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    Summary

    Natsuo wasn't much: tall, stocky, something that promised power—but it was an empty promise; all he had to offer were thin spiderwebs of ice that cracked in his palms and skated across the floor, reduced to vapor before the monster had even bothered to breathe his flames. When his father had pulled Natsuo into his bedroom, hands hot against his wrists as he lifted the boy and flung him onto the bed, growling that uselessness would not be tolerated in this house, Natsuo hadn’t even tried to fight. Maybe Endeavor had hoped he would—that Natsuo would struggle, kick and flail against the hands burning into him, that maybe his quirk would finally freeze Endeavor long enough that this would stop and he could get out and he wouldn’t be useless so it would never, ever happen again—

    It hadn’t stopped. But it was only once.

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    Language:
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