looked at you, when they thought you couldn’t see them.

It scared you more than their insults, more than their fists, more than their distain.

They looked at you as if they wanted to consume you. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was a look of crazed, unwavering mania. Obsession. But if that was the case, you wouldn’t be beaten and bruised, or locked up in a cage like some sort of pet meant for display.

You shake your head, trembling hands clutching at the bottom of the zip up Dabi had given you.

When did it get this cold?

Dabi distracts you from your thoughts, fingers harshly digging into your side, guiding you roughly down a corridor towards your right.

He tuts at you.

“Pay attention.”

He comes to walk beside you, reaching his arm around you to lay it over your shoulder.

You stiffen up.

The palm of his hand sits perfectly against the scar that sits in the juncture between your neck and shoulder – the one he’d given you.

Having a doctor on hand to run tests on your quirk wasn’t as reassuring as you might have hoped. It meant that no matter what any of them did to you, it could be fixed, and you’d be left with nothing but the mental scars as proof.

The scar Dabi had given you though – that they let you keep. 

It had taken a while to heal enough for you to touch it, and you’d spent a few days after delirious with pain. But now, months later, it was fine.

Or, it should be. 

But the mental scars from Dabi ran far deeper than anything else you’d been through since they’d taken you.

You hated it when people touched you.

It was the only scar you were allowed to keep, but you wished they’d rid you of it like they did with everything else.

The floodgates of your mind seem to open, the palm on your shoulder acting as a key, and you’re helpless to stop the painful barrage of memories you try so hard to suppress.

****

The first test they’d ever run on you had been the most painful to date. A large part of you had blocked out the memory, too overwhelmed to remember it in anything but short snapshots and glimpses.

You’d been strapped to a medical gurney, probably the most uncomfortable one the League could find.

The cold metal left you covered in goosebumps and shivers that had done nothing to deter the panicked sweat enveloping you, leaving your palms clammy and shaking.

Worse than being restrained and prodded with needles had to be the duration. They’d left you like that for three weeks.

Evidently, they hadn’t felt it necessary for you to eat either, deciding instead to shove a thick feeding tube down your throat. Similarly, you weren’t allowed to sit up or use the bathroom. You weren’t allowed to do anything.

They left you in a drugged haze after the third day, growing tired of your struggles and cries.

And that’s how you spent the first three weeks with the League. Completely exhausted and mentally checked out, staring blankly at the ceiling day in and day out, never so much as twitching a finger as they performed invasive surgeries you were too delirious to feel.

You’d flatlined more times than you care to remember, your heart rate dropping to a monotonous beep. 

Blood filled your lungs after they’d punctured the thin membrane.

Your face turned blue from the lack of oxygen after you’d choked on the feeding tube.

You’d had multiple seizures mid-surgery from a number of malpractices.

In the end, you don’t remember much of what had happened. All you recall is waking up out of a daze surrounded by cold, impartial doctors, and being forced to carry on as if nothing had happened.

It was probably better that way. You had a feeling you didn’t want to know the entire truth of what had happened while you were all but comatose.

And beyond that, the training they’d put you through to improve your quirk was just as bad, if not worse.

You imagined that training with your father would have been similar, in that you received painful, unwarranted punishments for failure of any kind.

The only saving grace was that your quirk had improved significantly since the League had taken you. 

You clung to that when despair crept up on you. You had a quirk. 

Somehow, it didn’t feel as wonderful as you’d hoped it might have years ago.

****

Eventually, Dabi drags you to a halt and out of your thoughts, grasping your forearm with a grip so harsh you’re sure it’ll bruise. If they’ll allow it. 

The two of you have stopped before a large set of metal doors. They reflect the flickering lights and make your eyes water. You’re confused – this isn’t your room. Why did he not take you back to your room? 

Had he lied to you?

Stupid question.

Of course he lied to you.

You turn to glare at him, heart pounding wildly.

“You liar,” you spit, flinching back in vain as he reaches for you.

He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I am a villain. And I didn’t lie. This is part of your walk – the walk you wanted. So,” he prompts, giving you a slight shove that nearly sends you crashing into the double doors. 

“Keep walking.”

****

You hardly dared to breathe.

Not that you could even if you wanted to. It felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

Your brain buffered for another few seconds before you could process what you were seeing.

The room, a large assembly hall, was, as you’d expected, filled with people. Members of the League. Villains.

But there, near the front of the room, looking far too content in a room of people he was supposed to be against–

Wasn’t he–?

Hawks.

The pro-hero Hawks.

Wasn’t Hawks a hero? 

Shouldn’t he be fighting? Running? Trying to rescue you?  

Why did he look so content? Why was he laughing, smiling next to Twice?

You take a step back, searching blindly for the door handle.

Consequences be damned, you weren’t about to wait around. Whatever was going on here, you wanted nothing to do with it.

Swallowing thickly, you tried to slip out of the room while the villains before you mingled about, as if this was some type of meet and greet or a party. 

You weren’t ever really the type of person to feel any degree of self-righteousness, or think yourself better than those around you, but it became difficult when the only people you were surrounded by were villains. You didn’t feel bad about what you thought of them. It wasn’t as if they’d ever find out.

“Ah ah,” someone tuts behind you. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Dabi. 

What was he getting at? What kind of sick game was he trying to play?

He lightly shoves at the small of your back, pushing you forward. You stumble back into the room, straightening up.

Glancing around cautiously, you all but meld into the wall, praying no one notices you. That hope is dashed as soon as Dabi seizes your forearm and yanks you towards him, walking with an air of ease towards Twice and Hawks.

A million thoughts race through your mind as you try, and fail, to pull away from Dabi. All he spares you is a warning glare before the two of you come to a stop before the winged hero and his animated companion.

Something flickers in Hawks’ eyes when he spots you, a slight glimmer of recognition. It’s gone a moment later, so fast you almost think you imagined it.

“Who’s the kid?” he asks with an air of nonchalance, turning to Dabi. Your brother, if you even still considered him that, spares you one more quick glance, a dark look in his eyes, before responding.

“Tomura’s new experiment.”

That hurt, more than you’d care to admit. 

You knew it was true, but that didn’t make it any less hurtful to hear out loud. You’d been denigrated to nothing more than an experiment. Not a person, not a child, but an object to be tested and prodded at. You were little more than an oversized labrat to these people.

Something in your expression must convey the hurt and irritation you try so hard to bury, because Dabi scoffs and wraps his hand around the back of your neck, jerking you closer to him as he tilts his head down to whisper to you. His breath is hot against your ear and it makes you cringe back awkwardly, though you don’t get far.

“What? Did that hurt your feelings?”

You clench your sweat slicked hands into fists, trying to hold your anger at bay, though it does nothing to curb your frustration. And with your frustration comes the familiar feeling of your quirk, unnatural and monstrous, bubbling up in the pit of your stomach as you try so hard to shove it back down.

“No. No, I’m just… tired. From the tests.”

He scoffs, a patronising smirk tugging at his lips. “Aw, of course. You’re tired.”

Twice and Hawks watch silently from the sidelines, not intervening, even as you wince, Dabi’s grip tightening on the nape of your neck.

“Behave. Be a good little lab rat and I won’t have to fry your face, okay?” 

His tone is gentle, as if he were talking to an infant, punctuated by the soft strokes of his fingers against your cheek, but his words send a shiver of panic down your spine, locking you in place.

Satisfied with your fear induced obedience, he releases you and turns back to the pair before you, chattering away about some or other plan the League was in the process of reviewing. 

None of them pay you any attention for the rest of the night.

****

Hawks seems to linger around base a lot more after that first encounter.

You see him every time the door to your glorified prison cell opens. You see him when the doctor visits to poke and prod at you, when Mr Compress drops by to deliver your meals, even when Shigaraki appears for his rare visits.

The only time he doesn’t appear is when Dabi visits, though that’s rare enough in and of itself.

He never stops to talk, or even stare, only sparing a fleeting glance at you from the corner of his eye, posture tensing slightly, before he continues down the corridor.

You feel a strange tension with him around base. The anxieties you felt before seem to be amplified, your heart rate picking up every time you catch sight of him. A part of you, deep down, hopes that he’s here to help you - to save you. But it’s a childish hope, one you’re sure to squash down as soon as it arises.

The first time he stops and lingers, around three weeks after you first meet him, is to drop your dinner off in place of Mr Compress. It’s a surprise, seeing him instead of the masked villain.

He’s silent the entire time, staring at you with a look of bored curiosity, as if he’s waiting for you to do something entertaining.

You don’t. 

You force down the bland food in silence, never once taking your eyes off of him.

He leaves just as silently and quickly as he arrived.

After that day, it slowly starts to become a routine. At first, you rarely see him, but as the weeks turn into months, he becomes one of the only people you interact with. You start expecting to see him instead of the others, and you find out in passing one day that the other members of the League had shirked their duties of caring for you off on to him. 

It didn’t bother you as much as it should have - the fact that they viewed you as little more than a chore.

You form a tentative bond with him, one that feels fragile and strained, but it’s better than anything else you’d had up until that moment. He’s the closest thing you have to a friend, to someone that cares about you.

His apparent care for you becomes obvious in the small things he does - the meals he brings you become more edible, something you actually look forward to instead of having to force it down. He visits more often, the short periods in which you see him seemingly becoming longer than they were before.

Four months after that first tentative encounter, Hawks had solidified himself in your dreary daily existence, establishing himself as your sole source of what could only be described as happiness. 

You’d, somewhat unwillingly at first, become far more relaxed in his presence, even going as far as to enjoy his company. Some days, you might even say you looked forward to his visits.

Not only did he act as a reprieve from your never ending boredom, with both his company and the gifts he bought you, but also his interventions.

Mr Compress had, on one of his now rare visits, not at all subtly told you that Hawks had convinced the League - specifically Shigaraki - to quote unquote ‘take it easy on you’. His tone had been tinged with something you couldn’t quite identify at the time.

Even Dabi had begun to unironically refer to Hawks as your ‘new best friend’.

He didn’t seem too happy with the new development.

A week later, Hawks, or Keigo, as he’d asked you to call him in private, had paid you one last visit, and you hadn’t seen him since. He’d gifted you one of his fluffy, scarlet feathers the last time he’d visited, for ‘when he wasn’t around’. 

It sat waiting neatly on the centre of the singular pillow on your bed one evening, easily catching your eye as you slipped out of the bathroom attached to your room. There was no note left with it, but you didn’t need one. You knew well enough what it meant, and it filled your empty, aching chest with a sort of warm feeling that left you breathless.

After that day, you kept it with you, tucked into your shirt, positioned right over your heart, and at night, you placed it under your pillow. You might’ve felt embarrassed at how much it meant to you, or how attached you were, but it felt like your only lifeline in the miserable four walls of your little room.

In a strange, cosmic joke kind of way, he almost felt like the family you’d never had.

****

The day Shoto had been scarred by your mother had been an odd day. It was one of the rare days since Touya’s death that you’d felt loved, accepted by your family. Everything felt normal. Two months after your fifth birthday, the snow had melted into clear, fresh streams and flowers had begun to bloom.

Sakura.

Your family had spent the day in the park, wandering around while you and Shoto played with Fuyumi in the dewy grass, in awe of the delicate pink blossoms. There’d been a strange tension between your parents that day, one you’d been too young and oblivious to notice.

After a long Spring day spent outside, your family of six had returned home and resumed life as usual. Dinner was a quiet affair, as it usually was, and you’d hurried about your evening routine after you’d felt your mother’s distasteful gaze trained on you for longer than usual.

Fuyumi had, for reasons unknown to you, attached herself to you that evening, insisting on helping you bathe and get into your pyjamas. You’d gone along with it all, happy and unquestioning of her attention on you. 

It felt good, having someone care for you - the first person to do so since Touya’s passing.

She’d laid next to you in your bed, reading a children's storybook to you, her fingers gently carding through your hair - the same hair she’d so caringly brushed out an hour before, carefully working each knot out with a patience and kindness reminiscent of a mother.

In the peace and stillness of the moment, you’d failed to notice Rei's shadowy figure in the doorway, watching the two of you through the slight gap in the doorway. If you had bothered to peer over Fuyumi’s shoulder, you might’ve noticed her blanched face, or her hands, clenched into fists so tight her knuckles turned while. You might’ve noticed the wide eyed, crazed expression that had washed over her face, growing in intensity with each passing moment.

But you didn’t notice her.

What you noticed was the commotion not long after she left. You heard her panicked shrieks fifteen minutes later. Shouto’s pained screeches and sobs followed soon after, echoing eerily down the long corridor to your room.

You heard your father’s thundering steps and bellowing rage, felt Natsuo and Fuyumi’s panic, their trembling hands on your shoulders, steering you away from the sight of Shouto’s raw, burnt face.

And you definitely felt the shiver of dread dripping down your spine when your mother turned her crazed eyes on you. She looked almost demonic in that moment, eyes red rimmed and wide, face nearly as stark white as her hair.

She’d tried to approach you, hands outstretched, fingers curled into cruel claws as she reached out for you, and only your father’s firm grip kept her in the kitchen as you were ushered to your room while Shouto was rushed off to the hospital.

You didn’t see much of any of them after that, and in the months following the incident, you felt even further ostracised from your family.

Rei had been institutionalised not too long after that, and the remainder of your family had kept you at arms length ever since, reminding you constantly of your insignificance to their lives - to the family.

****

The scent of soba and egg rolls fills the room, its occupants silent as they eat.

Hawks halts for a moment, the noodles dangling from his chopsticks as he glances to his left, to the hulking flame hero sitting beside him. He hides a small smirk, tilting his head down and clearing his throat before speaking.

“I looked into that lead you told me about - the one about your daughter? It’s a deadend.”

Endeavour tenses, shooting Hawks a pointed look, but it’s too late. Natsuo and Shouto pause, exchanging a tense look across the table, and Fuyumi perks up, her grip tightening on her chopsticks.

“You’ve been looking for her? And you didn’t think to mention it to us?” Natsuo sounds outraged, his hands tightening into fists on the tabletop. “You didn’t think to ask us for help?”

Endeavour’s jaw tightens. 

“I didn’t think it was necessary. Allowing you three to help would’ve done nothing but give you false hope and allow you to interfere with my work. You’d do more harm than good.”

“Ah, Endeavour, so harsh! Don’t shoot them down yet,” Hawks interjects, cutting off whatever scathing remark Natsuo was about to spit out. “More eyes and ears are always helpful. I’m sure they could help out in some way.”

His tone is light, but something about the look in his eyes has Endeavour cautious, and his tone becomes firm.

“No. You three will not get involved. That’s final.”

Hawks shrugs, going back to his soba with a quick final quip. 

“Well, that’s that. Dad has spoken. Don’t try to help find your sister.”

His words hit their intended mark, evident in the barely concealed rage on Natsuo’s face.

“...yeah. Figures, you wouldn’t want us helping. You don’t actually want to get her back, do you? You probably wish she’s dead in a ditch somewhere, don’t you?”

The silence that rings out after Natsuo’s rant is deafening, oppressive. It makes the air feel stifling and heavy, and no one dares move.

“You know nothing,” Endeavour spits, his eyes alight with a look akin to pure fury. Heat radiates off of him in waves, turning the once cold soba on the table scalding in mere moments.

“I know you scared her off. We all do. We know you’re the reason she ran away in the first place. We know that if she’s hurt, or dead, or worse, then it’s your fault. And I know that I won’t stop blaming you until the day I die.”

Before the situation can escalate further, Fuyumi intervenes.

“Okay, um– Everyone is clearly feeling overwhelmed, and we all miss her, so… so let’s just take a deep breath and calm down, okay? Getting upset with one another won’t bring her back.”

Her half-hearted interference, surprisingly, seems to work, just enough for everyone to cool their tempers slightly. Natsuo lets out a long, deep breath, standing and leaving the room without another word.

Shouto follows close behind, pausing at the threshold for a moment and turning to glower at his father.

“Find her, or we will.”

****

You’re rudely awoken in the middle of the night, sweaty and tangled up in your sheets with someone shaking you harshly by the shoulders.

“Hey, wake up– Wake up.”

You jolt upright, forehead banging against someone else’s. Wincing, you massage the bruising skin of your forehead and shoot a glare to whoever had woken you up.

Hawks.

“Wha-? What’s going on?” 

Your words are mumbled, sleep clouding both your mind and your vision.

Kiego firmly grips both your wrists, pulling them away from your face and yanking you to your feet, out of the bed. Your sheets pool at your feet, tangled up between your legs on the cold concrete floor.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

A quick tug towards the door accentuates his words, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach. You put up some resistance, pulling back slightly, trying to ignore the roiling in your stomach.

“Hawk– Keigo, what–? Why are we leaving? Where’s Dabi?”

His expression, from what you can see in the imposing darkness of the room, is hard and guarded, and his grip shifts to your bicep, tightening to an almost painful extent.

“None of that matters. I said we’re leaving, so start walking before I make you.”

You’re thrown off by how short off and rude his words are. He’s nothing like the man you’ve come to consider a friend, and a part of you is almost scared of him at that moment. Something in your expression must give your feelings away, because moments later, his eyes soften alongside his grip, his voice lowering to a whisper.

“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the League. Just… trust me. Please?”

Something about his gaze, his tone - it sways you. Convinces you to believe him.

So you do.

A slow nod is the only confirmation you give, but it’s enough for him to start pulling you towards the door again. You hesitate for only a moment before going along with him, pausing only to grab the scarlet feather laid carefully beneath your pillow.

It’s the only thing you take with you. The only thing you have to your name, the only possession of any value to you.

The low light disguises Keigo’s small smirk when he spots the feather clenched tightly in your grip as you trail after him, though he makes no mention of it. Similarly, you make no mention of his bruising grip.

You don’t encounter anyone in your silent, swift escape, and you almost feel as if it’s too easy, but you don’t point it out to Keigo. 

Maybe a part of you is scared of jinxing your good luck.

Or maybe you’re terrified this is some sort of elaborate, cruel trick he’s playing on you.

Regardless, you stay silent, sticking close to his side as you both exit the seedy bar. He immediately scoops you up into his arms, crouching down, powerful thighs flexing beneath him for a moment before he takes flight, soaring out of the alleyway in an instant. 

****

“She’s gone.”

The entire League sat gathered around the bar, tense and silent as Hawks speaks, leaning casually against the bar, wings splayed out behind him.

���I dropped off her breakfast this morning and her room was empty. Bathroom too.”

The group looks to Shigaraki, waiting for his reaction. 

He’s still, expression blank and guarded. The only sign of tension in his body is the tightening of his hand, clasped into fists at his sides. His jaw works for a moment before he responds, muttering to no one in particular.

“Ruined. All ruined. Those stupid pro heroes are always ruining my plans.”

His agitation becomes obvious as he begins pacing in front of the bar counter, hands clawing uselessly at the pale skin of his neck. Welts form within seconds, raised and red and angry beneath his frantic fingernails. 

“It’s Endeavour. It has to be. How did he find out? How?”

The words are muttered below his breath as he paces, not meant for anyone but himself, eyes wide and fretful when his head snaps up. His gaze narrows and sets itself on Dabi.

“Did you know about this?”

Dabi raises his eyebrows, expression cool, seemingly bored as he drawls. “Me? Now, why would I know a thing about this?”

His gaze flits momentarily to Hawks, narrowing.

“If anything, you should be asking bird boy over there. He seemed particularly comfortable around her. Wouldn’t he know something about our little escapee?”

Shigaraki groans and turns on his heel, kicking his leg out and toppling a table in the process. The room is silent for a long while, the only sounds piercing stillness is the resounding clatter of the table striking the floor, and Shigaraki’s own rage filled panting.

Silence stretches out for a few moments as he schools his rage, recomposing himself after his explosive tantrum.

“Bring her back - I don’t care how. I need her. My experiments aren’t done yet. Father won’t be pleased. She’s my experiment. Mine.”

He turns his cold glare to Hawks, then Dabi, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“Find her.”

****

Sometimes, you wonder what life would’ve been like if your mother hadn’t been around. Your siblings too, for that matter.

During the more peaceful moments of your life, you fantasised about life far away, often imagining what it’d be like if you’d been born into a different family entirely.

Maybe you’d be an only child, living in a small rural town by the beach, or on a farm. 

It would’ve been peaceful, you think. Calm.

Your parents would dote on you, their only daughter, and they wouldn’t care about your lack of a quirk. 

Imagining that sort of kindness made your stomach turn.  How would it feel?

Or maybe you’d be one of many children. The oldest child. 

You’d protect your younger siblings in the ways you never were. You’d be part of a big happy family, one where you had big Sunday lunches and went on annual vacations. You’d have a family pet, a cat or a dog, adored by everyone in your make believe family.

Or maybe you’d be an orphan.

How sad, that being an orphan without a home was preferable to your own situation.

But you’d be surrounded by other children like you - children without homes, without families.

The thought of a different life left an aching hole where your heart should’ve been.

There were times that you felt bad about wishing for a different life. You’d look at family photos, gazing down at your siblings smiling up at you, their faces joyful and free of concern. 

Why couldn’t your life have been like that? Was your lack of a quirk really the only thing that made you so different?

Maybe if you’d been born as Fuyumi instead, with her soft eyes and kind disposition.

Or maybe Natsuo, with his unwavering strength, that glint he got in his eyes when he looked at you - the one that meant that he loved or hated you.

Most often, you imagined what it would be like to have been born as Shouto. 

The golden child. 

Would you have been grateful? Or would you have hated your family as much as he seemed to hate yours?

What reason did he have for hating them? They treated him like a king. Like their own saviour.

You wish he’d been yours. You wish he’d never grown out of his kindness, like he did when you were five years old and desperate for some kind of connection. 

Perhaps things would have been different.

You try to imagine a world in which he took over the role Touya held in your life. You try to imagine a world in which your family protected you, in which they didn’t look down on you like you were scum.

The picture is blank and fuzzy.

You can’t imagine such a world.

But amidst the mess of self-pity and poorly disguised hatred in your mind, you remember small glimpses of happiness in your life with them. It rarely happened, but since you’d been taken by the League, it was as if the floodgates had opened. Memories you’d long since repressed came back in bits and pieces, and surprisingly, they weren’t all bad.

When you were seven years old, your father had hit you. It wasn’t out of the ordinary - in fact, you’d come to expect it.

But it hurt nonetheless. It bruised both your face and your feelings, so you’d escaped to the greenhouse in the garden for a reprieve - somewhere you rarely went.

It had been your mother’s sanctuary, but she’d long since been hospitalised, so you had no fear of seeing her through the thicket. You spent far longer there than you’d thought, and eventually the setting sun illuminated the room, filtering through the glass roof and overhanging foliage. It looked as if the room was on fire, bathed in the warm orange afternoon glow.

That’s where Natsuo found you, huddled up under a counter with your knees to your chest, careful not to jostle your bruised cheek.

He didn’t say anything, or try to coax you out of your shelter. Instead, he sat down next to you with a huff, slightly hunched over beneath the table. He, despite being only ten years old at the time, was already a lot taller than you, and most other children his age. The two of you sat in silence for a long while, not acknowledging one another as you sat side by side. 

The memory replayed itself in your mind, almost as clearly as the day it happened.

Some time passes before he speaks.

“When I’m older, I’ll protect you. Like Touya did.”

The words give you pause, and you don't look at him. Thinking back now, you wish you had. 

Would his expression have told you what he was thinking?

You’d never know.

“I’m not strong enough right now, but one day, I will be. And then he’ll never hurt you or Sho again. We’ll leave - us and Fuyumi.”

He pauses, bumping his shoulder against yours. You glance up at him and see his mouth pulled tight, his throat bobbing as he swallows.

“...I’m sorry for being a bad brother. I… I know I don’t act like it often, but I do love you. I worry about you too.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, averting your gaze. The words, however true they may or may not be, make you feel… wanted. As if he actually sees you as a member of the family, a little sister, and not some pesky waste of space or a punching bag.

“Do you really mean that?”

“Of course.”

The conversation lulls into silence after that. He sits beside you in silence, staring blankly at the wall of ivy opposite the two of you, and you sit there, still curled up tightly, fighting back tears.

He glances at you for a moment, reaching out to rest his hand on your shoulder. The gesture feels comforting, in a way. As comforting as it can be, coming from him - someone who’s a strange combination of both your older brother, and a complete stranger to you.

The sigh he lets out is heavy, weighed down by an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on, and his thumb gently strokes your swollen cheek. He pulls back as you wince, recoiling as if you’d struck him.

“Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that bruise.”

It felt both strange and pathetic - the fact that that was your fondest memory with Natsuo, at least from what you could remember. 

But it felt soothing, in a way, to know that he didn’t completely hate you. Not as much as you’d thought.

It almost gave you hope that your family actually cared. Maybe they were looking for you. Maybe they were worried about you. 

And maybe, they even felt remorseful for how they’d treated you.

Or maybe not.

****

“There’s been a… development.”

Endeavour tenses, the vein in his jaw ticking as he eyes Hawks.

“What do you mean?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, his brows scrunching into a faux sombre expression. The hand he lays on Endeavour’s shoulder is meant to be reassuring, but it feels like a death knell, settling heavily on his mind.

“I looked into it, and… she isn’t with the League. I don’t know if she ever was.”

“So… What? She just disappeared? People don’t just vanish off the face of the earth Hawks!”

His temper is boiling over now, despite his attempt to keep it under control. Hawks takes a step back, cautious as he shows his palms in a placating gesture, attempting in vain to calm the quickly growing fury of the man before him.

“I don’t know. I haven’t found a single trace of her. Maybe…”

Hawks schools his features, taking another step back, preparing for the inevitable backlash he’s about to receive.

“Maybe you should let it go. She’s gone, and she’s clearly not coming back.”

The large mahogany desk, once anchored to the floor, flies across the room, slamming against the wall of shelves with a resounding boom, its contents scattered across the office.

Endeavour is the picture of barely restrained rage, shoulders heaving with each panting breath, posture hunched and shuddering, his face red and twisted beyond recognition. Even his voice is barely recognisable.

“How dare you? How dare you suggest I give up? She is my daughter! She might be dead or worse, and you think I should just give up?!”

The air sizzles with each wave radiating off of the flame hero, and the plastic office chair behind him melts like butter, dripping to the floor in a sticky puddle, marring the once perfectly polished tiles.

Hawks quickly backtracks, eyebrows raising at the display of unbridled fury.

“Woah woah, no! I’m not suggesting that at all! I mean… maybe I was, but I can see now how upset that makes you so– Let’s just take a break, okay? Just take some time to… rethink things.”

His eyes flicker to Endeavour’s face, searching for something for a moment.

“Maybe consider allowing your kids to help?”

He shows his palms again before Endeavour can interject.

“I know, I know! It’s just a suggestion. Many hands, and all that. Just… give it some thought, okay? I’ll keep looking and let you know if I find anything.”

He leaves without waiting for a response, a small smirk playing on his lips.

With Endeavour lost in his own self hatred and personal musings, and the League preoccupied with their plans and separate search for you, no one would be looking his way.

****

Keigo was surprisingly wealthy. 

Not that you’d expected him to be living in squalor - he was a Pro Hero, after all. A good one too, if his position as number two was anything to go by.

But the blatant decadence of his apartment shocked you.

He’d landed on the balcony smoothly, after a long forty minute flight, gently setting you down and leading you inside.

While he may have been accustomed to flying, you weren’t so lucky, and you felt as though you’d left your stomach back at the League’s base. Or maybe you’d lost it mid flight.

He seemed to pick up on your disorientation, guiding you to the plush couch with an unexpected tenderness. He’d allowed you to gather your bearings, bringing you a fuzzy blanket to stave off the odd chill in his apartment, and a tall glass of water, the condensation beading down the sides.

You’d been thirstier than you’d expected, chugging down the contents in mere moments, gulped down in six seconds flat.

Evidently, you’d been more exhausted than you thought too, dozing off less than fifteen minutes later. You felt Keigo there, his gentle hands helping you lay down and covering you with the blanket.

Now, when you wake up hours later, dazed and drooling, in a bed far too large for one person, Keigo’s gone, and the only indicator of his presence were the few scarlet feathers strewn across the fluffy duvet.

You spend a while combing the apartment for him, tentatively calling out his name as you wander the wide halls, but he’s nowhere to be found. Likewise, you note, at the back of your mind, the distinct lack of a front door.

There’s an off-kilter niggling at the back of your mind, but you brush it off, shifting your search to the kitchen after yet another unsuccessful ten minutes of searching. Evidently, exploring after hours of surprisingly deep sleep made you thirsty. You stand there, leaning against the marble countertop, chugging a tall glass of water, then another, and a third, until you feel bloated and almost sick. Only then do you set your glass down in the sink and move on from the kitchen.

His apartment is large, far too extravagant, but you suppose that must’ve been his taste.

You wander around the space aimlessly for a while, longer than you expected. 

Why did he need this much space? Did he live with someone else?

The three tall glasses of water you’d chugged catch up to you far too quickly, and you shuffle to the first bathroom you find, paying no mind to your surroundings.

After taking care of your business and washing your hands, you exit the bathroom and stop short when you spot Keigo standing in the doorway of the bedroom, his face blank. Neither of you move for a long while, but eventually he blinks, eyes clearing as he assesses you.

“You feeling better?”

His tone is light and airy, the same Keigo you’ve grown accustomed to. It sets you at ease, the tension you hadn’t noticed in your shoulders melting away, trailing down your spine like a trickle of water.

“...yeah. Much.”

There’s a long pause, neither of you moving or saying anything. You clear your throat.

“Um, I never thanked you. For helping me, I mean. So… thank you.”

You incline your head slightly, straightening up. He stares at you for a long moment, sighing as he shifts to the side, a clear indication for you to leave the room. You do, shuffling past him awkwardly and making your way back to the living room.

The ceilings are tall, nearly over twelve feet, making the room seem larger and more exposed than it truly is. You sit back down on the couch, shifting about for a moment, settling down as Keigo seats himself down near you.

After a while, when it becomes apparent that he has no plan of breaking the simmering silence, you decide to take it upon yourself.

“I– Can I go home now?”

Home.

You didn’t know what that was. Not anymore. 

It wasn’t with your father, on his sprawling estate. It wasn’t your four walled prison cell with the League. It certainly wasn’t with Touya.

The realisation that you had nowhere to go, no one to care for you… It was startling, and left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Keigo stares at you, head dipped forward so it appears almost as if he’s leering at you through his lashes. His golden eyes are alight with a strange intensity, and he takes a deep breath, seemingly thinking over his words.

“About that. See… I think it’s better if you stay with me for a bit. Just to… acclimate. You understand, right?”

His tone leaves little room for argument, but you try nonetheless.

“What? But wouldn’t– I don’t want to impose. I should really get back to my… family.”

The words die out on your tongue. 

Now, out in the open, free from both the League and your family, you’re not so sure you want to return to the Todoroki home. You’d never had a choice before. It felt freeing, in a way, finally having the power to decide what you wanted without someone else breathing down your neck, trying to influence your decision.

Keigo raises a brow, the look that he gives you filled with a mix of pity, and something far more calculated and knowing.

“Do you? Do you want to go back to them? To him? The media may not be privy to what happens behind closed doors, but I’ve worked around Endeavour long enough to recognise the fact that he has a bit of a hot temper. Are you really willing to leave one prison cell for another?”

His words are like a stone dropped in your stomach, settling heavily in your already uneasy gut.

It sparks something inside you, a deep seated realisation. Keigo was offering you a way out. Freedom. True freedom. Or, at least, as close as you could get to it. You wouldn’t have to be subjected to the whims of others, of what they wanted for you. 

Keigo was offering you a choice.

Maybe not in so many words, but the offer was there. You’d be a fool not to take him up on it. 

Your throat bobs as you swallow, fists clenched tightly in your lap as you meet his gaze.

“I’ll stay.”

He smiles, eyes filled with light, seemingly glowing in the early morning rays that filter through the tall windows, gaze intense and trained solely on you. You shiver, wrapping your arms around your midsection as goosebumps dance over your skin.

It’s so cold in here.

“Wonderful.”

[poppy5991]

Tokoyami: *crying*

Deku: He’s upset because you almost died! Say something! Anything!

Hawks: Pl-Plus Ultra?

Shoto: And here I thought Endeavor was the most emotionally stunted hero.

Hawks: I am here???

Dark Shadow: *shakes head in disappointment*

Shoto: This makes me feel like I was too hard on him. Look at the alternative.

[husbandohoarder]

Me: *lusting viciously after fictional middle aged men*

People, as if it isn’t obvious: FATHERLESS BEHAVIOR!!!

Me:

[tofumilkbread]

I wanna know more about the feeling that comes with Touya's newly discovered Ice quirk honestly. Like come on, look at me in the face and tell me he would have NOT gone feral with happiness and other mixed emotions if he had developed this before he absolutely ruined himself.

I hope Enji is happy now that Touya is too his not-so perfect masterpiece. Isn't that he wanted from the very start? Congra- fucking- tulations, asshole. There, you have it. Hope it was worth losing his eldest son, his wife's sanity and other kids trauma.

Also Touya having the unstable part of Rei and the anger and jealousy of Enji. Yk, both ice and fire.. deadly combination. Shouto is the child who represents how Enji and Rei compliment each other and Touya represents all the ways how that's absolutely bullshit.

I would have told Enji to burn in hell but that seems like such a mundane punishment. I could say give him to Touya but then again, I feel like he will eventually forgive Enji if he spent enough time with his dad because at last all he wanted was for his father to love him.

Lmao this got unnecessarily dark

[autumnmobile12]

Okay, I've pondered the Villain Rei AU, but....dark alternate universe where the Todoroki family situation is reversed and Endeavor is a decent father/husband and it's Rei who's the toxic, abusive mother/wife.

The Quirk marriage, dynastic mentality could still be relevant. According to Geten, the Himura family was almost exclusively made up of ice-users, so imagine a scenario where Rei has the same cold arrogance of her wider family and is furious when her parents marry her off to some fire-user for money because they were shit at finances and now they're broke.

Relationship with the kids? Abysmal.

Shouto: Regarded as a mutt, but he has a partial ice-Quirk, so it's something.

Fuyumi and Natsuo: Her favorites, a position they do not particularly enjoy.

Touya: No ice, no love. He's still the 'worthless' neglected child of this AU.

Relationship with Endeavor? Actively afraid of her.

...

Endeavor: I don't understand why you never bother to hold Touya.

Rei: *indifferent stare* That child has no gift for ice, so why should I bother with it?

Endeavor: He! He is Touya and Touya is not an 'it.'

Rei: *getting irritated* Why are you so bothered? Didn't you want him as your perfect successor? With his Quirk incompatibility, he should be just as useless to you as he is to me.

Endeavor: Stop.

Rei: Or what?

[thot-farm]

"I AM HERE!"

"WHAT?!"

My own shitpost edit is becoming a stim video for me help

[glitterbonez351]

another day another maladaptive daydream of being endeavor’s favorite daughter (who gets fucked harder than he’s ever put the effort into in his life)

[jackdaniel69nice]

As far as the adults in their life, is their any pros/teachers/etc that Tokoyami and/or Dark Shadow have a negative view of? Whether that be theyre afraid of them or dislike them or what?

Once again tokoyami is very cooperative and has a motto in life (from his grandfather) to “make friends, not enemies” so there arnt very many people he dislikes. But! I just made a post about eraserhead/aizawa and how their relationship can improve. Another answer is how tokoyami obviously wasn’t very fond of hawks when they first met. Toko saw some videos of hawks online before and decided he was very pompous and “fake” but when he was offered an internship he still jumped at the opportunity. Getting such a high up connection with the number three—then number two—hero would provide a great safety net and open up better opportunities, not to mention hawks obviously has skills and he can learn some things. Of course that all went down the drain when all hawks wanted from him was information, the reason he came back the second internship was mostly spite but he still wanted to form that connection. He was very caught off guard when hawks took him for that night flight and inspired him. He was very excited about meeting with hawks after that and the rest is history ;)

The REAL answer to this has to be Endeavor. There are multiple good reasons for this. Endeavor has a temper and large threatening presence, he seems violent. That isn’t really a problem until you throw in his intense flame power. Tokoyami has had trouble with police and low power hero’s in the past. Some part of him is still scared Endeavor would find some reason to go after him and arrest him, he’ll do anything to avoid that. On top of that there has been some hinting that endeavor follows an antiheteromorph rhetoric and is a misogisnist based on things dabi and shoto have said (that they probably learned from him). He’s just an old man with an old backwards point of view.

Then there is the biggest issue in that he is shoto’s abuser. Tokoyami is fiercely protective of his friends, we know this, and I do not doubt he would hold a grudge against endeavor for abusing shoto for years. Tokoyami does believe people can be redeemed, but he doesn’t want endeavor anywhere near himself or shoto. Even if Endeavor never lifted a finger towards Shoto again it doesn’t take away all the hurt of the past. Shoto shouldn’t be subjected to his presence nor does Tokoyami want to be in his presence either. If Endeavor didn’t care about hurting his own son he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt tokoyami. Dark Shadow is even worse about this because they struggle with split thinking and view him as 100% evil. They logically understand he is trying to change but their rage overwhelms them in this case and they would throw hands if they could.

Technically that is the end of my answer but it’s interesting that hawks is so close to endeavor and tokoyami avidly dislikes him. I also find it odd that hawks is still willing to be close to endeavor when he himself has abused by his father the takami theif. I know endeavor is the one who inspired him to be a hero and he’s the one who put takami in jail…but still. Maybe it’s because hawks only met endeavor after his redemption arc had begun, he’s only ever seen the better side of him. I feel like tokoyami would keep his dislike of endeavor to himself to keep from hurting hawks feelings. Which isn’t great because that’s still kinda suppressing your feelings and he needs to stop doing that just because he doesn’t want to upset other people. I bet dark shadow would blurt it out and they would have a real conversation about him.

[shdo-xplosion]

flash bang - e. & s. todoroki ⋆·˚ ༘ *

E. TODOROKI x ADOPTED!READER x S. TODOROKI

warnings: 2.1k explicit! pseudocest, fem-bodied reader, spitroasting, office sex, mild jealousy, rough blow jobs, squirting, creampie, sho and enji don’t actually touch each other during the do, reader is older than sho (unspecified ages), reader is adopted but nothing about it is detailed

terms used: “father, brother, little brother, daddy, sister, sister-cunt”

note: sorry i was possessed. i have no other explanation. if you like this filth, let me know! and if i missed any warnings also let me know :3

This isn’t the first time the three of you have posed as a family, standing closely in front of the camera as you’re blinded by every flash. You let the director shift your positions, turning Enji just a little more to the right, placing Shouto’s crossed arms in a very precise way, bending down to nudge your legs apart just a little bit. Your brother shifts uncomfortably on your left as your father lets out a smoky huff of disapproval.

This isn’t the first time the three of you have posed, no, but it is the first time in front of a camera since…

“Is it necessary to touch her legs like that?” Enji growls. You feel him grow warm from the fire building in his chest.

The photographer chuckles and stands, pointing at the dragon of a man with a grin. “Overprotective father. I like it! Makes that glare of yours even scarier!”

“It isn’t about me being overprotective. It’s about you being inappropriate with my daughter.”

The other man’s smile falters, his throat bobbing with a swallow, but Shouto steps in like he always does when given the chance to undermine Enji.

��Don’t mind my dad. He can get… sensitive when it comes to this one.” A cold hand on your shoulder fights to balance out the heat on your other side.

Smirking, you can’t help but add, “I’m a bit of a touchy subject.” Enji clears his throat a bit too loudly and Shouto’s fingers dig into the skin above your collarbone.

When the photographer is far enough away, Enji mutters a scathing, “brat,” under his breath, but it only makes you giggle.

Countless camera flashes, more uncomfortable poses that include squatting and flexing and jumping on your brother’s back. The Todoroki’s are famous and fearsome, not just in Japan but all over the world. Most photoshoots and interviews only show that intimidating side of your family, so it’s refreshing to work with someone who wants to make all of you look more personable, even if there are also plenty of serious shots in the mix.

Of course you aren’t actually a blood related member, but you’ve been with them long enough now that you may as well be. Your quirk may be different as well as your overall demeanor, but the closeness you feel to them—specifically to Enji and Shouto—is even thicker than blood.

There is another fluid you could compare it to, though…

Shouto’s agency building is the closest safe space. His staff is more than accustomed to seeing you, whether it’s whenever you walk in alone, with Sho, Enji, or both. Nobody thinks anything of it. Because nobody knows what goes on, on the top floor.

“You thought you were being so cute back there,” Shouto scoffs.

You grin, bat your eyes at him, “I don’t have to think about it. I know I’m cute.”

He catches your hand before you can tap him on the nose, a habit of yours that he loathes, but it’s the way his eyes widen for a split second before narrowing that makes you keep wanting to do it.

You can see your father roll his eyes without even looking at him, hear the exasperated grunt in his throat.

“Arrogance isn’t an endearing quality, you know,” he says while stepping toward you. His palm covers your entire cheek when he touches your face, and your stomach begins to sizzle in a familiar fashion.

You slip away from both of them, arguing, “I wouldn’t call it arrogance.”

“No?” Shouto looks and sounds unimpressed. “What would you call it then?”

The desk that Shouto almost never uses is meticulously clean as you boost yourself up on it, sitting on the edge and throwing one leg over the other.

“Confidence…” Your sweet smile turns mischievous. “… that I have the two of you wrapped around my little finger.”

Shouto moves first which is typical of him. He tries to be stoic, but he still has the impulse control of a man in his twenties. Enji, however, has more self control, watching as his youngest son peels your legs apart to slot himself between them.

One chilled hand gripping your thigh while hot fingers gently wrap around your throat. He’s trying to prove that he has more power, but all it takes is palming Shouto’s growing hard-on for him to buckle.

“Not fair,” he hisses as he shifts his hips forward.

“Oh?” You give him a quick squeeze, enjoying the way he sags forward. Too easy.

So close to Shouto, you never even realized your father made his way around the desk, not until you feel him seize your waist and tug you backward. You slide away from Shouto with a yelp, able to see dissatisfaction all over his handsome face.

Towering over you, Enji rips your head backwards and the pull of it leaves your mouth hanging open wide enough for him to spit in.

“You’re the one ready to fall to your knees at a moment’s notice.” He reaches down the front of your shirt to grope your tits while Shouto busies himself with your shoes and shorts. “Always eager to take daddy’s cock.”

“And for little brother to eat your pussy,” Shouto adds when he shoves your knees wide apart. “You think you’ve got us wrapped around your finger?” He leans down and presses his mouth to the skimpy underwear that barely covers your cunt. You can feel the weight of his tongue pressing against the material, saliva soaking through it and adding to the wetness that’s already formed between your legs.

You open your eyes when you feel something slap against your cheek, Enji’s cockhead leaving a bead of sticky pre on your skin. Your head is already hanging off the desk now that you’re flat on your back, and though he has to bend his knees a little, your father easily guides himself into your waiting mouth.

“Hard to be a brat when your mouth is full, hm?” he mocks, slowly pressing himself forward. “That’s a good girl, open wide for daddy.”

Your gag reflex causes saliva to pool behind your tongue as tears prick your eyes. The stretch is always uncomfortable, but knowing it’s Enji’s girth that’s forcing your jaws apart makes slick arousal leak from your pussy.

Shouto chuckles while playing in the mess, cold fingers dancing up and down your slit and purposely bumping your swelling bud. You let out a muffled whine and pathetically kick out, begging for more of his touch, and thank god he understands, middle and index fingers pushing past your entrance.

The moan you let out vibrates around Enji, a guttural noise rumbling from his chest. He pulls out a little only to tilt his hips forward even further, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and then slipping into the tight sleeve of it.

You can’t breathe for a moment, both because Enji’s length is impeding your airway and because Shouto is curling his fingers so nicely, pressing against just the right spot.

The father and son rarely interact during these escapades, yet somehow they make an incredible team, doing everything in tandem, making you melt at the same time in different ways.

The sounds you make are awful. Gurgles and pitiful moans and whimpers escape you, and it only gets worse when Shouto pulls his cock free of his uniform and rubs his tip between your folds. Up and down, up down, slapping himself against your clit until drops of your arousal start splashing back toward him.

He’s slow to push into your heat, feels like it takes forever, but he’s so hot with those two-toned tresses hanging in his face, licking his lips as he stares down at where you’re connected.

“Be polite, Shouto,” Enji chides. It’s a rare occurrence that he actually addresses him like this. “Tell your sister how good she feels.”

Shouto groans, pulling his hips back before thrusting forward quickly.

“Feel so good,” he pants heavily, already drunk off of you, “love this sister-cunt.”

You can’t respond with Enji’s dick sliding in and out of your mouth, but you do wrap your legs around Shouto’s waist, pulling him tighter against you. It causes him to start rutting into you, quick shallow thrusts, unable to rock his hips back, only forward so that he keeps hitting your cervix. It feels like someone pressing on a bruise, painful but oddly satisfying, and all you can think is that you want him deeper. Deeper. Until all he can do is gyrate, stirring your insides.

All the while Enji keeps fucking your throat, your drool like slime all over him. You’re able to take in a deep gasp when he pulls out, but it’s only so he can lift his cock and dip his balls in your mouth.

“My sweet baby,” he rumbles as you use the tip of your tongue to drag up the seam of his sack. “Look at you, just letting me make a mess on your face.”

And he’s right. You’re filthy with tears and snot and pre-cum, and you love it. It makes your pussy throb around Shouto, still buried to the hilt. “Suck on them, mmm, such a dirty mouth…”

One ball and then the other, you alternate back and forth until Enji reaches down to pull your bottom jaw down further, using his free hand to work his fat sack into your mouth—swollen and full of cum. You can’t wait for him to spill it all over you.

You can’t breathe, eyes rolling as dizziness sets in. Shouto is playing with your clit, rubbing in circles then slapping it. You gush squirt, feel the puddle beneath you, and when you cum even more comes out, a fountain. Your brother finds the strength to yank himself free, bending down to attach his mouth to your cunt and swallow all the fluid leaking from you, shoving a finger in your sensitive core and moving frantically so that he can drink more of you. He’s like a dog dying of thirst, sucking your clit. Your pleasure paired with your lightheadedness is sure to make you pass out, but your father’s warm hand slaps your face hard enough to sting.

“Not yet, baby. Want you awake so you can swallow all of me.”

He gives you a break, feeling up your tits as you breathe heavily, each rise and fall of your chest making your hardened nipples chafe against his rough palms.

Still eating you out, Shouto starts fisting his cock. You can feel the movement rocking his body, pushing his face against you in a rhythmic pattern. You’ve just stopped panting when he surges upward and slides back inside of you, just in time to cum.

Your brother always makes the prettiest noises when he climaxes. He throws his head back to expose his pale neck, something between a whimper and a groan climbing from his throat. His hips stutter, and his fingers spasm where they grip your thighs, and then he falls forward, Enji moving just in time so that his youngest can bury his face in your chest.

Enji taps your face a few more times, urging you to open your mouth again. The way that Shouto gently sucks your nipples makes it slightly easier to take the huge cock that’s sliding in and out of your throat. Your body is tired, and you’re not sure when or what your last coherent thought was.

Even in his spent state Shouto has the presence of mind to rub your clit, pulling more of your juices from you until you cum around his fingers one more time. You moan around Enji’s throbbing cock, back arching and forcing it further down. A warm hand wraps around your neck, and Enji grunts obscenities at the feeling of his dick moving beneath his own palm.

“That’s daddy’s good girl,” he praises, hips moving faster, uncaring of the ache in your jaw, the tears pouring from your eyes. “Almost there, fuck, take… all of it…”

He buries himself as deep as he can, making your whole body convulse as his hot seed shoots down your throat and into your tummy. Enji pulls out, leaving you so empty yet so full. Your pussy feels raw and swollen, Shouto’s cum still dripping out of you, and your mouth is coated with spitty mucus and cum, strings of it all over your face.

It always starts with you being mouthy and ends with you splayed out and ruined. Just another sordid tryst you’re sure you’ll have to atone for one day.

If there’s one thing the Todoroki’s are good at, though, it’s asking for forgiveness.

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize or repost my work to any other platform.

[artemis32]

Transilience II

Yandere Todoroki family x reader

Eventually huh?? this took forever but are any of us actually surprised :))

I’m not really all that happy with this but oh well, enjoy

word count - 11.3k

****

tw: mentions of past child neglect, panic attacks, abuse, stalking, kidnapping, the whole family is literally their own tw (they’re horrible but i love them)

****

part I

bnha masterlist

****

****

A part of you, however miniscule, wished you’d remained unconscious - for another month at least.

That would be better than having to sit through what must have been the hundredth police interview you’d had since waking up. They were never-ending - as soon as the doctors had cleared you and allowed more than two visitors at a time, they’d been flowing through the door as if drawn to you.

You supposed that it was necessary, you just wished that they would stop asking you the same three questions.

Did you see anything strange before you were taken? Yes, a bright light.

Do you remember their faces? No, I was unconscious.

How did you develop a quirk? 

That last question annoyed you the most. How were you supposed to know how you magically developed a quirk? Honestly, it was ridiculous - they asked you a question, you answered truthfully, but they wouldn’t leave you alone.

Regardless, you were looking forward to being released. Not that you were overly eager to return home, especially since you were unsure of what awaited you. You just wanted to be back in a more familiar environment - one that didn’t have people flowing in and out as they pleased.

Though now that you had a quirk, there had been mentions of keeping you under surveillance for a while longer. While you understood their concerns, you were already irritable enough from having people in your space at all hours of the day. Any longer and you might well lose your mind.

Ironically enough, that was what everyone had been trying to avoid.

Having a quirk was incredible, but having developed it so late in your life, you had less control over it than a child would, especially since it wasn’t exactly natural - or at least that’s what the doctors had been telling you.

Besides mentioning that you should be kept under surveillance, there had been no mention of exactly who would be watching you. 

You didn’t want to know, but you were sure that they wouldn’t grant you the kindness of ignorance.

****

Returning home wasn’t as exciting as you’d thought it would be.

It wasn’t as if you were expecting a welcoming party. You weren’t even expecting anyone to be home. But you thought something might have changed. Any change, even a negative one, would have been better than everything remaining exactly the same.

You dumped your bag on the floor as soon as you stepped into your bedroom, nudging the door closed with your foot. 

Everything looked the same. Not one item was out of place.

Your bed was still neatly made, windows cracked open slightly, books stacked high on your desk. Even the jacket you’d tossed onto your bed before leaving was laying in the exact same place.

Shoulders slumped, you made your way to your bed and sat down heavily. 

While your family may not have treated you well, at least they hadn’t shoved you into some small cupboard. Even if he hadn’t treated you well, your bedroom and belongings were the only things you felt as though you owed your father for - a kindness he probably didn’t owe you.

Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d even notice if you purchased something. His overflowing mountain of money would be difficult to dent, even if you went on an unrestricted spree with his card.

You flopped down on your back, staring up at the ceiling. 

The walls were a neutral light grey, nothing overly colourful or special. 

Just like you.

You flinched at your own thoughts.

The only thing that gave your room any personality was the glow in the dark stars stuck to your ceiling.

Years prior, Fuyumi had offered to redecorate your room. You had a feeling that it wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart.

You’d felt panicked and hurriedly told her no. She’d given you a strange look, one that you had ignored at the time.

No matter what changed throughout the years, your room was one thing you’d fight to keep the same.

****

Touya had spent a lot of time with you before he died.

Personally, you’d always thought that you were his favourite sibling. Not that you ever had the chance to ask.

He would spend his entire evening with you, everyday like clockwork.

At dinner, he’d sit to your right, between you and your mother. Shoto would sit to your left, next to your father.

He would talk to you, ask about your day, about what you’d done at school.

The fact that you were four and your stories hardly varied day-to-day never bothered him. He’d listen to your rambling words with rapt attention, gaze never straying from your own.

Touya took over your nightly routine when Rei began slipping. He kept you away from her when he saw the subtle hatred she had for you.

After dinner, he’d make sure you bathed, dressed, and brushed your teeth. He would occasionally read to you too, but often he’d just sit with you until you fell asleep, softly petting your hair.

One day, he decided that your ceiling was far too boring, and he surprised you with a pack of glow in the dark stars, as well as some themed stickers and a large bag of candy.

They were cheap, and for anyone else they may not have meant much, but for you, especially in the years following those, it meant the world.

You had many of his personal items from before he died too, not willing to part with them.

After a few years had passed, they’d been shoved to the back of your closet. While you wanted to hold on to a piece of him, it became difficult. Thinking about the fact that you’d lost the only person in your life that could tolerate you wasn’t a pleasant thought.

Regardless, the stars stayed. The stickers peeled away as the paint flaked, and his belongings were stowed away, but the stars remained.

****

After staring up at the ceiling became more of a chore than a bored pastime, you sat up and looked around your room.

It had been nearly three hours since you’d gotten back, and still, no one was home. 

Usually, you’d stay in your room or leave the house, but after everything that had happened, you were apprehensive of straying too far away from the safety of your house. It may not have been the most welcoming, but it was better than whatever lay beyond the front door.

You didn’t want to test your luck anymore than you already had.

Staying in your room wasn’t high on your list of priorities either. 

Well, I am kind of hungry, and no one else is home... Might as well raid the kitchen while I have the chance.

The sound of your footsteps is muffled by your slippers, the dull thuds filling up the empty hallways as you make your way to the kitchen.

You take your time searching through the pantry and fridge, in no hurry to scamper back to the confines of your bedroom. Your parents may have been kind enough to give you a decent sized room, but they were sure to shove you into the furthest, loneliest area of the house.

Perhaps that hadn’t been their intention originally - your room was right next to what used to be Touya’s bedroom. Of course, after he passed, your small bubble of safety grew to become incredibly isolated. Your father had his own wing of the house, even more solitary than your own with only Shoto nearby for company - not that your brother wanted to spend more time with him than what was required - and Fuyumi and Natsuo had their own comfortable wing of the house.

So you took your time in the common area, sitting cross legged on the floor as you peered around the bottom shelves of the large pantry.

Twenty minutes later, you decided on a large bowl of fruit. Just as you were contemplating whether or not to eat it in the kitchen or return to your room, someone let out a noise behind you. You turned, shoulders tensed, and-

“Shoto.”

Your twin brother, older by no more than ten minutes, looks almost shocked to see you, his brows lifted slightly, covered by his dual coloured fringe.

He says nothing, still silently staring at you. 

His presence makes you uncomfortable. He was little more than a stranger to you at this point - you hadn’t held a conversation with him for longer than five minutes in years, especially when he seemed to stare you down silently for minutes every time you tried to talk to him.

“I was just looking for something to eat. The food in the hospital isn’t great and I’m hungry, so…”

You're not sure why you feel the need to justify your presence to him, but something about the way he’s staring at you compels you to speak even if you have nothing to say.

The silence between the two of you becomes almost unbearable, and you're about to say something, anything to fill the oppressive silence, but the two of you are interrupted.

Your father walks in, seemingly preoccupied with his thoughts. Though he seems distracted, he notices the two of you almost immediately. The atmosphere instantly shifts. It had been awkward before, but now, it was ten times worse.

“Ah, Shoto…” he trails off awkwardly, barely acknowledging you.

He seems uncomfortable, unwilling to meet your eyes, keeping his gaze trained on the floor.

A part of you wants to feel satisfied with his reaction, his seemingly ashamed attitude. But all you feel is an overwhelming sense of anger, of injustice.

After everything that’s happened, he still won’t even look me in the eye. Pathetic.

Just as Shoto opens his mouth to speak, just as you prepare to excuse yourself, the three of you are interrupted, Fuyumi walking in with her head down, going through her bag in search of something.

“Dad, have you seen my keys, I could have sworn they were just in my bag…”

She doesn’t take note of the uncomfortable tension until she looks up, her sentence dying out halfway through.

“Oh.”

Her arms drop down to her sides as the four of you stand silently, each person too lost in their own discomfort to say anything.

Fuyumi is the first to break the silence, and she shocks you by addressing you directly.

“I, um, I’m making dinner tonight, if you’re feeling up to it, I hope you’ll join us. Natsuo and Shoto are both home too, so everyone will be there.”

You aren't sure what to say, so you just nod, still staring at your father. 

He’s the first to leave, walking out without a word. You leave next, abandoning your snack on the counter in favour of returning to your room. Your hunger had long since disappeared, replaced instead by a sick feeling at the bottom of your stomach.

****

Your quirk wasn’t anything particularly exciting - not that you would ever complain. 

A mundane, somewhat common quirk was better than nothing, you knew that better than anyone.

Nevertheless, you knew that your quirk was relatively average, and genetically speaking, it made sense. Considering the fact that your father was a pyrokinetic and your mother was a cryokinetic, it felt as though you were the middle ground between the two. 

Your quirk was the most simplified version of theirs that could be found.

Telekinesis wasn’t an awful quirk by any stretch, and the doctors, after several rounds of tests, had reassured you of that. They had told you that currently, you were at the level of a child, a five-year-old who had just received their quirk.

With time, you would gain better control over your abilities, pushing the boundaries and perhaps you could even surpass your father in terms of control.

The doctor who had dealt with you the most often - Dr Takahashi, or Kosuke as he insisted - was someone who specialised in unusual quirk development. He seemed delighted when he first met you, his eyes sparkling with a childlike wonder you hadn’t seen in many years. If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought that he was more excited about your sudden quirk development than you were.

He conducted many tests and told you many things, each more anxiety inducing than the last. He made it clear that his goal consisted of two things. 

First, to make sure that you could properly handle your quirk. No one wanted you to accidentally injure someone else or yourself because your emotions ran wild and you lost control.

Secondly, he wanted to learn as much about your sudden and impossible development of a quirk as he could. He told you that he had high hopes for the development of your quirk, that he was eager to see exactly how versatile it could be. He hoped, with enough time and control, you’d be able to manipulate and influence things on a molecular level. 

You were just content to have a quirk, to be normal. You didn’t care much for becoming someone’s science experiment.

He’d been transparent about his motives from the very first day you’d met him, and that meant that you trusted him far more than you trusted any of the other doctors who claimed they wanted to help you. You knew they all held a morbid curiosity towards you and your abilities, but at least Kosuke was honest about it.

You knew better than to trust them.

****

The atmosphere was tense and oppressive. You shift in your seat slightly, eyes trained on the tabletop, as if it would crack open and suck you in at any moment. You wished it would.

Fuyumi clears her throat, leaning forward slightly. 

“How’s the food? Natsuo told me all of your favourites, I tried to make them as accurate as I could. I’m not sure how you usually like it...”

She trailed off. 

It didn’t seem possible, but somehow, her comment had made dinner even more awkward.

And you were about to make it worse. Much worse.

After a moment of silence, you spoke quietly, still staring down at the tabletop.

“The doctors said that it would be best if I remained under observation for a while, I’m sure you’re all aware of that.”

There’s a pause, almost questioning, but you don’t wait for anyone to speak.

“They recommended - or rather, they were advised - that I stay with... professionals.”

Your family seems to be holding their breath, even your father is completely focused on your words. You don’t want to disrupt the calm that has settled over your home. 

It may have been tense and awkward, but it was better than having to walk on eggshells around your own home. But regardless of what you wanted, this was something that had to be said - there was just no avoiding it.

“They advised that I be sent to UA. The principal, Mr Nezu, has asked for me to be placed under his watch for the next few months at least. Well, not under him specifically - rather, with All Might.”

The air became uncomfortably warm, not that it affected anyone but you.

Fuyumi and Natsuo both had ice quirks, and Shoto was perfectly capable of regulating his own body temperature. None of them felt the scorching heat emanating from where your father sat at the head of the table.

You lean back in your seat, try to escape the waves of scalding air now filling the room.

“Absolutely not.”

Remaining silent seems to backfire, fueling your father’s anger.

He slams his hand down onto the tabletop, cutlery and crockery rattling from the force. You’re sure the table is cracked.

“You will not be going. Not only are you unstable, unable to control your... quirk, you’re also my child, and I won’t have that spectacle of a hero watching over you.”

The word hero is spat with such venom that you’re sure it’ll burn through the tabletop, much like his hand, steaming and smouldering as it sinks into the expensive wood as if it’s nothing more than butter.

A small part of you thinks that you should be offended by his words, by the fact that he seems to view you more as property than a living, breathing human being. You are offended.

But you’re more concerned with his not-so-subtle jab at your quirk.

Maybe you should bite your tongue, accept his words and look for another solution. You should at least try and keep the peace. You should, you know you should.

But you don’t.

“I know my quirk is unstable, that’s why I need to be with people that actually know how to help me control it. I’m not going to this school to have fun, I’m going there because I don’t have a choice.” 

Your voice remains steady and even, but you can tell that it burns, much like Endeavour's flames. 

Ironically, that’s probably as close as you’d ever get to having any similarities to your father.

Your siblings still remain silent, watching as your father’s anger unfolds before them.

He stands, towering over you, trying to intimidate you. 

It works. No matter how much you may have changed, physically or mentally, you were still scared of your father. But this was something you couldn’t back down on.

“You will not be going. That is final.”

Years of being treated as a pariah in your home has taught you a lot, namely how to control your emotions in difficult times. But no matter how much control you display outwardly, your newfound quirk betrays your mental state.

“Like I’ve already said, neither of us really have a choice. I’m going, whether you like it or not.” 

Fuyumi finally speaks up, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Calm down, calm down, you’re making everything fly around.”

True to her words, the cutlery and crockery are floating around the room, spinning rapidly around your heads. 

You take a deep breath and everything falls, landing with a crash back on to the table. 

Without waiting for permission, you stand up from your seat and leave, escaping to your room.

You had a lot of packing to do.

****

You decided that packing would have to wait until things calmed down, not wanting to incite another argument with your father. Rather, you settled for laying in bed, arms straight by your sides as you lay on your back.

Sleep had eluded you for the past few hours, but you couldn’t bring yourself to sit up or leave your room. So you lay there in silence, trying not to think about anything specific, instead letting your mind stagnate.

What would mom say if she was here now?

No, not mom - Touya, what would he say?

Your mind is a mess, and you try in vain to sort through the jumbled pieces. 

Putting on a tough face was easy enough when the people around you didn’t care about making sure that you were okay, and usually you’d be able to sort through your problems and inner turmoil on your own.

Really, nothing has changed, so you should be able to think straight. But you can’t. 

For some reason, one you’re blind to, you feel overwhelmed, and your breathing turns laboured.

You lay there in the dark, the sound of your panicked gasps filling the room, hot tears rolling down your temples.

It had been a while since you’d last felt this way, felt so helpless and agitated. You roll onto your side, curling into a tight ball, arms and legs tucked tightly into your stomach.

Scrunching your eyes closed, you try to take a deep breath, and it shudders through you, shaking your crumpled frame.

The past few days had engulfed you, but you’d been too caught up in the moment to truly process anything. Evidently, this was the moment that everything hit you at once.

You realise now how scared you were, how out of depth you felt.

Touya’s hand was warm on your shoulder, his arm wrapped around you tightly. He always felt like a furnace, as if he had a constant fever. It felt nice; comforting and familiar.

“Don’t cry, shh, shh.”

His calloused palm smooths itself over your cheek, wiping away the tears staining your face.

“Come on, pretty girl, don’t cry now.”

You sniffled slightly, clutching his shirt in your fists, burying your face into his chest.

“They hate me.”

He sighs heavily, arms coming to wrap around your head. He’s silent for a moment, contemplating his words carefully.

“They don’t hate you, I promise you. Hey, look at me.” He demands.

You do. 

Of course you do. You do whatever Touya asks of you - he says jump, you say how high.

He gives you a soft smile, ruffling your hair lightly.

“I love you. Tell me.”

“You love me Touya.”

“Is that enough?”

You nod in the self-assured way that all children do, so sure that your big brother would never lie to you.

“They might not show it in the best way, but they love you too. Dad, Fuyumi, Natsuo, Shoto - they all love you so much, too much.”

You’re hesitant, unsure of his words. But he’s never lied to you, so you try your best to believe him.

He cracks a smile, the large grin splitting his face, eyes wrinkling on either side.

“But I love you more, you got that?”

He lightly digs his fingers into your sides, and you screech out loudly, giggling as he continues his assault.

“I didn’t hear a yes.” He says in a singsong voice.

“Y-Yes Touya-nii, I understand, I understand!”

You manage to get the words out through small shrieks and giggles, trying to slink out of his grasp. 

He pulls you close, smothering you in a hug. He sighs heavily when you hug him back, the puff of air he lets out mussing your hair. 

The memory calms you, breathing evened out, tears drying up.

You had many memories with Touya, but that one, one from mere months before he’d passed - it always stuck out more than the others. 

It was your happy place, something you thought of whenever you got too overwhelmed.

You still feel overwhelmed and anxious, but at least you’ve stopped shaking. 

The dried tears make your cheeks feel sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to move, let alone get up and wash your face.

You fall asleep still curled up in a tight ball, limbs tucked into your stomach.

****

It had been a week since you’d told your father what Dr Takahashi had advised, and you’d gone out of your way to avoid him and your siblings. 

You’d been cooped up in your room for the vast majority of that time, leaving only to use the bathroom or raid the kitchen for food. 

It felt cowardly to hide away and avoid your problems, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when dealing with it caused more problems than it solved. 

Distractions didn’t come easily. You’d spent more time than you’d care to admit staring at the ceiling or out the window. The view had lost its charm after the second day.

Now, a week later, you decided to stop hiding away like a hermit and instead act as if nothing had happened - or at least act more maturely than you had been.

Still, you left your room cautiously, peering down the long, dark hallways as if there was a terrible monster lurking within your house. 

You suppose that in a sense, there probably was.

The kitchen, thankfully, was deserted, quiet and clean as it usually was.

You distract yourself by filling a glass with water, the clear trickle of water the only sound in the empty space.

Leaning against the cool countertop, you slowly sip at your drink, eyeing the spotless kitchen with a disinterested eye. 

If nothing else, Fuyumi had filled your mother’s shoes well, having taken over as somewhat of a caretaker after she had been sent away. Your father employed various maids and chefs on occasion, but Fuyumi oversaw a lot of the household work when she was available.

Similarly to your mother, she never showed much interest in you beyond feeding you. 

The thought should have stung, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel very strongly about it anymore.

You’re so deep in thought, you barely notice your father entering the kitchen, Fuyumi close behind him, both of them carrying grocery bags while holding a quiet conversation.

The sight of him, standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms filled with bags of produce; it throws you off.

He looks so normal, so domestic, it almost convinces you that he isn’t as bad as you’ve always believed - that none of them are so bad. He’s dressed casually, jeans and a black polo neck shirt. 

Sometimes, if you pretend hard enough, you can almost trick yourself into believing that you’re part of a normal, happy family. One that has dinner together every night, one that holds family trips and movie nights, a family that actually cares about one another beyond whatever twisted sense of duty your family seems to have.

Of course, that wasn’t possible, and the reality of your family was quite different.

Fuyumi is next to you now, eagerly attempting to converse with you, her hand resting gently against your forearm and she leans closer.

You flinch back, only slightly, but she notices nonetheless, retracting her hand a moment later. 

Now’s as good a time as any.

Whatever your sister had been saying falls on deaf ears as you interrupt her, addressing your father with a clipped tone.

“About the other day - have you changed your mind yet?”

It’s innocent enough, posed as a nonchalant inquiry, one brought up in passing. 

Only, you’re gripping the glass in a vice grip, knuckles turning white, and your eyebrows are slightly pinched together, wrinkling faintly. 

Truthfully, you feel as though you’ve been wound up tight, like a spring. It’s all you can do to stop your hands from shaking - even worse, you have a suffocating hold over your quirk, forcing it down even as you panic.

Enji hums lightly, not looking your way as he sets his bags down on the countertop opposite you, his broad shoulders relaxed, his demeanour passive.

He turns to you then, and looks you in the eye. He searches your face, looking for something for a moment, and he seems to find whatever it is he’s looking for because he huffs and shakes his head, slowly making his way towards you with heavy steps.

Your father approaches you as if you’re some frightened animal, stopping a few steps away as he crosses his arms over his broad chest, muscles bulging, straining against the fabric of his shirt.

“If you truly need to train as the doctors have said, then you may train with me.”

Protests begin falling from your lips before he’s even finished his sentence, and you see his eyebrows quirk with irritation.

He raises a massive palm, silencing you with one look while he shakes his head. 

If you didn’t know any better, you might have said he looked disappointed.

He speaks again once he’s sure you won’t interrupt.

"You'll train with me or not at all."

Something flashes inside of you then - anger or frustration or something similar. His selfishness truly knew no bounds, that much was clear.

"I'm not Shoto - I’m not Touya. You treat me like him - you treat me worse than you treated him, but no matter how much you force it, I am not him."

He steps forward, moving faster than your brain can register.

The entire left side of your face burns, stinging from the force of his calloused palm connecting with your cheek.

There’s a ringing in your left ear, and a gentle prod of your tongue reveals that your lip has been split open. You feel disorientated, and you’re surprised you didn’t fall down when he hit you.

You laugh then. Silently, humourlessly.

When your gaze meets his, he looks shocked, all the blood having left his face. A quick glance at Fuyumi shows that she’s just as shocked, one hand clenched in front of her stomach, the other covering her mouth which is twisted into a horrified expression. 

Your father opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off before he gets the words out.

“You like to act like it, but you haven’t changed one bit.”

Pushing past him is easy, he doesn't try to stop you, not even calling out to you as you grab a jacket from the coat rack near the entrance and leave, slamming the front door behind you.

****

You walk around aimlessly, staring blankly into the storefronts of various shops.

After you’d left home, you got on to the first bus that had come by, getting off only once the walls had felt more suffocating than safe.

Where you were now, you had no idea.

Some or other business district, if you had to wager a guess. There were a few smaller stores and bars littered out amongst the highrise buildings, though the streets were mostly deserted. You hadn’t seen very many people, even after hours of meandering about.

You’d been walking around for a while, and the sun was close to setting now. The buildings around you were bathed in an eerie red-tinged glow, almost as if covered in blood. 

As much as you hated to admit it, you were lost.

You were lost, and you didn’t have a phone. Hell, you barely had enough money for the bus fare back home - however far that may be.

Despite the dire circumstances, your panic felt strangely muted. Perhaps you’d exhausted your quota for negative emotions in this lifetime. The thought amused you.

Your face ached, and if you have to guess, your cheek was probably swollen and red from where your father had struck you hours earlier.

Trying to ignore the pain had worked well at first, though that was probably because you were running high off of adrenaline. Now though, the pain had set in, knocking you in full force, and your jaw throbbed horribly.

After weighing your options carefully, you decided that the best use for the last of your money would be to buy an ice pack.

You’d manage to find a way home, one way or another. Or maybe you’d continue to wander around for a while longer. Either way, the insistent pounding in your face was more important than returning home.

Finding a convenience store was easy enough, and you slinked into the first one you came across, the bell above the door jingling loudly. The noise made your head hurt.

For a store in the centre of a business district, it was surprisingly unkempt. Lights flickered oddly, the windows were mostly blacked out, and there were piles of merchandise stacked precariously throughout the small store.

You ignored your sense of unease, instead slipping through the store silently, making a beeline towards the freezers shoved in the corner. 

The store may have been small and cramped, but at least it was clean. The sliding door moves smoothly, and a gush of cold air hits you as you reach into the freezer, grabbing the first ice pack you see.

As you make your way through the store, browsing to see if they had any snacks cheap enough to fit in your restricted budget, the bell above the door tinkled. You wince softly, ears still ringing loudly.

The old man really didn’t hold back. He hasn’t hit me like that in years.

Finally, you find a stack of cheap energy bars near the opposite end of the store. Grabbing a few, you make your way towards the counter.

The customer before you stands hunched over, a hood covering his head. He drops two cans and a packet of chips on the counter, tossing the money down afterwards. The cashier seems bored, his face flat and eyes dead.

After handing back his change, the cashier's eyes slide to you and you step forward, nearly colliding with the customer in front of you.

“Watch it.” He hisses at you.

You mumble out a few apologies, head tilted downwards, eyes trained on the floor.

He scoffs and makes his way to the door, meeting who you assume to be a friend. He throws you one last dirty look before the pair leaves, the door slamming shut behind them with a bang.

You don’t bother trying to hold a conversation with the man behind the counter, instead just pushing your items forward gently and handing him the money. You’re quick to leave after you’ve paid.

The cold of the ice pack seems to seep into your bones, numbing your cheek and jaw. It feels amazing, and you have to stop yourself from moaning out as it numbs the pain.

You curse yourself for not carrying more money - painkillers would have helped a lot at the moment, but you had to settle for a quickly melting ice pack and a cheap snack instead.

The few energy bars you’d managed to pay for were shoved into the pocket of your jacket, one hand clenching them, the other holding the pack to your face. 

You pull the door open and dart outside, careful not to trip on the slight step in front of the store. You stand still for a moment, deliberating on which direction you should take.

A glance to your right, towards the busier part of the neighbourhood, shows the two men from earlier, lingering near the entrance of the store. You quickly decide to go left, hopping down the step and hurrying along the sidewalk.

As reluctant as you were to go towards the less populated area of the city centre, you weren’t eager to walk past the man from earlier either. Something about him made your hair stand on end.

Checking left and then right, you quickly dart across the road, risking a glance behind you.

The two men are gone.

You huff out a light laugh.

I’m so paranoid. God, that’s so embarrassing.

Regardless of the now empty street, you continue on in the direction you were walking. Having a quirk, especially one like yours, it made you feel safe. Even though you didn’t have the best control over it, it was better than being quirkless and defenceless.

The sun had set by now, and though there were many street lights, very few of them actually worked. The street was bathed in darkness, though your eyes adjusted quickly.

You should be concerned, you know that you should be - you’re alone, lost and in pain. But you feel somewhat weightless, almost free. 

There’s a small skip in your step as you walk down the winding street, taking random turns and corners, not paying attention to your surroundings as much as you should. By now, the roads have become narrower, the buildings taller.

You’re in your own head, playing over the events of the day, when you hear the slight patter of footsteps behind you. 

Something in your gait falters, and you fight the urge to stop and look around. 

Perhaps you’re being paranoid, perhaps it’s nothing, but you’d rather be sure.

There are no corners or turns for a while, the street you’re on is long and narrow, so you decide to slip through the alleyway up ahead.

As you turn into the alleyway, you chance a glance behind you.

Nothing.

There’s no one there.

The street is empty, devoid of any life form other than you.

You clench the now limp ice pack in your hand, shaking your head slightly.

When did I become so paranoid?

You puff out your cheeks, holding your breath for a long moment before slowly releasing it. Under different circumstances, you might have laughed at yourself.

A short glance into the alleyway confirms that it leads to the next street over, so you decide to take it as a shortcut instead of walking around the cluster of buildings. It’s nearly pitch black, the dim light from the street lamps not reaching this far into the backstreets.

Stuffing the melted ice pack into your other pocket, you relax your shoulders and start making your way through the alleyway.

The sound of your footsteps echoes around you, bouncing from wall to wall.

You’re about a third of the way through the alley when your skin prickles painfully and you stop dead in your tracks.

There’s no noise, no movement, nothing to warrant the sudden fear you feel. But as much as you try to convince yourself, you can’t seem to move, rooted in place with terror.

Sucking up your pride, you turn to leave the alley and-

You’re face to face with a man.

At least, you assume it’s a man.

He’s tall, but that’s the extent of what you can see. His face is covered by a mask and he wears a brightly coloured coat and a ridiculous looking tophat. There isn’t even a sliver of skin visible, every inch of him covered by extravagant clothing.

His fashion choices are the least of your worries though. He stands casually, leaning against the wall of the alleyway.

It might have looked like he was outside for a break or some air, but the way his body is positioned, leaning towards you, ready and waiting, the way he covers the nearest exit from the alley - he has you trapped.

You don’t wait for him to speak or move. Instead, you take off running towards the far end of the alley.

His laugh is deep, the sound of it reverberating around you. 

It’s a mocking sound, and it seems to chase after you as you run.

Whether or not he was innocent didn’t matter, his presence set off alarm bells in your head, and you’d rather be wrong and hurt his feelings than end up dead, or worse.

Only, you don’t make it very far before you’re skidding to a halt, trying not to crash into the man before you.

He grins widely, the scaled skin of his face stretching. What alarms you more than his menacing smile on his face is what appears to be a sword strapped to his back.

For one terrifying moment, your mind goes blank. You can’t think or move, and you stand there like a deer in headlights.

Thankfully, your body doesn’t fail you, some deeply buried instinct rising up to protect you as the scaled man approaches you, still smiling widely.

The alleyway, littered with junk and cardboard boxes, still feels cramped. But you thank the mess surrounding you as your quirk sends pieces of metal and plastic flying towards the man as he nears you.

His arms rise to protect his face as he’s pelted with scraps.

The man behind you seems to be more agile, gracefully weaving through the onslaught of rubbish being thrown his way.

You try to run again, slipping past the man still being attacked by your quirk. He tries to reach for you but you scamper out of the way.

Only, your efforts aren’t enough, and you feel yourself slowing down.

Am I slowing down?

No…

Your surroundings seem to become bigger, the exit of the alley growing further away with every step.

Except nothing was moving - you were shrinking, being encased in some type of blue shell.

The masked man, now ten times larger than you, picks you up with a light laugh. He says something to his companion, who is no longer being pelted with litter, before slipping you into his pocket.

Panic clogs up your throat, so thick and slimy that you can barely breathe.

You feel weightless for a short moment, and then you’re being moved again, the man taking you out of his pocket and placing you on the floor.

Returning to your original size happens rapidly, and you sway in place as you try to shake off the dizziness in your head.

“Ah, please wait here for a moment, you’ll meet the others shortly.”

You’re disorientated, confused as the masked man from before slips out of the room. As soon as the door shuts behind him, you collapse. The floor is dusty and the room is small. The smell of mildew fills your lungs uncomfortably as you look around the room. 

It’s cramped, barely large enough for three people. You could probably touch the two opposite walls from your position on the floor.

Your mind runs rampant with what ifs and you wonder if you’re going to die soon. For all your bravado, having a quirk had done nothing to help you protect yourself. Shame flooded your mind and you had to bite back tears - both from terror and self pity.

Despite what the man had said earlier, he doesn’t return, and even with the situation as grim as it was, you find yourself falling asleep, still a crumpled heap on the floor.

****

There were times that you’d almost felt thankful that you’d been born without a quirk.

Like when you’d seen the way Touya and Shoto had to train with your father, the way he would hit and shove them, force them to push themselves to impossible limits just to meet his standards.

Sometimes being quirkless felt like a blessing in disguise.

There were also times, before Touya passed, before your mother’s break, that you’d felt as though your family might have actually cared for you. Well, everyone except your mother.

You weren’t sure whether it was a figment of your imagination or not, but it didn’t matter. It was little more than a hazy memory at this point.

Your father hitting Shoto harshly for making you cry, holding you close to his chest as he pet your hair. He smelt sharply of woodsmoke, sweat and soap.

Fuyumi petting your head softly after forcing treats down your throat. 

Natsuo propping you up in the basket of his bicycle, flying down the hill as you screeched and laughed.

Shoto grasping your hand tightly, pulling you close after he crawled into your bed with you, claiming he’d had a nightmare, his presence suffocating you while he held you as close as he could.

You’d chalked it all up to a daydream. Even if it was true, all that had happened nearly twelve years ago. Those small actions hardly excused their awful treatment of you in the years following.

Worse than their cold treatment and harsh punishments had to be their effect on others. Even after all these years, the way that you were shunned by other people still stung.

You realise now that it may have been because of your lack of a quirk, but it must have had something to do with your father’s refusal to acknowledge you.

I feel bad - imagine being a pro-hero with a pathetic, quirkless loser as a daughter. I’d be embarrassed too, having to be related to someone like you.

You thought that gaining a quirk would change something, but evidently your family had a problem with you, not your lack of a quirk.

It had been a difficult realisation to come to, one you’d lost a lot of sleep over.

Asking your father to let you go to UA had been a double-barrelled question.

While you were actually asking him to let you join the famous school for heroes, you were also asking him to let you go.

Having no family and no home had to be better than suffering in a household of people who despised you.

Evidently, he couldn’t let you go.

He couldn’t love you, but he refused to let you go.

You felt pathetic, vying for affection for years from the people who hated you most.

Over the past ten years since Touya had passed, you’d tried only once to leave.

You’d packed a bag and left in the middle of the day, making sure that no one saw you leave. You’d made it pretty far too, before you were caught by a pro-hero who dragged you back to your father’s agency.

He beat you after that, smacking you so hard you felt your brain rattle in your skull, leaving bruises that stained your skin for months. He made it clear that you weren’t allowed to leave. They hated you, barely tolerating the sight of you - but you couldn’t leave.

It felt like a fate more cruel than death, some type of inhumane punishment for something you’d done in a past life.

Your siblings had treated you coldly after that too. They didn’t bother pretending to care when your father slapped you around as punishment, turning a blind eye as he told you that if you tried to leave again, he’d send you to the hospital with injuries ten times worse than those he had inflicted.

You suppose that you got the short end of the stick in many ways - you didn’t have a quirk, but you were still treated like Shoto and Touya.

****

You wake up to someone shaking you, propping you up as they try to get you on to your feet.

Flinching back, you blink blearily at them.

It’s the man from earlier, his hat and coat discarded. 

“Come on, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to ask questions, instead yanking you up and pushing you towards the only door in the room.

Your initial panic returns, and you begin wriggling in his grasp, digging your heels into the ground as he tries to pull you out of the room.

His exasperated sigh is lost to you, too focused on breaking out of his grasp. He lets go of your arm for a moment before he has his hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, tossing you over his shoulder and walking out of the room.

The fists pounding on his back don’t seem to bother him, and your flailing legs are held down in a vice grip, his fingers digging into your thighs until you yelp.

“Stop moving.” He bites out in an irritated tone.

“Let me go!” 

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him. You had hoped to sound stern and angry, but it comes out as a broken, terrified garble instead.

He ignores you, making his way through the winding corridors. 

Your search for objects to throw at the man proves to be futile - the corridors are barren.

Tears of frustration begin dotting at your waterline and you instead hang limply over his shoulder, trying not to think about all the horrible things that were about to happen.

He comes to a halt five minutes later, rapping on the door sharply before he’s let in.

You don’t have a chance to look around the room before you’re unceremoniously dropped into a chair. You’re sure it’ll leave a few bruises later on.

Just as you prepare to fling yourself to the side, to run away or attack the man with your quirk, your wrists are enclosed in thick cuffs.

Immediately, it feels as if a part of you has been shut off. A few seconds later and you’ve confirmed it.

Quirk cancelling cuffs.

The realisation that they were prepared enough to bring quirk cancelling cuffs scares you.

You don’t have time to linger on what that may mean.

“Little Todoroki.”

A symphony of laughter surrounds you. Mocking you, taunting you.

There are so many people. Even if you had access to your quirk, you were sure it wouldn’t be of much use.

The two men from before were standing off to the side, alongside two more and a woman. Before you stood a young looking girl, likely your age, and two other men. 

Eight people.

You try to curl into yourself as best you can.

They’re all staring at you, waiting for you to say something, do something.

When you remain still and silent, a few of them laugh again. 

“What, aren’t you going to thank us for your quirk? If I had known that you would be this ungrateful, I would have kept it to myself.”

Your blood chills and your breath catches in your throat.

There are so many questions flying through your mind, many of which you’re too terrified to ask.

“What?”

It’s whispered quietly under your breath, barely loud enough to be heard through the rush of blood in your ears.

“Oh don’t look so surprised, you knew your quirk wasn’t natural.”

Yes, you knew. But hearing it outloud, having it confirmed that your quirk wasn’t your own - it bruises your ego more than you’d care to admit.

The man before you, the blue haired one that seems to be the leader of the small group, continues talking, ignorant to your inner turmoil.

“I can almost see it now - Pro-hero Endeavour, beloved public figure, the famous flame hero - his own daughter affiliated with the same scum of the earth villains he’s sworn to fight. The irony, am I right?”

A few group members laugh cruelly as he continues on.

“Not only are you affiliated with us - you were so desperate for something that your father couldn’t give you that you joined a group of villains - in exchange for a quirk of all things. Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

He laughs then, different from before. It’s low and dry, and he approaches you, crouching down so that he can look you in the eyes through the mask on his face.

You’re horrified when you realise that it isn’t a mask - it’s a hand. A human hand.

Leaning back as far as you can in the uncomfortable wooden chair. It creaks loudly and the back of it digs into your shoulder painfully.

You hold his gaze for as long as you can, not saying a word, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Aren’t you going to ask how we gave you your quirk?”

His question throws you off, and you blink, slightly dumbfounded. You open your mouth, and then close it again, unsure of what to say, of what he wants to hear.

Instead, you nod mutely, still staring intently at his face.

He snorts, shaking his head. He places his hand on your shoulder, leaning forward so that his head is next to yours, so close that his lips graze your ear as he speaks.

“Use your words.”

His fingers tangle gently into the hairs at the nape of your neck.

“How did you give me my quirk.”

Your words lack the tonation of a question, but he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t answer your question either, rather, he grips the back of your neck harshly, pulling you so close that your nose almost brushes up against the hand on his face.

“I could kill you, you know? All it would take is a touch, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”

You’re shaking now, though tears elude you. Your eyes are wide and your breathing shallow. 

“But I won’t. My father’s experiment - my experiment - you’re proof that it was a success. Really, you should be thanking me.”

He leans to the side, placing his palms flat on your shoulders and-

Your jacket is gone. Where the familiar material once lay against your shoulders, there was now a fine layer of dust.

“My name is Shigaraki, but you can call me Tomura. We’re going to get to know each other quite well, so you should get comfortable,” he says as he brushes the dust off of your arms.

He clasps your upper arms in his hands, staring at you for only a moment before straightening himself and turning away. He leaves the room without looking at you again, instead waving his companions off and telling them to lock you away.

Most of the remaining people in the room leave then, still laughing and talking amongst themselves. The only two that remain are the masked man from before and one of the strangers who lingered in the shadows.

“Come on, I’ll take you to your room-”

The masked man is cut off abruptly as the other man, one with spiky black hair and charred skin, grabs his arm and whispers something to him.

Though you can’t see his face, it seems as though the masked man throws him a suspicious look. He relents, patting him on the back, leaving the room with one last glance your way.

You’re left alone with the charred man, his back facing you as he watches his companion leave.

…

His shoulders slump and he whirls on his heel, swiftly approaching you.

The palm of his hand is warm on your now bare forearm, and he yanks you harshly from the chair.

“Fucking finally,” he mutters under his breath, pulling out of the room, through the winding corridors.

****

Ten minutes later, you’re being shoved into a room, one much more spacious and comfortable than the one you first woke up in.

There’s a bed in the corner, narrow but comfortable looking, and a chair next to it. There’s also a door off to the side, and the short glance you manage to steal shows that it’s a small bathroom.

You feel sick.

Fan-fucking-tastic. I’m being held hostage. This is just perfect.

Your thoughts are cut short when the door slams shut behind you.

The man is still here with you.

He glances at you over his shoulder, his back still facing you.

One small step backwards turns into two, which continues on until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

You turn slightly, a few millimetres to see what you walked into.

The movement seems to stir the man from his stupor, and he swivels around to storm towards you. 

You think he’s about to hit you, or shove you, or kill you.

But none of those things happen.

Instead, he pauses once he’s in front of you. 

He stares at you, his gaze boring into your own. The silence is blaring. 

You don’t blink. You don’t breathe. You stand and wait, still staring at him.

His lips slip into a crooked, wicked smirk and he pushes himself closer to you, leering at you. You lean back as far as you can, trying to keep some distance between the two of you until your knees fold and you collapse onto the bed.

The warning glare he throws you is icy, and he leans down to grab at the cuffs still encircling your wrists. After a long moment, there’s a silent click and your wrists are free. You immediately rub at the tender skin, still eyeing him suspiciously.

He pockets the cuffs before dropping down next to you on the bed, leaning back against the wall while he eyes you with what can only be described as amusement.

“Well?”

He gestures vaguely with his hand, an air of expectancy surrounding him. He quirks an eyebrow at you, lightly nudging you with his foot.

You angle yourself away from him, turning your body towards the door. But as hard as you try to ignore him, he seems intent on getting you to talk.

“What, aren’t you going to greet your big brother?”

He lets out a dramatic, pained gasp, one hand clutched to his chest.

“And I thought you missed me.”

His words make you freeze. You’re still facing the wall, so he’s unable to see your wide eyes or clenched hands.

But he’s able to feel the way the air becomes dense, to see the way your hair raises up slightly as you lose the hold on your quirk. 

You feel suffocated, as if the walls are closing in.

Is this supposed to be some kind of joke? Is it a test - something meant to get a rise out of me?

“Hey, it was funny at first, but I want an answer.”

You don’t hear him, still rigid and distressed. 

He doesn’t take your silence well, grabbing at your shoulder with rough hands, yanking you so that you’re facing him.

Even then, you remain silent, fearful of the strange man no more than two feet away from you. 

His grip on your arm tightens, though you barely feel it. 

The room feels warm, hotter than it had when you’d first arrived. His eyes flash while he shifts closer, crowding into your space, searching your face for something.

“You don’t recognise me,” he says decisively. 

“Well, I guess I can excuse that - I have a more ruggedly handsome look now than I did ten years ago.”

His joking tone is lost on you. You’re sceptical of his words, of the situation you’ve found yourself in. 

Trying to pry your arm out of his grasp proves to be difficult, his grip tightening uncomfortably. 

“Say something,” he demands. He leans closer, too close. Close enough that you can smell him - metal and smoke and blood.

“It’s me - Touya. Come on, say something.”

His tone is pleading now, begging you to say something.

You lick your lips, eyes shifting around as you try to think of what to say.

“T-Touya?”

Your voice cracks, but it seems to be enough for him.

His eyes brighten a bit and he lurches forward without warning, pulling you into a suffocating you in a hug. You remain stiff, awkwardly patting his arm.

The grip he has on you tightens as a laugh rumbles in his chest.

“You don’t believe me. That’s fine, you will. Sooner or later.”

He moves back to his position by the wall, seemingly more comfortable than he had been earlier.

“W-Why should I believe you? You don’t have any evidence - this could be some ploy to get me to trust you and your friends.”

He shrugs, neck rolling side to side.

“I guess time is the only way to tell, and we have plenty of that. You’ll have to believe me eventually.”

There’s a pause, short and uncomfortable, before he’s speaking again, his eyes now bright and leering. The look he gives you scares you. You hold your breath. 

“Tell me though - how is dear old dad? Does he still beat you?”

You gape at him like a fish, eyes wide in shock. He leans forward, still talking as if he doesn’t notice how his words burn you.

“Or how about mom, huh? She always hated you, though you never really accepted that. Come to think of it, they all did, to a degree. Not me though, I loved you.”

He has a sick look of satisfaction on his face. 

No one but Touya could have known that, so it must be true that he’s your big brother.

The thought doesn’t comfort you as it should, you feel sick looking at the content look on his face. The Touya you remember would never have said something like that - something meant to cut you deep, to hurt you.

“Have you even seen her since she-”

“Stop it! I get it, you’re Touya, just- just stop.”

Your voice cracks pathetically.

“Aw, come on, don’t be like that. Hey,” he grasps your arm again. You wish he would stop touching you.

“Since you believe me now, and you haven’t tried anything, I’ll give you a reward. You’ve been good, how about it?”

His nails dig into your flesh as he grows impatient with you, silently demanding an answer. A mute nod is all you can muster up.

You should be overjoyed, you know that. Your brother, who you had assumed to be dead, was alive. He was alive and right in front of you. 

Except this wasn’t your brother. The man staring you down so intently was not Touya.

“You’re lucky, y’know that? You’re lucky I cared enough about you to volunteer you for this position. Hell, you’re lucky you got a quirk through this experiment and not the big boss like we usually do it. You’d be brain dead by now if that had happened.”

He talks over you even as you try to question him, his grip becoming bruising and painful around your arm.

“You’re lucky I’m not like dad,” he sneers at you. “If I were, I’d have smacked the shit out of you for how you spoke to me.”

Having heard enough, you yank your arm out of his grasp and stand up abruptly, staring down at him.

You’re confused and hurt, but most of all, you’re angry.

“You’re not Touya. Touya would never speak to me like this, he’d never allow me to be treated like this. And he definitely wouldn’t join a group of villains. I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t my brother. Maybe you were once, but now you’re nothing more than a corrupt piece of shit.”

He listens to you silently, waiting until you’re finished, chest heaving as you glare at him with all the hate you can muster, still gripping your bruised arm to your chest.

Then, he laughs.

It starts off softly. You barely hear it, the only indication that he’s actually laughing being the slight shake of his shoulders. As the seconds tick by though, it grows louder and louder, until he’s clutching his stomach, head thrown back as his bellowing laughs echo throughout the room.

He quiets down after a few minutes, wiping away a nonexistent tear, one last amused puff of air leaving his lips.

Before you can blink, he’s on you, smothering you.

His hands are on your throat, crushing your windpipe. The force of him jumping at you knocked you back, and you hit the wall with a loud oof, the air literally knocked out of you. 

While his actions are crazed, his eyes are anything but. He stares down at you, his gaze drilling into yours. His thumbs press down and you’re letting out an odd choking sound.

“I knew I spoiled you too much when you were younger. You’ve become such a goddamn brat,” he spat, eyes wide and angry.

“Is this how you want me to act? If I’m really such a piece of shit, then maybe I should go all out, treat you exactly how dad does? Would you prefer that?”

He smirks slightly, more of a quirk of his lips than a smile, eyes narrowing while he continues to speak over your spluttering.

“Maybe that’s what you need - maybe I should go further than dad would, that’d really get the message through.”

His right palm, massive and calloused, slides off of your throat and down to your left shoulder, where his fingers grip into the tender flesh.

“Why do you make me out to be the bad guy, huh?” he sighs heavily. 

“I try to help you and this is what I get in return - a bitch for a sister who doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. Well, that’s easy enough to remedy, I guess. I don’t like hurting you, but this is for your own good, I promise. Trust me, just like you used to - I’d never lie to you.”

His left hand leaves your throat, moving instead to cover your mouth.

You can breathe again, and you shudder as you try to suck in a breath with his rough palm covering your mouth. You wonder for a split second why he moved his hand, why he covers your lower face.

It becomes clear a moment later.

Touya’s quirk was always amazing. Blue flames that would dance beautifully, capturing your attention whenever he would show off to you. It was amazing, but it hurt him, in ways that you would never understand.

You never understood why he grimaced and whimpered and cried after using his quirk, but now you do.

His palm heats up quickly, blue flames searing the skin of your shoulder.

You scream then, eyes bulging, limbs thrashing.

The smell of your flesh sizzling makes you nauseous, and you start to feel light-headed.

After he decides you’ve had enough, he pulls his hand away, and an angry red welt remains, your skin still hot, sizzling and bleeding from the abuse. He slowly moves his hand away from your mouth, taking a step back.

His distance doesn’t last long - he’s back in your space in an instant as you stumble forward, his arms wrapping around you, carrying you back to the bed.

You feel feverish, and you briefly register that you’re about to pass out, though Touya’s words drown out your thoughts.

“See, now you went and made me feel bad. Just remember that this was your fault, you can’t blame me for your bad attitude. Hey, how about we start fresh after this, forget this whole thing happened?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead brushing the sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, softly petting your head with a loving look in his eyes.

“All of this aside, I did miss you, you know? I would check up on you when I could, though you never seemed to be too badly off. If there’s one thing I can’t fault dad and them on, it has to be the way they take care of you. It doesn’t hurt that they made sure you hated them just enough to make me look good.”

He stares at you fondly, and you don’t have the energy to bat him away, let alone to tell him how they’d made your life a living hell - how he was making your life a living hell. Your vision starts to swim, but he continues on.

“Yeah, I know, you probably don’t believe me, but they really do care for you. A bit too much if I’m honest, but whatever. You’re with me now, and that’s all that matters. It’s just the two of us again, just like it used to be.”

You wish he would stop talking, but his voice was surprisingly soothing and his touch was familiar. 

“Shigaraki seems to like you too, which is good - that means the others will have to mind their own business too. Plus I’m here, so you won’t have to worry about them bothering you. But hey, you can’t call me Touya in front of those guys - call me Dabi.”

What kind of a name is Dabi?

You think briefly about the fact that you should have stayed at home instead of running off.

But despite everything that had happened, a small, dark part of you was happy. Your brother was alive - a monster, a villain - but he was alive. And a twisted, broken part of you was happy that he still cared about you. 

Him hurting you wasn’t any different from how your father used to treat you. Perhaps you had traded in one evil for another.

You pass out still listening to him ramble on about how happy he was to have you back, how much he’d missed you, how lucky you were to have such a caring big brother.

****

Dabi - Touya - sighs heavily, still stroking your hair. He stares down at you with a remorseful look in his eyes.

“I know you can’t hear me, but I have to get it off of my chest. It’s probably for the best that you’re unconscious actually.”

He laughs, though it lacks humour or happiness.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice cracking. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, and I’m sorry I had to leave you. I’ll understand if you hate me, but this is just the way things have to be now.”

His hand pauses as his attention wanes, eyes glazing over as he focuses on something unseen.

“I was never as great as you thought I was. But I’m still sorry,” he says, clenching his hands in fists, nails indenting the flesh of his palms.

“I don’t like hurting you, not that it helps at all.”

He stands, rearranging you more comfortably on the bed.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this - but it’s for the best. I promise.”

I promise.

[pocketramblr]

Au where quirks exist ever since the beginning of humanity but thought the last 200 years they started becoming rarer for no explainable reason

"for no explainable reason"? Not "because someone born two hundred years ago started eating them all"? Well, both can be true I suppose

1- humans have always had quirks so just go ahead and disabuse yourself of the idea that world history looks anything like ours now. Any boundaries humans have drawn between themselves or their spaces are totally different. Anyway, our story is set on the island nation of Akitsuba, which has begun to receive reports of children who are born without quirks- it seems impossible, but apparently the child born in Canton Province to two glowing parents but had no light himself was not the result of an affair. He is genetically both his parents child - just, without any unique plus alpha factor at all.

2- when the news breaks, Setsuji looks over at his twin brother. The two stay in a group home, and on the record, they have a spike quirk, just like their mother did before she died at their birth. In truth, Setsuji can take others quirks. He assumes he took his brother's in infancy, which why the boy can't use them, but now he wonders if his brother was in fact simply born without. He doesn't say anything, but his brother does- whispering it at night, apologizing for assuming his brother took it all this years ago and refused to even try to return it, but there's simply nothing to return, is there?

3- more people are born quirkless over time, and more people lose their quirk to AfO over time. Ujiko theorizes that quirks would get too strong, so both quirklessness and AfO are evolutions to prevent plus alpha self destruction. That is, sadly, a generous view- quirklessness is largely viewed as a horrible strange disability, and suddenly quirks become more important. Few people before had jobs that specifically used their quirks, but now no one wants to be mistaken for not having one. Many people campaign to treat and 'fix' quirklessness, trying to force activate one, study and prevent it, etc. Just go ahead and assume all the terrible things that can happen with this mindset, it all happened.

4- by the time of canon, however, quirklessness has been around for two hundred years, and it isn't going away- clearly the opposite. about half the population of the world has no quirk, and the number's hanging around 45% in Akitsuba when our main character, Akatani Mikumo is born. He's quirkless, and lives in the capitol of Higakyou, as schools there are required by law now to no longer require certain or any quirks. It's an election year, so his first semester of high school all anyone can do is talk about the candidates- especially Yagi Toshinori, a bit of a symbol for quirkless politicians and one people thought would run years ago. Mikumo, who helped Yagi carry groceries home one day and didn't recognize him outside of the bright suit, camera lights, and makeup, makes friends with a few kids at school. (Ochako, and the twins Tokoyami Fumikage and Kuroei- while the latter has a quirk, the former does not).

5- Then one day, Yagi is kidnapped, vanishing on live tv through a smokey warp. Mikumo doesn't know what to think about that, until he runs into the man on his way home from school- clearly in bad shape, with strange dark eyes that glow with some quirk he shouldn't have. Mikumo helps Yagi hide, and asks what happens, and how he can help. (AfO decided to end Yagi's use as a symbol by forcing a quirk on him and controlling him, but one of his brother's successors managed to break Yagi out first and give him his brother's quirk, allowing him to fight against AfO's quirk and withstand them safely. As for what Mikumo can do to help... he's done far more than he should already, a kind boy, but that answer isn't going to be good enough for him- he's determined to do more anyway.)

[totallycorrectlovquotes]

Dabi: Our father isn’t coming, is he?

Todoroki: Endeavor is dead.

Dabi: Thank God.

[sundove88]

Birthday Present for @kindabizarretbh

For your birthday, I wanted to draw The Brookstone Twins, but I decided not to on the favor that my hands would hurt a lot- so I decided to draw Dante Ramiro, the linker of Dio, in his Linked Form!

I’ll draw the Brookstone twins soon, promise! And happy b day!

Also, have a funny doodle I made:

Dialogue:

Benson Vanderblit (Endeavor’s Linker): Do you think…

Donnelly Hyun (Dark Cacao Cookie’s Linker): …We should stop them?

Dante Ramiro (Dio’s Linker): Nah.

For context:

Endeavor, Dio, and Dark Cacao Cookie spotted the last piece of chocolate peanut butter pie on the dining table and they all got in a fight cloud over who would get their piece first.

And what makes this scene funnier is that Patrick Seitz voices all three of the Partner Characters!

You’re welcome for the visual. And happy b day, friend!

[xobrattymoonxo]

I really really want to write some Endeavor smut ✋🏻😫 Would anyone be interested in that ??

[thot-farm]

Everything I have been obsessed with recently, Patrick Seitz has been in. I don't know if it's a coincidence because he is in everything or he is part of the reason. Two of these (obviously not Garon) are some of my favorite characters, and it is at least partially because of their voices, and them being dads. They can never make me hate my pookies Todoroki family or Dark Cacao family.

Fe fates obsession (but he is only voiced by Patrick in FEH I believe). And he voices Jeritza, I was daily playing few3h recently.

To crk obsession (which is still active)

And back to MHA like I was way to many years ago for my little brain to calculate

[saiyanmyname]

INSATIABLE HEAT

NOTE: Fairly action packed this time, we're heading towards the end (slowly), so this could be the last we hear from Hawks for a while. No reader in this chapter, just our top three heroes... don't worry reader will be back in the next one. There's smut in the work as whole but not this chapter. Excerpt and link below as usual :)

CHAPTER 21: THE MOUNTAIN

Endeavor tilted his head back, veins straining from his neck as he considered the distance ahead, eyes distractedly gazing towards the sky, the angle of his chin highlighted in the clear night, nostrils flared with a frustrated exhale. It was strange to him, to not be using his quirk in such cold conditions, the slightest dip in temperature usually caused him to light a firey maine around his face. Ordinarily Endeavor had disliked the cool of the breeze whispering past his lips, but, he supposed, he’d have to get used to it for now. Breathing thickly, he continued, making haste towards the summit, a sea of snow in front of him, glittering in hues of soft blue.