#//And a kid who holds GRUDGES like no mañana

[redxriiot]

Rappa has died.

『 .◉ Meme || Anon ◉. 』

        “Huh?”

        HA! That’s what ya get, ya fucking bastard! Was the first of many thoughts whirling around in him, screaming, cackling in absolute delight. You fucking idiot! You got yourself killed by some guy and now you’ll never fight me! You’ll never get that chance!

        It was so unlike him–unlike a hero–to feel such a thing. And as if on cue, amidst sheer relief and and utter rejoicing, a different feeling suddenly took root. Only it wasn’t guilt gripping at his heart, like he’d expect. It wasn’t that, it was more of a hollow, foreign feeling–

                                     But what about our match?

        –that planted a thought in his mind, enough to drown out all others

        He should be relieved, even a little remorseful. That was the gut feeling he had. So then why hadn’t it stayed?

         The man had been in many a dream since that rescue mission. No, not dreams…nightmares.

        Nights where he’ll toss and turn to visions of not being nearly strong enough, watching his mentor brutally beaten down before his very eyes, blood bursting, splattering and coloring the craggy floor.

        A cold, sharp dread filling his body like ice in not being enough and his own body breaking. The all too visceral feelings, the impacts, of the cracks in his armor, himself under the violent barrage of fists. Shattering.

       Hearing the man’s laughter, his sheer and utter delight in each and every fight, echoing in his brain even after he’d gasped and forced himself awake, gripping at the scars the other had etched into his skin where it had been torn away.

        Sick to his stomach in moments he’ll see a vision where that Tengai had never put up a barrier, Fat Gum had never stepped back up to take over and finish the fight. See himself push beyond anything he’d ever been, where he charged forth, past the flurry of impacts and plunged a sharpened fist right into the larger man’s gut. Tearing through muscles and organs alike, bathing himself in a shock of warm crimson. Pushing forwards again, again, losing himself to the sharp shudders that ran up and along his arms, through his body, screaming, punching, clawing his way through the other in an animalistic frenzy. Losing himself to the sensation of strength and sheer power over tearing apart the one who’d put his–his mentor’s–life in danger.

        Feeling the dull thud of the other’s body hit the ground. Hear garbled words of praise spill from his lips, the utter validation weighing at him just before he snapped awake in a cold sweat–

       “Red Riot–?“

       He snapped his head up, stomach churning uncomfortably as he gaze on the other. Lips parted, as he tried to find the words to speak. Once, twice, his mouth would move, and once, twice the words failed to come out.

        He should be happy, a bitter part of him insisted. Relieved, with this news. He’d never hurt anyone again. But–

        “That’s…rough.”

        What the hell?

        “Thought that parole woulda done ‘im good.”

        What the absolute fuck, you bastard?!

        “Guess a criminal can’t change his stripes so easy, huh?”

         I thought you had your eyes on me? Huh? What happened to that?!

        “Red, that’s…a little harsh.”

        What? Did you get so desperate for a good fight, you went off ta’ find some fucking extra ta’ beat down? Now look at you! You’re dead! You seriously let some fucking nobody kill you?!

        “Sorry.”

        You fucking bastard! It shouldnta been them! It shoulda been m–

        “Gu…ess it’s ju–st a little surprising.”

        This was supposed to be a good thing. He no longer had to worry about him. He never once had to keep his guard up, wondering if that guy would show up out of nowhere and take the first strike again. He would never had to think about some other person getting wrapped up in that man’s desire for a good fight. Hell, he would never have to worry about that rematch, would never have to relive the feeling of being smashed up, of being broken.

                                        So why wasn’t he happy?

         He felt…he felt–

                                           Dissatisfied. Outrage.

        The thought came into mind, and a fresh wave of disgust and other feelings he didn’t want to identify washed over him, like something crawling up and bursting from the ground after being buried away and left for dead.

        Yeah, he would never have to fight Rappa again. But then he would never get the chance to surpass him. He could swear it all he wanted, but that rematch…

        He took a sharp breath.

                                      He had wanted it just as badly.

         A hero wasn’t supposed to have grudge matches. A hero wasn’t supposed to enjoy the thrill of a fight, pick a fight for petty reasons. Wasn’t supposed to indulge the enemy, especially not something like that.

         But he had wanted that fight. As much as Rappa did, hell, even more. He could swear it was different to anyone who said it. But there was no denying it now. He had wanted to shove that bastard’s face in the damn ground and break him. He wanted to pulverize him, twice as bad as the other had to him.

          Why?

         Had the desire to clash against him and see who would come out as the victor had become too strong to ignore? To show him which of the two of them was really the strongest? That he really was a goddamn man, strong enough to beat even the most brutal of fighters? He wouldn’t put it above himself, no matter how much he wanted to shove the thought down. He’d had those same feelings before, in seeing Bakugou throw the ball the first time, the sheer power he had displayed with such apparent ease.

                       ‘What if we fought? Would it be a good match?’

                                         ‘Which of us would win?‘

         But Bakugou was alive. More than that, he had already fought Bakugou and lost. He understood eagerly wanting to fight him again and fix that, beat him in return.

         However that feeling was nothing compared to the sheer rush of adrenaline and the utter burn that had eaten at and coursed through him in facing Rappa. Nothing compared to the emotions torn and dredged out of him in losing to him in the first round, like someone had filled his veins with gasoline and let it ignite, searing him from the inside out. In taking that blaze within himself, getting the fuck back up again and fighting like he used to. No limits, no holds barred, no regrets.

        Just taking a hit, giving back, and forcing himself to keep on, until someone broke.

        If he beat Bakugou, it would be fine. He’d gloat, he’d laugh, go on with his day. He might even get so damn cocky about it. If he beat Rappa…he swore he could take on the world. He felt it in simply dreaming about it. To allow himself to indulge in it, edge closer to see just what it was…it was a feeling of absolute accomplishment. Euphoria. Rappa was everything he wanted to surpass, the very one who dredged out the worst of the negative feelings in him.

                           His despair, his own burning desire to fight.

          No matter how deep he’d buried it, he remembered what it was like to lose a fight to someone only to force himself to charge back in and go another round. To fight another with such vigor and determination, he’d do anything and everything to win because he had to. Because he wanted to. 

        This guy brought out the worst in him, yes. Even afterwards, he could set his blood to an utter boil with more ease than most any other, and had brought him so close to breaking his little sunshine of a facade and throwing the first punch. A constant temptation to  fight again, just like they he wanted.

          But in that moment, in their first brawl, he had used that to fight anew. Things he buried out of hatred of them and himself had become a strength in that moment, solely to beat him. They fueled him, and that guy had been the very crux of making that happen.

                 No one else had done that for him. Not even come close.

         He tied the image of his negative sides to that man, focused it all on him, intending on letting that hatred fester and boil, let his own strength grow and meld with that feeling, become so much more than their first meeting until the time was right, until he could finally rise up to that challenge and truly give that man his all. To put a stop to the fighter himself, but now that he was gone…

                   Now he was gone and somebody else got to him first.

        Somebody else got to claim the life of the man who owed him a damn fucking rematch. Someone stole his goddamn right to it. That bastard let himself get killed, and now he would never get the chance. He got back at him for the wait in the sickest way possible, and God fucking dammit, did that piss him the hell off.

         Was that what Rappa had wanted? He got so tired of waiting for their fight, he went off and got himself killed so he’d be left feeling the same goddamn dissatisfaction? Frustration?

                                    Except his was now permanent.

        Teeth grit tight.

        Even without his own competitive nature drawing up things he’d rather disappear, there was another surge of feeling: Anger. Forget the damn fight, there was so much he could have learned from the other.

          Aizawa was the last person he’d need to learn fighting techniques from. Their styles were so different. All Might wasn’t a teacher, even he could see it, discern from his advice and how he carried himself. Fat Gum could could only teach him so much, focusing on defense more than anything, even if he was a bit of a scrapper. Hell, if anything, he’d probably teach him the watered-down version of what he wanted, what he needed to learn to be stronger.

         Rappa…now Rappa was the paragon of what he needed, if he had just set to use the other right. A fighter like him, who needed not to think of strategy. Who needed only rely on his own brute strength and barrel ahead to engage. A seemingly fearless man with a ferocity and drive like almost no other. Startlingly similar to the Crimson Riot, he was even willing to venture. Two men of great strength who cared not for dwelling on fear or despair, who forged forwards to impossible limits, past it all to succeed at what they sought to by any means necessary. Granted one for a thrill, and the other to save.

                          But he was both. And both held his admiration.

         And for the one of the two he’d actually met–

       “Ah, good riddance–“ He stood and turned suddenly, knocking over his chair as he stormed out. “The world didn’t need people like him around anyways!”

        –well, God damn, he owed it to him to find the damn bastard who’d stolen his opponent away. Find him and making him regret killing his goddamn adversary. It would be nowhere near the same thrill, he was sure of it. There was no way that fight could ever compare to the one they would have had. But damn it all to hell, if it was the next best thing, well–

                    –nobody got away with taking something from him.

[vxsicns]

rules: tag ten followers you want to know better !! I was tagged by the wonderful @rcquiems <3

name: v. gender: cis-female star sign: taurus height: 5′2″ tiny af. what’s your middle name?: i don’t have a middle name bc my name is compound (?) put your spotify on shuffle. what are the first 6 songs that popped up? 1º The One I love ~ R. E. M. | 2º Here It Goes Again ~ Ok Go | 3º The Freshmen ~ The Verve Pipe | 4º Scar Tissue ~ RHCP | 5º Copenhague ~ Vetusta Morla | 6º Rape Me ~ Nirvana. grab the book nearest you and turn to page 23. what’s line 17?: ″Durante los sucesos de la mañana, una pata había sido gravemente lesionada ---casi era un milagro que no fuera más que una--- y colgaba sin vida.” ever had a poem or song written about you?: recently a poem dedicated by my oldest cousin, <3 when was the last time you played air guitar?: two days ago, lol. who is your celebrity crush?: a mix between lily collins and aja naomi king what’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: i fucking HATE the sound of knuckles cracking is fucking terrible duh it makes me anxious and i love the sound of my coffee machine do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens?: yes and yes do you drive? if so, have you ever crashed?: nope and almost with the car of a friend bc she let me try in her farm.... shit happens what was the last book you read?: can’t remember rn do you like the smell of gasoline?: nope what was the last movie you saw?: the nutcracker prince what’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?: when i was six, a kid threw me a stone that hit the back of my head and the doctor had to put on stitches to sew the wound. do you have any obsessions right now?: nopeeeee do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?: nope in a relationship?: nope tagging the following: @rperindie @notccday @ohwcman @neverlcnd @ofmymuses @teen4gedre4mers @kimkardashianofrp @lanegxrl @boulevardofangstydreams @springbreezes <3