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blurredcolour · 27 days

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The Only Truth... | Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Once rested, Bucky proves to be a rather difficult patient, but it's nothing you can't handle. Once he's discharged, however, the man still finds a way to remain close, even when he's no longer the one in need of medical care.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Nightmares, Detailed Description of Death by Gunshot Wound, Blood, Gore, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5001

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April 12, 1945

The light of dawn began to filter in through the murky windows of the hospital and with Bucky once again sleeping deeply, but now with all apprehension about his ability to wake again lifted, you began to carefully shuffle about the space and take care of some duties you had neglected for the last twenty hours. Emptying a few bed pans for those too weak to move, you scrubbed them clean in the meagre washroom before beginning to work on bandage changes, blinking futilely at the bleariness in your eyes. You had made it through two patients when the doors to the hospital were unlocked and Major Chalmers filtered in with Captain Menzies, another British medical officer, clearly just released from their combine.

It had taken several weeks for you to realize that the man introduced to you as ‘Mingies’ was the same as the man whose name was written as Menzies on the charts and not some other doctor who worked mysterious hours. Both men waited for you to finish treating the rather ghastly thigh wound inflicted by one of the ubiquitous German Shepherds – miraculously still not showing signs of infection – before you washed your hands and delivered your report on Major Egan.

“Very good, Nurse. Why don’t you go rest for the morning, we’ll see you around 1300 hours.” Chalmers replied.

Exhaling with a grateful nod, you excused yourself down the hall to your ‘accommodations.’ The former exam room had been stripped of all medical equipment to leave a cot, a small wooden cubby for your meagre collection of belongings, a tiny table for you to eat your solitary meals and write your correspondence, and a rickety washstand with a chipped enamel basin and mirror split with a spider’s web of fractures hammered directly into wall above it. With no interest in anything but sleep, you sat on the cot with a heavy sigh. You pulled the six remaining pins from your hair, having misplaced four throughout the last several months and still not having your confiscated effects returned to you, and kicked off your boots before laying down to sleep for a few hours.

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The next time Bucky awoke, you were nowhere to be seen. He was plunged back into a world of dull, gritty, pungent masculinity and he was admittedly bereft. The pain in his back seemed all the more acute in your absence, and though there was again a serving of broth, it was tepid at best. Perhaps he could have withstood the continuation of a grim life all painted in the same grey palette, but to have that disrupted by your presence and then have that light and color taken away? It was even worse than not having had it to begin with.

It made him all the more sullen and combative when the British doctor Chalmers informed him that he would have to remain in hospital as a patient another night rather than being permitted to find the rest of the 100th and bunk with them.

“I’m perfectly fine Doc, all rested up, can walk, talk, and piss all on my own. I don’t need to be here a minute longer – the rest of these fellas are way sicker than me.”

The surgeon narrowed his eyes in response, clearly not appreciating his directions being questioned, but Bucky had had more than his fill of taking other people’s orders. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and back to people he knew.

“One night, Major Egan, that’s all I’m asking. The only bunks for new arrivals are in tents, if you’re lucky. In here you’re warm, dry, and have a bed that’ll feel nicer on those ribs – which are going to take four to six weeks to heal, might I add.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to reiterate his protests when his eyes caught sight of you appearing from down the hallway, coming to standing behind Chalmers with your arms crossed and a stern look on your face. It was so utterly reminiscent of one he had received from his mother on countless occasions that he was momentarily unable to speak before clearing his throat to concede to the doctor’s request.

“Good.” Was his diplomatic reply before he turned to see you there. “Ah, Nurse, welcome back. In some irony of the universe, we’ve actually received a Red Cross shipment of supplies. Would you kindly catalogue the contents the goons have left for us and add it to our stock?”

Bucky did not miss the exasperation in your expression – it certainly did seem like a cruel joke for supplies to arrive with the end of the war surely weeks away.

“Certainly, sir.” You replied before looking to the large and very much opened and rifled-through box up against the wall essentially opposite to his cot.

Settling onto his stomach, he draped his arms across his pillow, nestling his chin atop his forearms to watch you work. “Don’t get a lot of supplies around here, do ya, angelfish?”

As you glanced toward him, he noticed you had changed your clothes, into equally threadbare ones but fresh ones all the same, and had tidied your hair. He would have taken you to a dance in Times Square looking like that. In a heartbeat.

“No, we most certainly do not, Major.” You shook your head and made a soft noise of triumph as you managed to fish out the packing list – something to compare the remaining contents to, he supposed. “Might mean we got more rations too though, corned beef and liver pate to eat desperately before they go bad.” You gave him a wry smile which he returned.

So the Germans here liked to punch holes in the cans, too. Good to know. Bucky watched as you retrieved a pencil from the central desk and began to unearth boxes of gauze and ointments and all manner of things he was only vaguely familiar with. He drowsily studied your profile, lips tugging fondly at the way you stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trapping it between your teeth and grunting in dismay when something you obviously were hoping for was not there. Hovering on the border between sleeping and waking, he jumped slightly as you gently nudged his shoulder, holding out two pills and his mug filled with fresh water.

“Aspirin.” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow before plucking them from your soft palm, tossing the pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a slug of cold water.

“You’re a goddess, angelfish.” He murmured, laying down his heavy head as you moved to tuck him in again.

Your soft laugh in response made him smile drowsily. “No Bucky, just a nurse. Now stop fighting it and go to sleep.”

He was yanked back into consciousness by the sound of your voice some time later, tone flat and impatient.

“Just let me finish changing his bandage, please.”

“Nein, it is lights out and you are going back to your room now schwester.” The rude, clipped reply of the SS guard had Bucky forcing himself up off his cot, gritting his teeth against the screams of protest in his frighteningly unstable ribcage.

His eyes flashed around the room before they landed on the uniformed man grabbing your elbow to usher you from the bedside of a patient and down the hall. Bucky stumbled to his feet, peering around the corner after you to watch the man shove you into the room on the left before pulling the door shut and snapping a padlock into place. Bucky narrowed his eyes, moving over to the patient you had been forced to abandon, supplies still on top of his blanket.

“I’m no nurse but I can give it a shot?” He muttered to the fellow who gave him a small shrug in return. “I’ll be back when the coast is clear, then.”

Bucky slid back into his own cot, watching the guard stomp his way out of the building before slamming the last set of doors shut, the lock snicking into place behind him before the lights all went out. Blinking against the darkness to force his eyes to adjust more quickly, he made his way down the hall, feeling his way along the rough-hewn wood of the wall and over to your door before knocking softly.

“Angelfish? You alright in there?”

“Bucky?” Came your muffled answer shortly after the sound of your footsteps approached.

“Damn they lock you up like in here like some kind of fairytale princess.”

There was a soft snort and Bucky could not help the smirk that pulled from him. “Anything I should know before I try and finish that guy’s arm?”

There was a pause before you cleared your throat and responded with, “no it’s pretty straight forward but…but if it smells anything like cheese would you mind letting me know?”

“Cheese…” He replied slowly.

“The smell of infection, Bucky.” You sounded amused and he wished more than anything he could take in your facial expression then.

“Got it. I was born in Wisconsin, raised for this.”

“And then you’re going to immediately put yourself in your cot and rest, Bucky.” You said firmly.

“You got it angelfish. You, too.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Gathering his courage and putting on a mask of cool, level-headedness, he returned to his fellow patient’s bedside, removing the old bandage and bowing his head to take a deep whiff. Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, there was definitely nothing cheese-like about it. He then bumbled about in the dark of the room, applying perhaps the ugliest bandage known to man, but a bandage nonetheless, and returned to his cot as instructed.

It was not easy to drag the blanket up over his body from behind, especially with the newly aggravated soreness from his careless activities, but Bucky managed to settle down and fall into an uneasy sleep, exhaustion still dwelling deep in his bones and sucking him under. It did not take long, however, for his dreams to be haunted once more by images of deadly accurate shots burrowing their way between Buck’s shoulder blades on the other side of that wall. Of his friend’s blond head falling into the mud just shy of the treeline, just shy of freedom. Waking with a start, he glared around the dark, unfamiliar room and looked to the floor, frowning as you were not there for him to hold onto this time.

He had not fully woken the night before, but he had sensed enough of your calming presence to return to a deeper plane of sleep. To chase away the darker voices that threatened to fill his mind. Leveraging himself to a seated position, he grabbed his blanket and shuffled his way down the hall once again in search of your soothing influence, even if there was the interfering barrier of a door. Bucky’s descent to the ground was less than graceful, his ribs protesting fiercely and as he settled on the floorboards, he was filled with a sudden doubt in his ability to rise from this position. But then he heard your voice.

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When Bucky had not immediately bustled back down the hall with tales of an arm wound stinking of ripe cheese, you had relaxed somewhat into your nightly routine, stripping to your long underwear for a proper night’s sleep…that did not really present itself. It was honestly not that surprising given the way you had pushed the boundaries of night and day, your body really was not sure what to make of it. You were just on the cusp of finally falling asleep when there was a commotion outside your room, the door rattling in its frame, the padlock jostling slightly.

Hearing a slightly familiar grunt, you sat up. “Bucky?” You called you softly.

“M’fine, angelfish, just sleeping out here.”

Your eyes widened and you practically leapt from the bed, crossing the room in record time. “Are you really ok? Sleeping…. on the floor?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just needed company.” He muttered from below and you slid down to lay on the floor, peering through the gap at the bottom of the door with one eye.

It was surely flush with the floor when the building was initially built, but as the hospital settled into the ground, about an inch-and-a-half had opened up below the door, allowing you to glimpse his face not far from yours.

“You had plenty of company in your comfortable cot, Bucky.” You whispered and the eye you could see flashed open, face turning to meet yours through the gap.

“Not yours, angelfish.”

“I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to convince you to go back to bed? No idea how the hell you’re going to get off this floor anyway…” You sighed, cheek pressed tightly against the floorboards to see as much of him as possible.

“I’m down for the count, I’d say.” He huffed with a poor show of playfulness.

Frowning, you looked over the visible portion of his face slowly. “You have another bad dream?”

He grunted noncommittally and averted his gaze, essentially confirming your suspicion. Sliding from your spot on the floor, you fetched your blanket and pillow before laying them down to rejoin him. “I get ‘em too. Stuck on that crashing plane and I can’t get off. Or the chute won’t open. Or I can’t…” your throat clenched, and you swallowed to clear it. “Can’t get my flight jacket off and I just burn up.” Your voice refused to come out any louder than an exhale, but you still managed to speak the last few words.

His eye slowly met yours once more though the thin opening halfway through your confessions and his brow furrowed. “Flight nurse?”

“I was, yeah. Just a kriegie nurse now, I guess.” You laughed wryly, trying to find a comfortable position on the uneven floor, the nail heads poking up into your shoulder.

There was a long pause as he seemed to weigh the pros and cons of unburdening himself to you before exhaling slowly. “I sent my best friend to his death. Least that’s what my dreams tell me. He didn’t want to run, I convinced him and then…well they almost caught him until I distracted them…”

“And got the shit kicked out of you.” You sighed, slipping into your ways of foul language on the edge of sleep, in the dark of your room.

Thankfully, by the twitch of his lips, he did not seem terribly put out by it.

“Basically.” He heaved a great sigh and you nodded, sliding your fingers under the door, as far as your knuckles would allow.

“No matter what happened, Bucky, he’s not in a place like this anymore. And that is a mercy.”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, unconvinced and you swallowed.

“What kind of man is he?” You lined up for another approach.

“Smart, too damn smart of any of this – built a radio out of a list of random junk I collected for him. He’s got the sweetest girl back home who writes him like clockwork. They were gonna get married if he got back. Was gonna be his best man.”

Taking a deep breath to summon your façade of brave optimism once again, for his sake, you nodded firmly. “When he gets home, you will be his best man.”

He looked to you hopefully, slowly sliding his fingertips to brush against yours beneath the coarse wooden bottom of the door. “Yeah?” He breathed.

“Yeah, Bucky. Yeah.” You nodded again, offering a smile, hoping it somewhat reached your eyes. “Now. Let’s try and get you some sleep.”

“Didn’t hear anything ‘bout you in that statement, angelfish.” He murmured sleepily and you hummed with drowsy laughter.

“I’m just about there, but not until you give in first.”

After a few beats of silence, you cracked your eye to check on him, pressing your lips together to smother your laugh as you caught him quickly squeezing his eye shut. It was not long, however, until his breathing evened and deepened, his mind at last surrendering to the sleep his body desperately needed. Swallowing tightly, heart throbbing slightly at the way his face softened, and the way his fingertips remained pressed stubbornly against yours as tightly as the door would allow, you tucked the pillow under your head, sliding your eyes shut to try and get some rest as well.

Despite the wildly uncomfortable position, you somehow managed to remain asleep until the next morning when Bucky began to shuffle and shift, soft noises of discomfort escaping him as he tried to find his way back to his feet.

“Roll onto your good side.” You coached through your drowsy state, and he stilled a moment before appearing to obey. “Bend your knees, then push up to sitting.”

There were still some grunts, but fewer overall, and the whole endeavour sounded a lot less like a fish flopping against the door.

“Then use the handle to pull yourself up with your good hand.” Holding your breath you waited until you saw two sock feet, firmly planted and steady on the floor, before rising on your side of the door. “Well done.”

“Still have a bit more time to sleep, angelfish.” He rumbled and you bit your lip fondly at his sleep-roughened voice.

“You, too.” You replied, pressing your forehead against the rustic wood, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall until only silence remained.

You managed a few more hours’ sleep before the morning guard unlocked the door, delivering your morning pitcher of frigid water for your facsimile of a bath with a sliver of soap and rough wash cloth. Enjoying a breakfast of crackers and margarine, you reported for duty just as Chalmers was discharging Bucky, finding it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes in the light of day – the entire encounter in the dark feeling too intimate to recall in such a crowded, public space.

“Take care, Major Egan.” You smiled friendlily and followed Menzies out to the tent to assist with the removal of a set of sutures.

“You got it, Nurse.” He replied, the marked absence of the quirky nickname born of his inability to speak the day of his arrival halting your steps as you involuntarily glanced back over your shoulder to make sure he was really all right.

A grin slowly unfurled across his face, lighting up his exhausted features before he shot you a playful wink. You swallowed roughly as the day suddenly felt altogether too warm for your oversized sweater.

“Made ya look, angelfish.” He teased and you pressed your lips together desperately trying to smother your responding grin, conceding the fact that he had indeed made you look with a nod, before hurrying after Menzies when he barked your name from further into the canvas extension of the hospital.

Bucky’s discharge, unlike every other patient before him, did not mean that he dissolved into the general population of the camp. Somehow, he still managed to find reasons to make an appearance, dropping off bits of scrap wood to burn that he and his friends had collected to make the time pass faster, or arranging a crew of his men to deliver the hospital’s broth allotment to alleviate that burden from Chalmers and Menzies. He always appeared to be obeying his discharge orders and not hauling anything himself, at least when he arrived with his deliveries. Whether he was behaving out of sight was another question entirely.

Not only was the assistance greatly appreciated, but you found yourself looking forward to his visits as a break from the monotony of grim tasks of which your work consisted. Somehow, despite his worn-down spirit, he still managed to leave you feeling notably lifted by the time he was inevitably shooed out for getting underfoot or distracting you a little too long. Chalmers and Menzies were patient – indulgent even – but even they had their limits.

Four relatively peaceful days passed under this new routine, with no new arrivals in camp but, sadly, a few of the weaker patients in the hospital giving up the fight, until the sound of shots rang out mid-morning on the 18th. A great clamor arose among the patients indoors and the general population beyond the canvas walls of the tent, before a group of prisoners were rushing inside, Bucky at the fore, with an injured prisoner strung across their collective shoulders.

“Lay him here.” You gestured quickly to the cot you had been stripping after the death of its occupant sometime in the night, having succumb to infection and lack of food.

You did not miss the wince that crossed Bucky’s face as he maneuvered the injured man – no more than a boy, really – to lay where you had instructed. At the sight of a deep red stain, rapidly growing in circumference on the boy’s side, your eyes shot wide, and you looked to Bucky sharply.

“Find me Chalmers and Menzies immediately.” You stressed the need for expediency before turning back to begin rapidly pulling at the boy’s clothes, trying to locate the source of all that blood.

The shocking white expanse of his belly finally exposed, you found the gaping wound left by a large calibre round near his belly button, casting about frantically for your basket of fresh bandages to press against it, desperately trying to staunch the flow. What you would not give for a packet or six of sulfa right then. The pressure you put on his tender abdomen drew a yowl of pain from the boy and you frowned up at him sympathetically.

“I know, son, I know. We’re going to get this all fixed up alright?”

“Can’t b, b, believe they shot me! I just…just wanted to see the flowers poking through the fence and they just…Fucking war’s almost over anyway…” He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, a sure sign of shock and you glanced towards the hospital doors, relieved to see Chalmers and Menzies rushing out to help.

“I’ll bet those flowers were beautiful.” You gulped as the bandage in your hand was rapidly soaked through and grabbed a few more to wipe the area clean, trying to permit the surgeons to inspect the wound itself.

No sooner would you swipe away the rapidly welling crimson fluid, than the hollow below his ribs, carved out by months of hunger, would accumulate a fresh pool of blood. There were noises of dismay before the pair of surgeons rolled the boy to check for an exit wound. They shared a dark look as there was none to be found, shaking their heads at one another. Your patient erupted into a panic, thrashing about, kicking you squarely in the thigh and knocking you back into Bucky, who thankfully stopped your rapid descent toward the muddy floor.

“I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

“Nurse! Hold him!” Menzies barked and began to fish around in the boy’s wound to see if he could find the bullet.

Shrieking filled the tent as you lunged forward to press down on his shoulders, trying your best to soothe him even as his shirt grew damp with his own blood, transferring to the fabric from your fingers. He was stronger than he looked, the panic only amplifying what little strength he had left, and you sent a grateful nod to Bucky as his much broader palms took over pinning the boy’s shoulders while you collected his flailing hands between yours.

“Easy now, easy. Docs are going get you right as rain, just hold still now.”

“I’m gonna die and there’s not gonna be a heaven and there’s gonna be nothing!” The boy’s wild eyes wheeled on you, fairly punching you in the gut, and you shifted his wrists to grip in one hand against your chest while the other stroked at his hair tenderly with the other.

“Come now – you’re going to be alright. Besides, I’ve met the Pope. You think they’d keep that man in his fancy house and fancy clothes for nothing?”

His lips were growing a frightening shade of white from the blood loss, the rest of him the unsettling grey pallor of imminent death, but he seemed greatly calmed by your papal revelations. His hands shifted to grip at yours and his brow furrowed earnestly, the only movements of his body now were the echoes of the desperate attempts of the surgeons below.

“I want my momma. Tell my momma that I…tell my momma…” He trailed off into a whisper, the light slowly dimming from his eyes until there was nothing, his hands going limp, and he was gone.

Swallowing brutally, you carefully shifted your fingers to his throat, checking for a pulse and turning to Chalmers and Menzies when you found none. A simple shake of your head was all it took to communicate that you had lost the boy. Chalmers let out deep, aggrieved sigh while Menzies threw down a blood-soaked bandage with a wet slap and stormed back into the hospital. Gently setting the boy’s lifeless hands across his chest, you straightened slowly, feeling Bucky eyeing you from the other side of the cot.

Something ugly was welling up inside you, desperately trying to claw its way out, and you took a step back.

“Angelfish?” Bucky’s voice was low and cautious.

Your only response was to shake your head violently before stepping clear of the end of the cot, then breaking into a run. Following in the footsteps of Menzies, the words of the Army Nurse Corps pledge rang through your mind, the words you had sworn to serve by as a Nurse.

‘I shall approach him cheerfully at all times, under any conditions I may find…I shall appear fearless in the presence of danger and quiet the fears of others to the best of my ability.’

Reaching the end of the hallway, you stared at the door to your quarters and nearly choked on the idea of facing that stuffy, windowless room. You needed air. Needed to breathe. Turning sharply to the left, you continued along past the utility room and out the backdoor into the small courtyard between the hospital and the barbed wire fence that separated the Russian side of the camp.

‘…I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients.’

The flight nurse’s creed came flooding back to you next as you sought refuge between the back of the hospital and the bowed lines of laundry, stained sheets and bandages hung in the weak April sun to dry. What a different person you had been when you had spoken those damn words at your graduation from Flight Nurse Training.

Taking short, sharp gulps of air, each inhale was used to forcefully shove down the scream that was bubbling perilously in your throat. You paced to-and-fro, bloody hands planted on your hips. Surely you looked nothing short of mad when Bucky rounded the corner of the building, using that aggravatingly soft voice again as he spoke your name, making your head snap towards him.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.” You choked out, turning from him, fixing to flee once more.

“Too bad.” He ground out as he continued coming closer, clearly intent on comforting you, but if he got too near, you were terrified you were going to shatter entirely.

“Patients aren’t supposed to see me like this.” You could barely speak, hiccoughing and shuddering breaths intersplicing your words awkwardly as your grip on your emotions began to slip through your bloody fingers.

“Not here as a patient.” He muttered and slid his arms around you, pulling you close and you buried your face into his chest to let out a wail of agony – for the man who died in front of your eyes, for the horrid situation you found yourself in.

Somehow, you managed to maintain the wherewithal not to grab at him with your filthy hands, arms sticking straight out behind him awkwardly as you squeezed his sides with your elbows, knees threatening to give out as you found yourself not having to be the strong one for the first time in quite a long time. Bucky’s grip only tightened on you, fingers curling into your shirt to hold you up patiently as you cried yourself hoarse against him. Eventually there were no more tears to cry, the self-pity and grief you had stored up over the past few months running dry. Pulling back slightly, you wiped at your face with your sleeves, accidentally exposing a portion of the angrily scarred flesh on your left forearm.

Not missing the way his eyes flicked to it immediately, you sharply pulled your cuffs down and straightened fully. “You should get out of here before some goon puts a hole in you…”

It was supposed to be a joke, but your voice wobbled threateningly in abhorrence at the thought of losing someone else today, and Bucky promptly pulled you close again.

“Easy angelfish, not gonna get myself shot now. Not after you went through all the trouble of bringing me back.”

Sniffling affectionately against him, you pulled back to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Bucky.” You patted his chest fondly. “But please don’t go around carrying any more people with those broken ribs.” You gave him a stern look, finding it difficult to deliver as he smirked with a soft laugh in return.

With a soft sigh, you moved to return inside and assist with the clean up.

“Bucky?” You stopped and turned back to him suddenly.

“Yeah, angelfish?” He glanced over his shoulder, halfway to the other side of the building.

“What’s your first name?”

He raised an eyebrow. “John.”

Nodding slowly, you swallowed tightly. “Thank you, John.” You repeated firmly before pulling open the door and heading inside to the utility room to fill a bucket with some water to rinse out the bloody cot.

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Read Part Three

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #john egan x you #john egan fic #john egan imagine #john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

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whumpinggrounds · 1 year

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Overused Disability Tropes

Woohoo here we go. I expect this one to be a bit more controversial because I am using specific media as examples. I would really prefer if, when critiquing this post, you avoid defending specific media, and focus instead on what’s actually being said/represented about disabled communities. If you feel I’ve done a really grave injustice, you can come into my askbox/DMs/replies to talk to me about it, but I might not answer.

One more time: I am not interested in getting into a debate about whether something is a good show/movie/book/whatever. I’m not telling you it’s bad, or that you shouldn’t enjoy it! People can like whatever they want; I am only here to critique messaging. Do not yell at me about this.

Newest caveat aside, let’s get into it!

Inspiration Porn

Without a doubt, our biggest category! Term coined in 2012 by badass activist Stella Young, but the trope has been around for literal centuries. There are a few different kinds that I will talk about.

Disabled character/person is automatically noble/good because of their disability. A very early example would be A Christmas Carol’s Tiny Tim, or, arguably, Quasimodo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Real life examples include the Jerry Lewis MDA telethon, or children’s hospital ads that exploit sad-eyed kids with visible illness or disability.

Having a disability does not automatically make you a kind/angelic/noble person. This many not seem harmful, and may even seem positive, but in reality, it is condescending, inaccurate, and sets bizarre standards for how disabled people should behave.

This portrayal is often intended to elicit pity from abled audiences, which is also problematic.

In these portrayals, disability is not something to be proud of or identify with, only something to be suffered through.

Disabled character person does something relatively mundane and we all need to celebrate that. This is less common in writing, but happens in the real world when people do things like post pictures of disabled people at the gym captioned “What’s your excuse?”

This is condescending, and implies that anything disabled people are capable of, abled people are automatically capable of.

Makes it seem like it’s an incredible feat for a disabled person to accomplish tasks.

Uses people’s actual lives and actual disabilities as a reminder of “how good abled life is.”

The “Supercrip” stereotype is a specific kind of inspiration porn in which disabled people are shown to be capable of amazing things, “in spite of” their disability.

The Paralympics have been criticized for this, with people saying that advertisements and understandings of the Paralympics frame the athletes as inspiring not because they are talented or accomplished, but because their talents and accomplishments are seen as “so unlikely.”

Other examples include the way we discuss famous figures like Stephen Hawking, Alan Turing, or even Beethoven. Movies like The Theory of Everything and The Imitation Game frame the subjects’ diagnoses, whether actual or posited, as limitations that they had to miraculously break through in order to accomplish what they did. Discussions of Beethoven’s deafness focus on how incredible it was that he was able to overcome it and be a musician despite what is framed as a tragic acquisition of deafness.

The pity/heroism trap is a concise way of defining inspiration porn. If the media you’re creating or consuming inspires these emotions, and only these emotions, around disability, that is a representation that is centered on the feelings and perceptions of abled people. It’s reductive, it’s ableist, and it’s massively overdone.

Disabled Villains

To be clear, disabled people can and should be villains in fiction. The problem comes when disabled people are either objects of pity/saintly heroes, or villains, and there is no complexity to those representations. When there is so little disabled rep out there (less than 3.5% of characters in current media), having a disabled villain contributes to the othering of disability, as well as the idea that disability can make someone evil. There are also a few circumstances in which particular disabilities are used to represent evil, and I’ll talk about how that’s problematic.

Mentally ill villains are colossally overdone, particularly given that mentally ill people are more likely to be the victims of violence than perpetrators of it. This is true of all mental illness, including “””scary””” things like personality disorders or disorders on the schizoaffective spectrum. Mental illness is stigmatized enough without media framing mentally ill people as inherently bad or more suspectible to evil. This prejudice is known as sanism.

Explicit fictional examples of this include the Joker, or Kevin Wendell Crumb in Split.

People can also be coded as mentally ill without it being explicitly stated, and that’s also problematic and sanist. In the Marvel movie Doctor Strange and the Multiverse of Madness, Wanda’s appearance and behavior are coded as mentally ill. This is used to make her “creepy.” Horror movies do this a lot - mental illness does not render someone creepy, and should not be used as a tool in this way.

Visible disability or difference to indicate evil is another common, incredibly offensive, and way overdone trope. This is mostly commonly done through facial difference, and the examples are endless. These portrayals equate disability or disfigurement with ugliness, and that ugliness with evil. It renders the disabled villain in question an outcast, undesirable, and uses their disability or difference to dehumanize these characters and separate them from others. This is incredibly prevalent and incredibly painful for people with visible disability or facial difference.

An example of visible disability indicating evil is Darth Vader’s prosthetics and vastly changed physical appearance that happen exactly in time with his switch to the dark side. In contrast, when Luke needs a prosthetic, it is lifelike and does not visually separate him from the rest of humanity/the light.

Dr. Who’s John Lumic is another example of the “Evil Cripple” trope.

Examples of facial difference indicating evil range from just about every James Bond movie, to Scar in the Lion King, Dr. Isabel Maru in Wonder Woman, Taskmaster in Black Widow, Captain Hook in Peter Pan, and even Doofenschmirtz-2 in Phineas and Ferb the Movie. Just because some of the portrayals are silly (looking at you, Phineas and Ferb) doesn’t make the coding of facially scarred villains any less hurtful.

A slightly different, but related phenomenon I’ll include here is the idea of the disability con. This is when a character fakes a disability for personal gain. This represents disabled people as potential fakers, and advances the idea that disabled people get special privileges that abled people can and should co-opt for their own reasons.

In The Usual Suspects, criminal mastermind Verbal Clint fakes disability to avoid suspicion and take advantage of others. In Arrested Development, a lawyer fakes blindness in order to gain the sympathy and pity of the jury.

In much more complex examples such as Sharp Objects, a mother with Munchausen by proxy fakes her daughter’s illness in order to receive attention and pity. Portrayals like this make Munchausen or MBP seem more common than it is, and introduce the idea that parents may be lying or coaching their children to lie about necessary medical treatment.

Disability as Morality

Sometimes, the disabled character themselves is a moral lesson, like Auggie in Wonder. Sheerly through existing, Auggie “teaches” his classmates about kindness, the evils of bullying, and not judging a book by its cover. This also fits well under inspiration porn. This is problematic, because the disabled character is defined in terms of how they advance the other characters’ morality and depth.

In the “Disabled for a Day” trope, an otherwise abled character experiences a temporary disability, learns a moral lesson, and is restored to full ability by the end of the episode/book/movie. Once again, disability is used as a plot device, rather than a complex experience, along with more permanent disability being rejected as impossible for heroes or main characters.

Examples include an episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye is temporarily blinded, an episode of Law and Order: SVU where Elliott Stabler is temporarily blinded, and an episode of Criminal Minds where Agent Hotchner experiences temporary hearing loss.

Real life examples include sensitivity trainings where participants are asked to wear a blindfold, headphones, or use a wheelchair for a given amount of time. This does not impart the lived experience of disability. It should not be used as a teaching tool.

Disabled people as inherently pure. This is related to inspiration porn and disabled people as noble, but is different in that it is usually appears in combination with developmental, cognitive, or intellectual disabilities. These characters are framed as sweet, “simple,” and a reminder to other characters to be cheerful, happy, or grateful.

Examples include Forrest Gump, Rain Man, I Am Sam, and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape.

No matter what the stereotypes of a given diagnosis are (yes, I’m thinking of the automatic cheerfulness associated with Down Syndrome), disabled people have personalities. They are capable of being sad, angry, sarcastic, irritable, annoying - any number of things beyond good/sweet/pure. It is reductive to act otherwise.

Disability as Surreal

Less common than some of the others, but still worth thinking about!

Disabled characters are framed as mystical, magical, or other than human, a condition that is either created by or indicated through their disability status. This is especially common with little people.

“Disability superpower” is when a character compensates for, or is uniquely able to have a superpower because of, their disability. Common tropes include the Blind Seer, Blind Weapon Master, Genius Cripple and Super Wheel Chair.

Examples include Pam from Supernatural, Charles Xavier from X-Men, or the grandpa in Spy Kids.

Disability as Undesirable

Last and least favorite category here. Let’s go.

Disabled people as asexual or not sexually desirable. Disabled people can be asexual, obviously. When every portrayal is asexual, that’s a big problem. It frames disabled people as sexually undesirable or implies that it is impossible for people with disabilities to have rewarding, mutually satisfying sexual relationships.

Examples include The Fault in Our Stars or Artie in Glee.

Abandoned due to disability. Hate this trope. Often equates disability with weakness. Don’t want to talk about it. It’s all right there in the title. Don’t do it.

Examples: Quasimodo in Hunchback of Notre Dame, several kittens in the Warrior Cat series, several episodes of Law and Order: SVU, Bojack Horseman, and Vikings.

Discussed in 300 and Wolf of Wall Street.

Ancient cultures and animal nature are often cited as reasoning for this trope/practice. This is not founded in fact. Many ancient civilizations, including Sparta, cared for disabled people. Many animals care for disabled young. These examples should not be used to justify modern human society.

Disabled characters are ostracized for disability. Whether they act “““normal”““ or odd, characters with visible or merely detectable disabilities are treated differently.

Examples include pretty much every piece of media I’ve said so far. This is particularly prevalent for people with visible physical disabilities or neurodivergence. Also particularly prevalent for characters with albinism.

This is not necessarily an inaccurate portrayal - disabled people face a lot of discrimination and ableism. It is, however, very, very common.

Bury your disabled. What it says on the label.

Examples: Animorphs, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, American Horror Story, Criminal Minds, Dr. Who, Star Trek, The Wire.

Mercy killing is a subtrope of the above but disgusting enough that it deserves its own aside. I may make a separate post about this at some point because this post is kind of exhausting and depressing me.

Examples: Me Before You, Killing Eve, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Of Mice and Men, and Million Dollar Baby.

Disability-negating superpowers imply that disability is undesirable by solving it supernaturally instead of actually portraying it, and giving their character powers instead.

Examples include (arguably) Toph from Avatar: the Last Airbender, Captain America: The First Avenger, The Legend of Korra, Dr. Strange, and Daredevil.

Overcoming disability portrays disability as a hindrance and something that can be defeated through technology and/or willpower.

Fictional examples include WALL-E, Kill Bill, The Goonies, The Dark Knight Trilogy, Heidi, The Secret Garden, The Inheritance Cycle, Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D, The Big Bang Theory, Dr. Strangelove, Sherlock, The Witcher.

Real life examples include videos of wheelchair users standing from their chair to walk down the aisle at a wedding, or d/Deaf children “hearing” for the first time through cochlear implants.

What Does This Mean for Your Writing?

First of all, congratulations for making it this far!

Now, as I have said again and again, I’m not going to tell you what to write. I’ll ask some questions to hopefully help guide your process.

What tropes might you be playing into when writing disabled characters? Why do you find these tropes compelling, or worth writing about? How prevalent are these tropes? How harmful are they? What messages do they send to actual disabled people?

Just because they are common tropes does not mean they are universally awful. Cool fantasy or futuristic workarounds are not necessarily bad rep. Showing the ugly realities of ableism is not necessarily bad rep. It’s just a very, very common representation of disability, and it’s worth thinking about why it’s so common, and why you’re writing it.

As always, conduct your own research, know your own characters and story, and make your own decisions. If you have questions, concerns, or comments, please hit me up! Add your own information! This is not monolithic whatsoever.

Happy writing!

#disability writing guide #writing disabled characters #disability #disability representation #disability justice #writing advice #disability tropes #writing tropes #ableism #sanism

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halfagone · 4 months

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Master List

Hyperlinks to Major Fics

lex luthor's ascent from supervillainy to fatherhood | lex luthor's guide series - Based on Father-Son Relationships between Lex Luthor and Danny Fenton.

Off With [the Demon's] Head - The hot mess that is the Al Ghul-Wayne family. Includes: Dad!Danny, Young!Ellie, my OG Danny and Ra's Paradox Fic.

what was lost, found again | lost and found series - Where Danny finds Jason digging his way out of his own grave and brings him home.

down the rabbit hole (goes the throne) - No One Knows AU, Major Canon Divergence. Amity Park has many secrets and Batman Inc. are left to discover them.

bloodlines | born from flesh and bone, clay and stardust series - Danny is the biological son of Diana (Wonder Woman) and Bruce Wayne. A prophecy is involved.

billy batson and the phantom - Adventures of Billy Batson and Danny Fenton. Oh, and Vlad is there too, I guess.

all I am to you is a tragedy, right? - In which a grieving Bruce Wayne brings a Danny Fenton from another universe back with him. This has consequences.

Insomniacs Anonymous - Three-way crossover between DC, Danny Phantom, and Miraculous Ladybug. Social media and chat fic. Now with plot!

pay your dues - An exploration of politics in the Infinite Realms, and the debts that must be paid in full.

weekend wonders - A character study into Stephanie Brown and her resolve as a hero, especially when a close friend comes into suspicion.

present, future, past - Time travel fic in which Bruce falls into the future where everything seems perfect, better than he could have hoped it would be. It doesn't last.

trust no one (trust me) - In a world where the GIW are more competent than in the show, Danny draws some unwanted attention. The people he leaves behind search for him.

bones and all - Inspired by horror films, video games, and fiction. A ghost story set in the DPxDC crossover.

Other Ongoing Series

Please note that some fics may overlap on more than one series.

Readable Arrangements - Short Works for DPxDC, mainly romance.

It's All About Presentation - A collection of gift fics.

Writing Problems? I Say Writing Solutions - A collections of works from "Who Wrote That?" games.

Martydom - Stories exploring heavy topics, such as gore, violence, etc. Must check tags for each work.

oh, the (in)humanity - Hazmat Suit AU. Now featuring multiple timelines.

Our Gentle Sin - Centered around a romance between a Danny from another universe, where the end of the world has come and gone, and Bruce Wayne who helps him relearn what it means to be human.

Blood is Thicker Than Water, But So Is Ectoplasm - In which Danny is a clone of Batman.

Co-Written Works

Born to Make History | written alongside NightShiftShenanigans (@nightshiftshenanigans) - Patrol Partner Event; No Capes AU, Ice Skating AU, featuring Enemies to Lovers Danny and Jason.

For more completed works and series, explore here:

#quick jump to tags #halfagone's masterlist #halfagone's fics #with yours truly :D #lex luthor's ascent from supervillainy to fatherhood #lex luthor's ascent from supervillainy to fatherhood fanart #lex luthor's guide memes #halfagone replies #halfagone rambles #halfagone's fics fanart

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callofdudes · 1 year

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Hello, I hope you are well. I have a request, if it is suitable for you, can you do it? 141 men and Alex. Konig. The reader has the skills of an assassin just like Dc Damian. The only exception is that she uses guns and knives instead of swords (she usually throws knives like an assassin) and she also has some abilities like Miraculous Ladybug. Like using Yoyo as a propeller when jumping from height. And even to use as a shield to avoid gunfire. and she doesn't show her face to anyone for a long time. and everyone is surprised when she shows it because she is so beautiful. I will send you the fictional female face I found on Pinterest. And I will also send the costume she wore. I hope I was able to express myself. I translated these with google

also the reader is very quiet and doesn't speak unless really needed

and her voice is just like french singer indila do you know her?

(Headcanons and separately)

I will be honest, I have never watched Miraculous Ladybug in my life. So I focused more on the "face reveal" than anything if that's alright. But I do include your fighting abilities as the reader.

I tried my best, I hope that you like it, if there are any spelling mistakes I missed, please let me know 😄

141 + Alex, Roach, and König reacting to a skilled & beautiful Reader

You joined the 141 some time after Ghost, Price had heard of your skills in combat and he knew immediately he would like to offer you a spot on his team. Your picture never showed more than your eyes and a majority of your skill streak was bludgeoning people to death. (Ghost very much is interested in the bludgeoning part)

No one had seen your face and you refused to show it, not for a long while...

Ghost 💀

He was pretty indifferent to your skill. He could admit that you were on bloody good scout, but he hadn't really any others thoughts about you. He also covered his face so he didn't question it much. He was more skeptical of you because of it if anything.

He respected your abilities, the weapons you carried and how you got around. Your all black, low look reminded him of himself and he wasn't going to try and pry at anything.

He'd always sort of admired you from afar, and when he saw your face, he was glad he could put such a spectacle to his teammate.

The two of you had been sent on a mission into the desert which meant putting on the lighter weight masks and heading ready.

It was growing incredibly hot, but you both remained vigilant wandering through the sand and reaching the base you were supposed to raid.

"Ready-?" Ghost looked down and grumbled, seeing you already swinging your way into the gunfire. He grumbles and follows after you, taking on the alerting guards. You grabbed the shield you had on your back, deflecting bullet blows from around you.

You knocked backs with Ghost, Ghost taking out the men with his guns while you took to your array of knives and grabbed the last man near you. You grabbed him by the throat and plunged the knife into his jugular, his blood spilling into the sand.

When you both looked up Ghost looked at you. Your hat had been knocked off in the scuffle and the sun was hurting your eyes. Ghost came over to check on you and huffed. "Looks like they almost got you." He wiped the dirt from your cheek and you finally realized a bullet has zipped by your face so close it has split your mask right up the side.

You went to hide your face but Ghost grabbed your arm and inspected you for any injuries. He brushed his thumb over your cheek and huffed. He was a bit surprised you were such a looker.

"Here." He tossed you his spare mask and you both continued on. Ghost didn't tell anyone about the incident when you got back. Even when they asked questions Ghost didn't say anything.

Soap 🧼

Johnny was excited. He's always been excited for Ghost to take off his mask and it was no different for you. He wanted to see the beautiful woman under the mask. Were you as beautiful as Ghost was handsome?? Those kinds of thoughts. And he often pestered you about it.

He always wanted to know if you were beautiful and sure enough he was right. Of course about 72 hours after this incident he broke his promise started pestering you to see another glimpse of his first ''angelic experience.''

"What do you look like??" He asked from over your shoulder one day in training.

"Doesn't matter."

"Oooh come on! I won't tell anyone! I promise!"

"You're a bad liar."

Johnny pouted, sulking like a sad puppy as you threw your knives into the dummy in front of you. He kicked his legs, sitting on top of an empty gun case, watching you.

You finally sighed. "You won't leave me alone, will you??"

"Nope." He smiles.

You sigh and come over to him. "Will you leave me alone after this??"

Johnny immediately perked up. "I will never ever ever ever ask you about it again! Scouts honor! I bloody swear!"

You sigh and pull your mask down over your bottom lip, giving him a 'are you satisfied?' look. Johnny's jaw dropped. His feet stopped kicking and he was smiling. "You're so preeeeetty!!"

You roll your eyes and pull the mask back up. "there, now you never see it again."

"But you're so beautiful, like Ghost, why hide??"

"You had your two cents, now leave."

"Right... Right, I'm going..."

Johnny grinned. Stunned that you could fight and you were beautiful. It was the perfect combination! He will now tell everyone he meets you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Price🥃 and Gaz⚽

Price absolutely thought you were beautiful. He'd not seen pictures of you without the mask but he knew you were beautiful, and he wasn't wrong. He was honored to see your face, and that you would trust in them as much as you did. It really was a treat. As for your skills in combat, Price always knew you could hold your own from the fights you'd been in, and he knew that you were perfect for his team, and you never ceases to disappoint.

Gaz would like to go no comment but he can't. He is absolutely enraptured by your face. He thought you'd be beautiful but not as much as you were. You were stunning compared to anything his mind could come up with. And he always enjoyed being your partner on the field. Considering how skilled and talented you are.

You had been setting up for a mission with Price, Gaz, Alex, and Farah. The mission would be dangerous and everyone needed to be together. You would be paired up with Gaz and Alex.

Of course though, you all needed to change into different outfits. It was an undercover mission so you weren't allowed to wear the full face covering as usual, settling for a medical mask instead.

You took off your mask and hat, setting them on the desk once you were all changed.

Price smiles, "It's lovely to see you y/n, you look beautiful."

Gaz's jaw dropped. His eyes dragged over your face, swallowing harshly. "Chin up soldier. Price chuckled and placed his fingers under Gaz's jaw, locking it back up.

"I'm sorry but- sorry!"

You chuckled pulled on the medical mask. Gaz kept staring at you, absolutely amazed at your beauty.

"Let's get this mission going!" Price rounded up the group and you were all placed in the truck to head out. Gaz sat next to you, continuing to stare.

"You're bloody beautiful by the way." He whispers as you reach the destination. You secure your mask and hop out, ready to head with Alex into the venue.

Alex 🦿

Alex hadn't seen you fight, nor had he seen your face. He'd only ever heard stories of you. So when you showed up and dropped a bomb of a face reveal he was instantly swooning. Let this man take you out on just one date! One date and he'll be fine.

When he saw you fighting he was stunned. Your hot and you can fight?? He might as well try to wife you up right here and now. Marry him or he will pass away into a pile of goop next to his fallen brother Gaz.

He'll probably get over it in a bit and just turn out like a regular crush, but he isn't afraid to try flirting in the moment. And overall he respects your fight and loves watching it. The way you hold your own really makes him happy.

Alex had seen your face when you had changed for the mission. And boy was he smitten. He took your arm and smiled at you. "Why do you hide your face, it's very beautiful." He touched your cheek. "I think the enemy would be stunned silent by your beauty."

"Let's just get this going."

"What? I can't compliment you?? Am I making you uncomfortable, sorry. I'll stop."

"Let's just get this over and done with."

The mission goes great even though Alex is gushy eyeing you all evening. When the fight starts, you grab your gun from your purse and shoot one of the undercover soldiers in the head.

"Beautiful and can kick ass?" Mr. Keller just fell over the edge and is drowning in the love pool.

"Are you going to help?" You ask, slitting another man's throat.

"Right! Sorry-!"

"How about we have a date after this??"

"Alex!"

"Right, right, not the time. How about sometime tomorrow??"

König 👑

König already had a crush on you. Like Ghost he was shy and reserved in his own nature enough he didn't question the mask. He had wondered what you looked like underneath, but he never asked out loud if you would take it off. It's kind of an unwritten rule in the mask wearers society that König and Ghost are unknowingly a part of.

He was honored when you showed your face to the team, and knowing you were incredibly beautiful. But when he saw your face it all crumbled.

"I trust you with this." You say as you pull down your mask and your hat. König stiffens, it was finally happening. He'd imagined it but it was finally happening.

His breath caught in his throat when he sees your soft face.

"You're... Du bist so wunderschön..."

He scratches the back of his neck. "You're so amazing..."

You smile and his heart stops. He didn't think he could fall more in love with you then he was right now. But apparently he could. And he is.

Your skill at his side, your reputation in KorTac, and now being privileged with seeing your face after all this time. He will never forget this moment.

He bent down, pulling up his own mask and pressing a gentle kiss against your cheek. His heart exploded when he reared back and ran from the room. It only made you smile more.

Roach 🪳

He always admired you. You were cool! He'd always tried to convince Simon that you were 11/10 in fighting, and Simon had never protected. But Roach thought you were great.

When he first met you he was delighted by the small amount of sign you knew, and he quickly grew close to you.

He was one of the first who welcomed you so easily into their group, apart from Johnny.

As someone who wore a mask, and Simons best friend, he never paid much attention to your own coverage. He saw your skills, and your amazing fighting abilities and didn't question much beyond that point.

But when you did take off your mask...

You slipped it down over your chin and reached for your water bottle. It was just you and him on base, and at first his brain hadn't quite processed your cheekbones and below.

You pulled away from your water bottle and looked at him. "What's wrong, bug?"

He blinked. And then he smiled. His cheeks turned a soft pink as he signed, You're so beautiful

You chuckled. "Thank you, bug."

He nodded, his heart starting to stutter away in his chest. It was less attraction and more about trust. He was so happy to see your face. To see one of his friends in all her glory. Because you were beautiful.

He signed again, I like seeing your face, you are great friend!

You pat his shoulder. "You are too."

And he couldn't help but hug you tightly.

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