At the summer training camp, Bakugou was kidnapped by the villains... He’s been carrying a heavy burden, huh?
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@sculpthalves
At the summer training camp, Bakugou was kidnapped by the villains... He’s been carrying a heavy burden, huh?

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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P L O T T I N G C A L L
this is a semi - permanent plotting call for my MUTUALS !! so if you would like to plot with my ( CANON - DIVERGENT ) todoroki shouto, GIVE THIS A ♡ & i will pop into your messages / discord sometime over the next couple of days !!
Some of my favorite boy’s outfits on my other favorite boy :)
❝ you failed me. ❞
@sculpthalves
there’s still a softness to shouto’s cheeks, stroked with just a hint of rose petals — as a toddler, his face was cupid cherub. sometimes, he had a very particular dream about this boy and himself/touya. where he, touya, sits bloodied on his knees with little shouto before him, pale - skinned, eyes closed. a bloated sun hangs low in the sky, orange seeping through the windows. as the light dies, shouto’s eyelids flutter open — black and empty as night. his mouth opens slowly, and wide enough to swallow touya’s body whole, and he says — -
dabi always wakes up at that moment. there’s no sounds asides cicadas, but he had heard what shouto said. somehow, it hurts even more awake. even when he’d heard it over and over before in his dreams.
it hurts. a sort of scouring grief, giving birth inside a grave. “ i know, i know. you should really try to tell me something new, little brother. “
(i didn’t draw the background )

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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More fantasy au because I can’t get enough of it!
happy birthday todoroki!
here’s my full piece for the todoroki zine @yourpowerzine
for the anon who requested happy todo <3
I think he’s very lonely. Lonelier than he lets on. Maybe lonelier than he even realizes.
The Royal Tenenbaums (2001), Dir. Wes Anderson (via catholicraised)
young prince

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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HALFHIM.
calming their father’s ire was not unlike the practice of putting one’s head inside an alligator’s mouth - their mother toed the line between caressing the alligator’s glistening sharp teeth and getting her skull cracked open every time she bared endeavor’s gaze. those eyes, blue eyes, made her flinch every time they landed on her.
touya’s eyes are the same color. he had made her tremble once, staring at her. you look so much like your father, she had said, apologetic. he doesn’t think she was talking about something as trivial as the color of eyes or his jawline, though. ( he wishes he knew, dearly. he’d rip whatever it was from his flesh. ) “ wha - what did you say? “ he had gone so still that his muscles ripple beneath skin. he’s absolutely frigid. “ i’m not. i’m not anything like him! “ his voice is a shriek, a tea kettle screaming the void. he is his mother and he is his father and all he knows is to cower and to bite.
he is trembling just as his mother used to, cigarette burning away on the ground now. his heart beats like his thin fists against a closet door. smoke pillows out between the gapes of his scars. he couldn’t burn brighter, even doused in kerosene. “ you - you take that back! take it back, shouto! “ touya buries his hands into his own hair. yanks. the cry leaves his throat before he can stop it, rabid.
sickening as the sound of cracking bones, a part of him inherently similar to what he’s highlighted in touya blooms. the ugliest version of himself creaks open the door and peeks through. it relishes in the his words sinking hilt - deep into its target, lethal.
it whispers i could have been just like you, when i was younger i wanted to. speaks through him, fueled by the rage of abandonment, the cruelness of his own pain used as a weapon, “ you are just a worse version of him. corrupted by vengeance and lacking substance. at least he saves people. he ruined so much, and drove mother mad and he hurt us or neglected us and i make no apologies on his behalf because i myself WON'T ACCEPT THAT HE DESERVES TO BE ABSOLVED FOR THAT but at least he stayed. he is trying to change and maybe we haven’t forgiven him but the effort... that should be worth something, if not enough. ”
swords in the pit of his belly, shouto burns. this, too, is worse for it is true and wholly unfair, equally. it is complicated, the pain and damage is personal, shouto knows that. still, he can’t let it go. hatred may be the reason but it is not an excuse. “ i needed you — where were you? ”
their paths have differed greatly and shouto is no stranger to the fact that it has less to do with who he is and almost everything to do with the fact that he was born in their father’s correct image. he had the right potential, not the better one. subsequent — he got lucky. there are people outside his family that showed him vengeance wasn’t the only option. success didn’t always mean someone else had to suffer, it could inspire instead. still, shouto aches. be better, do better.
“ i - i’m sorry. i know you were in pain... i was, too. don’t you care? even a little? you aren’t alone, you don’t have to be. ” it is this, drenched in kindness and the memory of who his brother used to be that softens his voice into a plea, “ damn it, screw him — forget him. at some point you have to accept that your actions are your own responsibility! our lives are our own, touya. let me help you. we don’t have to be enemies. ”
you are so much more than your father’s son, you are so much more than what i’ve become.
selective / mutuals only / canon divergent todoroki shouto sculpted by effy *
* personals do not reblog. art credit / sources ( x & x )
HALFHIM.
he carries this heart like broken glass, tenderly for another reason other than tenderness - careful not to slice himself open. he carries this heart like a dying lamb, screeching/singing into the dark. “ i hate. “ present tense. this heartbeat echoes the emptiness. “ i hate him. “ this body grows ash/grows decay/used to grow skin. this body isn’t a garden. this body is rot. this body of - myriad scars plague festering rat without a mouth. “ i hate him, “ he says again, to himself.
this is his mantra for existence.
“ i hate him more than i love any of you. “ and that’s - not quite right. he’s falling apart by skin by limb by blood, sweet as cherry wine. it fills his throat bitter.
he puts another cigarette between his lips. lights it and takes a deep drag. “ it’s a funny thing, see - i tried to love, and love, and love. i loved you and fuyumi and natsuo. i loved mom. i even loved father, sometimes, i think. “ haven’t you ever thought about how those families feel? “ i loved and i thought round and round and round, trying to make sense of what father did to us. “ give him a four letter word for insanity. he takes another drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke at shoto’s face.
“ i thought so hard about it, i went crazy. “
awful, the way shouto wishes. for something small in the truth. an explanation, an apology. a reason, even, to hate their father again. anything to hold onto, anything not to believe what seemed true.
tell me it wasn’t a choice you made. to leave me behind. to give up on your promises, knowing exactly what would happen. tell me he made you do it.
he almost clings to the present tense of words that follow whispers — until those sink deeper, form meaning. shouto loosens his grip on the i love and hears the full intention of the sentiment. fragile hope, melting half - way to the ground before it has the dream to build upon itself. oh, so much worse in the wake of an almost.
“ you sound just like him, ” shouto mystifies. breath, exhaled, expelling smoke into steam. heat, threatening within the confines of his binding. the words replay, intrusive, wounding. over, over, over, again, continually. he gasps a sound near laughter but tilted, sadder for the smirk that graces his face; for the sharpness of two - toned eyes mid - realization.
“ you want to beat him so badly that you hurt the people you love to do it. how is that different from father’s ambition to beat all might? fueled by hate — pretending you are the righteous one. tell me touya, how are you any different than him? you’re exactly the same. ”
no, no that isn’t quite true.
HALFHIM.
cold widens the dark. it hides his flinch - a minuscule twitch of his fingers, nails digging into the gap between scar tissue and unblemished skin. a drop of his blood lands on the ground, devoured by shadow. he thinks that’s how he’s always existed - the earth drinking his blood. one day it’ll eat even the sinew of him and pick it’s teeth with his ribs.
he wants to deny it. he wasn’t leaving them but saving himself! but - but. “ yeah. yeah, i left you. “ he was always good at hurting people, even if he didn’t mean to. he’s his father’s son, after all. he’d try to become the one who ate rather than being eaten. he dragged himself out of the stomach with broken fingernails, crawled to the heart.
ate the heart.
a wound reopens. ( there will always be a part of him that’s kind. his fingers are thin things. better suited for flower petals. ) “ do you hate me, little shoto? “
how quickly the extremes reach out to grasp in their family. there is so little in between love and hate that for the longest time shouto believed them the same thing. it was touya, wasn’t? who taught him they could be.
maybe — but no, no, not really. hate is too simple, the swell in his chest is a tornado, the feeling split between the white and black, a muddled pink. after all, duality is what he was breed to be. “ i don’t know you anymore, ” painful honesty, non-answer. he’d wanted to be him, back then. “ i hated him, instead. ” past tense. “ hated the parts of me that were like him. ” it got easier when mom left, to blame the common factors.
a child speaks through his mouth piece again, less anger than the previous version, burning hot instead of cold. “ you left me. there. with him. ” it is part accusation, part question. “ you knew. ”
eyes examine the shared blue, the familiar halves and the scarred new. it’s too late to matter now. there is a version of him, past, sitting at the window waiting for someone who isn’t coming back. he doesn’t know it yet but it will happen again.
he misses his hands, aches for their use. for escape. to compare the size of their palms and brag of how much he’s grown. shouto’s heroes have long been dead. he became his own twice, can do it again.

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HALFHIM.
morbidly he had begun to archive the before.
one. father hadn’t been warm, per say, but he was there. standing in doorways, eyebrows furrowed as he wondered how he was supposed to deal with this child, his child. he hadn’t been warm but he’d pat touya’s head awkwardly. ( that was the gentlest his father ever laid his hands on him. ) he wasn’t loving but it had been enough. two. touya had ice cold skin everywhere but his hands and when he got his quirk it ate at his arms like kindling. through his tears, touya saw father grin wide. it was the kind of smile that belonged to a thing that ate sparrows, and when his mom argued that his body wasn’t meant for fire, was too weak, father cracked bones between his straight teeth. mother’s cheek puffed up and her pale skin was left mottled in shades of purple and yellow for weeks afterwards. three. mom’s belly swelled with life three more times. the last time touya let out a stuttered gasps at the little tufts of red and white hair on his baby brother’s head. he still doesn’t know if the sigh was one of relief or of despair. he’s too scared to find out.
that’s - that’s enough. his panting fills the silence. his cigarette burned itself down to the filter. his lips parted an open grave. all his bones on display. that’s what he gets for thinking about a dead boy. “ i’m just a wrath in the dark. “
FIREPROOF? cold resistant? shouto had always wondered what his hair would look like darkened, his reflection older, changed. to see it now, not quite him but close enough. close enough. lost in his own skin as if it were him instead who disappeared from a dinner table. ( ironic, now, that he is. ) blood runs so hot it feels cold. RAGE, finally cracks in the ice of his composure. not for being stolen but robbed — abandoned.
memories are fickle things. they don’t heal like scrapes, neither bruises. they become shadows, tucked into numbed spaces until reopened wounds remind. remember, remember.
shouto knows wrath only means vengeance, only shows that the threads still entangle. he wonders who the real target is now. this is surely not all for him, nor all might. he does not care. he has his own threads. he cuts at them with the pearls of his teeth. “ you left me. ”
HALFHIM.
@sculpthalves
cigarette smoke forms into plumes of never ending tenderness - clouds in the dark. he remembers laying in the grass once saying, look, look ‘yumi, that one is a frog! instead, now his head is cushioned by the cold comfort of concrete and he’s struggling to find shapes, however abstract, in the aftermath of his cigarette. “ fuck. “ his mouth taste like ash. he feels as though he is missing something. not slightly, but the way one misses a limb after it’s been lobbed cleanly off, the phantom pains so intense he grits his teeth. ( he had googled his name some mornings ago. he wonders if missing an identity is the same as missing a leg. lonely with just the ghost of himself. )
DECEPTIVE. appearance, scars, familiarity. capture, smoke, mirrors. shouto tries to peel back the layers of what he’s truly seeing; what he’s allowed to bare as witness. his name, in full, had been handed back to him. there is only so many calculations to make. only so much water vapor in smoke to freeze. none of it is enough for a clear move. ask a question, draw a clearer picture. “ who are you, really? ” he just wants to hear it, confirmed. a plea in a straight face. oh, shouto, but what is in a name?