Guah! [where-!? upright. shadows. darkness. a single overhead light abruptly strikes in his eyes. pain skewers into his mind, reflexively jerks his head back in recoil. everything hurts, everything pounds. *thub thub ... thub thub* his own heart reminds him it exists, startling his nerves with its sound. picking itself out of a dreaming haze, life begins to claw back into his consciousness. where is... he...
eyes stare back at him from ahead. his eyes. floating in his own face. familiar eyes he's seen before but his chest seizes up in a split second. no-! his eyes aren't his eyes! then they area. wait... blinking once, twice, completely red and white. tiny veins crawl through his sclera, reaching in needy strain towards his irises. *thub thub ... thub thub* hurting. hurtin. burning as if they'd been roasting in front of a fire for far too long. his eyelids can't flush enough water to balm it. does he even have water in his ducts anymore? he can't tell. he doesn't know.
why... why can he see his own face? a mirror. slowly his brain begins piecing the world together. reaches to the left, grasps a frame, pulls until the wall meets with his mirror's edge. reaches to the right, grasps a frame, pulls until the wall meets his mirror's edge. reaches up-- mirror's eyes. cobbling it into one focal point: caving sink, straight counter. a bathroom vanity swallowing his entire figure as if he's standing in a silver mouth looming behind.
what just happened? reality squishes together in a single picture, leaving him standing with his arms braced on the edge. shaking with effort he can't remember or a minute. he can't remember... for more than a minute. *thub thub ... thub thub* he crawls backwards in his own mind, trying to locate something he can grasp among the darkness. a memory, a moment, something-!!
you're coming with me for an hour
his voice. beating in his skull. he hears it from his own lips, it came from his mouth. an arm slings around someone's shoulder, tightening in a way he hasn't done in years. notched at their neck, free hand on their body, smoke rising with a hissing crinkle of clothing. threatening. what the fuck?! he wouldn't be threatening some innocent person like that?! he doesn't-!! *thub thub ... thub thub*
a bottle smashes on the ground, glass shattering as he shoves backwards from the bathroom mirror. fuck... fucking nightmare. fingers dig into his hair, scuffing his scalp. it's all black in there. in his brain. a lump of coal black lead. and he's standing in front of it, stomach instantly dropping to his feet as his eyes lock with its shape. a figure, a person, similar in size and shape to someone familiar. someone he knows very well. he's seen him each morning in the mirror. *thub thub ... thub thub* run away. run away! you don't need to see what's under there!
footstep stalk through his suite, bare on the ground and plush carpet alternating. don't fuck with him! he's not afraid of anything! one step, two step, until his toes sink into inky soil and his fingers plunge into obsidian dirt. not afraid. both hands scoop and he hauls back, dragging the dirt away. not afraid! another scrape, pulling more away as he crouches over its ominous shape. something's under here. someone's under here! ... RUN AWAY!!]
SHUT UP!! [let him see-!!
Shitty liar. Spill it or I'll blast your head all over the table!
his voice again, sprinkled among clattering chips and a human body splayed out on the table below. vicious and snarling, not the same growling threat he spills out so easily. his nape tightens up, his hairline twitches as his flesh squeezes around his body. *thub thub ... thub thub* not his voice. yes your voice! That's not my Voice! IT IS YOUR VOICE!! another handful of dirt, frozen in the air, suddenly unsure of whether he needs to keep digging into this mound.
Is that the best your roots-for-brains can shit out?
fuck. fuck! it wasn't-! anything, what, anything! clenching in his ribs until his throat stifles itself. breathe, breathe, you fucking-! *crash!* ceramic shatters against the wall, shards flying through the air. hunched at the table in his dining room, he braces one arm on the surface, eyes widening as everything begins to come into clear. his hands are moving in his mind, frantically clawing at soil atop his mound. he can't tell if he's trying to pull it off or shove it back on! don't look! look at me. don't fucking look at it! look at you!
orange light glowing like hell all around. burning rubber and melting metal mix with glass grains sticking in his shoulder and arm. *thub thub thub thub* he was here, he was there, he saw him, esikko called him! he trusted him to come to him, to help him, to save him! but he didn't come to him! someone else did... it had to be someone else! the crackling sound of fire grows in his ears, forcing his head up in alarm. it's burning! all of it's burning! cars, walls, floor, saturated in smoke, gas, blood, flesh, flowers! charred fingers curling, a gurgling breath trying its hardest to stay alive. he was there... he was there! all he had to do was reach for him--!!
Let him go.
he said that. those damnable words. a hero. a hero spoke them to someone dying! HE SPOKE THEM! his face, his mouth, esikko's visage burning and crying below him and all he did was turn away from him! bile surges in his throat, his mind reeling against itself. nothing like aizawa chiding him for collateral damage. he's been upbraided before for a personal grudge from that ponytail girl! best jeanist reprimanded him for black and white views and how he didn't care about what others or felt. each of them, to him, to be a better hero! a hero?! WHAT KIND OF HERO WILLINGLY LETS SOMEONE DIE LIKE THAT?! WHAT HERO DOESN'T CARE SO BADLY, HE HURRIES IT ALONG LIKE THEIR DEATH MEANS NOTHING?!
fuck- fuck it all! don't fuck with him! that wasn't him! *thub thub thub thub* heat swells in his palm so hard it's agonizing! fear, rage, frustration, terror, fury so hot his vision's red and his arm wrenches in his socket as he slams it forward. blinding illumination erupts, blowing the television off the wall. wood fattens in a bloated moment before the entertainment center ruptures outward.] DON'T FUCK WITH ME!! YOU FUCKING ASS LIAR!!
[stop it! stop it! stop digging into that grave! stop opening it up were his hands are blackened with sticky blood and his skin reeks of crimson smoke and flames. grasping his own shoulder, pulling at it as if somehow he can grapple the him in his head and pull him off that damnable mound! he knows what's under there now! he knows every repulsive hateful memory slithering within! for the love of god- stop fucking digging! *thubthub thubthub*
I'll kill you! Scram! Go to hell! If you want-
NOT THAT ONE!! touya's face, glaring at him under such ice masking a pain he never thought he could experience again. his breath catches in his neck, knotting into ball after ball until his lungs scream for breath which won't come! he has to scream and he can't! only stare in the man's face, at his smile dangling like a noose. hurting beneath those scars, beneath his own years of agony. someone else he could have saved, could have helped, could have reached for-- a hero should have- A HERO SHOULD- A HERO-
YOU WANT ME TO CRY OVER YOU THAT BADLY?
FUCK FUCK GODDAMMIT FUCK FUUUCK!! he can't destroy anything fast enough! die! all of it! DIE!! DIE!! craters blast into the walls, light fixtures jump on their stalks before smashing into ceiling angles, arms churning back and forth in desperate effort to shut his brain up! explosion, explosion! be gone! destroy it all! Blow up! GET OUT!! BLOW IT OUT!! GET OF HIS HEAD!! GET OUT!! *thubthubthubthub*
everything's peeling away, dragging screaming layers of his mind back in one gory strip after another. leaving the last 24 hours in dripping disgusting raw nakedness for his viewing pleasure. esikko lying in ruin, touya dropped on his knees, an empty spot digging into his ribs because he couldn't even catch the person responsible! every cursed minute, presented on a golden platter held between glinting clawed fingers beneath a drooling gilded beak! every fucking thing he did, every crime his hands committed, every kill dripping off his skin!
he couldn't stop chobe, he couldn't save esikko, he couldn't help touya! all he focused on was himself! his victory! his ego! not angry esikko died! angry he didn't get to kill chobe first. not caring touya was suffering. caring he hadn't been able to win the battle! furious chobe go away and spit on his all consuming all important pride! *SMASH!* a beast in the room, standing amid ruin and destruction. furniture wheezes beneath flames, glass shatters under smoke, his counter groans in death as it droops to the side and slowly falls into a carved-out grave in the floor. *thubthubthubthub!*
can't breathe! lungs ache! sweat's dry! leaking everything out of him, he's seeping his life and brains out of his fucking pores! clutching at his chest, clawing into his own skin, breaking out and tugging free, he has to breathe, you have to breathe! calm down! calm down! blow up! Blow Up! BLOW IT ALL UP!]
It's a lie. It's a lie! IT'S A FUCKING LIE!!
[no lie. all truth. every single strip of his 24 hours dangles from the room like so many oozing streamers. i'm gonna be the greatest hero when i grow up! slowly twisting his hands around in front of his face, eyes widening at their quivering image. bloody. burnt. it's all inside him. he's capable of all of it. negative traits brought roaring to the surface. i won't let anyone else tell me what to do! his anger and short temper elevated into a trigger-happy violate monster. his selfishness and pride swollen to overthrow everything and anyone else within his life. his desire for victory consuming every challenge in a vicious rush for his win, crushing everything else underfoot until he's at the top of a mountain made from their bodies. you can shove your offer and go to hell! i've always admired all might! nothing's gonna change that!
all of that is inside of him... something's in there.. something i can't control... someone which... a hero would never... a hero would never... do what i did... all might would never... all might... hero... he's a hero! ... he's a- he's not a... he's not a-! ... he- hero-!]
ษรษ~Vลโฑ โฑ โณลn
--!! [his throat tears open and screams himself bloody raw]
[smoke and ash, flickering flames, walls and ceiling cratered with pocket marks, ruins scattered around in splintered wood and shattered metal, surrounding a single figure twitching half-curled in a pathetic position against the farthest wall, one hand clutching his upper arm in the darkness as a soft orange glow sparks and bursts between his fingers in repeated detonations against his own flesh.]
[minutes... hours... days... doesn't know. nothing works right now. nothing's right now. everything's breaking, broken, pieces he can't pick up or see. he's drowning... and he has no voice left to scream.
no clue why, not even sure how it happened. a silent flicker of light cuts through his blackened room, illuminating his wrist as his watch activates. names... people... someone who might know a fraction of what it feels like... someone who he trusts... who could help...
And seeing that singular message with just that one word, coming from a certain person, everything else becomes secondary to Scott. Water bottle dropped to the ground, Scott's already moving his way out of his room as he types back.]
below an ominous lantern-light glow of sizzling, crackling explosions, his watch flickers again, painting his wrist and top of his hand a gentle blue color.
beeboop incoming message... someone's answering... no...stop it... no one needs to be here...
unable to factor a refusal, unable to somehow prevent it, fingers frozen in curl without muscle to even twitch]
help
[automated. must be. no further aid, no input, finally kicking on a golden dot in scott's watch to pinpoint bakugo's location in his room. like a beacon in the ocean waves, bobbing a solitary light within a stormy surf.]
[There's a couple of locations that Scott can guess. The Talon. His room. But if Bakugo is asking for help like this, he doubts it would be in a public location. And if he was in an actual fight right now, the message wouldn't feel so defeatist. This feels more like his friend needing help, not just in a fight way.
Then there's a dot that appears on his Watch, basically cementing his prior thoughts. Bakugo is in his room.]
on my way.
[Is he running? Yeah. As such, it won't take long before the teen arrives in the front of Bakugo's suite, though he can't open it without his help. He knocks on the door before sending him another quick message.]
[don't... don't let him in... no one... no one needs to see him like this. it won't stop. every shudder, every quake, threatening so much of what he's built himself on. a single drifting piece, licking across the waves. how can he even show his face like this? not to someone... not to someone like scott... how does he know he's outside his room? not sure, doesn't care. pain again, earning another clutch at his arm, knees tensing as if he might shrink further inside.
someone... anyone... pounding on his door, reverberating thuds and crashes in his room and mind... no... everyone... go away... go away...
slowly metal turns as the lock slides back, clicking open with a finality he can't stop. he's always hated anyone approaching him during struggles. promising himself he can handle anything he needs to on his own. he doesn't need help, doesn't need sympathy, doesn't need anyone...
darkness splits as the door swings backwards slowly in front of scott, rich wood with gilded designs cutting into nothing. light from the hall spills inside, banishing shadows and gloom only within its narrow column. smokey tendrils slither outward as if walking into a fog room. the acrid scent of scorched wood and burned smoke sticking the mutant's nose with charred ozone and something burnt.
nothing in his suite's main area survived. a missile strike obliterating everything as scott opens the door to ground zero. the cause of it all huddled at a far wall, bare sounds of gritting breath struggling between his clenched jaws.]
[He doesn't fully question why the door opens without Bakugo's input, the intricacies of this casino far from his mind for right now. Instead, his gaze sharply focuses on his surroundings as he steps inside, Scott taking in the wide venue of destruction, nose twitching as the smell of burnt wood hits it. Did a battle actually occur here? A glint of red flashes behind his sunglasses, one hand raised to his shades as he looks around the mostly darkened room. The only light coming from the hall-- which fades as the door closes behind him.
He reaches for a light, if it's still be able to turned on, but either way, he manages to catch the huddled form of his friend. Defeated, curled up, and looking nothing like he's seen him before. Concern lurches in his throat. He suddenly doesn't care if he's stepping through glass or anything else broken, shoes crunching through the floor until he kneels down by his friend-- two hands on his shoulder before squeezing.]
Bakugo, it's me. It's Scott. I'm here.
[Should he be concerned about the danger still being here? Whatever, he's focusing on Bakugo for the time being. There's nothing but worry in his voice, though it remains steady as well, focused as he looks at Bakugo's form for any injuries. Thoughts of the other teen being weak doesn't pop up in his mind at all.]
[it called for him. it responded for him. it led for him. it opened for him. he can't question anything this shitty place is doing right now, it's already done far too much. is this what it does, playing with its fucking food like a sadistic monster? picking them up and digging within until it finds a tender morsel and rips it dripping from his cavity before dropping him back as refuse. done until next time, forced to watch each second of it snapping a piece of him from his flesh and downing his own life blood into its gullet.
noiseless without seam, his door eases shut behind the new invader, sealing once more with nary a sound but one final 'la-chck' of the lock. twisted within wood and metal, keeping scott with his own choice to enter.
a quiet flick of a switch momentarily sputters one remaining overhead light to life, a single glowing snapshot of ill-lit ruination. before exploding with a pop, sprinkling smoke and powdery glass shards below. scott's shoes crush glass and wood, heralding an approach he desperately wishes he could avoid. but his muscles won't allow it, his filleted mind unable to send signals beyond one hand clutching at his arm. smoke continues drifting from his hand, a bubbling orange glow beneath his hand sizzling flesh and blood in raw torment. he barely feels it compared to what slashes and burns inside his head and chest.
weight and warmth press into his space, instantly shutting his throat in a suffocating gag as hands settle on his shoulder. squeezing in reassurance as heat gushes through his veins and drives another scalding weight behind his eyes. don't look at me... so many people here he never wants to let see him like this... beaten down, defeated, violated...]
It's inside my mind... [fear and anguish squeeze his voice into a childish squeak, far from his rough depths normally growling into people's ears.] I thought... I thought I could... It's defiling my mind, Scott...
[too wrecked to even spew his fury into his usual litany of curses. hunching tighter inward, teeth snarling in his jaws so hard he swears something cracks in his bone.] I can't... do anything... to stop it-!
[foolish, fucking stupid, thinking he alone could stand his ground. only to be broken in one furious smash from his face to his feet, crushed into unrecognizable filth.]
[Even through his shades, he can see the glow that's emitting from Bakugo's hand, burning his flesh and immediately prompting the mutant to draw his own hands away from his shoulders to firmly grip his wrist. Pulling it away, wanting to stop his friend from hurting himself even further. That burnt flesh will need to be tended to soon and a part of him is angry at his friend for hurting himself like this, but he shoves that down-- swallows it past that knot of feelings in his throat.
It's clear that Bakugo is in a bad space right now and he's not going to start yelling at him. The fact that his voice is small and far away from the tone he normally hears only solidifies his thoughts. Though, Scott keeps his grip firm around Bakugo's wrist as he listens to him and tries to put pieces together. He lost control? It's a feeling that he can relate to all too well. With the other teen, however, it must've been an influence from the resort itself, because he has complete control over his powers. It gives him a couple of ideas what might've happened.
His other hand keeps on his shoulder.]
Your suit? [...] Bakugo, look at me. I don't know what happened, but remember how I promised that I'd kick your ass if something goes wrong? I'm here. You're not facing it alone.
[Should he be prepared to fight? Maybe. Scott's guard isn't fully down, still alert because of the situation he's found Bakugo in, but he's not going to pull away from him just yet either.]
[don't- a hand grips at his wrist, stubbornly pulling, and his fingers instantly dig inward, a cupping cling darkening into gnarled claw. stop it-! what the hell, baka?! he can't feel anything but his hand! he doesn't want to! a single solitary point of pain burning in his flesh, tiny little glimmer of orange keeping a maelstrom of so much worse at bay. let go! crackling noises grow, sparks visible beneath his palm as scott tugs his wrist. like a goddamn scab peeling from his body, raw flesh sticking to his palm before burning off. you can't-!
off! his hand comes free, burning palm spurting a flurry of sparks and small explosions as if a live wire was pulled from an insulating plug. leering upward from his ruined skin, a red-hot mark sears into him, branded in mocking elation. ever a reminder of what happened, what he did. without his hand capping it, without a blanket of burning constant pressure of expected pain, new hurt rushes inward. punching his lungs and stealing his breath with intensity. memories flood in with them, raking over each other in abrasive grit as they shave off broken pieces and polish themselves in agonizing tumble. laughter, shouting, explosions, burning, voices, shoving into his mind everything stuffed in twenty four scathing hours.
feels like his soul's dangling above a stampede of beasts, slamming into it one after another as it bounces and crashes against their unforgiving bodies. thickness swallows up the back of his throat, bloats into his neck and crawls towards his mouth. shit... shit-!
look at me
red eyes snap upward, staring wild and ragged into scott's face. he wants to see his face, seeking his friend's visage desperately among the buffeting pain and recollections. but he doesn't. instead, his own face stares back at him from scott's glasses, disgusting and wretched in tear-streaked mess, blood leaking from a few small cuts, bloodshot eyes seeping water above trembling lips.
FUCK! he gags instantly, pitches his head down, and is violently sick. every bone disconnects like a marionette collapsed and he sags forward, held up purely by scott's hand on his shoulder and arm. emptying out he doesn't know what, but it feels vile. stomach lurching upward to his spine, pinching his guts until he's squeezed dry and can only struggle out wet, weak squeaking sounds.
[That sparking, dangerous hand is so close to his own now, but Scott doesn't relent even the slightest. Hold firm, not painful, but still forceful in making sure that Bakugo doesn't try to burn his own flesh once more. A burn that sticks out now that there's nothing to hide it and he can see, clear as day, the tattoo of the spades mark flaring from his wrecked skin and basically answering any questions that he might've had. Well, at least the cause of why Bakugo lost control. He still doesn't know what happened exactly, but it's basically an admittance of guilt.
Something hard clenches around his chest, unable to stop himself from thinking the worst. Bakugo hurting himself, Bakugo openly crying in front of him.
There's a thought that goes through his mind that he's watching someone have... a panic attack? Watching him struggle to breathe, with screams buried inside his chest but not coming out, and. He hasn't helped someone like this before. Not to this extent. But fuck, even if he doesn't know what to do exactly, he's sticking by Bakugo. Keeping to his side even as the other gags and vomits on the ground in front of them. Scott doesn't care if a part of it lands on him, his hand still holding the other's weight-- physically being that support that he said he'd be.
Then. There it is. The truth of what happened.
Scott swallows tight. Isn't this the worst nightmare for people like them? Wanting to be heroes, wanting to save people, and avoiding killing others whenever possible? The only modicum of relief is knowing that death doesn't stick around here, but that doesn't erase the guilt. The blood that's been stained on his hands.]
Who-- [He swallows again, deciding to change what he wants to say.] Your suit took over, didn't it? Without warning.
[Because Bakugo wouldn't let things go this badly on his own. He's too careful about that. Scott knows this.]
[his fingers twitch and spasm, as if trying desperately to catch onto something instead of frothing tiny sparks over his skin into nothing. consciously, unconsciously, he doesn't know, his quirk activates like it's the only thing he can grip onto, held above the water's surface he drifts beneath. scott's hand refuses to let him go, refuses to allow those dark tendrils have their way. swarming from depths he can't see, grasping onto his legs and free arm, pulling with damning words whispering into his ears. images flash across his eyes, his own voice spewing sickening demands, callous retorts. he wants so scream against them, protest the person he was wasn't him! yet his voice... his face... his arms and legs... all of it was him down to each disgusting emotion twisting putrid beneath his character!
heat leaks down his cheeks, searing lines he can't shake himself from with every droplet. which is sweat, which is tears, who cares, does it matter? he swears his stomach's about to come out his mouth, lurching so hard behind his abs it aches. tendons strain themselves as his fingers splay, reaching one more time for himself-- scott refuses and the wire cuts, dropping his hand over his wrist as his quirk dies like a light fading without its switch. a few more sputtering pops finish off, orange glow settling back into flesh.
he's all he's got to rely on right now. two hands holding him up when everything else is left free floating. what does he do? what can he do? every speck of dirt he clawed off that damnable grave clings to him, festering on his skin in smears and corrupted dye. bitterness coats his lips, tongue curling on itself, his stomach has nothing else to give up unless he wants to bleed. wouldn't give a shit right now if he did.
don't listen. silently begging in his mind, a foolish effort as his mouth moves and rasps out one word from another. a hero, confessing to the most unheroic actions possible. his life spent saving people, blazing for his victory, knowing each win meant the people relying him got to live. each step he took on the battlefield was ultimately for someone else, running in tandem to his own euphoria at victory. people look at him and see a hero, people see a hero and know they're safe, he was going to be just like all might... better...
he broke himself... and broke himself... and broke himself over and over to avoid being exactly what people thought he was going to be! explosion. arrogance. a villainous hero they called him. how could they trust someone like that to keep them safe? he promised to show each one of them they were wrong! that he controlled his emotions! ambitions pure and record clean regardless of what anyone thought or said!
is this what hawks felt? lady nagant? looking at his own hands and seeing someone else's blood dripping from his fingers. villains see this all the time, so much they don't even care, so much they even smile... how could he... how could i...]
You're wrong... [don't say it. don't admit it. don't excuse this for me.] It was me... [those dark things, his potential, his capacity to become what he swore he'd never be. they're still inside him, buried away beneath the heroic heart he thought was pure gold all this time. breathless, throat sticky, saliva trailing with each word.] I killed people, Scott... I watched him die... and i didn't fucking care!
[A small bit of relief when that glowing hand dissipates. His power no longer sparking dangerously around them, clawing back to his body and leaving them alone for the time being, although Scott doesn't release his wrist still. Less worried about Bakugo hurting himself now, but still worried in many other ways. So, he holds on, because he can feel the weight he's holding-- like Bakugo can't carry his own right now and that's fine. That's why he's here. Holding, supporting, as he recovers.
His eyes flicker to Bakugo as he continues to talk and a frown begins to pull at his mouth. He's wrong? No, he doesn't believe that. He won't. Bakugo was influenced by the power of his suit, an infliction given to them by the casino. He'd never hurt someone like that-- murder another. And he certainly wouldn't be okay with it. Fuck, the fact that he's crying right now in front of him proves that, right? Scott is still adamant in his own beliefs and such his voice becomes firm, like he's standing his ground.]
That wasn't you. It was the casino influencing you. [Bakugo is a loud asshole with a huge head on his shoulders, but he's not some murderous uncaring villain.] Look at me, Bakugo. And I'll keep saying it.
[He squeezes his shoulder further.]
You weren't yourself for whatever happened. The suit just pulled every single negative trait from you without any of the good or the self-control you have. You know that.
[He's not carrying it. Scott is. Each weighty piece crushing into his head and shoulders. Help afloat because he can't do it himself. All his life, hen never let anyone else do something for him. Slapped away a hand offered to help him out of the river. Slapped away a hand reaching to lift him from the dirty ground. Slapped away a hand wanting to support him on his injured limb. Why... why the hell is he always the one needing help? Is he really that weak? Him?
The next number one hero... he can't even see that dream right now... He can't see All Might's smile...
What would everyone in his class say if they saw him right now? If they knew what he did? Scott's the only one here with him, but he might as well be the vector for everyone Bakugo knew back home. The only other person he's close to in this gods forsaken place who's as much a hero as Bakugo knows. What'll he think? What'll he say? He never wanted to show Scott something as ugly and pathetic as this. Stand tall, be strong, an unbreakable pillar he could rely on for anything...
Doesn't he see the blood on his hands?
Saying those kinds of things to him. His mind lurches for his kind words, scrambling selfish and desperate. How badly he wants to grasp onto them and believe each one. Dropping into his stomach like a catalyst and sending his bowels heaving again in disgust. It's just a fucking excuse... He stares at SCott's face, eyes burning with broken sorrow and rage. Heat building up beneath, spilling out, dripping off his chin.]
Then why does it hurt so much?
[Why does he still feel so guilty? Every action, every word, swarming around him and biting into his flesh, his mind, his soul. As if he did each one, and all he can do is look at them in horror.]
[He finally releases Bakugo's wrist so that he can reach out, grip his cheek in support, but also really get the blonde to look at him. Eyes serious behind those shades, maybe more serious now than Scott's ever been, centered on watery eyes and just how badly affected his friend is. Yeah, he's never seen him cry like this before, but his mind hasn't changed at all. He doesn't view him as weak. Nothing like that even comes close to his mind. He's just worried. And angry.
That anger directed entirely at the casino for doing something like this. Tugging away his control-- his very sense of self to the point that he actually killed someone. A person that probably couldn't even fight back?? He doesn't know all the details still, but they'll get there. This loss of control is so different to the way he can't control his powers, hell, even different to how his suit affects him, but he still understands not acting fully like yourself.]
It hurts because you're still taking responsibility for it, because it still happened. [No point pretending otherwise.] And because you care that much. You're not weak-- can you think of anyone that's able to resist a full suit flare?
[Don't... how many times is he going to think the same word? A gentle grip takes his cheek, tugs his head up, forcing him to lift his eyes and face his own reflection once more. Lips quiver with each struggling breath, hating the sight of himself. He can't even see the person he is, only the things he's done. Flashing through his eyes in a wicked slideshow. No more... Don't show me these things... Unable to stop their progression. Smoke pouring from debris, a huddled dark figure, callous lips moving dismissive words. "Hurt" is such a pathetic word to describe this clawing sensation inside his chest. Fury, agony, sorrow, disgust, loathing. The bitter gall of defeat clinging in his throat.
Something punches through his mouth and his air rushes out in a sputtering sound, as if he wants to start sobbing and barely manages to wrench his own control back before he breaks down again. As if it does him any good, hanging off Scott's hand, face a soaking wreck. What control? What the hell control can he even say he has?
Other kids in his neighborhood initially teased him about having a dangerous Quirk, thinking it might be better suited for villainy. He quickly set their fucking brains straight with proud words and a victorious explosion. His Quirk was his own, his power was his direction, he would never use his Quirk for something shitty like crime or villainy. A petty bully had something to say about it later, each explosion he landed on Midoriya for pissing him off. But even that... nothing... nothing like this... When he turned his own power on someone who couldn't...
... d-dammit-]
I should've been able to... [It sounds so pathetic to say. As if he alone had the strength to do what so many others could. Some proud part of him believed it too. Believed if he kept his mark under control, content, nothing would ever come of it. He was too strong, too smart, to prepared to be so demolished...] I fucking hate myself.
[Something he never thought he'd ever hear himself say. It burns on his lips, disgust twisting in his stomach. Yet he's not looking away from Scott, able to form actual words, somehow finding a way to struggle through everything swirling in his mind as he holds onto his friend's life line. The only thing he has right now.]
[A sharp frown tugs at the corner of his mouth hearing Bakugo's confession. Hearing him admit something like? And combined with the way he looks so disgusted with himself? It's honestly pretty hard to see him like this. However, there's no chance in hell he'd leave him now, abandon him when Bakugo needs help the most. He couldn't call himself a hero, a friend, or anything but a fucking asshole if he did.
If he's always around Bakugo at his high points, he'll be sure be there for his low points. Because he cares, because they're friends. And as friends--]
Stop thinking that way.
[His voice somewhat harsh, the first break of something in Scott's voice other than that comforting patience. While he keeps his hands on Bakugo, he doesn't mince his words or tone.] Things got fucked up and I don't care if you want to cry like this, but don't say shit like that.
[What else should he say about himself? These twisted muddled feelings clawing their way inside him. Everyone around him needs to see him the way he has to see himself. A hero can't help anyone if he's weak. If they sees him as pathetic as he is now, why would anyone believe he can save them? Why would anyone think he can win? Alone, powerless, he'd be nothing but a failure... reinforced each time he fails or messes up or makes a mistake. Regardless if his blame is on the table or off. How can Scott think he'd see himself as anything but disgusting?
This pathetic, violated me... used by some shitty thing like a fucking puppet-!
How can he do anything other than despise it?
Quiet seethes hiss between his teeth as he buries his fingers into his hair, squeezing his bangs in jagged tufts between each digit. Stop thinking that way. Then what way is he supposed to think? Nothing about this is fine. He can't accept any of this! Scott's shoulders bear the burden of being a leader. Of being a hero. Leading. Saving.
Of course he'd know what this feels like... when he couldn't save his brother...]
What the hell... I'm not crying-!
[Somehow Scott's harder voice strikes flint, spending a spark flaring into the darkness. A flicker of anger, defensive pride, irritation. A spark of life.]
[Is this really the right way to go about things? Maybe not, but it's what Scott is doing anyway, his grip tightening ever so much on Bakugo so that he can keep on focusing on him and hopefully stop him from clawing at his own hair. He saw that slight spark of anger from Bakugo, that familiar pride, and it's more than welcome at a time like this and he wants to keep bringing it up. Nourish it in some way.
Even if Bakugo ends up punching him.
He'd rather have Bakugo angry, ready to fight him, rather than have him continue being like this. He'll brunt that defensiveness from him. So, his voice continues to carry that sharper tone, not really looking down, but still more blunt.]
You've been crying in front of me as I've been sitting and watching you tell yourself that you're weak. [...] Is that the sort of impression that you want to leave with me? Someone that just cries and let things be?
[for all his shattered pride and wrecked feelings, there's enough of it there to prompt instinct. his uninjured arm drops from his hair, furiously scrubbing his fist and forearm across his eyes as if he could wipe his damn tear ducts off out of existence. idiot... don't point shit out like that! it won't stop... fuck, why won't it stop? he feels them rolling down his face, dripping on his jaw and chin, bleeding water from a wound which won't fucking clot!
kuso! tears of rage, of sorrow, hating himself even more for breaking down like this in front of someone he never wanted to appear as anything other than strong and reliable. as much as he hates scott seeing him in such a state, something in his chest continues to flare, hot amid his frigid choking ruins.]
What do you want me to do?! [his hand snaps into scott's shirt, crushing it into his fist as he jerks his head up and stares messy-faced into the mutant's own.] What am I supposed to do?! I can't bring those people back! I can't take back what I said! What I did!
[the sheer helplessness over his own admission threatens to shatter him all over again. he... he cant'- none of that can be undone. these stains on his hand, they're not gonna come off.]
[His other hand soon grips Bakugo's face so that he's gripping him with both hands, the mutant staring hard into his tear filled eyes with an almost unflinching gaze. Still non-judgmental, but firm because Scott thinks he has to be right now. He thinks it's the best way to comfort his friend right now, and bring him out of the depth of his feelings. Because in a way, it almost feels familiar. He's never killed someone, but... he still failed someone important to him.
And he can't bring him back no matter what. No matter how much he shouts or screams, Alex will never come back. He won't see him grow or help him with his powers, he's forever gone. And he wasn't even there to see him. Jean pulled him out of those feelings to help him concentrate on what needed to be done and maybe he can do that for Bakugo. Also be that leader that people expect him to be.
His hands tighten on Bakugo's face.]
You just have to keep fighting, Bakugo. Keep getting better. You can't give up, not now, after you worked so hard to become the number one hero.
[Well working to become that person, but his point still stands.]
...Or are you going to let this place tear you down after everything? Let down everyone that's counting on you still?
[he's trying so damn hard to keep those feelings inside, but those hands on his face, their warmth and support, how the hell can it feel like the only lifeline he has left... and the one thing he doesn't deserve to be touching. don't- heat spills from the corners of his eyes again, squeezed out by a pair of firm eyes he can almost see behind scott's impassive ruby lenses. scott's trying to be impartial, he doesn't want to judge him...
but this crushing guilt and heavy blame... he has to pay for this somehow. fingers curled around a burning coal, mind screaming at him with all logic to let go and put down the agony, but his body instinctively seizes up and keeps clinging to its sizzling surface. how long did it take scott to accept it wasn't his own fault? did he ever?
don't tell me i'm strong... tell me it's my fault for being weak.
pressure grips at his face and he grabs for scott's wrist, torn between wanting to tear his hand away and cling to it.
i don't want to fight anymore
it'd be easier to sink. hands gripping at his shoulders and legs, pulling him backwards towards cold and dark. give up. let go. normally his pride would roar and rage at any attempts to drag him somewhere, but those shattered pieces can barely twitch themselves on the floor.
he worked so hard to become an amazing hero... but setback after humiliating setback got in his way. someone always weaker than him blazed past him, a bunch of idiots kidnapped him like some fucking prize, the person he idolized all his life was crippled and forced into retirement all because he couldn't pull his own weight... and each time he picked himself back up from the mud and filth... scott's encouraging him to do the same right now... but he keeps slipping, landing on his knees in the muck. only kept up by the mutant's hand.]
After what I did... [he lowers his head, unable to face scott at the moment. bangs hanging over his eyes in shadows as heat drips from his chin.] If I let you die...
[it's almost impossible to hear those kind words and believe them. how many times does a hero have to fail before people waver? what if he fails again? when is he going to fail again? what if it's scott next time? fuck-!]
[He knows that all kinds of feelings are still running through Bakugo as he keeps his hands on his face. But that's fine, because despite his blunt words, he's here to support him for as long as he needs it. A hero that's been broken down, but Scott is making sure that he's here to help pick up all those pieces. And he does mean all of them. He's not going to leave a moment sooner, because Bakugo is someone so important to him. He's the only other teen in this place that's really like him, born with a power and dealing with a society that has these mutations. Quirks. Not to mention the whole 'hero' business. Being public.
When it comes to that, perhaps no one else here can understand them. Not fully.
Of course failure hits hard-- and it is usually a pretty bad thing, right? Because if they fail, that means someone probably got hurt, or worse. It's a certain level of stress and responsibility that Scott is aware of, but maybe hasn't fully experienced it yet, not when his team hasn't been out on a mission yet besides Apocalypse. And that was before they officially formed.
But when it comes to a team, he's learned that trust is the most important thing. It has to be earned, yeah, and despite everything he's heard so far from him...]
Without a doubt.
[He'd count on him. Because Scott knows with his entire being that if Bakugo 'lets' him die, it'd be because a whole bunch of shit went down. He doesn't believe for a second that his friend would let that happen even if every bone in his body was broken.]
[jabbing one support under him after another. some of them pierce through his flesh and he slides down as they protrude from behind. some catch despite the pain, sticking in his bone and grit. everything feels so heavy. his body wants to give out and his spirit flickers like a dying sparkler in the wind. but a pair of strong hands continue to cup around each tiny spark, refusing to let the gale take him. blunt words come on a soft breath, telling him to get up, telling him to remember. no matter the pain or burden, scott's refusing to give up on him. cupping his hands under his arms, pulling him onto his back, taking one step forward even as his legs drag behind him.
don't... why are still... so damn stubborn...
each piece gathered in his hands, heedless of their sharp edges breaking the skin on his fingers, ignoring their drips burning into his skin as he places them back one at a time. some fall off and scott picks them back up again. somewhere in there... he manages to get his knees beneath him, clunking and scraping on the muddy ground. there are... there are still people here... he cares about a lot... people who're important to him...
scott knows how this feels, in his own way. chewing himself up inside over his brother's death. unable to be there when it happened. unable to even watch him die. no words of solace or comforting. and yet he had to move forward. he managed to. this boy... is going to be leader someday. a hero in his own world... how can he see it if he's face down in the fucking mud? if the only other person here who can understand, a hero like him, is telling him to get up... is believing in him... is refusing to give up...
his throat dips hard as it drags down a wretched swallow, neck tendons and muscles scraping cable taut beneath his skin. heroes are wrecked by failure. foolish, stupid people. they'd blame themselves for a death they didn't even know about across the city. because it hurts. because their entire lives revolve around helping others. scott knows this. get up...
knuckles crumple on the floor, fingertips digging into his palm. if scott can look at him like this, after hearing everything he did, and still say he'd count on him without a doubt, how the hell can he let this stop him? hands cling at his arms and legs, drying to drag him back even as he pushes himself up in his mind. struggling and quivering under the weight of his guilt and the wounds in his chest. get up... move forward... there's still more you can do.
there are still people counting on him.
broken bones, torn muscles, burn skin, nothing like that had stopped him before. staggering ahead, he trips and stumbles forward, half running, half falling, towards that voice. without a doubt he tightens his hand on scott's, eyes lifting to his face once more. wet and bleary, lips slowly losing their trembling. so many pieces he still has to pick up, wounds to deal with... but his eyes are alive again. resolved to move once more.]
[With this almost all consuming silence, each little pull from Bakugo-- the way he grapples with his own thoughts and feelings, feels so pronounced to him. It makes each clenching struggle almost painful to watch, but he can also see those sparks returning in his friend, the way he nearly pushes himself to get out from the mud and face everything once more. Still beaten down and injured, but not gone yet and a flicker of redness flashes behind his sunglasses-- approval and relief clearly telegraphed.
He of course still remains as before, as vigilant as ever, a solid form that the other can grasp onto, with his own hands warm and gripping. Of the new members of the X-Men team, maybe he understands this the most. Being someone that others can trust and rely on when they're kicked down. Though he didn't see him a lot, Alex was always someone that believed in him-- and the other members on his team didn't really have that.]
I trust you still. I believe in you.
[And that's the full truth. Scott still believes in Bakugo and that he's going to be a great hero. Someone that will risk his life for others and do everything in his power to be a force for good. He thinks that his world would be worse off if he gave up or stopped trying to help. He refuses to let Bakugo feel or think that way. And with this, maybe he can even put those pieces together and find a way to be even stronger, even if there are cracks.
He'll be there along the way.
Scott lowers his head, pressing his forehead against Bakugo's in an almost intimate manner.] We'll pull through this shit together, okay?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breakdown
Date: 8/16/25 00:50 (UTC)Guah! [where-!? upright. shadows. darkness. a single overhead light abruptly strikes in his eyes. pain skewers into his mind, reflexively jerks his head back in recoil. everything hurts, everything pounds. *thub thub ... thub thub* his own heart reminds him it exists, startling his nerves with its sound. picking itself out of a dreaming haze, life begins to claw back into his consciousness. where is... he...
eyes stare back at him from ahead. his eyes. floating in his own face. familiar eyes he's seen before but his chest seizes up in a split second. no-! his eyes aren't his eyes! then they area. wait... blinking once, twice, completely red and white. tiny veins crawl through his sclera, reaching in needy strain towards his irises. *thub thub ... thub thub* hurting. hurtin. burning as if they'd been roasting in front of a fire for far too long. his eyelids can't flush enough water to balm it. does he even have water in his ducts anymore? he can't tell. he doesn't know.
why... why can he see his own face? a mirror. slowly his brain begins piecing the world together. reaches to the left, grasps a frame, pulls until the wall meets with his mirror's edge. reaches to the right, grasps a frame, pulls until the wall meets his mirror's edge. reaches up-- mirror's eyes. cobbling it into one focal point: caving sink, straight counter. a bathroom vanity swallowing his entire figure as if he's standing in a silver mouth looming behind.
what just happened? reality squishes together in a single picture, leaving him standing with his arms braced on the edge. shaking with effort he can't remember or a minute. he can't remember... for more than a minute. *thub thub ... thub thub* he crawls backwards in his own mind, trying to locate something he can grasp among the darkness. a memory, a moment, something-!!
you're coming with me for an hour
his voice. beating in his skull. he hears it from his own lips, it came from his mouth. an arm slings around someone's shoulder, tightening in a way he hasn't done in years. notched at their neck, free hand on their body, smoke rising with a hissing crinkle of clothing. threatening. what the fuck?! he wouldn't be threatening some innocent person like that?! he doesn't-!! *thub thub ... thub thub*
a bottle smashes on the ground, glass shattering as he shoves backwards from the bathroom mirror. fuck... fucking nightmare. fingers dig into his hair, scuffing his scalp. it's all black in there. in his brain. a lump of coal black lead. and he's standing in front of it, stomach instantly dropping to his feet as his eyes lock with its shape. a figure, a person, similar in size and shape to someone familiar. someone he knows very well. he's seen him each morning in the mirror. *thub thub ... thub thub* run away. run away! you don't need to see what's under there!
footstep stalk through his suite, bare on the ground and plush carpet alternating. don't fuck with him! he's not afraid of anything! one step, two step, until his toes sink into inky soil and his fingers plunge into obsidian dirt. not afraid. both hands scoop and he hauls back, dragging the dirt away. not afraid! another scrape, pulling more away as he crouches over its ominous shape. something's under here. someone's under here! ... RUN AWAY!!]
SHUT UP!! [let him see-!!
Shitty liar. Spill it or I'll blast your head all over the table!
his voice again, sprinkled among clattering chips and a human body splayed out on the table below. vicious and snarling, not the same growling threat he spills out so easily. his nape tightens up, his hairline twitches as his flesh squeezes around his body. *thub thub ... thub thub* not his voice. yes your voice! That's not my Voice! IT IS YOUR VOICE!! another handful of dirt, frozen in the air, suddenly unsure of whether he needs to keep digging into this mound.
Is that the best your roots-for-brains can shit out?
fuck. fuck! it wasn't-! anything, what, anything! clenching in his ribs until his throat stifles itself. breathe, breathe, you fucking-! *crash!* ceramic shatters against the wall, shards flying through the air. hunched at the table in his dining room, he braces one arm on the surface, eyes widening as everything begins to come into clear. his hands are moving in his mind, frantically clawing at soil atop his mound. he can't tell if he's trying to pull it off or shove it back on! don't look! look at me. don't fucking look at it! look at you!
orange light glowing like hell all around. burning rubber and melting metal mix with glass grains sticking in his shoulder and arm. *thub thub thub thub* he was here, he was there, he saw him, esikko called him! he trusted him to come to him, to help him, to save him! but he didn't come to him! someone else did... it had to be someone else! the crackling sound of fire grows in his ears, forcing his head up in alarm. it's burning! all of it's burning! cars, walls, floor, saturated in smoke, gas, blood, flesh, flowers! charred fingers curling, a gurgling breath trying its hardest to stay alive. he was there... he was there! all he had to do was reach for him--!!
Let him go.
he said that. those damnable words. a hero. a hero spoke them to someone dying! HE SPOKE THEM! his face, his mouth, esikko's visage burning and crying below him and all he did was turn away from him! bile surges in his throat, his mind reeling against itself. nothing like aizawa chiding him for collateral damage. he's been upbraided before for a personal grudge from that ponytail girl! best jeanist reprimanded him for black and white views and how he didn't care about what others or felt. each of them, to him, to be a better hero! a hero?! WHAT KIND OF HERO WILLINGLY LETS SOMEONE DIE LIKE THAT?! WHAT HERO DOESN'T CARE SO BADLY, HE HURRIES IT ALONG LIKE THEIR DEATH MEANS NOTHING?!
fuck- fuck it all! don't fuck with him! that wasn't him! *thub thub thub thub* heat swells in his palm so hard it's agonizing! fear, rage, frustration, terror, fury so hot his vision's red and his arm wrenches in his socket as he slams it forward. blinding illumination erupts, blowing the television off the wall. wood fattens in a bloated moment before the entertainment center ruptures outward.] DON'T FUCK WITH ME!! YOU FUCKING ASS LIAR!!
[stop it! stop it! stop digging into that grave! stop opening it up were his hands are blackened with sticky blood and his skin reeks of crimson smoke and flames. grasping his own shoulder, pulling at it as if somehow he can grapple the him in his head and pull him off that damnable mound! he knows what's under there now! he knows every repulsive hateful memory slithering within! for the love of god- stop fucking digging! *thubthub thubthub*
I'll kill you! Scram! Go to hell! If you want-
NOT THAT ONE!! touya's face, glaring at him under such ice masking a pain he never thought he could experience again. his breath catches in his neck, knotting into ball after ball until his lungs scream for breath which won't come! he has to scream and he can't! only stare in the man's face, at his smile dangling like a noose. hurting beneath those scars, beneath his own years of agony. someone else he could have saved, could have helped, could have reached for-- a hero should have- A HERO SHOULD- A HERO-
YOU WANT ME TO CRY OVER YOU THAT BADLY?
FUCK FUCK GODDAMMIT FUCK FUUUCK!! he can't destroy anything fast enough! die! all of it! DIE!! DIE!! craters blast into the walls, light fixtures jump on their stalks before smashing into ceiling angles, arms churning back and forth in desperate effort to shut his brain up! explosion, explosion! be gone! destroy it all! Blow up! GET OUT!! BLOW IT OUT!! GET OF HIS HEAD!! GET OUT!! *thubthubthubthub*
everything's peeling away, dragging screaming layers of his mind back in one gory strip after another. leaving the last 24 hours in dripping disgusting raw nakedness for his viewing pleasure. esikko lying in ruin, touya dropped on his knees, an empty spot digging into his ribs because he couldn't even catch the person responsible! every cursed minute, presented on a golden platter held between glinting clawed fingers beneath a drooling gilded beak! every fucking thing he did, every crime his hands committed, every kill dripping off his skin!
he couldn't stop chobe, he couldn't save esikko, he couldn't help touya! all he focused on was himself! his victory! his ego! not angry esikko died! angry he didn't get to kill chobe first. not caring touya was suffering. caring he hadn't been able to win the battle! furious chobe go away and spit on his all consuming all important pride! *SMASH!* a beast in the room, standing amid ruin and destruction. furniture wheezes beneath flames, glass shatters under smoke, his counter groans in death as it droops to the side and slowly falls into a carved-out grave in the floor. *thubthubthubthub!*
can't breathe! lungs ache! sweat's dry! leaking everything out of him, he's seeping his life and brains out of his fucking pores! clutching at his chest, clawing into his own skin, breaking out and tugging free, he has to breathe, you have to breathe! calm down! calm down! blow up! Blow Up! BLOW IT ALL UP!]
It's a lie. It's a lie! IT'S A FUCKING LIE!!
[no lie. all truth. every single strip of his 24 hours dangles from the room like so many oozing streamers. i'm gonna be the greatest hero when i grow up! slowly twisting his hands around in front of his face, eyes widening at their quivering image. bloody. burnt. it's all inside him. he's capable of all of it. negative traits brought roaring to the surface. i won't let anyone else tell me what to do! his anger and short temper elevated into a trigger-happy violate monster. his selfishness and pride swollen to overthrow everything and anyone else within his life. his desire for victory consuming every challenge in a vicious rush for his win, crushing everything else underfoot until he's at the top of a mountain made from their bodies. you can shove your offer and go to hell! i've always admired all might! nothing's gonna change that!
all of that is inside of him... something's in there.. something i can't control... someone which... a hero would never... a hero would never... do what i did... all might would never... all might... hero... he's a hero! ... he's a- he's not a... he's not a-! ... he- hero-!]
ษรษ~Vลโฑ โฑ โณลn
--!! [his throat tears open and screams himself bloody raw]
[๐ณ๐บ๐๐น๐๐ง๐ฒ ๐ฉ๐ฒ๐ง๐ผ ๐น๐บ๐ผ๐ ๐๐๐ด ๐บ๐๐๐๐ฒt๐ ๐ณ๐ฒ๐บ๐ง ๐จ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐บ๐ง๐บt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฒ๐๐๐น ๐ผ๐ผ๐t๐บ๐ผt ๐บtt๐บ๐ผ๐ฉ๐บ๐ฒ๐t t๐ฒ๐บ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ง ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐๐ผ๐ฒ ๐จ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ง๐๐ผ๐ง๐t๐ ๐ฝ๐t๐ ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ ๐'๐บ ๐บ ๐ฉ๐ฒ๐ง๐ผ ๐บ๐ฒ๐t๐บ๐น ๐ผ๐ผ๐t๐บ๐บ๐๐๐บt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ณ๐๐ง๐จt ๐ฝ๐น๐บ๐ผ๐ฒ ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐จ๐๐ง๐ฒ ๐๐๐ผt๐ผ๐ง๐ ๐ฝ๐ผ๐'t ๐๐๐ผ๐น๐บt๐ฒ ๐บ๐ฒ ๐๐๐น๐น๐บ๐๐ ๐จt๐ผ๐ฝ ๐๐ณ ๐ ๐ฝ๐๐ฒ๐ฝ ๐ธ๐t๐ฉ ๐บ๐ฒ ๐๐ผ ๐ ๐ฉ๐บt๐ฒ ๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ง๐ฒ๐จ๐๐บ๐ฝt๐๐ผ๐๐จ๐๐ฒ๐จ๐จ ๐ธ๐ฒ๐บ๐ ๐น๐๐๐ด ๐น๐บt๐ฒ๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ผ๐'t ๐ฃ๐ฒ ๐บ๐บ๐๐๐ณ๐ฒ๐จt ๐ง๐ฒ๐บ๐ผt๐๐ผ๐ ๐๐๐ณ๐ฒ๐ง๐๐ผ๐ง๐t๐ ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ง๐ณ๐ฒ๐ผt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ผ๐ฝ๐ฝ๐ผ๐จ๐๐๐ด ๐ธ๐๐น๐น๐ฝ๐ผ๐ธ๐ฒ๐ง ๐ฒ๐จ๐๐ ๐ ๐ผ ๐ผ๐ผ๐บ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐๐จ๐บt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ผ๐'t ๐น๐ผ๐๐ฒ๐น๐ t๐ผ๐๐๐บ ๐ฝ๐ง๐๐บ๐บ๐ง๐ ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐t๐๐ณ๐๐ผ๐บt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ผ๐'t ๐ฃ๐ฒ ๐ง๐บt๐๐ผ๐๐บ๐น๐๐ป๐บt๐ผ๐ ๐ผ๐ฃ๐น๐๐๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ผ๐ฒ๐ฝt๐๐ผ๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ฝ๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ ๐บ๐ผ๐๐จt๐ฒ๐ง ๐๐๐ณ๐บ๐t๐๐น๐ฒ ๐ฒ๐๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ง๐๐ฒ๐๐ผ๐ฒ ๐จ๐ฒ๐๐จ๐ฒ ๐ผ๐ณ ๐น๐ผ๐จ๐จ ๐บ๐๐ง๐ฝ๐ฒ๐ง ๐ฝ๐บ๐๐บ๐ฒ๐t ๐จ๐๐บ๐ฃ๐๐ผ๐จ๐๐จ ๐ฉ๐ผ๐จt๐๐น๐t๐ ๐บ๐ผ๐บ!]
[smoke and ash, flickering flames, walls and ceiling cratered with pocket marks, ruins scattered around in splintered wood and shattered metal, surrounding a single figure twitching half-curled in a pathetic position against the farthest wall, one hand clutching his upper arm in the darkness as a soft orange glow sparks and bursts between his fingers in repeated detonations against his own flesh.]
un: great explosion murder god dynamight
Date: 8/16/25 03:23 (UTC)no clue why, not even sure how it happened. a silent flicker of light cuts through his blackened room, illuminating his wrist as his watch activates. names... people... someone who might know a fraction of what it feels like... someone who he trusts... who could help...
one person...]
help
un: cyclops
Date: 8/16/25 18:26 (UTC)And seeing that singular message with just that one word, coming from a certain person, everything else becomes secondary to Scott. Water bottle dropped to the ground, Scott's already moving his way out of his room as he types back.]
where are you
no subject
Date: 8/16/25 18:38 (UTC)below an ominous lantern-light glow of sizzling, crackling explosions, his watch flickers again, painting his wrist and top of his hand a gentle blue color.
beeboop incoming message... someone's answering... no...stop it... no one needs to be here...
unable to factor a refusal, unable to somehow prevent it, fingers frozen in curl without muscle to even twitch]
help
[automated. must be. no further aid, no input, finally kicking on a golden dot in scott's watch to pinpoint bakugo's location in his room. like a beacon in the ocean waves, bobbing a solitary light within a stormy surf.]
no subject
Date: 8/17/25 17:12 (UTC)Then there's a dot that appears on his Watch, basically cementing his prior thoughts. Bakugo is in his room.]
on my way.
[Is he running? Yeah. As such, it won't take long before the teen arrives in the front of Bakugo's suite, though he can't open it without his help. He knocks on the door before sending him another quick message.]
i'm here.
no subject
Date: 8/17/25 19:40 (UTC)someone... anyone... pounding on his door, reverberating thuds and crashes in his room and mind... no... everyone... go away... go away...
slowly metal turns as the lock slides back, clicking open with a finality he can't stop. he's always hated anyone approaching him during struggles. promising himself he can handle anything he needs to on his own. he doesn't need help, doesn't need sympathy, doesn't need anyone...
darkness splits as the door swings backwards slowly in front of scott, rich wood with gilded designs cutting into nothing. light from the hall spills inside, banishing shadows and gloom only within its narrow column. smokey tendrils slither outward as if walking into a fog room. the acrid scent of scorched wood and burned smoke sticking the mutant's nose with charred ozone and something burnt.
nothing in his suite's main area survived. a missile strike obliterating everything as scott opens the door to ground zero. the cause of it all huddled at a far wall, bare sounds of gritting breath struggling between his clenched jaws.]
no subject
Date: 8/18/25 20:31 (UTC)He reaches for a light, if it's still be able to turned on, but either way, he manages to catch the huddled form of his friend. Defeated, curled up, and looking nothing like he's seen him before. Concern lurches in his throat. He suddenly doesn't care if he's stepping through glass or anything else broken, shoes crunching through the floor until he kneels down by his friend-- two hands on his shoulder before squeezing.]
Bakugo, it's me. It's Scott. I'm here.
[Should he be concerned about the danger still being here? Whatever, he's focusing on Bakugo for the time being. There's nothing but worry in his voice, though it remains steady as well, focused as he looks at Bakugo's form for any injuries. Thoughts of the other teen being weak doesn't pop up in his mind at all.]
...What happened?
no subject
Date: 8/18/25 21:57 (UTC)noiseless without seam, his door eases shut behind the new invader, sealing once more with nary a sound but one final 'la-chck' of the lock. twisted within wood and metal, keeping scott with his own choice to enter.
a quiet flick of a switch momentarily sputters one remaining overhead light to life, a single glowing snapshot of ill-lit ruination. before exploding with a pop, sprinkling smoke and powdery glass shards below. scott's shoes crush glass and wood, heralding an approach he desperately wishes he could avoid. but his muscles won't allow it, his filleted mind unable to send signals beyond one hand clutching at his arm. smoke continues drifting from his hand, a bubbling orange glow beneath his hand sizzling flesh and blood in raw torment. he barely feels it compared to what slashes and burns inside his head and chest.
weight and warmth press into his space, instantly shutting his throat in a suffocating gag as hands settle on his shoulder. squeezing in reassurance as heat gushes through his veins and drives another scalding weight behind his eyes. don't look at me... so many people here he never wants to let see him like this... beaten down, defeated, violated...]
It's inside my mind... [fear and anguish squeeze his voice into a childish squeak, far from his rough depths normally growling into people's ears.] I thought... I thought I could... It's defiling my mind, Scott...
[too wrecked to even spew his fury into his usual litany of curses. hunching tighter inward, teeth snarling in his jaws so hard he swears something cracks in his bone.] I can't... do anything... to stop it-!
[foolish, fucking stupid, thinking he alone could stand his ground. only to be broken in one furious smash from his face to his feet, crushed into unrecognizable filth.]
no subject
Date: 8/20/25 17:05 (UTC)It's clear that Bakugo is in a bad space right now and he's not going to start yelling at him. The fact that his voice is small and far away from the tone he normally hears only solidifies his thoughts. Though, Scott keeps his grip firm around Bakugo's wrist as he listens to him and tries to put pieces together. He lost control? It's a feeling that he can relate to all too well. With the other teen, however, it must've been an influence from the resort itself, because he has complete control over his powers. It gives him a couple of ideas what might've happened.
His other hand keeps on his shoulder.]
Your suit? [...] Bakugo, look at me. I don't know what happened, but remember how I promised that I'd kick your ass if something goes wrong? I'm here. You're not facing it alone.
[Should he be prepared to fight? Maybe. Scott's guard isn't fully down, still alert because of the situation he's found Bakugo in, but he's not going to pull away from him just yet either.]
no subject
Date: 8/20/25 17:52 (UTC)off! his hand comes free, burning palm spurting a flurry of sparks and small explosions as if a live wire was pulled from an insulating plug. leering upward from his ruined skin, a red-hot mark sears into him, branded in mocking elation. ever a reminder of what happened, what he did. without his hand capping it, without a blanket of burning constant pressure of expected pain, new hurt rushes inward. punching his lungs and stealing his breath with intensity. memories flood in with them, raking over each other in abrasive grit as they shave off broken pieces and polish themselves in agonizing tumble. laughter, shouting, explosions, burning, voices, shoving into his mind everything stuffed in twenty four scathing hours.
feels like his soul's dangling above a stampede of beasts, slamming into it one after another as it bounces and crashes against their unforgiving bodies. thickness swallows up the back of his throat, bloats into his neck and crawls towards his mouth. shit... shit-!
look at me
red eyes snap upward, staring wild and ragged into scott's face. he wants to see his face, seeking his friend's visage desperately among the buffeting pain and recollections. but he doesn't. instead, his own face stares back at him from scott's glasses, disgusting and wretched in tear-streaked mess, blood leaking from a few small cuts, bloodshot eyes seeping water above trembling lips.
FUCK! he gags instantly, pitches his head down, and is violently sick. every bone disconnects like a marionette collapsed and he sags forward, held up purely by scott's hand on his shoulder and arm. emptying out he doesn't know what, but it feels vile. stomach lurching upward to his spine, pinching his guts until he's squeezed dry and can only struggle out wet, weak squeaking sounds.
sorry, scott.]
I... I killed him...!
no subject
Date: 8/22/25 14:47 (UTC)Something hard clenches around his chest, unable to stop himself from thinking the worst. Bakugo hurting himself, Bakugo openly crying in front of him.
There's a thought that goes through his mind that he's watching someone have... a panic attack? Watching him struggle to breathe, with screams buried inside his chest but not coming out, and. He hasn't helped someone like this before. Not to this extent. But fuck, even if he doesn't know what to do exactly, he's sticking by Bakugo. Keeping to his side even as the other gags and vomits on the ground in front of them. Scott doesn't care if a part of it lands on him, his hand still holding the other's weight-- physically being that support that he said he'd be.
Then. There it is. The truth of what happened.
Scott swallows tight. Isn't this the worst nightmare for people like them? Wanting to be heroes, wanting to save people, and avoiding killing others whenever possible? The only modicum of relief is knowing that death doesn't stick around here, but that doesn't erase the guilt. The blood that's been stained on his hands.]
Who-- [He swallows again, deciding to change what he wants to say.] Your suit took over, didn't it? Without warning.
[Because Bakugo wouldn't let things go this badly on his own. He's too careful about that. Scott knows this.]
no subject
Date: 8/22/25 19:52 (UTC)heat leaks down his cheeks, searing lines he can't shake himself from with every droplet. which is sweat, which is tears, who cares, does it matter? he swears his stomach's about to come out his mouth, lurching so hard behind his abs it aches. tendons strain themselves as his fingers splay, reaching one more time for himself-- scott refuses and the wire cuts, dropping his hand over his wrist as his quirk dies like a light fading without its switch. a few more sputtering pops finish off, orange glow settling back into flesh.
he's all he's got to rely on right now. two hands holding him up when everything else is left free floating. what does he do? what can he do? every speck of dirt he clawed off that damnable grave clings to him, festering on his skin in smears and corrupted dye. bitterness coats his lips, tongue curling on itself, his stomach has nothing else to give up unless he wants to bleed. wouldn't give a shit right now if he did.
don't listen. silently begging in his mind, a foolish effort as his mouth moves and rasps out one word from another. a hero, confessing to the most unheroic actions possible. his life spent saving people, blazing for his victory, knowing each win meant the people relying him got to live. each step he took on the battlefield was ultimately for someone else, running in tandem to his own euphoria at victory. people look at him and see a hero, people see a hero and know they're safe, he was going to be just like all might... better...
he broke himself... and broke himself... and broke himself over and over to avoid being exactly what people thought he was going to be! explosion. arrogance. a villainous hero they called him. how could they trust someone like that to keep them safe? he promised to show each one of them they were wrong! that he controlled his emotions! ambitions pure and record clean regardless of what anyone thought or said!
is this what hawks felt? lady nagant? looking at his own hands and seeing someone else's blood dripping from his fingers. villains see this all the time, so much they don't even care, so much they even smile... how could he... how could i...]
You're wrong... [don't say it. don't admit it. don't excuse this for me.] It was me... [those dark things, his potential, his capacity to become what he swore he'd never be. they're still inside him, buried away beneath the heroic heart he thought was pure gold all this time. breathless, throat sticky, saliva trailing with each word.] I killed people, Scott... I watched him die... and i didn't fucking care!
no subject
Date: 8/25/25 00:46 (UTC)His eyes flicker to Bakugo as he continues to talk and a frown begins to pull at his mouth. He's wrong? No, he doesn't believe that. He won't. Bakugo was influenced by the power of his suit, an infliction given to them by the casino. He'd never hurt someone like that-- murder another. And he certainly wouldn't be okay with it. Fuck, the fact that he's crying right now in front of him proves that, right? Scott is still adamant in his own beliefs and such his voice becomes firm, like he's standing his ground.]
That wasn't you. It was the casino influencing you. [Bakugo is a loud asshole with a huge head on his shoulders, but he's not some murderous uncaring villain.] Look at me, Bakugo. And I'll keep saying it.
[He squeezes his shoulder further.]
You weren't yourself for whatever happened. The suit just pulled every single negative trait from you without any of the good or the self-control you have. You know that.
no subject
Date: 8/25/25 02:51 (UTC)The next number one hero... he can't even see that dream right now... He can't see All Might's smile...
What would everyone in his class say if they saw him right now? If they knew what he did? Scott's the only one here with him, but he might as well be the vector for everyone Bakugo knew back home. The only other person he's close to in this gods forsaken place who's as much a hero as Bakugo knows. What'll he think? What'll he say? He never wanted to show Scott something as ugly and pathetic as this. Stand tall, be strong, an unbreakable pillar he could rely on for anything...
Doesn't he see the blood on his hands?
Saying those kinds of things to him. His mind lurches for his kind words, scrambling selfish and desperate. How badly he wants to grasp onto them and believe each one. Dropping into his stomach like a catalyst and sending his bowels heaving again in disgust. It's just a fucking excuse... He stares at SCott's face, eyes burning with broken sorrow and rage. Heat building up beneath, spilling out, dripping off his chin.]
Then why does it hurt so much?
[Why does he still feel so guilty? Every action, every word, swarming around him and biting into his flesh, his mind, his soul. As if he did each one, and all he can do is look at them in horror.]
I was too weak, Scott... Dammit-!
no subject
Date: 8/26/25 23:53 (UTC)That anger directed entirely at the casino for doing something like this. Tugging away his control-- his very sense of self to the point that he actually killed someone. A person that probably couldn't even fight back?? He doesn't know all the details still, but they'll get there. This loss of control is so different to the way he can't control his powers, hell, even different to how his suit affects him, but he still understands not acting fully like yourself.]
It hurts because you're still taking responsibility for it, because it still happened. [No point pretending otherwise.] And because you care that much. You're not weak-- can you think of anyone that's able to resist a full suit flare?
no subject
Date: 8/27/25 17:31 (UTC)Something punches through his mouth and his air rushes out in a sputtering sound, as if he wants to start sobbing and barely manages to wrench his own control back before he breaks down again. As if it does him any good, hanging off Scott's hand, face a soaking wreck. What control? What the hell control can he even say he has?
Other kids in his neighborhood initially teased him about having a dangerous Quirk, thinking it might be better suited for villainy. He quickly set their fucking brains straight with proud words and a victorious explosion. His Quirk was his own, his power was his direction, he would never use his Quirk for something shitty like crime or villainy. A petty bully had something to say about it later, each explosion he landed on Midoriya for pissing him off. But even that... nothing... nothing like this... When he turned his own power on someone who couldn't...
... d-dammit-]
I should've been able to... [It sounds so pathetic to say. As if he alone had the strength to do what so many others could. Some proud part of him believed it too. Believed if he kept his mark under control, content, nothing would ever come of it. He was too strong, too smart, to prepared to be so demolished...] I fucking hate myself.
[Something he never thought he'd ever hear himself say. It burns on his lips, disgust twisting in his stomach. Yet he's not looking away from Scott, able to form actual words, somehow finding a way to struggle through everything swirling in his mind as he holds onto his friend's life line. The only thing he has right now.]
no subject
Date: 8/28/25 20:38 (UTC)If he's always around Bakugo at his high points, he'll be sure be there for his low points. Because he cares, because they're friends. And as friends--]
Stop thinking that way.
[His voice somewhat harsh, the first break of something in Scott's voice other than that comforting patience. While he keeps his hands on Bakugo, he doesn't mince his words or tone.] Things got fucked up and I don't care if you want to cry like this, but don't say shit like that.
no subject
Date: 8/28/25 21:05 (UTC)This pathetic, violated me... used by some shitty thing like a fucking puppet-!
How can he do anything other than despise it?
Quiet seethes hiss between his teeth as he buries his fingers into his hair, squeezing his bangs in jagged tufts between each digit. Stop thinking that way. Then what way is he supposed to think? Nothing about this is fine. He can't accept any of this! Scott's shoulders bear the burden of being a leader. Of being a hero. Leading. Saving.
Of course he'd know what this feels like... when he couldn't save his brother...]
What the hell... I'm not crying-!
[Somehow Scott's harder voice strikes flint, spending a spark flaring into the darkness. A flicker of anger, defensive pride, irritation. A spark of life.]
You'd hate your own weakness too...
no subject
Date: 8/31/25 20:29 (UTC)[Is this really the right way to go about things? Maybe not, but it's what Scott is doing anyway, his grip tightening ever so much on Bakugo so that he can keep on focusing on him and hopefully stop him from clawing at his own hair. He saw that slight spark of anger from Bakugo, that familiar pride, and it's more than welcome at a time like this and he wants to keep bringing it up. Nourish it in some way.
Even if Bakugo ends up punching him.
He'd rather have Bakugo angry, ready to fight him, rather than have him continue being like this. He'll brunt that defensiveness from him. So, his voice continues to carry that sharper tone, not really looking down, but still more blunt.]
You've been crying in front of me as I've been sitting and watching you tell yourself that you're weak. [...] Is that the sort of impression that you want to leave with me? Someone that just cries and let things be?
no subject
Date: 8/31/25 23:46 (UTC)[for all his shattered pride and wrecked feelings, there's enough of it there to prompt instinct. his uninjured arm drops from his hair, furiously scrubbing his fist and forearm across his eyes as if he could wipe his damn tear ducts off out of existence. idiot... don't point shit out like that! it won't stop... fuck, why won't it stop? he feels them rolling down his face, dripping on his jaw and chin, bleeding water from a wound which won't fucking clot!
kuso! tears of rage, of sorrow, hating himself even more for breaking down like this in front of someone he never wanted to appear as anything other than strong and reliable. as much as he hates scott seeing him in such a state, something in his chest continues to flare, hot amid his frigid choking ruins.]
What do you want me to do?! [his hand snaps into scott's shirt, crushing it into his fist as he jerks his head up and stares messy-faced into the mutant's own.] What am I supposed to do?! I can't bring those people back! I can't take back what I said! What I did!
[the sheer helplessness over his own admission threatens to shatter him all over again. he... he cant'- none of that can be undone. these stains on his hand, they're not gonna come off.]
I don't know what to do...
no subject
Date: 9/2/25 22:24 (UTC)And he can't bring him back no matter what. No matter how much he shouts or screams, Alex will never come back. He won't see him grow or help him with his powers, he's forever gone. And he wasn't even there to see him. Jean pulled him out of those feelings to help him concentrate on what needed to be done and maybe he can do that for Bakugo. Also be that leader that people expect him to be.
His hands tighten on Bakugo's face.]
You just have to keep fighting, Bakugo. Keep getting better. You can't give up, not now, after you worked so hard to become the number one hero.
[Well working to become that person, but his point still stands.]
...Or are you going to let this place tear you down after everything? Let down everyone that's counting on you still?
no subject
Date: 9/3/25 12:45 (UTC)but this crushing guilt and heavy blame... he has to pay for this somehow. fingers curled around a burning coal, mind screaming at him with all logic to let go and put down the agony, but his body instinctively seizes up and keeps clinging to its sizzling surface. how long did it take scott to accept it wasn't his own fault? did he ever?
don't tell me i'm strong... tell me it's my fault for being weak.
pressure grips at his face and he grabs for scott's wrist, torn between wanting to tear his hand away and cling to it.
i don't want to fight anymore
it'd be easier to sink. hands gripping at his shoulders and legs, pulling him backwards towards cold and dark. give up. let go. normally his pride would roar and rage at any attempts to drag him somewhere, but those shattered pieces can barely twitch themselves on the floor.
he worked so hard to become an amazing hero... but setback after humiliating setback got in his way. someone always weaker than him blazed past him, a bunch of idiots kidnapped him like some fucking prize, the person he idolized all his life was crippled and forced into retirement all because he couldn't pull his own weight... and each time he picked himself back up from the mud and filth... scott's encouraging him to do the same right now... but he keeps slipping, landing on his knees in the muck. only kept up by the mutant's hand.]
After what I did... [he lowers his head, unable to face scott at the moment. bangs hanging over his eyes in shadows as heat drips from his chin.] If I let you die...
[it's almost impossible to hear those kind words and believe them. how many times does a hero have to fail before people waver? what if he fails again? when is he going to fail again? what if it's scott next time? fuck-!]
Would you still count on me?
no subject
Date: 9/4/25 02:07 (UTC)When it comes to that, perhaps no one else here can understand them. Not fully.
Of course failure hits hard-- and it is usually a pretty bad thing, right? Because if they fail, that means someone probably got hurt, or worse. It's a certain level of stress and responsibility that Scott is aware of, but maybe hasn't fully experienced it yet, not when his team hasn't been out on a mission yet besides Apocalypse. And that was before they officially formed.
But when it comes to a team, he's learned that trust is the most important thing. It has to be earned, yeah, and despite everything he's heard so far from him...]
Without a doubt.
[He'd count on him. Because Scott knows with his entire being that if Bakugo 'lets' him die, it'd be because a whole bunch of shit went down. He doesn't believe for a second that his friend would let that happen even if every bone in his body was broken.]
no subject
Date: 9/4/25 18:55 (UTC)don't... why are still... so damn stubborn...
each piece gathered in his hands, heedless of their sharp edges breaking the skin on his fingers, ignoring their drips burning into his skin as he places them back one at a time. some fall off and scott picks them back up again. somewhere in there... he manages to get his knees beneath him, clunking and scraping on the muddy ground. there are... there are still people here... he cares about a lot... people who're important to him...
scott knows how this feels, in his own way. chewing himself up inside over his brother's death. unable to be there when it happened. unable to even watch him die. no words of solace or comforting. and yet he had to move forward. he managed to. this boy... is going to be leader someday. a hero in his own world... how can he see it if he's face down in the fucking mud? if the only other person here who can understand, a hero like him, is telling him to get up... is believing in him... is refusing to give up...
his throat dips hard as it drags down a wretched swallow, neck tendons and muscles scraping cable taut beneath his skin. heroes are wrecked by failure. foolish, stupid people. they'd blame themselves for a death they didn't even know about across the city. because it hurts. because their entire lives revolve around helping others. scott knows this. get up...
knuckles crumple on the floor, fingertips digging into his palm. if scott can look at him like this, after hearing everything he did, and still say he'd count on him without a doubt, how the hell can he let this stop him? hands cling at his arms and legs, drying to drag him back even as he pushes himself up in his mind. struggling and quivering under the weight of his guilt and the wounds in his chest. get up... move forward... there's still more you can do.
there are still people counting on him.
broken bones, torn muscles, burn skin, nothing like that had stopped him before. staggering ahead, he trips and stumbles forward, half running, half falling, towards that voice. without a doubt he tightens his hand on scott's, eyes lifting to his face once more. wet and bleary, lips slowly losing their trembling. so many pieces he still has to pick up, wounds to deal with... but his eyes are alive again. resolved to move once more.]
Scott...
no subject
Date: 9/5/25 17:52 (UTC)He of course still remains as before, as vigilant as ever, a solid form that the other can grasp onto, with his own hands warm and gripping. Of the new members of the X-Men team, maybe he understands this the most. Being someone that others can trust and rely on when they're kicked down. Though he didn't see him a lot, Alex was always someone that believed in him-- and the other members on his team didn't really have that.]
I trust you still. I believe in you.
[And that's the full truth. Scott still believes in Bakugo and that he's going to be a great hero. Someone that will risk his life for others and do everything in his power to be a force for good. He thinks that his world would be worse off if he gave up or stopped trying to help. He refuses to let Bakugo feel or think that way. And with this, maybe he can even put those pieces together and find a way to be even stronger, even if there are cracks.
He'll be there along the way.
Scott lowers his head, pressing his forehead against Bakugo's in an almost intimate manner.] We'll pull through this shit together, okay?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:wrapping up soon? :>
From:๐ good wrap for me! finish it off if ya like~
From: