"are You Implying You Want Israel To Not Exist" Im Not Implying Im Demanding. Pleading With God And Everybody.

5 times Inej sneaks into Kaz’s bed + 1 time she doesn’t

I.

Most of the time, Kaz does not doubt that buying out Inej’s indenture was a good investment—but damn it, she’s making him think twice about whether or not it was worth it tonight.

“Didn’t I tell you they were going to take a bigger move tonight? Didn’t I tell you to stay hidden?”

At least Inej is wise enough not to answer the questions he throws at her, sharper than the knives that adorn her body.

He’s currently digging around the cabinet near his wash basin for a second roll of linen bandages, his bad leg aching fiercely as he kneels on the wooden floor of the attic to rummage. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate this week with the Liddies pinching customers from the Crow Club—they’d been staging fights outside the door to scare off potential patrons, which only ever devolved into real fights with the Dregs’ bruisers and disrupted the players already at the tables. Now, they were bold enough to try to get the drop on his spider within Dregs territory.

Of course, he’d trained Inej well enough that they hadn’t fully succeeded, but still—their near hit had unleashed some kind of hot fury deep in his chest tonight. It was an irrational anger he could not fully account for except to think that he had warned Inej multiple times this week, had told her to remain on her guard tonight as she traversed the Barrel on his behalf.

And instead, she is sitting uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, wrapping the first roll of linen he’d thrown at her around her torso to cover the bleeding cut on her back, bearing Kaz’s verbal tirade with pursed lips and stony silence.

And that was another thing he’d already corrected her on a hundred times, wasn’t it?

“You were guarding your left arm, weren’t you?” he accuses, seething once more as he deduces how this fight must have unfolded. “Answer me,” he barks, and Inej finally eyes him directly. He notes the fiery glint in her eyes that warns him she won’t tolerate him commanding her like a watchdog more than once.

He doesn’t plan to try it a second time—but sourly, he thinks a watchdog would have been much easier to train than the Wraith.

“What would be the point? Clearly, you’ve already reached your conclusion.” Her tone isn’t quite as cutting as it normally would be when she and Kaz go toe-to-toe, her eyes blinking heavily with exhaustion. Some treacherous part of his mind is almost disappointed she doesn’t try to challenge him, but he quashes that thought almost immediately. Foolish.

…

Continue reading this one-shot here on ao3. 

it's not gay you guys they are making a biblical reference to the kiss of judas ok there's nothing gay about this

If you think these "anti drag" pushes aren't going to be used against trans people for just existing in public, you really really need to read up on the vice laws which caused Stonewall.

If you think Stonewall was only trans women and transmascs/butches/trans men weren't arrested during the leadup to the riot, you need to read up on who was there, who was arrested, and why.

They are coming for all of us. Your supposed respectability will not save you. We will survive this if we stick together, and only if.

Chain of Command Chapter 6

The elevator ride down was dead quiet. Forrest and Robin walked silently, faces turned towards the ground. She suspected that the two were embarrassed by the ordeal on the rooftop.

Standing at the doorway of the building was Grape, the pile of cigarette butts at his feet having doubled since she last saw him. She’d bumped into him on her way up to the rooftop, and she didn’t need to look at the ground to tell that he’d been stress smoking. The boy reeked of smoke. 

She’d regarded him with a click of her tongue and a small look of sympathy before rushing upstairs– she supposed hearing the words ‘Wolf Keum’ alone were already enough to give him a panic attack. Poor baby. 

“What did that fucker say?” Grape cut through the thick silence, returning to his position behind Forrest as he shoved his hands into his pockets, the expression on his face making it obvious that he only expected the worst. Not that she blamed him.

“The money and files got stolen.” Forrest informed him, and Grape nodded soundlessly. Had it been someone else he might’ve made a derisive joke, but he seemed to be worried that if he even opened his mouth, Wolf Keum would swoop down like an eagle and swallow him whole. Maybe he just didn’t want to take the risk.

The four of them continued to walk quietly, before Forrest Lee spoke again. Perhaps he’d wanted to break the silence, or perhaps he’d just been waiting till they were a safe distance away from Ganghak to talk. 

“So you’ll be working with that bastard from now on, huh Bambi?” Forrest glanced to the side to look at her, and she studied his face. He looked grim, though she thought she could spot a hint of relief too. He was probably just glad he didn’t have to face the Big Bad Wolf alone anymore.

“Yeah.” She slowed down as the quartet reached a bus stop, and the three boys stopped with her. Her bus was already there, slowing down as it reached the stop. “I’m gonna go now. Bye.” 

She barely heard the perfect sync of goodbyes from the boys as she turned around, long brown hair swishing behind her, and stepped onto the vehicle.

~

It’d been about an hour since this meeting had started, and Bambi was starting to get restless. The last sixty minutes, she’d been standing behind Donald’s armchair,  watching as he talked to the new client sitting across from them. 

The new business partner was another wrinkly man in his sixties with a failing business, desperate for Donald’s help. The news of KHG’s big break had spread through the grapevine, and now businessmen were swarming around Donald like he was the second coming of Christ. Because of that, they’d seen a pretty large increase in their commissions. What a blessed new year.

The old man seemed to be wrapping the meeting up now, sticking his hand out to Donald, both anxiety and excitement displayed on his face at the idea of all the money he was about to make. 

She didn’t pay further attention to any of the other words exchanged between the two, turning her focus instead to the clock on the wall (9pm) and both her mental and physical exhaustion. Thank God it’s finally over. Kingsley, who had stood by her side until now, followed the man on his way out to guide him downstairs, leaving Donald and Bambi alone behind him.

The room fell silent after the door snapped shut.

Bambi tapped her foot nervously.

Usually she preferred silence, but with Donald the quiet always felt suffocating. Like even breathing would make an avalanche of noise. Like there were a thousand thoughts running through his head at once, and she was missing out on every single one of them.

Donald didn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of noise though, standing up and making his way to the other side of the office wordlessly. Bambi leaned back to rest her body weight on the chair, watching as he stood in front of the large window, his hands clasped behind his back. 

Perhaps to a bystander, it may have seemed like he was admiring the view. But she didn’t need to look to know that he was watching her in the reflection, his red eyes trained on her like a hawk. Staying as still as possible under Donald’s gaze proved to be a challenge, and she found herself fiddling with her fingers anxiously as she forced herself to meet his gaze in the glass.

She felt like he knew that he was torturing her with his silence– like he enjoyed her attention, enjoyed watching her hang on to his every movement, waiting for more.

After all, all she wanted was to know him better.

Ever since she first joined the Union, she’d felt an unexplainable magnetic pull towards Donald Na. It was as if he were the sun, and she was just a small insignificant dwarf planet rotating around him. 

He had charisma, and what seemed like infinite confidence capable of making even her nervous. From the moment she’d first set eyes on him, she’d made it her lifelong goal to unravel the mystery of who Donald Na really was.

Plus, Donald was nice, which made it easier. Not nice in the way where he’d hold open doors for you or smile at you in the street, but where he’d make small talk and pretend to care about your personal life. Not that she was stupid enough to actually mistake this for friendship– he did this with everybody, even the executives he beat up. Just another thing that came built in with his alluring personality– but it opened up a door for her to actually know him. The person past the intimidating stare and massive displays of wealth that she now realised looked a lot like a form of protection.

She relished in the attention that he gave her, though admitting it made her feel somewhat embarrassed. It was like she’d deciphered a puzzle no one else could solve, except she was really only halfway to the answer– even after all the time they’d spent together, it still felt like she’d barely scraped the surface of who Donald Na really was. Well, she wasn’t gonna stop now.

No matter how much it went against her better judgement.

“It’s late. You should go home.” Donald had finally looked away from her, his attention turned to the streets below, and she felt a pang of jealousy. The tone he’d used was casual enough, but she knew the statement was more than a simple formality.

So, instead of saying her goodbyes, she walked towards his desk slowly, almost defiantly, fighting the urge to smile as his eyes finally left the window and followed her across the room till she was right behind him. 

Dragging out the silence, she spoke slowly. “What about you?”

Donald turned slightly at her question, and his red eyes glinted, as if he was amused by her deliberate slowed pace. Often, she went so quick everybody around her found it hard to keep up. But when it came to Donald, it felt like she had to go slow, or she’d miss out something essential and never catch up. She knew he knew it too.

She stopped herself from huffing. Not her fault being around him felt like walking in a minefield. He let out a small breath of air, deadpan expression melting into a smirk. She wanted to ask him what he thought was so funny.

“I have work to do.” 

Both pairs of eyes flicked down to the stack of files on his desk, and Bambi nodded in understanding. It wasn’t rare to see Donald working late into the night, a small frown on his face as he read through reports and legal documents, and who knows what else. Sometimes he fell asleep at his desk, head resting on his arms, a rare moment of vulnerability for someone as vicious as Donald Na.

“Would you like tea? Or coffee?” Bambi was already turning towards the door, though her eyes stayed fixed on him.

Donald smiled, tapping on his desk.

“Coffee will do.”

Shonen authors writing a hetero romance: They bicker... But... They KISS?!?!?! Revolutionary.

Shonen authors writing two male "best friends": They are friends, partners, family. They complete each-other. They've been together for so long it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, and they know each-other so intimately that they can predict every action the other will take. They're opposites and yet they go together like a pair of gloves, they're yin and yang, they fill each-other's weaknesses and boost each-other's strength. They wouldn't be alive without one another, they wouldn't want to be alive without one another. Even when they're on different paths, they trust each-other blindly. Even as enemies they are willing to put their lives in each-other's hands. Their life goals involve one-another, all the roads in their life lead to their partner. A part of one will always be with the other, no matter how far apart the fates carry them.

I got Death Note HTR13 recently and reading it made me realize how there's barely any thematic meaning put into this story intentionally. Same with political commentary. Even (most of) the discussion around morality. Everything remotely intellectual ppl discuss about this series isn't a conscious decision, to a point that both Ohba (creator/writer) and Obata (artist), admit they were surprised by how much ppl had to say and analyze abt it.

Example of what I mean:

Also during the interview sections, there's so many instances of Obata asking Ohba what his creative vision was for this and that and Ohba just nonchalantly admitting he barely put any thought into the story beyond "oh this would be cool" or "oh this kinda fits the vibe".

There's a whole page of the interview where Obata is befuddled how the apples didn't have any intended symbolism behind them after Ohba tells him they were purely an aesthetic choice. Obata is so shocked by this (bc he knows apples are a common religious motif in art) he actually keeps asking Ohba if he's joking, while Ohba keeps stressing he's being serious. (Context: they never interacted while working on Death Note, they only spoke through their editor who'd rely production notes)

Anyhow, I think this explains a lot.

Before Barbenheimer, there was “Apocalypse in Pink,” the August 1983 theme of fashion/culture magazine SPECTAGORIA. The issue’s controversial imagery of Barbie-esque models attempting to stay gorgeous and glamorous amidst nuclear annihilation sought to, in the words of editor/photographer Sera Clairmont, “revel in the morbid absurdity of the new American condition,” an “anxiety vibrating underneath all our plastic smiles.”

“It’s The Hot Pink Cold War,” Clairmont wrote in her introduction. “It’s ‘Material Girl’ on the radio and ‘WarGames’ at the drive-in. It’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ interrupted by the emergency broadcast signal. We’re told to look sexy, dress fashionable, make money, and spend money, but be sure we’re just the right amount of terrified about the bomb. Get that Malibu dream home, keep working on that perfect body, sip cocktails by the pool in your little pink bikini and watching the stocks go up — but STAY VIGILANT! and for God’s sake vote Republican, because that dream home could melt into a pink plastic inferno at any given moment. Just don’t stop smiling as the blast liquefies your skin into bubbling ooze like a Barbie doll in a microwave - it’s bad for the economy.”

---------

NOTE: This is a work of fiction created by me. This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and interconnected alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

please

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I just read a fic from 2013 and left a comment on the end. The author responded within 3 hours.

Please leave comments on fics. It doesn't matter if you don't know what to say I literally made a joke about a space worm. Please comment on fics it'll make the authors day even if its from 9 years ago.

Sophisticated beats to write criminals names in your deathnote to

Next Benoit Blanc mystery is a muppet movie. You agree. Reblog.