Prompt 80
So Dan knows that there’s heroes that have gone back in time, he’s aware of that fact. But he doesn’t exactly care and has more important things to worry about. Like the fact that Danny and Ellie are now three years old, right when he’s moving, though maybe that’s a blessing in disguise seeing as the GIW are searching for them in Amity.
But still, he has more important things to worry about than the speedster vibrating five feet away from him. Like making sure Ellie and Danny are alright to visit (ugh) Peepaw Clocky while he goes to work.
Ms. Mercy is not messing around, which he appreciates in a workspace, but he has to wait for another opening in the daycare before he can bring his, as far as everyone else is aware, siblings who he got emergency custody of.
What with how Jazz is interning in Gotham, they figured Metropolis would be safer. Now if the speedster would stop following him, he would really appreciate it. He’s literally just an intern under Ms Mercy as an assistant, not even one of the scientists, and it’s not like his timeline of the end of the world exists anymore!
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guess who
I've seen a few artists I like making human art and I got inspired to make my own.
First version was based just on their character designs and personality, and what inspired their look in the first place. Second version happened when I took into account their backstory and what I imagine human versions of their parents' would look like. I don't consider either of these "canon", because to me they're just trolls but it was a fun experiment to try.
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming of me drawing little colorful dolls
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There's a lot of validity in the idea that older Bakugo is a traumatized pro-hero with major PTSD... but you know what's kinda fucked up to think about? The fact that Bakugo is also a 22-year-old pro-hero with major PTSD even before that, too.
It's almost easy to imagine that things are actually better when he's older (the therapy finally a routine, the trauma long set and on the path to being healed)... and that it's his whole 20s that are spent as a pool of disaster trying to recover from the war(s).
He looks back and barely even remembers being twenty, much less twenty-five or twenty-seven. Barely remembers how little he slept, not at the hands of trying to balance hero work and getting a degree at the same time, but just out of the pure insomnia that came from trying to move on and every nightmare attached.
Hardly ever showering, never shaving (not that he ever grew much of a beard, but the facial hair was definitely there. There's pictures of him on the news with an awkward, grown out haircut and patches on facial hair that make him look positively... immature), barely even eating more than a few protein bars or an energy jelly drink-a day. It's a blur, and his friends are hardly there to pick him up out of it because they're all going through it, too. Somewhat.
It's definitely weird if you meet him during this period. He's not all there, at least, not all of the time. He doesn't really register your interactions, the friendship you extend to him (a younger, or ever older, version of him would've shown you that deep seeded ferocity in response, tried to bite the hand that fed him, even if it were love... but 20s Bakugo... doesn't seem to notice). Even though only one of his eyes is clouded over, the good one never seems to brighten up.
There's definitely moments when the old him shines through: when he's with Deku, when he's in the midst of battle, when he finds out that Todoroki still does a shitty job at chopping scallions. But it's a long time before he's even close to the same, able to step out from underneath the fog of simply surviving and into the sunshine of recovering.
But I think sticking through it with him is worth it.
(It's a weird moment, a happy moment, the first time you realize that Bakugo has changed. That the pouring rain outside hasn't bothered him since he showed up at your apartment. He forgot his umbrella, he's been quite careless ever since the war—wet and shaggy hair frizzed up, cheeks red from cold—but he doesn't seem to mind, with his bare feet up on your coffee table, his eyes gazing out the window. You hand his tea, and instead of gulping it down in one go, letting it burn in his throat, he winces at the heat.
"Tastes like shit," he says, and you laugh because it always does. Just this time, he noticed.)
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