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theetherealbloom · 1 month

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AS GOOD A REASON - CH. 1 | OBERYN MARTELL

Chapter One: The Devil's Trumpet

Summary: You, who has made it her life's work to get retribution on those who mistreated and harassed you when you were a child. The scars on your body are a physical reminder of the suffering you endured at the hands of abusers, and they also provide the fuel for your years-long quest for retribution.

Paring: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, MINORS GO AWAY, GoT is full of serious and harmful topics, mentions of SA, Rape (not the reader), Murder, Violence, Gore, War, Poison, Scars, Burns, Scratching, Su!c!de, AU, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, Blood, War, Religion References, Nudity, Domestic Abuse, Incest, Prostitution, Weapons, Fire, Horror,

Word Count: 5k

A/N: Sooooooo… I don’t know a lot of Game of Thrones lore… so I ask for your patience and kindness when it comes to this fic, cause I know there will be some inconsistencies. I would stay up late at night, staring at the ceiling of my bed, constantly imagining that I could save Oberyn Martell from the Mountain. This is the story that I have been dreaming about for almost two years now. This fic is loosely based off The Glory on Netflix, it’s a show all about revenge which felt fitting for a Game of Thrones fic. There’s not a lot of Oberyn Martell yet in this chapter… but the next one for sure he’ll be there ;)

Song: as good a reason by Paris Paloma

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DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 280 AC

From the moment your mother bartered you away to the Targaryens, you harbored no illusions about your worth in her eyes. Born to a minor lord, your father's coffers were never overflowing, and upon his death, your mother wasted no time in casting you aside like a discarded toy. It was a transaction as cold and calculated as any.

As a mere girl, you were thrust into servitude within the Targaryen household, your days filled with menial tasks and fleeting moments of respite. Your mother's indifference had left you with a bitter taste in your mouth, yet you dared not dwell on the past, for in the world of kings and queens, survival was a luxury afforded only to the cunning and the strong.

So, you learned to keep your head down, to swallow your pride and obey without question. In the grand tapestry of courtly life, you were but a humble thread, weaving your way through the intricacies of power and deceit with the practiced ease of one who knows their place in the hierarchy of the Seven Kingdoms.

News of the betrothal between Princess Elia Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen spread like wildfire through the streets of King's Landing, igniting whispers of anticipation and speculation among the common folk. And when the day of their union finally arrived, the Great Sept of Baelor bore witness to a spectacle of unparalleled grandeur, as the noble houses of Westeros gathered to witness the marriage of two powerful dynasties.

In the wake of their wedding, the newlyweds departed for the ancient seat of Dragonstone, leaving a wake of excitement and intrigue in their wake. Within the stone walls of the island fortress, the air crackled with anticipation, as servants bustled about in a frenzy of preparation for the arrival of the newlyweds.

In the hushed corridors of Dragonstone, amidst the flurry of activity that heralded the arrival of the royal couple, you found yourself singled out from the bustling crowd of servants. With a sense of unease mingled with awe, you were ushered into the inner sanctum of Princess Elia's chambers, thrust into a position of unexpected privilege.

As you navigated the opulent surroundings, your heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and determination. The eyes of the court seemed to follow your every move, their silent scrutiny a constant reminder of your newfound status.

Perhaps it was Princess Elia's keen observation or her innate sense of compassion that led her to notice the subtle cruelties inflicted upon you by your fellow servants. The older maids, with their twisted smiles and mocking jests, seemed to take pleasure in your misfortune, their actions a reminder of the harsh realities of life within the walls of Dragonstone.

Yet, in the presence of your new mistress, you found solace and sanctuary, a refuge from the cruelty of those who sought to belittle and demean you. With each passing day, as you tended to her needs with a quiet diligence, and you felt a sense of belonging that had long eluded you.

As Princess Elia's pregnancy progressed, you remained steadfast by her side, attending to her every need from dawn till dusk. With each passing day, the weight of responsibility rested heavily upon your shoulders, as you labored tirelessly to ensure her comfort and well-being.

When the time finally came for Elia to bring forth new life into the world, you stood beside her, a silent witness to the agony and ecstasy of childbirth. Her cries pierced the air like a dagger, each shriek a testament to her strength and determination. And though fear gripped your heart with each painful contraction, you remained steadfast in your resolve to see her through this trial.

With the arrival of Princess Rhaenys, the air seemed to shimmer with joy. As Elia cradled her newborn daughter in her arms, her eyes alight with love and exhaustion, you offered words of comfort and admiration.

"You have brought forth a beautiful child, Your Majesty," you murmured softly, your voice a gentle reassurance in the flurry of the birthing chamber. "You have done marvelously."

A weary smile graced Elia's lips as she gazed down at her precious daughter, her fingers tracing the delicate features of the babe's face. "Thank you for your kindness," she replied, her gratitude evident in every word.

And so, with the birth of Princess Rhaenys, a new chapter began in the lives of the Targaryen dynasty. As the babe was presented to Rhaegar's parents at court, the halls of Dragonstone echoed with the whispers of anticipation, a testament to the enduring legacy of House Targaryen.

As Queen Rhaella cradled her granddaughter with tender affection, her eyes alight with joy and pride, King Aerys the Second stood apart, his expression twisted with disdain. With a sneer of contempt, he recoiled from the child, his words dripping with venom.

"Smells Dornish," he remarked, his voice laced with disgust.

Your jaw clenched with suppressed anger at his callous words, a silent witness to the depths of his cruelty and madness. In that moment, as you beheld the scene unfolding before you, it became abundantly clear that the king's heart was as black as obsidian, his soul consumed by the darkness that lurked within.

TOURNEY AT HARRENHAL, THE YEAR OF FALSE SPRING, WESTEROS — 281 AC

At Harrenhal, nestled in the verdant heart of the Riverlands, Lord Walter Whent played host to a grand tournament, a celebration that spanned ten days and drew lords and ladies from across the Seven Kingdoms. Within the storied halls of the ancient castle, whispers of intrigue and ambition mingled with the clinking of goblets and the strains of music, each moment pregnant with the promise of both glory and treachery.

Amidst the throng of nobility, you moved with the silent grace of a shadow, your keen eyes and sharp ears attuned to every murmur and gesture. As a mere servant, you lingered on the periphery of the festivities, your presence all but unnoticed by the illustrious guests who reveled in the splendor of the occasion.

On the first night, as the Hall of a Hundred Hearths blazed with the warm glow of torchlight and the scent of roasted meats hung heavy in the air, you observed the comings and goings of the noble houses with a keen eye. From the stalwart Starks to the enigmatic Howland Reed, the northern lords mingled with their southern counterparts, their alliances and rivalries simmering beneath the surface like a pot ready to boil over.

Amidst the revelry, the figures of legend and lore moved with an aura of mystique and allure. Brandon Stark's easy charm drew Lady Ashara Dayne to the dance floor, while the shy Eddard Stark found himself swept up in the rhythm of the music. Benjen Stark's playful banter with his sister Lyanna elicited laughter and teasing, a glimpse into the bonds that bound the Stark siblings together.

And then, amidst the swirling throng of dancers, you caught sight of him: Prince Oberyn Martell, the embodiment of charm and charisma, his laughter ringing out like silver bells in the night. As he twirled Lady Ashara Dayne in a graceful waltz, his smile illuminated the room with its brilliance, casting a spell over all who beheld him.

But you knew better than to linger on such fleeting distractions, in the glittering spectacle of courtly intrigue, shadows were lurking in the corners, secrets waiting to be uncovered. And so, with a determined resolve, you turned your attention away from the beguiling prince and towards the task at hand, knowing that one must always be vigilant, lest they be consumed by the machinations of power and ambition.

The tourney at Harrenhal stretched across ten days, a spectacle of martial prowess and pageantry that captivated the hearts and minds of all who attended. In between the clash of swords and the thunder of hooves, champions emerged and legends were born, each contest a testament to the valor and skill of the knights who jousted and fought in the name of honor and glory.

From the seven-sided melee to the fierce competition of the joust, the tourney boasted a variety of events to entertain the crowds, including archery contests, axe-throwing competitions, and thrilling horse races. Yet, amidst the revelry and excitement, a sense of foreboding lingered in the air, a whisper of uncertainty that hinted at darker forces at play.

As the final moments of the tourney drew near, all eyes turned to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the golden-haired champion whose prowess in the joust had earned him victory over four knights of the Kingsguard. Yet, it was not his triumph in the lists that would become the stuff of legend, but rather the fateful decision he made in the aftermath of his victory.

Standing amidst the gathered nobility, you watched in disbelief as Prince Rhaegar bypassed his own wife, Princess Elia, and bestowed the crown of blue winter roses upon Lyanna Stark, the betrothed of Lord Robert Baratheon. This was the moment all smiles died. The air crackled with tension as murmurs of confusion and outrage rippled through the crowd, a clear sense of unease settling over the festivities like a shroud.

In that moment, as the fragile peace of the realm hung in the balance, you felt a chill run down your spine, a premonition of the chaos and bloodshed that would soon engulf the Seven Kingdoms. For in the blink of an eye, the seeds of war had been sown, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance.

DRAGONSTONE, WESTEROS — 282 AC

In the dimly lit chamber of Dragonstone, the air was thick with anticipation as Princess Elia fought through the pain of labor, her strength waning with each passing moment. Beside her, you stood as a silent sentinel, offering words of encouragement and support as she braved the trials of childbirth once more.

With each command to push, Princess Elia's resolve hardened, her determination a beacon of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf her. Yet, it was evident that her delicate health posed a formidable obstacle, her frailty a constant reminder of the challenges she faced.

And then, amidst the hushed whispers of the attending maesters, the sharp cry of a newborn babe pierced the air, a herald of new life amidst the shadows of uncertainty. With a ragged sigh of relief, Princess Elia's weary frame slumped backward, her brow glistening with sweat as she drew in ragged breaths.

"It's a son," the maester announced, his voice ringing with reverence as he presented the newborn prince to his exhausted mother.

A flicker of joy illuminated Princess Elia's weary features as she reached out trembling hands to cradle her newborn son, her touch gentle and reverent as she welcomed him into the world. With tears of gratitude glistening in her eyes, she pressed her lips to his tiny forehead, whispering words of love and devotion as she held him close to her heart.

Prince Aegon was born.

KINGS LANDING, WESTEROS — 283 AC

Chaos erupted across the realm with the dawn of the new year, as news of Lyanna Stark's abduction by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen near Harrenhal spread like wildfire, igniting the flames of conflict between rival houses.

In the Vale of Arryn, the clash of steel and the cries of battle echoed through the mountain passes, as Lord Jon Arryn marshaled his forces to defend his homeland against the encroaching storm of war. Meanwhile, in the coastal city of Gulltown, the once-impregnable defenses crumbled under the relentless assault of Robert Baratheon and his forces, with the valiant Marq Grafton falling in the heat of battle.

With Gulltown secured, Robert Baratheon wasted no time in rallying his own banners to his cause, sailing swiftly to his ancestral seat of Storm's End to muster his forces for the coming conflict. Yet, even as he prepared for war, Robert's gaze turned to the stormlands, where the first major battle of the campaign awaited him.

At Summerhall, within the ruins of the ancient keep, Robert Baratheon faced his foes in a brutal clash of arms, his skill and valor turning erstwhile enemies into staunch allies. With Lords Grandison and Cafferen, as well as Silveraxe, pledging their fealty to his cause, Robert emerged victorious, his path to the north now clear as he prepared to join forces with Jon Arryn and the northern lords in their quest for vengeance.

All throughout the chaos of war, you bore witness to the dark machinations of the Mad King as he conspired to unleash destruction upon King's Landing itself. Ser Jaime Lannister, his white cloak billowing behind him, stood witness to the sinister plot hatched by the Alchemists' Guild, while the rest of the Kingsguard were scattered, their loyalty divided amidst the brewing conflict.

In the midst of this turmoil, Lord Qarlton Chelsted, Hand of the King, emerged as an unexpected ally, his friendship and concern for your safety a beacon of hope amidst the shadows of fear and uncertainty. Yet, as whispers of the king's treachery reached his ears, Lord Chelsted's conscience could no longer remain silent. With courage and conviction, he confronted the Mad King, pleading for mercy and reason in the face of madness.

But mercy was a foreign concept to Aerys Targaryen, his mind consumed by the flames of paranoia and tyranny. In a cruel and chilling display of power, he condemned Lord Chelsted to a fate worse than death, his screams echoing through the halls of the Red Keep as the flames consumed him.

In the wake of this horror, you found yourself thrust into the cruel embrace of the king's wrath, your cries of anguish falling upon deaf ears as the searing pain of the iron rod seared your flesh. Bound and helpless, you endured the agony of your punishment, a silent testament to the cruelty of those who held power over life and death.

When consciousness returned, it was to the gentle touch of Princess Elia, her soothing words a balm to your wounded soul. With tears of shame and gratitude, you sought to apologize for your weakness, but the kind princess silenced your protests with a gentle shush, her compassion a beacon of hope in the darkness.

"Rest now, dear child," she murmured, her voice a soft melody of reassurance. "You have tended to me with care and kindness. Now it is my turn to watch over you."

In the warmth of her embrace, you found solace amidst the pain, your heart heavy with the weight of your suffering but buoyed by the kindness of one who saw beyond the scars to the strength within. And as sleep claimed you once more, you whispered a silent prayer of thanks to the Seven for the gift of Princess Elia's compassion in a world consumed by cruelty and strife.

The rest of House Targaryen remained blissfully unaware of the dark schemes brewing within the walls of King's Landing. Queen Rhaella Targaryen, her eyes veiled to her husband's descent into madness, remained preoccupied with her own concerns, while Prince Rhaegar Targaryen marshaled his forces for the impending conflict.

In the depths of the city, hidden from prying eyes, the pyromancers of the Alchemists' Guild toiled in secrecy, their hands guided by the whispers of their mad king. Thousands of jars of wildfire, that volatile substance capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction, were meticulously placed in strategic locations throughout the city. From the shadows of the Dragonpit to the hallowed halls of the Great Sept of Baelor, and even beneath the very foundations of the Red Keep itself, the city of King's Landing was a powder keg awaiting the spark of war.

As the flames of conflict spread across the realm, each battle leaving its mark upon the land, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms hung in the balance. Amidst the chaos of the Stoney Sept, where narrow streets became blood-soaked battlegrounds, Prince Doran Martell grappled with the weight of his decision. Bound by duty to his king yet driven by love for his sister, Princess Elia, Doran reluctantly pledged his support to Prince Rhaegar's cause, his heart heavy with the knowledge of the dangers that lay ahead.

Following the fateful clash at the Trident, the Mad King's grip on power grew ever more tenuous. In a desperate bid to consolidate his rule, Aerys named Rossart, his favored pyromancer, as his new Hand of the King. Yet, his reign of terror would be short-lived, as the flames of rebellion engulfed the realm. With his wife, Queen Rhaella, and their young son, Prince Viserys, sent to the safety of Dragonstone, Aerys's grip on reality slipped further into the abyss, his madness driving him to unspeakable acts of cruelty and betrayal. Locked within the walls of King's Landing, Princess Elia Martell and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon, remained prisoners of a king consumed by paranoia and fear.

MAEGOR’S HOLDFAST, THE RED KEEP — 283 AC

Lord Tywin Lannister, who had stubbornly refused calls to arms from both the loyalists and the rebels until that point, appeared at the gates of King's Landing with an imposing army of twelve thousand men, mere hours before Eddard Stark would arrive. Lord Tywin professed his unwavering loyalty to King Aerys, and while Lord Varys, the cunning master of whispers, counseled Aerys to keep the gates locked, the king chose to heed the advice of the manipulative Grand Maester Pycelle, ordering the gates to be opened to Tywin's men. With the arrival of the forces from the westerlands, the city of King's Landing became a target for plunder and destruction.

As the realization that all was lost sank in, Aerys, driven by madness and desperation, commanded Rossart, a pyromancer, to unleash the hidden caches of wildfire throughout the city, hoping to reduce Robert's forces to mere "ashes and bones".

In a final act of cruelty, he tasked Ser Jaime Lannister, the eldest son of Lord Tywin and the sole remaining knight of his Kingsguard present in the city, with killing his own father and presenting his head as a gruesome gift. However, Jaime, torn between loyalty and reason, defied the mad king's command. Instead, he turned his blade on Rossart, knowing that Aerys would simply find another pyromancer to carry out his destructive plans. Realizing the imminent danger, Jaime rushed back to the Red Keep and put an end to Aerys' life in the throne room, just moments before soldiers from the westerlands stormed in.

Meanwhile, Ser Gregor Clegane, known for his massive size and brutal nature, accompanied by Ser Amory Lorch, made their way into Maegor's Holdfast. Their mission was to eliminate the remaining members of the royal family, solidifying Robert's claim to the throne and demonstrating House Lannister's complete abandonment of the Targaryens.

The resounding crash of the door being forcefully shattered reverberated through the room, punctuated by the shattering of glass and the piercing screams that filled the air. You, trapped in that room, could do nothing but bear witness to the horrific scene unfolding before your eyes. Gregor Clegane callously hurled you towards the fireplace, the searing heat scorching your skin, as he believed you would perish amidst the flames. Bleeding and disoriented, you lay on the floor, your vision blurred by the pain that engulfed you.

In the middle of pandemonium, you watched in horror as Princess Rhaenys, a mere toddler, was dragged from beneath her father's bed by the monstrous Clegane. The screams of the innocent child echoed through the room as she was mercilessly stabbed over fifty times. Aegon, Elia's son and the last hope for the Targaryen line, suffered an equally gruesome fate as Gregor brutally smashed his head against a wall. With Aegon's blood and brains still staining his hands, Gregor proceeded to rape Elia and ultimately ended her life by crushing her skull.

As Gregor and Amory callously departed, their hands stained with the blood of their heinous acts, they paid no heed to your crumpled form, assuming you were dead. Silently, you feigned death, your battered body lying motionless on the floor. The sound of their heavy footsteps slowly faded away, their hearts devoid of remorse, as they never once faltered or looked back.

With fresh burns scorching your body, the searing pain and stinging sensations intensified, causing you to vomit on the side of the bedroom, overwhelmed by the horrifying sight before you. The people you held dear, the ones who reciprocated your affection, were now lost and lifeless, torn away from you forever.

In a state of despair, you crawled and stumbled, driven by an unknown force or perhaps a touch of divine intervention. Miraculously, you managed to navigate the treacherous secret passages of the sacked city, escaping the clutches of danger. The reason for your survival remained a mystery, lost in the chaos that surrounded you. Perhaps it was your unwavering determination or the small flicker of hope that compelled you to keep moving forward, to honor Elia's memory and the children who were denied the chance of a life.

You couldn't recall how you found yourself on the shores near Blackwater Bay, gazing out at the vast expanse of the Narrow Sea. Kneeling in the cool, wet sand, you felt the water recede, stinging your burns and prompting an uncontrollable urge to scratch, causing fresh blood to flow. Your bruised stomach throbbed with pain.

Exhausted from the relentless pursuit of survival, you yearned for respite, for an end to the constant struggle. Slowly, you began to crawl toward the ocean, knowing that the cold embrace of the water would bring solace, relieving the incessant itch of your scars. What more could you desire? This, perhaps, was the only path left.

But you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Standing at the precipice, you let out a piercing cry, releasing your anguish into the air. With every ounce of strength, you struck your arms, the very arms that bore the visible reminders of your torment.

In that moment, you chose to defy the darkness that threatened to consume you, refusing to succumb to despair. At the edge of the world, you stood tall, your cries echoing across the empty beach, a testament to your resilience and determination to get revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 287 AC

In the ancient city of Braavos, where secrets whispered through the narrow alleys and the canals flowed with mysterious tales, you found solace amid the chaos. Once a believer in the gods, you had come to realize that their existence was nothing more than a facade, a comforting illusion for the masses.

Having scraped together enough coin, you secured passage on a ship departing from Blackwater Bay, leaving behind a turbulent past and seeking refuge in the anonymity of Braavos. The city welcomed you with its vibrant streets and diverse inhabitants, offering a chance at a new beginning.

From baker to cleaner, nurse to animal keeper, and occasionally even a tutor to minor Ladies, you took on any job that would sustain you. Your tireless work ethic caught the attention of the nobles, who saw value in your dedication and entrusted you with their precious steeds. However, the privilege of working for the Lords came at a cost, as some would cross boundaries and attempt to take advantage of your vulnerability. Yet, you stood strong, extracting your payment and moving on.

Throughout the years, you meticulously saved every coin, seeking out the teachings of various assassin guilds and skilled swordsmen. Disguised as a boy, you delved into the secrets of High Valyrian, honed your swordsmanship, and mastered the art of poisons. The guilds taught you to discern truth from lies, and to control your facial expressions, laying the groundwork for your vengeful plans.

As you went about your duties in the bustling stables, you tried to steal moments to study the intricate notes on potions, mumbling the descriptions to yourself. Suddenly, a sharp smack landed on the back of your head, causing you to wince in pain. "Quit your foolishness and focus on your work!" your employer reprimanded.

"Don't be too hard on her! Look at all the burn scars on her legs and arms," one of the older stableboys interjected, coming to your defense. Gritting your teeth, you offered a quick apology, knowing that it was best to comply with your employer's wishes.

Resuming your tasks, you discreetly tucked away the notes into your pocket, their pages smudged with the grime of your surroundings. Your determination burned within you, fueled by the scars that adorned your body, a constant reminder of the pain and suffering that fueled your quest for revenge.

BRAAVOS, ESSOS — 294 AC

The scent of salt hung heavy in the air, you had grown up immersed in their language and customs. Fuelled by a thirst for knowledge, you clandestinely absorbed every morsel of information you could gather about the events unfolding in Westeros. Alongside your studies, you dedicated yourself to the art of combat, honing your skills with weapons and tirelessly toiling in a variety of jobs that allowed you to pursue your clandestine education.

As the boat that would carry you away from Braavos was being prepared, one of the enigmatic faceless men, who had taken an interest in your journey due to the scars that adorned your flesh, approached you. His hooded eyes locked onto yours as he inquired, "Are you prepared for what lies ahead?"

A mixture of determination and uncertainty danced in your gaze as you responded, "They seek servants for the Red Keep. The time is drawing near, and I must gather further intelligence on a select few. It appears that more than just the Lannisters are entangled in this web of power." The faceless man nodded, acknowledging the complexity of the situation.

With a silent understanding, the boat began its departure, carrying you across the waters of the Narrow Sea. Standing at the bow, your eyes fixated on the horizon, a sense of purpose and anticipation surged within you as you braced yourself for the unknown challenges that awaited.

RED KEEP, KING'S LANDING, WESTEROS — 298 AC

In the hallowed halls of the Red Keep, where whispers of power and deceit echoed through the stone, you had spent years serving as a humble maid, donning long-sleeved dresses regardless of the season that enveloped Westeros.

Maintaining a low profile was imperative to the success of your clandestine plan. As you arranged your quarters, a haven of secrecy, you opened a worn journal containing a meticulously compiled dossier. Every page adorned with detailed sketches and meticulous notes on the individuals implicated in the tragic demise of Princess Elia. Royals, lords, and ladies from every corner of Westeros found their place within those ink-stained pages. Their routines, preferences, lovers, and dark histories were meticulously chronicled, forming a tapestry of knowledge that would fuel your pursuit of vengeance.

Locking your quarters behind you, you ventured into the mist-shrouded gardens, a white datura flower delicately cradled in your hand. As you spun the delicate bloom, the devil's trumpet, between your fingers, a solemn chant escaped your lips, carried away by the ethereal fog. "Anyone who inflicts harm upon their neighbor shall bear the same injury."

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. A fracture for a fracture. The concept of just retribution swirled in your mind, the very embodiment of justice. Yet, a subtle smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. Was such fairness truly fitting? Was it not too generous, too even-handed? After all, fairness is a fleeting concept in this treacherous game, isn't it?

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#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn nymeros martell #oberyn x reader #prince oberyn #oberyn martell #oberyn martell rewrite #got rewrite #game of thrones rewrite #game of thrones #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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greenhappyseed · 2 years

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BnHA Ch. 354 - Review, parallels & comparisons

AFO’s really out here, sky dancing and singing his way through this war. He’s serving us some jazz hands and pointed toe realness, as if on a one-man mission to prove that 7-foot-tall, 200-year-old demon lords got talent.

One more bit of snark and then I’ll be real, I swear:

Best Jeanist is looking more and more like a penis and I can’t—

Oookay, MOVING ON!

We know this chapter is serious because it starts off with a closeup of Hawks’s burn scars. We’ve gotten glimpses before during the Nagant arc, but IMO the art downplayed them. Here, just after Shoto cools off Dabi and Endeavor winds up to face AFO, we get a nice big panel showing them off. The burn scars are something Hawks has in common with Tokoyami and Jiro.

Strategy-wise, I guess breaking the mask is good, but it’s far from perfect. As I’ve pointed out in other posts, AFO survived All Might’s United States of Smash without the mask, and fought for a bit without it, so a broken mask is NOT the end of the fight. It’s just the start, unless AFO is somehow significantly weaker. Unfortunately, as AFO immediately notices, it’s an obvious start. The far more interesting addition is Jiro. Her Earphone Jack quirk can do some real damage to AFO’s infrared/radio wave quirk, plus she can block his ability to feel sounds and vibrations. He can, of course, still sense emotions, but Jiro can make everything else very difficult for AFO.

That said, Jiro’s quirk isn’t her only asset in this battle. There’s also her stealth and her rock n’ roll attitude. Hawks doesn’t know her name. AFO doesn’t either. That means they don’t really know what she can do. AFO tries his usual insults, going for her pride by calling her a “jobber,” meaning she’s only present as a “red shirt” or meaningless kill that acts as a power-up for him. Jiro doesn’t take the insult personally at all, and turns it back around on AFO masterfully. I mean, he is 100% old man ranting at her about some 200 year old comic book she’s never heard of, but I’m still glad she was able to laugh and say OK boomer. The other thing that caught my eye here is AFO saying “gnats” around OFA, and “gnat” was Gigantomachia’s main insult, especially in Ch. 280 (where Jiro is down by Momo). I know AFO loves to see heroes and civilans as bugs for him to squash, but “gnat” is very specifically a Machia thing.

I also really like Tokoyami in the mix. While I enjoy him encouraging Hawks to be better, I’m curious why he was stationed against AFO — I suppose Dark Shadow can go all Ragnarok around AFO to capture him without direct touch? Or maybe there is some bird boys combo move he has with Hawks? I feel like this is less likely because, although Tokoyami says he is capable of teamwork with Hawks, have we ever seen that? I know Tokoyami can do teamwork but can Hawks?? I also liked Tokoyami’s, uhm, reminder to Jiro to stay still. Like yes, Tokoyami is an elite superhero who looks like a bird and is fighting the battle to end it all, but also he’s a 16-year-old guy with a girl wrapped around him. Do you think AFO can sense the teenage awkwardness?

AFO does seem to have a hard time reading Hawks, emotionally. Hawks jokes about them both being crippled, and is ok with being called Nagant’s replacement (that was, after all, how he introduced himself to her). I don’t know if it’s his HPSC training —he expects AFO’s mind games — or his “less than heroic” actions and attitude, but AFO’s insults just don’t stick to Hawks at all. That makes me wonder if something is coming, especially after Hawks seemed surprised that AFO kept the Toya card up his sleeve for over a decade.

That brings us to Endeavor. I wrote about him a bit here, but it’s so stunning to me that he wasn’t prepared for AFO’s provocations. Hawks even tried to pull Endeavor back from thinking about his family by appealing to Endeavor’s “duty” to “take down AFO without delay.” But it doesn’t work. The one time Enji HAS to put his duty before his family and he can’t do it. Being #1, surpassing All Might, proving his mental & physical strength….none of it matters to Enji anymore. Hawks says Enji is living in order to atone, so he cannot make a “clean break” from his family, the implication being that family can be a distraction or something that can be exploited to hurt a hero. At the moment, it’s proving that All Might was right to isolate himself and Enji was right to keep running away from his family, so I’m sure there’s another part to come. The last time Enji became fatalistic and felt it was too late to change things, his family told him it wasn’t and helped him get back on his feet.

I wrote this for my last chapter review, and I think it’s still true in this one:

Through Toya, AFO managed to take the same things from Endeavor [as he did from All Might] — his facial scar, his public image, the joy of reaching #1. Interestingly, All Might countered AFO’s mind games like how Shoto neutralized Dabi. All Might agreed with AFO, saying yes, he had many things to protect. He told AFO to go ahead and expose his secret to the world. He admitted he wasn’t the best teacher. But then All Might used those “weaknesses” to explain that he can’t die here, because there’s still too much for him to do. … Will Endeavor rally and realize there’s still so much for him to do to as a father? Is Endeavor aware of how Shoto brought “down” his other son? Does Endeavor know there’s a chance Toya is healing? Or does he think he caused one son to rip apart the other?

Finally… did AFO’s arm alien consume Enji’s arm or…???? If AFO really thinks wounded heroes are the scariest, why not kill Enji outright here???

#bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha 354 #mha 354 #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #afo #all for one #hawks #kyoka jiro #jirou kyouka #fumikage tokoyami

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