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#i should even be working harder to achieve what i want without losing up on reality chasing my dreams

uravity-the-infinity-girl · 2 years

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ways that hero society hurts pro heroes headcanons

does anyone wanna hear the shit i think that heroes go through and why i feel they’re victims? no? ok

firstly i headcanon hero society as having extremely fucked up beauty standards where heroes face the same sort of scrutiny for their bodies as celebrities do in our world, like if a female hero is too muscular there will be men complaining that she looks like a guy and if a male hero isn’t muscular enough he’s lazy etc

i bet you anything that it was not only the fact that media interferes with hero work that Aizawa chose to stay out of the spotlight i bet in some subconscious way he was afraid of the intense scrutiny that comes with being a hero

not only that but heteromorphic people are always chastised and rarely do well in hero ranking if they don’t appear attractive or fit within the public’s view of heroes, i’m thinking of gang orca for example who is ranked number 1 in looks the most like a villain like for someone who fights villains for a living and has probably been harmed by them first hand that’s bound to take some psychological toll. that moment always bothered me and i think it’s really unfair for heroes to be categorised like that when they’re dedicating their lives to try to be useful. you just know that people with quirks like shoji will find it harder to succeed no matter how great or compassionate a hero he is.

i know it’s common in fan fiction for Hawks to have to hide aspects of his quirk that are unappealing but let’s think about that with other heroes as well like Mirko, i imagine she’s grown up with agents and superiors telling her it’s annoying when her foot won’t stop thumping or weird how she eats carrots or Mic being told to keep it down constantly-i’m sure there are loads of heroes who are made to be ashamed of aspects of who they are and have to hide them in order to sell an image and be more profitable and likeable.

i also imagine that they’re all terrified of aging and that perpetual fear of losing their spotlight is probably a huge part of their psyche as from a young age they feel they have limited time to be successful like when hawks is talking about his prime calm tf down your life has barely started.

heroes are objectified so much by the commission being treated like weapons makes them feel like their bodies are what make them useful-just look at hawks’ reaction to losing his wings calling himself crippled and pathetic because he can’t be as efficiently used despite still being able to achieve so much with his intelligence, determination and physical skill alone. Mirko may not have the same self deprecating attitude towards her injuries however her dedication to continue fighting by whatever means she can is a testament to how heroes are taught to act with no thought for their own safety if they want to be useful. this is what makes AFO scary to the heroes, the fact they can lose their quirk and therefore their usefulness is terrifying. i like to imagine that many heroes felt or still feel about AFO as korra did about amon in s1 of lok.

furthermore heroes are expected to give their lives at the drop of a hat, mirko lives every day like it’s her last because for heroes their is no safety net or garuntee that they will survive they can’t just give up or protect themselves in the face of certain death or they literally wouldn’t be doing their job. you saw how disposable Lady nagant was to the president of the HPSC clearly they don’t have any care for the lives of even the heroes they work closest with. Mirko and Aizawa cut off their own limbs without blinking because they have to and they’ve been trained this way and it’s horrific how ready to die all of the heroes are without a second thought despite how young they are. arguably it’s admirable but if i learnt anything from she-ra it’s that they need to find a bit of self worth and need to be treated as people who’s lives and well being should be a priority rather than disposable weapons to be used with no regard to their safety.

and it’s fucking beautiful that All might chose to live, the man who has been through the most and given pretty much all there is to give. He’s given up his whole life, his bodily health, his self esteem, his friends, his image as a natural born hero and so much more just to protect people. All might was able to break the cycle of death be choosing to live rather than give his life up and Deku will break the cycle by choosing to save rather than defeat or kill.

i just think that being a hero is so exhausting and must take so much out of you, it’s important to remember how much they are victims of the system

#bnha #mha #keigo takami #hawks #mirko #miruko #rumi usagiyama #yagi toshinori #all might #shouta aizawa #eraserhead #gang orca #btw i’m not claiming these r canon #this is headcanons not a meta post😭

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bisluthq · 3 months

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From the get go Joe said that he just wants to be a working actor and isn’t interested in the fame side of things (which is funny to me because of how much he attends random fashion events and obviously when you’re an actor it comes with it). I think he is scared to lose his childhood friends and still wants to be a normal dude who can walk around London freely. If he’s really passionate about acting then he should be willing to risk everything. But I don’t think he is that passionate about acting, like Taylor about music.

lmao this take comes up all the time and it’s SO dumb I literally wanna gouge my eyes out when I read it. Cillian Murphy is very clearly passionate about acting, extremely talented, takes very high end brand deals, attends fashion events and industry mixers when necessary, despises paps to the point of actually moving his home base outside London, but he can still walk around London and Dublin without being bombarded with attention or making it into tabloids. Eddie Reddmayne is clearly very passionate about acting, extremely talented, takes even more high end brand deals, regularly shows up at fashion events and industry mixers, is rarely papped and walks around London with his normie wife.

successful actor /=/ major celeb

Joe has achieved celebdom and by doing that he’s made it harder for himself to be taken seriously as an actor. Doing MORE wouldn’t help him get to where he wants to go.

this take is truly idiotic.

fwiw being passionate about music also /=/ wanting to be the biggest pop act in the world lol. Bon Iver’s passionate about music and manz is a hermit. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like his job and isn’t extremey successful at what he’s doing lol.

you can want to excel at your creative job without wanting to be famous (and you can want to and achieve being famous without pursuing much beyond that; see the Love Island or Bachelor franchise casts).

Taylor likes making music and she also likes being famous lol (so long as everyone likes her - when they don’t like her she stops liking being famous and recovers when they like her again).

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shamazingwrites · 5 months

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My Shs Life

"Hindi naman maganda sa school na 'yan, sa iba ka na lang mag enroll" I often hear them say that. But why should I listen? I'm the one who's studying, not them. You know, truth be told, I wasn't really supposed to enroll at PHCM, but I enrolled really late, and this was the only school still open for enrollment. Besides, I don't have a choice. It's either I study here or I won't study at all.

At first, I didn't quite vibe with the regulations at PHCM, maybe because I wasn't used to them? Especially the grading system. That was the real game changer. Coming from a public school in junior high, I got used to getting into honors just by hitting a 90 average. But here, it's not just about having 90 average, you need a consistent above 85 grades in every subject to stay in honors. At first, I was really scared because I was used to being in honors. I was afraid I might lose that status in senior high school. "Huwag mo kaming i disappoint" "Sayo na lang kami umaasa" Those are the words I always hear. The words that make me so scared that I might not be able to do what they want. So, I promised myself I'd give my best shot, work even harder, and be more diligent in my studies to achieve what I wanted.

I also struggled to adjust to the environment here at first. I didn't quickly make friends with my classmates. I didn't immediately find my circle. But as time went on, life at PHCM became enjoyable. I found a group I could share moments of joy and even sorrow with. Friends who were always there when you needed them. I also realized that our section, 11 - Quezon, was the happiest section in HUMSS during our Grade 11. I came to understand that within our section, it's not about one upping each other. Sure, there's competition, but it's healthy. We all support each other, ensuring that no one gets left behind. We all aim to succeed together in the direction we want to go.

My Grade 11 life became incredibly fulfilling. But it wasn't always sunshine and rainbows. Of course, we faced challenges. The toughest challenge my classmates and I encountered was being separated into different sections. We tried everything to convince the teachers to keep us as a block section, but we couldn't do anything. All we could do was accept the reality.

Now that I'm in Grade 12, I'll admit, I'm happier. Not that my Grade 11 life wasn't happy, but now, meeting new people and having a new environment, life feels incredibly joyful. This made me realize that I'm adaptable. I'm capable of adjusting to new environments and situations. Honestly, Grade 12 Sapphire is similar to Grade 11 Quezon. It's about healthy competition. We're just happy, no one upping each other. Even though the guys at the back can be super annoying sometimes, it doesn't affect our section's solidness (though they can be a headache sometimes). But truth be told, we wouldn't be Sapphire without them! LMAO.

Apart from that, my SHS life became more enjoyable. Thanks to the guy I met back in grade 11, who's been by my side ever since, making life sweeter every single day.

From Grade 11 until now, I've been an honor student. It's pretty cool, you know? At first, I was really scared because of this school's grading system, but it's satisfying to know that despite their high standards, I managed to make it to the honors list.

Another reason why I aim for honors is that I know I need high grades for the field I want to pursue: law. That's what I want to become. But we're not wealthy, so for now, I'll pursue psychology. But I plan to make psychology a pre-law course because, until now, I can't let go of my dream of becoming a lawyer. That's why I chose HUMSS; I want to prepare myself for the things I know I'll be doing in the future.

I'm happy. Extremely happy. I thought I'd become an introvert in SHS because that's how I was in Grade 9-10 when classes went online. I became so shy, avoiding interactions and almost never went out. I almost deleted all my social media accounts. I stopped posting, which used to be a regular thing for me. So, I've really grown during my senior high school years.

And that's my Senior High School life in a nutshell. A journey of challenges, growth, and discovering my resilience in adapting to change.

#shamazingwrites

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dr-avalanche · 4 months

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Becoming More Disciplined

Discipline is the strongest form of self love. It’s ignoring current pleasures for bigger rewards to come. It’s loving yourself enough to do whatever you need to do, to give yourself everything you’ve ever wanted. It’s giving up the good for the great. It’s about being relentless and having tunnel vision. It’s about believing in the long game and knowing you will accomplish the things you want.

📌💡🚀📝

How to become disciplined person easily

First I need to stop telling myself that I don’t have discipline or that’s for other people and take action now!

start by organizing my current life

what are my goals? what would be my ideal routine? where can i start? what habits are stealing my time or are harmful to me? am i satisfied with my current life? what should i improve? what can i do now to improve?

Only after answering these above questions I can have a clearer idea of what I really want,

Step by step I will write down my short-term goals (for example to become more disciplined in one month by creating small routines) and start organizing myself, again asking, what can i change right now? I can improve many things, like start exercising daily, have a day for relax and skincare routine, go for a walk more often or write a diary, even if a new habit takes 10 minutes a day, it makes a challenge and is to be recorded in my agenda.

find your motivation

what are the long and short-term benefits you will get when you start this habit or routine? how will you feel when you get what you want, no matter how small? what improvements will there be in your life during and after this? Answer these questions in your diary.

little by little

I start from choosing new “harder” habit and another smaller one like drinking water several times a day, and to remind me to carry a bottle of water with myself (what I recommend to everyone). To start exercising what often ends up leaving it, I start the challenge of doing every day 10 minutes for a week and this way I will get used to it (it can be any task that I want to incorporate to your life). It may be hard at first but when I got used to this daily routine and there will be some effects I will start to enjoy the process, write it in diary and/or talk to some friends.

There will be days that I won,t feel like it, but remember better little than nothing, but remember always do it for your well being and improvement, that is the biggest reason I will find.

some ideas to train your discipline

wake up one hour earlier than usual and go to sleep one hour earlier

organize yourself every day with a planner as soon as you wake up

know your goals for the day

control the time you spend on social media or watching tv

don’t give up!

After you have achieved your goal, for example, to lose weight, don’t give up the habits you created, you have to keep them in your life so you have to create a routine that suits you and makes you feel happy and motivated at the same time. There will be always more goals to achieve. When we create a routine and a plan of action everything will be much easier.

40 Tips to become more disciplined

1. Know what you want to achieve soon and in the future. This helps you know where to go and stay motivated. 2. Do the most important things first to save time and energy. 3. Have a daily plan that includes work, rest, exercise, and learning. 4. Make big tasks smaller so they’re not scary, and you can see progress. 5. Use methods like the pomodoro technique (working for a while - 25 minutes, then resting) or blocking time to get more done. 6. Notice when you’re avoiding work and make yourself start. 7. Control yourself from getting distracted or doing things just for fun. 8. Say no politely when you can’t do more things without getting stressed.

9. Stay healthy by eating well, exercising, and sleeping enough. 10. Keep learning by reading, taking classes, or trying new things. 11. Check how you’re doing with your goals and change plans if needed. 12. Tell a friend or mentor your goals so they can help you stay on track. 13. Keep your spaces tidy to help you focus better. 14. Learning discipline takes time, and it’s okay if things don’t go perfectly. 15. Think good thoughts about yourself instead of bad ones. 16. Imagine doing well to get motivated.

Set a new standard for yourself. A higher, better standard. Expect life to go in your favor, expect the best possible outcome. Know you are worthy of every single thing you want to experience.

17. Mistakes are chances to learn, not reasons to give up. 18. Be happy about even small successes to stay positive. 19. Listen to advice from others to get better. 20. Be ready to change your plans but keep your main goals. 21. Try mindfulness to concentrate, be calm, and know yourself better. 22. Write about your progress and plans in a journal. 23. Turn off things like social media when you work or study. 24. Think about things you’re thankful for to stay happy.

Confidence comes from putting yourself out there and stepping outside of your comfort zone despite being scared. If you wait for confidence to precede the action, you’ll be waiting for ever. Moving from fear to faith is what is going to carry you through. Realizing that the fears created in your mind are there to protect you and keep you in your comfort zone, is how you change your perspective.

25. Do quick tasks right away instead of waiting. 26. Spend time with people who help you and make you want to be better. 27. Let others do tasks that you don’t need to do, so you can focus. 28. Get better at handling problems without giving up. 29. Picture doing well to stay motivated. 30. Drink water to think clearly and stay healthy. 31. Have a special place to work or study to help you focus. 32. Wait for bigger rewards instead of quick ones.

33. Keep things simple, both around you and in your mind, so you can concentrate. 34. Listen to advice without feeling bad about yourself. 35. Use apps and tools to manage your tasks and time. 36. Reading helps you learn and think better. 37. Decide what’s good enough for you and stick to it. 38. Believe you can get smarter and better with practice. 39. Do creative things to stay imaginative and interested. 40. Listen carefully to others to be better at talking and understanding.

📌💡🚀📝

#confidence #self confidence #motivation #goals #successquotes #motivationalquotes #quotes #self love #ambitions #discipline #self development #self improvement

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heretohelpsstuff · 4 months

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How to set good achievable goals and complete them in the coming year.

As the new year approaches many people want to set resolutions this year only to let them fall off almost immediately. A lot of times it’s because the goal is unrealistic and doesn’t have a plan to get from start to the end. Here is my method for good resolution setting.

First the goal it’s self has to be achievable other wise you are just going to fail then feel bad about yourself

Don’t make your goals perfectly specific statements. Say you want to lose 10 pounds. While yes you can do this in a year but there are different variables like say you start working out you gain a bunch of muscle your size goes down but muscle weighs more so the number doesn’t go down. Are you really going to call that a failure because it’s really not. The goal should be something like “become stronger/more fit”or “workout twice a week”.

Make sure you actually have set reasons for these goals because without that what’s the motivation for having the goal.

Your goal should improve your life not make it worse or harder to live peacefully.

Allow yourself to fail if your values change half way through it. If half way through you decide that this isn’t going to improve your life let the goal go don’t try and complete it still.

You need stepping stones to get to the larger goal.

I like to take my goals and break them down to monthly goals. Then break those down into weekly goals so I am always working towards my goal and I can celebrate smaller victories along the way.

Ex: I want to adopt a healthier lifestyle. January my goal would be to find and set the healthy habits I want to keep during the rest of the year. First week my goal is to do some research on habits that will fit my body and life best. Second week my goal is to begin habit stacking. So on and so on.

Looking at the year at a whole can be so overwhelming so you can break it up as much as possible to make it easier to achieve.

After each month reevaluate how these goals have worked in terms of getting you closer to your main goal and don’t be afraid to switch strategies.

Create a mood board or collage of the aesthetic you would like this goal to bring you.

This sounds dumb but it allows you to romanticize the process and just give even more motivation for the goal.

I also recommend following social media people who fit the vibe you are looking for (only positive people though).

When I was applying to college my senior year I had Pinterest boards full of college aesthetics and perfect grades while my instagram had the study girls who posted their notes for college.

I hope this helps when you are ever thinking about goals. Remember some goals can take more than just one year so be sure you are being reasonable and remember starting now is always the best time.

#self care #self care tips #here to help #mental health matters #productivity challenge #new year goals #life goals #new years resolution

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tokiro07 · 7 months

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Martial Master Asumi ch.15 thoughts

[Sick Kamen Rider Fourze Reference, Bro]

(Contents: Sakura/Asumi character analysis)

I'm not crazy, this dude is a reference to Fourze, right? I caught it pretty much immediately when I saw a delinquent talking about friendship, but he literally did a Rider Kick. It's pretty blatant, isn't it??

I should watch Kamen Rider...

I think this might be my favorite fight so far cus it completely flips Asumi's dynamic with the rest of the cast on its head. Up to now, he's been fighting people with actual experience and know-how, either overcoming them with his unique strengths or failing due to his own lack of experience, but this time he's fighting an opponent with absolutely no understanding of MMA. The tricks of the trade don't work here; an opponent who isn't on the lookout for an opening or wary of danger won't fall for a feint, and an opponent who doesn't know the risks of getting grabbed won't recognize when they're in an inescapable situation

They say that the toughest opponent for a chess master isn't another master, but a complete amateur whose moves are completely unpredictable. An amateur's moves are arbitrary, made without any forethought on what they're trying to achieve aside from a vague idea of "victory." You can't force a move from someone who doesn't know the proper methods to counter or evade, all you can do is react to what might as well be a random string of movements

I'm also loving this fight because Sakura is a great foil for Asumi. Kawada has always been good at crafting foils, like Hinomaru vs. Kariya being a battle of short-statured wrestlers who chose opposite paths in reaction to their stunted growth, and this one feels like it's going to be just as impactful here as that one was there

If Asumi is someone who wants to avoid pain, then Sakura is someone who simply pays it no mind. Someone might show up later who actively seeks pain, but right now the contrast isn't in their opinion on pain, but rather how much they care. Pain is a driving force for Asumi, but it seems that Sakura couldn't care less about it. Taking hits? Getting his arm broken? What of it? Long as he wins, that's all that matters, and to him, winning isn't about strategy, it's about guts and stamina. The winner isn't the smarter fighter, it's the guy who hits harder and keeps standing

His unwillingness to go to the ground, even if it would be potentially advantageous for him to know how to grapple, also strongly contrasts with Asumi's main strategy centering around grapples. Asumi isn't an aggressive person, he's defensive and evasive, so strikes don't come naturally to him, but Sakura is 100% aggression. If Asumi is best at reacting to his opponent's moves, Sakura is best at acting in the first place. The only way out for Sakura is forward, not back or to the side

This reminds me of Hinomaru's fight with Kunisaki, where Kunisaki took the rules of wrestling to be more cutthroat than sumo because of how easily a sumo wrestler can be defeated; Hinomaru of course taught him the fallacy of that thinking, that being able to lose easily means that you have to try harder not to be defeated. Even if both are dangerous, it takes more skill to walk a tightrope than a plank

Sakura is similar, though still presented in a unique way. He thinks that all it takes to win a fight is to hit the other guy enough, but he's missing a key factor: if a loss is defined by how much you get hit, then doesn't it stand to reason that one should avoid taking hits? Even if he does have the stamina for it, Sakura's "strategy" of tanking hits will inevitably lead to that stamina going to waste when it could be better served channeled into actually taking down the enemy

Asumi's willingness to adapt to being grounded rather than scrambling to get back up shows that he has the flexibility to move the fight consistently in a direction that he wants rather than pushing through no matter the consequence. Taking risks is pretty much always necessary to win any competition, but there is a world of difference between a calculated risk and one taken for the sake of taking a risk. The question now is whether or not Asumi will be able to teach Sakura that lesson, or if Sakura's stubbornness will be too much for Asumi to overcome and lead to his own self-destruction

#martial master asumi #fouryearsandananime #4y1a reviews

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tvonq · 1 year

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Can you believe? I’m back. Oh no! I didn’t intent to make this about m*rk lol. Anyway. Based off your replies you SEEM a little like an infj? I think I base this on: you say you liked to keep things structured because… whilst that is infp like, if you analyse and overthink things because of it- it’s more infj? Infjs can plan, can keep a structure. Infp likely wouldn’t even want to plan because? They’d feel stuck. They have their own internal compass and core beliefs and they are the important ones, the rest will be figured out as they go. So. Take m*rk (oh no not again). IF HE (for fun) has adhd. He would seem messier than a regular infj right? He’d plan stuff out but he wouldn’t follow it all through. But the difference is. Even with a diagnoses disrupting the typing of MBTI. M*rk is infj because he has that goal. He’s always improving himself? Like he says in his bubble yes? Whereas an infp wants to improve oneself, but not with set goals- but with the general concept of self improvement, to get better and the symbolic meaning of that. An infj cares about the details and symbolism but they would have ideas of where they want to go, what they want to do. They want to achieve something, but they’re not the stereotype ‘narcissistic’ kind of ceo type right. (M*rk could never. Sorry m*rk, you don’t have it in you). Infj is an idealist, so the achievements would be symbolic, or meaningful, but likely not only to oneself- but to people around them, to the world. It would leave an impact, a mark (LOL). M*rk wanting to a leave a mark lol, but that’s because? Infj m*rk works for the audience, likely believes that he should work harder to prove the audience that it’s worth their time/support etc. And wants to make more people happy/enjoy nct etc etc etc. He wants to feel connected with people, with their feelings etc but. If m*rk was infp, his motive would be more like, wanting to connect on a very personal level. To do things for the audience would be stemming from a private core that he only opens up to close ones? Infp would do it to know that other people get something important and personal too out of it? Anyway. The biggest factor that made me think: infj, is that you said you do think about what happened (negative), but you decide to move on. In general, infp have a harder time doing this. It’ll take effort, and pain. Infj does this, and it’s always hard but, they look ahead. Infj will want to always keep going. But. Say this hypothetical m*rk has adhd lol. This m*rk could struggle with moving on from past mistakes etc. But? He’s an infj. He’ll still do it. And he’ll be able to do both. An infp (with or without adhd) can learn to cope, but won’t forget the pain that once was. That’s part of what makes their moral compass. Whereas infj navigates in the present (but let’s be real: mostly in the conceptual dreamy FUTURE they’re always thinking about/or alt version they got, not always realistic dreams mind you). But idk. We could talk about cognitive functions one at a time and maybe that helps better. Oh! And lastly, you can’t be two MBTI. The website is rubb*sh. It types you based on the letters, not on functions and it’s misleading. But the MBTI theory is better, and the idea is that you have one type only, and you can develop and evolve that type (to use your e.g Te (thinking extroverted) that infp has) better, utilise some things and become more? Mature? Etc (or if affected by stress, rely less and less on some functions etc). Like infp’s worst function is Te. It means that the more stressed they are, the less they rely on logic (rationalisation) and only on their feelings, meaning they can get snappy, angry etc . Infj in stress gets worse at using Se (extraverted sensing), and this is the trait that makes them lose touch with reality, and thus, risks overthinking, overindulging, making impulsive decisions etc.

hehe hiiiii lets see if i make sense cuz im still very much 😵‍💫🤒

ohhhhh i 100% have to plan things out but that might probs be cuz of anxiety. the mark diagnoses again 😭😭😭😭😭 mmmhh i think i follow my plans through majority of the time tho. i agree with the whole infj achievement thing (about it being meaningful to not only me but the to the ppl around me). just read all the end and i think i might be infj then i agree with a lot of it

#thanks again!!!#sorry i didnt type mu ch #ask #anon

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4lorne2 · 2 years

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I can sense the pattern repeating.

I have a problem with affection. I am drawn to people that I admire, but as I get closer to them I begin to feel inadequate. I feel pressure to prove my worth, to show value with my achievements. It’s not a position that I want to be in. I want my work to be fulfilling in and of itself, not for it to be my only means towards validation.

I get jealous very quickly of what people receive from others. I feel left out. I feel insignificant.

I tend to be enamored with one person at a time. They’re enough for me, but I never feel like I’m enough for them. Nor should I be. It’s not fair to expect someone to make time only for me and they likely wouldn’t be the kind of person I’d admire if I did. But when something comes along that makes me aware of how little they need me and how much they are getting from others, it makes me feel really bad.

The feelings way me down. It’s harder to find joy in our interactions. It’s harder to believe in myself. And so I retreat inward. I lose the desire to socialize altogether. I turn to games, movies, sports, whatever I can throw myself into without recourse to the outside world. It makes me happy, but it doesn’t change anything and it doesn��t help me maintain my friendships.

And I don’t really know what happens after that. In the recent past that’s where the relationship more or less ends. The dynamic sours and it doesn’t turn back around.

What are you supposed to do when interactions with a person that were bringing you joy, suddenly only make you feel self conscious and jealous. How do you overcome that dynamic and get back to enjoying their company again? Is it even possible? Honestly, I don’t know.

This is where the thought creeps in that I have to tell them how I feel. That all my talk about continuing to be there and leave the nature of the relationship open amounts to remaining in a situation that makes me feel unhappy.

Why can’t there be a middle ground? Why do my feelings have to be so strong? Why do I have to get so attached so quickly? It would be beyond unreasonable to expect anyone to get attached to me the way I do to them. I just want a relationship/friendship/whatever that makes me happy, but it never feels like it can be that way.

Maybe if I had more friends I wouldn’t get so attached to every new one I make? But I struggle to make friends generally. It’s true that I don’t need every friend to be perfect. Maybe I expect every relationship to make me fall in love. I set the bar too high and end up with nothing. But I don’t even know if relationships with people I like less would solve this problem. Sharing an interest with someone you basically like, but aren’t crazy about is fine, but would it change anything about how I feel with someone I really do like?

And what would I tell them? I know we don’t know each other well yet, but I already feel so attached to you and it hurts me to feel like I’m less important to you than you are to me? It may be true, but it’s not fair. It makes no sense for someone else with so many more options to want to protect my feelings. It all feels ridiculous. It makes me feel pathetic.

But I guess I am pathetic. And it’s just my pride standing in the way of admitting it, exactly what I wanted to avoid. But even if I did admit it, what would be the best case scenario or even the most likely scenario? What am I actually asking for?

It feels like what I need is to feel that there is a balance, and that’s why I pull away to try to level the field. But that’s not the way to maintain the friendship, or to be particularly fair to the friend.

All my disclosures. All my vulnerability. They only create expectations that go unfulfilled. They only make me feel worse. But what else can I do?

I can keep going the way things are going and allow the emotions weigh me down. I can pull away and risk undermining the friendship. I can admit the truth about how I feel in all it’s selfish, impotent, glory. Or I can simply admit the pattern, say I don’t know how to overcome it and that for now I have to follow it.

What’s the best option?

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ashmitawrites · 2 years

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21 Things I Have Learned In My 21 Years of Life

Self love and self care comes before anything else. I need to choose me and my happiness because unless I am happy, I can’t make anyone else happy.

Everything that I think I can’t get through, I can. Because there was once a time that I thought I’d die, but here I am, alive and 21.

My company is contagious and I should choose wisely, cut off quickly.

Just because a person is older than me, doesn’t necessarily mean I have to respect that person. Respect is earned, not inherited. Also, respect is earned out of love and not fear.

It is very important to detach myself from the world sometimes, because I need to remind myself of my goals, priorities and of who I am.

I shouldn’t love someone because they love me. I should judge the person for who they are and then decide if they’re worthy of my love.

Unconditional love is a fallacy. The only unconditional love I feel should be for my own self and if I don’t feel that, I need to work on myself further. No one deserves to treat me like trash and get away with it in the name of unconditional love.

Even if I do a hundred good things, people will remember the one bad thing that I’ve done. That is because it is easy to criticise, but hard to praise. To praise, one needs to get over their remorse of not being able to achieve their own goals, which people in general find hard to do.

I should turn a blind eye to the image other people paint of me and a deaf ear to what they say about me. All the harsh comments are more often than not a reflection of their own insecurities.

I need to learn to differentiate between whose opinion should matter and whose should not. It is very easy to get lost in the commotion of voices of the people who matter to me, but I should always remember to clear my head to be able to listen to my own voice.

While growing up, people always asked me what I wanted to become when I grew up. So automatically I thought of professions that looked interesting to me and not about what I liked to do. So the question should always be what I like and not about the destination, because if I don’t like my journey I’ll never reach there.

I should make a list of my priorities according to their importance and never forget that list, because that list is what is going to help me make all the significant decisions in life.

Knowledge I once gain is something that I can never lose. Everything and everybody else can leave just as easily as they came.

Escape mechanisms are normal, but I shouldn’t make alcohol or any sort of substance the escape. As important as it is to have an escape, it is equally important to know when to come back to reality. And alcohol and substances, being addictive in nature, will absorb me into a downward spiral which is hard to come out of. Any form of art, whether music or literature or anything else, is the best escape. Personally, books are my best friend.

I need to learn to appreciate others’ beauty without undermining my own.

No matter how much I love someone, I should learn to never put them on a pedestal. The more I romanticize a perfect version of them in my head, the harder it is going to be for me to accept their mistakes and flaws which they are bound to have as humans. Forgiveness is powerful.

My brain and heart will almost always be at war. My logic and emotions will almost always clash. What I need to keep in mind in those moments is how my choices will affect my happiness in the long term and not in that particular moment.

I can’t let my past trauma haunt me forever. Every new phase in my life deserves to be given a clean slate and I can take what I have learnt from the past and apply it as long as what I’m attempting to apply isn’t rooted in insecurities and fear. I should either trust my growth or heal some more but I can’t keep viewing all situations the same.

I will never heal from what I don’t accept. Clarity saves me time and heartache. My delusions will prolong my closure.

Time once gone never comes back and it is therefore the most precious thing in my life. I should decide how to spend my time in a productive and sensible way.

If I don’t have mental and physical health, it is going to be impossible for me to live the life I want to live. I can ensure mental health by keeping away from negativity in general and physical health via regular sleep and exercise.

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ofhope-a · 2 years

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What's your absolute favorite thing about Galo? && do you think is his biggest weakness?

In truth, and while this may come across as a basic answer, but: how relentlessly good he is. Galo was given a rough upbringing --- he lost his family, his childhood home, everything in the blink of an eye. It was unfair, unjust, and a horrific situation. His whole life was uprooted, and he had nobody but a stranger - one that scarcely visited him, but he admired and praised nonetheless - to guide him. Galo Thymos had nobody, but all of that ache didn't make him unkind, or self-pitying. It would be understandable in his position to do so, nobody could blame him for it, but it didn't turn him cruel.

Galo having chose the career path of a firefighter can be interpreted a number of ways. I personally chose his reasoning to be partially achieving a childhood dream, him having had a multitude of firefighter figurines, a plastic helmet that he couldn't wear now as a child, perhaps influenced by tales of his grandfather -- and not wanting the same fate to befall someone else.

( 🎶 So I followed my grandfather's journey // I know that I can be the man that I should be 🎶 )

Galo Thymos was alone, and instead of letting that loneliness harden him, he let it empower him, to ensure that that wouldn't happen to anyone else. Galo is loud, likes to put on a show, and isn't shy in showcasing his skill set; but at the heart of that, he wants to make sure everyone is safe, because he knows he can do it. He knows he can protect people. He's strong, he can quickly improvise an escape, he can plan on the fly, because he knows that he can do this. He doesn't let doubt trickle into any move he makes. While being a firefighter is his calling, so is being a shield, so is putting himself in-between another and danger.

On top of that, if his thought processes are challenged, he listens. His stubbornness may be unrelenting at times, but he is willing to yield and think further on a concept. Many may think his willingness to believe Lio, current enemy, ahead of Kray Foresight, current heroic figure, to be idiotic; he's believing a stranger over the word of someone who has been with him for roughly a decade by that point. I don't view it as such; he recognized the urgency in which Lio spoke, and knew it wasn't misplaced, or an act. He may not have known Lio well, but he knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't fake this.

Although it may make, who might be, the most important person in his life hate him, Galo confronts him without fear or hesitation. When Lio speaks his accusations, Galo goes straight to the source to set it right. To hear from Kray himself whether Lio was being truthful or not - and instead of thinking oh, my hero, you're so right! Galo calls him rightfully out on how horrific his plan was. You know that this isn't right! he says, even while being hauled away after being told, to his face by Kray Foresight, his hero, that he was an idiot who didn't know better.

That leads into his greatest weakness; his emotional responses.

Whenever Galo feels strongly about something, he acts on it without so much as a second thought. He powers through anything and everything because he follows what he feels rather than what he thinks. When given a way to stop Kray's plan, Galo doesn't hesitate to jump straight into the fire, alongside Lio - because he knows what Kray is doing isn't right, and wants to stop it at all costs. At the cost of Kray hating him; at the cost of losing the life he's lived up until now; because he doesn't believe in not hoping for success. He doesn't believe in thinking he'll fail. He feels he'll succeed because he knows he can, because he feels he can, and any injury, any wound, will simply fuel his fire. It'll urge him to push harder, because he feels that he will win.

Whenever Galo feels something, he acts on it. This works both in his favor and not; it is as much a strength as it is a weakness.

#Thank you so much for sending this in Sue. It gave me some time to appreciate his character; and to celebrate it. :]#It means a lot that you'd give me the chance to do this; and I'm endlessly grateful for you.#Thank you so so so much for giving me the opportunity to celebrate his character (and in turn; celebrate Billy and-#his phenomenal voice work. Billy added so much emotion to Galo that would have been lost otherwise. Thank you so much. ❤️)#ooc.

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unsuspectable-weirdo · 2 years

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I need to vent a little about being locked out of certain fandoms I want to experience and enjoy because of my disorder so...

Tw eating disorders discussion under the cut, please dont proceed if descriptions of behaviours and intrusive thoughts can put you in a bad place

When I heard of Heartstopper getting a serie I saw everyone's excitement, and as I looked more into it I was too, it looked so good! So in the meantime I bought the first two books, and omg I loved them. If you know how the story continues you can guess the reason of this post.

My ED is... not going well, let's say. An euphemism, really, I still live with very fatphobic parents, still dance, and the damage done to me in my childhood cannot be worked through without proper therapy. Thing that, thanks to previously mentioned parents, I cant get.

I guess i just wanna vent about how damn sad and isolationg and dare I say... shameful, it feels, not to be able to enjoy something because it contains an experience, real and understable, that will trigger me into hurting myself more than I already do.

The thing is, I've dealt with bulimia alone and in secret for 8 years now. Came pretty close to heal once too, but unfortunate events made me relapse harder than before. Most days, the feeling is managable. Purging behaviour after dinner and lunch comes before i can think, but I can always eat breakfast unbothered. On better days, i dont throw up at all, and while it stresses me out a lot, i at least can rationalize i'm achieving something for myself.

All it takes is a comment, no matter if positive or negative, if directed at me or someone else. A picture. "Someone you know lost a lot of weight!" Such a competitive bastard of a disorder, this is. The things it starts telling me then, you see! They're doing good, better than you ever will! Everyone will be so proud and treat them well, you dont deserve that until youve lost more than them. Even if it's an impossible amount, and I know it would mean death. Sometimes that possibility doesn't even look scary, and in my lucid moments im horrified. Do something to be worthy, to feel good in comparison, so we can praise you. Feeling faint is good. Slapping and scratching yourself till your skin breaks is good, it will teach you better. This strangling anxiety is good, you will feel too nauseus to eat.

Another part of me is extremly affected by the looks of other people. In heartstopper, it's charlie the one with an ed. Always described as small, thin, light as a feather. "That someone who lost weight doesnt even look like their former self! Theyre so small!!"

I'm... short. I will never be able so see myself as small or thin. Nothing you show me can make me see what my mind shields from my eyes. But I over esagerate how small other people are. I do realize that, i felt so confused when a friend of mine said my clothes didn't fit her, i cant comprehend how we're not the same size. I fear i might have hurt them back then too. People looking all so thin to me, and especially if they did lose weight, it sparks genuine fear in me. Fear they might be going through the same as me. I don't want that for them, they dont deserve it, they're perfect. I'm the problem. Show them that I, bigger than them, can eat a lot and with gusto... see, they're doing it too now, I'm helping. Now throw it all up tho, you're done showing off. For fucks sake, i should have been anorexic instead of bulimic.

...i cant believe this is a train of thoughts i fall into as soon as i see a mention of eating disorders. This vile, violent and horryfing ride gets triggered at the drop of a hat. And I wanna clarify, i think the portraial of charlie's ed in heartstopper is really good and realistic! Both in motivation, triggers, thoughts and how to tackle it, from the little things i've unfortunately seen at least.

And yet it still keeps me from enjoying a very cute, earnest, important serie about teen queer romance that started out totally captivating me. I know too that my experiences are my own, and many people will feel seen and validated through this plot, i'm cheering for you.

I just cant help feeling sad

And I fear encountering media that don't treat this topic as gracefully as heartstopper does

#eating disorder tw #tw ed #tw bulemia #tw ed vent #lad rants about life #vent #sorry if this appears in a fandom tag please ignore

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writingdotcoffee · 2 years

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#221: Going From Zero to One

When it comes to writing, going from zero to one means finishing the first draft. Once you've done that, you have something that you can shape. Instead of looking for what to do, you're figuring out how to improve what you have.

I love going from zero to one. It's my favourite part of any project — making something new. But I'm terrified of it at the same time. Creating something out of nothing is like staring into infinity, trying not to lose your mind. It feels like going through a maze. You're deciding where to go next without having any idea whether you'll ever find a way out. The uncertainty can be paralysing.

Imagine the genie in the bottle story. A magic creature comes out of a lamp and grants you three wishes. Say it, and it will be so. What would you pick? A blue BMW, pack of Oreos and end world hunger?

Think about it. What if it, really, really happened. You have three wishes. Anything at all. What's the right thing to do here? Eradicate poverty? End all wars? A few billion dollars for yourself? Or maybe you should make yourself the supreme leader of the world and then do all those things? But what if it turns out that you're not that great at ruling? Perhaps world domination will become a lot less appealing when you achieve it. Who wants to deal with ruling the world anyway when you can be, I don't know, snowboarding?

What do you do when you can do anything? When the stakes are high, it can be impossible to decide.

Lower the Stakes

When you're creating something that you care about — like writing a book — the stakes also seem pretty high. You care about the story. Every choice that you make can either make it better or ruin it entirely. The further into your first draft you are, the harder it is to keep going.

The problem is that it's largely an illusion. Your brain thinks that you have something to lose, but you don't.

The unfinished story is like the three wishes from the genie. Unless you make them, they're completely worthless.

If you procrastinate and never finish the first draft, it will be worthless too. Instead of making mistakes, you don't do anything at all. In both cases, you end up with nothing.

The trick is to convince yourself that what you're creating doesn't matter. Lower the stakes so that you can keep working on it without being paralysed. Sure, you may make mistakes and have to discard everything, but at least you stand a chance of creating something good. More often than not, it will work out.

Going From Zero to One is Valuable

Going from zero to one is almost always the most valuable phase of a project. Thousands of people may work together to build a business, but in the end, everyone looks up to the founder.

Dozens of people collaborate on various aspects of the production, publishing and distribution process of a traditionally published book. But only the author gets to be named on the cover — the person who took the project from zero to one.

Sometimes, you could argue that the editor did more of the heavy lifting than the author. Or perhaps a big part of the success can be ascribed to the cover designer who did such a brilliant job that the book stands out on any shelf. Neither of them gets the credit or fair share of the profits in case the book goes on to sell 10 million copies.

If you want to do great things, get good at going from zero to one.

About the Author

Hi, I’m Radek 👋. I’m a writer, software engineer and the founder of Writing Analytics — an editor and writing tracker designed to help you beat writer’s block and create a sustainable writing routine.

I publish a post like this every week. Want to know when the next one comes out? Sign up for my email list below to get it right in your inbox.

(I won’t spam you or pass your email to a third party. You can unsubscribe at any time.)

Past Editions

#220: How to Make Your Writing Compound, November 2021

#219: 7 Benefits of Doing NaNoWriMo Even If You Don’t Win, October 2021

#218: The Best Writing App for NaNoWriMo, October 2021

#217: Don’t Save Your Best Ideas for Later, October 2021

#216: Take Back the Time to Write, October 2021

#writing #writers #write #writing tips #writing advice #amwriting #writing life #writeblr #writing udpate #personal update #me

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cantalouupe · 3 years

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KINKTOBER DAY 3

short nsfw !!! diluc x m!reader

blowjobs, semi-public sex??

You push Diluc so his back meets the hard exterior of the building, giving him something to lean against while you fall to your knees, leveling your face with his hips.

The two of you haven’t gotten much time to yourselves, both of you busy with separate things - you taking a trip to visit Liyue and Diluc taking care of the tavern. Today is the first time you’ve gotten to see him in about a week and you were going to make the most of it, even if he’s supposed to be working.

There wasn’t even much of a greeting - more so that you didn’t allow him to greet you - your hands tugging him out from the building and leading him around back. He doesn’t protest because he knows exactly what you want. From the way he just followed you along, he wants it, too.

“You’ll get me kicked out of my own tavern,” he muses, watching you pull hurriedly at his belt. His hand comes to brush against your face, successfully slowing you down in your rushed fervor before helping you unbuckle his pants.

When his pants are finally pulled down, gathered around his thighs - which you spend many moments marveling at, smooth skin that’s thick with muscle - you can focus on the task you came to do.

He’s half hard already, perhaps because of your eager actions or the way you look on your knees, hungry and desperate for him. It takes no time to get him to full mast, with your hand gliding against the shaft and your tongue lapping against the slit.

His posture is relaxed, leaned back while he watches you take him into your mouth. He murmurs a quiet “careful” when you gag for shoving it too deep too quickly.

Your head bobs along the length of his dick, getting it wet with spit. He’s quiet all for occasional soft words of encouragement or sighs of satisfaction while he melts into the wall. Each small noise invigorates you, taking him a little deeper, sucking a little harder and drooling a little more.

Your spit collects at the corners of your mouth, seeping out with each dip of your head. If he had chosen to fuck your mouth, you would be a mess, drool running down your chin like some mutt.

You can tell he’s close, right at the edge, his head falling forward and hips flexing forward.

“That’s it, good boy. Good boy- fuck.”

There’s an incredible sense of achievement every time you bring Diluc to his orgasm. Watching him you cannot look away, mesmerized by the most breathtaking scene that unfolds. You wish you could record it and play it back over and over, seeing him come undone as many times as you want. If you had a way to do that, you’re pretty sure it’d be the only thing you’d watch - nothing else would ever compare to this view.

You eye him while he comes down, swallowing down his load and wiping the access saliva from your chin before rising up to his level. your knees hurt from being pressed against the solid, rough ground.

“I have to get back to work, if that was all,” he tells you, chest still rising and falling and cheeks still flushed. You deflate as though you were a balloon that someone let the air out of.

“You can’t do that.” He would just leave you like this? You know he sees how hard you are, sees how bad you need him to touch you.

He stares at you, prompting you further.

“Can’t you just- really quick, I’ll come really quick.”

Suddenly, while watching him observe you, you get the feeling that he knows exactly what you want. This is teasing, definitely. He finds it amusing, you know it, drinking in your sweet whines and neediness like the most decadent wine.

“Don’t you think that’s a little greedy?” He asks, voice low and hot and your knees weaken when he leans in close. “I just let you suck me off and you still aren’t satisfied?”

“I didn’t get to come,” you whimper.

His hand slides under the waistband of your pants to grab you, hard as ever under the clothing. You feel yourself twitch in his grasp, and he hums.

“Lean against the wall, then,” he advises, and you comply with a shaky sigh of relief.

When he lowers himself smoothly to his knees and looks up at your face you fear that you might come on the spot. He looks beautiful from this angle - from every angle - and you find yourself wishing you had a camera once again.

The first feeling of his mouth around your cock, moist tongue pressed against the underside has you choking out a moan that dissolves into a high whine when he slips down, taking you deeper. It’s slow but deliberate, each inch of your cock disappearing until you’re seated fully inside his warm, wet mouth and his nose is pressed against the hair that sprouts around the base. His throat spasms around the thick intrusion.

Leisurely, he pulls back off, tongue swiping on the vein that runs up the bottom of the length.

Once he’s almost pulled off, he locks his lips around the head and sucks, your nerves alight with the feeling of it. “Sensitive, ‘luc, too much,” you place your hands onto his head, fingers tangling into the hair - he will complain that he has to fix his hair because you messed it up afterwards, despite it being his fault in the first place for sucking your soul from your dick.

He likes it like this, staring up through his tousled red bangs to watch you lose your composure at a rapid pace, tongue dragging against just the right spots to make you squirm with pleasure.

Without realizing, your hips begin to move, chasing the stimulation. He doesn’t stop you, instead sitting nice and still, practically offering his mouth up to you, so you grow more purposeful, fucking his mouth with a shlick, shlick, shlick sound that comes every time you thrust in.

He takes it so well, like he’s made for it, mouth so perfect and slick with spit. In the back of your mind you register the sound of the patrons in the tavern, and something burns deep in the pit of your stomach. Do they know that Master Diluc is here right now, on his knees for you? Your body heats up at the idea.

Soon, almost too soon, you’re there, forcing your cock as deep as you can get, just in time for spurts of hot come to coat the back of Diluc’s throat. He chokes on the unexpected load but swallows still, lips shining with your release and his saliva.

“Thank you, thank you,” you breathe.

“Will that hold you over for now? Or should I fuck you over one of the outdoor tables?”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #diluc x reader #kinktober

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sukuna-slut · 3 years

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teacher’s pet - pt. 1

yan!sukuna x reader x yan!gojou

as you fall deeper into an unusual relationship with the king of curses, your favourite teacher becomes increasingly worried for your safety.

warnings

mild depictions of injury, abuse of power, infantilisation, noncon

rating - teen

word count - 1558

What was happening? As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you had lived by the affirmation that you would not regret death once it came upon you, but you never prepared for the possibility that death would sneak up on you when you least expected it. Before stupid Itadori crashed into your world like a bull in a china shop, you were Tokyo Jujutsu Technical High School’s most promising student. That freaky Okkotsu kid had that super-powerful Cursed Spirit living inside him which automatically made him Special Grade, but with your extraordinary natural talent for jujutsu, you were sure to one day reach his level if you just worked hard enough. Gojou-sensei had said it himself, you were a rare talent. You still had so much further to go, so much more to achieve, so why were you now bleeding out in some random alleyway with nothing to show for your sorry life but a few empty words of praise?

Your opponent let out a rumbling peal of laughter. ‘Oh yes, I love that one… you know, of all the expressions people show me before I kill them, anger is my favourite.’

Even with the tattoos crawling up his arms and extra eyes blinking on his face clearly marking him as Ryouma Sukuna, you couldn’t help but hate Itadori for once again ruining everything. Gritting your teeth, you ground your twitching palms into the cold asphalt in an attempt to push yourself up, but your elbows gave out, making Sukuna laugh even harder.

‘I’m not… done yet,’ you spat, blood spilling down your chin in direct betrayal to your words.

‘Yes, you are.’

Sukuna turned to leave and you attempted to will away the black spots clouding your vision. Despite your pride, you wondered when your life was going to flash before your eyes like it was supposed to.

‘Such a waste… you might’ve had a chance if you’d tried a little harder,’ he murmured with a slight chuckle. ‘A small chance, but who knows.’

Huh?

The shock you felt at his words momentarily numbed the pulsing pain in every muscle of your body, giving you the strength to prop yourself up on one elbow.

‘What… do you mean?’ you forced out.

‘Hm?’

He turned his head with a slight raise of his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t expected you to still be alive.

‘My technique was perfect,’ you insisted.

Itadori’s features morphed into a derisive smirk unbefitting of the cheerful boy.

‘Who told you that? That irritating teacher of yours, no doubt,’ Sukuna laughed. ‘So much untapped potential… if only they taught you how to really use your powers, you could even rival dear Itadori.’

Your eyes widened. You had potential to match Itadori, the vessel of the most powerful Cursed Spirit in existence? Sukuna was turning away again but you couldn’t let him leave, you had to stop him. Ignoring the screams of your body, you pushed your weight back until your butt rested on your heels, your arms stretched out in front of you in a deep bow.

‘Teach me!’ you begged with every bit of energy you had left.

Sukuna paused where he stood, turning to regard you with an expression of utter shock. It was only there for a moment though, melting as soon as it had appeared into raucous laughter.

‘You want me… to teach you?’ he managed between cackles. ‘Interesting! Maybe you’re worth keeping alive a little longer.’

He took slow steps towards you before crouching to lift your chin between his thumb and forefinger to gaze into your teary eyes, silently pleading for his help. You were barely holding onto life at this point, yet he seemed to be in no hurry, a grin stretched wide across Itadori’s face.

‘A teacher, huh?’

The last thing you saw before you blacked out was Sukuna’s extra eyes and tattoos melting back into his skin, his malicious expression replaced with your classmate frantically calling your name.

Gojou Satoru was livid. Staring at the swirling mahogany of his desk, he forced his bloodlust down to a simmer and fixed his face into a painful smile with which he regarded the snivelling boy before him.

‘You lost control,’ he accused, ‘a mistake which nearly caused the death of your classmate. What do you have to say for yourself?’

As Itadori began blubbering apologies, Gojou’s mind returned to the sight of you lying in a hospital bed, a mess of wires and bandages around the gaping wound in your stomach that nearly cost you your life. The image of you, his bratty little (YN) looking so defeated made his blood boil with the desire to tear whoever was responsible to shreds. Unfortunately, the perpetrator was the very student he had insisted on keeping alive. Was it worth the risk? What if losing you was the risk?

You came into his life bright-eyed and brimming with terrifying reserves of untapped potential. Whether or not you were aware of just how much power you possessed, you had an inexplicable desire to distinguish yourself which reminded Gojou of himself at your age. While others were irritated by your brashness, he found himself growing fond of his latest protege. He liked to think that he was the only one who truly understood you. When he informed you of exactly how exceptional you truly were, your face lit up with such fervent excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of the sudden increased blood flow to his nether regions in that moment. He ended up complimenting you whenever possible during his private sessions with you just to see that face again. He loved the way you lapped up his praise like a cute little dog, he loved how you treated his word like gospel… eventually, he came to terms with the realisation that he just loved you.

Even so, you scared him sometimes. At first he had lived to see you shine whenever you discovered a new ability with his help, but with every milestone, he felt you edging further and further away from him. At that rate, you would surely become a Grade One Sorcerer, and then… you’d have all these responsibilities, responsibilities he honestly wasn’t sure if you could handle with your weak constitution, responsibilities that would lead you away from him.

So he altered your training program a little. Taught you to unknowingly hinder your own abilities, just enough so you’d still need him by your side. Maybe it was underhanded, but you were the purest thing in his life and he wasn’t about to let you leave him so easily. But his selfishness had backfired. With your stoppered abilities, you were unable to defend yourself against Sukuna, and because of him…

Gojou buried his face in his hands.

‘Sensei?’ Itadori asked nervously.

He shook his head, donning a carefree smile.

‘You shouldn’t apologise, Itadori. After all, I’m the one who miscalculated when I assumed you would be able to sustain Sukuna’s growing power.’

‘Am I going to be executed?’ Itadori’s face turned sheet white.

Gojou had considered killing the boy himself when he first saw your beaten body. Itadori’s hold against the ancient Curse had been gradually slipping ever since he ate the fourth finger, but he had been so consumed with capturing Sukuna, that he failed to see the situation for the disaster it was.

However, logic soon overruled his desire to destroy anyone and anything that hurt you. The inconvenient truth was, they had no hope of stopping Sukuna without Itadori’s body. But in order to mitigate the risk…

‘No, you won’t be executed. But you will be detained, at least until we figure out a better solution. For the time being, your responsibility will be reduced to being a vessel for Sukuna, nothing more.’

Itadori hung his head but did not protest.

It had been a whole week since you were discharged from hospital, yet Gojou-sensei still refused to let you train. Before, when his presence had been fleeting due to his foremost duty as the strongest sorcerer calling him away every other day, you had craved his attention, but now you wished he’d just disappear.

‘(YN)-chan, you should be resting!’

You had barely taken seven steps down the hallway before he intercepted you and corralled you back to your room, gripping your upper arms firmly as if he were redirecting a wandering child.

‘I should be training!’ you protested, noticing with no small amount of irritation the way his lips drew tight. ‘I’m almost fully healed, the nurse said I could participate in moderate physical activity the day after I was discharged. It’s been a week, Gojou-sensei! When are you going to stop treating me like a- mmh!’

Suddenly, your lips were captured in a suffocating kiss. Gojou-sensei wasted no time pushing his tongue between your unprepared lips, the wet muscle surprising you with its coldness as it invaded your mouth. At some point, his hold on you had tightened to the point of being painful.

‘S-sensei!’ you exclaimed, shoving him back.

His blindfold prevented you from gauging the full extent of his emotions, your teacher raising a hand to his parted lips as if shocked by his own actions. Before he could regain his composure, you bolted down the hallway, your only goal to get as far away from your attacker as possible.

#yandere gojo #yandere sukuna #yandere gojou #yandere gojou x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere headcanons #yandere smut

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

Text

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence.

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return.

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks.

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo.

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.”

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew:

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious.

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him.

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…”

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat.

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove.

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.”

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—”

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.”

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.”

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—”

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.”

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree.

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs.

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk.

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did.

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue.

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—”

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.”

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—”

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.”

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses.

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.”

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot.

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him.

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.”

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached.

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.”

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore.

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure.

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.”

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head.

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do.

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations?

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability.

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.”

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.”

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!”

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.”

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova.

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.”

You’re hearing will never be as it was.

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current.

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out.

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies.

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight.

He needed a fucking drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs.

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy.

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets.

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb.

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again.

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more.

Except… he’d been standing still that time.

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet.

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving.

“What the fu—”

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later.

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs.

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face.

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots.

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth.

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight.

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue.

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky.

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way.

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them.

Dynamight was here to get the job done.

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head.

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc.

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him.

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet.

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god.

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch.

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him.

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought.

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze.

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar.

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals.

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again.

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air.

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window.

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then…

Nothing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time.

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes.

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop.

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat.

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place.

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way.

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to.

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled.

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business.

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia.

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite.

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least.

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers.

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst.

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things.

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself.

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps.

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself.

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good.

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet.

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help.

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful.

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful.

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own.

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone.

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train.

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you.

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.”

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief.

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.”

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts.

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking.

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away.

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out.

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments.

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes.

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass.

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms.

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms.

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash?

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs.

That sounded… closer.

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky.

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals.

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person.

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth.

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack.

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down.

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air.

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air.

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached.

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street.

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill.

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed.

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it.

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later.

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames.

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene.

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him.

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering.

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped.

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window.

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki/reader #bakugo/reader #bakugo katsuki/you #bakugo katsuki x you #my hero academia #mha spoilers #boku no hero academia #bnha #anime #fanfic #my writings #katsuki bakugo

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