Suicidal Todoroki x Midoriya | What it Means to Love

25 | Taste of Vengeance

Warning: Hardcore gore and gore!

I will be putting a warning in where hardcore gore begins and ends using: ⚠️.

Shoto Todoroki

"I will tell you the whole truth. Sit down." Endeavor motions for me to sit on the couch. A wavering flash of guilt streams through his eyes.

I'm so sick of feeling empty and broken. Do you understand? No. No, you never will. Who do you think you are to brush this all aside? I once wanted to prove my strength to you. Now? I will prove that I never needed you. Why? While I gave everything I had to rise above you, I was never enough. I have only so much in me. I have only so many tears to shed and so much blood to bleed... I can fall only so many times before I break. And it hurts. Even with a heart of stone, all rocks erode over time. The kind of pain I feel mocks my asinine, mistake of an existence, and it mercilessly drives knives into all of my nine lives, but you would never understand the desperation of the weak. I refuse to allow you to continue this.

I refuse...

I refuse.

I REFUSE!

I remain as still as a stone as my right hand silently fumbles around the vacant space in my pocket. "No. Even if you dropped down onto your knees like a dog, mewling haplessly for forgiveness and purgation, nothing would be altered in your favor. In fact, it would be best to stay your rotten, crass tongue. Even if you desired only to prove that you are capable of 'being a better person,' and that you can change your heart to show that you can change, I would provide to you nothing of importance. When I see this left half in the mirror, I see you—a monster—not me. It repulses me. I have never before been in the presence of such a sickeningly loathsome image. I applaud Mom for her efforts to destroy it. I want to destroy it."

You saw only my faults. I could never understand why you never thought to seek the scarce, but existent, assets within me. Surely... Surely there must have been something other than the quirk you selectively bred for one of your children to eventually inherit...right? Wrong. You impudently chose to abandon the notion that I could become the person you wanted me to be without any inevitable flaws. You chose to ignore the fact that I wasn't simply burning away all of my energy in your sadistic training sessions, but I was voiding my sanity—I was gouging a hole through my own heart—to be what you wanted me to be. But I simply could not amount to enough for you, could I? So for you to be forcing your damn pity down my throat... How can it be made abundantly axiomatic that this supposed cognizance and change of heart is not simply a sadistic fabrication to lure me into hell again? How can I lay my life down on your rancid words that could easily prove to be nothing more than rancorous lies? Do you take me for a fool to dance with a demon who spins a web of deceit through his off-kilter movements? You have forged a new definition of the word 'trust' for me—may I never allow you to coil your filthy claws over this. Why? I find myself dubious of everything, so how can I know your ulterior objective is not to revoke this clemency and crush the vestiges of my heart? I cannot lay one splintered shard of faith in you—I provided over six years for you to establish that you were someone I could deem as trustworthy, and you incinerated those opportunities. Once again, I stumble upon validation to my vehement detestation of whoever or whatever I am defined as—in your eyes, that 'I' is an 'it' without capitalization. Yes, 'it' is a miserable wretched being. Countless times have I attempted to liquidate 'it,' and yet 'it' still stands with seething malice.

I find myself chuckling a malevolent, eerie laugh. "I will destroy it," I howl vindictively.

Each time I succeeded in paving over my mistakes with what you instructed me to carry out on your indignant behalf, you would then lambaste me for any and all things you saw were imperfect in any shape or form. I was imperfect. I am imperfect. I will always be imperfect. Always... I will never be perfect, regardless of how many trials you drag me through to refine me to perfection...and I am okay with that. I am a human with a heart, Endeavor—albeit that this heart has been abominably vanquished. You desire for me to possess no such thing as even a mere recollection of emotion, but regardless of how many times you rip open my heart, I feel the pain all the same. It's always been that way. But it hurts. I learned to attain extreme stoicism, but that never erased the pain I learned never to show. It hurt, and you ignored the utter torture you inflicted on me. I didn't want to feel that pain anymore, because it hurt like all hell. That was the kind of pain that urged me to die. It was a kind of pain telling me to endeavor a scream—a primal plea to cease the excruciating pain—but I never deserved a reprieve from my execrable wrongs, so I swallowed that voice down. I have no other words to say, other than...it hurt.