#and i’m just. i wanna cry i think i might cry

[moonmunson]

hello my old heart

a/n: wally clark has invaded my brain space and i cannot seem to rid him from my mind his himbo charms have seduced me. just in my mind this is set in the late '90s, but mr. martin isn't evil. none of the other kids are really mentioned by name, but this would be a few years after charley's death. as always i'm writing with a plus sized!reader in mind but anyone can read it.

summary: struggling with becoming comfortable in death, wally has made himself your new buddy.

cw: general angst and sadness over being dead, wally is a sweetheart who just wants to help. hurt/comfort with a sweet ending and a little bit of kissing. gn!reader, theatre kid x jock

wc: 2.1k

You think you’ve been dead for a little over a week. It’s hard to tell - time moves so differently here. It feels like static on the skin, the way the TV screen feels fuzzy when you touch it after it's been turned off. You haven’t spoken much, and the other dead kids don’t expect you to for a while. They’ve all told you that everyone reacts differently to their death, that there’s no right or wrong way to cope. 

You’re worried that if you open your mouth, it’ll be difficult to stop crying. Or screaming, or both. So you sit quietly in the circle in the gymnasium, listening as Mr. Martin leads the support group meeting. You’re appreciative of his trying to get you to open up, but you’re only capable of responding in nods and shrugs. When it’s over, you go to make your way back to the auditorium. It might be weird to some, considering you died there, but it’s still the place you feel the safest.

A few steps out of the gym, you hear pounding footsteps coming up next to you. It’s Wally, because of course it is. He’s dubbed himself your ‘Unofficial death guide.’ He’s the sweetest, and you wish you could actively participate in conversation with him. 

“You goin’ back to the auditorium?” When he talks, you have to crane your head to the right and all the way up because he’s so fucking tall. You nod, and he parrots it. 

“I don’t know how you can go back to that place. I couldn’t even look at the football field for like a week after I died.” Even when you don’t respond, Wally keeps going. “I also don’t know how you stand sharing a space with Mina. She's, like, totally scary.” He makes a face then, pinched up, like he’s imagining being trapped in a room with the other, objectively more aggressive theatre ghost.

It makes you giggle. Like, audibly giggle. Wally’s eyes widen, surprised that he was able to get a noise out of you. He laughs in return, a breathless exhale. He’s clearly proud of himself. 

“I have got to get you to do that again.” You shake your head no, even though the smile hasn’t left your face. “I’m serious, I have got to hear that laugh again!” 

When you round the corner near the front office, you stop in your tracks, the smile on your face quickly fading. Your mom and dad are there, holding a box with everything that was in your locker. It’s a weird feeling. You hadn’t forgotten you were dead, obviously, but everything had felt very up in the air.

Like the moment before a show starts - everyone sitting in the audience, the curtain still down to block the view of actors taking their places. Like limbo. Seeing your parents, their tear stricken faces, that makes it feel real. Too real. The sharp breath you take in alerts Wally to the fact that something is wrong, and he follows your gaze to the two adults standing at the front desk. 

“Oh shit, are those your parents?” Wally asks, his voice taking a softer tone. He has a volume control problem, everyone knows it, and you’re appreciative that he’s quieted down for this.

You nod, a small jerk of your head. He brings a tentative hand up to your shoulder, and when you don’t move away, he places it more firmly. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I really am. Do you wanna go up and see them?” 

You don’t answer, you just walk away. Wally calls after you, but doesn’t follow. 

The auditorium truly is your safe space. You were never brave enough to actually perform anything, though your teacher had begged you to. She’d heard you singing to yourself one day, and asked why you’d never auditioned for anything. You’d just deflected and said the stage fright would make you freeze. She’d been understanding, but encouraged you to think about auditioning for the show this year. 

You were a senior, it’d been your last opportunity to be in the spotlight, but by the time auditions came around you’d chickened out. The hidden disappointment on your teacher’s face wasn’t so hidden, but she made sure you had your usual spot on the tech and run crew portion of the show.

You died a few weeks later, tripping off of the stage while setting up a set piece and breaking your neck falling into the orchestra pit. Like a sick fucking joke. 

Now, you sit in the audience, gazing at the stage. It’s still blocked off by crime tape. The show for the end of the year has been effectively cancelled on account of your dying. ‘Postponed indefinitely’ is the term the overhead announcements had used, but you all knew what that actually meant. It just wasn’t gonna happen. 

You mostly just feel numb. Obviously your death isn’t something you could ever prepare for, and just like every other ghost in the building, your life had been unfairly cut short. Just like everyone else, you’d had plans for the rest of your life. None of them solid or reliable, but you’d had some idea of what you wanted your life to look like. A well paying job that you genuinely enjoyed, maybe a husband or wife and a few kids. All of that is gone now. 

Your parents in the front office felt like a kick to the gut, salt in the wound. The look on your mom’s face, the way your dad was cradling the box of your things like if he held tight to it enough it would bring you back.. it was too much to bear.

And Wally, sweet, kind, Wally. He’s been trying really hard with you, and you can’t even work up the nerve to say something to him. To thank him for being there for you, or answer any of the many questions or jokes he throws your way. 

You don’t even realize the tears are streaming down your face until they drip onto your hands in your lap. Once you feel the first one, the rest fall in quick succession and before you know it, you’re audibly sobbing in the empty theatre. It’s almost embarrassing, the way your cries echo because of the acoustics. 

Wally comes in quietly, and sits down next to you. You’ve been too preoccupied to notice anything other than your tears, heavy and streaking down your cheeks. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He’s warm, and when you grab the front of his sweatshirt, he holds you tighter.

It takes a while for you to calm down - you’d been holding everything in for too long - you were bound to bubble over and explode at some point. When you feel yourself come back to your body, Wally is still holding you. He’s stroking your head and whispering comforts to you. You don’t deserve him, you think.

He’s still rubbing your back when you pull away to look at him, but you’re distracted by the wet spot on his sweatshirt - the light grey darkened by your tears. 

“Oh,” you whisper, your voice cracking from how long it’s been since you’ve spoken, “I’m sorry.”

Wally’s eyes widen, not prepared for you to start talking, and he jumps to console you. “Woah, hey, don’t even worry about it. This ratty old thing? I’ve been wearing it for like, almost twenty years.” He giggles a bit, continuing, “I honestly think this is the closest this thing has been to a washing machine even longer than that, so. No sweat, promise.”

You nod, thanking him. 

“Are you, like…” he trails off, not sure how to ask you if you’re okay. It’s a silly question, he knows that. “I remember the first time I saw my parents after I died. There was a vigil on the football field like a week after it happened. Everyone was there, and they were all crying and it was so weird. I didn’t feel dead yet, like I hadn’t accepted that it really happened.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you, Wally. I’m really sorry.” Your eyes meet, and he shrugs.

He smiles, a sad, nostalgic thing. He can’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, he goes to hold your hand. “I promise it will get better. It just takes some time. It’s gonna suck for a while, but we’re all here for you. I’m here for you.” His thumb rubs circles on the top or your hand, and you smile up at him. 

“Thanks, Wally. I really appreciate it.” Your interconnected hands are grounding you. It’s the first time you’ve felt a semblance of peace since you died. “Do you mind if we sit here for a little bit? It’s quiet, I don’t want to leave yet.” He nods, and the two of you just sit there.

Just like Wally said it would, it gets easier.

You start going to more of the meetings with Mr. Martin, and you actually start participating. It was weird at first - you thought people would make a big deal out of your finding your voice again, but they just smiled, proud of your growth. Wally has been your biggest cheerleader, but they’re all really supportive. Even Rhonda, though she still sports her gloomy demeanor. 

When they fix up the stage and clear the crime scene tape, the school holds your vigil there. Wally is right there with you in the audience, holding your hand while your parents speak. Your theatre teacher speaks too, and talks highly of you. Your brightness, the passion you had for theatre. When she says you had a beautiful voice, that you could’ve been somebody, she directs it at your parents. They agree, it seems. 

There are still days where it's really hard. You retreat back into your shell, refusing to leave the auditorium or speak to anyone. Wally's patience with you is endless, and when you allow him to stay with you, he spends all day cracking jokes to help you feel better.

One day, instead of letting you isolate yourself, he drags you out onto the football field to get some sun. "We don't really need vitamin D anymore, but I really think it'll help. C'mon, the sun on your skin? Wind in your hair? Can't beat that, babe." He leads you out onto the field - one hand clasped in yours and the other holding a backpack.

The pet names are a new thing, but you don't mind it. He'd slipped one day, called you sweetheart, and immediately backtracked and apologized profusely. All you could do was laugh and call him cute.

"Where did you even get that?" you giggle, following him to a spot under a tree near the edge of the field. "Did you steal that from someone?"

He drops your hand to bring it to his own chest, offended at your assumption. "Me? Steal? I can't believe you'd think so lowly of me," he plops onto the grass, patting the spot next to him, "Yeah I totally stole it, emptied it out, and then filled it with a shit ton of snacks and drinks so we could have a picnic out here." He unzips the bag, pulling out at least ten different bags of chips and candy bars.

"This is really sweet, Wally," you can feel your face heat up, though hopefully it'll just look like it's because of the heat. "It's like a date, almost." His head shoots up to look at you, pink dusting his cheeks and ears.

"Y-yeah, if you want it to be. If you think you're ready for that kind of thing." He stutters, a nervous boyish thing. He's the sweetest person ever.

“I am, I think,” you nod while you’re talking, like you’ve made up your mind, “You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Wally ducks his head down, chin meeting his chest. He’s fully blushing now - it’s the cutest thing you’ve seen in a long time. 

“C’mere,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and maneuvering your body so your back is pressed up against his chest, head resting in the space between his head and shoulder, “is this okay?” 

You turn your head to try and look at him, and he angles his towards you. His face is inches from yours, and if you had a heartbeat, it’d be beating wildly right now. You can almost feel it, the pitter patter of it in your chest. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the space under his eye. You nod, and move in to kiss him. 

His lips are so soft, and the way they move in conjunction with yours provides much needed relief. You stay like that for a few minutes, and when you’re done, he rests his forehead against yours. Eyes closed, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping up the hill you’re sitting on. You never had anything like this when you were still alive, the easy conversation and back and forth banter. He’s your new safe space. You don’t have to worry about anything when you’re with him. 

“This is perfect.”

a/n: wally clark is actually so special to me and when i think about him for too long i get very emotional. my shayla. i wrote this in the span of like a day and a half so if there are any mistakes i'm sorry LMAO

if you liked this story, please like and reblog!! it'd mean the world to me, even if you just drop a silly comment. i want to write more for wally because he desperately needs more stories on here.

[shigarakisstalker]

hiii !! I love your writing so much and I’ve been rewatching mha so I stumbled across your page and i couldn’t be happier!

and so I was wondering if I could ask for dabi x fem!reader who kinda has family issues too? like they’re both the eldest and kinda deal with lack of recognition? so that’s kinda something they bond over as they get closer?

thank youuu 💞💘

hi darling! i love this ask sm and i’ve actually been thinking of something similar loll thank you so much! this is a little ooc but eh

hollow home (dabi x fem!reader)

the rooftop was quiet. nothing could be heard for miles except for the echo of your muffled hiccups.

it was one of those nights. one of those nights where think back on all the bullshit and it haunts your mind once again. never being enough, working so hard to fit the role given to you, only to be met with nothing but disappointment. nothing was ever enough. being a villain didn’t make it any better.

but it was an escape.

while your mind was at war, you didn’t register the building door opening to the roof top. a black haired male took notice of your form, especially shocked to see that you were crying.

you weren’t the type to cry so easily. so when he saw you nearly hyperventilating he knew it was bad.

so in his own, fucked up way, he tried to help.

“aye, got a smoke?” his hoarse voice broke through the silence.

you quickly whipped your head around, slightly startled by the voice. how long had he been there?

“calm it woman i just got here. so you got any smokes or what?” he said, almost as if reading your mind. “i dont wanna be out here all night.”

you quickly shoved your hand into your pocket, pulling out a little box of cheap cigarettes and throwing it at him. “have the whole thing i don’t want them.” you huffed, before discreetly trying to wipe away any excess tears that had fallen.

“what’s got you so worked up doll?”

you let out a humorless laugh, “oh we’d be here for hours.”

“i’ve got some time, just not all night. i got a mission tomorrow.” he huffed as he sat down beside you.

you took notice of how close he was immediately. you didn’t say anything about it though, and just continued thinking. “just the past coming back to haunt me. especially on nights like these.”

“we all get those nights, doll. and what might be haunting you?”

you sighed, before tacking a drag of the cigarette he lit for you. “i was the oldest child of my family, and i guess i just over reflect sometimes and feel like i’m back in the pit i once was in. trying so hard to meet expectations and coming short handed. nothing is ever enough. and when we fail missions, as we did tonight, i feel back in that head space. i feel like i cant do anything right.” you sniffled again, water works beginning to form again.

damn it, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. especially with how complicated your feelings were for him.

“i was the oldest too. and i could never meet my fathers expectations. he fucked me up. and i’ve come to resent him instead of pity the situation. you need to fight back against that little thought in your head driving you insane. it’ll kill your spirit if you keep entertaining it. i talk from experience.” he slung an arm around your head and pulled you closer.

“you’re gonna be alright, doll. the expectations set on you are not a reflection of who you are. your worth is not determined if you meet them or not. you determine your own worth. and who gives a damn what other people think of you?” he finished, lightly petting your head.

he then leaned down to your ear, “and if you want my opinion, hand job is a man child who cries like a bitch when he doesn’t get what he wants. that’s not a reflection of you.” he chuckled when he heard you giggled at the nickname.

you sat up and brushed the excess tears off your face, sitting up straight and giving him a small smile. “thank you, dabi. really.”

“of course doll, if you need me i’m here. don’t tell anyone about this though. can’t have them thinking i’m all soft and shit.”

you giggled and punched his shoulder, “alright bacon bits.”

i hope this is okay! i couldnt quite figure out words today 😭 if you want a rewrite i can do that too

[sundayinthcpark]

.

[greyshuhh]

“I know it’s for the better”

[mylove-thresher]

I am going to shoot myself in the head

[kowwpow]

I’m gonna be out most of the day bc I’ll be helping my dad with a big shopping trip plus being out after, so I’m going to be super duper exhausted

I don’t do well in crowded or loud places in the slightest, I get woozy and tired and I feel miserable or like I’m gonna pass out, and if the shopping isn’t gonna make me wanna cry, the outing after will bc it’s gonna be packed with lots of noise and people

I don’t say this because I want to complain, I just wanna give a super quick warning that I might not be active tomorrow as well as today bc when I get exhausted, my mental health tends to decline as well ;-;

so- a bit of a warning that I may poof a bit (sorry! 😣)

[possiblyfunny]

Hey, look guys, more art-

HOPE.

I’ve been wanting to draw him like this ever since I first saw him smile, but my will to draw eluded me until now! This started off as a doodle, so, please excuse the messiness. I drew this to de-stress.

“Fire” Red belongs to @creatively-cosmic. They have a blog called @themissingnumbers, which is really good! Go check it out if you want to see more.

[Sketch + Colored Version below the cut!]

[danothan]

i think above all else, i tie my aro identity to my autism. like sometimes i wonder if i’m aro just bc i’m autistic, and ykw that’s totally fine for me lol

and while we’re at it, that might be the case for my gender too. being non-binary is quite literally rejecting the binary, and being aro basically subscribes you to relationship anarchy, which also inherently rejects societal norms

that’s so peculiar to me now looking back on myself as a child. i knew romance and gender weren’t fake, but they definitely didn’t feel real lol. i wonder if other queer ppl felt this early on too, and if being neurodivergent makes a difference

i remember being incredibly frustrated every time gender was brought up with validity. “boys and girls” was like saying “cats and dogs.” it’s a phrase to communicate an idea, but we all know they’re not the only ones. romance didn’t rly frustrate me so much as it felt like participating in a game. it was fun choosing ppl to have a crush on, until i was on the receiving end. like, we’re still playing, right?

ppl always say autism means you don’t get social cues, but i don’t think i was misunderstanding anything. i think i was just questioning their value

[flowercrowngods]

always so funky to be reminded that your parents might love you but they don’t actually like you very much

[lavenderyoonji]

okay just coming back here to sadpost because i’m needing to rant about feelings

[medusa-was-innocent]

Wow this sucks

[neixins]

ngl i don’t think any of my irl friends care about me all that much…………

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

I miss c!purpled

[callixton]

i think one of my biggest Problems is that i go through every day of my life on the edge of terrified and grief-stricken at the idea of someone i love dying. esp without me being there. and the thing that will push me over that edge is like. being alone for 10 seconds with my thoughts

[hotshotsxyz]

.

[kowwpow]

How it feels to want to say smth but either no one knows what you’re talking abt or you don’t wanna bother the one person who does bc you bother them w/ literally everything