seen as the martyr of the final war, but there once was a time where mall trips and wearing airpods in class filled the silence of a lack of a heartbeat.
she never planned on leaving home.
but when the letter came — embossed with the U.A. insignia, stamped with possibility — she held it like a verdict.
her teachers called it an honor— a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. they said she had the potential to stand among the best, to represent the next generation of heroes.
but all she could think about was how far japan was from the cell where her father slept, and the plaque of gold that held her mother’s name, number eleventh in the states.
her mother was a hero — golden, relentless, the kind of woman whose name carried through the city like a hymn. her smile could calm chaos; her voice could steady storms. people said she was born to save.
he was the whisper that haunted her mother’s victories, the shadow behind her light. a villain of metal and malice, whose quirk was nearly identical to the daughter’s — only his was not guided by compassion, but by rage. he was the first to teach her that metal cuts both ways.
she had grown up in a house split by silence — one half haunted by her father’s absence, the other by her mother’s heroism.
when she was young, it started with a hum beneath her skin — the sound of subway rails, the pull of blood’s own iron. the world sang to her in frequencies no one else could hear. and she learned early that power demands payment.
metal had been her first language. her quirk sparked early: screws twisting loose from picture frames, cutlery trembling in her hands, streetlights humming when she passed. She learned control the way others learned prayer — desperate, trembling, sacred.
when the sprouts of silver rained down along her scalp, staining many strands of her brown hair, they glimmered like jeanne d'arc’s sword.
the world had always told her what she was destined to become: a hero, like her mother. or a monster, like her father.
her hands could save. her hands could destroy.
but she wanted something quieter. something in-between. maybe just a person just trying to do the right thing.
and still, she offered them to the cause — shaking, willing, divine in her self-undoing.
so she said yes. to the transfer, to the distance, to the unknown. she packed her life into three suitcases — photographs that bent at the corners, a bracelet her best friend once wore, and the courage to start over in a language that wasn’t her own.
she learned quickly that heroism wasn’t just about saving lives — it was surviving the eyes that doubted you. her mother’s reputation shone too bright; her father’s sins ran too deep. together, they left no room for her own light to exist without burning.
still, she trained until her muscles ached and her fingertips trembled with the hum of magnetism. steel bent for her like a wail toward a higher power. the training fields glittered with fragments of what she’d destroyed and rebuilt.
she fought harder than she needed to. she bled in silence, smiled when she shouldn’t. because to her, heroism wasn’t a title — it was atonement.
( a rusty girl’s letter to god )
the city had stopped shining.
smoke swallowed the sky, and even the iron in the air tasted like grief. streets once paved with promise and crowds now lay split open, veins of steel exposed — as if the world itself had been wounded.
she stood in the center of it all, the hum of metal trembling beneath her boots like a heartbeat trying not to fade. the war had dragged on too long. too many names had turned to memorials, too many heroes to ghosts.
her hands were scarred from saving, from breaking, from trying.
it happened too fast for her to stop it. katsuki fell — a flash of light, a roar swallowed by smoke. in one heartbeat he was standing beside her, defiant as ever, eyes burning brighter than the fire around them, sparks cascading— the next, he was gone. the blast tore through the air, scattering shrapnel and dust, and for one terrible moment, all sound disappeared.
she stood frozen in the silence that followed. even the metal refused to sing.
when she found him — bruised, broken, barely human under the ruin — she sank to her knees, blood staining her gloves like ink. his pulse fluttered once beneath her fingers, then stilled.
she could feel the iron in the battlefield singing to her — broken blades, twisted beams, bullets scattered like prayers. every fragment answered her call. she raised her hands, and the earth itself obeyed, trembling with recognition.
whispering something that wasn’t a prayer, not really — more a plea to a god she didn’t believe in. but heaven stayed silent, and the earth shook instead.
the others screamed orders through the comms, told her to move, to fight, to live — but she couldn’t hear them. all she could feel was the weight of iron in her blood, the way it called to the metal around her, begging to be unleashed.
and in that moment, she understood what it meant to burn for something holy.
she rose slowly, eyes wet, voice steady. around her, the battlefield bowed — wreckage and rebar bending toward her as if in prayer. the air shimmered, thick with heat and mourning. she lifted her hands, and the metal followed, forming a storm of steel halos and silver dust.
and so, with the weight of two bloodlines and one fragile hope, she became the storm she was always meant to be. she walked through the fire as though she were made for it.
a martyr of the modern age.
a hero not crowned, but crucified.
a girl who saved a world that could never save her back.
avasnotes : me when i know how joan of arc felt.. anyway, this is one of my very few drs where five isn’t my s/o ( everyone gasp ). katsuki has always held a special place in my heart and i can’t even fully explain our relationship or the struggle i had even liking his character so……… yup yup yup.
this has been in my drafts for ahemmmmmm MONTHS ( i was not happy with my OG intro )
also! i am very proud of this so no one hate on me 😡😡😡😡 ( not that anyone does, i’m just extremely proud of this )
slowly falling back into my mha phase again because the last season is coming out 🥹🥹
oh alsooooo, before anyone gets upset with my seemingly traumatic events in this dr……… they aren’t actually as bad as i make them seem, i just have to need to dramatize everything
blakekathryn
titsay
theartofmadeline
2087
origamiaround
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
