Blue Rose Dreams

Had he the capacity for it, the moment he’d realized what was happening to his own mind, he may have worried that others would be afflicted in the same way. It wasn’t as if a transformation so complete happened naturally, after all, there had to be some greater force at work. 

As it stood, however, while the thought had occurred to him; it wasn’t a cause for concern. Why should he care, why waste the energy? The world was a horrid, gruesome thing after all. For each tragedy one was rescued from, another waited in the shadows. For each thing he’d overcome, he’d eventually succumbed to the darkness all the same.

As had this student from class B. A blossom among thorns. Ironically, being described as such had caused her such chagrin during the sports festival, insisting that she did not want to cause harm to anyone. Now she was the living embodiment of that metaphor. Vines engulfing everything, thorns and all.

It would be horrifying, if Izuku cared at all.

“Someone’s been busy...”

He wonders how long it would take her to rip the limbs from his body, should he disobey. Wonders what it would be like to succumb to this as well. Alas, he had no intention of enduring anything more.

@unsuccesscr​ liked this for a corrupted Ibara starter!

“You’re that boy from 1-A.” Her voice rings out through the thicket she’s created, vines slowly curling, cement cracking under the strain.

“Yes, quite a lovely boy. Are you here to offer yourself unto the lord? Surely you will be cleansed of any sins. Come, child. Come be cleansed.”

Religious iconography was not something that was a foreign concept when it came to engaging with Ibara. Not that it particularly bothered Izuku, despite his own estranged relationship with the idea of a higher power, it wasn’t as if it harmed anyone. But this seemed...different. More intense. More fanatical.

Corrupted.

It set him on edge, some deep buried instinct telling him that this situation was dangerous. And had he known her a little better, if he had been her classmate instead of simply her course mate, perhaps he would have realized just how different the Ibara Shiozaki in front of him was. And then, perhaps, he would have done something reasonable like flee.

As it stood, though, he made the foolish decision to obey; approaching the other student with an expression of confusion mixed with concern. Trying to find a reason for the change, for the strange cadence to her words.

He’d always been a little too curious for his own good.

“Cleansed?”

Hatred can be such a strong emotion. Sometimes even more vibrant than love. Izuku is a person who was raised with both hate and love. Others hated him but his mom didn’t. 

Any time he stepped outside his world was filled with bruises and burns, insults and intimidation. But when he came home the world was warmth and belonging, affection and softness.

It had split him in two. The person he wanted to be, strong but full of love. The person he didn’t want to be, strong but full of hate.

He found ways to live with it, hatred, anger, resentment. Coming from the outside; directed at him, he simply endured. He limped home covered with new scars and he smiled and told the one person in the world who cared if he died everything was fine. Coming from the inside; it was ignored. Pushed down deep. Desperately forgotten.

The more time passed the more had to be stowed away. Even more so as hero training brought forth the horrors of the world.

Compassion for Todoroki, whose own father used him like a puppet.

Rage at the man who did so, the man who dared call himself a hero.

Camaraderie with Iida, who nearly turned to murder in his darkest moment.

Resentment for the man who slayed people in the name of a false justice.

Love for Eri, so tiny and fragile, who had endured so much pain.

Utter, complete, hatred for the one who performed experiments on a little girl.

Each time, one emotion was fully embraced, something he carried with him. The other was gone the moment the battle was done. Neatly tucked away.

But a dam can only hold so much water, a box only so many items, a mind only so many emotions.

Izuku was stuffed full. Bursting at the seams.

Distantly, he’d always been aware of this possibility. He knew, practically, that the way he stitched himself together, picking and choosing which parts to embrace and which to deny, was not the correct way to do things. And he knew that there could be a tipping point. A moment where everything became too much.

He’d been so afraid of that possibility. Rather than making him stop, it made the denial more intense. More frantic. More forced. Until he’d reasonably convinced himself he had it under control.

Sure, he slipped sometimes. In a fight, sometimes he swears he can smell blood. Crave violence. It gets out of hand and he loses the version of himself he wants to be for a moment. Others have pointed it out. That sometimes he feels like a different person.

But he wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save people. Even if those gross feelings seeped through, occasionally, they were manageable. He just had to deny them again, when things calmed back down.

He’d imagined the breaking point, in the moments his anxiety wouldn’t let him ignore the possibility, like falling. Falling, deeper and deeper into a bottomless chasm from which there was no return.

Never, not once, did it occur to him that it may feel...freeing. 

The pain subsides, seemingly all at once, when he reaches capacity. When there’s simply no where left to put his denied emotions. And it’s not like falling at all. It’s like chains breaking. Rage, disgust, hatred. It fills his senses. It’s all he can see, hear, feel, smell, taste. It’s all he can think about.

His heart pounds in his chest as, for a second, he anticipates the second wave of emotion. The things that always come next. Guilt, fear, anxiety. The him that wants to squash the things he has determined to be the epitome of evil. 

It never comes.

Izuku uncurls slowly, deliberately, stretching out his limbs, then his fingers. As if it’s the first time he’s ever used them. He blinks, slowly, the room coming back into his line of sight. After being split in two for so long, finally, finally, only one remains.

And it’s not the one who loves.

For every  ☠ in my inbox, my Muse will become more and more corrupted by a dark force. 

40%

Rest doesn’t help.

If anything it seems to aggravate the affliction. The darkness retaliating against its host for daring to stave off the inevitable. A minute passes. Then five. Ten. Twenty.

With each passing second the pain intensifies. Until it’s less a headache and more akin to someone slamming his head repeatedly against a concrete slab. Unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

And Izuku has had his fair share of injuries. His pain tolerance built over the years.

Years and years and years of torment. And who do they think they are? Why does he deserve this? What has he ever done to them?

All he ever wanted was to be a hero, someone who saved people. Someone whose existence didn’t have to be justified. And they hated him for it. All of them. 

He’d blamed himself. When he did have a thought to blame them it was quickly stamped out. Never voiced. Never acknowledged. He didn’t want to hurt them back. That wasn’t what he wanted. He just wanted to help.

At the moment he can’t quite remember why. He can’t think of anything beyond the blinding, searing pain. Clutching the sides of his head and curled in on himself. Eyes open but unseeing, vision completely white. Blood dripping from where he’s given himself a fat lip from biting down too hard.

It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts

How great would it be if it were someone else for once? If he weren’t on the receiving end? What was it that made them grin as they did those things? That manic glee, what was the source?

It doesn’t seem so foreign, anymore.

For every  ☠ in my inbox, my Muse will become more and more corrupted by a dark force.

10%

It starts, as the most destructive of things do, slowly. The frog in the slowly boiling water. Except the water is nowhere near boiling, yet, it is barely above room temperature. Lukewarm. Unusual, but no cause for alarm.

He just needs some rest, is all. Just as everyone makes a point to tell him.

They see him as weak, someone to push around a punching bag.

They care. His classmates, friends. They’re all kind, wonderful, people who only want what’s best for him. And they’re not wrong, he’s been pushing himself too far again. The edges of his vision blurred and his head throbbing.

They don’t understand. He has to go this far. They think he’s being ridiculous, irrational. It’s impossible for them to understand.

No, it’s his own fault. He shouldn’t be letting it get under his skin like this. Normally it wouldn’t. But some days it does. Kindness feels patronizing and worry fills him with irritation. A disgusting, resentful, feeling settling in his gut.

“I’m fine,” The words are sharp. Startling him slightly. He rubs his head. Why does it hurt so much? “Sorry, I.”

@unsuccesscr​ liked this for a starter

“Midoriyaaaaaaaa…” He looks up from where he lay, draped over Midoriya on his back.

“Midoriyaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I told you I wouldn’t hang out with 1-A scum. Why are all these other people here?” He didn’t seem as bothered as most would suspect him to be; annoyed at best and confused at worst, but that’s probably because he had just awoken from a nap and was still in the whiny phase.

“Are you guys having a meeting or something?”

“Mh?” It takes a moment for Izuku to respond, the sound of Monoma’s voice pulling him out of his trance like state. He’s unsure how much time had passed, eyes staring at nothing particular, glazed over and unfocused as he played idly with the blonde’s thick hair.

Calloused fingers pause their motion as sharpness and focus slowly return to the quirkless student, a little too sluggishly for his tastes given he hadn’t actually fallen asleep unlike his companion. Maybe he was more tired than he’d thought, or maybe he was just more relaxed than usual.

“This is the 1-A common room,” he points out mildly. “I can’t exactly kick them out.”

He could also draw attention to the fact that he was in class A and they spent plenty of time together. Experience, however, had taught him that calling attention to the eccentric boy’s hypocritical thinking was a fruitless endeavor. It wasn’t as if he truly meant the insults, regardless.

@unsuccesscr​ square up.

He’s been waiting for this day.