#symbl

꒰⠀minimal symbl pack⠀𝅄 multi use⠀𝅄 repost = use tag ; star pistol ꒱

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“i always wanted to die clean and pretty, but i’d be too busy on working days"

tell me either one good thing about the first three people you see on dash or three good things about the last person you interacted with

GIO ❤️ i love this.

the first one to come up was @redjaybird, YAMS, who has put up with walker's shit since i first brought her to tumblr, like.. five-ish??? years ago. they're a super talented artist, and has such deep lore around jay. super cool mun.

the second one was @symbl, TAFFY, who i started following last night, so. but they seem very cool and i love all might. i'll have to check out their other blogs, too.

the third was @heyhey-sensei, DARCY, and i feel like we've bonded over cats. which is the strongest of the bonds. i love their headcanons about each of their muses. very smart. very good. very correct.

His vision blurs dangerously like he has a concussion and by the drumming in his head, he probably does. Shouta doesn't remember how he got here or where even here is. Funnily enough he does remember he has class in approxamitely eight hours judging by the sky. Hopefully he won't miss it.

He'd been meeting with someone. Two someones. Giran and another he hadn't met before. The why eludes him, but it must have been important to drag him out of bed. His burner hadn't rung loud enough to wake him, prompting a sharp sting along all limbs when he didn't respond. Nothing but a text with coordinates and a time eight minutes from checking. Time had passed since then though how much he can't tell. He's using a dark lightpost for support. Dried blood under his nails. Still wearing the same clothes, more torn than when he'd left. Hair feels sticky and matted confirming his suspicion of a head injury.

The few passing cars and changing street lights form too bright smears. Even if he could make out the signs they probably wouldn’t be familiar. Moving makes him dizzy and reveals too tight bandages around lower back and arms. Shouta leans into cold metal, forcing in slow breaths through his nose at rising nausea. Definitely drug or quirk related then. Had the meeting gone south, had he even made it there to begin with? Fingers fumble to weight in his pocket finally clamping around phone. All history of calls or texts is gone though it was set to wipe every few hours. Which meant he was missing at least an hour of time.

Cold fear pricks at his spine. He needed-he needed to get someplace safe first. Everything else could come later. Shouta staggers drunkenly away from the street, closer to buildings, looking for any identifying markers in larger font than road names. It’s an apartment complex but not his. Logically, unfortunately, he probably can’t make it home in this state. It would be stupid at best, dangerous at worst. His brief attempt at activating erasure turns drums into bombs. He wouldn’t be able to focus enough to work telekinesis either.

But he can still hide in the dark. Crashing against a door is impractical and quickly becoming his only option. Shit if he fell now he wouldn’t get up again. Shouta tries for the wall instead, trying at the same time to control his veering downward descent. His shoulder rams into wood with a too loud thud, legs refusing to do more than shift him out of the way of being stepped on. Someone was bound to have heard that. Lower back under bandage sears as if bone had a hole punched in it, an experience he’s familiar with yet can’t get his head together to figure out if that was what had happened. His brain rushes like it had been carved out of his skull and spun around like a top. Has he actually settled into darkness enough to not be seen? He can’t tell.

                  And my hands may NOT BE CLEAN,    maybe they never will be.                  But they can still CARRY YOU HOME when you’re ready to sleep.

oh! velcro! i like your style