They couldn't. [ they really shouldn't be arguing with so little space between them. it would be so easy to grab the kid, shake him, restless with frustration and black anger and this glinting knife edge of panic. ] Don't you get that? That thing — it'd chew through everything. It's mindless.
[ that much was explained to him by the stranger who pulled him out of Hyperion. he's thinking about Miasma and the shape of her mind, her cold determination, like clawing for to find purchase on a sheet of smooth, black ice. the horrifying inhuman force of it. her voice echoing in him, I will get what I want. it's been six months and he should be over it but she— left a mark of some kind on him. a deep gouge or maybe a burn scar, from something he didn't want to understand, something he shouldn't have touched.
it's funny; Bakugo is stuck on the leaving, he can vaguely catch that much on the periphery of his senses. taking responsibility for getting rid of the thing, as if he could have fought it with his own two hands. and leaving was bad for Juno, a bitter taste he'll probably be swallowing for the rest of his life, but — that isn't what's killing him. the guilt is because it came for him in the first place, which makes everything his fault just for fucking existing. less about what he couldn't do and more the curse of the fact that he was alive at all. and he's barely been alive these past six months, so what was it worth anyway? ]
Everyone here got a bad hand and there's no getting out of that. This is just how the galaxy works. [ he says it with conviction, the kind of certainty that comes from telling yourself this every day. ] It doesn't get better. You just learn to live with a little less every time.
no subject
[ that much was explained to him by the stranger who pulled him out of Hyperion. he's thinking about Miasma and the shape of her mind, her cold determination, like clawing for to find purchase on a sheet of smooth, black ice. the horrifying inhuman force of it. her voice echoing in him, I will get what I want. it's been six months and he should be over it but she— left a mark of some kind on him. a deep gouge or maybe a burn scar, from something he didn't want to understand, something he shouldn't have touched.
it's funny; Bakugo is stuck on the leaving, he can vaguely catch that much on the periphery of his senses. taking responsibility for getting rid of the thing, as if he could have fought it with his own two hands. and leaving was bad for Juno, a bitter taste he'll probably be swallowing for the rest of his life, but — that isn't what's killing him. the guilt is because it came for him in the first place, which makes everything his fault just for fucking existing. less about what he couldn't do and more the curse of the fact that he was alive at all. and he's barely been alive these past six months, so what was it worth anyway? ]
Everyone here got a bad hand and there's no getting out of that. This is just how the galaxy works. [ he says it with conviction, the kind of certainty that comes from telling yourself this every day. ] It doesn't get better. You just learn to live with a little less every time.