#kai replies

[gently-folded-paper-cranes]

Nazi

boring little fella!! zzzzz!!!! little coward hiding behind anon!!!

[hyprl4zr]

Hai Deimos from madcom I think ur cool

Thanks

[hyprl4zr]

i peeled myself once an i got yelled at so i always hide my true self in front of my friends no matter what (unless its on here

you wanted to be a good friend, because you loved your friends, but the truth was that everyone else somehow had a pamphlet on being normal that you never received. most of the time you learn by trial-and-error. you are terrified of the next big mistake you make, because it seems like the rules are completely arbitrary.

you've learned to keep the prickly parts of your personality in a stormcloud under your bed - as if they're a second version of you; one that will make your friends hate you. it feels feral, burning, ugly.

instead, you have assembled habits based on the statistical likelihood of pleasing others. you're a good listener, which is to say - if you do speak up, you might end up saying the wrong thing and scaring off someone, but people tend to like someone-who-listens. or you've got no true desires or goals, because people like it when you're passive, mutable. you're "not easy to fluster" which is to say - your emotions are fundamentally uninteresting to others around you; so you've learned to control them to a degree that you can no longer really feel them happening.

you have long suspected something is wrong with you, but most of the time, googling doesn't help. you are so-used to helping-yourself, alone and with no handbook. the reek of your real self feels more like a horrible joke - you wake up, and, despite all your preparations, suddenly the whole house is full of smoke. the real you is someone waiting to ruin your other-life, the one where you're normal and happy. the real-self is unpredictable, angry.

your real self snarls when people infantilize the whole situation. because if you were really suffering, everyone seems to think you'd be completely unable to cope. but you already learned the rules, so you do know how to cope, and you have fucking been coping. it's not black-and-white. it's not that you are healed during the other times - it's just that you're able to fucking try. and honestly, whenever you show symptoms, it's a really fucking bad sign.

because the symptoms you have are ugly and unmanageable for others. your symptoms aren't waifish white girl things. they're annoying and complicated. they will be the subject of so many pretentious instagram reels. if they cared about you, they'd just show up on time. you care, a lot, so deeply it burns you. you like to picture a world where the comments read if they loved you, they'd never need glasses to see. but since that's a rule you've seen repeated - "one must never be late or you are a bad friend" - you constantly worry about being late and leave agonizingly early. there are no words for how you feel when you're still late; no matter how hard you were trying.

so you have to make up for it. you have to make up for that little horrible real you that you keep locked in a cabinet. you are bad at answering emails so every project you make has to be perfect. you are weird and sensitive so you have to learn to be funny and interesting. you are an inconvenience to others, so you become as smooth as possible, buffing out all the rough parts.

all this. all this. so people can pass their hands over you and just tell you just the once -how good you are. you're a good friend. you're loveable.

[gemini-sensei]

Fuck loose boyfriend shirts, what about stealing their stretchy athletic shirts. Who's going crazy seeing their girls tits wrapped up in their compression shirts

Robby fucking Keene.

It's something he didn't know he needed until he saw it for the first time - her fat tits wrapped up, held together by his tight compression shirt, nipples oh so obviously pebbled under the fabric. He's hard almost immediately and gets a little shy about it because how does a shirt make him this way?

He doesn't want to make it obvious but he's doing a piss poor job at it. Every time Reader is wearing one of his sports shirts, he can't help himself. He'll come up behind her and cup her tits, mutter something into her neck about how beautiful she looks, and feel her up while trying to hide his obvious boner from her.

[hwanwooyoung]

the never-ending fairy saga [18/?]

↪ huening kai + 'lo$er=lo♡︎er' / 'moa diary'

[ash-and-starlight]

I see the fandom’s “Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe” Sokka and raise y’all “Emerging Technologies Advisor, Sokka of the Water Tribe.” Working with all the nations as a emissary for scientists and engineers, introducing these new techs to world leaders and brainstorming ways to integrate them helpfully into society — really, he just gets to travel a lot and mess around with machines and I think these are two things that Sokka would excel so so very much at

thiiiisss this so much this his ass would Not settle in the fire nation permanently!!! he travels all over the world!! he sees and learns all the things he couldn’t experience while ending the war!! he fixes things everywhere he goes as easy as breathing. he’s the one behind the southern water tribe cultural center in republic city and behind this huge ass ‘fuck you zuko try to destroy this now’ watchtower/lighthouse in the swt capital.

he has a traveling food critic column and a published haiku collection and fifteen new inventions patents and is just as fundamental for bringing on an age of peace and prosperity as anyone else. so yeah emerging technologies advisor, poet, swordsman, inventor, councilor, storyteller, warrior, artist, white lotus member, food blogger, pai sho champion, trendsetter sokka of the southern water tribe ftw forever amen

[da1stninjagofangirl]

Did anyone notice this

Take a closer look

[gayestcowboy]

one of the reasons i hate generative AI is that i have a chronic injury that makes me unable to write by hand for longer than a few sentences and therefore i need a keyboard in order to write essays for classes, and i’m a bit worried that professors won’t allow me to type essays as a result of potential AI use, even though i have a perfectly valid medical reason to need a keyboard. i’ve seen a few posts online saying that the only way to prevent students from relying on AI is to make them write by hand, and while i understand the sentiment and don’t even necessarily disagree with the general point, the matter of accessibility still needs to be addressed somehow, and it’s just a bit frustrating on a personal level as someone who has had to fight with teachers and professors in order for my needs to be met even before the era of chatgpt

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part seven

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

tommy takes care of joel as best he can, and you try and make a break for it.

a/n: y’all I am having way too much fun writing this story. part 7 earlier than planned, and tbh I’ll probably post part 8 tomorrow if I can. the inspo is REAL and thank you all for the comments and reblogs and messages and general love and support - you have no idea how happy it makes me!! 🤍

word count: 4.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, blood, near-death experiences, questionable decisions on the military’s part

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters!✨

Tommy watches his brother fall apart.

It’s one thing after another, and he can’t blame Joel. The world’s ending; everything else is falling apart, it only makes sense that he would too. But still, it hurts. Watching his big brother — the only constant in his life for as long as he can remember — break down, it makes Tommy hurt in a way he can’t fully comprehend. It’s not fair.

He thinks about the soldier, in the days that follow. He’d come up the ridge just as the gunfire sounded, already looking for his brother and niece, never expecting to find them the way that he did. Joel was pleading, already hurt, his hands in the air, as good a white flag as any, and the soldier just didn’t care. It went against everything in Tommy, but when the soldier lifted the gun again, Tommy fired first.

But then…Sarah.

There was so much blood. He should be used to it, being who he is, seeing what he’s seen. But it’s different, it feels different, it sits in the back of his mind and haunts his every step. She was so young. So bright, so good. And then just, gone.

“Tommy, help me!”

He’d never heard Joel like that, so desperate, so lost. The only moment that rivalled it was when they’d been in the truck, Tommy driving, Joel with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Talking to you, asking where you were, if you were safe.

“It’s everywhere,” Joel had said, and Tommy had felt a distinct feeling of helplessness wash through him. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t just in Austin. He focused on the road, tried not to look too closely at the chaos in the distance. Shit was hitting the fan, in every sense.

He tightened his grip on the wheel as Joel continued talking to you. You were hurt, Joel telling you to patch yourself up. “I’m not hanging up until you do.”

Tommy could hear the ache in his brother’s voice. Joel had never let you go, not completely, and Tommy knew it. He didn’t blame Joel for it; having you around was the happiest he’d seen his brother in a long time. He liked you, too, liked your laugh and your sense of humour, the way you looked at Joel like you were seeing him for the first time, every time.

He had to swerve the truck as another car barrelled down the road in the opposite direction. Joel grabbed for the dashboard, phone still glued to his ear. “I’m gonna find you, you hear me? Just get out of Boston and I swear to you, I’m gonna find you!” A pause, and Joel stared at the phone. Tommy could see his brother’s hands shaking. “It’s dead.”

A moment later, the radio — which had been spewing news reports since Joel had picked Tommy up — went silent. Joel tossed his phone onto the truck floor, slammed his fist into the dash a moment later.

“Fuck!”

“She okay?” Tommy asked, and Joel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Joel?”

“Boyfriend attacked her,” Joel grumbled, rubbing his forehead again. “Tried to fuckin’ bite her. She said he’s dead.”

Tommy had balked. “She did that?”

“Dunno,” Joel had replied, and huffed a humourless laugh, the noise almost flat. “Is it fucked up if I say I hope she did?”

Tommy had pressed the gas a little harder, the truck speeding down the road. “Everything’s fucked up, seems like.” Silence hung over them only for a moment, punctuated a moment later by the loud whoosh of flames as a car down the road collided with a telephone pole. Joel cursed under his breath, Tommy kept on driving. “What are we gonna do, Joel?”

“We get Sarah, and we go,” his brother replied, and despite the waver in his voice, he sounded sure. Surer than Tommy felt. “East.”

East, Tommy thought. Boston. You. Like he’d expected anything different. “You really think you can find her?”

“I can sure as hell try.”

The conversation feels like a year ago, instead of the handful of days it has been. Maybe a week; he’s starting to lose track, already. They’ve been holed up for a few hours now, tucked in the garage of an abandoned house. They crossed the state line a few hours back, and so far, Arkansas looks the same as Texas: fucking ravaged. Joel sits on the floor, knees up to his chest, face buried in his arms. Tommy feels antsy.

“I’m gonna go look inside, see if there’s anything worth taking. You good?”

“Yeah.”

Seems like every neighbourhood they come across has been evacuated, the houses all empty. They have guns; he already had his own, and he’d swiped the rifle from the soldier that had attacked Joel and Sarah. Though he was quick to give Joel his, take the soldier’s for himself. Something about Joel touching the weapon that had killed Sarah made Tommy’s gut twist. He didn’t like it either, but it was out of necessity.

The house has obviously been picked through, toppled furniture and broken glass as far as he can tell, but they get lucky: a first aid kit, a mostly full bottle of whiskey, and some cans of beans. Tommy grabs it all, heads up the stairs. Clearly an older couple, but there’s a few men’s jackets in one of the closets, a pair of work boots, plain t-shirts. He takes the lot, offering the boots to Joel when he gets back to the garage. “These your size?”

His brother takes the boots with a flat expression, pulling the laces to peer at the sole. “About there, yeah. Don’t need ‘em though.”

“Take ‘em with us, for when you do,” Tommy counters, offering Joel one of the t-shirts next. “You should change.”

“M’fine.”

Tommy hooks the gun over his head, setting it on the ground beside him as he crouches in front of Joel. “You’re covered in blood,” he says, and his brother snatches the t-shirt. “Need to change your bandage, too.”

“And what exactly do you want me to—” Joel starts, but shuts up when Tommy tosses the first aid kit to him.

“Need help?” he asks as Joel gets to his feet, pulls his stained t-shirt off, tosses it aside. They’d found a half empty kit in a cafe back in Austin, dressed Joel’s wound before they took off completely. Joel was lucky, just a graze, but Tommy knows it must hurt like hell, and it’ll leave a scar, a reminder of that night, of what was lost.

Joel winces as he pulls of the old bandage, tossing it in the same direction as the t-shirt. “Don’t suppose you found any water in there?” He digs through the first aid kit. “No antiseptic.”

“No water,” Tommy confirms, but holds up the bottle of whiskey. “Just this.”

It’s not ideal, using the alcohol to clean the graze — and Joel nearly puts his fist through the wall despite the healthy sip he takes before Tommy wipes a piece of gauze damp with the whiskey over the wound — but it’ll work. They have to make do.

Joel sinks back onto the concrete floor once the wound is redressed, the new t-shirt pulled over his head. He takes the whiskey with him, and Tommy sits beside his brother, both of them with rifles in their laps. They sip the bottle in turn, and Tommy savours the burn as it slides down his throat, warmth spreading through his chest. It loosens his tongue, makes him regret the question the second it’s out of his mouth.

“You think she made it?” He knows he doesn’t have to call you by name. Not now.

“I have to,” is his brother’s only response.

+

They stop you at the gate.

You don’t know what you’re thinking, but after staking out the giant metal fence for a few hours, you at least know that trying to sneak over is only going to result in a bullet finding a home somewhere it shouldn’t. The soldiers were firing at anything that made a break for the gate, and running full-force didn’t make you brave, it made you stupid. It made you look like one of them. Infected. Mindless. Blood-thirsty. A few have come sprinting up to the post you’ve been watching, and the soldiers have put them down without batting an eye.

As you’ve watched, a few groups of people have approached the post. All the same, their hands in the air, desperation in their voices, carried to you on the smoke-tinged breeze. Please help us. You’ve watched them get directed away from the post, towards a still-standing building a few yards from the gate, where a military-issue tent is set up. Some of them walk back out, are directed towards an armoured truck parked along the gate, and then the truck disappears, only for a new one to reappear in its stead a few minutes later. It’s like clockwork, but only some end up in the trucks.

Others are carried out the back of the tent, bodies dumped into one of the pits left by the bombing. It makes your skin crawl.

It takes a while, lacking the confidence to put yourself in the line of fire when you could just keep hiding in the city. The soldiers might find you eventually — if the Infected didn’t find you first — but if you could just keep going, maybe there was a break in the fence somewhere, a way out besides what lies ahead of you. But finally, after a few hours of squatting in the rubble, your limbs aching from staying pressed against brick, you step out of the alley, and put your hands in the air. You’ve pulled down the sleeves of the hoodie you’re wearing, letting it cover the bandage around your arm, and you grip the cuffs with your fingers as you raise your arms.

“I’m not infected!”

A flash of movement, and the barrels of at least ten rifles are pointed directly at you. The hair on the back of your neck stands up, bile rising in the back of your throat. A suitable reaction, you think, and you swallow back the fear that makes you want to run. It’ll only get you killed that much faster.

“Name!” one of the soldier’s shouts. You can’t tell who; they’re all wearing helmets, visors covering their faces, turning it into a sea of darkness staring back at you. Your fingers flex, and you call you name back.

“I need to leave.”

One of them starts laughing. Another two look at each other, sharing a look you can’t suss out. A few lower their guns, and the prickle along your spine fizzles slightly. A visor lifts, revealing a soot-streaked face, a grim expression. “Why on earth would you wanna do that?”

“My family is in Texas,” you say, your voice surprisingly strong, if not a little thready from the smoke. “I have to go find them.”

“You’re gonna walk halfway across the country,” a faceless voice asks, “with a baseball bat? Girl, you don’t have a hope in hell.”

“Beats sitting around here, waiting to die,” you throw back, and the soldier that had lifted his visor lifts his brow. “Let me pass.”

“Can’t do that,” he replies, and steps up in front of you. He’s got a strange face, eyes a little too dark, hair hidden by the helmet, a scar on his mouth. Something about him reminds you of Dean, but a much harder version, his face more angular, the voice slightly deeper. “No one gets out of the city, we have orders.”

“You can’t hold me hostage here,” you start, stepping towards him. Your hands are still in the air. “My family is out there, I need to—”

“No one gets out,” another soldier interrupts. “FEDRA’s orders.”

Your brow creases. “FEDRA?”

“Federal Disaster Response Agency,” the strange-faced soldier answers.

“So the military is taking over?”

“I never said that.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes. “Just let me go, please? I can’t stay here, my family—”

“Is in Texas,” the soldier replies, nodding along. He hefts his gun slightly, adjusting his grip, and you don’t miss the meaning, the silent threat behind it. “And you’re here, in Boston. Now you don’t have a car, or any real weapons, and we have orders. You’re not going anywhere.”

You bite back the protest that crawls up your throat. If you’re getting out, it’s not through here. “Then where am I supposed to go?”

“There’s a shelter,” he tells you, “in the mall. There’s food, water, beds. It’s temporary, but it’s safe.”

“Temporary, like the gate?”

He gives you a long look, then gestures towards the tent you’ve been watching them shuffle people through. “Let’s get you checked out, and then we’ll get you there.”

You match his stare, setting your jaw, digging your heels in slightly. The muzzle of his rifle dips just slightly, and his eyes pinch, narrowing at you.

“I’ll only ask nicely once.”

Heart in your throat, you drop your hands, and when he gestures towards the tent again, you go. Every single part of you is shaking as you head for the canvas structure, and once you’re inside, it’s no different. It’s shockingly clean, a metal table in the middle, a smaller one to the side. “Put your bag there,” the soldier orders, that familiar stern military tone, pointing to the bigger table. “The bat, too.”

You do as you’re told, seeing from the corner of your eye that he’s still got both hands on his gun. “I’m keeping the bat,” you say over your shoulder, pulling it out from where you’d slid it between the straps of the bag, resting against your lower back. The metal rings when you set it on the table. “For the record.”

“Never said you couldn’t keep it, did I?”

“You want me to go to that shelter in the mall,” you say, sliding the bag off your shoulders, placing it next to the bat, and then turning back to the soldier, “with every other terrified person in this city, and you expect me to believe you’re gonna let me walk in with a weapon?”

The soldier’s jaw goes tight, eyes even tighter. “Strip.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take your clothes off,” he says, clearly getting exasperated. “I might let you keep the bat, but there’s no way I’m letting you into the mall shelter knowing you’ve been bitten. Strip.”

“Bitten?” you repeat, your mind sparking at the new information. “Is that how this is spreading?” To appease him, hoping he’ll give you a bit more information, you pull the hoodie off, disentangling your arms slowly. “That’s what’s turning people into those—”

The hoodie comes off, revealing your bandaged shoulder and forearm, and the gun is pointed back in your face again, a soft click reaching your ears. “You’re injured.”

“Y’know, I usually like to at least know a guy’s name before he sees me half-naked.”

He ignores you. “You’re injured.”

You heave a breath, tucking the edge of the gauze around your arm back into place. “You dropped bombs on this city. I dare you to find someone out there who isn’t injured.”

The soldier just stares at you. You just stare back.

“Take the bandages off,” he orders, and your hands curl into fists. “I need to see.”

“Tell me your name first,” you counter, still holding his gaze.

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“I’m aware; you’re the one holding the gun. But I also know you’ve been taking bodies out of this tent more than you’ve been sending people to the shelter. So, again, tell me your name.”

He leans back slightly, takes a deep breath, eyes darting to the side before meeting yours again. “Corporal Nicholas Cowan, ma’am.”

“Ma’am?” you repeat, almost laughing. “That’s a bit much, but—”

“The bandages.”

“Okay, okay.”

Carefully, you peel back the gauze on your shoulder. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches or anything, and you’d slathered it with some kind of ointment in the first aid kit. It still looks pretty awful, and the tape along the edge of the bandage has left little indents in your skin, but it’s definitely healing. Your arm is next, that wound fresher, and it starts to bleed as soon as you pull the gauze away. Cowan gives you a new piece of gauze a moment later, tossing it onto the table between you rather than handing it right to you. “What happened?”

“I was in the bookstore, down on South Street, when you all decided to start dropping bombs. Fucking lucky a bookshelf didn’t fall on my head.”

He still has the gun pointed at you, though the grip is slightly more relaxed, and he circles you slowly, eyes glued to your shoulder. “Those look like claw marks.”

“That’s because they are.”

“So that happened before the bombs.”

“It did.”

“I’m supposed to shoot, the moment I see anything like that. I have orders.”

“It’s not a bite.”

“I know that.” He swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “They haven’t figured it all out. The bite seems to make it happen faster, but I don’t know if—”

“I’ll tell you what, Corporal,” you interrupt, reaching for your bag, pulling the first aid kit out and fishing out new bandages, “I start to turn into one of those things, and I give you my full permission to blow my fucking brains out.” Cowan balks, his eyes widening for a moment as he stares back at you. “But for the record, it’s been seven days, and I’m still here, faculties intact. So, politely, go fuck yourself, and just let me through the gate.”

+

He doesn’t.

Cowan lets you redress, once your bandages have been hastily rewrapped; you’d protested and he told you they’d give you proper treatment at the shelter. Once that was done, you grabbed your pack — and the bat, which Cowan barely seemed to notice — and he grabbed you roughly by the arm, dragging you out of the tent and steering you towards one of the armoured trucks parked at the fence.

You’re all but stuffed inside, and Cowan gets into the passenger’s seat, a masked soldier behind the wheel. “The mall,” he says simply, and the soldier just nods, and the engine rumbles to life, pulling away from the chain link and heading back into the city.

You keep the bat in your lap as they drive, your eyes glued to the window, to the mess that now only partially resembles Boston. You’d seen enough of the destruction running through the streets, but the truck takes a few pathways you hadn’t. Some roads aren’t as destroyed, obviously not targeted by the bombs, and the asphalt is even, still intact. There’s no getting past the bodies, however, and that pulls your eyes away, staring down at your bruised and dirty hands, wrapped around the bat.

When the truck stops outside the mall, the driver doesn’t get out. You lift your head then, taking in the space around you. It’s more of the same, but the mall looks mostly undisturbed, except for the broken windows, the burned displays. Cowan slides out of the passenger’s side, pulls open your door a moment later. “Let’s go.”

There are three more soldiers standing at the entrance, and as Cowan starts to lead you through, one of them stops you, lifting a hand. “You can’t take that in there,” the soldier says, pointing to the bat. “Give it here.”

“No.”

Cowan sighs, turning back to you, waving off the soldier. “C’mon, just—”

“No,” you say again, your voice harder. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m walking around this city without it.”

“You’re safe in the mall,” Cowan says, nearly rolling his eyes at you, but you just lift a brow. “It’s a shelter, and we’re patrolling from the outside.” He points over his shoulder, and sure enough, you see a few more armoured trucks rolling across the street, armed soldiers trailing behind it. Like it makes a difference.

You almost laugh. “Nowhere is safe anymore.” You tighten your grip on the bat. “You really think your chain link fence is gonna save us from those things?”

He gives you another one of those hard stares, but relents, waving off the other soldiers and grabbing the handle on your bag, all but dragging you through the entrance. “If she attacks someone, it’s on you, Cowan!” one of the soldier’s shouts, and he just grumbles under his breath.

“Do me a favour,” he says to you as he releases you, making you stumble a step before he falls into step beside you, “don’t be more trouble than you’re worth.”

“And what am I worth, Corporal?”

“You’re alive, and you’re not one of them,” he says, and you don’t miss the thread of…is that hope, in his voice? “So that makes you worth something.”

He’s quiet, the rest of the way. There’s no electricity, the overhead fluorescents dark, and Cowan clicks on a flashlight, lighting your path deeper into the mall. There’s the whir of generators, as you get closer, big lights that looks like they were taken from construction sites. You see the food court has been turned into a makeshift hospital, and Cowan tells you the big department store on the main level is where you’ll sleep, for the time being.

There aren’t that many people, which makes your throat go a little thick. How many people have died, how many have turned, how many made it out of Boston before they put up the fence?

Cowan takes your arm again as you walk towards the food court, calling for someone as you get closer. “Deanna! I got one for you.”

An older lady, maybe late fifties, pokes her head out from behind one of the triage curtains. Her face is both kind and harsh at the same time, bright green eyes, grey-streaked hair pulled into a long ponytail, blood-stained scrubs and a tool belt around her waist that’s filled with medical instruments instead of actual tools. It almost makes you laugh.

“Must be special,” she says, her voice a little gravelly as she approaches you, wiping her hands on her pants. “You don’t usually escort them all the way down here, Nicky.” Her eyes drop to the bat in your hands and her brows raise. “Or let them come in armed.”

Once she’s close enough, Cowan releases you and takes Deanna by the arm, steering her off to the side. You stand there awkwardly, the bat banging against your leg. Your forearm is a little sore, and you’re half-sure it’s soaked through the bandages you’d haphazardly retied after Cowan’s inspection. You glance over at the pair a few times, seeing them both shooting you looks before turning back to each other. Deanna looks confused, then upset, then almost forgiving. You can’t quite figure out Cowan’s expression.

After a few minutes, she just nods, and Cowan turns on his heel, heading back in the direction you came, leaving you alone. Deanna gives you a once-over as she walks towards you again, putting a warm hand on your back and starting to steer you towards one of the curtains. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”

She leads you behind one of the curtains, then another, and once you’re in the little makeshift room, she pulls another curtain into place. “Nicky said we need to be quick about this,” she says, leaning up on her toes to peer over the curtains, assumedly to see if anyone is coming. “And quiet.”

“Okay.”

You let her take your bag, set it on the chair that’s set to the side. You’re reluctant to let go of the bat, but when you finally let her take it, she puts it beside you on the cot. “You’ve been out there this whole time?” she asks, her voice just above a whisper. You nod. “Even the bombs?” Another nod. “Show me where you’re hurt.”

You hold your breath as you peel off the hoodie. You were right, your arm has bled through the bandage, and your shoulder aches with the movement. Deanna doesn’t say a word at first, her brow furrowed as she looks you over.

She tends to your arm first, wiping the blood from your skin, using some sort of glue to close the wound before she wraps it in fresh gauze. She circles you slowly, just like Cowan had, and you hear her sharp inhale when she sees your shoulder. “What have we here?” She wipes at more of the blood, and the sting makes you tense, your hand twitching towards the bat at your side. “What did that?”

“…boyfriend.”

You look over your shoulder to see her staring at you, a look that toes the line between sympathy and fear on her face. “Was he…”

You give a slight nod. “He was.”

“And is he…?”

“Not anymore.”

Her brows raise. “You did that?”

Another nod. “I did that.”

She blows out a breath, shaking her head side to side. “Damn, girl. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

It’s the first time you’ve actually laughed since your birthday.

They give you some clothes, stuff that actually fits, pilfered from one of the stores. Toiletries even, and you spend far too much time brushing your teeth. No showers, unfortunately, but the pack of baby wipes you’re offered instead makes up for it. It nearly makes you cry to see your skin clean of the dust and ash and blood.

They give you food, too. A grocery bag filled with non-perishables, more granola bars and cans of soup and whatnot. You try not to chug an entire bottle of water when they give you a second bag filled with drinks; not just water, but sports drinks, random cans of pop, clearly raided from the mall vending machines. And a hot meal, courtesy of one of the food court hot plates. It’s some kind of stew, noodles and meat and veggies, and for a moment, all you can think about is the Thai food that was waiting on your kitchen counter.

Feels like a lifetime ago.

Deanna walks you to the department store, gives your name to one of the soldier’s standing guard. He points you in the right direction, and she goes with you, a steady hand on your back, until you find the cot you’ve been assigned, tucked in the corner of the section where all the towels would have been, the displays still up on the walls. “We took them all already,” she tells you, giving you a half-grin as she picks up the blanket on your cot, unfolding the fabric. “Those extra-plush suckers make great bandages.”

You’re quiet, tucking your bag and your food and clothing under the cot. They’d refilled your first aid kit, too. Your knees are almost shaking as you lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, and the relief that washes over you is almost overwhelming. Tears spring in your eyes, but you don’t have the energy to wipe them away.

“Get some sleep, honey,” she tells you, and puts a soft hand on your shoulder as you slip sideways, collapsing onto the pillow. “You’ll be safe. Sleep as much as you need.”

She pulls the blankets over you, and it’s silly, but you clutch the bat to your chest. You’d wiped it down, too, cleaned the blood and dirt from the metal. Sleep takes hold as soon as you let your eyes close, and you pray no nightmares follow.

PREV | NEXT

[oneknightstand-if]

I could see Adrian being Kay. Idk why just vibes.

This is... acceptable... for Adrian.

Adrian:

@nothingherebutthefog replied to your post “I think the funniest reincarnation options would...”:

Adrian as Mordred lol

This not so much.

[gently-folded-paper-cranes]

The other members of BTS have literally collabed with zionists after october 7th. Not to mention Jk literally thanked Scooter Braun, an avid zionist, multiple times after October 7th-- in addition to collabing with Zionists like Usher. RM has shown coca cola, and Jimin is currently collabing with Sofia Carson another zionist.

Taehyung posts brands all the time-- he's posted Jimin's tiffany ad, wine, and food all the time and doesn't censor.

You assume the other members didn't know? Why does everyone else get a free pass except taehyung?

hi! why would u think ‘i assume’ everyone gets a free pass…? jst because u saw one post of mine? im posting abt v because its like recent dawg. dw im pretty disappointed w bts (all of them!!) because if they can stand up abt gender and sexuality and blm, they can and should stand up for palestine. so no, i dont think everyone shld get a free pass. i post alot so maybe u havent seen anyt else other than my recent post. hope this helps!

[ciaossu-imagines]

How do you think the Nekoma boys would deal with their manager suffering from period cramps and being more emotional because of their period?

This was an interesting one and, in a funny coincidence, I’m answering it on the day I started my own hellish monthly cycle! Honestly, I’m just super happy for the chance to write for this fandom, since it’s taken over my brain a little bit recently! Thank you for sending this in, my dear, and I hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons, though I feel they got super repetitive, sorry!

Nekomata is an old guy. He’s been around long enough that things like periods don’t faze him at all. I personally headcanon him as someone who has daughters, so I think he’s actually really used to menstruation, able to just casually accept it for what it is – something that happens to a percentage of the population every month. He’s also pretty quick to realize the signs that are common for people on their periods and he kind of picks up on the fact that the team’s manager is on their period. He does absolutely nothing to call any attention to this, though, because he’d really hate to embarrass the poor kid. Most people are going to feel embarrassed about this huge team of boys all knowing they’re on their period. However, he does everything he can to take it a bit easier on the manager. He encourages them to do just what they can at the moment, tries to pick up the harder jobs from them, However, because he’s so soft as to be like ‘yeah, just take a couple days off’, he is still going to expect them to show up and perform their duties. Because he notices how emotional they’re getting throughout their period, he does try to make a point of giving them more compliments than he normally would though.

Naoi’s not quite as used to periods as his other coach is. In fact, he’s a little uncomfortable around the whole topic. He’s not quick to catch onto what’s going on with their manager, other than they’re acting a bit off. He’ll only realize that the manager is on their period if someone else tells him that’s what is going on. When he realizes that, he blushes and stammers out an apology, because he really has been just kind of encouraging them to give all their effort to their duties this whole time. Of course, if their manager completely breaks down emotionally, or seems really sick, he does let them know that he’ll pick up any extra slack if they need to go home, but he does it mostly because he assumes that they’re sick.

Kuroo is rather observant and he notices when the team’s manager starts acting weird. Their expression is one of pain sometimes, even if they quickly try to hide it. They’re more tired than normal. They were tearing up at a video-game cutscene compilation earlier for a game Kuroo and them play together. He’s pretty quick to put two and two together. He’s got an older sister who, while not super open about her body, also doesn’t hide the fact that she gets a period. His sister’s periods tend to make her super emotional though, mostly angry, but Kuroo is pretty quick to understand that that is likely what is happening. Knowing that there’s really nothing he can do to help their manager, he mostly just focuses on keeping their spirits up. Of course, this being Kuroo, he does it by teasing them more than normal. Normally, they’ll joke around, tease him back, banter back and forth with him, but this time, they just end up tearing up. He sees the first tear roll down their face and he knows he done fucked up, but also at the same time, it kind of pisses him off a little. He’s feeling like garbage because he made them cry, but why should he? It was just a harmless joke, something he’s teased them about before and had them laugh about. Why should he feel like a bad guy? I think for at least the rest of that week, Kuroo is walking on eggshells around the team’s manager and the two of them really have to have one of those awkward moments where they both apologize to each other because they were both kind of crappy and then they’re friends again. Moving forward, Kuroo’s pretty good about seeing those warning signs and just cutting back on the week of his friend’s period.

Nobuyuki is someone who is pretty able to roll with just about anything. Like most of the rest of the boys, if his manager is honestly acting really off, not just having subtle little moments, he’s obviously going to notice it. He won’t call their manager out or anything, but he’s going to be quietly supportive. He’ll help out with some of their duties if he can, he’s being extra-encouraging towards them because they’re obviously having a rough time. He is one of the ones who will likely bring snacks or their favourite drink to surprise them with. When they have really bad mood swings, he steps in to help them calm down – he’s a pretty calming presence and is one of the best at calming them down.

Yaku tries to be supportive when he realizes that their manager is acting weird. He tells them that he’s there for them if they want to talk or need anything. He makes jokes to lighten up their mood if they’re upset or sad. He really tries, especially after he finds out it’s their period. However, he only puts up with so much of their behaviour. If they start getting snappy and cranky with the team, he’s shutting that shit down real quick. Their period is not an excuse to be rude to any of the team (except for maybe Lev, who Yaku yells at when Lev ends up embarrassing their manager) and he won’t tolerate too much of their mood swings. Hormones are a real thing, yeah, but he expects their manager to be able to control themselves. If they do, Yaku remains a very supportive friend during that time period, one who will cheer them up with good conversations and encouragement, who will take them out for food or will carry pain relief pills for them. If not…well, those around him don’t call him ‘scary’ for no reason.

Taketora is really not good with periods. Yeah, he knows they happen. Yeah, he knows they’re natural and something that people deal with, but he doesn’t really get them and they kind of make him uncomfortable. As a man, he doesn’t really have to deal with them and he doesn’t really understand the struggles people can face while on their periods – moods that are all over the place, cramps or body pains, fatigue, period poops, etc. He’s going to be a little angry over the whole topic, honestly. He’s not angry at all with the manager, he just doesn’t want to confront this topic, and honestly, he’s not entirely sure why they can’t just suck it up and behave like they normally do. This ends up happening every month, after all, shouldn’t they be used to it? It can’t be that bad, can it?

Kenma is incredibly observant, especially when it regards the people he cares about. And he does care about their manager, whose always so kind to him and genuinely makes efforts to befriend him. He’s really quick to notice their changes in behaviour, even when the changes are really small – he’s probably noticing on the days leading up to their period that they seem off, even before they suffer any noticeable mood swings or pain. He’s worried about them but he doesn’t really know what he should do. He doesn’t know if he should ask them about it. After all, if there really is something going on with them and he’s not just imagining it, wouldn’t they talk to him about it? That’s what friends do, right? He kind of just lets things continue on as they are, though when things start to get more noticeable, as he becomes more sure that something is going on, he’s making subtle little conversational starters, trying to let them know he’s safe to confide in. As an only child, whose mother is really conservative about her period, Kenma’s a little flustered when he finds out that’s the reason his friend is acting so weird. He doesn’t really know how to handle it but he does do some research and combines it with his knowledge of them. By the time their next period comes, he has Midol, their favourite snack, and an extra tampon that he carries in his bag, in a little black pouch that doesn’t look like anything someone would snoop through, in his backpack. He also sends them a lot of funny memes and challenges them to video games he knows they enjoy while they’re on their period, hoping to give them more fun things to focus on instead of just what’s going on with their body.

Fukunaga is pretty chill about the whole thing. Sure, he’s concerned when their manager appears off, but he figures if they wanted him to know what’s going on with them, they’d tell him. He won’t pry into what’s going on with them…he’s just not that kind of guy, plus he really is more on the quiet side. It’s not so much that he’s shy, it’s just that he doesn’t really see the point of needless chatter. However, jokes don’t seem like needless chatter, especially when their mood seems to be down and he takes the extra effort to tell them more jokes than he normally would, trying to brighten their day up.

Inuoka tries so hard to be a good friend when he notices that their manager is struggling. They seem more tired than normal, they get expressions on their face that make it look like they’re in pain, they teared up once when Kuroo was teasing them. They’re just not acting like themselves and he’s worried about them. Add to this the fact that Inuoka comes across, to me, like someone who would develop a crush on the team’s manager, especially if the manager is someone who kind of takes care of all the boys or dotes on them a little, and the boy is stressed, wondering what’s wrong. The second he saw them tear up at Kuroo’s teasing, he was rushing to their defense, yelling at Kuroo and scolding him. The situation de-escalated quickly enough but still happened. When he sees those expressions of pain on the manager’s face, he’s right there, asking them if they’re okay, are they sure? They look like they’re in pain. Is it an ouchy kind of pain or more an AUGH type of pain? Boy’s just trying so hard to be helpful and protective of his friend/crush. When either the manager or one of the other team members just kind of pulls him aside and lets him in on the fact that they’re just on their period, no need to get so worked up about it, Inuoka’s face just kind of goes blank, goes red, then screws itself up into one hell of an expression of ‘wait…what?’ He kind of breaks for a second…he doesn’t really think about periods ever and now he’s sitting and contemplating them and oh god, their manager is really bleeding…wait, they bleed for days on end? DAYS!?! That can’t be healthy…oh my god, what are you even supposed to do for someone on their period. He’s not sure, but he’s going to learn for the next time this happens.

Teshiro is among the first to realize that the team’s manager is acting oddly. They seem more on edge, things that wouldn’t normally bother them seem to make them angry or bring them to the verge of tears, even if they try so hard to hide it. They wince when they move certain ways. He’s not really sure what’s going on, and he’s a little shy about it, but he lets them know that if something is wrong, if something is bothering them or they’re sick, that he and the other guys are there to help them out, whatever they need. When he eventually finds out it’s because of their period, he really is fazed and there’s the briefest of moments, there’s this weird expression on his face that just screams that he doesn’t know what to say or do, but he adapts pretty quickly. While he’s caught off guard and absolutely has no clue what to do, he tries really hard to be cool about it all.

Lev is actually the one who would be most likely, other than Kuroo, to guess that their manager is on their period, though he’s likely to use slang terms to describe it. They’re exhibiting a lot of the same behaviours and such that his sister does when she’s got her time of the month. He’s not someone shy or at all flustered about things like periods. It’s like…they happen, he can’t do anything about it, the person with the period can’t do anything about it. That doesn’t keep him from being a little obnoxious about it though because he will definitely call out the fact that they’re on their period in front of others. Whether or not that would embarrass them isn’t really something he thinks about at all. His sister never seemed too embarrassed about hers, after all. He’s kind of sweet about it though, which makes it easier to forgive him, because he’ll show up with chocolate or suggest a great heating pad his sister uses or just bring a bottle of Midol with him that he stole from his sister’s stuff. That’s typically when he says that he’s doing so because he figures it will make their period easier for them, loud enough that the whole team hears because Lev has volume issues, but his heart is in the right place.

Shibayama has zero experience with periods either. He’s easily embarrassed by the topic, blushing and stuttering. It’s just not something that’s meant to be talked about, in his mind. So, when someone mentions that the manager is on their period, and it’s why they’re acting so weird, Shibayama can’t really handle that. I think that, though he’s really worried about the manager, because he genuinely likes them and doesn’t like to see them in pain or emotionally worked up like they have been, he avoids them as much as possible for about a good week.

[bonkai4ever94]

kat and chris look soo good in those com pics, bonkai fever kicking in again 😭😭

They look hot asf temperatures have risen to 1000 degrees of bonkai

[gloryundimmed]

The hitman wove his way through the shifting sea of party guests as they danced to the music, his eyes set on someone in particular. Once he was close enough, he leaned on the wall next to the person, a single dark eyebrow raised in amusement. “You’ve been starin’ at me all night, y’know. Is there somethin’ ya want to say, or…” he took hold of their hand and brought it up to his lips, golden eyes never wavering, “do ya just wanna get out of here with me, babe?”

This house party seemed like a bit of a drag at first, but perhaps there was still time to turn the night around.

[gemini-sensei]

will we ever see a part two of eli ‘standing up’ to popular!reader *bows mercilessly

I'm trying to remember what post you're talking about and I can't? Was this a recent or an older post? Send me the link please and I'll see what I can do.

[thefudge]

Happy may10th

happy bonkai day, indeed!

may they always be facing off each other while bonnie wears her cute lil PJs and kai looks like he wants to tear them off with his teeth 😇