Izuku has never liked fire.
It burns and it takes and it takes and all it leaves is ashes and fear.
(he's always been scared to have stuff. He knows it won't last.)
.. It was all taken from him in two fell blows, but he's Izuku Midoriya, and he doesn't stay down long.

His first stop, after a month or two spent wandering, is the Typhoon. Kirishima came here. Kach -- Bakugou. Bakugou was here. Normally, Izuku didn't want anything to do with Bakugou. He thinks of fire and burns against his skin, and his gaze remains sharp as ever. He has worse things to fret about. Childhood burns were, in the end, meaningless. Didn't hold a candle to drowning and claws and fire.
Snowbound was gone, and Izuku thinks maybe he could have stopped it, if only he had been there, had tried. He'd always been stronger, making decisions alongside Atbash. (he heard she'd joined the Ascendants. He hopes she's happy.)
He's never really liked the Typhoon, either, and they doubt they're fond of him. A bad history, maybe. He and Tsuyu\s (Tsuyu --) hasty recollection of Kirishima .. He doubts they recognize him, either, though, except as Snowbound's ex-Frosthealer or ex-Snowseeker. In the grand scheme of things, Izuku is meaningless, just a cold-gazed smear of green against history. That doesn't mean he's forgiven them for hurting his friends, or for burning his herbs. It was .. a while ago, though. (when did he start holding grudges?
when did Izuku change?)
Flying comes naturally, now. A beat of wings only just big enough for his body. It's not as comfortable when he's not a dragon, but it's more freeing, in a way. His fur moves with it, and his eyes squint against the salty breeze and it stings and it's comforting, he thinks. (he's always been a masochist, but all of this "self destructive" shit, even small, like this, can't be good.) In the least, it's a good distraction from the sick-to-his-stomach feeling he gets as the island comes into view. The railroad. It feels like coming to collect Kirishima again.
He hates it here.
.. He lands anyways, green paws landing almost steadily on the sand. His fur feels heavy in the heat. He hates it here. Hates it hates it hates it.
He hates the force of his hate.
He wasn't made for hate.
He wishes things would go back to the way they used to be.
.. He's so tired.
"Izuku Midoriya, here for a brief visit," He says, neutral as they come. (izuku midoriya izuku midoriya izuku midoriya, why can't he just be izuku, snowbound's frosthealer again)There's not even a lingering trace of Snowbound on him. Just a green-furred tabby against the shore, waiting for people who might not come.
(maybe kirishima will show up. that'd be nice.
.. bakugou probably won't be happy to see him.
izuku won't be happy to see him, either. but the familiarity, the presumably cruelty of their interaction will, at the least, make him feel like even a sliver of a person, just for a second.)
[[ againsT my better judgement, hi.
he might join im not sure yet. (dont expect him to be happy about it though lol) ]]

© LEXASPERATED

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Izuku knew that the Typhoon was a big group, bigger than Snowbound had been, but that doesn't stop the spark of hard to defend against and regular anxiety. Kirishima is her, though. The feline's breath grows shaky, and he shuffles a step or two closer to the dragon. It's fine. It's fine. One, two, three.
(if nothing else, Izuku is glad he's feeling anything at all.)
"Hi. Y -- You, too." He says, and one two three. He allows a weak smile to those gathered, friendly nontheless. New. New, new, new. Nobody here to recognize him except Kirishima. He dreads the moment somebody does. Izuku is a recognizable face. Easy to remember. "I don't ... I don't know," He tells Cleo, scarcely keeping his voice from shaking. He hates them. Hates them, hates them, hates them, but he can't say no. To these people who don't know him but are friendly and he misses being a part of something. His paws are trembling, barely noticeable unless you really look.
Marigold for wounds, feverfew for fevers, poppy for pain.
One, two, three.
"H -- Hi, Kirishima," Izuku allows himself a little, trembling grin. Weak. Weak, weak, weak, he looks weak.
Peppermint for headaches and colds, raspberry for bleeding and pain, valerian for insomnia and migraines.
One, two, three.
"Y -- yeah, we are. Nice to meet you," Striker. Stryker. He ignores the flash of anxiety to .. several things. He liked Goldie, when they were allies. Blasty .. Bakugou? He could accept either of these outcomes. He smiles to acknowledge Owen's assurances of people. "Th -- Thank you!!" Pretty? Izuku wouldn't call himself pretty, what with all of the scars and his near-bald right leg, but .. he's flattered anyways. He smiles warmly at the younger, a little more calm than he's been feeling since people showed up. "Pirates? That's cool. A -- And, thanks." He says. He's more than a little put off by the warm reception. He thinks of blood and wounds. They hurt people. But .. he's not sure. He just doesn't know. Then, at long last, Izuku turns back to Kirishima, tail sweeping. Calm seeps in as he focuses just in on Kirishima. He's missed Kirishima.
".. It's been a while. How -- how have you been? What've you been up to?" Izuku sweps his gaze across the dragon's frame worriedly. He's carrying something, someone, on his back. Who? Izuku tries not to frown. But .. Kirishima seems fine. Granted, Izuku has no fucking idea when the other became a dragon. He wasn't about to question it, though.

The past should be in the past. He would rather forget who he was before. Maybe then he won't be him - he won't be bound to fate like a prisoner awaiting his execution. A hammer of justice. It strikes and punishment is head but not deciphered. He knows that the more his history flashes back at him, the more he will be pulled back. He will be trapped there forever if he doesn't leave his past behind. Believe him, he is trying. It's easier when Kirishima isn't around, it's easier when Jiro isn't around, it's easier when no one else in his class has dared to reach the island. And yet, without knowing, another court trial awaits him. The room is both noise and silence, garbled words and chatters, watching and waiting the door. They know what is coming. They know the naivety of the one who will pass it. The people who sit within the court room are predators in wait to ambush, the emotions are lurking with silver-lined claws, monstrous eyes narrowing in. Bakugou doesn't know what he will see, who he will meet. He doesn't realise that in approaching such a gathering at the border that he will see -... someone he does not wish to see, people who he would rather have forgotten.

It is cruel of him to think that he wants to push them all aside, them them fade with time and rust like old metal. And yet breathing around even a friend such as Kirishima is difficult. He remembers what it was like to be human, the strength that he felt in being alive. The sensation of having fingers attached to palms is faint, overwhelmed by the bitterness of his dangerous emotions. But now there is another, a face that is first blurred to him. It is beginning to clear. The scars, the green, the expression. He sees the connection between the stranger and Kirishima and it becomes apparent to him. Crystalline. The Quartermaster's throat is dry. "Deku..." he begins, smoke leaving his maw. He is threatened. Just like everything else, he wants to push them all aside, all back down into the depths of an ocean. He would rather Midoriya be chained to the ocean's floor, never allow him to reach the surface. No, not in his world. This world was his for the taking. He doesn't want to see another world be taken from him. "If you're here for a visit...then hurry it up and fuck off." Sanguine eyes burn daggers in the male's direction but he immediately turns around, ears hot in anger and begins to walk away. He can't stand looking at either of them.