#and three articles by Thursday

[waffle-bubbles]

My bio teacher said that my test wasn’t painful to read and that I was in the top percentile of the class. That’s the best compliment I got this week.

[sayruq]

Officially the Palestinian death toll has passed 30,000. As this article will tell you, the official count is far below the actual death count

Gaza's health ministry said Thursday that the number of Palestinians killed in the war has surpassed 30,000. The official number now stands at 30,035 deaths. The figure is widely viewed as the most reliable one available. The health ministry provided NPR with one of its latest reports on the death toll, 38 pages long, to analyze. A close look at how Gaza's health ministry counts those killed in the war reveals a system that is buckling under the weight of war and unable to keep an accurate toll of the dead. Thousands remain unaccounted for — either missing under the rubble, buried hastily in side streets or decomposing in areas that can't be safely reached.

The Gaza health ministry says its daily tally now relies on a combination of accurate death counts from hospitals that are still partially operating, and on estimates from media reports to assess deaths in the north of Gaza, where Israeli forces control access. Its detailed daily report shows that its electronic system for counting the dead was disrupted on Nov. 12, when communication was lost with three major hospitals in the north, soon followed by more in other parts of Gaza. In the early days of the war, as the wounded and dead streamed into hospitals, Gaza's health ministry kept a detailed daily count of the number of people killed. Public and private hospitals were recording into an electronic database the names, ages, genders and ID numbers of the dead.

[hope-for-the-planet]

China Completes It's "Great Green Wall" to Combat Desertification

Image and text from this Reuter's article:

China has finished a 46-year campaign to encircle its largest desert with trees, part of national efforts to end desertification and curb the sandstorms that plague parts of the country during the spring, state media reported on Friday. A "green belt" of about 3,000 km (2,000 miles) around the Taklamakan was completed on Thursday in the northwestern region of Xinjiang, after workers planted the final 100 metres of trees on the desert's southern edge, the Communist Party-run People's Daily said. Efforts to enclose the desert with trees began in 1978 with the launch of China's "Three-North Shelterbelt" project, colloquially known as the Great Green Wall. More than 30 million hectares (116,000 square miles) of trees have been planted. Tree planting in the arid northwest has helped bring China's total forest coverage above 25% by the end of last year, up from around 10% in 1949. Forest coverage in Xinjiang alone has risen from 1% to 5% in the last 40 years, the People's Daily said.

[911actually]

9-1-1's Kenneth Choi tearfully processes Bobby's 'devastating' death: 'This doesn't make any sense' (exclusive)

Like many 9-1-1 fans, Kenneth Choi wept watching Thursday's episode. "I was sobbing," the actor, who stars as Chimney on the ABC first responder drama, tells Entertainment Weekly just hours before viewers would see fire captain Bobby Nash (Peter Krause) sacrifice himself so Chimney could receive the one existing dose of cure for a mutated version of CCHF, or Crimean-Congo hemorrhagic fever. "I mean, I f---ing filmed it and I was still sobbing uncontrollably with my friend for like three or four minutes," Choi continues, "to the point where I started to laugh at myself, because it was uncontrollable sobbing. I was laughing at myself saying, "I don't know what is happening! I know this isn’t real! Why am I acting like this? But it was devastating to me." Choi is holding back (or at least attempting to hold back) tears even answering this question, something he continues to do throughout EW's exclusive interview, which covers how 9-1-1 showrunner Tim Minear broke the news to the cast, what Krause thinks of being killed off, and what's next for the remaining members of the 118.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ɪᴛꜱ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴘᴛ 2 ໑ ׄ ۪ ݁ ⑅ (방찬)

pairing: christopher bahng x fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers

summary: based off of its nice to have a friend by taylor swift

tags/warnings: chris is literally feeding a squirrel at the beginning, hes extroverted, reader is introverted, not proofread,

a/n: bye its giving my fine shyt

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 ??

Friendship with Chan sneaks up on you.

You don’t mark the moment you go from strangers to something else—it just happens quietly, like a soft song playing under a conversation. One day he’s the boy who calls your name across the quad. The next, he’s the one sitting beside you every Thursday afternoon like it’s tradition.

You’ve never said it out loud. You never needed to.

You’re friends now. That much is clear.

You know this because he always saves you a seat at the long table in the student center, even when he’s surrounded by his louder friends. You know this because he makes playlists and titles them things like “for rainy library days 🌧️” and sends them to you without saying a word.

You know because he texts you the night before a group project is due—not to ask for help, but just to check in.

hey, you good? just felt like asking :) also reminder: hydrate

You smile at your phone, every time.

You never tell him that no one really checks in on you like that. You don’t have to. He somehow knows.

When you're with him, you're a quieter version of yourself—but it never feels like too little.

Chan is bright, but never blinding.

He talks easily, laughs often, and never tries to fill your silences with noise. He’s the kind of extrovert who invites you into the light but never yanks you from the shadows.

You think that’s rare.

You think he’s rare.

Which is probably why you’ve started noticing the little things.

Like how he tugs the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands when he’s tired. Or how he taps a beat on his thigh when he’s thinking. Or how he smiles at you a little differently than he does at anyone else.

You don’t let yourself read into it too much.

But sometimes, when the sun hits his hair just right and he calls you Snowbird in that soft, teasing voice—you do.

It’s Friday afternoon when he shows up at your dorm with a bag of snacks and a look of triumph.

“We’re watching a movie,” he announces. “It’s friendship law.”

You raise a brow, leaning on your doorframe. “That a real law?”

“Definitely. Article three, paragraph seven. ‘Friends must watch at least one feel-good movie per week or suffer the consequences of emotional repression.’”

You stare.

He grins.

“…Fine,” you mumble, pretending to sigh.

He follows you in, already opening the chips.

You sit on the floor with pillows. The laptop is balanced on an upside-down laundry basket. It’s not fancy, but it’s warm. Familiar. Safe.

You don’t talk much during the movie, but you share glances at the funny lines. He snorts soda up his nose once and spends the next three minutes apologizing dramatically while you try not to choke on your laughter.

And then, somewhere near the end—your hands touch in the popcorn bowl.

Neither of you pulls away.

You walk with him the next morning.

Not because you planned to. You just happened to be leaving at the same time.

You tell yourself that, anyway.

The air is cool but not cold. The sky is pale and wide. You both linger near the edge of the quad, standing under the early bloom of a dogwood tree.

“You’ve got something,” he says, reaching out.

Your breath catches.

He brushes a petal from your hair. His fingers linger—just barely—at your temple. Then drop.

“There.” His voice is soft. Smiling.

You look away before you melt.

You tell yourself he’s just being friendly.

That’s what friends do. They check in. They share playlists. They brush petals out of each other’s hair.

Right?

But then you catch the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. Like he’s memorizing something.

You hear the way his voice changes when he says your name. Like it matters more than the rest of the sentence.

And once, when you're both at the café and he sees someone flirting with you from across the room—his hand finds the small of your back. Light. Protective. Wordless.

It stays there for a second too long.

So maybe…

Maybe it’s not just you.

One rainy afternoon, you both end up at the art building.

You’re there to kill time. He’s there to return a borrowed ukulele. Somehow, you both stay.

The music room is empty, warm with leftover echoes.

He sits at the baby grand in the corner, fingers testing chords. You watch from a stool near the door, curled in your hoodie.

“Wanna hear something I wrote?” he asks, not turning.

You nod before you realize he can’t see you. But he plays anyway.

It’s soft. Pretty. Unfinished, but thoughtful.

When it ends, you don’t say anything right away.

Then, quietly: “That was beautiful.”

He turns, surprised.

And when he sees your expression—earnest, a little shy—he blushes.

He actually blushes.

You store that moment somewhere deep in your chest, behind your ribs, where soft things go to stay warm.

That night, as you sit on your bed with your journal open and your heart full, you find yourself writing it down.

Chris’s song. Soft chords. Quiet courage. He blushes when I say what I mean.

You don’t know what this is between you yet.

But it feels like something.

And you think—maybe he feels it too.

Chan is in trouble.

Not real trouble—he’s not about to flunk out or get arrested or crash a car or anything—but emotional trouble.

The soft, slow, creeping kind.

The Oh no, I think I really like my friend kind.

He’s not sure when it happened. Somewhere between that snowy day with the squirrel and the third time you shared a croissant without asking. Somewhere between the first time he made you laugh and the first time you leaned into his side just slightly when it got cold.

He’s always liked your quiet.

Not the awkward kind—just…peaceful. Steady. Like you listen before you speak. Like your world is built on stillness and sharp observations.

He noticed it the first time you said his name like it meant something.

Now he wants to hear it all the time.

Chan’s not smooth, not really. He jokes a lot. Fills the space. Hopes you don’t notice the way he watches you from across the room when you’re not looking.

He tells himself he’s being smart by not saying anything.

Why risk it? You’re close. You trust him. He gets to know you in a way most people don’t.

But sometimes, when you smile at him like he’s made your day a little better…

It feels a lot like falling.

He’s pretty sure he already has.

hope you enjoyed <33

todays playlist...

hotline bling by drake, laplace's angels by will wood, virtual angel by artms, best friend by doja cat and saweetie, bite by mad tsai, super smash bros by yung gravy and bbno$, ssick by stray kids, if i can't have you by shawn mendes, blind spot by stray kids, dimple by bts, polaroid love by enhypen, crazy by le sserafim, beggin by maneskin, sweetest pie by megan thee stallion and dua lipa

*bold is explicit*

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy @me-on-a-archive @hyunjiiza @hyuneskkami @highway-143 @hvseunq143 @chimmyn0chu @sadeeeeee @qwonyoung23 @jesuisstay

series/perm taglist is open! please comment/send an ask/dm if you would like to be added <3

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

masterlist ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

hi hello welcome to my blog!

my name's kavi! i'm from india! i'm a writer, and i really enjoy writing for all my desi readers. i've been writing fanfictions only for the f1 drivers right now, but i may expand my fandoms eventually!

i'm a huge fan of tangled and how to train your dragon. i enjoy reading romance. i'm a published author. i have a doggo. i am mentally ill and neurodivergent but i'm bisexual, so it cancels out (it’s a joke, guys. tho, i am all three of those things). i have also added my most favourite playlist if any of y'all wanna enjoy!

you can send in your requests here for carlando or landoscar :) i don't write smut. it's something that i haven't tried writing before, and i am not sure when i'll be comfortable enough to write it, so please don't send me requests for smut! i will be posting thrice a week, on mondays, wednesdays, and fridays!

i do want to make one thing clear though, i may be a lando norris, carlos sainz fan, and i may defend them with my life, but i will not tolerate any disrespect for any of the drivers’ skills. i do want this to be a safe space for everyone, but please be aware that this blog is my safe space first and i will share my opinions the way i like. f1 beginners are free to ask me any sort of questions they have, and i’ll do my best to answer them as accurately as possible.

desi f1 community ✮⋆˙

my articles

buy me a ko-fi!

my works ☄. *. ⋆

𐙚 ao3

⭒ birds of a feather (we didn’t stick together) [jenson button/mark webber + lando norris & oscar piastri]

☾ ln4

⭒ khichdi (desi!reader + fluff)

⭒ aakhon mein teri (desi!reader + smau)

⭒ comfort (fluff + comfort)

⭒ postcards (fluff)

⭒ superstitions pt1 pt2 (desi!reader + fluff)

⭒ crazy ex (fluff + humour?)

⭒ curling iron pt1 pt2 (fluff + humour again? + smau)

⭒ tumne jo kahaa (desi!reader + fluff)

⭒ desi girl (desi!reader + fluff + smau)

⭒ through their eyes (fluff)

⭒ big, fat indian wedding (desi!reader + fluff + humour)

⭒ light of life (desi!reader + fluff + humour + smau)

⭒ sweaty opportunities (fluff + humour + smau)

⭒ hard launching (fluff + humour)

⭒ sajda (desi!reader [can be read by non-desis] + angst + fluff)

⭒ hair (fluff)

⭒ winning hug (fluff + smau)

⭒ national jijaji (smau + desi!reader)

⭒ hickey! (fluff + humour + desi!reader)

⭒ peace (smau)

⭒ girlfriend? wife? (fluff)

⭒ thursday nights (fluff + humour + desi!reader)

⭒ swades (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ flowers (fluff)

⭒ jamaai ghar aaye (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ gora pakora (humour + desi!reader)

⭒ makar sankranti (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ dedicated to (fluff + humour)

⭒ bar hopping (fluff + humour + desi!reader)

⭒ comfort (fluff)

⭒ case dismissed (mafia!lando)

⭒ fangirling and finances (fluff + humour)

⭒ kintu shob theek hoye jabe (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ that type of dad (fluff)

⭒ sticker book (fluff)

⭒ heard it's good luck (fluff)

⭒ commitment (angst)

⭒ map of you (fluff)

⭒ ishq wala love (fluff + desi!reader) - 30th June

⭒ iconically bankrupting (fluff + humour) - 2nd July

⭒ see it with you (fluff) - 4th July

⭒ i promise (angst + hurt/comfort) - 7th July

𖤓 cs55

⭒ greatest victory (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ cultural observer (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ seal of approval (fluff + desi!reader)

☁︎ op81

⭒ crashes and clicks (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ just pure feeling (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ pub rivalry (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ i fucked up (angst + fluff)

⭒ uncultured (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ cute jeans (humour) - 11th July

⭒ exotic (hurt/comfort + desi!reader) - 16th July

⭒ arranged (fluff + desi!reader) - 18th July

✪ gr63

⭒ bad days blanket fort (fluff)

ʚɞ mv33

⭒ swear words (desi!reader + fluff)

⭒ no words (fluff + kinda wholesome)

⭒ rub it in my face (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ burn it all down (fluff + slight angst + mafia au)

⭒ dilliwali girlfriend (fluff + desi!reader)

彡 cl16

⭒ through their eyes (fluff)

⭒ only wedding (fluff + desi!reader)

⭒ ferrari red (fluff) - 9th July

★ aa23

⭒ happy holi! (fluff + desi!reader) - 14th July

𖤓 carlando

⭒ his heart (hurt/comfort + angst)

⭒ light (comfort)

⭒ mama’s boy (fluff)

⭒ break up with your gf (fluff + humour)

❀ landoscar

⭒ number one driver (all angst)

⭒ arrogance (fluff)

lando norris

✧.* miami 05.05.2024

✧.* dutch 25.08.2024

✧.* singapore 22.09.2024

✧.* abu dhabi 08.12.2024

✧.* australia 16.03.2025

✧.* monaco 25.05.2025

carlos sainz

☁︎ silverstone 03.07.2022

☁︎ singapore 17.09.2023

☁︎ australia 24.03.2024

☁︎ mexico 27.10.2024

[newsfromstolenland]

A Saskatoon man says he was the target of vandalism for owning a Cybertruck.

Josh MacGowan walked up to his new Tesla Cybertruck outside his home last Thursday to see deep cuts and scratches along the driver’s side of his vehicle.

[...]

“Tesla owners are just people,” he said. “If you’re trying to yell at them or wreck their vehicle, you’re really not hurting your target.”

MacGowan has been driving Tesla vehicles for three years. He originally ordered his Cybertruck in 2021, but didn’t get it delivered and start driving it until last November.

Full article

Tagging: @allthecanadianpolitics

"Tesla owners are people too!" complains man who owns the world's douchiest car

[panerasbox]

—CINNAMON SIN; 3 Days To Go

Pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader.

Genre: adult Student/Professor AU, Slow Burn, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, light smut

Word count: 1,804.

summary: You didn’t mean to fall for your political science professor. But Melissa Schemmenti, with her sharp tongue, red nails, and no-bullshit attitude, makes it hard not to.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

You weren’t trying to get a crush on your professor.

Honestly, you weren’t.

You signed up for her class because it was the only political science elective left that didn’t meet at 8:00 AM. That was it. You hadn’t expected to find her interesting, much less attractive. And you definitely hadn’t expected her to be… Melissa Schemmenti.

Sharp voice, sharper eyes. Red nails, red pen, pressed slacks, and a presence that made everyone sit up straighter without her even asking. Her syllabus warned of no late work, no phones, and “no bullshit,” which you thought was a joke until you saw her deduct a full ten points when some sophomore tried to sneak a Snap during lecture.

You should’ve been terrified. And okay, maybe you were a little. But then she started talking about political theory in that Philly accent, voice just rough enough to curl around your ribs, and it was over.

You were screwed.

Not academically, your grades were fine. But mentally? Emotionally?

Screwed.

It wasn’t even the power thing that got you. You didn’t want to be the girl with the hot-for-teacher fantasy. But Melissa was different. She spoke like someone who’d lived it, seen it, survived it. Her lectures never felt like lectures. More like, well, Arguments. Stories. Like she wanted to teach you something real, not just feed you facts for the final.

You’d started going to office hours three weeks in, just for clarification on a reading. The first time you went, you’d nervously tried to organize your notes.

“Don’t worry,” she’d said, looking up from her desk. “You’re not in trouble. Not unless you’re about to tell me you didn’t read the damn article.”

You hadn’t, fully. But you blurted out the thesis anyway, and Melissa gave you a dry look before sliding a chair out for you.

From then on, it became a habit.

You’d show up with questions. Sometimes real ones, sometimes made up. And she’d entertain them, eyebrow quirked, mouth tugging in a smile she rarely gave in class. She never crossed any lines. Never got too friendly. But something about the way she said your name… low and careful, like it was a secret she didn’t want to share… made you hope.

God help you, it made you hope.

You tried to be subtle about it. Really, you did.

You didn’t flirt. You didn’t linger. You didn’t add her on anything, and you never once said anything that could be twisted the wrong way. You told yourself it was a crush, not a problem. Temporary. Harmless.

But then the semester ended.

Grades were posted. Class was over. No more office hours, no more lectures.

And you felt… weirdly hollow.

It was ridiculous. You weren’t owed anything. You weren’t even sure she liked you like that. She was your professor, and you were her student. were. You hadn’t talked to her since finals week, and yet you kept checking your email like maybe she’d reach out.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

You were just about ready to let it go when fate, in the form of caffeine withdrawal, shoved you into her again.

You walked into the off-campus coffee shop on a rainy Thursday, head down, hoodie up, only to freeze in the middle of the doorway.

There she was. At a corner table, sipping something from a to go cup, book cracked open in one hand, glasses low on her nose.

You almost turned around. Almost ducked out, right back into the storm.

But then she looked up.

And smiled.

“Hey, look who’s alive,” she said, waving you over.

Your legs moved before your brain caught up. “Hey, Professor Schemmenti.”

“Melissa,” she corrected gently. “Class is over. You’re not my student anymore.”

You blinked. “Right. Of course. Hi… Melissa.”

It felt weird to say. Like getting away with something.

She nodded toward the counter. “Go grab your coffee. You can sit if you want. I’m just killin time.”

Your stomach flipped. Sit if you want. Not a command. Not a test. An invitation.

So you sat.

And for the next forty minutes, you talked about everything but class.

You made her laugh. You’re sure you did. You’d never heard it in class, not like this.

And when you finally stood to go, half reluctant, she surprised you again.

“You know,” she said, standing too, “if you ever want help with that thesis, I still got an office.”

You hesitated. “You mean… I could come by?”

“I mean, I’ve got free time between lectures on Tuesdays and Thursdays. And you’re an adult. I can talk to whoever I damn well please.”

That smile again. Half-smirk, half-something else.

You smiled back. “Okay. I’ll stop by.”

It started again, after that.

Sometimes it was coffee. Sometimes her office. Once, you went for a walk around campus, both of you needing fresh air.

She never made a move. Never even hinted.

But her eyes lingered longer now. Her compliments were quieter. When she laughed, she didn’t look away.

And one day, after a long conversation about the ethics of local politics, she said, “You know, you really got a mind for this. Sharp as hell.”

“Thanks,” you said, flushed.

She looked down at your hands. “You ever think about going into public policy?”

You laughed softly. “I think about a lot of things.”

“Yeah?” she asked, voice low. “What else you thinkin about?”

Your breath caught.

“Melissa,” you said carefully, “is this… something?”

She was quiet for a second. “Would it scare you if it was?”

You shook your head.

“Would it screw up your future if it was?”

You hesitated, only briefly, then shook your head again. “I’m not your student anymore. You said so yourself.”

Melissa exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath for weeks. “Then yeah. I guess it is something.”

And then, finally, she kissed you.

It wasn’t frantic. It wasn’t rushed. Just warm, steady, and careful, like she’d wanted to take her time getting there. Her hands were soft on your waist, her mouth sure and gentle and entirely unfair.

When she pulled back, you felt drunk on something that wasn’t caffeine or nerves.

“I’m still a hardass,” she said quietly. “I still don’t take any bullshit. That’s not gonna change.”

You grinned. “Good. I’d be disappointed if it did.”

She chuckled. “You’re a smartass.”

“Also not gonna change.”

“Guess we’ll figure it out.”

Her office is technically closed. The door says as much, in the little laminated sign she flips to OFFICE HOURS OVER — GO AWAY UNLESS YOU’RE BLEEDING.

But she’s still here. And so are you.

The lights are dim. just the desk lamp and the dusky glow of early evening through the blinds. You can hear the hum of the heating unit and the way the campus outside is finally starting to quiet. No more students passing by. No more eyes.

Just her. And you.

Melissa’s leaned back against her desk, arms crossed, watching you like she’s waiting for you to make the next move.

You don’t. You’re too focused on the fact that her blouse is undone at the top, just enough to see the curve of her collarbone, and her heels are off, a subtle but potent reminder that she’s comfortable around you now. That maybe she’s not your professor anymore, but you still get that same thrill in your chest whenever she looks at you like that.

“You’re staring,” she says, low.

You smile. “Can you blame me?”

She pushes off the desk and walks toward you with slow, deliberate steps, like a cat that already knows it’s won.

“Could say the same about you, sweetheart,” she murmurs. “You’ve been looking at me like I’m a final exam you wanna ace.”

“Maybe I do.”

She stops right in front of you, just close enough that you feel the warmth of her body. She smells like expensive perfume and coffee and something faintly spicy, like cinnamon and sin.

“You really wanna start something in my office?” she asks, raising a brow. “Because if you do… you better be ready to finish it.”

Your heart kicks up in your chest. “I’m ready.”

That’s all it takes.

She kisses you again like she’s been waiting for it . like she’s earned it. Her hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face just right as her lips slot against yours, slow and deep. There’s no rush, no frantic movement, just heat.

Her other hand finds your waist, tugging you closer until your hips press into hers. You can feel the strength in her body, like she’s still in charge even though you’re the one who walked in.

You don’t mind. In fact, you kind of like it.

Melissa pulls back just enough to whisper against your mouth, “Been thinkin’ about this since midterms. You, sitting across from me with those wide eyes… acting all innocent.”

Your cheeks burn. “I was innocent.”

“Oh, hon,” she says, low and dark, “you still are. But you’re in good hands.”

She kisses you again, harder this time. And then she walks you backward, slow and steady, until the backs of your thighs hit her desk. She lifts you onto it like it’s nothing, like she’s done it before. Maybe she has, but you’re willing to bet not like this.

Her hands slide under your shirt, palms warm on your skin. She lifts the fabric slowly, like unwrapping a present, watching your face the whole time.

“You can tell me to stop,” she says, even as her fingers drift higher. “I’ll stop. Say the word.”

You shake your head. “Don’t stop.”

Her mouth finds your neck, kissing a line up to your ear as her fingers unbutton your top. “Good girl.”

You gasp at the praise. She smiles against your skin.

She takes her time. Touches you like she’s memorizing something, like she doesn’t want to miss a single inch. You moan when she presses kisses to your chest, and again when her hands slide between your thighs, coaxing you open without ever pushing too fast.

Melissa looks up at you, her voice a rasp, “You wanna be loud, baby, or quiet?”

“I…quiet,” you breathe. “Just in case.”

“Shame,” she says with a smirk, fingers brushing where you’re warmest, “I bet I’d like it when you’re loud.”

And then she proves it, slowly, thoroughly, until you’re shaking and clinging to her, your body arching off her desk, muffled whimpers falling against her shoulder.

When it’s over, she presses a kiss to your temple, smoothing your hair back like she’s not the one who just ruined you in the span of ten minutes.

You don’t speak for a while.

Then finally, you say, dazed, “You do this with all your former students?”

She smirks. “Just the ones who show up to office hours lookin’ like trouble.”

[reading-writing-revolution]

ABC News, citing interviews with three of her former staffers, reported Thursday that Gabbard regularly read and shared articles from RT (formerly Russia Today), a state-run media outlet, even after being advised that RT wasn’t a credible source.

https://trib.al/4fS4JoB

[beansprean]

My entry for What We Create In The Shadows vol 4! @wwcitszine

It was a privilege to be able to contribute to this zine among such creative, talented, and fun artist and writers! The mods truly did an incredible job and the zine is BEAUTIFUL! Highly recommend getting a physical copy if you can. :)

You can still get WWCITS until July 28th! All proceeds to to PFLAG!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Detailed drawing of a city street at night; Nandor, Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin Robinson are in the foreground, running for their lives towards the viewer. Chasing them (having caught up to them, really) is vampire Guillermo flying through the air on bat wings, silhouetted by the glowing full moon behind him. He is grinning maniacally with his clawed hands curled upward in triumph, eyes glowing a burning orange as he poses mid-flight, chest puffed out with his newfound power. Nandor is in the front, arms pumping, eyes wide with fear as he looks straight ahead. At his elbow is Laszlo, looking over his shoulder in alarm, one hand clamped around Nadja's wrist to drag her on behind him. Nadja's other hand is holding up her skirts and cradling Nadja doll potato-sack style in her elbow as she rushes along. She looks upward with a snarl, distracted, as Guillermo looms above her. Lagging behind is Colin Robinson, huffing and puffing as he tries to keep up.

The city street behind them is full of easter eggs. A kiosk on the left behind Laszlo is covered in flyers: fundraiser to cover medical bills for Toby, a recruitment poster for the Mosquito Club, an add for reanimations for $350 cash, a Go Flip Yourself ad, a comptroller campaign poster for Sean covered up by one for Colin covered up by one for Evie, a newspaper article about Morrigan Manor, a Wicked poster, a flyer for the familiar mixer, a missing poster for Jenna, a Found poster for Guillermo's bicycle, a handwritten ad that says "Djinn to good home, call Gyermo" with a photo of the djinn lamp, and several stickers including one that says 'werewolves not swearwolves, a Palestinian flag, and the s5 moon promo shot. Sitting atop the kiosk is a frog with curly brown hair - la Guillerana, and above it on the brick wall is a black poster featuring a hooded figure with round glowing eyes that says "The Night Market: if you know, you know." The roof of the building has a clothesline stretched across it where the Cloak of Duplication is hanging. The next building has glass doors and windows across the first floor with soft ambient lighting coming from within. A foldable chalkboard outside says 'closed for privat pardy'. The name of the restaurant is printed above the door: 'love at first bite'. The second floor is a grid of square windows with the blinds drawn, a single ad for Rapula Realty in an upper window. A single anonymous finger parts the blinds on a lower window to peek out. The third floor has three windows and fairy lights draped across the front. A purple flag that says 'human wellness inquire within' hangs from the first window, and the second has one foggy pane with the word 'help' written on it backwards. Black Peter the goat is on the roof, front hooves planted on the ledge to look out at the running vampires in the street. The following building has a grid of windows and a temporary vinyl sign stretched across it that says 'Urgent Care'. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon.

On the right, there is a small newspaper vending machine with the headlines 'Flying Man Spotted' and 'Strange meteor lands in New Brighton'. The adjacent building has four stories, the only entrance a set of stairs going straight down. Neon pink lights pour from the doorway and lowermost windows. Above the doorway with an arrow pointing down is a neon sign for Nadja's. Below it, a poster exclaiming 'Baby Colin Live!' One of the middle windows has a sign that says 'Nadja and Laszlo Human Music Group performing Thursday nights'. Hanging from the roof precariously by both hands and looking towards the ground in terror is Patton Oswalt. One of the Baron's mutant children is sitting happily on the ledge nearby. A tree is on the roof and has some kind of net hanging from it. The next building is corporate and mostly windows, the bottommost portion open and flanked by yellow poles, a yellow and black divider blocking the entrance. An awning above it says 'Jesk Parking'. Inside, there is what looks to be a pile of rats. Two bats fly past. A vinyl sign stretched over the building front is an ad showing a man hugging a pillow that says "Get the Guy Pillow! Buy 100 get 1 free! Guys only!" The roof turns suddenly to greco-roman architecture, a row of stone columns lining the edge. Sitting at the very top are the two gargoyles having a riveting conversation. The next building is 3 stories and has a trans flag hanging from one corner and a progress flat from the other. The first floor has an alcove with a door flanked by two windows, one featuring shelves with jars of white liquid, the other a palmistry poster that reads 'free palm reading with every ejaculation'. The store name above reads 'Satchel Serafina' More text on the second floor reads 'Home of Memo's Man Milk, gathered lovingly by hand.' Beyond this building is a small grassy area behind a fence with a dead old tree and some graffiti that says 'Simon the Devious' with a crown. There is a nearby sewer drain under the sidewalk where a hand is reaching out. More buildings stretch out behind to the horizon. /end ID

[vidavalor]

Adam & The Final 15

The Voice of God says that the day our history begins-- the day it all ends and a new beginning starts-- is the day of the specific horoscope for Libra in The Tadfield Advertiser that she read to us, right? And it's not just any day with this recycled horoscope, as we're shown a visual of what this particular, very specific issue of the paper looks like.

It's the day the paper looks like this:

Notice something significant about those headlines? All three of them are negative articles about Tadfield. This proves something pretty interesting, which is that the day our history begins was not any day we saw in S1 because this newspaper is not from S1. It can't be.

It definitely could be right where we left off in S2, though...

One thing that we saw in Adam's story is that, no matter what mood he was in, Adam's love for Tadfield was so absolute that he'd been influencing it unconsciously his whole life, like in all the articles that Newt found. Every issue of The Tadfield Advertiser since Adam's birth has had positive headlines because the town of Tadfield has been amazing thanks, in part, to Adam's influence over it.

The newspaper shown in 1.01 for the day our history begins is an impossibility for the story through S1-- and even seemingly through the beginning of S2.

The only real reference to Adam in S2 is in the copy of The Tadfield Advertiser that Crowley is seen reading in his first scene in 2.01. It has another glowing headline-- that Tadfield has just been voted "loveliest place to live in England." We take it as a nod to teenage Adam doing well, right? There's just one problem here, though...

Every issue of the paper that we see shows right on it that it is a weekly paper that delivers a new issue every Friday. It's Monday morning when Crowley is shown reading the latest issue that, by its glowing Tadfield stuff, shows that Adam is okay. The news is three days stale-- and, as we learn during the course of the season, some really big stuff went down during those three days.

The last time that we truly know that Adam was alive and well was the Thursday night prior to the Monday morning when S2 begins because that is when the positive issue of The Tadfield Advertiser that Crowley is reading in 2.01 went to print. What we know about the Friday/Saturday/Sunday between that issue being delivered and the Monday morning when S2 starts, though? Those are two things that don't really bode well for Adam:

1) Heaven tried to start Armageddon: Round Two and would have been successful in beginning it if not for Gabriel mutinying; and 2) Nina said in 2.06 that the power went out during this time period.

It takes the audience all S2 to learn that the week we're watching is Armageddon: Round Two but, once we know that the villains were trying to start it just before the season began and Gabriel temporarily wrecked their plans? We know that they would be trying to get rid of obstacles to success before trying Round Two. One of the biggest ones is Adam, the kid who is the reason why it didn't happen the first time around.

Without something happening to Adam, the weird issue of The Tadfield Advertiser cannot exist and we know that it eventually exists because we're told that it's a whole thing right at the start of the story in 1.01 by The Voice of God.

The last time we know of Adam being for sure alive is the Thursday/Friday before S2 began-- literally, the day before Heaven tried to start Armageddon again. Right around the same time that a massive power outage happened, as Nina noted.

Even if Adam was still fine into the week of S2, there's also that we still don't entirely know for sure what it was that Crowley felt was wrong just prior to The Meeting Ball beginning-- even if a lot was wrong at the time-- but one time when he did feel a change, back in S1, was when Adam came into his power. It's possible that he actually felt the opposite of it-- the loss of Adam's power, possibly even Adam's death-- when he felt something was wrong on Thursday night.

Adam only had help in S1 because everyone else involved knew Armageddon was imminent. S2 is deliberately backwards from that. Crowley and Aziraphale don't each learn that they've been living The Last Week of The World: Part Two until the last episode of S2. By then, it might have been days too late to save Adam.

Meanwhile? That Libra horoscope is full of things that dovetail to S2 a whole lot better than S1. The plot of S2 is pretty much "feeling run down and always in the same daily round", let alone how the rest of it screams S2. Stomach upsets and the travel sweets and the fact that an upset is also a set up, like the The Final 15. Help may come from an unexpected quarter also ties to S2 really well, as I looked at in that post.

Additionally, S2 bends over backwards to tell us its timeline during the week, with multiple scenes indicating that The Meeting Ball is taking place on Thursday night and that The Final 15 took place around 8am on Friday morning-- the day of the week that a new edition of The Tadfield Advertiser is delivered.

The end of S2 is taking place right when we could have the first possible time in the story for the issue of The Tadfield Advertiser that shows a Tadfield not influenced positively by Adam that we were shown back in 1.01.

The day our history begins-- the day it all ends and becomes past so that we can have a new beginning-- is right where we left S2. It's the Friday of The Final 15.

The new issue of The Tadfield Advertiser that was just delivered to the bookshop, like, an hour after Muriel took it over undoubtedly has a certain Libra horoscope on the back and some disturbingly meh headlines about Tadfield on the front page.

I think it's very possible that there's something very wrong with Adam, and that maybe we all-- myself included-- might have been remiss if we've been counting him out of ideas about The Finale?

[petaliice]

LOVE LANGUAGES ʚɞ ot6

BOYNEXTDOOR — ot6 synopsis love languages they mostly show p bnd x reader g established relationships skinship fluff petnames not proofread w 600

notes ; first post yayy

박성호 — PARK SUNGHO

words of affirmation

“has anyone ever told you how lucky they are to have you in their lives?”

that caught you off guard. you knew it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore but it always does. his tendency to suddenly say things like that.

he had no idea how much it affects you, the love for him you already had kept filling up much more with every word he says.

“no” you say, nonchalantly, however, “you’re the first one i think” if only he knew how loud your heart was beating right now. or how you were fighting all the urge to kiss him at that moment.

“well i should say it more often then” he says, then going back to taking a spoonful of his food like he didn’t just uttered words that would keep you awake at night.

김동현 — KIM DONGHYUN

quality time

no matter how busy you both can be, leehan will find a way to be beside you. knocking on your door on a random thursday finding you slumped over your textbooks.

he would promptly drag you out of your room ignoring your groans and complaints. grabbing your jacket out of your closet and draping it over your figure.

“i need to study, hannie”

“you need a quick break, babe” he would say softly before sliding in your shoes and tying the shoelaces.

20 minutes later, you both ended up hand in hand savoring the ice cream under the sun by the park. leehan listening to you rambling about whatever has been going on with your life and smiling dumbly.

한동민 — HAN DONGMIN

physical touch

taesan didn’t notice it, but even if you two are together silence would usually seep in between your small talks.

you both would just suddenly stop talking and ultimately you, yourself would end up sleeping sprawled on top of him while on the couch.

it was still sunny outside, but the open curtains and the breeze and maybe the feel of taesan holding you had lulled you.

his hands firmly on your waist, rubbing smooth circles, unaware you were already dozed off, far too engrossed into the article he picked up.

his hand subconsciously trails up to lay on your head, patting and carving his fingers through.

when he finds out you were fast asleep he’d attempt to carry you to the bedroom so you’d feel more comfortable. just for him to end up cuddling you closer.

“sleep well, baby”

이상혁 — LEE SANGHYEOK

gift giving

riwoo would get you gifts at any moment he deems commendable. if it weren’t for his whines to get you to open the gifts you reckon your living room can be filled with just the mailboxes he get shipped to your house.

would never let you buy anything with your money under his watch. he got to know the things you liked and if anything reminded him of you, he’d immediately buy it with just one look.

“it’s okay, baby, it looks cute on you” smiling at your pout, admiring the way the glasses perched adorably on your nose.

after you decide it wasn’t all that bad, he offered to buy you a few more pairs only to get turned down by a firm ‘no’.

he’d show up at your doorstep a week later, however, with two or maybe three boxes on his hands. ready for them to be tried on.

명재현 — MYUNG JAEHYUN

acts of service

your nature of always being a hard worker especially at school burdened not only you at times, but jaehyun as well. well, not entirely, but he felt that burden anyway.

he hated two things — seeing you hunched over papers and textbooks and second, your awfully heavy backpack that you just have to bring to school everyday.

jaehyun always wondered why you couldn’t have left some of the books at school or at home, but whenever he brought it up you’d just brush it off continuing to carry your bag all the way home.

he kept up with it for some time. until it annoyed him to lengths and he’d end up holding the bag for you anyway. even if you had tried to reach back for it with a few curses and a hit on his arm.

“you shouldn’t carry this much, your back will hurt” he mumbles, looking away. “let me carry them for you, i’m stronger anyway”

김운학 — KIM WOONHAK

physical touch

you were never keen of too much touching. there were definitely a lot of other ways to show your affection towards someone and you felt that excessive skinship was not your personal favorite.

that was until you met woonhak. even before dating he was already clingy, not as close as he is now but clingy enough.

he needs to be holding you some way, feeling like something’s out of place if he didn’t. and it grew on you. whenever you both were out or just conveniently together, his elbows would be touching yours or your hands would be intertwined.

woonhak loved late study nights, but not for the obvious reasons. he loves when you both would take the bus ride back home and you’d fall asleep on his shoulder. it was one if the moments where he realizes you felt completely safe with him and he can’t help but adore you much more.

he loves the way you would slowly blink your eyes open confusedly when he softly wakes you up as the bus arrives at your stop and how, for a change, you’d get clingy instead of him.

[sayruq]

The Erez border crossing, which connects Israel with northern Gaza, remains closed and no humanitarian aid has been allowed to enter the Strip through it, according to Juliette Touma, director of communications for the United Nations agency for Palestinian refugees (UNRWA), speaking to EL PAÍS from Jordan. Touma stresses that the announcement last Thursday by the Israeli authorities that they would reopen the crossing remains only “a promise.” The Israeli government implicitly confirmed the information to this newspaper. Supplies to alleviate the plight of Gaza’s population have also not yet begun arrive via the nearby port of Ashdod, 30 kilometers (18 miles) north of the enclave. These two concessions were the main commitments made by the Israeli War Cabinet following a telephone call between Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and U.S. President Joe Biden.

This Indian Express article goes into detail about the volume of humanitarian aid entering Gaza

Israel says aid is moving into Gaza more quickly after international pressure to increase access, but the amount is disputed and the United Nations says it is still much less than the bare minimum to meet humanitarian needs. Israel said 419 trucks – the highest since the conflict began – entered on Monday, though the Red Crescent and United Nations gave much lower figures, with the UN saying many were only half full because of Israeli inspection rules.

Aid agencies have complained that Israel is not ensuring enough access for food, medicine and other needed humanitarian supplies and the European Union foreign policy chief Josep Borrell has accused it of using starvation as a weapon of war. UN humanitarian agency (OCHA) spokesperson Jens Laerke also pointed to severe restrictions on delivery of aid inside Gaza itself last month, saying Israel had denied permission for half the convoys it tried sending to the north in March, with UN aid convoys three times more likely to be refused than any other.

An increase in aid flows into Gaza over recent days has also been noted by Red Crescent officials in Egypt, who said more than 350 trucks had crossed from there into Gaza on Monday and 258 on Sunday. That was much more than in recent weeks, when the number was usually fewer than 200, they said. However UNRWA, the main United Nations agency in Gaza, said 223 trucks had entered on Monday, fewer than half the 500 trucks it says are required daily.In its daily situation report on Tuesday, UNRWA said “there has been no significant change in the volume of humanitarian supplies entering Gaza or improved access to the north”.

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 6

[Master List]

"I’m going to feel really bad about all of this if he doesn’t turn out to be evil.” Duke sighed.

          Tim hummed in acknowledgement, still buried in his work and completely enthralled and enraged by what he had found. Or rather, what he had not found. “He has to be something - there’s nothing about him! Daniel Nightingale does not exist! There’s no internet presence, no pictures, videos, nothing! Nobody who comes into that kind of money is just a… a…”

          “Ghost?” Duke asked as Tim snapped his fingers to remember the word.

          Pointing at Duke, he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! That! He’s like a ghost or something- I don’t trust it!”

          Standing up, Duke moved away from the batcomputer and towards the exit. “Have you ever considered that maybe he’s just a nice guy doing a nice thing?” He paused, no response coming from Tim. “Of course not,” he muttered. “That would require seeing the good in literally anyone.”

~~~

            Sunday was much less exciting. Danny went to the store successfully, drank his coffee without spilling it on himself, fixed his coffee maker, and notably; didn’t kill anyone or run into any vigilantes. Which, thank Ancients, honestly. Danny was not here to play hero again, but he was self-aware enough to admit that if he somehow befriended the birds and bats that he’d let himself get dragged back into it.

            So he stayed inside. 

            Monday was also quiet. Twelve kids between Mia, Ember, and Danny wasn’t too bad but he did get lunch delivered for all three of them. The parents later that day brought news of Joker’s death which had apparently reached the public. The article said nothing about murder (although it was obviously speculated at) and neither Danny’s name nor his face were in the article. 

            He didn’t sleep that night.

            Tuesday wasn’t any busier than Monday, but it felt hectic, and Danny wrote a physical note to himself to hire more help. So far he’d gotten lucky, good workers wouldn’t just keep falling into his lap, he’d need to look for it. There was more speculation about the Joker’s death (there were even more parties) but Danny kept his nose out of it. Not his circus. Not his monkey’s. 

            Except it kind of was, and he’d killed the monkey.

            Wednesday was fine, Danny learned a bit more about the Joker through the constant barrage of news. It was through this barrage that he learned more about Duke’s past and its relation to the Joker. Feeling a bit like a creep, Danny found as much information as he could on the Thomas’s, where they were, how long they’d been there, and what had happened to them. It was… distressing to say the least.

            Danny contacted Frostbite about working on a Joker venom cure.

            Thursday wasn’t special. Danny both liked and hated how slow his days had been recently. No one had tried to mug him recently (which was fine albeit boring), with help at the daycare he didn’t find himself quite as exhausted at the end of the day, and sleep continued to evade him with the exception of small bouts that came on randomly and without care if he was laying down or not. Some would call it ‘passing out’, Danny called it power napping.

            He was just waking up from another one of his power naps, this one taken only a foot away from his couch, when his phone rang. The number wasn’t one he knew, but the area code was Gotham.

            “Hello?” He answered, stretching his stiff arms, and rubbing the sore spot on his head from where it hit the edge of the coffee table at the… beginning of his power nap.

            There was a shuffling on the other end of the line, then a groan, and finally, a response. “Danny...? It’s… Miguel. Listen I… I-” There was a choking sound followed by a wet cough and Danny realized this wasn’t exactly the call he’d been expecting. Slipping on his jacket and shoes and grabbing a first aid kit, he left his apartment.

            “Where are you?”

            “25 th and Mundson… I’m…” He let out a shuddery breath and Danny thought he heard sniffling. “It’s bad man.”

            Danny had already begun his flight from the moment Miguel had answered. It only took a couple of minutes, Danny spent the entire time speaking words of encouragement, instructing him on what to do. Miguel had been stabbed in the lower stomach and was losing blood fast. Upon arrival, Danny was grateful to see the kid still kicking, putting as much pressure on the wound as he could, just like Danny had said.

            “Hey, Miguel, how we doing?” He pulled the shirt away from his stomach and checked the wound. It was deep. 

            Miguel groaned, head falling back against the brick wall behind him.

            “None of that, kid, talk to me.” Danny pulled out wads of gauze and pressed them into the open wound trying to staunch the bleeding.

            Despite his request, Miguel didn’t manage to say anything, only letting out more sounds of pain every few seconds. Once he’d gotten the gauze wrapped tightly against his wound, Danny wound his arms around the boys’ frame and pulled him into his arms. 

            “Thompkins clinic is only a couple of blocks away.” He murmured, booking it down the sidewalk. 

            Miguel made his discomfort known as he loudly groaned and cried into Danny’s shoulder. Guilt tugged at the half dead king. He’d been in tough spots, but honestly? This was a first. He’d never held someone while they bled out except himself and he was sure he would have been happier going his whole life without. 

            As the building came into sight he felt the prickle of hope just under his skin, only to been diminished by Miguel’s breathing coming to a stop.

            “Come on, kid. Please.” He grit out, shoving through the door.

            The receptionist stood up quickly, fear being replaced by resolve. She moved immediately, opening the door to the actual clinic.

            “Doctor!” She shouted, as Danny shoved past her and laid Miguel on the table. 

            “He’s been stabbed. He called me eleven minutes ago, I applied pressure and wrapped it eight minutes ago, it’s deep.” He barely breathed, forcing the words out as fast as he could.

            Doctor Thompkins and her receptionist nurse worked quickly, pushing Danny out of the room and trying to save Miguel’s life. Sitting in the waiting room was excruciating. With his advanced hearing he could tell when the doctor pulled out the paddles, when she zapped Miguel (Danny wincing at the phantom ((ha)) feeling of electricity coursing through his own body), he could hear when she demanded the nurse for more medicine, to wipe the area, to hand her a tool, and he could hear it all knowing he couldn’t help.

            He’d come to Gotham to help people. And he couldn’t. He sat in the lobby, paralyzed, unable to help one of the few people he’d specifically offered his help to.

            When the door opened almost two hours later, the nurse offered him a small smile and nodding for him to go to the back. He didn’t waste a second, breezing by her and directly to the bed Miguel laid in, covered by a blanket, vitals stable.

            “He’s going to be okay.” Doctor Thompkins starts, looking over a clipboard. “It was pretty serious, his heart stopped three times and we had to bring him back. If this were any other kind of clinic I would have had him transferred to a hospital via an ambulance the moment you brought him in.” She said pointedly, there was no real bite in her words. “I’d like to at least keep him over night, make sure he’s okay before he goes galivanting around Crime Alley again.”

            Danny nodded. “Thank you.” He paused, staring at Miguel before turning back to the doctor. “Sorry, uh, I’m Danny. Danny Nightingale.” He held his hand out to shake, blood still caked under his fingernails no matter how many times he’d tried to scrub it away.

            She offered a small smile. “I’ve heard a great deal about you Mr. Nightingale. He looks a bit old to be yours though.” She gestured to Miguel.

            “Oh, no.” He chuckled. “We’ve only met a couple of times, but I gave him my number in case he was ever in trouble. It came in handy tonight.” 

            Nodding, the doctor looked back at her clipboard. “Do you know about family? Anyone we can contact?”

            He sighed, Miguel’s phone heavy in his pocket. “I grabbed his phone but… I know it’s just him and his little brother. I don’t know where the brother is, but I don’t want him out there all alone all night. He might come looking for his brother. I’ll see if I can find any information in his phone.”

            She nodded again, hesitantly before turning away. “I have a couple of things to work on, but you’re welcome to stay here for a while.”

~~~

           Tucker had found Miguel’s little brother’s information in the phone and Danny had set out immediately. He had no idea how Tucker had done it, there was no phone number for his brother, no home address, but Tucker just gave one of his ‘you won’t understand even if I dumb it down for you’ sighs and Danny didn’t question it.

            He’d felt bad about leaving Miguel, but Doctor Thompkins assured him the boy wouldn’t wake until the morning and it would be more dangerous for Santiago (Miguel’s little brother) to be alone all night. So he’d left.

            He didn’t like what he’d found. 

            An abandoned office building on the edge of Crime Alley. Not just abandoned, caved in, likely from a bomb, half the building was missing, there was no roof, most of the second floor had crumbled away leaving the first floor open to the dangers of the night.

            “Santiago?” Danny called cautiously. “My name is Danny; I know your brother.” He hoped Santiago was here. Please don’t let him be searching the streets for his brother. Miguel had said he was only thirteen. “Miguel’s hurt, I’ve come to take you to him.” 

            His senses flared and his body moved on instinct, dodging the long piece of wood that swung at his head. Rolling forward and springing back up, he spun around to face his attacker. His attacker being a little kid. He wore a worn-down jacket, the zipper was open and broken, there were holes in the t-shirt underneath, his jeans were shredded around the ankles and his toes poked through the shoes that were holding on by the shoelaces.

            Raising both hands in a surrender motion, Danny sighed. “Santiago?” The boy’s look was guarded, but fear was clearly underneath, and he nodded once, barely. “I met your brother the other night, my name’s Danny. Your brother got hurt and I took him to Thompkins clinic, I came to bring you to him so you wouldn’t worry about him all night.”

            The two-by-four lowered slowly but not all the way. “’E may’ve mentioned ya.” His voice was so quiet, barely a whisper.

            Danny nodded encouragingly. “I want to help you- both- if you’ll let me. But that’s not what I’m here for tonight. I didn’t want you to be alone or go searching for your brother, so I came to bring you to him. And then, at least while he’s healing, I’d like to help you guys out, if you’ll let me.”

            And with the look Santiago gave him, he was optimistic that he could wear them down.

~~~

          As he’d learned in the past six months, Danny wasn’t just the king of the infinite realms. No- he was the king of hasty decisions. He already owned the apartment building he lived in and he’d been fixing up the empty apartments, but without much thought (or asking Miguel and Santiago’s opinions) he went online and purchased all of the necessary furniture to house two boys and set the delivery for the next day.

          “Mr. Nightingale-” Miguel started.

          “Danny.”

           Miguel ignored him. “Mr. Nightingale, tha’s too much. We can’t accept this. Why would you even want us to move in?” His balled his fists in the hospital blanket. Doctor Thompkins had thankfully stepped out to give them some privacy. “What do you want from us?”

           “Listen, Miguel,” Danny rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I don’t WANT anything FROM you. I want you both to be safe. I want you both to go to school. And I want you to only worry about grades and socializing and other kid things.” He raised a hand calmingly as Miguel geared up to argue. “And I know you aren’t kids- you’ve been through too much to be considered kids, but you are young, and you deserve to feel safe.”

           The brothers looked between each other and Danny.

           “I don’t want to charge rent; I don’t want anything from you.” He repeated. “I want to help you, remember? That’s what I do. That’s what people like me are made for. Helping.”

           Santiago, in a rare show of childishness, climbed onto his brother’s bed and into his lap, whispering something in his ear. The two shared a pointed look, a telepathic conversation happening between them while Danny tried not to watch. Miguel sighed.

          “So… how would this work?”

          Danny leaned back in his chair, hoping he looked less intimidating like this. “I own the apartment building I live in. I’d like to give you two one of the apartments to live in, rent free, obviously. I’d like to tutor you both so you can get into a good school before next semester, we could do that on weekends and in evenings. I would also like you to leave your gang,” Miguel opened his mouth, but Danny pressed on. “I can offer you a job that will pay much better than any gang will.” Miguel’s mouth shut.

          The three sat in silence for a moment after that, Miguel thinking it all through. “Why us man?”

          The Halfa shrugged. “Why not? I can’t help everyone, but I can help you two. You’re just as deserving as anyone else is and I have the means.”

          “This ain’t some weird sugar daddy situation, is it?”

           Danny actually laughed at that. “No, Ancients no! I already told you what I want. And it’s not anything weird or creepy or gross. I just want to help.” I just want to protect.

           “Fine.” Miguel mutters. “But no creepy shit! An’ you ain’t my dad!”

           He nodded, grinning. “Agreed.”

~~~

            Danny insisted they stay at the clinic for another twenty-four hours, both so Miguel could recover a bit more before walking around and so he could get the apartment set up before their arrival.

            First he contacted Ember and begged her to work the whole day tomorrow and be responsible about it, then he called Mia and told her he had a family emergency and would be out the following day but that she could call if she needed and to keep Ember in line. 

            After that he called Jazz because that’s what he did when he did something crazy.

            “Danny?” She answered.

            “I did something hasty again.”

            She sighed. “What is it this time? A restaurant? A hotel? Tell me it isn’t Phantom rela-”

            “What? No! No it’s- you know how I bought my apartment building before moving here? Well… I just invited a couple of kids who need a safe place to stay to live in one of the apartments and I’m kind of freaking out.” 

            She hummed, neither approving nor disapproving, just signaling that she was listening.

            He phased into his apartment and threw his bloody jacket on top of the trash can. “I’m giving them an apartment on my floor, paying for their school, and tutoring them on the weekends. They’re good kids, they just need help.”

            “Danny.” She sighed. “You can’t help everyone.”

            “I know!” He snapped.

            Neither said anything for a moment, allowing their personal frustrations to subside before continuing. They didn’t fight often anymore, but when they did… it could get pretty explosive.

            “I know, Jazz.” He started again. “I can’t help everyone. I know that. But I can help them. Isn’t that why I’m here? To help?”

            She chuckled. “I can’t believe we ever didn’t know your obsession… Remember I wasn’t particularly excited about the daycare in the first place?” He knew, she’d thought he was crazy. But she’d gotten with the program and helped out immensely. “Look, you’re an adult, and more importantly, I trust you, just be careful okay? You’re always doing these crazy last-minute things and it worries me. You’re stretching yourself so thin.”

            “I know.”

            “I’ll call in a family emergency at work tomorrow and come help you out. What do you need from me?”

            And that’s why he always called her. He felt the tension release from his shoulders as he went through a mental checklist of tomorrows to do’s. The apartment needed to be cleaned, furniture needed to be moved in, groceries, clothes, and books needed to be procured after that, and they’d need phones.

            She agreed to show up at seven in the morning to start cleaning the apartment. He could go out and buy essentials while she did that and the furniture would likely be delivered in the early afternoon so they could start moving it all in. They didn’t want to stress the boys out with too much stuff, so Danny promised to keep it to the essentials.

            “Well, I’ve got to get up bright and early to help my kid brother with another crazy scheme, so I’ll be going.” The teasing in her voice was palpable. “I love you, brother.”

            “Love you too, sis.”

            It was nearing midnight when Danny finally ended his call with his sister and looked over the furniture set to be delivered the following day. Two mattresses and bed frames, a couch, a table and chair set, two desk with chairs, and a tv stand (no tv, he was worried how the boys would feel if it was obvious how much he’d spent. He’d get them a tv soon.). For an exorbitant price, it would all be delivered the following day by two in the afternoon.

            Danny took another power nap.

            This one was longer than most and he awoke with a start as sunlight poured into the apartment. Dragging a hand down his face, he stumbled towards the kitchen. When had he last eaten? Didn’t matter, he didn’t have much. He didn’t eat much these days. Not for lack of trying, he was just so busy.

            Opening his fridge (praying there was some fresh fruit or something he could grab quickly) he was shocked to find a container of what looked to be chicken parmesan and a sticky note attached to the lid. 

             Don’t know how a twig like you took out the Joker, eat something. -RH

            There was another container next to it with some kind of stew.

             Okay, not a fan of chicken parm? Fine, but eat the stew. -RH

             There was a third container next to that, some kind of steak and potatoes.

             Do you eat? I swear they aren’t poisoned. -RH

             Danny chuckled. Only one person knew he’d killed the Joker, he hadn’t even told Jazz when she’d called after the breakout, which meant the Red Hood was breaking into his apartment and leaving him meals. Why? As a thank you? Danny stilled owed him a thank you for all he’d done for his people. 

            Reheating the chicken parmesan Danny let his thoughts turn from the Red Hood to his plans for the day. According to his phone it was nearing seven. He’d also gotten confirmation sometime in the middle of the night for the furniture he’d bought saying it’d arrive closer to two. 

            He scarfed down the food (he couldn’t remember ever eating something so delectable) and made his way down to let Jazz in. [SE7]  It had been a few weeks since they’d been able to have brunch, and he smiled when they made eye contact. Her hair was pulled back with a bandanna, her jeans were cuffed, and she wore an open jacket over a ratty old t-shirt. She looked ready to get to work.

            “All right, Mr.-fixes-everyone’s-problems-but-his-own, lead the way.” She arched an eyebrow, clearly still miffed that he hadn’t told her about buying and renovating the building.

            He brought her up to the fourth floor. “This is where they’ll be staying. It’s got two rooms so they won’t have to share, but it’s also on my floor so I can be nearby if they need an adult.”

            “Is that what you think you are?” She teased, lowering the bucket of cleaning supplies she’d brought along.

            Rolling his eyes, he opened the balcony window blinds. “I cleaned all of the open apartments when I bought the place, but it could use a thorough dusting and vacuuming. The furniture will be arriving around two, so we’ve got time. I also need to get to the grocery store to stock their cabinets and pick up some essentials, I was going to take your car. You good here while I take care of that?”

            She nodded. “You won’t even recognize it when you get back.”

            He wasn’t sure if that was meant to be reassuring. But he let her get to work anyway.

Danny didn’t drive much these days. He didn’t have a car and even if he did the likelihood of it getting stolen or broken into where he lived was high. He preferred to take buses or trains anywhere he needed to go but with how many bags of things he intended to get it just wouldn’t be convenient.

            First stop was the department store. He picked out a couple of outfits for each of the boys (he guessed at their sizes as best he could) and some packaged underwear and socks. He picked out bed sheet sets and comforters, a shower curtain, bathmat, bath towels, and kitchen towels. What else… they’d need dishes! 

Loading the essentials -cups, plates, silverware, a couple of pots and pans, knives, a cutting board, and measuring utensils- he stopped and considered getting more. Before he could go completely overboard, he cut himself off. He still needed to get groceries and toiletries and it was already nearing eleven.

            He picked out shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes and paste, deodorant, combs, a hairbrush, and anything else he thought they might need. At twelve he made his way to the grocery store which he originally thought would be the cheapest part of the trip. Until he saw the prices of seasonings. Five dollars for a jar of garlic powder! 

            Not that Danny was terribly concerned about money, he’d basically been dared by Clockwork to find a way to use it all up without simply giving it all away, but when he thought about all of the essentials the boys would need… flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, half a million seasonings, as well as shelf stable snacks and some canned goods… the cost added up.

            Swiping his card without a second thought, Danny loaded up the car. 

            Jazz was right. When he got back the apartment looked…. Well it was the same, obviously, but it was so much cleaner, fresher, it had a lighter feel to it. Every speck of dust was gone, the carpets had been deep cleaned, the bathroom sparkled, and the kitchen was ready to be filled.

            It didn’t take the two of them long to unload everything from the car but by the time it was all put away (and they were both thoroughly exhausted) the furniture was being delivered.

            “Remind me again why we didn’t ask any of your many ghost friends to help us with this?” Jazz huffed, pulling the couch up the stairs as Danny pushed.

            He chuckled. “You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘We don’t need ghost powers, we are perfectly strong and capable humans, and we don’t want the neighbors to suspect anything’.”

            “Well that’s not even completely true, is it?” She huffed. “Just do it!” 

            Giving his best impression of a super villain’s laugh, Danny hesitated for only a minute before granting mercy, turning the couch intangible, and flying past Jazz with the furniture. She didn’t laugh, clearly exasperated, following him and muttering things under her breath while he flew back and forth bringing up the furniture. 

            Jazz began assembling the bedframes while he finished bringing up furniture. When he finally settled back into the apartment he felt like collapsing onto the couch and taking one of his power naps. The black spots in his vision went away with just a bit of blinking and he pushed away the thought. He didn’t need a nap, he needed to get this done.

            “Danny?” Jazz asked, cautiously, noting his momentary dissociation. “You okay there, brother?”

            He nodded slowly. “Tired. I’ve been pretty busy recently.”

            She eyed him skeptically but let it slide. He listened to her chatter on about work while they put together the beds ‘and it’s hard to believe he’s really dead but thank Ancients because that monster didn’t deserve to claim insanity even once!’, Danny trying to keep from wincing every time she speculated about the Joker’s murder/death.

            Just as they were finishing up Danny’s phone began to ring.

            “Hello?” He moved away from Jazz to get a bit of privacy.

            “Mr. Nightingale? It’s Dr. Thompkins. The boys are getting restless, and I’ve caught them trying to leave twice. I think it’d be best if you came down to get them.” Her voice was professional, but he could hear a hint of exasperation underneath.

            Giving a quick confirmation, he hung up. “I’ve gotta go pick up the boys, they’re getting restless. You wanna stick around? I was gonna order pizzas.”

            “How about this; you take my car to pick them up so Miguel doesn’t have to walk much, and I’ll call in pizzas which you can pick up while you’re out?” She reasoned from the floor. She’d sprawled out after they’d finished the last of the furniture and had apparently decided to become a permanent resident of the floor.

            “You got it, sis.” Swiping her keys once again he made his way out. On the short drive over he felt the anxiety begin to bubble up. What if they hated it? He didn’t know these kids that well, what if they were super overwhelmed and up and left? He wasn’t a father or guardian to anyone (except the entirety of the infinite realms but that’s beside the point)! He couldn’t take care of kids! Santiago was just thirteen! Being neglected at that age was what led to Danny dying at fourteen!

            The panic took over his senses and before he knew it he’d arrived outside of the clinic. Once inside, the nurse (the same from the night before) smiled and gestured for him to go on back. He made eye contact with Miguel and waited. Waited for something. Waited for him to change his mind about all of this. Waited for him to run. Waited. Finally, Miguel sighed. “All right. Let’s go, man.”

Prev. Next

[911actually]

9-1-1: Oliver Stark Talks About That Buck-Eddie Fight, and What He Hopes Is Ahead for Them

Evan "Buck" Buckley's (Oliver Stark) world will never be the same again. In Season 8 of the ABC first-responder drama 9-1-1, co-creator and showrunner Tim Minear decided to kill off his first main character: Capt. Robert "Bobby" Nash (Peter Krause), the proverbial glue that held the LAFD's Station 118 together. The show's characters, much like its actors and devoted fans, have been left reeling ever since Bobby died after contracting a lethal strain of CCHF in the episode "Lab Rats," which aired just under a month ago. In Thursday's season finale, titled "Seismic Shifts," the remaining members of the fire station that Bobby helped build — as well as Bobby's widow, Sgt. Athena Grant-Nash (Angela Bassett) — will reach an inflection point as they respond to a high-rise building collapse and decide how to move forward in both their personal and professional lives. After deciding that Bobby was going to meet his demise in the second half of this season, Minear told THR last month that he had called up each of his cast members individually to deliver the bad news, but none of the actors wanted to believe him — and then all of them began bargaining with him to keep Bobby alive. In the end, Minear still chose to move forward with this controversial storyline, but he wanted to spend the last three episodes of the season dealing with the emotional fallout of Bobby's death.

READ THE FULL ARTICLE HERE

[vioredynamite]

hi! I want to rb a version of the post not from that source, do you have another article that talks about it instead?

Hey, I assume you're talking about the fires in Patagonia. The only sources I trust are alternative media in Argentina so I'm going to share the translated excerpts here.

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Agencia Tierra Viva

"Within this movement are the volunteer brigadists who join the firefighting. This Wednesday (February 5), when the fire was about to be active for a week, Governor Alberto Weretilneck informed about the arrest of three brigadistas in Mallín Ahogado. The arrests were made against Nicolás Heredia, Tomás Anarella and Fabián Pasos, as part of the case being investigated by prosecutor Francisco Arrien on the causes of the fires. Aranella and Pasos were released this Thursday (February 6) at the 36th Police Station of Dina Huapi, while raids were being carried out and a fourth arrest was announced. (Update: all the detainees, who numbered up to 6, have been released.)

The organizations and assemblies denounced that the detainees, accused of starting the fires, are in fact brigadistas who were fighting the fire together with their neighbors. For this reason, the arrests generated an immediate reaction from the population and a protest at the door of the 12th Police Station of El Bolsón. But when the people mobilized to demand their release, a group of people on horseback chased the neighbors with "rebencazos" ("rebenques" are short whips) and beatings, under the watchful eye and inaction of the local police.

One of the aggressors, who beat people telling them "I am not afraid of you", was Víctor Hugo Araneda, a man linked to the mayor Bruno Pogliano and who is remembered in the town for participating in violent actions in the protests for the murder of Elías Garay, the young Mapuche from Lof Quemquemtreu; and against the participants of the march that, every year, mobilizes to Lago Escondido, owned by Joe Lewis (British tycoon and businessman with land in Patagonia)."

[...]

"The slogan "Mallín is rural" has been sustained in the face of the ever-renewed attempts of subdivision in Pampa de Ludden. There, in the area of Mount Perito Moreno, where the ski center of El Bolsón is located, the company Laderas - closely connected to the British businessman Joe Lewis and with municipal endorsement - has been trying to build a gated community for ten years. But there are also many other forced urbanization projects, such as land use change ordinances, tax revaluations, and street layout. Even the attempts to modify the educational project of the schools with changes in the school calendar, reduction of positions in subjects related to production or total absence of school transportation for long periods. The tension between tourism and rural production seems to have reached a point of no return with this catastrophe."

[...]

"Governor Alberto Weretilneck appears in the regional media thanking the Ministry of Defense, which sent some Army authorities to help with the situation. The pro-government media thank the helicopter of Joe Lewis' company without asking about the appearance of Lago Escondido in the name of the burned protected natural area. In order to divert the focus, the case against the brigaders appears.

In parallel, Patricia Bullrich, head of the recently renamed Ministry of National Security, which has under its orbit the National Fire Management Service (SNMF), is conspicuous by her absence. There are other active fires in the Patagonian Andes. And the Minister's response is only through the networks, bringing back the figure of the Mapuche Ancestral Resistance (RAM) and Facundo Jones Huala; whom she claims to denounce criminally for the appearance of a video in which he vindicates the fires. In the creation of the internal enemy, she is followed by the governor Ignacio Torres and the presidential spokesman Manuel Adorni, all on the same day."

---

Canal Abierto

"According to the National Fire Management Service, 95% of fires are caused by human action. Few fires originate naturally; the vast majority are generated by recklessness or intentional land-use changes in favor of agrobusiness, real estate, mining, and other sectors.

Added to this is the insufficient enforcement of environmental regulations, the lack of land use planning and effective territorial control. "In this context, fires cannot be treated as isolated or solely reactive events. A comprehensive approach is needed that encompasses prevention, vegetation fuel management, climate risk mitigation and adaptive territorial planning. Without these actions, fires will become increasingly intense, causing irreversible damage to ecosystems, communities and the biodiversity they sustain," states a report by the "Fundación Ambiente y Recursos Naturales".

The current government, a denier of climate change and its consequences, defunds and under-executes the funds of the National Fire Management System which, on the other hand, was changed jurisdiction and is now under the orbit of Patricia Bullrich. In 2024, only 22% of its budget was executed, equivalent to $7,739 million. In 2025, the budget execution to date is 0%."

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I also recommend following other media such as Revista Cítrica and ANRed, which cover this topic with some regularity.