wrathbond

[wrathbond]

oh, she’s got spirit.

how the hell did his father manage to pull her?

i’ve seen how he looks at me. i heard something he hasn’t really told anyone else — he scoffs. pushes his tongue against his cheek and tries his damnest not to laugh. it’s not even funny.

“you believe that?” he feels the weight crushing into his chest, feels it suffocating him, strangling him — this inexplicable envy, this insatiable greed, he can’t hold it back. “he’s only nice to you ‘cause you’re giving him exactly what he wants: forgiveness. a second chance. something he can’t get from the rest of us. but once he gets comfortable, he’s gonna go back to his old ways. you’re not gonna change him. no offense, but you’re an outsider. i’m his son. he let me burn, left me to die, buried me, then turned around and did the same thing to my brother. we’re his flesh. his blood. not once did he look at us, not once did he say anything like that, and you think you’re the special one? c’mon now.”

there are things he doesn’t believe, things he doesn’t want to believe, things like — if there’s any truth to her words, then that would mean that his father is capable of love. that his father has the capacity to love. that his father can choose to love. and that he just didn’t choose—

to love him.

his gaze drifts down to the finger she has jabbed into his chest. it sits right over his heart, this self-inflicted scar. he decides then. as long as he’s alive, todoroki enji will never know peace.

“you haven’t seen him angry.” he tugs his collar down just a bit to show her how deep the purple goes. “i have.”

his father had never laid a hand on him, not even at his angriest, but she doesn’t know that. if she doesn’t believe him, that's fine. all he needs is to plant the first seed of doubt. the fabric slips from his fingers.

“if you wanna take the risk, that’s on you. if you wanna bet your children on a feeling, that’s on you — what was it that you said? don’t put it all on one parent?” his lips quirk into a mocking smile, but the taunt doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “the only person i hate more than my father is my poor excuse of a mother. she brought me into this world knowing damn well what would happen to me. she knew the risks. i’m just warning ya, ‘cause if something happens and your kiddos turn out like me, then you better be ready for them to hate you too.”

She knew about Touya, Enji didn't leave her in the dark for too long about that. Opting to get his regrets out of the way before he proposed to her, it also wouldn't be the first time someone openly approached her. This was different though, this was regret in the charred flesh- this was a man that probably didn't see how badly his father crumpled when he went back home to that damn shrine. Or how the light seemed to fade from his eyes when things were brought up-

"Do you also want to talk about the fact that you're mother was home with you and openly neglecting you too or are you putting this on one parent?" Do had no problem looking Dabi in the eye, that all too familiar hue taking a dangerous turn from what she was used to. There was no backing up as he came closer, just a slight arch of her brow as her hands settled along her hips.

"I get you have a shit ton of trauma, I have some mommy issues myself as a forced governmental pet project. But people change, like your mom growing a fucking back bone and Enji getting his shit sorted out." A finger was jabbed into his chest- not avoiding the scar as she glared up at him. "You're father wont discard me- because I've seen how he looks at me. I've felt that man cling to me like I was his own little life line and I heard something he hasn't really told anyone else. I'm not worried for my future children, because I'm going to be up their little asses and making sure they're taken care of. With or WITHOUT the help of their father. Ya know, like a grown ass woman with a quirk."

[wrathbond]

The woman says nothing — she just stares.

there were times when she defended them. times when she spoke up for them. times when she pushed through, pulled back, put herself in harm's way as any mother would — but he doesn't remember any of that.

he doesn't remember much at all.

but he remembers all those times she stood there. all those times she stared, mouth muted, breath bated. he remembers those moments with perfect clarity.

“there ya go, doin' what you do best,”

“— nothing.”

[wrathbond]

Right, hello. Thanks for telling me about your birthday last week when I was walking by your cell. No, I had no idea it was so close to Shouto's.

And now that he knew, Izuku felt some sort of strange obligation to get this guy a gift.

Happy birthday, Dabi! Hope all goes well in prison and you find peace one day.

He's gifted you an adult coloring book - a new hobby that could hopefully help you stay calm?

hey, natsuo-kun. what are you gettin' for my birthday? it's in a month, y'know. in case you forgot. hey, fuyumi-chan. i know you're hidin' something. you've always been bad at lying. what is it? it's my birthday present, isn't it? hey, mom. so i was thinking, for my birthday in three weeks, we should- hey, dad. since my birthday's coming up, can we-

hey.

hey, shouto.

why did you have to ruin it?

why couldn't you stay in the fuckin' womb for two more weeks?

*

his birthday has always been a bittersweet reminder. first born, second to be celebrated. first son, second place.

( they bought a small stuffed bunny for shouto's fifth birthday. it was fuyumi's idea; she felt bad that he couldn't play with them, so the gift was an apology. but the night before shouto's birthday, the bunny disappeared. they searched far and wide, over and under, but it was nowhere to be found. )

"here," he says, offering the coloring book to shouto later that day. "happy belated birthday." so what if it's a re-gift? it's the thought that counts.

( but if shouto were to flip through, he'd find a note scrawled into the margins of the centermost page. playground where the three of us used to play, buried under the red slide. )

sorry.

[wrathbond]

( swear to me.

century after century, sacrifice after sacrifice, shouto still stupidly believed in the integrity of a blood swear. it’s true, they’re all encompassing, all binding — but once broken, both the tempter and the traitor would lose their lives and surrender their souls to the trickster down under.

swear to me, you won’t hurt him.

i swear … )

he strolls around the cramp space, dark eyes trailing along the college books crammed into shelves. language and literature, fantasy and fiction, historic text filled with stories told by liars from the great war — they’re nothing special. he was there when they were written. what does draw his attention is a picture of a woman with her cheek squished against the boy’s head. same color hair, same radiant smile. mother. he can only wonder how far she would go to protect her son.

... or how far the son would go to save his mother.

but the thought is fleeting. seems like shouto’s human has good intuition.

he doesn’t miss the intentional distance, the insincere offer, or the silver ring when it catches the stagnant light. a test. the boy could’ve easily attacked him when his back was turned; he had left himself wide open, vulnerable and susceptible, and yet, he was spared. how honorable, how honest.

the least he can do is return the favor.

he removes his hand from the side of his neck to reveal nothing more than a smear of dried blood. there’s no need for theatrics; he’s been caught red-handed.

( i swear, i won’t hurt him … )

they say he’s crazy, callous, a fucking fool, but he doesn’t care. a life without risk is a life not lived. he reaches over for the kit — only to then place his hand on top of the boy’s own. the silver scorches his skin. it feeds on his flesh, but there’s no agony, there's no pain. he’s been stabbed, burned at stake, pulled apart and pieced back together. this is just for show.

( i swear, i won’t hurt him unless he hurts me first. )

BANG!

books collapse, picture frames shatter onto fine hardwood. he slams the boy against the wall and pins him in place with his forearm. he can feel it: the restless heart, the wretched heat, the reeking humanity. shouto has a type, but so does he.

he leans in, lips skimming ear, a wicked smile as he whispers,

“you can call me dabi.”

He had rushed out in slippers and loungewear, uncombed hair a wild mess against the icy night breeze. Izuku placed a hand over the man's, intending to help him put pressure on that neck wound. His eyes, meanwhile, scanned the distance for signs of the enemy. "Go on inside," he told the bleeding victim, concern furrowing his brows as he gently nudged the other toward his doorway.

With the innocent civilian out of the way, some tension had been eased from Izuku's shoulders. He waited for the danger, but the streets had become utterly quiet once more.

As seconds ticked by and the chill of the night bit at the exposed skin at his collar, clarity was restored in his mind and Izuku realized his mistake.

He looked down at the palm of his hand, where a blood smear had gone cold. It was warm earlier, but not hot. It was there, but not seeping out in abundance between the other's fingers.

The danger was not coming, it was already inside.

Silver bells tinkered above his head, rapidly recovering him from his wide-eyed shock by reminding him of his duty to protect. Izuku sucked in a deep breath for courage before he walked back inside, shut the door, and turned its silver lock.

"Right, hi again." Unnatural, but it was the best Izuku could manage considering the circumstance. He was skilled as a hunter, but not as an actor. "Let me, uh, help you with that wound," Izuku said with a forced smile once he joined the 'victim' in the living room. He had picked up a first aid kit that was left in the hallway and stretched out his hand to hand it to the other.

"Here," he prompted the man to take the kit from him while still keeping a semi-safe distance, turning his hand so the silver ring on his middle finger gleamed under the ceiling light. This was a test because Izuku had to be certain before he'd ever allow himself to raise a hand against another person. "And I don't think I've caught a name earlier?" A question used mainly to give himself an excuse to keep his eyes tightly locked on the potential vamp, but also to distract from the hint of nervous energy that was gathering in the pit of his stomach.

[wrathbond]

“take a good look at me.” he spreads his arms wide and bares his battle scars with delighted grin. “he did this. he created me, made me, molded me into the person he wanted me to be — only to kick me down and abandon me once he found someone better.”

the grin drops.

his arms fall to his side.

he steps closer, his stare unforgiving.

“what makes you think he wouldn’t do the same to the children you'll have with him?” a pause, his voice dips lower. “what makes you think he wouldn’t do the same to you?” / @sun-flowerfields liked for a starter !

[wrathbond]

“‘it’s always like this. everyone always abandons the outcasts. i just want to protect everyone’s happiness. i just want to protect my friends.’ — those were his last words before he was killed in cold blood by someone he thought he could trust.”

the loudest agony dwells within the quietest anger. it’s been years, but he hasn’t forgotten. it’s been years, but he hasn’t forgiven. while the world celebrated bubaigawara jin’s death, they mourned an ally. while his murderer was pardoned, they were arrested just for existing. how is that right? how is that fair?

“he considered you a friend. he introduced you to the league. we thought you were one of us.” he takes a seat on her couch and slouches forward, tattered arms draping over battered knees. “so tell me, how does a ‘friend’ end up on the opposite side?” / @jinnorei liked for a starter !

[wrathbond]

“did you cry?”

he crouches down in front of the altar where todoroki touya once rested. they’ve cleared off the shrine, took away the offerings, put out the incense, but he can still see it. he can still smell it.

“when they told you that i’d died in my own fire, burnt myself so badly they couldn’t even find a body, did you cry? did you feel regret? were you sorry that you couldn’t do more? … ‘course not.”

he peers over his shoulder, blue eyes piercing his mother’s own.

“‘cause you let the same thing happen to shouto.”

@icybellflower liked for a starter.

[wrathbond]

yo ho ~ i'll be getting to dms soon; in the meantime, like for a random starter?

[wrathbond]

you met someone.

the tip of his nose grazes the curve of shouto’s shoulder. he smells it: the faintest trace of a scent that’s undeniably human and the futile attempts to masquerade it.

who is it?

he senses it: the apprehension, the guilt, this immediate regret. ( should’ve stayed away. should’ve stayed back. should’ve— ) shouto doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. any information divulged will inevitably lead to yet another innocent death. they’ve been here before. many times before.

a shadow of a knowing smile curls at the corners of dabi’s mouth as he draws back with a deep inhale. green tea, gentle, ever calming. shouto has a type.

is it a boy? he asks, circling around to the front where he’s met with a fierce glare. is he here? — you can’t lie to me. he leans in close, uncomfortably close. his gaze drops to shouto’s heart. i can feel it.

your fear.

his eyes flick back up, smile widening into a sinister grin.

don’t worry, i won’t hurt him. i just wanna know what he—

looks like.

—vibrant green hair, short in stature, a bright smile with a brighter personality. it takes him three days to find the scent, two hours to track it all the way back to its place of residence, and just one minute to come up with a plan to get invited inside. shouto’s human likes to help people; his heart is kind. how unfortunate, because if there’s one thing dabi’s good at, it’s playing the victim.

“it was one of them,” he musters out, eyes blown wide, bloody hand clasped over the side of his neck. it’s not his blood, but the boy doesn’t need to know that.

a gust of wind sweeps by then, its chill unforgiving. above him, two silver bells jingle. he’s seen them before, though they’re rarer these days with vampirekind on the decline. they usually welcome those in need of a hunter’s expertise, but tonight, they don’t welcome. they warn.

“they’re going to come—i tried to—but it didn’t—it didn’t go through—you have to help me.”

let me in.

let me in.

LET ME IN.

@roguesenses

[wrathbond]

he feels the heat.

feels it grazing his skin as it scorches his mother’s flesh and bone.

it’s ironic. laughable, almost. she had spent her entire life trapped in a burning cage, consumed by smoke and cinder, despising fire—only to be embraced by it in death. it’s a shame, he thinks. a shame, because he’s not the one turning her to ash.

had they asked, he would.

had they asked, he would’ve been delighted to.

it would’ve been the best present, the greatest gift a mother can give her son. happy fucking birthday.

but that’s all wishful thinking. he can’t use his quirk anymore. they’ve got a nullifying chain wrapped around his heart that would electrocute him if he even tries. there’s probably a tracker on the damn thing too. ( that’s the deal. if you agree to it, you’re free to go. they made his body a prison. funny, isn’t it? how mercy and sadism go hand in hand. )

“she must’ve been in despair.” he takes a step back from the cremation chamber and peers over at his dear little brother who is, notably, not as little anymore. a few years has put a few centimeters on shouto’s height. “it was your birthday, right? the day she died.”

to die on her youngest son’s birthday and to be cremated a week later on her eldest son’s birthday—fate has an odd sense of humor.

“were you sad?”

his gaze finds its way back to the flames.

“i wasn’t,” he says after a moment. “i’m glad she’s dead.”

@lightbaund

[wrathbond]

it’s the small things.

the small, stupid, seemingly insignificant things.

things like, the way his father breathed when he’s pleased, the look in his eyes when he’s not, the brief moment of silence that rippled through each room in the house when he came home, and—

the sound of his footsteps.

touya considers it a curse.

he hates his father, despises him to his very core, and yet—and yet, when he hears that breath, sees that look, recognizes those footsteps echoing down the dimly lit prison corridors, it’s as if—

( as if he’s still that boy. that small, stupid, senseless boy who spent countless nights wide awake, impatiently waiting for the ever familiar footsteps to stop in front of his door. he remembers the anticipation, the excitement, the happiness crawling up and combusting within him—you’re back! )

“took you long enough.”

he lies there on a hardened bed, hands cradling the back of his head where a pillow should be.

“i thought you did me a favor and kicked the bucket.” his eyes, which seem to glow a piercing blue in the dark, trails over to his visitor. “father.”

a pause, less delightful.

“did you bring the melon bread that i asked for?” prison food is shit. might as well use his father’s regrets to guilt him into getting snacks.

@hellflcmes

[wrathbond]

todoroki touya is a piece of shit, and he knows it.

‘cause c’mon, let’s be honest here. there’s no good reason for him to go out of his way to bully a little boy, but hey. it’s been boring back at the villain base, so what’s a guy to do.

his target? midoriya izuku. eyes bright, full of life. hard to miss. touya immediately recognizes him as the one who lit a fire in his dear brother’s heart. it’s yours, isn’t it? your power! ah, there’s no telling how many times he rewinded and rewatched that part. again and again, again and again—until muscular got fed up and smashed their only tv to bits.

( in hindsight, that’s probably why it’s been so damn boring. but he digresses. not his doing, not his fault. )

“just browsing,” he muses, ever so casual.

his gaze drops to the card selection. endeavor, huh? the poor kid’s got bad taste. guess he can do some charity work.

with his arm still loosely slung around small shoulders, touya reaches down and plucks the card featuring endeavor in his usual stance: arms folded, eyebrows furrowed, frowning like someone just took a shit in his cereal.

“too angry.” he tosses the card over his shoulder and moves onto the next one. “too smug.” tossed. “too fake.” trashed.

the fourth card—he holds up to the boy’s eye level and flips it between his fingers. “anyone can be a hero,” he reads. ha. considering who’s number two, hard to disagree. “you believe this?”

The mall was absolutely bustling. 

Izuku carefully navigated his way past one group of enthusiastic cosplayers and another of teens doing a scavenger hunt. It took him longer than necessary to reach the bookstore, but once inside, it was quiet.

Now, what would Endeavor like? Izuku was trying to get a thank-you gift for the man, to be officially delivered after the work-study program. He would have asked his friend Todoroki for help, but considering the strained relationship between him and his father, perhaps that would not be the best idea.

In the end, he decided to just go for a card and was sorting through a pile for the best-looking one when he felt an arm drape over his shoulders. Hm? Izuku shifted towards the stranger, and the six Endeavor cards in his hands turned with him. His gaze landed first on the mask the lanky individual wore, then redirected towards the arm bearing wrinkled, purple skin...how alarmingly familiar.

"What can I help you with?" A hint of nervous politeness never hurt anyone. Izuku clutched onto the Endeavor cards a little tighter as if that would somehow assist him in this situation. @wrathbond

[wrathbond]

The Past Never Forgets. Come dance with me in hell, won’t you father?

[wrathbond]

guide.

01.

this blog will most likely contain dark and mature themes as well as discussions of trauma, abuse, and neglect. for this reason, i would prefer to interact with fellow 21+ writers. interactions are currently mutuals only.

02.

chill with au, ocs, doubles, multiship, multiple threads, crossovers, most anything. throw your wildest, most unhinged ideas at me, and we’ll get along great :')

p.s. this is an open plot call for darker plots. if you’re down for obsessive hateships, toxic friendships, “i can make him worse” psychological warfare, hmu.

03.

i’m slow with replies. there’s no sugar-coating this one. i’m just, really slow. this goes for both ic and ooc chats. feel free to nudge me if it's been a few weeks!

side note: i use beta editor.

04.

what dabi says, thinks, or does is not a reflection of my own thoughts and feelings. he can be incredibly cruel with his words and downright vile with his actions. this is especially the case for members of the todoroki family. rest assured, it’s all ic.

05.

annnd most importantly, let’s have fun ♡

puppeted by sloth.

[wrathbond]

i. GUIDELINE ii. STARTER CALL iii. WRITTEN BY SLOTH