A/N: NEW STUFF NOT FROM TUMBLR! A.k.a. I finally got my hands on my laptop again. And don't get wifi at home regularly, so I can write to my heart's content. Expect more stuff in the future~
Anyway, yeah. I like Minerva. Sue me. I also like the idea of her suffering from an Azula-esque mental breakdown when she inevitably loses. Because awesome. This is very headcanon-based, so enjoy~ (And yes, I like the Bacchus/Minerva sibling theory.)
Her world had started crashing down around her far before the games.
"You're useless," he had told her, oh so many times, choosing to ignore the times she had succeeded in the dangerous missions that she had taken for her guild. For his approval, always seeking even a nod of recognition. Everyone else praised her as Sabertooth's strongest, the lady of the guild, the one all aspired to emulate.
But not him.
Never him.
Her father, the man she yearned to make proud, always saw each and every flaw. She left the target alive instead of making good on the 'dead' part of dead or alive, she made too much of a mess in destroying a monster and the guild would have to suffer the consequences, she took too much time to complete a simple job. Nothing was ever good enough. Jiemma kept finding little things to criticize, and Minerva paid the price each and every time.
The scars on her arms served as a reminder of every mistake she had made, every time that she hadn't been good enough. Still, Minerva had to take solace in the fact that she never outright failed. She never gave him a full excuse to send her away, to kick her out of the guild he ran like an army. Her power was too valuable, the gift to block attacks with ease and send her enemies to another place. She was the prize of Sabertooth, and he knew that he needed her nearby.
Her sanity was not needed, however.
Late nights were spent training, or in restless sleep, tossing and turning as memories of the abuse she received drove her to try and escape the emotions filling her up in any way she could. Soon scars put there by her own hand, hidden with shame, joined the ones given to her by her father. There was no way she could let anyone know of these marks, so she became known for the gloves she wore at all times. Even the lovers she took, attempts to actually feel disguised as power plays, were not allowed to remove the cloth hiding the evidence of her own imperfection.
The mask was so ingrained into her system, that even her father's demise did nothing to crack it, only earning a smile and another play to remain in power. He really was so easy to blackmail, what with his attachment to that cat. Not that it mattered, as it gave Minerva something to use against him. Unlike Jiemma, she recognized that such desires to protect could lead to more strength than mere anger could lend. And she was determined to not make the same mistakes he did.
It took a beating at the hands of a guild she had written off to break her down completely. Lying on the ground, dark green eyes wide with shock, Minerva gasped for breath. No. No no no no no! She couldn't lose. Her father would kill her if she lost. She'd lose everything.
For a moment, she was back in time, a young girl who had lost her mother and brother, even though the latter still drew breath. Why had Bacchus abandoned her, she wondered, tears welling up in her eyes. Why had her big brother left her to deal with their father's anger when she wasn't perfect? Why couldn't she make anyone happy?