It's a long road...

the different shapes of shoto

1146 words --

shoto todoroki.

todoroki lets the words--his name--twist around in his mouth. the vowels and consonants twist around his tongue and push past his clenched teeth. he hates the way it crams in his mouth, his name, hates the sharp puncture of every syllable.

to. do. ro. ki.

he hates it.

todoroki's name is one fully belonging to his father. his father, endeavor, who had shaped todoroki into a stiff thin cold scared unflinching shielding teen with his harsh fists. todoroki was battered and forced into the shape of a soldier, one ready for victory or death death always death.

todoroki wasn't like the rest of his family the words taste bitter in his mind, tasting of the ash from his father's hellfire crackling around him. his mother, rei, was calm and gentle to the touch for the most part, from what todoroki could see, and only occasionally was he ever truly cut by her sharp, unrefined edges, cracked and chipped into jagged pieces by endeavor. he was nothing like his sister, fuuyumi, who was gentle and soft, the comfort of freshly laid snow. he was nothing like natsuo, strong and sturdy and unrelenting in finding joy and peace despite endeavor.

the name touya flits through the back of todoroki's mind, just out of his full grasp. in the years to come, todoroki would realize that they were two brothers truly cut from the same cloth. both destructive and defensive, and scared. hurt. burning. the only difference was that touya exploded, choosing the forcibly shape the world himself. todoroki imploded, forcibly shaping himself to hide away in the world as best he could. both burned far too much.

it was after a lot of thought that todoroki would let himself grieve his brother.

shoto.

shoto was short, simple. his mouth automatically moved to the shape of his last name, but the word never really came. he appreciated the absence of endeavor with this new name.

with the new name came a new shape that only looking back on was shoto able to realize was unbearable to see at first. shoto had been pieced together from the broken shards that had been left in the training room by his father. shoto was dull bones pushing through stretched over skin. labored breaths and shaking blood. shoto was a creature made of crumbling power and will.

it was shortly later that shoto was built back up, reshaped. this time not by harsh hands, large and overbearing and always correct. but, instead, shoto was reshaped by many gentle hands, filling in the gaps between his bones and heart with warm food and soft friendship.

it was ashido and kaminari's wide smiles and shared inside jokes that brought muscle back to his legs, allowing him to hold himself up again. it was kirishima's unrelenting understanding and soft reassurances that brought the muscle to his arms, allowing shoto to reach out in turn to his friends, to hold their hands and hug them. it was sero's crooked smile and crooked teeth that brought a form back to shoto's face, teaching him, showing him, allowing him to smile back. it was jirou's quiet presence and gentle hums that brought a shape back to his stomach, filling him with quiet relaxed moments and music and silent understanding.

it was all of his class that reformed shoto into something whole and tangible. grounded and unable to slip away through air to disappear.

shoto aizawa.

the letters awkwardly pressed against the back of his teeth and inside of his cheeks at first. unwilling to be spoken for what felt like far too long for shoto aizawa. the words tasted of hope and trepidation. of family, and whatever that truly meant. would they hurt him? what would their faces twist into the first time he messed up, made a mistake? what would be the shape of their care and love?

but, soon enough, the name came easy for shoto aizawa. it was with shota's tired eyes, always caring and warm for him, and easy reprimands, never aimed to hurt. shota was everything endeavor wasn't. he was able to teach with firm but kind words, never hurting. shota allowed shoto aizawa to forge his own future, and work with his powers himself.

hizashi drew shoto aizawa out his shell, with infectious laughter and loud words that never thundered with anger, never shook the house's walls with intimidation. hizashi drew shoto aizawa up into small adventures and fun, pushing him gently into warmth and sweets and unashamed excitement. hizashi filled in the gaps of shoto aizawa's heart, teaching it to race with joy.

hitoshi and later eri taught shoto aizawa to dish it out and take it. they taught him quick and silly comebacks, taught him rubbing without malice behind it, taught him the art of play fighting. with them, shoto aizawa learned to be quick on his feet with a retort. they taught him sneaky laughter as treats were eaten before dinner, taught him the comfort of family movie nights and reliable comfort, taught him dress up and tea parties and the shared exasperation of parental antics. they taught him secret languages, incomprehensible even to them sometimes.

shoto bakugo.

the name came easy, even before katsuki had proposed. the name slipped past his mouth easily, the sound of it coated in honey, dipped in chocolate, and was soft to the touch. the name wrapped itself around his ring finger and glistened with gold and a jewel.

katsuki had filled in the gap of his stomach with warm food, and gruff comfort. with unexpected compassion. filled in the space in-between his ribs with love.

katsuki had confessed to shoto bakugo one night when they were still young, under the quiet stars of ua that the shape of his love was a dark scar, was red and white hair, was impassive faces, and shy, unexpected grins, was matched power, and provisionally licenses, and easy insults, and a garaunteed sparring partner. katsuki said the same of his love was jagged ice and biting fire, was cool hands in the summer, and a  warm side in the winter.

shoto bakugo wasnts surprised to realize that the shape of his love was unconventional pet names, was spiky hair, surprisingly soft when just dried after a shower or still intact after an intense battle, was vermillion eyes narrowed and rolling in contempt, and callused hands capable of bringing down cities yet soft with comfort, and the smell of smoke, and the pop of explosions, and the quick chop of knives and stirring of pots, and was shared meals after long days of work.

now, after all these years, shoto finds, yet again, the shape of himself has changed. worn and weathered skin grown soft, with age mapped out over his face. once bright and poignant hair faded into gray and barely there pink. breaths come easy and meals enjoyed. smiles small but open. sincere.

happy.

hello gamers! long time no see yeah? ill be honest, i sort of lost interest w mha lol, and this fic fell by the wayside. but, ive pushed through and mustered up a hopefully worthy ending for the fic. thank you all so much for all the reads and votes and comments! i really appreciate all the attention and kindness y'all have given me fndjdjdj feel free to leave some comments on this last chapter; gimme ur final thoughts on the ending, on the overarching story, on my wiring, and advice or criticisms. this is my first real story and id really like to get better at writing lol! thank you all again, it's been a pleasure, and i hope y'all are pleased w the end!!!