The Not Very Slow Descent
chapter 1: Bloody and Burnt
fic summary: sort of a “fall from grace”-type fic about dabi’s transition from a semi-respectable member of the todoroki household to uhhhhhh canon i guess
possible triggers: child abuse, fire, pretty graphic violence i guess, the word “tobacco” is said like once
characters involved: dabi (he goes by akira in this part), endeavor, prince peppermint in smol form, todomom is there for a bit, and an oc i made in like 20 minutes
author’s notes: “shikkan” means disease btw i couldn’t work that into the actual fic
alright then, time to watch tumblr have a meltdown trying to process this
Akira stumbled into the bathroom, bloody and bruised. He clutched his stomach, barely holding its contents down. Blood dripped from his forehead, blurring his vision. A few drops reached his lips, and he could taste metal. His legs finally gave out, sending him falling backwards, eventually hitting the cold wall. The stone was cool against his back, somewhat dulling the searing pain. Everything hurt. His stomach was beaten black and blue, his arms were burnt to hell and back, and his head felt like it was about to split in two. Everything. His mouth filled with an awful sour taste, sending him to the floor on scraped knees and charred palms. He dragged himself toward the toilet, clenching his jaw and struggling to force his mouth shut. His body was heavy and barely responsive, each minute movement taking far more energy than he had in him. He finally found himself bent over the toilet, staring at a reflection clouded by blood. A few seconds passed eventless, save the sound of his labored breath, and then his mouth fell open. What little food he had that day spilled out, accompanied by a fair amount of blood. He coughed and wretched, wishing for nothing more than for the whole ordeal to be over.
A few minutes and quite a bit of pain later, he managed to pull himself off the floor. His mouth felt dry, and he could still taste vomit. He took a deep breath, letting his body unwind a bit. It was still blanketed in pain, though somewhat dulled as his stomach wasn’t violently churning anymore. He turned to the sink, intent on washing the blood and vomit off his face, and barely choked down a scream as the mirror came into view. His left eye was bruised and swollen shut, and his the skin under his right was burnt and cut in at least three different places. His hair was flicked with blood, red sticking out against white as if it was splattered on snow. Not a fantastic look, to say the least.
