#this was inspired by the essay i wrote for a scholarship i didn’t get (sobs)

[seumyo]

the art of loving bakugou katsuki’s name.

You loved his name.

You remembered the first time you had heard it—Bakugou Katsuki. It wasn’t an uncommon name, but it was his. His name was easy to remember, sharp on the tongue, and impossible to forget.

And that’s the funny thing about names, isn’t it? No names were ever truly the same. It could be written with the same characters, spoken in the same pronunciation, but the person behind them made it unique.

His was different.

His was his.

Getting to know Bakugou’s name had been one of the most exciting parts of meeting him. The way it rolled off your tongue the first time you said it out loud. The way he grumbled at you when you got too familiar too quickly, scowling at you and scolding you—telling you to say it right or don’t bother at all.

You grew to whisper it in the quiet of study halls, writing it absentmindedly in the margins of your notes when you were too exhausted to focus. You had yelled it across battlefields when you were still young and reckless, had murmured it in moments of vulnerability when it was just the two of you—when the world felt smaller, safer—because he shared the world with you.

It softened over the years, how you said his name. How he let you call him Katsuki when no one else could.

You loved his name.

Because it had been yours to say back then.

And now, he shared it with someone else.

It was a cruel thing, really. To love a name, to cherish it, to include it in a solemn prayer every night just as you’re about to fall asleep, only to have it slip through your fingers.

The wedding was beautiful. Grand, as expected for someone like Bakugou.

The kind of celebration is fitting for a man who had always been larger than life, someone who fought hard and loved even harder. The bride—his wife—was stunning, radiant in a way that made you feel something you didn’t want to name.

“Do you, Bakugou Katsuki, take your—“

His name sounded different now.

You had imagined this moment before, once, a long time ago. Not like this—never like this.

You forced a smile when they exchanged vows, when they kissed, when the crowd erupted in cheers.

You lifted your glass when it was time for the toasts and laughed when it was appropriate.

You played the part of an old friend, a guest who had long since moved on.

Because today was all about him. Not you.

But when the celebration stretched into the late hours, you found yourself stepping out, out into the quiet of the evening just outside the reception hall. You had too many thoughts and too little drinks acquired at the mini bar to drown out this incessant feeling.

You closed your eyes and whispered his name once, just to hear it. Yours.

“[Last Name]?”

Your breath hitched.

You turned, and there Bakugou Katsuki was—standing at the threshold, half in shadow, looking at you the same way he always had. His tie was slightly undone, and his suit jacket draped over his arm. He looked tired. But more than that, he looked at you like he still knew you.

Like he still saw you.

That version of you that only he met and got to know well.

“Hi,” you greeted. “Congrats on getting married, by the way. All my congratulatory messages are in your gifts.”

He scoffed, though it’s quiet, barely audible.

“Right.”

. . .

His gaze lingered, searching. Searching for something that he will never find.

“You okay?”

“Of course. It’s your wedding day. Why wouldn’t I be?”

The answer was too quick, too . . . prepared.

Bakugou didn’t retaliate right away. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that you could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his jaw tensed.

“[Last Name]—“

“Katsuki.”

His name left your lips before you could stop it, like muscle memory. Like a prayer.

You had intended to call him by his last name. A formality. A distance.

Bakugou stiffened.

You had spent years getting to know his name, understanding every way it could be spoken. The anger in it, the laughter, the quiet tenderness in the dead of night.

And now, for the first time, you didn’t know how to say it.

Because words shouldn’t hurt, they shouldn’t feel like your throat’s being repeatedly stabbed.

. . .

“I never wanted things to end like they did.”

You let out a slow breath. “Neither did I.”

But it had ended. And you both knew why.

Careers. Distance. Bad timing.

Then it all just got too much to fight for.

Because love, even if it’s meant to fight for, gets exhausting when you can no longer love that person the way you used to.

And no matter the reason, endings were still endings. It can’t be erased and rewritten. It isn’t a story on paper that can be edited with a simple pencil and eraser.

“You ever think about—“

“I don’t.” Not anymore, at least, you wanted to add.

Because thinking about it now—on his wedding day—is like disregarding all that he made for himself after you. Disregarding his wife, the one he vowed to love ‘til hell freezes over and whatnot.

“You should go,” you smiled once you heard his wife calling his name.

He lingered for a second longer, as if debating whether to say more. Then, with a nod, he turned and walked away.

You watched as Bakugou joined his wife, the woman who now shared his name, the name of the person you had loved with every fiber of your being.

The name you thought you’d share with him—and once dreamed to keep as yours.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[tinysupervicki]

So I wrote an essay for a scholarship I need and I felt it was very fitting for y’all to know my thoughts. I really miss my mom.

———-

We were alone in my grandma’s living room, darkness covering us both. My mom sat on the ottoman, defeated. She was in her floral nightgown, one that she chose because it is easier for me to slide on her myself, and she was breathing oxygen through the concentrator that was connected to the wall.

“I can’t do it anymore.” she had said. I wiped my eyes, tears spilling down my shirt as I hold in a sob.

“Mom, yes you can. You made it this far. I’m here for you.” I pleaded with her.

She looked at me, eyes glazed over and sighed. “Mija, just put me in a home or something. I’m just a burden for you.”

“No. I would never. Even though this happened too early in life, I wouldn’t have put you in a home at all.”

We sat in silence again, tears flowing down our faces in unison.

She breathed out. “I guess I can keep going. I love you, mija.”

“I love you too, mom.”

I didn’t think a few weeks later after this conversation I would lose my best friend forever.

I come from a long line of strong women in my family. My great-grandma had four children and eventually became a working single mom. My grandma had three children and was also forced to become a hard-working single mom. Then, there was my mom. My mom was a warrior. She was the most amazing person I have ever met and looked up to for inspiration. It might seem bias to other people since she was my mom, but she really was an amazing and strong person. My mother’s name was Veronica and she had me when she was in high school. She told me it was hard for her fulfilling the hispanic pregnant teenager stereotype but she did not let that stop her.

Once she graduated high school, and had me shortly after, she did not give up. She worked full-time to provide for me all while still taking college classes to pursue her Associate’s. As if there weren’t enough challenges my mom was already facing, she was faced with another one right after she had me. She became a victim of a drunk driving accident. She survived that car accident but it ruined her back, causing her to have to have herniated discs in her spine. It was hard but she was able to recover and get back to work as a full time employee, student, and mother.

After finishing her Associate’s, she decided that was not enough. She wanted to further her situation even more and pursued not only her Bachelor’s degree but her Master’s degree, all while working and raising me. My mom taught me to work hard and to keep going in life no matter what curve balls it throws at you. She wanted me to go to school and pursue a good career. Despite her working so hard and standing her ground, something was eventually thrown in her path that she could not overcome.

My mom had Lupus, which is an autoimmune disorder that causes the immune system to basically attack itself, causing her to be very susceptible to other diseases. She ended up getting more sick as the years went by as I grew up. She ended up developing more diseases and disorders, which was slowly taking her life away. My mom was so young but by the end of it she had a body of an eighty year old. She had to eventually start using a cane because her back physically hurt her to get up and around. Then in 2015, shortly after I turned 22 years old, she decided enough was enough and decided to have a complicated back surgery. It was supposed to help her; we were reassured she would get better. However, it did not go as planned.

Because of medical malpractice, my mom almost died. She had to stay in the hospital for three months to recover from sepsis. Once she was released, I became her caregiver because the sepsis resulted in her having damaged lungs and she was unable to walk. For eleven months, I was her caregiver. I had to quit my part-time job and had to take some time off of school to take care of her. It was the most difficult time in my life; watching my mom deteriorate while working my absolute hardest to help her. My mom would tell me that I shouldn’t be doing the caregiving but I reassured her that it was fine. I felt in my heart that it was my turn to take care of her because she took care of me my whole life. Unfortunately, on September 14, 2016, my mom died at the age of 41. It was a devastating blow and I still suffer from PTSD because I saw her die before me eyes. No one should ever have had to see what I saw and be forced to deal with that kind of trauma. That day in the hospital still haunts me.

I had lost my best friend and I did not know what to do with my life. I moved in with my grandma because I felt we needed each other during this time. I could not go back in my childhood home, it did not feel the same. During those first few months since she passed away, I did not know what to do with myself. I felt guilty, thinking I did not take good care of her enough and I felt suicidal, wanting to just be with her. Then one day, my mom visited me in my dream. She looked healthy and in my dream I was able to give her a teary, big hug. Then she told me something I will never forget, she wanted me to be happy. I woke up crying, telling my mom in my head that I will do my best to be happy.

What I learned from this disaster in my life is to stay strong and work hard to reach my goal, and ultimately to be happy with my life. With help and encouragement from my aunt and grandma, I stayed in school, found a new job, and moved into my first apartment by myself. I work at a really great ballet company in my city where I work box office sales. I am in my senior year at the University of Houston, finishing my Psychology major and hoping to become an early childhood teacher. I have been living by myself in my apartment for almost three months so far and it feels so liberating. I am still grieving, I have learned that the process will never really go away. People say that it gets better with time, but I have not reached that point yet. It has already been more than a year since she has passed and it still hurts. I still miss her everyday. I learned from this disaster to never give up on life. I have my days where I do want to give up, and just lie in bed and sleep for a long time. I have since learned it is understandable since it is still part of the grieving process. However, the next day I get back to work. I work hard at my job at the ballet company, sometimes going above and beyond to help customers. I am also working hard to finish my major; I know my mom wanted me to stay in school and finish, eventually working towards my career. I would love to become an elementary school teacher, I love kids so much. Initially, I had thought I wanted to pursue a career in psychology but after the trauma I faced I realized that it would not be the right career choice for me. I have recently decided to pursue a career in teaching, specifically elementary. My younger cousins helped me a lot during my down times, doing their best to make me smile. I would help them with their homework everyday after school. It was during this time that I realized, this was something that would make me happy.

I also sometimes think about how hard my mom worked when I was growing up. If she was able to work hard in difficult times, then I will be able to do it too. She finished school while providing for me, I know I can do that as well. She kept going on days where she felt terrible or when her lupus would flare up. She worked hard to survive the sepsis and was able to walk away with that, albeit in a wheelchair. My mom was the strongest warrior I have ever met and I am glad to say I have become a warrior as well. She taught me everything I needed to know and most of all, she taught me to be happy. I am now working to stay happy, while not giving up on my career.