#i also wrote this one a while ago

[fungiwalker]

change your name, change your mind, and leave this fucked up place behind

In which Clementine is an infallible witness, and David Garcia does as he pleases.

after

It could be hours Clementine spends sobbing into her arms. It could’ve been decades, centuries, millennia. It could’ve been an eternity, with the world flipped once again on its axis and all the walkers have vanished. Nothing else lives but her and the endless ache and fear and there is no sound save for her wails.

Eventually, after so long, her body gives in to either thirst or exhaustion or something inbetween, and she falls silent. 

The sun warms her tear-stained cheeks, and she looks up. Sunlight peers through the holes in the boarded windows. She had never been good at fastening things like that, her hands clumsy and her arms weak from walkers. Kenny would have been good at it. He’d promised her, I’ll get those boards fixed up soon. I promise. But he wouldn’t. He’d lied to her, and it was the most devastating thing in the world.

She can taste blood. Her throat aches in the most horrid of ways, and her head is beginning to throb with a headache that is certainly going to linger.

Was this what it was like to die of a broken heart? She had heard about it. She’d even seen it. Katjaa had gone out like that. She remembered the night it happened, with the sun hanging low in the sky and lighting up the world in orange. She remembers Lee's soft voice explaining, "Duck is dying, honey," and she understood immediately. She had watched Katjaa carry her dying son into the woods. It was weird, watching someone who ran everywhere he went have to be carried to his deathbed. But death was kind to no one.

She had heard the gunshot ring from the trees, and watched crows jerk out of the branches in a panic-- there's a predator, sound the alarm! The silence that had followed had been deafening. Lee had shaken his head, another day, another death, and Kenny's shoulders had sagged and his eyes had gone dark. Katjaa couldn't handle it, Lee had told her after the fact. She just... gave up. But Clementine didn't think she could give up. AJ was still alive (she really hoped so) and there was still so much to be done that she didn't think it'd be okay to just give up. Not after the look on Kenny's face, kill them all for me; she couldn't rest peacefully after that. Not after what had happened. After all, she had fought for.

Her knife rests heavy in her pocket. The gun glitters in the dying sunlight.

If AJ was gone for good, she didn't think she could force herself to go on any longer. She's sure that, if he hadn't already, Kenny would have joined her.

before

All it took was a single gunshot, and the rabbit was down.

Clementine watched in guiltless fascination as it twitched and died, legs jerking out underneath it in a brown blur—a crimson stain spread over the snow, blood washing out of its insides in waves. For a moment, for a quiet, tender moment, she is tempted to dip her fingers in the entry wound and feel the lifeblood slip from its veins. She has never been one to fear death, but to believe in it is something else entirely. Could this be her, one day or the next, bleeding out into the snow?

The thought should have disturbed her. It didn't.

She knelt on the ground, scraped knee pressed into the frost. Warily, as though the rabbit would come alive and snap at her, she ran her hand over its flank, feeling where it was beginning to grow cold. Something about this moment, where man and beast alike passed on, was intimate. Sinful, even. She felt perverted for touching it, even though she had caused this.

"Nice catch," a gruff voice called from behind, followed by the heavy shuffling of footsteps through the grass. "You're improving."

She glanced over her shoulder, a smile worming its way onto her face. She wasn't a bad shot by any means, but something about hunting bothered her more than she liked to admit. At first, she had been hopeless, leaving bulletholes wedged into the trees every time she took aim and fired. Now, gone were the days where she'd hang her head in embarrassment, unable to live it down. She'd be the winner of their game, eventually. "Thanks," she replied. "Think I'll ever get as good as you?"

Kenny's brow twitched upwards as he squinted, peering at the infant in his arms. "What do you think, AJ? You think she'll get as good as me?" Of course, AJ didn't reply, but he blinked his soft brown eyes and dribbled spit all over himself. 

On days like these, this could be Georgia, and she could be in the first grade again.

after

Javier García isn't a bad man, that she knows almost instantly.

Clementine kept silent on the drive back to Prescott, gripping the steering wheel as tight as she could. She had fought him for the right to drive, and eventually, she'd won. Okay, you win, he snapped, voice harsh with annoyance. She had been satisfied after that and decided that silence was a valid option.

She isn't too sure about Javi, not really, but she knows a bad man when she sees one, and he doesn't fit the part. He was awkward, in the Reggie kind of way where he didn't really know how to act around children (was she a kid anymore?). He had cracked a joke once or twice, but she'd furrowed her brow and kept stoic. He wasn't particularly funny, but he was charming enough. She would have liked him, but the name García leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Coincidence, she thought rationally. But is it?

"So," he said after a long silence. "Clementine." 

He says her name like it's a line of poetry. Slow and silvery. Clementine. She isn't sure if she likes that or if it makes her nervous.

She considers keeping silent, but his voice coaxes a response out of her, "What?"

He looks at her like she's something hopelessly annoying, but she gets that look often enough that she doesn't mind. "This... loner, thing you have going on. That's no way to live." He also talks like he knows her. Like somehow, somehow, he knew everything about her.

"No one lives anymore," she replied, though that's not her words. Kenny had told her the exact ones before, and she had stuck to that idea. "We're all just waiting around to die."

"Jesus, how old are you?"

"Thirteen." At least, she's pretty sure.

He laughs, though it's more of a huff through his nose than anything. "You're unbelievable." No, he's not a bad man, but an annoying one. He reminded her of Kenny, but only his best aspects on his best days. Not too funny. Not entirely charming, but something about him was endearing. Not too polite, not too mean. 

In another life, this was her and Kenny and AJ, and she was learning to drive.

after

They aren't two hours into their return to Prescott when Clementine kills a man.

Her entire arm stings with the echoes of the gunshot. She can feel nausea chittering in the back of her throat. Her legs tremble with the effort of keeping her standing. I killed him. I killed him. She can taste blood in her mouth. Isn't too sure if it's his or her own. "Fuck," is all she says.

Fuck is right. Her jacket was stained with crimson. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Javi stands shocked, rocked, and confused like a rabbit shot in the dome. His eyes are comically wide, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. He looks at her, back at the man, then at her again, like she has any more answers than he does.

Lies come to her naturally. 

“Tell them,” she panted, “tell them he was going for his gun. Tell them he would have killed you if I didn’t…”

But she isn’t feeling too certain this will work. These people have known her for three weeks and all of those three weeks she’s been nothing but trouble. She doesn’t like most of them and none of them like her. Her blood runs cold at the idea; they’re going to fucking kill me for this. 

Tripp is furious.

Javi is a good liar.

No, no, not a bad man.

inbetween

Clementine had never begged before.

She can’t remember there ever being a need for it. Not even when it looked like death was imminent. She kept quiet and set her jaw and kept her pleads to herself.

But right now, right then, she lost it.

”Please, please don’t do this, you can’t do this—“

She was babbling. Desperate helpless pleading and sobbing and crying. You can’t do this they can’t please god you can’t. 

Kenny is on the ground. He was looking at her with his sad eyes. Kill them all for me.

The gunshot echoed throughout the forest. 

AJ cries and cries and cries.

Her life is over in a matter of minutes. 

before

The first time Kenny had yelled at her was when Sarita had died.

Clementine wasn’t used to being yelled at. Sure, she got her fair share of grief from the group, but no one ever shouted. Even Rebecca didn’t raise her voice at her. She wasn’t sure if she should be appreciative, or be annoyed they didn’t take their anger seriously because she was just a kid. No one was a kid anymore. But Kenny was the softest. He only raised his voice at other people, but he talked to her like he did love her. It did funny things to her insides like when Lee would call her sweetpea and her parents would call her honey. Things like that.

But all good things never really lasted long, and that feeling shattered.

Her axe is still trembling in her hand as she and Sarita look at each other. Sarita is like a deer in headlights, clutching her wrist (no hand), eyes wide, staring at her like You killed me, my god, you killed me. She fell to the ground with a quiet thump, like she had passed out and was going to be okay. She was just tired.

Kenny’s voice comes next. “What the fuck did you do?”

Clementine’s whole body flinches at the sound of his voice. He’s angry, he’s really angry, and she messed up badly. She doesn’t understand many things but she understands that she just made a horrible mistake. “I thought— I thought I could…”

He looks at her like she’s a monster. “You… you stupid fuckin’ kid!” He cradles Sarita in his arms. Holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. He runs away.

The herd walks on.

Clementine stands very still.

after

After all this time, Clementine still isn’t used to being yelled at.

She does a full-body flinch as the gun in Conrad’s hand swings in her direction, aimed right at her forehead. There’s nothing but hate in his sharp eyes, and strangely enough, she’s reminded of that day at Howe’s. You stupid fucking kid.

”What the fuck?” Gabe rose to her defense. Of course he does. She liked Gabriel García well enough. He's sweet and stupid, and just enough like her in the way he can survive. But he's short-tempered and angry, and she's sure this will escalate with his input. She isn't sure if she should be flattered or tell him to shut up. 

She isn't too sure about what Javi will do. For now, he watches in silence, a frown set on his face like he isn't quite sure whose side to take. His eyes narrowed slightly, staring at Conrad curiously yet cautiously. "Just take it easy.”

Take it easy. Nobody could ever really take it easy. She was New Frontier and maybe it was all her fault these things had happened, in some awful inconceivable way. She can remember Francine and all those people at Prescott that were victims of the New Frontier, and she wondered, is it all because of me?

Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t.

Conrad doesn’t budge. He talked about trading her off to the New Frontier, for safety for weapons for anything, and all she can think is she needed to get away now.

after

Conrad is dead.

She doesn’t understand why. 

She asked, and Javier García had no answer for her.

before

Clementine loved AJ.

God, she loved him with everything she had. But it was so fucking easy to hate him.

She leaned against the wall, listening to him fuss over something or other. Sound attracts walkers, she thought, sound attracts walkers. You need to shut him up. But she can’t bring herself to get up and comfort him. They all needed a little fucking comfort. Where was her comfort?

She regretted the thought as soon as it came to her. It was selfish and childish and Kenny would probably slap her for thinking of something so outlandishly stupid. But she would take it with pride and stick it out until she was black and green from the amount of times he’d hit her. She just didn’t care.

If it weren’t for AJ, she wouldn’t be here. She wouldn’t be stuck in the middle of the woods, alone, waiting for the old man to come back. She wouldn’t be stuck with Kenny, someone who didn’t even like her all that much and yet still tried to take care of her, though it was mostly, entirely, AJ he worried about. Maybe if AJ had never existed she would still be with the cabin group, still be with Luke and Rebecca and Jane and all those other folks. None of them had ever treated her great but she would give anything to have someone who would tell her it would all be okay.

If it weren’t for AJ, she wouldn’t be starving. He constantly drove the animals away with all his whining.

But she loved him. She’d die for him. She’d do anything for him. But there was always that trace of hatred in her mind that would never go away, no matter how hard she tried.

God, she was so sorry.

after

Reunions between sworn enemies were supposed to be grand.

Clementine had pictured this countless times, twisting her gun in hand. She imagined David’s look of surprise, of hatred, because how dare she still be alive after he drove her away. And maybe she’d kill him. Maybe she wouldn’t. Murder was murder and violence was violence, but both of those things sickened her. She wasn’t sure if she could kill David even if she tried her hardest.

But right now, David looked like he could care fucking less about her. She had her gun aimed at him and he didn’t care. 

“Look at me, motherfucker,” she snapped, but her voice was wavering and her head was pounding and all she was doing was begging at this point. “Look at me.”

David glared at her, like she was the wrong one. Like she was the murderer who had taken everything from him. “Put your gun down, Clementine,” he said slowly, holding his hands up in surrender. But he’s not surrendering. Not a chance. His gaze darted to his family, who were watching from afar in dumbstruck silence.

Jesus watched, too. She doesn’t know the man well, practically not at all, but he’d asked her once, why do you hate David so much and she found herself telling him everything. His eyes are soft and sad. Don’t you fucking look at me like that don’t you dare please just stop fucking looking at me.

”You—“ Clementine’s voice broke, and then started up again. She felt on the verge of passing out. “I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to kill you for what you did.” She’s going to cry. Right in front of all of them. Right in front of the growing crowd of onlookers. She doesn’t care that his entire family save for one is watching. She doesn’t care. She’s going to kill him she has to please she can do it.

“Clem, you don’t have to do this.” Javi took a step towards her. 

“Don’t you fucking say that!” She’s shouting like a wild animal, probably looked like one, too. Her head was pounding, her heart was racing. Her hands were shaking so badly they might fall off. “You don’t know what he did. You have no fucking idea what he did to me.”

AJ is dead. Kenny’s dead. Everyone is fucking dead. Everyone she’s ever loved and who has ever loved her is dead and gone. She could be dead right now, a disembodied spirit hanging in the void, hanging in the limbo of the inbetween. No matter how hard she should try to escape, to hold to life she will always be trapped in the void, in death, carrying the burden of it with her forever and ever.

There is a long suspended moment of silence.

David is furious. He’s one of those men that felt they could take from anyone without consequence. That their actions were the only ones that truly had any meaning. More tears sting in her eyes, because all that reminded her of was Kenny. “Listen, Clementine,” he demanded, but his voice is soft. There’s an almost guilty look in his eyes.

Guilty.

Clementine can’t even hold on to the fragments of his apology. She nearly staggered, the gun nearly dropping out of her hands and onto the floor. She can barely breathe.

He tells her that AJ is alive. That he sent him off to somewhere. A ranch. But the worst thing David García told her was;

”I’m sorry, Clementine.”

You’re not sorry. You just want to live, you just want to survive. No one is ever sorry for what they do to me.

That was finally when she broke, staggering horrible gasping sobs leeching their way out of her. She can’t even aim properly anymore. Maybe it’s a good thing when Javi slowly took the gun out of her hand, watching her with those pitying eyes. No one’s ever sorry.

after

David is dead.

They tell her the day after the fact. Clementine hasn’t seen him since that day he tried to kill his own brother, since that day she’d put her gun to his head for the second time and had been too afraid to pull the trigger.

Gabe sat next to her in the bed of a truck, holding her hand in his. “How are you?” He asked her finally.

And again, Clementine felt those selfish thoughts creeping up inside of her. She wanted to start wailing, start blubbering like AJ did when he was upset. But she doesn’t. She stared up at the moon and the stars, which came as they always did, every single night. “I think I’m okay,” she said, her voice so raspy she doesn’t even really recognize it as her own. She should be asking if he’s okay. His father is dead. But she doesn’t. Because as casually as she decided she would kill David, once upon a time, she has decided she is going to leave and never come back. 

Gabe doesn’t seem to mind. He holds her hand. He doesn’t speak to her. He is eerily quiet. 

David is dead, and somehow, inconceivably so, everything is worse now.

after

After everything, Clementine is the one to leave.

People had left her, one after the other. Whether they made that choice willingly or not, they left her either way. But today, it’s her turn to make that choice. She found she regretted it far more than she should have.

Javier sat with her on the last day. He doesn’t seem to mind that she doesn’t want to talk to him. That she doesn’t want to talk to anyone. “How are you holding up?” He asked. He always managed to find the perfect way to talk to her; not like the kid everyone thought she was, and not like a total stranger. “I heard you didn’t sleep too good last night.”

“I slept fine,” is all she said in reply. 

She didn’t, not really. Some part of her wanted to reconsider leaving. To reconsider everything. But she thought of AJ, scared and alone and not dead like she’d always thought. 

He looked at her, disbelieving. “You don’t have to leave, you know. There’s a place for you in Richmond.”

She shrugged, trying to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. ”It’s a place I don’t want.”

He pursed his lips, looking away. He was one of the few people who could look at her the longest without tearing their gaze away. He can’t look her in the eye anymore. “Then… I hope.. I hope you find AJ. And then, you can come back.”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

It is left unspoken between them that she will never come back, and that she hopes she never sees Richmond again as long as she lives. 

[holleringhollowfolk]

Ghouls HC

Okay, hear me out. I know, I know this theory is contradictory with a lot of fandom lore so just take it as a fun thought.

What if ghouls aren’t actually demons. What if a summoning gathers souls from animals or humans that recently died.

When an earthly creature dies right after a summoning starts the soul is collected to form a new ghoul. Every element needs a certain type of creature thus water ghouls need fish souls, air ghouls need bird souls, earth ghouls need any type mammal that lives on land, quints have human souls and fire ghouls need reptile souls (being the closest thing to a dragon). A soul needs to be strong to form a new ghouls so when no strong souls are available multiple weaker souls are merged together, that’s how multis are formed.

I like to think that the look of the ghouls is solely based on how humans thought they should look like. Given that the summoning is a magic invented by humans, they therefore (subconsciously) decided to give the ghouls a human/demon look.

[faeriekit]

One underrepresented genre in Star Wars fics seem to be individual clone-centric narratives, especially in time travel fics, which are my favorites. Not just clone culture- and I LOVE speculative takes on clone culture- but picking your favorite guy in particular, separating him out from the whole of the brotherhood of the clone army and going "okay, what will he do now?"

[oceanwithouthermoon]

the way some people straight up have no respect for asou's writing is actually kind of insane to me 😭 like youre a fan of HIS manga, but you outwardly express your disregard for the intentions he had when writing....... disregarding canon can be super duper funsies and cool sometimes, but to straight up say "i dont care what he intended and think my headcanons are more canon than what he wrote because i think he wrote it badly/he sucks at writing this dynamic/i dont like the ship (or whatever) he was trying to imply" is literally just insanely disrespectful IN MY OPINION 😖

i think maybe im just annoyed at how badly people misuse the words "canon", "coded", and "implied" (which im also guilty of occasionally- especially when i first came here) cuz like... "i choose not to acknowledge this thing that is canon or technically canon or implied" is fine (usually). "i know what the author intended but i dont like it or care, so im going to call my headcanon/ship canon and anyone who disagrees is disregarding canon and is stupid because i said so" is NOT fine... ☠️☠️☠️

[yardsards]

a thing i enjoy: putting characters that aren't even aro (like not even in a headcanon way) in a qpr. because some allo people irl can be happy in qprs too. bc qprs aren't just an offbrand replacement for romance, created just for ppl who can't have "the real thing" to settle for

[miutonium]

Its 4 am, I should be sleeping but why is it that I just have the urge to draw and ship her with a pathetic nerd gf??

[alpharossi]

gotye, somebody that i used to know // olivia rodrigo, enough for you // taylor swift, cruel summer // lana del rey, ultraviolence // unknown source // lana del rey, hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have // richard silken, crush

[mci-writing]

Warmth (Midoriya Izuku x Reader)

Warnings: Obsessiveness (near the end), implied major character death, reanimated corpse (it’s Deku), necromancy, Deku is the equivalent of Frankenstein’s monster kinda, a little ooc, mentions of pain, descriptions of skin burning (not exactly but yeah idk how to explain it)

Kofi

Viridian irises glance over the form laid before them, a longing sigh passing through chapped lips and landing on deaf ears. Fingers, cold to the touch and tinted blue from lack of flowing blood and oxygen, slide across the small expanse of exposed (s/t) skin, the thumb stopping just under a closed left eye and softly, lovingly, tenderly rubbing the area. It leaves the warmest goosebumps, so warm it should ache, dulling once the contact is distanced.

Whispers of ‘patience’ sound through the air, chilling down to the bone and causing him to pull away out of instinct. The reactions of those around him tell him that they aren’t really there, but he can’t help his response after being told such for so long. For so achingly long.

“Deku-kun,” He feels himself straighten at the voice beside him, a hand setting itself at the small of his back. The thumb rubs small, circles in an attempt to soothe his worrying, “If you keep tugging at your lip like that, you’ll rip it off.”

He becomes self-aware of his habit after his companion points it out, cheeks warming as he quickly lets it go. He wets his lips with his tongue after, teeth grazing over the bottom one as they pop out. He’s unable to stop the awkward chuckle that follows or the way his eyes flit from those around him to the body on the table.

“I’m sure (L/n)-San wouldn’t mind reattaching it once they wake, Uraraka-San,” Todoroki stands near the door, his eyes never straining from beyond the frame as he speaks to them. It’s hard to miss his tense demeanor from where they’re placed, one of his fangs pointing past his lips.

Izuku feels himself sweat at that, a wobbly smile forming on his face as he brings his full attention back to the other members of their group. The best he can manage out is a small “T-Thanks, Todoroki-San” as his hand connects with (Y/n)’s and laces his fingers through theirs.

Silence fills the room again after that. Midoriya can hear his heart racing and feel (Y/n)’s faint pulse. They pump in tandem together, like always. Yet, it does nothing to ease his fears. He knows that spell they cast was powerful, but they’ve been out for a few days now. The only reassurances he’s received of them still being alive was the small noises they’d make as they rested, the way their hand tightly holds his each time he holds it, and the addictive burn he receives with each touch to their skin.

The book of necromancy did say that some spells would be harder to cast for users with less experience, but Midoriya didn’t realize that translated to needing to rest for so long to regain the little strength of power (Y/n) knew how to use. He would’ve tried harder to suggest something else for their escape.

“Oi, Deku!” The rough voice of his childhood friend wakes him from his thoughts, his thumb and forefinger making themselves known on his lips as they tightly squeeze from the small jump he makes. He’s being side-eyed by shades of crimson, but not many would catch the soft worry behind them, “Me n Shitty Hair’s got the ship waiting at the dock. Cargo truck’s outside.”

Emerald eyes meet the fiery shades, an understanding spoken between them that only their little bubble could process. Without a beat, Bakugou comes forward and lifts the end of the slab they're laying across and Todoroki is quick to grab the other end. They load it into the cargo truck's trunk, careful to ensure they're strapped down in the back before Todoroki hops out. Midoriya watches on, eyes longing for the warmth he’s just lost.

~~~~~

The car only holds four people, debatably three if you wanted to argue whether or not Midoriya could still be counted as human in his current form. He was undead, that much he could confirm from the way his body had been stitched together and the ice cold feeling of his skin when he wasn’t within a certain proximity of (Y/n). He was something like Frankenstein, but the context seemed less science fiction and more fantasy. He had no clue why he had been brought back to life, just that he had been. (Y/n) and Kacchan always avoided the question when he’d ask how he’d died.

That’s another thing, it’s always the three of them. Even now, only Kacchan and (Y/n) were going to board the boat with him. Kirishima was only here to take them there and back.

His gaze pans away from the passing scenery outside to the body pressed against his. His cheeks warm as bright a red as they possibly can at the proximity, yet he can’t force himself to move away from the burning sensation of their skin touching. It hurts in the nicest way possible, making him feel way more alive than he thought possible. It’s why he thought he had just woken from a long sleep instead of immediately thinking he’d come back to life, the warmth too comforting for him to question anything at the time. Both of his companions joked about it being out of character for him.

He takes in the low rise of their chest and the serene look of their face. It’s one of the very few times he hasn’t seen them worried out of their mind since being brought back to life. He’s tried not to keep count of their smiles, one of his favorite aspects about them. If with their lips held in a neutral shape, he’s fighting the urge to kiss them until they swell.

He feels himself warm more at the repeated thought of laying a kiss on their unconscious form. He should be ashamed, but he’s been wanting to be intimate with them for a while now. It’s gotten so bad he gets a little jealous when he catches them and Kacchan away from him, whispering between themselves in a bubble of their own that he feels he won’t fit in.

That thought sours his feelings a little, especially when he knows he could never take them from Kacchan and he could never take Kacchan from them. The idea of them moving forward without him, leaving him out, and further pushing him away from the picture he'd perfectly fit in before his current state, gives him a deep pit feeling in his chest that he doesn't enjoy dwelling on for too long.

But right here… Right now…? He could just give them a quick peck and pretend it didn’t happen. No one would know… Unless they woke up from it or something…

He weighs his options, emerald eyes measuring and tracing the outlines of your lips. He has vivid memories of the one time he managed to get a kiss from them, in the dead of night when the only witnesses aside from themselves were the twinkling constellations. He doesn't remember how long ago it was, but he can perfectly picture the sight of them shyly smiling, their face warm, and (e/c) eyes dilated like a super moon. Their lips fit perfectly against his, slated and locked like they were meant to be attached for eternity, and delectably soft like fresh baked goods straight from the oven. He'd press his lips against them as much as he possibly could, suffocate against them even.

The cons would be them waking and beating the shit out of him... Or Kacchan catching him and beating the shit out of him...

Midoriya leans forward, hand burning as he cups their cheek. He rubs his thumb against their skin as his lips finally meet theirs again. It feels like home, his lips feverishly sucking against the plump flesh like he'll never be able to do so again.

He pulls away once he realizes he's being too greedy, too desperate. He sucks in a deep breath, the butterflies rising to his chest as his heart pounds against his ribcage. He can feel the warm honeydew in his cheeks, worsening when his eyes dart up and meet a certain pair of crimson ones. They stare at one another for a moment, but Midoriya can't read what Bakugou is thinking at all. Bakugou sends him a small smile, or something close to it. His lips quirk upward on one side before he turns back to the road. Kirishima is talking about something, but he's obviously not paying attention.

"'Zuku?" The soft call of his name has him looking down, meeting the dazed stare of (Y/n). They're still relatively exhausted from their overuse of magic, a bit of light missing from their pupils. They press their cheek into his hand, the bags under their eyes heavy, "Are we... heading there?"

"We're going to the dock right now, (Y/n). Kacchan's in the front seat and Kirishima's driving us there," Midoriya informs them, voice low as to not cause them any discomfort. He knows they typically suffer from headaches after too much use of their necromancy abilities, "I'm sure you should be able to rest a bit longer-"

"No, no," They begin to sit up, getting a grip on his shoulder and using it to push themselves up. They let go and force themselves to sit up on their knees, getting in a position where they can easily look out the window, "I have to check that... we're not... Not being..."

Their voice trails off as they grab their head, another splintering headache racking their body from the sudden movement. Midoriya is quick to grab hold of them, leaning their body against his. Gravity lays them back across his lap, their face pressing into the fabric of his shirt while they close their eyes. Out of instinct, he presses his fingers against the nape of their neck, slowly sliding them upwards to press at various spots in the back of their head.

"No one's following us, (Y/n). We made sure of that..." He murmurs, pushing their hair out of their eyes. His hand eases down the side of their face, fingers hooking under their chin and pushing it up so they can see him better, "Get your rest."

"Izuku...," They stare at him for a moment, different emotions flashing through their (e/c) eyes. One of their hands reaches up for his cheek, the flesh feeling as if it'll catch on fire at any moment. They pull away too quickly for his liking, the same stricken look reaching their eyes like every other time they touch him and they're reminded of their afflictions. He's heard them apologize to him in the late hours before.

With little thought, he grabs their hand and presses it back to his flesh. He feels just a little closer to being human again at the touch. He nuzzles into their hold, keeping eye contact with them and watching the confliction beyond their irises. He doesn't care about the way his body screams to flinch away from the heat, pressing more into it as opposed to as opposed to running from it. He tightens his hold when he feels them try to tug away from him.

“Izuku, stop. You’re hurting yourself-,”

"No, it's okay," He responds too quickly, leaning into their touch. He presses his ear to their chest, listening to the steady beating of their heart and the movement of their breathing in their chest. The heat isn't as excruciating, simmering to an addictive warmth adjacent to bodies entangled in a hug. It crawls over his skin and wraps around him like a blanket, "Everything is okay..."

He never wants to leave from (Y/n)'s hold, (Y/n)'s warmth, ever again. He doesn't know how he could ever live without it, especially not now when the cold is even colder than before...

[jabeur]

i think. maybe. it would be easier to write if i didn't hate every single thing i write ever

[thekorcariwilds]

made the mistake of liking one (1) single piece of pricefield art that popped up on my twitter for you page and now the whole thing is just horrible life is strange takes. why is this happening to me.

[schnaf]

23 days until jungsu's 23nd birthday

day 9 - mi gente

[sysig]

Last man standing (Patreon)

[demaparbat-hp]

Just what exactly is coming?

[cerealmonster15]

ALSO when im re reading fics i wrote i explode when i notice i repeated the same phrase over and over and over again kfdlsjfklsd. why did i say a variation of "left as quickly as it came" three times in this one fic that im not even halfway through rereading.... #girl get new words

[vanivanvanilla]

these dudes have been on my mind so much lately

[seaweedstarshine]

Rewatching my favorite Christmas special and I cannot get over “Psych*tic Potato Dwarf” as an insult from a person who — canonically — according to sources from the same writer — often hears voices that he has trouble distinguishing from reality. It's not just the one line, it's the fact that it’s the title of Strax’s theme! I always wanna call it out 😭, which works out in my The Snowmen-era Eleventh Doctor fanfictions because Strax is a nurse and would know what that word means.

Like, it does unfortunately fit the character because Gallifreyan culture is — canonically — systematically exclusionary of mentally ill people, and the Eleventh Doctor — canonically — hates himself more than anyone in the universe. But the choice?