#this is more a response to the general 'don't call it a fix-it fic' mentality I've seen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

court-jobi · 3 months ago

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((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work/characters))

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (biker!prohero reader, afab pronouns used)

Words: 5.1k

Rating: T+

Warnings: CH 362 SPOILERS, Pro-Hero! Bakugou x reader, angstttt, HURT/COMFORT, light PTSD, anxious stomach/vomiting, discussions about death, lots of comfort, est.relationship and lots of softness + trauma sharing

Summary:

When you love someone, you love their past, present, and future selves-- even if you were not part of their story for the hills and valleys that have made them who they are. This was the way of heroes: risking it all, even to death. You should know this threat by now, as it's the life you make for yourself as well-- but it's so much harder to keep the mentality when it's your loved ones on the line. You learn the extent of one of the biggest trenches in Katsuki Bakugou's life, and it shakes you to your core.

A/N: since I first envisioned my lil biker! reader, I've had this exact interaction on loop in my head. Making it the internet's problem now. apologies in advance for the feelings I've dumped in this fic. Signed, "Bakugou would hold your hair back" Club President

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Weekday mornings pass by generally uneventfully nowadays, leaving you with not much to do except to wait for calls for hero pickups when the shifts change over. It makes you feel like a bit of a taxi service, but the relaxed vibe makes up for the emergency response times you’re faced with in the dead of night when you get a message from the on-call line.

After a brief stop by your office space to glance at your inbox, you take a lap around the Service Lab in order to catch up with Hatsume.

There’s no one better fit to upgrade your helmet models and even take a special interest in how to bulk up your hero costume in order to protect you better. That’s a revolving topic from Bakugou’s lips as well, so your bringing up the idea wasn’t a foreign one– a revelation that touched you, deep under the professional front you keep here in the office.

Hatsume is highly sought after nowadays. Time in her own lab is where she should be calling home, but given her sporadic interest in all things support tech, she has been prone to taking outsourced Technical Outsource calls for nearby agencies– especially when said agencies employ her dear old schoolmates.

When you join her today, she’s busy talking shop and ropes you right into the conversation by pulling you right into her personal space. As far as subject matter, it’s hit or miss if you can contribute anything to the conversation, though today you’re pleased to see that she's in full ‘Dynamight’ mode.

A favorite topic of yours– and of all the tech assistants in the room. Mei, however, holds a far more casual opinion of Bakugou out of familiarity. They’re hardly on a first-name basis as you are, but hearing her peel back details about the larger-than-life sweetheart of yours is both fun and enlightening to hear.

Through your visits with her over the last year or so, you’re still not one hundred percent sure she actually knows what he means to you, because she barely looks you in the face as you cut your attention over old footage of him across all of her schematics monitors. Had she studied you as much as she studies Bakugou’s shoulder cannons, she’d spot your particular brand of appreciation by the tracing of a finger on your lower lip.

"Yeah it's kinda nice sometimes to jump back to basics with Blasty,” Hatsume drifts into a relaxed state back at her table, “Simple fixes like this -darn thing- hmmmthere we go!- Yep, some things never change! Always smart to figure out how to store more sweat, defer more exhaust. Lil harder now that it used to be, having to worry about the magnets."

“Magnets,” you throw in a word, catching up to her thought process, “What, on his belt?”

“No, those clip into place! The way he complains about ‘em with his gloves though, I should probably look into making them easily detachable, too.. But no, I mean the ones he used to have across his chest, back when we made the first suit edits at UA: Year Three,”

Hatsume keeps a long, archived track record with Bakugou, if her nearby drive bogged down with version files is indication of how many changes she’s made to his hero costume and support items…

“-- because we were trying to offload weight from his arms, I tried to strap ‘em to his torso. Only we learned pretty quick the strength of magnet grade was affecting the charges where it was hitting along his chest.”

"Charges–” you pay more attention now, inspecting what she’s doing. Hatsume doesn’t look your way, but is listening, “In the grenades?"

Do they go off at any second?? You assumed Bakugou’s smaller bombs were pulled in traditional fashion with a pin, as you’ve seen him use them in action firsthand. Hatsume has hard work, if she’s having to check each and every one of those, too…

"Oh! Haha no!" she chuckles brightly, "Sorry hun, shop term: ‘electromagnetic charges’! Each baby bombie has them, even when they’re not in use– but they don’t go live unless triggered. But in the rare event of a preemptive ignition, I didn’t want the chain reaction settin’ off his heart! Couldn’t use the strap anymore after that hoo-hah; too close to the loop device in the ‘ole ticker~"

Now that she’s talking organs, you start to get a pang of nerves.

You know Bakugou’s quirk is biometrically dangerous, but till now, you’ve not worried about the risks it would cause him in that way. Even more, you didn’t know of any internal monitoring device he’d have to check for that sort of activity. Bakugou went to the doc here in this building, when he’s in too rough shape to handle himself. But beyond that, you’re stumped.

"Whyyyy would that matter? What’s inside him, again?"

Hatsume handles the internal wiring of Bakugou's cannons with ease-- now that nothing is connected to an active, explosive vial of sweat. With her outfitted eyes set on the tiny soldering work, Hatsume's got Bakugou’s chart up and briefly flicks it over to the shared screen.

"'Dat one, 'hurr," the a teeny tool in her teeth drops at her need to speak, "I pull a read on his heart monitor whenever I come around to keep tabs on things- same as the core staff here does! Works like a charm with the new heart, now that he's had time to build up muscle around it~"

You look for yourself at the screen as she chatters-- and are horrified at what you find there in a continuous crawl across the screen.

Can't move. You can't breathe.

Can't understand how the hell Mei is still talking with such pep in her voice, when these pictures are taking nearly all of your composure away:

Nothing in your career prepared you to see stills of Katsuki lying stock still and caked with blood.

You're pale as the ghost you're looking at– as gutted as he is in this photo: frozen in time. The archive thumbnails are mostly drone footage, but this much you can see clearly- and wish with everything in you that you could unsee it.

The reference photos on his hero account don't show the extensive medical layover you see here in his technical file. You run through every tiny detail in the stills above you on the screens.

He's incredibly young. The soil around him, plants barely peeking out from the battle-torn ground; it's gotta be the big fight he rarely talks about. It's where he's got certain scars across his arms, chest, and the one cutting across his face; that much he's told you. They’re scars you’ve kissed and shown love and care for in his quietest moments, in which he felt the need to tell you why they stand out more than the others. In that much, Katsuki was honest… but not enough about this.

He never once mentioned organ replacement.

He's never told you his arm was torn to shreds by his own doing.

He never told you he’s living his second chance at life at the expense of another Pro Hero he’d never mentioned either--well, third if you could the brief blip while he was on the operating table after the battle. Didn't flatline for very long, according to these surgery notes, but still...

Surgery notes. Plural. There's many here. Wires sustain his oxygen and bloodflow, putting color back in his face. There's streaks across his cheeks- marred with tracks of soot and old blood, mixing with what must have been tears of pure exhaustion and rage and resolve. Yours sting at your own lash line. Every nerve ending clams up in your body: worse than the wreck that almost put you out of commission.

In your mind, Dynamight’s professional headshot is a flat, grumpy one. No smile to be found, but at least there's a spark behind the eyes.

He's not dead.

He literally brought you a can of coffee this morning.

He stopped you from getting up from the dining table too soon, needing to turn the clasp of your necklace around first because it was 'pissing him off'.

You know he's not dead– but you wish you'd never set foot in this room.

That old coffee's turned to lava in your gut.

"And these boots of his– they make too much noise! Talk about stealth-”

"Scuse- me, Hatsume.."

"--I know he’s not necessarily a known stealth hero, but– hey, when did she leave??”

He may not like how slick they go on when applied, but Bakugou had to admit it, these counterirritant patches were the best dang thing to ever happen to his shoulder blades. Menthol flooding his senses by heat activation, he was feeling better already after his first catch of the day.

After getting the note from Hatsume that his gauntlets were ready to pickup from R&D, he traipsed into her room while texting you. Just a short n’sweet message, hoping that he’d be able to cross paths with you before he’d need to go out again. The messenger app showed you were active within a few minutes ago, but you haven't responded to his messages.

He comes in, half listening to Hatsume’s rant to the staff technicians once again. He catches sight of his file, streaming up at the top of her video wall.

"Ugh, this again?” Bakugou barks out, “What am I, a sideshow to you science freaks?!"

"Hardly when we're the ones you need, Blasty," Hatsume huffed his way, "and besides, I think you better watch who you're talking smack to about this stuff anyway! And it wasn't online for my freaks, anyway. They know your work orders inside and out~ you should be nicer to them!"

You tell him as much, in his more crotchety moments… and you are always right.

Bored of the medical records, he turns to his completed support items out on the reception table, "Then what're you blasting all this shit for? Haven’t had any arrhythmias for months."

“Just because you haven’t had any doesn't mean it’s not a good idea to circle back and check. We can learn plenty from stable periods, just as much as emergencies, ya know!”

Bakugou simply rolls his eyes, throwing a grumbly word of thanks to the technician who brings over the case for said equipment, and starts packing it into place.

Hatsume slips her goggles up her face. Trying to read the Pro Hero before her wasn’t a hard task; he usually deflects when his weaknesses are on full display.

"You want my advice Mr. Murder God?” Hatsume turns more solemn– an attitude she rarely radiates.

“Sounds like you’re gonna give it anyway.”

“I think your teammates outta know what all's happened to you, cuz it sure isn't obvious to everyone. ‘Specially the ones who hang around you all the time… I think it’d be smart if they kept an eye out any emergencies, too- like your transport queen around here– Joyride, isn’t it?"

Katsuki flinched. He turns back from the table -past Hatsume- and centers back up to the full view of the record up on her computer.

He’s not so irritated by its presence anymore… but rather worried about how long it’s been up there, in full view of the room.

"...She saw all this?..."

"Mmmmyea, pretty sure?" Hatsume was already engrossed in her current project, "Was in the middle of your pieces when she came by. She normally doesn’t as so many questions, but she sure was today till she-”

Kaminari slides into the lab -winded and nervous as all getout- nearly colliding with the reception table altogether. He almost hit Bakugou square in the face, since the hothead had turned ready to bust out of the room himself.

"Oh geez, (heh) there you are, Bak- (heh) listen-- your girl's barfing her brains out! You know if she's sick or something??"

Bakugou grimaced and seethed at his own negligence-

"fuuuUUUCK," he hissed rounding the table, before he remembered Hatsume- "YOU, DUMBASS-"

"Scuse you???!"

"TURN THAT SHIT OFF, AND WHEN I GET BACK, WE'RE HAVIN' WORDS-- AND YOU-" Bakugou yelled back to Kaminari, carrier of bad news as he was, "WHERE. IS SHE."

"Bathroom by the rec room- but, hey man, it's locked!!"

Bakugou didn’t take time to listen more as he books it down the hall, making a beeline to where you'd be.

Down the hall just a few corridors away, you hadn’t made it far to take your leave. Bakugou approaches where a couple sidekicks hear you coughing behind a door, and are presently failing to be let in. The sound is heart-wrenching, hearing you sick, but he’s in full protective mode and ready to take out the door himself if need be.

He’s breathing hard, and scares them as he snaps and points harshly for them to move. They do, but not without one of them looking soured that he's getting in their face when they were only trying to help.

Coming to the door, Bakugou tries the handle despite Kaminari’s clear warning that it is indeed locked. He immediately rears up to bang his announcement, but rotates that fist to use just knuckles and taper his knocks down to a reasonable level. He's no less frantic in speech though, calling for you hoarse and breathy -mindful of his audience, only at first-

"Joyride...hon', it's me. Open up."

You're crying on the other side, but gasp when you hear him speak. An urp of a gurgle hits you in the quiet that follows, then another stomach-churning cough.

The rant of expletives that runs through his mind is enough to turn Bakugou’s own stomach... He palms his face for a minute, before letting his forehead drop to the door and speaks again.

"I can't help you if I can't see you, sweet’eart. I… know I got a lot to answer for."

The chances of him greeting a furyless version of you all gone, Bakugou accepts his fate.

"-And I figure if you're gonna yell at me, you should do it to my face. Please open the door."

After a sniffle and an incredibly uncomfortable beat of quiet where Bakugou is staring at the doorknob below him -gripping it in wait to open the second he hears the upper safety lock move-... he finally does, the moment you release it.

Bakugou steps in the single stall room -deftly fast- then locks it right up behind him. The girls on the other side fuss again, but he doesn’t give a spare thought to their efforts.

Down on the floor, not even fully sat back yet from your reach to catch the door, you're the most miserable sight. Stuffing a used-up paper towel that’s in reach by your stash, you're folding the unsoiled side to try and clear off your face and blow your nose for good measure.

What's worse, you can't bear to look at him.

With a careful sigh, Bakugou knows he's got a world of explaining to do- but has a greater worry over your slumped self on the tile floor. He’s seen you with the flu, and you weren’t this sick.

"Baby–"

One word and you're crying again, head down into your knees. Bakugou can only imagine what headspace you’re in, and the list of what he thinks he can say to console you is now down to zero. Actions it is, then.

Bakugou kneels down, swiping your hair back into a rough pony by teething off a hair tie from his wrist to secure it. Just in case you feel sick again, it wouldn’t hurt, he reasons. Once freshened, he takes away your trash bucket next without a word. Collects all the used bits of your attempt at cleanliness into the trash, barely a care for how many there were to clean up. Whatever he’d need to do -whatever you’d allow him to do- that’s how he’s determined to serve.

Finally, he shifts from a kneel to a sit. The blonde crisscrosses his stance under him, bringing you by both arms to pull you forwards, into his lap.

At first you're confused at his hands' insistence, but since he's made himself in prime position to hold you, he's glad to see you fall to the open invitation even in a dire time like this. A little shaky, but still you clamber over to his lap on your knees until he can get you settled the rest of the way himself.

Chest to chest, legs astride him, he'd hoped he'd catch a better look of your face as you came over-- but no such luck as you duck your head in. His chance at helping you remains though, as you’re holding him tight around the neck and shoulders and clearly aren’t averse to him. Frightened enough for one day -maybe even a lifetime- Bakugou lets you cling on, and simply holds you tight in return.

All that matters to him is that you're positioned as close as humanly possible. Protected. Safe to cry and ready to just absorb it. He knows it's what he deserves, and considers himself your personal sponge.

To your hiccups making you jump against his chest, he just pets through your hair quietly hushing you to stillness.

"I'm here." He takes a tepid breath. "I’m not there, baby, I'm right here."

You stutter, but simply try to control your own breaths.

"i--... I'm so.. so.. 've never been so upset.."

"I know."

"I feel so'sick.. y’looked–"

The impulse to kick aside that damn puke bucket is raging within him-- but knowing your possible need for it, he brings it close instead.

"I know, babe.”

He'll get you set before you head out on patrol today. If you ever settle… but for now, he's focused on the one thing he can control, and that’s getting you as comfortable as possible.

From here, you can't look at him, but you can look straight ahead- which shows you Bakugou's full back in the mirrored wall. The movement when he breathes, his neck craning as he lowers his head to sink over your shoulder. How you're being held so tightly it shows in each muscle group.

You can't see it, but feel it: cold breath blown from his lips, to comfort onto your heated neck. Bakugou's lifted up your haphazard ponytail, trying to introduce some cool touch to you in this small space.

You gather it's an apology, done his way-- seeing as he's unintentionally created this catastrophic response in your body.

As you've told him in your most private moments, you've only really felt this raw outlash of emotion in the workplace once before: the day you found out your sweet brother in arms, T’challa, passed away so expectedly. You suppose that's why this is jarring you so strongly now; losing him was the first major loss in your life, years before you met Bakugou.

This is so different, but all the same. A core figure in your support system- your inner circle– here one minute and gone the next. This was the way of heroes. You should know it by now, but it still breaks your tender heart. Even looking at snapshots of Katsuki at his lowest has you heartbroken and shocked.

You're a dichotomy of strength: tough enough to ride headfirst into a mission, but also prone to such intense emotion in your most private moments that you retreat into yourself and deal with an anxious gut all by yourself. Anything to protect the image you keep.

Only today, that exterior means nothing to Katsuki. Not when he alone can try and hold you back together while you try and fix yourself enough to speak coherently.

He's been holding himself together solo for far too long, too; you’ve known this from the first day he out and out confessed ‘I’m bad at this’ when he asked to simply hold your hand in public. You can feel it in your conjoined breaths, cycling back and forth for comfort. He’s unsettled, too– his new heart’s going far too fast.

“Did you actually die out there?” you manage in broken whispers.

Tell me I just thought the worst.

“... I did,” Bakugou answered calmly, “But I didn’t wan’ you to see how. Not alone.”

“Would you have shown me? Ever?”

“Doesn’t exactly come up at the breakfast table, angel.”

‘But it should have by now.’

Bakugou senses the retort and simply pets through your hair again, another apology written by touch.

“But… I coulda picked any other time, by now. You know everything else. I swear.”

Everything meaning injuries, you hope to God… “No more?”

“No more surprises. I promise.”

Secure enough to take a deep inhale, you try to lift your sights heavenward.

Such a sobering thought you have to operate in on the daily, knowing hero work is among the deadliest professions. You could lose your best friends at any time, anyone you love. In that vein, you are trying your best not to be selfish with your need for Bakugou’s safety…. Yet you still hold that small hope that as long as you have each others’ backs, you have a shot at staying ahead and staying alive- together.

Back then, you didn’t know each other. Katsuki Bakugou lived an entire life before he met you, one you were still learning.

"I didn’t know how bad it was for you…” you remember the site of the attack, what surrounded him- or rather, what didn’t. So much of that battlefront had been laid low. That told you as much as the injuries, how bleak everything looked.

Bakugou takes a centering breath himself. His grip on you never lessens.

"It was the worst day of my life,” he shares, “I fought the world's greatest villain. Almost watched my hero die… Almost lost my best friend, all on the same day. Bad memories all around, for all of us."

Memories that seep into sleep.

"S'that what you dream about? When it gets bad?"

Taking the shot at Shigurake, sent flying back by his own ricocheted blast, giving it all- fruitless as it might have been in the moment when every bone in his body felt like it was bleeding out of every pore.

You know somewhere in that event, the best friend Katsuki speaks of must have been on the brink of death in an emotional full-circle moment, for he never speaks ill of him in all the ways that matter. He’s a dork, but he’s his dork. You identified their relationship as special from the moment you’d met Izuku Midoriya but… in a deeper way than you’d found the words for yet. They’re twin stars, bound by something stronger than you even think you share with Katsuki some days. Or maybe it’s just different– not one bond that’s better than another.

You've heard him waking in a panic those nights: how he calls for Izuku, and wakes up in tears. Even in recent months, he doesn't always explain why he’s crying, only that he wants to bury it for the night… and that you help him do that.

On the subject of those nightmares, today’s discovery of that era of Bakugou’s past becomes painfully clear.

And so, he answers honestly, "...yeah."

“That’s so scary, Katsuki. You were so young.”

He feels around with one hand between your crammed bodies- for yours. Your head's still hung over his shoulder, but you crane back to watch what he's doing.

He puts it in place over his heart, forehead knelt to yours.

"Here. This is me, now."

The heartbeat under your palm is strong- a little fast, at the moment.

"They asked me if I’d do it again, if given the chance. N’for the longest time, I woulda said ‘yes’. That’s what I figured heroes say, in the face of the unknown.”

Before you can let that thought gut you again, you feel Katsuki press his thumb in one singular spot: your empty ring finger.

“But I faced the unknown. It was– really light, actually. But all I wanted was more time. I wanted the time to say words. Say more, or- do more. I had to make it right to the ones who mattered. I’m still trying to make it right. And I was given that chance to raise hell, and won. So when I see that shit, I’m grateful. I’m stronger now because of what happened then.”

You look to his face now; the older, stronger, seemingly immovable version of that younger self that still makes its appearance when he’s more pensive. He is still stuck on the look of his thumb where your third knuckle should be…

“Looking at it today though, there is more that war gave me than just making me the hero I am now.”

You press into his heart, “What’s that?”

“If I’d stayed dead,” he treads carefully, “I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have someone who– cares for me, like you do. Who would care about that shitty kid who just barged ahead, even with warning signs going off everywhere.”

With a raise to kiss your hand, Bakugou lets his voice go raspy.

“You looked at that idiot and threw up- all because you cared,” he sniffs with a laugh, “Got a second chance at life, and got a complete knockout who gives a shit about me.”

Abrasive but honest; you laugh in full force. The odd thought passes you: why people watch gory, scary movies for ‘entertainment’ makes no sense to you. If they want horror, just take a gander at a pro-hero’s medical file.

You cradle Katsuki’s head in for good measure and lay an appreciative kiss on his head.

“Of course I give a shit,” you say hoarsely, “tho I prefer to say things like that with honey than vinegar, Kats.”

“Yeah, I know ya do… I count on it.”

When you hug him now, it’s a gentler connection. Bakugou still rubs his hand up and down your back, but out of affection instead of dire comfort.

Finally you feel assured enough for now: you reconciled his past enough to have confidence in his present. He’s bold and never short of giving his all, but to know he acknowledges this living on extended time and has a unique appreciation for the cornerstones around him gives you calm again.

Bakugou truly is your hero– who you know will drop everything to make sure he protects what’s closest to him first and foremost.

When you sniffle and lick at the corner of your mouth, it still tastes sour and you finally register a pang of self awareness. You have to smell foul talking so close to him right now.

“I shoulda thought about gum or something..-sorry.”

“Would you stop,” Bakugou droned, taking out your insufficient ponytail now that you finally seemed settled, “I’m with you just about every morning the second you wake up, and I don’t give a fuck.”

Sweetly you silently thank his efforts with a sweet nod to how he put the hairtie back on his wrist. “Still, don’t mean to make it your problem.”

The hint of a smirk starting to come back to his face, you couldn’t completely eradicate his worry with one little bat of the eyes.

“You are my problem. One I’m happy to fix up when I break it. We’ll get you freshened up when you’re ready. And only when you’re ready.”

You notice your position now on the floor of this bathroom and find it endearing how he managed full cuddle mode in such limited space. Surely the locked door was the straw that secured this.

But the knock was sure to halt it–

“Hey man, leave them alone!-”

“Um, hey ‘Joynamight’?~” Kaminari tested from the other side, “Haven’t heard any hurling in a while, are y’all good?”

“We’ll be GOOD when I SAY WE’RE GOOD!” Bakugou fired back, “HOLD YOUR DAMN HORSES, SPARKPLUG!”

Muting all laughter at the old school rivals was a challenge, but you did so while trying to gracefully detach from your loving partner. He let you with a steadying set of hands to yours to help push yourself up. You offer him steadying arms to pull him back up as well before putting your trashcan back to where it belonged.

A rinse of your mouth later, you fan your face as best you could in a last-ditch effort to look like you haven’t been bawling like a baby. While he awkwardly stood to the side to give you a minute, you caught Bakugou thumbing at his waterline, too, with a stiff upper lip to get himself back in business.

Once you rejoined him for a last hug, he readily accepts you with a rush of kisses to your forehead– just how you like it. It’s the mushiest he gets with you physically– guaranteed to get you back to your happy-go-lucky self. Once done, he smirks back at you pleased, petting your hair perfectly back into place.

“You good?”

“I’m good~”

“OKAY, WE’RE GOOD, SHITTY HAIR!”

“Hey I was the one tellin’ him to lay off you guys!!”

“YEAH AND I CAN HEAR YOU SNICKERING FROM HERE.”

“Damn, for a guy with hearing loss, he sure can pick you out pretty well-”

Bakugou finally swings the door open, pissy as usual, “I HEARD THAT!!”

While Kirishima and Kaminari jog on, Bakugou pockets his hands and holds back for you. Once you exit, you figure you better brave a trip to the kitchen and make a round 2 of breakfast.

“Something easy, ok?” he warns gently.

“I will. Won’t go fainting on ya~”

Knowing you’ll be on the roads later, Bakugou will impress a stable diet on you more than most.

“And no coffee.”

“Well, tie my hands completely, why doncha, Dynamight?” you sigh dramatically in the doorway.

He takes your chin in a bossy move, “Hey- m’lookin’ out for you, dummy.”

He sounds gruff and looks like he means it in the coolest of ways… but you hear everything in between the fussy brows and piercing eyes:

I care about you-

I’m sorry-

I know you’re this way because of me-

Never again-

Find me if you need me-

I love you- I love you- I love you-

“I know you are, Blasty~”

“UGH, she’s still calling me that shit too?!” Bakugou recoils further, shooting daggers down to the Tech Room, where he knows Hatsume is the one who fed you that old nickname.

You giggle as he stomps away, but he still throws back a last threat that you need to drink a fucking water before you go the fuck anywhere.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #mha #bnha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou angst

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pinehutch · 6 months ago

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Okay so my Thing about Dragon Age is this:

Ten years ago, I was in constant extreme pain as I worked my way towards a rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis. I had spent the previous year working 12-18 hour days most days, between an unsustainable volunteer job and my daytime career. Sometime that fall, I started noticing that my hands were locking into fists while I slept, and that the fatigue was never getting better, and that walking was really hard, more days than not.

I tried to work through it, that first awful year. I mostly did, too. I had weeks when I couldn't walk unassisted, and months where I was sick all the time because we were trying different meds. I called the rheumatologist in tears more than once, feeling hopeless and like a failure because I couldn't tolerate some of the easier drugs. And in between it all, I worked.

On the days that I couldn't work, and if my hands would let me, I played Dragon Age.

I'm stubborn, and I don't usually watch or read or play things that other people recommend until the time feels right. Spring 2014, I needed something that would be immersive enough that it could distract me from my body but that wouldn't require too much complex problem solving. I needed gaming, and some very trusted people had recommended Dragon Age to me before, so I started Origins in March and by July I had played through Origins and DA2 and all the DLC I could get. Inquisition came out that fall, and I was hooked.

(It also was one of the first ways that I learned to distinguish between healthy pain and warning sign pain: I learned to put the controller down before my hands would be so irritated I couldn't use them at all the next day.)

So there I was, having the worst year of my life (at that point), and I got to fill up my brain with lore and distractions and become a hobbyist expert in the historiography and folklore and religion and politics of something that was entirely made up. I could invest, mentally and emotionally, but I didn't have to fix anything real, including my own unfixable problem. I just had to learn, and to play.

Dragon Age brought me into video games for grown-ups, and it brought me back to fiction writing. The first short story I had written since high school was DA fic. I came back to writing poetry, the love of my life, a couple of years later.

My life doesn't look that different from the outside vs what it was 10 years ago. I'm working out whether or not I'm okay with that; making big changes in your life is hard when you're chronically ill and have adhd and you work a complicated job with a lot of responsibility, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't try. I had expected that my general weariness would stretch over into a kind of Dragon Apathy - that there would be news and I'd say 'oh, nice,' and then go back to work and the other little agonies.

Instead, I'm delighted? Surprised? Fond? Something I loved and that I needed during a really difficult time is here, again, while I'm anticipating another sea change. The thing that brought me some happiness, some wonder, and some escape can do it still, maybe.

Anyway. I collect my favourite DA stuff at @free-smarcher. I always roll a rogue on my first playthrough. (In real life I'm a giant brain on a giant, clumsy body; my fantasy is being able to go undetected.) I love Varric Tethras because he's a highly-accomplished fuckup with too many responsibilities and because he's bad at his personal life.

When Veilguard comes out I will almost certainly, at least once, play it until my hands seize.

#personal #dragon age #viddy games #da on main

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tigerbears · 2 years ago

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Hello there!

You can call me TigerBear.

I’m a 20s something trans-girl who's only been on tumblr for over a year

I mostly just do reblogs, and just random stuff but I'll also post links to my fanfics so keep an eye for that! (Only been one so far, but lots of folks seem to enjoy it xD)

Expect my fics to mostly be UT and DR fics... Same with posts.... Just a lot of UT/DR related reblogs and post, but you'll also see a few posts related to other games I like or things that catch my fancy. (E.G, I've reentered the doctor who fandom after like 4-5 years)

Aiming for the blog to be SFW/Minor friendly but y'know, I'm still an adult and stuff. Might reblog stuff with swearing. May also reblog SFW posts from NSFW blogs/"Minors DNI or do not follow" blogs, but I don't usually follow these blogs and will likely not touch their risky stuff. TL;DR this blog be safe, can't guarantee the same from those I reblogged.

Guess I can talk about some things about myself.

I’m a trans-girl lesbian who goes by she/her pronouns.

I'm also neurodivergent (autistic specifically) so if I act differently/misunderstand things that's why. I'm sorry my brain just be running differently.

I’m likely suffering from chronic Asriel and Noelle brain rot. I want goat boy to get a happy ending and love the Trans Noelle head-canon. Shipper of Suselle (Susie/Noelle) and Dessriel (Dess/Asriel). (Oh and of course Alphyne (Alphys/Undyne) but I'm not obsessed with the pair like Suselle and Dessriel. Alphyne's still cute though!) Also opened asks! (but don't really know what I'll do with them, and don't expect quick responses, especially bc I’m the shy type of trans-femme. Also, keep the discourse crap away from me.)

Haven't gotten a lot of asks so I just opened the anonymous ones. (Note: This is on thin ice. I may turn off anonymous asks if I change my mind and realize it's a mistake. I already turned off messaging from people I don't follow because I kept getting incomprehensible bot messages.)

If I ever reblog something that's "WIP "a mess of the original post's tags" it means I f--ked up and forgot to remove the wip tags when the post was in my drafts. Please let me know so I can fix it.

Standard DNI: (note realize it got too long with my explanations so I put the longer ones in a separate footnote post. You can find it at the bottom of the DNI list. TL;DR the footnotes are for nuance and crap.)

DNI

I: Don't be a bigot. (E.G racist, xenophobic, Islamophobic, ableist, transphobic/a TERF, (that includes being exclusionary towards transmascs/femmes, enbys, or being some gatekeeping/invalidating transmed/truscum or whatever.) Same with aro/acephobia. TL:DR if you're bigoted towards a minority stay away and crap.

II: If you're a Religious fundamentalist, Militant Atheists, or anyone who can't respect other people's religious/areligious beliefs. DNI. (Its ok to criticize bigoted/harmful religious people, or parasitic and abusive cults. Just don't interact if you say stuff like "All religious people are mentally ill" or "all people of X religion are bigots/terrible".)

III: (can't believe I have to say this) DNI if you ship "those ships." Y'know, the ones which involve some form of i*nest or p*dophilia. (E.G, Fontcest, Chasriel, Frans, Lancer/Susie,) Just generally do not interact if you ship any of those "yikes" ships. I don't want my posts to be associated with these accounts if they reblog my posts or whatever. III.1: This DNI does not cover Friskriel and Charisk, unless specific extenuating circumstances are in effect (and I'll usually assume they aren't.) Kralsei also barely gets a pass until we learn why he looks like Asriel. (The explanation of this will either push the ship into the DNI, or make it weird but fine.) (For more details/nuance, look at Footnotes 01 and 02)

IV: Please tag your anti-ship or anti-character posts as anti-[shipname], or I will likely block you, especially if you just tag the ship name. When I follow the Suselle tag I'm looking for everything but Anti-Suselle posts. (Footnote 03)

If your posts look like that of a p*rn bot I'll likely block you.

DNI FOOTNOTES IN THIS POST! GO HERE FOR ELABORATION/NUANCE!

Here are the tags I use for my own stuff. " ([On Blog]=on my stylized blog.) ([On Tumblr]=Tumblr's default interface.)

#reblog [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For all the posts I reblog.

#queue [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For all the posts in my queue (which are just reblogs)

#posts from tigerbear's tumblr [On Blog] [On Tumblr] (Or) #my posts [On Blog] [On Tumblr] (Or) #tigerbears posts [On Blog] [On Tumblr] Stuff that's from me (or reblogs which have comments from me.) Pretty much "tigerbears posts" is going to be anything past the 25th or 26th of April 2024 (because I'm not going back to change all of my past tags.)

#tag that are like posts from tigerbear's tumblr [On Blog] [On Tumblr] Basically similar to posts from tiger bear except their reblogs and the new content is only in the tags. (I don't use this tag often/probably ever btw)

#Upsetting Real World Stuff [On Blog] [On Tumblr] For the very few posts/reblogs that are potentially upsetting, E.G talking about stuff like wars or LGBTQ+ rights being stripped away, general transphobic stuff, ect. (I usually come to tumblr for escapism, so if you feel the same way add it to filtered tags so you at least get the warning pop up before seeing it)

#discourse & stuff like that [On Blog] [On Tumblr]I hate discourse. But sometimes the discourse comes to me even though I don't want it. If you don't want to deal with that stupid crap on this horrible website than block this tag.

Here's my other socials! Bluesky:

Youtube:

AO3:

pronouns.page:

Anyway I hope you enjoy my blog!

#posts from tigerbear's tumblr #undertale #deltarune #undertale spoilers #deltarune spoilers #spoilers #blog info stuff #introductory post #dni list #(go to link below DNI for elaborations/footnotes on the list.)

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stwritings · 2 years ago

Text

Funny Seeing You Here

Synopsis

Long time in-patient y/n was looking forward to her upcoming discharge date from the Hawkins Memorial Hospital. That is, until she became acquainted with an unlikely familiar face, Eddie Munson.

Author’s Note

This is a fix it fic following Stranger Things season 4, volume 2. In this fic, we’re going to forget the fact that the Duffer Brothers decided to delete Eddie from the series. :-) These events take place after the battle in the upside down. I’m also choosing to change the ending of season 4 by having the issue with the upside down resolved, therefore, Hawkins is not plagued by the massive earthquake that resulted in new portals being opened.

What To Expect

Slow burn, angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut in later chapters. ♡

Series Warnings

Mentions of mental health struggles, SMUT (in the later chapters, 18+ to read this story), angst with a happy ending, canon-typical violence.

Chapter 14

Warnings:

This chapter extrapolates on reader's past trauma as well as Eddie's. Mentions of physical/verbal abuse, anxiety, depression, general mental health struggles, self-harm and addiction, family struggles and trauma. Please don't proceed if any of the above mentioned is triggering. ♡

Chapter CliffsNotes without the triggers are available for those who don't wish to proceed, send me an ask! ♡

Time spent with Eddie flew by like she had never experienced before. It was only after Margot cut their conversation short that y/n realized that she had been on the phone with him for well over an hour. In that time, she had gotten to know a little bit more about Eddie, like how he disliked mustard in all of it's forms, only learned how to ride a bike at the age of 12 and was an avid fan of Creedence Clearwater Revival due to his uncle listening to their music relentlessly. She shared a few facts about herself in that time as well, per his request.

Y/n was frustrated that their time was cut short, but held onto Eddie's promise that he'd call again tomorrow.

Like clockwork, the phone rang again the following day, as well as the next day, and the day after that.

Pretty soon, y/n had gotten used to expecting Eddie's call at some point in the day. She had given him an extensive break down of her daily schedules, and he made sure to write down her free times to ensure she'd pick up the phone when he'd call.

It was on their 3rd phone conversation that the topic of her extended stay was brought up, Eddie's curiosity getting the best of him. As much as she detested the topic, she knew it would come up again at some point. They had gotten to know one another pretty well and she felt closer and more comfortable with him than she'd ever felt with anyone else. She knew it was time to tell him the truth; no matter how raw it was. Opening up came easier to her once Eddie spoke about his background and what he had been through.

Eddie's life had been anything but easy from the moment he had been born. His mother's pregnancy was unplanned and slightly unwanted, at least on his father's part. His parents were very young, having both just turned 22. They were far from financially stable, and knew adding a new member to their family would worsen their situation. Despite this, Eddie's mother stood her ground and spoke her truth; she wanted to keep the baby and would not be talked out of it. This put a strain on their relationship and it became tumultuous over time. His father grew spiteful as time went on and took to alcohol to numb his frustration.

Eddie's father was constantly putting his mother through hell, from his sporadic outbursts to his unexplained disappearances that would last for days at a time. He eventually lost his job due to his erratic behavior and many missed shifts, leaving her with the huge responsibility of making ends meet. She worked well into her pregnancy, eventually being forced to take a leave; her bulging stomach preventing her from accomplishing most tasks at her job.

Luckily, she had her brother to rely on. At first, her pride prevented her from reaching out for help, but when their bills started to pile up, she had no other choice. Eddie's mother was very close to her brother, this made it much more difficult for her to ask for help. Being the youngest, she always felt this need to prove herself and to be self-sufficient. Wayne on the other hand was always looking out for her, feeling immensely protective over his younger sibling. The truth is, he never liked Eddie's father. Upon meeting him, he had this gut-wrenching feeling that the kid was bad news. And boy, was he ever right.

Although protective, Wayne isn't the type to overstep and likes to avoid confrontation as much as possible. He kept a close eye on them as the years passed, and sadly, wasn't surprised when his sister reached out to him reluctantly filling him in on the turmoil she had been going through over the last 8 months.

At the time, Wayne was working two jobs in hopes of saving up enough money for his dream car; a 1966 Chevvy Impala. He had racked up quite the savings and was only a few hundred dollars short of being able to afford it. Those dreams were put on the back burner following his conversation with his sister, as he redirected his focus onto supporting her and his expected nephew.

Wayne never really wanted kids, in fact, he wasn't overly fond of them. That all seemed to change the moment Eddie was born. Unsurprisingly, his father was absent on the day his mother's water broke, which resulted in Wayne being by her side the entire time. He was also the first person to hold Eddie as he took his first few breaths. In that moment, Wayne vowed to always protect him, no matter the cost.

He pleaded with his sister to leave Eddie's father, even offering them a place to stay in his tiny 1 bedroom apartment, but it was no use. Eddie's mother was hopeful, she felt that when his father held his son for the first time, he would turn a new leaf, wanting to better himself for their family. After recovering in the hospital for a few days, Wayne reluctantly drove her back to their shared apartment and made her promise to call him everyday. That promise was kept, but she bent the truth more times than she could count.

With every interaction they had and the countless times that Wayne asked her if things had gotten better, her lies became more distant from the truth. Eddie's father came home after a grueling 5 days away, whiskey bottle in hand, the smell of alcohol littering the air of each room he'd walk into. His mother greeted him with open arms, wanting nothing more than for the father of her child to meet his precious little one. She was met with heartbreak and disappointment when all he did was glance at him in a less than pleased manner and lock himself into their bedroom where he stayed for the remainder of the night. Luckily she had moved Eddie's crib into the living room while she prepared food for herself.

The next morning, after being forced to sleep on the couch, she was woken up by the sound of slamming doors and footsteps. As she groggily got up from the sofa, she noticed that many of their belongings were missing. Eddie's father had been packing his truck and despite his mother's pleas, left within the hour. He had made it abundantly clear that if she decided to go through with the pregnancy, he wouldn't be in the picture. His words proved to be true up until Eddie turned 2.

His mother hadn't heard from him in all this time, and was dumbfounded when he showed up at her doorstep. She was met with apologies and false promises, knowing all too well his patterns of behavior. Despite every nerve in her body signaling for her to shut the door in his face, she craved a better life and some form of normalcy for Eddie, not wanting to deprive him of his father. Reluctantly, she put aside her feeling of dread and gave his father a second chance. Once again, he had managed to charm and weasel his way back into their lives with false promises, broken within days of him being back into the house.

His father's battle with addiction had only worsened in the time he was away; his sudden reappearance a desperate attempt at seeking shelter and money to further his substance abuse. Eddie's mother was unaware of this at the time, his lies and deception were all too convincing. Perhaps she had been naïve, but Eddie likes to think she just had a big heart. His mother was very giving and would do anything for those she loved; a trait that later proved to be fatal.

It wasn't long after his father's return that what little savings she had, were drained, leaving their little family once again ridden with the struggles of poverty. When Eddie reached the age of 5, his mother reached a breaking point. Her previous frustration over their financial situation was overshadowed by pure, unadulterated rage when she discovered a series of deep blue markings on her son. She had noticed Eddie had become much more detached from his father, afraid even. His mother was no stranger to physical abuse at the hand of her partner, and once she realized that Eddie was now at the receiving end of it, she had had enough.

She put up with a lot, too much really. But the moment she found out that Eddie was suffering the same fate as her, she was done. A true mama bear, she packed up all of their belongings and left that same day, giving him a taste of his own medicine. She left him a dingy old sofa and a crappy frying pan, which was more than he deserved really, and thanked her lucky stars that he was out of the house during the process.

Once again seeking solace from her brother, who welcomed them into his home with open arms, they had finally escaped the wrath of his father. Eddie never saw him again.

Their peace was short lived following a well overdue medical appointment. Eddie's mom had been sick for quite some time, but without the funds or free time to see her doctor, she was never able to seek treatment until it was too late. Her diagnosis was terminal and she passed away a few days short of Eddie's 11th birthday.

His mother's passing brought Eddie and Wayne closer together. Without his father in the picture, his uncle became his legal guardian and formed him into the man he is today. Eddie spoke very highly of his uncle who, funny enough, shared the same name as y/n's current guardian. They bonded over that fact and compared anecdotes and stories of each other's 'Wayne's.

Hearing about Eddie's past and seeing him come out of it as such an incredible person had y/n in awe. Although the story was heart wrenching, she admired his strength and felt immense compassion and care for him. She felt safe with him, and knew that he wouldn't treat her differently after hearing what she had gone through. With a heavy sigh, she began sharing her story.

Prior to their divorce, y/n's father was abusive towards her and her mother. Claudia would often face the majority of it, but when she was out of the house, Oscar's attention would be redirected to his daughter. This went on up until the divorce, and began again when she was forced to move back with her father when he won the custody battle.

Whilst living with her father, she tried to keep busy away from home as much as she could, but this proved to be challenging as Oscar had set a strict curfew that unfortunately lined up with the peak time of his drinking. She would often come home to her intoxicated father, and would once again be met with his wrath. Sadly, she became quite good at making up lies for the markings on her body, and over time learned how to cover them up with the help of makeup.

The abuse and drinking seemed to let up a little after he met his second wife, a woman named Beverly who worked at a dental office. They spent the majority of their time together out of the house, leaving y/n to her own devices. Albeit her time alone did become rather lonesome, she preferred it over them being home. Her step mother never really took to her and didn't shy away from letting it known. Beverly would constantly torment her, the mental abuse taking it's toll over time. Her cruelness left a mark on y/n and with her father chiming in with further hurtful words, it eventually led to her first attempt.

She felt guilty, not wanting to subject her father to the grief that comes with losing a loved one but her inner demons overshadowed those feelings. While in the hospital, the guilt returned accompanied by immense sadness. She hoped that her father was doing alright and couldn't wait to see him again. That feeling went away mere seconds after stepping into her house upon being released from the hospital. She was met with a cold greeting, her weekly absence seemingly gone unnoticed by her father who hadn't bothered to visit her after the first day of her stay.

It appeared he had started drinking again. Empty liquor bottles littered their home and Beverly was no where in sight. The house felt cold and empty, there was trash on nearly every surface and a stale smell lingering in the air. Beverly liked to keep a clean home, the mess was an indicator that she hadn't been there for quite some time. Y/n tried to speak to her father, but all he could slur were hurtful words blaming her for his wife's departure. Apparently it was all too much for her to handle, an inconvenience to put it in her words. She refused to return to the home while y/n was still around and instead of defending his daughter, Oscar grew resentful of her.

His old pattern of abuse began once again, further pushing her to the edge. For years now, she had suffered through the mental, physical and emotional abuse at the hand of her father and his spouse. What little confidence she had was torn down further worsening her sense of self-worth. She had been reduced to a shell of a human and couldn't bare to feel this way anymore. The prior sense of guilt was gone, her second attempt was fueled by a deep longing for peace. She didn't want to hurt anymore. Her father's lack of responsiveness the first time also led her to believe that the world would be better off without her. Sure, a few of her friends would mourn, but she felt that as time went on, they would heal from the loss and soon forget.

The events of that night were what led to her extended stay, which proved to be beneficial for her. She hadn't spoken to her father in months, and quite frankly she had no desire to. Much like Eddie, she was content with his absence, accepting that not all broken relationships need to be mended. The truth is, she had found the peace that she was so desperately seeking. It wasn't the bitter ending she was hoping for but rather a shift in her life. A new beginning with better people, specifically the arrival of a 6 foot metal head.

Let me know what you think & if you’re interested in being on my tag list ♡

Tag list - @kik51199 , @ladyapplejackdnd , @motheraiya , @jqfan-oxa , @kaqua , @munsonzzgf , @haleighdriver , @thatlonelyalto , @ghoulsgraveyard , @sxpphicfxiry , @hellbaby237 , @grey-water-colors , @tubble-wubble , @moviefreak1205 , @piperd06 , @thats-s0-ravenn , @thegirlwhohides , @starryeyedkoko , @eddieshands86 , @xhorror-nerdx , @fandomsunited , @girlsvvish , @idkidkknemore , @chloe-6123 , @delusionalbabe , @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things eddie #angst #eddie munson fanfiic #fix it fic #fluff #eddie munson series #slow burn fic #stranger things #st4 fic

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mimzy-writing-online · 3 years ago

Note

You probably know this by now, I don't know if you keep up with Whumptober, but one of the prompts this year includes "blindness". I'm not blind but based on your posts about writing blind characters, and based on how I would feel if one of my disabilities were used as a whump prompt, I'm not super comfortable with it. I was wondering what your thoughts are on blindness being a Whumptober prompt.

(unironically and with feeling) thanks, I hate it.

Yes, I’m familiar with Whumptober, but I’ve never participated myself and I haven’t seen this year’s prompts.

Edit: I later did see the prompts and check out the blog. I think it's a good set of prompts and I look forward to all the promising content, especially since some of my favorite tropes are there. To be clear before you read this, I have no problem with Whumptober2021 or whump in general. This is not the first time blindness has been included for a list of whump prompts, and it won't be the last.

This post directed at the concept of "blindness" as a whump prompt and why I think it's a bad idea. The intended audience is individual writers thinking about future projects.

The timing of this is almost too perfect because I read a fanfic earlier this week that would meet that prompt exactly. Tags included whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. Now whump, hurt/comfort, and angst with a happy ending are tags I enjoy reading, but blindness as whump has a specific message to it.

To explain that message, I want to discuss what whump is. Many readers are already familiar with the genre, but I think taking the specific definitions and picking apart what it means and what expectations we carry when reading whump fanfiction

Urban Dictionary defines it as: taking a character and putting them through physical and/or mental torment and is typically followed by the same character being treated for their traumas. To indicate the characters place in the situation they’d typically be called a whumpee (the character being hurt/comforted), the whumper (the character that causes harm and trauma), and the caretaker (the character designated the helping/healing/comforting the whumpee).

Fanlore has a page for whump that explains it in depth, including where it started in fanfiction, examples of whump, and even a list of “popular targets” in different fandoms. (Warning: you might find yourself called out on the popular targets list)

“The term whump (or whumping) generally refers to a form of Hurt/Comfort that is heavy on the hurt and is often found in gen stories. The exact definition varies and has evolved over time. Essentially, whump involves taking a canon character, and placing them in physically painful or psychologically-damaging scenarios. Often this character is a fan favorite…”

To add to that, I think an important detail is the distinction Fanlore makes between hurt/comfort and whump:

“While some communities and fandoms may use whump as a synonym for hurt/comfort, there is still a recognition that whump refers to darker and more extreme scenarios. And there are still whump fics been written that have very little, or no comfort at the end of the story.”

The big appeal of hurt/comfort is getting to both explore the darker sides of pain and then experience the catharsis of being taken care of, of being supported by your loved ones as you recover from the trauma. The character is the proxy for experiencing those highs and lows while you yourself are safe at home.

I personally don’t read much/any whump without some h/c involved, but I’m happy there are stories out there for people who do enjoy it. I’m not here to judge what you like reading or what you do to your characters.

What I want is to express how blindness, my disability, used as a whump prompt personally makes me feel and what message it sends to me, to others, and how that message affects my daily life.

Whump undeniably involves watching a character suffer through something painful and traumatic.

My use of the word “suffer” is what I want you to focus on.

Vision loss can be painful and traumatic. I personally developed an anxiety disorder in response to vision loss. Others experience depression. For some it might result in relapsing into old, maladaptive coping mechanisms like drug use, self harm, or eating disorders.

A big part of my anxiety was how people reacted to my vision loss. It was a cause of their stress. They were worried because they genuinely believed I would never live a happy life without normal vision, and that my life would only be struggle and pain.

I recently saw an old friend who hadn’t heard about my vision loss. The conversation was awkward, but the worst part was how they reacted as though I had experienced an insurmountable tragedy. And even when I assured them I’m happy with my life, they clearly didn’t believe me. They acted like I was just lying or in denial.

I love that people want to empathize with my situation and ask themselves what they would do in my situation, but I hate when the conclusion they come to is something along the lines of “I could never do that, I’d be too miserable thinking about everything I lost, I’d never be able to do anything I enjoyed ever again.” But I did go blind. And I’m not miserable, I’m actually happy with the direction my life is going, and I still enjoy my hobbies, even if I engage with them differently.

I’m not suffering. My life didn’t end with vision loss. It’s not ruined, broken, or worthless.

I read a fanfic that was tagged with whump, blindness, and angst with a happy ending. A general synopsis of the plot: the whumpee had gone blind due to a curse. It was true love’s kiss that broke the curse. Even from the summary I knew it was going to end with whumpee being cured somehow and that I’d leave that fanfic vaguely dissatisfied no matter how good the rest of the fanfic was.

I can say this for the fanfic: the whumpee had already accepted that they would likely be blind for the rest of their life, but everyone around them was treating it as a tragedy that needed to be fixed, working tirelessly for a cure despite the whumpee’s protests that they didn’t have to.

It actually hit home to my personal experience.

I still left it dissatisfied with the ending. I might love curse fics in that fandom, and I love the “true love’s kiss” trope, but it wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that: an actual person out in the world thought the best happy ending, maybe the only happy ending, would be if the character got their sight back.

(note: I clicked kudos and exited out of the story's page because no fanfic writer deserves unsolicited critique or hate, especially for content I consumed for free and at my own volition.)

Why read a story I knew would disappoint me?

Because blindness representation is so damn rare that I feel like I’m wandering in a desert, dying from thirst and desperate for that oasis. But sometimes that oasis is a mirage and the author is unintentionally telling you that your life is actually awful and you’ll never be fully happy like this. And that is a shit mentality to walk through life with.

I don’t appreciate blindness being a whump plot. I hate it. Hundreds (thousands?) of fanfictions featuring blind characters are about to enter the internet and the overall message is going to be “You poor thing! You must be in so much pain, you must be miserable! Who’s going to save you? Who’s going to comfort you? Wouldn’t it be terrible if there was no one in your life to take care of you? You poor helpless thing!”

And I feel objectified. I feel trivialized. The mirage in the desert is going to become a starch, empty room filled with dozens of water bottles, almost all of them poisoned. My representation is going to hurt me personally, and it’s going to reinforce that idea strangers have about how awful my life must be.

(I returned to school this past month, and every day I’m hesitant to tell someone I’m visually impaired because I don’t want to be treated differently. If I’ve managed to pass as sighted this whole time and then suddenly reveal “oh yeah, I’m visually impaired” I feel this instant silence, this pause of awkwardness as people suddenly question how they’re supposed to treat me. They treated me like a person, and now I’m something strange and unfamiliar.)

I’ve worked so hard to improve representation for blind people, to give internet strangers the exposure to a blind person they need to normalize blindness because I hope that if they’re ever so lucky as to meet a blind person, they’ll treat that person with respect. That hope that another person in the blind community will find a friend they feel comfortable and accepted with. I hope that I’ll meet people who accept my blindness as just another aspect of me (like being bisexual or gender fluid or a writer or a cat lover).

Please don’t turn me and my community into a caricature. Don’t erase everything I’ve worked for with this blog.

To be clear, this is not just me saying "I hate the cure trope" again. This is me saying "the purpose of whump is to painfully hurt your favorite character, and I hate that your idea of pain and suffering is my daily (wonderful) life."

#blindness #whumptober #fanfiction #whump #whumptober 2021 #blind character #disability #ableism #anon

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roguerogerss · 5 years ago

Text

A Hard Day’s Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You’re just about to go to bed, when you get an unsuspected visit from a certain supersoldier.

W/C: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood/injury, language, fluff.

(A/N: Hello again! Here’s another Bucky fic bbys! This has been unfinished in my drafts for the LONGEST time, and I finally got around to finishing it! Thank you so much for the support on ‘Safe Haven’! It really means the world to a small blog like me that people r enjoying my shtuffff. If you enjoy, pls remember to like and reblog! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!)

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It was three in the morning, and the sky had gone a shade of dark blue when I finally decided that maybe it would be a good time to sleep. I was notorious for not turning the TV off before going to bed, and that night was no different. It was a comfort thing, even though I was fully aware that it was racking up electricity bills, and that I’d be sorry for it at the end of the month.

When I rounded the corner, from the hallway to my bedroom, the only source of light was coming from the still-open curtains, which I didn’t bother to close before getting changed. No one was awake, and I figured that, if anyone was, they might as well have looked. I set an alarm for ten, even though I knew that I would blank it and wake up closer to two in the afternoon anyway, and then I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling.

It was quiet, peaceful, tranquil. I enjoyed being awake at ungodly hours because it meant that, while I was awake, the world was asleep. I felt superior, like I’d beaten the system and was on an entirely different wavelength from the rest of New York City. Like the birds that I could hear in the distance were my only concerns, and that they were the only ones who truly understood me in of myself. I could’ve laughed at myself for sounding so philosophical in my own head, but I didn’t.

The silence was soothing and unbroken until, was that? No, it couldn’t be. Grunts? Groaning? My face contorted as I listened to whatever the noise was getting closer to my window. It didn’t so much as scare me, it was more worrying. I sat up just in time for my window to be slid open from the outside, not noticing the blur of silver metal and flesh in my state of panic. I was on the verge of picking up the lamp that sat next to my bed to whack the creature with, before the all too familiar figure hopped onto my windowsill and the fear that I was feeling was alleviated.

Bucky motherfucking Barnes.

He held his hands out to me, like he was surrendering, but he still had this grin on his face that he knew could make me melt. I hated him for not knocking, even though I knew that he didn’t knock, that he never had and probably never would. He simply let himself in, and, most nights - all nights - I was okay with that.

“Hey.” Bucky said. He said it so passively, like he hadn't just climbed twelve floors so that he could crawl through my window. Like he hadn't just done it without breaking a sweat. Like this wasn't the first time I'd seen him in almost a month, and it wasn't nearly four AM.

"What are you doing?" I sighed. I sat back down and admired him in his place, with his back against the window frame. He was attractive at all times, from all angles, but I liked him best in the low light of the early hours of the morning. The hollows of his cheekbones and jaw seemed more visible, chiseled, and his skin seemed perfect and unflawed. It was almost like the scars and blemishes that he'd acquired from past missions and suchlike simply ceased to exist. His eyes seemed brighter, more blue, with the way that the dim light reflected in them.

"I know you're probably mad." He pulled one knee up to his chest, circling his arms around it, and stretched his other leg out so that his foot was touching the other side of the window frame. "I don't expect you to be fine with me. Was on a mission, three weeks long, that's why I haven't been around. I know it's late, but I needed to see you as soon as I could."

I stayed quiet as I tilted my head back to look up at the ceiling. There were little patterns on it that I hadn't noticed before. They were faint, because the building was old, and I tried to decipher what they might be. I made a mental note to myself to try to figure out what they were at some other point.

"I would've called, but I was pretty badly hurt and tired most nights. Thought seeing me like that might've upset you." Bucky continued, but I still didn't speak. I didn't want to. I thought maybe I wanted to be mad, wanted some reason to be, but now that he'd given me nothing, I decided to do the same.

"Can you say something? Anything, please?"

I took a shaky breath. It was supposed to be deep, long, but my lungs felt shallow and like they had shrunk in capacity. "I would've liked it if you'd called. Would've been nice to see you."

I was being cold with him and I knew that I was, it was no coincidence and certainly no accident. My eyes were still fixated on the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the unknown patterns instead of Bucky. "Would've been nice to see me?"

I nodded, feeling stupid and like I could've cried, and Bucky scoffed in response. "Tell me, you think it would've been nice to see this?"

Bucky's flesh hand went to the side of his burgundy shirt, which I had seen before, and pulled it up just enough for me to see a large, swollen, red gash on his side. I knew that he'd been slashed by a knife, just from the look of it, but I looked away because I didn't want to see it.

I blinked down at my lap, and shook my head, at a loss for words and really just wanting to go to sleep. It was getting light outside, the intensity of the bird's screeching and bickering becoming increasingly more as the conversation went on.

"Of course you don't. Why would you?" Bucky sounded angry, like I'd personally offended him by not wanting to see the obscene laceration to his side.

"You could've still called. It's not obligatory for you to show me your wounds, in all of their glory."

"I heal overnight, sweetheart. If you get in a fight with someone, and they pull a knife on you, you're always left with more than one cut. And let's not forget that we never had any time to shower, so I was all dust and dirt and dried blood, plus a few stab wounds. Couldn't speak for a week, either, stabbed in the base of the neck and severed my vocal chords. Dr Cho managed to fix 'em up." Bucky had been staring out of the window, at the sky, which was orange and blue due to the rising sun, for the entire time that we'd been speaking. He hadn't looked at me at all, like he was trying to keep his composure and, if he saw my face, he'd lose it.

"Tell me, honestly, would you have wanted to see me like that?" I loved his voice. It was raspy and deep, but still managed to relax me, even when his words were harsh. Hearing him speak took me back to countless nights in my bed, when I'd be woken up by nightmares and Bucky would lull me back to sleep by simply telling me one of his stories from the 1940s. I was like a baby, latching onto his every word until they blurred together, became one, and I fell asleep in his arms.

"You could've texted." I said, lamely.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." I was done with the argument, and I made that clear in my voice and in my words. I wasn't unbothered by the situation at hand, that he hadn't visited, or called, that he'd seemingly forgotten about my existence and fallen off the face of the earth for three weeks, but I was so tired. All I could think about was going to sleep, but I wanted Bucky to be there beside me when I did.

"Are we okay now?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and a smirk adorned his face as he took his first look of the night in my direction. It wasn't a big gesture, but the look that he had about him made my heart flutter and beat erratically within the confines of my chest.

I smiled and lay back on my bed, with my hands clasped over my abdomen, ankles crossed, and head lulled back into the white pillows that were placed at the headboard. "Get changed and come here." I pointed to the white dresser that sat at the foot of my bed, and Bucky knew that I was asking him to stay the night, but he didn't seem to want to leave.

He got up, and I heard the heavy thumps of his combat boots against the floor. His footsteps were so loud and it was so late that I was sure that the couple who lived in the apartment directly below mine would complain about the noise the next morning. I heard Bucky opening the drawer, the one that was inexplicably his drawer, and I propped my head up on my hand to watch him.

He peeled his shirt off, inspected the gash on his side — which was already beginning to knit itself shut — and then discarded of his cargo pants and black boots somewhere on the floor of my bedroom. I didn't mind, instead, I watched the muscles in his back flex deliciously as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts that I kept for when he stayed over.

I had one of his shirts, but he didn't bother putting it on for whatever reason, tiredness or just a general lack of desire to wear one. "It's rude to stare." He turned around, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he crawled towards me from the end of my bed.

Bucky placed a hand on my stomach, hiking up the big shirt that I was wearing so that he could press a kiss to the space above my belly button, the space below it, my hipbones over the pink and white cotton panties that I had on, the insides and outsides of my thighs, the backs of my knees. And then he pushed my legs open and lay between them, sighing as he buried his face in my chest.

One of my hands found his long, dark hair, which was freshly washed and smelled like apples, and the other found his jaw, clean shaven, soft.

"It's four in the morning." My fingers massaged Bucky's scalp while I stated the nonsensical words. I was unaware of what they were supposed to mean, what I wanted him to take from them, but I allowed him to interpret them in whatever way he wanted.

"Mm." Bucky hummed, like he was content or half-asleep, and then he propped his chin lightly on my stomach and looked up at me through his thick, dark lashes. His eyes were so striking that I couldn't help the way that my breath hitched, the way my tongue came out to wet my bottom lip, the way that I felt like butterflies were going berserk in my stomach. "What, you wanna sleep?"

“If that's not too much to ask." I giggled, watching intently as Bucky's eyes flicked over my face and his lips twitched in a tiny smile. He shook his head and kissed my collarbone, before rolling off of me and onto his side. I turned over to face him, and he held my face in his hands and smiled.

"'Course not. I haven't slept properly in weeks." He tugged my face towards his, looked at me with that lopsided grin that set butterflies loose in my stomach, and then captured my lips with his own. It was a sloppy kiss, one that indicated how tired we both were, but it felt nice. Nice to have him back, nice to have finally stopped arguing, nice to be laying in his arms. It just felt nice.

Bucky pulled back, as if to admire me in all of my half-asleep-messy-haired glory, and grinned lazily. “Goodnight, beautiful.” He dragged the comforter up to both of our chins and pulled me close, kissing me on the forehead then. “Sweet dreams.”

I sighed happily, the relief of Bucky being there making my heart swell. It was the same relief that came with Bucky’s return from any mission, whether it was long or short, or whether he had contacted me during it or not. I’d missed him - I always missed him - as much as I liked to pretend that I didn’t.

But he was home, he was here, and he made it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #sebastian stan #captain america #fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #steve rogers #mcu fic #rogue writes #rogue does marvel

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