#but it’s limping along

[icterid-rubus]

We switched to text but I kind of fumbled the convo handoff and I’m struggling to think of things to say but part of me is like, good, the more you say now the less you’ll have to say in person on Saturday!!!!!

[thankstothe]

this show rewires you fundamentally in 60 seconds and then just goes on to have more seasons. audacity

[vague-humanoid]

Forty-six thousand Israeli businesses have been forced to shut as a result of the ongoing war and its devastating effect on the economy, Hebrew newspaper Maariv reported on 10 July, referring to Israel as a “country in collapse.” 

“This is a very high number that encompasses many sectors. About 77 percent of the businesses that have been closed since the beginning of the war, which make up about 35,000 businesses, are small businesses with up to five employees, and are the most vulnerable in the economy,” Yoel Amir, CEO of Israeli information services and credit risk management firm, CofaceBdi, told Maariv. 

The report adds that “the most vulnerable industries are the construction industry, and as a result also the entire ecosystem that operates around it: ceramics, air conditioning, aluminum, building materials, and more – All of these were significantly damaged,” according to CofaceBdi’s risk ratings.

The trade sector has also been severely affected. This includes the service sector and industries including fashion, furniture, housewares, entertainment, transport, and tourism. 

Israel is in a situation where “there is almost no foreign tourism,” the report said, adding that “damage to businesses is all over the country, and almost no sector has been spared.” 

This includes the agriculture sector, which is based mainly in the south and the north – both considered active combat zones due to the threat posed by the Palestinian resistance and Lebanon’s Hezbollah – whose support front against Israel has significantly contributed to the downfall of the economy. 

The CofaceBdi CEO estimates that 60,000 Israeli businesses are expected to be shut down by the end of 2024. 

Hezbollah’s attacks have severely affected local business and education in the north. Tens of thousands of settlers have been forced to evacuate. “Our goal of draining the enemy’s economy … has been achieved,” Hezbollah leader Hassan Nasrallah said on 10 July. 

The Yemeni army’s maritime operations have also contributed to the economy's downfall. Revenues at key ports, such as the southern port of Eilat, have fallen significantly.

In the final months of 2023, the Israeli GDP plummeted by nearly 20 percent.

The threat of escalation with Hezbollah has also posed fears in Israel that any full-scale war with the Lebanese resistance would plunge the economy much deeper into the abyss. Hezbollah has demonstrated through recent video warnings that it is capable of attacking energy infrastructure such as oil refineries and gas tanks.

@el-shab-hussein

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

To think these two didn't get along back in the day.

Bitch, WHERE ?

[kairukitsuneo]

Why no one talk about that one time Sentinel got stabbed by a spider and instantly went limp like a useless damsel?

look at this poor meow meow lmao

[mo-ok]

guys hELP

[scepterno]

do you ever think about

[paperrretro]

LIGHTSTRUCK | pt. 12

Pairing: Merlin x Reader

Word Count: 2,619 words

Warnings: None

Summary: Your father accepts a position as Prince Merlin’s magic tutor, and you are unceremoniously dragged along.

(Or, pieces of your unspectacular life in and out of the royal palace, and how a certain idiotic prince somehow gets wrapped up in it either way.)

read on quotev | read on ao3

In the corner of a restaurant, huddled at a table meant for two, you slurp up the last of the noodles and lick the grease off your lips with a satisfied sigh.

Good, authentic Carmarthenian food is hard to come by on Golden Goose Avenue, but this one – this one is promising. A rich broth, fresh vegetables sliced paper-thin, spices that warm your throat like gentle coals in a fireplace. You long to be able to cook this well, but the culinary arts are more different from elixirism than one would think. (For one, the quality of food is measured by how good it tastes.)

“More?” asks the owner, an older lady who reminds you of Fay. (She owns the restaurant with her son. He’s your age, she’d told you when she brought your food. Single. Graduated top of his class at culinary school and takes very good care of her.)

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m so full.” You feel guilty for saying no, even though you’d given in the previous two times. You eye the table next to yours. “But could I have some tteokbokki to go?”

“Of course.”

After paying your bill and sitting for a bit longer to digest, you heft yourself up and grab your takeout, waving goodbye to the owner and her son before finally exiting the restaurant.

The bright sunlight scalds your eyes. Squinting against it, you look around for some signs or a directory. You’re already done with your work-shopping for the day. Maybe you could go browse for some new books.

Just as you reorient yourself and start heading towards Beauty and the Books, you hear two familiar voices coming from somewhere nearby.

“Red Shoes!”

You perk up, curious. Turning around, you catch sight of Arthur and Merlin rounding a corner, hands cupped around their mouths. Behind them lumbers a giant wooden bunny.

“Red Sh – oh,” Arthur cuts himself off once he spots you, blinking in surprise. “Hello. Fancy running into you here. Have you seen Red Shoes, by any chance?”

You eye Merlin, who only meets your gaze for a second before finding a sudden interest in the nearby lamppost. Fine. He can act how he likes, and you’ll pretend he doesn’t exist. “No.”

“Great.” Arthur sighs and slumps forward. “I take my eyes off her for just a few seconds and she up and disappears on me.”

Your brow wrinkles, and you glance around. You certainly haven’t seen Red Shoes since you got here, but Golden Goose Avenue is a big place, and you haven’t exactly been paying attention to the other shoppers. “Maybe she went into one of the stores to shop by herself. Is it really that big of a deal?”

“Well, no, but you never know what could happen,” Arthur persists. “Looks like hers bring all sorts of creeps out of the woodworks.” He shudders. “Speaking from experience.”

Now, that is something you can imagine. Maybe it’s not so great to be so beautiful, you think, if all you get in return are expectations.

“I’ll help you find her,” you offer.

“Would you? Fantastic!”

Walking alongside Arthur as he retraces his steps, you keep an eye out for silky brown hair, a red satin skirt – lovestruck gazes. You hope she’s outside so you can avoid the hassle of looking in each individual shop. Some of them are charmed to keep you inside for hours.

In all honesty, it’s more likely that Red Shoes will find the three of you instead of the other way around, given the heavy thump, thump, thumps that rumble behind the two of you down the street.

You clear your throat during a lull between calling her name.

“So, what’s with the giant wooden bunny?”

Arthur looks up at you and then back at the silent creature. He reaches up to scratch the back of his head before stopping midway and posturing instead. “Just a vicious beast that I rescued Red Shoes from last night. Pretty impressive, right?”

“Ha!” Merlin says, and Arthur whips around.

“Got something to say, magic boy?!”

As the two begin to bicker, you drop back to examine the bunny again. It stares back at you, eyes half-lidded as if utterly unimpressed with the company it has found itself in. ‘Vicious’ is the last thing you’d use to describe it. If anything, it’s calmer than any of you.

You’ve never heard of giant wooden animals living near Risky Rock before. Maybe the increase in monster activity is affecting the wildlife …

“—so I’m not even gonna bother explaining women to you anymore.” A loud scoff from Arthur distracts you from your staring contest with the bunny, and you furrow your brow as he breaks away from Merlin to resume walking. You jog slightly to catch up. “C’mon, [Y/n]. Red Shoes! Red Shoes?”

From the alleyway to your right, you hear someone call out.

“Guys! Guys, I’m here.”

When you turn to look into the shadows of the alley, you can just make out the figure of a young woman in the middle of a group of knights. She waves at you.

You don’t recognize her. Judging by the looks on Arthur and Merlin’s faces, they don’t know her either, so the three of you awkwardly look away and continue on.

“That was weird,” Merlin mutters once you’re out of earshot.

“She probably thought we were someone else,” Arthur brushes it off. “Let’s go, we need to find Red Shoes.”

Merlin nods, but when you look at him, his expression is troubled. He glances over his shoulder and stops walking.

“No, the way those knights were standing around her …” he starts. “Something didn’t seem right.”

You frown. You’d be the first to list Merlin’s many faults, but poor instincts is not one of them; you’ve been on the wrong end of them too many times to count. You think back to the alleyway and wonder what he had noticed that you didn’t. Was the woman secretly asking for help? Were the knights not as relaxed as you thought they were?

Arthur groans impatiently, throwing his arms out. “They’re probably helping her find whoever she thought we were,” he responds. “It’s fine. Now, are you going to help me find our princess or not?”

Your gaze flits from one prince to the other, stopping on Merlin as he continues to look over his shoulder. His fingers twitch, antsy, and his mouth presses into a thin line before he opens it.

“Keep looking for her,” he finally says, turning around and running back to the alley. “I’ll be right back!”

Curiosity eclipsing your pride, you run after him.

“Are you ser – guys!” Arthur yells after the two of you, his voice fading with the distance. “Merlin, stop trying so hard to play hero!”

With Merlin’s stature, it’s easy to catch up to him. “Hey,” you ask once you do, clutching your bags to your chest to keep their contents from clattering around, “what did you –”

“Shh.” He halts abruptly just before the entrance to the alleyway, throwing an arm out to stop you.

You hold your tongue and swallow the impulse to push him right back. Wordlessly, he and you peek around the corner and squint through the darkness.

Oh.

The knights, who had seemed so casual before, now cluster in the back of the alleyway, their weapons raised. And though you can’t see her, you can hear the voice of the young woman from before.

(You hate it when he’s right.)

The soft crinkle of paper by your leg catches your ear, and you glance down to see Merlin holding one of his talismans. Your eyes widen.

“Uh, Merlin –”

“Come on,” he mutters, and the next thing you know, he’s striding towards the knights and flicking his fingers with quiet confidence.

The knights rattle and drop like flies, revealing the cowering figure of the poor woman you’d all ignored earlier. She’s pressed herself against the back wall. As she lowers her arms, eyes round with shock and fear, shame swirls in the pit of your stomach.

You trail after Merlin as he picks a red shoe off the ground and dusts it off. He approaches the woman and offers it to her.

“Your red shoe, milady,” Merlin says.

His voice is gentle, assuring, and soft, and it renders you speechless.

Merlin isn’t gentle. He’s arrogant, and flashy, and tries too hard to be suave. He’s a prince. He’s not a gentleman. But the way he had gone back, and the way he had stayed to speak with the woman afterwards …

Something moves inside your chest. It warms behind your ribcage, and you are startled by the strangeness of it, and strangely frightened.

“… Excuse me, miss, have we met?”

“Um”—the woman tenses, meeting your eyes before quickly looking away, and you are hit with a odd, vague sense of familiarity—“well, that’s kind of a complicated question.”

You open your mouth, only to be interrupted by the sound of Arthur yelling out for Red Shoes outside the alley.

You had almost forgotten.

“Will you be okay?” You break your silence upon your second attempt, lowering the bags from your arms.

This time, the woman holds your gaze, and she smiles a bit bigger, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Okay … er.” There are now two pairs of eyes on you as you free one hand to dig around in your satchel and pull out a small bottle. It’s partly to assuage your guilt, which makes you feel guiltier somehow, but, “Here, have this. It’s a deterrent. You spray it.” When she takes it hesitantly, you hastily tack on, “It’s free.”

(Oh, gods, you think. Why would you even say that?)

Merlin tugs at your sleeve, gesturing at the street with his head. “We gotta go,” he tells the woman. “Stay safe.”

You mumble out some semblance of a similar sentiment, and as you leave her, hurrying out of the darkness into the bright light, you bite your bottom lip in embarrassment and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Wow.” Merlin releases you once you’ve both turned the corner, letting out a snort that brings blood rushing to your ears. “I bet princesses would be scrambling in line for your post-rescue care.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, desperately wishing for him to just drop it, drop it. (You know he won’t.) “What – what about that weird act you had going back there? ‘Your red shoes, milady’ – I almost died of cringe!”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t acting,” Merlin replies indignantly. “And it wasn’t cringey.”

“I’ve never seen you be that nice without a motive.”

He huffs up at you. “I’m actually genuinely nice, thank you! You’d know that if you didn’t antagonize me all the time.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around,” you retort.

“Oh, please.” The two of you begin to walk towards Arthur and the Wood-Rabbit, and Merlin’s voice takes on a smugger tone, needling at the part of you that remains young and oversensitive. “You know what I think?” he says. “I think you’re jealous that I was being nice to her.”

“… What?”

“It’s perfectly fine, [Y/n].” He casts a glance at you, a smirk stretching across his cheeks. “If you ever get attacked by a dragon or something, I’ll sweep you off your feet too.”

You balk. Heat spreads from your ears to the entirety of your face.

That little –

“Took you guys long enough!” Arthur scolds right as you’ve decided to encase Merlin’s head in an ice cube and then yours. “So, Merlin, was I right or was I right?”

“You were wrong, actually,” Merlin snarks. “There was a problem, and I took care of it. [Y/n] can vouch for that.”

“Yeah, right, you really think I’m gonna believe”—Arthur looks to you for backup, only for his face to drop when you glare at the ground and cross your arms—“believe … w-well, that’s …! Fine! Anyways, more importantly, I just saw Red Shoes on a wanted poster, and I have a lot of questions about that, so we need to find her ASAP.”

“Wanted poster?” you ask.

“You didn’t see them? The knights have been passing them out,” Merlin says. “The ones that weren’t busy harassing citizens, at least.”

He pulls out a piece of paper and unfolds it, offering it to you. With distaste curling your lips, refusing to meet his eyes, you snatch it up and read the header and footer.

WANTED, it says. BIG REWARD.

Drawn in the middle of the page is, without question, Red Shoes.

“What did she do?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“I know it doesn’t say; I can read. What did the knights say?”

“Go and ask them yourself.”

“Oh, for the Lady’s sake,” bemoans Arthur, throwing his head back and turning around, “I liked it better when you two were moping. Can you just –” He looks past you and suddenly, his eyes brighten. “Red Shoes!”

He waves his arm. You turn on your heel, catching sight of who you’re certain is Red Shoes dashing towards the entrance of the Avenue. She doesn’t so much as slow down or look over her shoulder.

“Stop!”

You blink, and a gust of wind blows by as two giant men barrel past you. It doesn’t take much to figure out who they’re chasing after.

Merlin yanks your arm a split second later.

“Get on!”

“Get on what –” Realizing his plan, you scramble after him onto the Wood-Rabbit’s back. “What about Arthur?”

Merlin clutches onto the greenery sprouting from the back of the rabbit’s head. “He’ll catch up!”

You yelp as the Wood-Rabbit stands up, grabbing a fistful of moss with your right hand. Your left hand isn’t so lucky.

The creature bounds forward, and you fly several inches up into the air. With a panicked gasp, you wrap your loose arm around the next sturdiest thing and squeeze tight.

Merlin lets out a mix between a wheeze and a cough as you all but crush his lungs. “What are you doing?” he yells, trying to pry your hand from his coat. “Grab Red Shoes!”

The rabbit jumps again, bringing your heart to your throat, and you tighten your grip. “You’re the rescuer, aren’t you?!”

“How can you expect me to – just do it!”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can!”

“I can’t!” you shriek just as you catch up to Red Shoes, throwing your arm out. She grabs it, and when the rabbit jumps, she soars upward and lands right behind you.

“I’m okay!” she yells, grabbing the moss on the Wood-Rabbit’s back with far better luck than you.

Merlin looks back, exhaling with relief when he sees Red Shoes. “Thank Morgaina,” he exclaims. The four of you sail past the Avenue’s entrance, and his attention then turns to you, his eyebrows raising as you dig your fingers into his coat again. “See, was that so hard, you big baby?”

“You’re a jerk,” you shout. But your nerves are alight, and your blood is rushing, and a sharp, wild laugh bubbles from your throat for the very first time. “If we die, I’ll kill you myself!”

“Like you could!” he says. You feel laughter rumbling through his chest, fresh and real and alive.

(Your heart jumps into your throat again.)

Behind you, Red Shoes dissolves into giggles. The adrenaline pounding in your head brings with it the hysterical relief that only comes from a terrifying experience, and your laughter joins hers and Merlin’s, cracking the air and leaving your pursuers in its wake.

This curse is going to take years off your life, you think. You find yourself not caring nearly as much as you should.

—

Part: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve

[oldmanpuppyplay]

The Midnight Meat Train (2008), Dir. Ryûhei Kitamura

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

you know what!!!! I’m going to yell about emotionally repressed but endlessly devoted Kim Kitsuragi!!!!!

Because imagine Kim “Professional Distance” Kitsuragi, who uses every excuse in the book to dodge Harry’s advances or attempts to turn them into more permanent partners beyond the RCM. Except he can only keep him so far away, both by virtue of the person Harry is and Kim’s own terrible, terrible decisions that always bring them back together. And Kim realizes quickly that distancing from Harry leaves him more vulnerable to the jabs and jeers of McLaine, Torson, and Vicquemare.

Harry swears it doesn’t bother him. Kim always stands within earshot of Harry, close enough to shut down any attempts to dig at Harry’s history. McLaine and Torson learn quickly to walk the other way when Kim is near, checking over their shoulders when he isn’t. Jean doesn’t learn as easily. Harry’s the one to stop Kim from punching him in the bullpen after one glib comment about Harry’s recovery.

And afterward, when Judit’s dragged Jean away and Harry’s hauled Kim out to the kineema (because where else would kim feel safe?), Harry sits next to Kim in the passenger seat and holds his face so he can’t look away and asks, “What the hell was that?”

And it’s shaky because Harry is breathing heavily, like he ran a mile, except in his brain because he’s been working on a Thought Project for the last several weeks since Kim started acting more…. and more… like….

“He had no right to speak to you like that,” Kim would reply, swallowing his embarrassment, sending Harry’s entire head screaming —

Authority: … Because you’re his superior and he should show you respect.

Inland Empire: … Because he claims to care about you, that you’re an old friend, but he does not act like it.

Drama: … Because he’s projecting his own problems onto you, Sire.

Espirit de Corps: …Because you’re brothers, you should have each other’s backs. Always.

Empathy: … Because Jean hurt you…

Half-Light: …and he will kill him if he does it again.

And it knocks the breath out of Harry as the Thought Project finishes and he realizes Kim might actually be as devoted to him as he’s always been toward Kim. Everything was always to protect Harry and keep him safe and uplift him and Dei if that isn’t everything Harry’s wanted since waking up haunted by the Ex-Nothing that begun a depressive spiral he’d be kicked deeper into for at LEAST SIX YEARS.

(After the inevitable twenty minute kineema makeout that follows, Kim reluctantly promises not to hide Jean’s body anywhere it could never be found. Only obvious places. Harry attempts to be stern when he chides him, but Kim is much better at keeping a straight face.)

[wackpedion]

why the fuck did they make the dads gay what was the point of that heathers the musical makes no fucking sense

[tsunflowers]

I just saw someone say the guy who owns this site is getting sued and experienced my usual stab of panic when I see news that could be bad for the continued upkeep of the site. I could lead a happy and healthy life without tumblr and move to bluesky or dreamwidth or something but I dont want to

[kayzero]

Quark’s Dreamlike Defibrillation Drabble

You’re sleeping.

Nothing else makes sense.

“Clear.”

Yeah, why else would you feel your heartbeat so clearly? So strong that it’s a little bit painful, beating so heavily that it leaves achey little aftershocks in your chest after every pulse. Thundering and powerful, like you’ve received a shock of lightning from the king of gods himself.

But you only just learned of gods, of Zeus, of Olympus. It was a brand new story from a brand new book—not a super old book from Before, but something totally new. Something made just for you.

It was better than that one book that con artist tried to trick you with—that thing was super old and super thick, yeah, and normally you like that kinda stuff, but only ‘cause you like stories, and people have only barely started writing good stories again, just like people have only started having kids again.

The guy said that it was like a thousand stories in one book, that the book was only falling apart since it was so long and so old, and obviously it was worth a whole bunch just because it was a… it was… an ant-fall-chief…?

“Anthology?”

It was a stupid word, you just started calling it a book-book, ‘cause it was a book full of books, Grandpa said it had full stories instead of chapters!

Grandpa is dead.

…No, he isn’t…

“…”

Yeah… he just got you the best Christmas present ever, just last month. That con artist jerk wanted to sell you the book-book for half of that day’s scavenge, and it was a really really good day of scavenging too! He didn’t even do any work himself, and there wasn’t anything wrong with him either, ‘cause he had to run to catch up with you, and he wasn’t even puffing afterwards, and he had to carry that stupid book with both arms ‘cause that’s how bad it was falling apart.

He just wanted a bunch of your stuff for nothing, nothing but a stupid book that maybe you were a little bit interested in, sure, but you’re not stupid like he musta been, and you told him so and you walked away, pulling your smaller part of the haul while Grandpa pushed his heavier cart behind you.

Grandpa is dead.

It jolts you like a second thunderbolt, it must have gone from your chest up to your brain, because your lungs catch and your nose hurts and your face feels wet. It feels like you’re crying, which reinforces the idea that you’re dreaming, because you were crying on that day too, after you told that con artist off, because you really really did want that book, but you needed supplies more, and your scavenge was so big that Grandpa had to make three trips to trade it all.

You have to be dreaming because he can’t be dead like your brain is trying to tell you, because he wouldn’t leave you alone. Even when you thought you were alone and you it was safe to cry because you really wanted the book full of books, he must have still been there because he knew, and the very next month on Christmas Day he gave you your own story book.

Your book was brand new, made just for you. Every chapter was for a different group of gods from different religions that didn’t worship Brother and Radical-6, and every page had a different god, with their own description and summary and a few fun facts and a list of ‘Myths’, which were all super awesome stories that could be told verbally, so they didn’t take up space and make the book super huge so it would never fall apart.

Every night before bed, you could pick out a new Myth, like how Zeus saved the Olympians and became the King of the Gods, and Grandpa would tell you the story, and it would be the last thing you heard before you fell asleep, which was way better than just reading them.

Grandpa is dead.

The thought thunders through your head, another shock to your system, another bolt from the divide… No…? The defied? Delight? Dim light…?

“Divine...”

Divine. Dih v-eye nn. Godly, or of godlike quality. A new word that you just learned from your new book that you just got for Christmas just last week. Why would you use a new word you only just heard, or think about a king you only just read about, or feel your heart beat way too strong in the wrong part of your chest, direct center of your chest, the middle of your body, perfectly aligned to receive and deliver blood everywhere evenly, except every diagram ever says that it should be somewhere off to the left, between your lung and your ribs.

Painful heartbeat, impossibly centered, painful thoughts, impossibly overpowering.

But anything is possible in a dream.

So you let the distressing thought wash away, dream that it gets pushed down your bloodstream with every beat of your thundering heart, and watch it get smaller and smaller as it slowly disappears, along with the last of your divine tingles.

…You wonder if there are any gods of sleep.

Probably, right?

After you wake up, you’ll look in your book and ask grandpa—

Grandpa is dead.

—when the nightmare is finally gone.

[greaterspawnislands]

big testosterone bottle acquired‼️‼️

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

💀B O R L A N D & D U R S T🧢

[blujayonthewing]

I WANNA PLAY MY BOY OOOOOUUUGHH!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH