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"You people aren't normal."
There's no such thing as normal, she wants to scream. 'Normal' is just what you guys says so you can point out that there's something wrong with me, when there isn't. There's no such thing as normal, because it's just a bunch of annoying views that society drills into your skulls. It's drilled in there so deep so that people are too scared to acknowledge that there's something DIFFERENT, that PEOPLE are different, and that they don't have to conform to your definition of 'normal'.
What comes out of her mouth instead is, "But I am normal." Because in the end, she is. She is; there's nothing about her that's crazy, because she is just like everyone else. And these people will never understand it.
It's liberating, far from what she wanted to say but enough to get her point across, and she wonders what kind of expression she must be making because the people around her look thoroughly confused. She's not going to spend her energy on trying to get them to understand.
What are you doing?!
Why can't you just be normal?!
She sucks the blood from the people she loves. Her parents will never get that privilege.
She dances her way through the crowd, each step stained with blood.
The doctors said he had anger issues.
Maybe he was angry.
Still is.
Or, maybe angry isn't the right word. It's too strong. Last time someone used the word strong, it was used as an insult, to cut him down, to remind him of everything he wasn't. It was just another scar to add to his growing collection.
They said he was upset. Those people dressed in white with clipboards and plastered-on smiles for each patient, those people who tried to help but failed because they were paid off to hide everything anyways.
Upset is nice word. Not as strong as angry, but enough similarities to convey the same emotions. Angry is for 'adults', who are free to be angry because there's nothing holding them back once they cross over that line into adulthood, who can leave their homes in disarray and throw everything behind because why the fuck not.
Upset is for 'children' who are throwing tantrums over little things, like they aren't allowed to watch TV for the rest of the night, or because their parents packed the wrong snacks. He never got that privilege, never got the chance to be angry over such trivial things because there was so much more to worry about.
Not angry, but upset, because he was only a child and children don't experience intense emotions because people think they're too immature to.
The doctors were told that he was upset, that he lashed out and overused his quirk over a petty little incident, and the doctors believed it because what else could they do when they were in the room with the No.2 hero, with his authority hanging over and suffocating them until the words refused to leave their throats?
Who would they believe? A child, or the adult?
He leaves the hospital, bandages wrapped around his wounds, and heads back home with the answer.
Hawks says that he's jealous of him, because he's free to express himself; free to be angry, free to get back at the world for all it has done, free to stand beside his values and beliefs and not waver.
Hawks uses the word angry.
He decides he likes that word better than upset.
His childhood is a blur. A mess of training and perfection and swallowing down whatever rules and proverbs the Commission shoved down his throat. Gone were the days of mindless entertainment from the TV or whatever toys his parents could afford. It was only training and working and studying until he got it right, until he was the picture-perfect hero the Commission was aiming for.
Filed down his teeth until they were blunt like everyone else, routinely cut his talons — they eventually gave him gloves to cover them up, though they still expected him to cut them if they became too sharp. They trained him to ignore his urge for raw meat, had him stray away from a carnivorous diet, because it wasn't normal, it wasn't human, and society wouldn't accept him as a hero if they knew of that part of him. For years, they watched and watched and watched for every little thing, every little mannerism they didn't deem fit. If he wasn't tending to his image, even if he didn't give two shits about it, then the Commission got in his face. If he was to put the citizens at ease, to help them feel safe, then the constant 'reminder' was necessary.
The parts of him were replaced, bit by bit, and soon the Commission created Hawks in his stead.
It wasn't bad, he tells himself. He got the basic necessities; water, food, a roof over his head, what more could a guy ask for? All these people asked for in return was for him to endure whatever they threw at him, to become the hero he aspired to be. Maybe there were a few changes here and there to the agreement, and when they 'corrected' him on certain habits it hurt, but then again, he doesn't say no to any of it.
He can't, because he owes them a lot, and they aren't doing it for his benefit alone. In the end, despite the measurements the Commission takes, he knows that they are doing it for everyone; civilians and heroes alike but not villains, because they don't care about anything besides causing havoc, his handlers tell him. He could see the future they envisioned, and decided it was worth it if he gave away a part of himself for that goal.
So it wasn't bad, he tells himself.
But when he meets the League, he decides that maybe it was bad.
Part of the reason he likes them is because they're so openly honest, it's a slap to the face. They express themselves without looking to see who's around to hear; they live as who they are. Toga talks about how she loves blood and enjoys cutting people up, sure, but she's honest about it. She doesn't hide who she is.
Dabi is a whirlwind of emotions and mysteries so deeply etched into his being. Very little is known about the man, but he bears such an intense hatred towards the hero society that it's nearly overwhelming. He doesn't hide his hostility, doesn't hide his anger, and that's what makes him so real. Dabi is so real, that he sometimes questions if he's actually there.
Spinner and Twice say they're with the League not only because their goals line up, but because no one bats an eye at their quirks or habits or appearances, and they seem so similar to him. He remembers the tedious effort the Commission used to put into his looks — they still do — because appearances mattered, but Spinner doesn't care about appearances, and the League accepts Twice's oddities without question, without trying to get him to cover them up.
He wonders why anyone would judge others based on how they look in the first place, because these people are good, deep down. They're fighting against the corrupt system that put them where they are now, and he respects that.
He doesn't have a good grasp on Shigaraki, nor on why Compress joined the League. Those two are untouched territory, but he doesn't have to know yet. He can wait.
He's a bit jealous of their freedom, and maybe he wants a taste of it.
So they give that to him.
A long time ago, he wanted to be a hero. He still wants to. He's willing to do whatever if it means keeping his job, because despite everything, he genuinely enjoys helping people. But the Commission tore up that dream, turned his aspirations to shreds and rearranged it to fit their own preferences. The world he had admired longed for turned out to be a cage, keeping him chained to the ground.
He wants to fly free, to take to the skies where he belongs.
Twice says they're going to fly free together, that they'll soar to new heights along with the others.
He decides he likes that sound of that.