kei

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[stil-lindigo]

PALESTINIAN FUNDS CLOSE TO THEIR GOAL #2

Help Abdallah and his family evacuate Gaza - £15,698 / 17,000

Help feed Mohammed Alafranji and his family - €1,440 / 10,000

A father's appeal for his children's peace - $20,075 / 25,000

Please help Salwa Al-Shandagha's family survive the war - €6,155 / 10,000

Help Leena and her Family to evacuate from Gaza ASAP - €6,940 / 15,000

[stuckinapril]

horrific article from the bbc broke last about israel detaining healthcare workers, stripping them naked, and beating them for days on end. we already knew israel was doing this to palestinian detainees, but to be deliberately targeting medical personnel--doctors and nurses and medical assistants on the ground trying to heal wounded palestinians--and then literally torturing them are on levels of cruelty i can't even begin to compute.

a humanitarian law expert in this article calls the footage coming out of this "concerning." i call it the terms racists love to throw baselessly at arabs: barbaric and inhumane.

[stil-lindigo]

the way that the iran/israel situation has escalated so fast into potential ww3 is terrifying but its also worth saying that if you care about palestinian lives and holding israel accountable, it's not the time to be muting tags. western media is gonna be doing its best to make iran seem like the aggressor. you'll play a part in upholding the narrative by bearing witness now.

[stil-lindigo]

oh to one day live in a world that doesn't hinge on the whims of the united states of fucking america.

[stil-lindigo]

people who adopt punk aesthetics and culture but can't refrain from buying an overpriced starbucks every morning because it's their "comfort drink!!!", how does it feel to be a walking mannequin

[intersectionalpraxis]

[intersectionalpraxis]

You know that make-up brand, Il Makiage, that's been advertised a lot lately? (I see commercials for it everytime I turn the TV on?) As an Arabic speaker, it caught my attention because that's the Arabic word for make-up. I thought, oh, an Arab-owned company? That's cool.

Wrong! It's Tel-Aviv funded! Do not support this trash! I tried to find out if the Hebrew word for make-up happens to be the same as Arabic but Google Translate didn't have the pronunciation and the dictionaries only had the spelling but it's probably safe to assume they stole the word!

Those Il Makiage makeup ads are everywhere — here's the story behind them

Oddity, which created DTC beauty and wellness brands Il Makiage and Spoiled Child, says it's profitable. Experts think it could be preparing

I actually didn't know about this brand! Thank you for alerting me to this so that I could post about it here. I haven't worn make up in about 7 years, so maybe that's why it hasn't been on my radar? Since I know your fyp/algorithm usually pushes ads based on your interests/what you search for? Or maybe I did and I scrolled past it? But no matter the case, I found an article (above) that talks about the brands related to this company that people can look at just in case they haven't seen them on their social media feeds as well.

And to use the word for makeup in Arabic to start a line... that's just unsettling. Please -please don't support this brand, there are SO many you can buy from. I know the article I shared was from early last year, but based on little research I've done they've accumulated hundreds of millions of dollars -and are aiming to gross even higher.

[skiesandflowers-deactivated2024]

Just because we aren't seeing more posts about Palestine, doesn't mean the genocide has stopped. Let's keep Praying and speaking up for Gaza, Palestine.

[helpgazachildren]

UPDATE!

Thanks to everyone donating and sharing the link, Hussam was able to put together 200 kits!

After he bought all the items for the women's care kit and put them together (click), he went around camp and distributed the kits to women in need. Click the sound for a message from Hussam!

Please take the time to donate using the link below! Your donations go directly to people in need with NO middle man in between! No donation amount is too little!

Donate now to save children's lives on GAZA STRIP

Help SKYVOIP reach their goal by donating or sharing with your friends.

[bbonnenuit]

im studying for my uni entrance exams but lordd these fingers twitch for my keyboard i need to write

[supremeleaderoofpoof]

for such a violent man, his kisses are so very tender.

[bbonnenuit]

scara........sigh.......

[bbonnenuit]

chrollo x reader.

notes: no warnings, other than the fact that this was written in 20 minutes max. fluff. chrollos a loser (again)

"I'm telling you..." You release an exasperated sigh, "It tastes like hand sanitizer at best." Your fervent pleas are almost running dry, no longer opting for softer approaches on expressing your displeasure of being forced to taste test wine in the middle of the night. You glace at the the red liquid swirling in your glass and immediately wince as the aftertaste you had to endure a few moments ago suddenly comes back to memory- an odd concoction of acidic, bitter, sour, and sharp resulting in a terrible pang to your taste buds. As attractive the deep, dark shade of red looks, it does not taste as good as its visuals intend.

"...I see." Chrollo says, his compliance suspicious to you. He does not seem that all amused that he's practically wasting what seems to be the most high-end wines on you. Five bottles of wine- all he had assured would be your favorite as it is his- situated on top of the cold dining room table. All each 'exquisite wine' have earned your ire, each more than the last.

"Perhaps you'd prefer ones of the medium-bodied wines instead." Chrollo smiles as he turns around to one of the cupboards and you groan. You're in your pyjamas, sleep mask shoved back messily creating all sorts of odd curls and spikes of your hair, and you don't know where your other slipper went so you're barefoot on your left foot. Your irritation only grows by each moment you're not warm and engulfed under heavy blankets, under dim lights and some light music in your ears. Instead you're in this cold, annoyingly bright room with the sour, sharp stench of wine stabbing your nasals.

"Chrollo, please. I know your last name's Lucilfer or whatever but don't live up to it." If you had more energy, you would climb over the table and (try to) strangle the man. But all you can do right now is amp up the complaints, which you don't have to guess are entering his ear and escaping the other. "God, it's almost one the morning. Don't you have an... Oh, I don't know, a heist or something due by 12 tomorrow?"

"Yes." He turns around, two more bottles of wine in his hand. You instinctively cover your glass in caution. And the vermin has the audacity to chuckle. "I'm thinking of heisting wine houses."

You think about smashing every single bottle he brings back on his head.

[genshin-impact-updates]

Happy Birthday, Wanderer!

It's you again? Alright, come up quickly, but make sure no one sees you.

You weren't followed, were you? ...Hmph, I guess I'll have to trust you for now.

Well, what did you want to say? Just so you know, I don't want to hear it if it's "Happy Birthday" or something like that.

That goes for you fluffballs too, I'm watching y— Hey, stop moving around! I'll play with you later.

[bbonnenuit]

DO YOU SEE HIM DO YOU SEE HIM DO YOU SEE EHIMYOU ALL NEED TO SEE HIM I NEED THIS PROJECTED ON THE NIGHT SKY, TATTOOED ON MY FOREHEAD, PLASTERED ON LARGE SKY SCRAPERS AND HAVE A RELIGION BUILT AROUND IT

[bbonnenuit]

The Smiths.

notes: chrollo is yandere, although the fic is lighthearted. the biggest warning is the fact that chrollo looks like he'd listen to the smiths /j, another bigger warning is that reader is an avid the smiths hater. im not tho, all for fun. female reader.

 “Daydreaming again, I see?”

   It would be a lie to say that Chrollo’s voice isn’t at the slightest bit pleasant to hear. It’s soft and smooth, but accompanied with a confident low timbre that you think might be the source of it’s charm. 

   You often wish you both don’t share a language to speak over, so whatever he speaks would be foreign yet pleasant gibberish in your ears. And maybe you’d be able to close your eyes and sleep. You’d be able to treat him as the background noise of some radio host talking about something as mundane as today’s newest dramas. 

  You don’t find the need to chase the impossible ideal this time. One doesn’t need to be a linguist expert in order to know no malice or warning is present in his voice, though one might need a bachelor’s degree and over four decades of experience in psychology to know he truly means nothing behind his calm demeanor. 

   You sign yourself to a fate you’re unsure of, and though it’s foolish, there’s nothing you can do anyway. You’re stuck with him, in a moving four-wheeled compartment, that’s also stuck in traffic. 

   “The music’s good.” Is all you say, and he hums in understanding. 

     Silence falls over the two of you again.

   You almost brought back the colorful reverie you were in before he decided to interject, until he reached for his phone to change the music. Oh, bluetooth, the convenient technology you are. His phone is located on the right of his steering wheel, far away from your reach. If he had reached for the audio system you would’ve been (maybe) able to slap his hand away. 

   “Hm, I’d rather you pay attention to me.” The lilt in his voice is unmistakable. And you almost gag, was that an attempt in flirting? Blegh.  

   “I’ll just stare at the cars,” Headlights and astigmatism can make a good duo, you remind yourself. 

   Chrollo hums again, You can almost laugh, so being stuck in your own daydreams and practically doing nothing is unacceptable, but staring at cars is alright? 

  You stare at a car, observing the way the light that emits from it’s headlights become blurry in your sights, they almost take shape of stars in your opinion. 

   So you set your sights on a particularly small black car in front of you, must be a Toyota or Avanza or something. You can’t tell, it’s got four wheels and headlights, so it’s a car. You could care less about what it is. That is why you weren’t all so interested when Chrollo took you a look into his….Rolls… Rolls what? Oh, right, Rolls Royce. It’s a fancy one, you can tell. He was exuding quite an air of importance when he was leading you towards the high-end vehicle located in the restaurant’s parking lot, there were some on-lookers around that spot that expressed interest at the car. It means something when even people of the middle-upper class are showing interest.

   Whatever ego that had probably swelled within Chrollo must’ve popped like a balloon, or so you hope, because you did nothing more than give him a thumbs up before letting yourself in the passenger’s seat. You also didn’t miss the way he was preparing to tell you about the car’s compartments and specialties that made it cost years of labor. Ah, you’re certain he didn’t gain this vehicle from labor, though. 

   Fancy car or not, everyone’s equally stuck in this traffic. 

   Fancy car or not, doesn’t determine that the song played inside the compartment is free from your judgment or not.

   “What song is this? You ask, although you know the answer. You somehow need an assurance that he is lucid. 

   “Please, please, please, by The Smiths.” He says, pleasant with his song of choice. 

   What an ironic song and artist of choice. 

    It’s harder to hide in a cackle than a scowl, you’d almost forgotten. Any voice you let out threatens to come out as sharp laughter and any breathe you intake threatens to become a wheeze. You could hardly contain yourself. 

   “Oh…” Is all you say before pausing, afraid anything else you will say will turn into a rowdy session of laughter. Unsure if you should speak further or not. But the inquisitive look he offers you somehow serves as a push rather than something that usually wants you to further seal your lips shut in fear you would say the wrong thing and earn his silent ire. It’s far, far harder to hide a cackle than a scowl, but months of training yourself to hide certain expressions whenever Chrollo is around has paid off. “What about Frank Sinatra?” 

 Chrollo smiles. Is he delighted that you find interest in one of his favorite artists? Though he’s never said it outloud, every long night drive has its silence filled with at least one Frank Sinatra song. 

   “Would you rather I change the song, dear?” He offers. And you would say yes, but this is one of the rare, rare moments where you are given the opportunity to take a jab at him. Although it’s nothing as deadly as anything a leader of the Phantom Troupe has faced, you won’t kill him or even hurt him for very long. But you are willing to do anything, at this point. 

   You feign the most pleasant voice you can muster, “Hm… That’s not really what I meant. I just didn’t think you’d listen to The Smiths.” 

   He lets out a small laugh, “Really? I have always listened to older songs around you, I suppose. I wouldn't say I like it… Hm, but it’s an interesting band.”

   So he does like it! 

   “Why do you think so?” You inquire further before adding, “Do you like this song a lot?”

   “Are you intending to interview me, (Name)?” Chrollo cocks his eyebrow, but it is only meant to tease you. 

  “Must’ve picked it up from someone.” A relentless pursuit, you press on further, “Okay though, but answer my question.” 

   Silence falls over him, as if he were in his own state of thinking so deeply, but you know it’s mainly a pretense. Whatever he wishes to say after, you know it must’ve been something he had thought of before. In any other situation, this silence often serves as to let a dreadful situation simmer in your mind.  But this time… Ah, you’re quite unsure. 

  Chrollo finally speaks,  “I’ll answer you of course.” The smile he gives you is anything but nice when you are very much aware of the condemnation those same lips bring you, “On the condition you’d kiss me after.”

  “Okay.” To his surprise, you agreed rather quickly. If that’s the sacrifice you need to make, then so be it. A kiss to soothe his soon-to-be sour, scorned face!

  He is satisfied, you can tell. He puts his elbow against the steering wheel, resting his face against his palm. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested, whatever designs you have in your head… Hm, I’ll know of it soon.” 

   No one fucking asked damn. You internally deadpanned, impatience is gnawing at your throat. He reminds you of how you’d write your essays when you have to reach a certain minimum word count by relentlessly dragging around a topic and beating around a bush so much that you end up writing a novel rather than an assignment. Ah… To make him anything alike to you doesn’t sound very right. Whatever, you digress. 

   Chrollo finally, finally starts. And you’re excited, elated, jovial- ah every synonym of the word happiness comes into mind. You can put any thesaurus at shame by now. “I remember the first time we met, you called me something of a hopeless romantic. At that time, I had only laughed because I found the sentiment rather off. Such nonsense. Me? An idealist of love? Love has always been a tool for me. You could only dream.”

   You cut to the chase,“Mhm, although you’ve found a contradiction because you actually enjoy those sappy songs right? Okay, what’s next?” 

   “You know me very well (You smile, excited). But that's not all (you frown, deflated).” Sweet, saccharine drips off of his voice. “I’ve never paid attention to such things, not for myself at least. I don’t ‘relate’ to those kinds of songs. But ever since I met you, it felt as if the world had shifted for me.” 

  He doesn’t stop, and for once you are glad he isn't, “My world has shifted and taken a hole in itself, one that has been carved into the shape of you.” 

  It is interesting how he is able to muse so freely about you, in front of you. Where is the shame and decorum?

   “And I do quite like this song, in all honesty.” His gaze meets yours, and grey eyes bore into your soul. “It really does remind me of the one I love so dearly.” 

   Please, please, please, let me get what I want… Those lyrics loop in your head over and over again. You should be sick with the abundance of affection he has for you that makes you seethe. And you would claw at the leather seats, avert your gaze, and try to block him out as much as you can. But tonight, you feel fucking amazing. 

  You can barely handle it. 

   “Dude, come on,” Your voice is off by an octave and you swear you can burst. Chrollo on the other hand finds satisfaction melting off of his face over the term being used to refer to him, outright calling him a bastard or a monster might be better. You make it a mental note to call him ‘dude’ more. “The Smiths is for losers.” 

   …

   “Pardon?’ 

   “The Smiths is for losers.” You repeat yourself before adding, “It’s for guys who can’t get any, for guys who waddle in sadness for something they can’t get, guys who are always up their own ass. Condescending guys who are secretly insecure, manipulative guys, guys who play guitar and get sad then do weed…” You are kind enough to give a long-winded further explanation.  Chrollo does not share the same sentiment. 

  Chrollo’s countenance seems unchanging at first, but it is not a waste, for you saw a split second of confusion, then something of offense written on his face before it smoothes out into the uncannily still expression he always wears. His lips open, then close, as if he’s mulling over an answer.

   “Are you insinuating I am that type of person, dearest?’ 

   "I mean if the shoe fits...? Well, what do you think?"

    He sighs like it’s obvious,  “That you made the wrong accusation over baseless data.” 

    “I’m not accusing you of anything!” You hold your hands up in mock defense, “Just telling you something everyone kind of agrees on. Things don’t have to be written in numbers or books… Sometimes it’s just a consensus. Everyone and their mom agrees on it."

   You are relentless tonight, so you continue again though Chrollo prompts nothing from your newfound talkative nature tonight, something you’re sure he would actually love in a different situation. 

   “These are the kind of guys girls avoid you know? People call it something of a warning. Like, ‘avoid guys who listen to The Smiths’.  I don’t mean to generalize or anything, but guys who listen to songs like that don’t end up to be very well in the head. And I also don’t mean to believe rumors but… Well…” You cough awkwardly, but it’s meant to deliver an unspoken message you know will only further test his ire. But you think you have had enough fun for tonight, you don’t wish to turn the night sour for you after all.

   …Or so you thought. 

   “So I’m just trying to say that you should treat me a little better, you know what I mean? I’m putting up with a lot” Everything you say here are meant to be a 50% insult, 30% jab, and 20% jokes. But the last thing you said, you can’t lie and say that you hope he’d take further thought on that. You yearn to hopefully be able to get out of the hotel room that serves as your grandiose cage more, and when you do, you aren’t being watched by an unknown amount of eyes that you know trail on to you by the shadows. That is all you wish for, really. That is to say, you can only wonder what his standards are for ‘treating you better’. 

   Ah, the smile he has on his face is different from before. This one is a sign that your fun is coming to a quick halt. 

   “So that’s what you’re getting at? Resourceful little minx you are.” 

   Why is he sounding so delighted over your insults, is he a masochist? Is he stupid? It’s your turn to cock your eyebrow. 

  “Have you enticed me in this long-winded conversation simply because you wanted to be treated a little better? And the way you had agreed so quickly to that kiss… " He puts a hand to his chest, a mockery of an apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blind to your need for affection. You've gone through lengths to communicate your need, I'm very grateful."

  You let out a humorless laugh, “Pardon?” He is just truly-! Argh, whatever! “Did you not hear anything else I said?” You make sure to enunciate your words properly, afraid he might have some sort of hearing problems, well he does and you’re certain it has a name. What was it again? Oh right, an unfortunate combination of delusion and selective hearing… 

  “I know you tend to turn a little childish when you can’t get what you want. That’s not a quality many men like either. So, be a little kinder to me, won’t you?” 

  “Women don’t usually like mass murderers either. Anyone in their right mind, actually.”

   He hums, “That orange container of pills by your nightstand says otherwise. Not the best defense, try again?” 

   “You'd have some too, you just don't have any because you don't go to therapy."

   “Hm, keeping up that attitude won’t make me kiss you any sooner.” 

   “Then I’ll gladly keep this attitude!” 

   Unfortunately you don’t. You’re angry enough to have the energy to spew a million insults at lightspeed against him, but too angry to form a coherent thought that you’re certain would give him a decent jab. And to be frank, you’re rather spent. When you (reluctantly) asked Chrollo what time it was, thankfully he gave you a proper response. A quick tap of his phone showed that it was two and a half hours above your usual bedtime. The clothes you have aren’t the most comfortable either, while it’s not short they certainly expose areas where the wind would have too much fun dancing over. 

   Traffic is clearing as you can see the hotel you are both staying in come into view. You relax at the sight. You can almost feel the warm bath you will be soaking yourself in, what scent will you choose tonight? Rosemary, lavender… Ah, you can smell them already. You prompt to close your eyes for a moment of rest, but you find yourself sleeping on the rest of the way back.

   You feel fingers combing your locks stirring you awake, they’re Chrollo’s, obviously. Although you are half conscious, you recognize that scent of sandalwood and amber anywhere, as much as you’re ashamed to admit it. 

  “Do you want me to carry you?” Chrollo asks, and you murmur something in between a noise of annoyance and a ‘no’. He chuckles at this sight. “Alright then.” 

   He gives a soft peck on your lips, it’s warm. You almost lean in when the warmth of his lips leave yours, this half-conscious state gives him a moment of your vulnerability he has set his eyes on,  the one he relentlessly pursues after so much. But you know that even when he has a grasp at your vulnerability, it won’t stop him from digging for more. Greedy, ruthless man that he is, he will never stop. 

  “You are absolutely precious, you know that? Even if your mouth tends to run without care” Is that condescension or admiration in his voice? Pity, you can’t tell in the state you are in. You’re drunk from the lack of sleep and the future victory you have in mind. 

  “Before I answer that…” Your voice is barely above a whisper, Chrollo merrily leans in closer to hear you. Your lips ghost by the shell of his ear… 

  …

  “Name five songs from The Smiths. Are you like an actual fan or is it just FOMO?” 

   He just sighs. 

header from https://id.pinterest.com/pin/334040497376021340/

[bbonnenuit]

i feel empty after playing masquerade of the guilty... fuck do i do now....