Feel like we haven’t talked about the existential horror of waking up in hell after death enough.
You wake up in a new body, with claws and fangs and even things like extra arms and only one eye, you’ve become a monster.
And while you’re coping with the fact that your body has been contorted and disfigured into something hellish and completely unrecognizable to you, you realize you don’t recognize fucking anything.
And you’re surrounded by demons. By imps and hellhounds and monstrous creature that fight and die and get drunk off their asses in broad daylight.
You’ve become a monster and you’re surrounded by monsters and you have absolutely no fucking clue where you are or what to do next and once you put the pieces together (you died, this must be hell) you realize that nobody, absolutely nobody, is going to help you.
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I’m in such an angsty mood and I’m just thinking about Dynamight falling in love with you— the girlfriend of someone he couldn’t save.
Bakugou used to receiving thanks and praise for saving people— hell, half the time people don’t even say thank you because being a Pro-Hero you’re expected to save people. It’s your job, the thing you sign up for when you decide its the career path you wish to follow. You don’t sign up to be a Pro-Hero for the gratitude, no matter how appreciated it would be. Pro-Heroes are seen as super beings, other worldly. Almost as though they could never truly die— some may say immortal.
But you could argue it was replaceable.
Once a Pro-Hero dies or gets hurt on the field there are many others to replace them, quickly filling the gaps in the hero rankings until it’s like the former never existed. The public naive to the true dangers that heroes face on a daily basis so they can return home to their loved ones and sleep soundly at night, the sacrifices they make as they give up their lives to protect others. But even superhuman people aren’t perfect, and neither are Pro-Heroes. Becoming a better hero means realising that it’s impossible to save everyone.
So what about the time Dynamight gets there too late? All the years of training can never truly prepare a Pro-Hero for when things go wrong— when you don’t manage to save someone…
The media work dangerously fast and are ripping him to shreds in minutes, definitely faster than it takes backup to arrive at the scene, and for the ambulance to confirm the fatalities. But however macabre, it’s all part of being a hero. He can take the criticism, ignore the hate online and try to convince himself that it was just a bad day- that there was nothing that he could do to change things. But when he meets you it’s different— why couldn’t he save the man you love?
It’s a few days later when Bakugou meets you for the first time, the girlfriend of the man he was too late to save. He’s back out in the field, a quiet evening patrol with Red Riot to show that the city is well protected. Walking side by side down the sidewalk when he hears the vulgar language spilling from your mouth before he sees you. A flash of movement before you’re in front of him— banging your fists on his chest while fresh tears spill down your cheeks, finally face to face with the man who isn’t your hero. Isn’t even good enough to be called a hero.
And what can Dynamight do except take it? Bakugou wants to say something but he can’t, what can he say? So all he can do is stand there and take it as you pound your smaller fists against his muscular chest, feeling every hit as Kirishima moves forward to pull you away from him, wrapping his arms around your middle as you thrash in his arms, crying louder now as your eyes meet his through wet tears.
“I’ll never forgive you, Dynamight.”
Those words hurt more than any scathing review he could ever receive as he sits and reads each tweet on your Twitter feed, criticising him for not being able to save the love of your life.
And maybe you were right? He wasn’t a hero.
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i see the “army vet bucky” modern au alternatives for the winter soldier trauma and raise you “life-altering motorcycle accident survivor turned (recovered) painkiller addict bucky”. i think this might be too niche but there’s so many parallels psychologically wrt: the lack of choice inherent in the neurobiology of drug addiction particularly in ppl who started off just taking what was prescribed to them for their pain in like the 90s/early 2000s (when pharma execs Lied about the neurological impacts). the way you kind of lose all that time despite still living it and having the memories, how sometimes the memories feel like they belong to a different person once you get sober. how it separates you from everyone else in your life who Didn’t suffer like that. it’s Compelling. imo.
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