#group by and having clause

[voelene]

Everyone's mad at Verso because he knew what would happen after killing the paintress (and actively manipulated the group toward that outcome)

But

What about Monoco and Esquie ?

They obviously knew too, and still went along with Verso's plan, not warning anyone

[memorizableusername]

back to iggystall (i miss black triangle trio) but this was funny. I laughed. he really wanted to see lord naked.

[witchofthesouls]

any thoughts or concept ideas that you are cooking in you mind over Camiens?

the last one might have perked my interest. Some part of it ring similar tones that i had been working on on my down time (tho this was on an oc with a different craft that being a Blacksmith (Weapons maker kind) and the ever occuring difference between Cybertron and Caminus, despite looking the "same")

would some of the other think All Camiens are similar to the D.J.D or is does it just happen to that One indivdual that happens to be similar to that of the D.J.D?

Oh, I would love to see your interpretation of Camiens! Personally, I really fell in love with the idea that Camiens have deep cultural roots from Seekerkin societies and the War-Forged.

Early Camien society was far more militaristic and heavily focused on combat as the survivors of the Tribal wars and the First Cybertronian War went with the grieving Titan. Not only did Caminus bring his own citizens, but Megatronus' Darklanders, Liege Maximo's warrior-diplomats, and Crystal City skilled workers as well.

Those roots still exist in their language, dynamics, and even in their leadership roles. The Hammer of the Mistress of Flame is both ceremonial and practical as it invokes Solus Prime's Warhammer and the imagery of forge and forger as well as a weapon itself.

Unlike Cybertron, Camiens have far more social mobility and opportunities to jump into different careers. In fact, it's expected of citizens to have a variety of skills under their belt, including defense maneuvers.

At one point, all citizens were required to serve in the military and were rotated out. But millenia of relative peace loosened restrictions. Tradition and hostile fauna still demand Camiens to have some form of combat and weaponry training.

The establishment of the Torchbearers is a relatively new phenomenon as they are a dedicated six-member team of elite peacekeepers that travel across the planet. However, it's Healers and Cityspeakers that the population adore.

Camiens believe that each of them carries a fragment of Solus Herself, but the sparks that become Cityspeakers and Healers have more.

If Cityspeakers are Caminus' dream-speakers and His voice, then Healers are His direct touch.

Camien Healers are a cross between paladin, cleric, and a medic. Much how a forge creates tools of peace and war, Healers are very much both as they are able to manipulate and guide Caminus' own energy to others and within themselves to do incredibly impressive feats. Some are drawn to the denser population centers, remaining in hospitals and clinics to perform delicate operations in tandem with Caminus. Others are drawn to the dangerous edges of the dreaming, scattered Titan and the far-flung settlements of the planet, seeking out elements that cause great harm to the flow of Caminus' children.

This is a unique cultural and religious feature of Caminus as it blends faith healing, elite combatants, and medical training along with the constant war with the planet’s fauna and their own splinter groups as well as integrating newly activated War-Forged into the soul of their community.

Because the War-Forged have a monstrous capacity to deal and withstand damage as well as terrifying deep-core combat systems that are set to achieve directives no matter the cost, it is incredibly important to ensure that a newly awakened Healer pledges devotion to Caminus.

Hence, that is why Healers are easily identifiable by the intense fuschia optics and pink plating.

The process to become a Healer is a fiercely guarded secret of the pious Order of Luminara (a legendary figure that pledged loyalty and service directly to Caminus after Megatronus’ betrayal), but even promising candidates could ‘fail’ if Caminus refuses to impart a certain amount of His essence into the acolyte to awaken certain programs and coding. In the end, only a single handful are initiated into the Healer ranks every century or two.

Because of the intensity and strict regimen for potential Healers, many private groups keep a close eye on the individuals that fail to court them away from the Order as they can fulfill a multitude of highly skilled roles. While some do leave, many stay with the Order as they have ties to many organizations and fields and do receive preference.

Tourniquet is a notorious Healer for absolute dedication to hunting down extremists that deliberately target the far-flung settlements and hamlets. Much like how fire can have many names, the Way of Flame has many branches. However, there are branches that must be pruned away, such as the zealots of Sol's Lathe, who slaughter everyone and everything as a sacrifical tribute to bring back Solus to life as a reversal of Megatronus' sin ("From Death, springs Life."), and the strange cases of individuals under the throes of their version of Primus apotheosis -the delusion of being Solus' direct heir combined with paranoia and the rabid cannibalistic urge to devour sparks.

While Camiens do have a robust medical field, the presence of Healers are source of security to the population. Not only are they visible manifestations of Caminus and Solus, but should an invasion occur, they will be pulled from all operations with a new directive: slaughter.

The Nurse feels homesick because the D.J.D. reminds them of a heavily Order of Luminara-flavored Torchbearers.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

[ETA: if you are somehow finding your way here pls note some - not exhaustive!!!! - follow up notes in this reblog. sorry again i mixed up megalodons and megalosaurs]

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so much trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[saywhat-politics]

Feb. 13, 2025, 4:05 PM MST

By Nnamdi Egwuonwu

A group of 14 states sued Elon Musk and President Donald Trump on Thursday, arguing that the authority the White House granted the tech billionaire and his advisory Department of Government Efficiency is unconstitutional.

The suit, filed by Democratic attorneys general from states like Arizona, Michigan and Rhode Island, takes aim at the magnitude and scale of Musk’s power, noting that DOGE has led the Trump administration’s efforts to dramatically reduce the size of the federal workforce, dismantle entire agencies and access sensitive data.

“The founders of this country would be outraged that, 250 years after our nation overthrew a king, the people of this country—many of whom have fought and died to protect our freedoms—are now subject to the whims of a single unelected billionaire,” Arizona Attorney General Kris Mayes said in a statement.

The attorneys general argue that Trump violated the Appointments Clause of the Constitution by creating DOGE — an unofficial government agency — without congressional approval and by granting Musk “sweeping powers” without seeking the advice and consent of the Senate through a confirmation hearing.

“President Trump has delegated virtually unchecked authority to Mr. Musk without proper legal authorization from Congress and without meaningful supervision of his activities,” the lawsuit reads. “As a result, he has transformed a minor position that was formerly responsible for managing government websites into a designated agent of chaos without limitation and in violation of the separation of powers.”

The states are seeking a court order blocking Musk from making changes to government funding, canceling contracts, making personnel decisions and more.

[solxamber]

Hiii!! first time requesting and I absolutely love your white rabbit and angel one, but what about a jellyfish mc with the octavinelle trio and diasomnia group? Where their head empty an airhead but is actually really smart but gets distracted easily.

Octavinelle + Diasomnia with Airhead! Jellyfish! Reader

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was prepared for almost anything—except you. At first, your airheaded nature confounded him. You’d stare blankly into space during conversations, occasionally blurting out unrelated thoughts like, “Do you think stars get lonely?” or “What’s the difference between squid ink and octopus ink?”

To Azul, you seemed like an easy mark. Someone too scattered to notice loopholes in contracts or the fine print. But the first time he tried to rope you into a deal, you stared at the contract for an uncomfortably long time, then pointed out five contradictory clauses and suggested a more efficient way to write it.

Azul had never been so humiliated yet so intrigued. How could someone so spacey also be so sharp? He began inviting you to the Mostro Lounge under the guise of needing “assistance,” but it was just an excuse to pick your brain.

He’d grumble when you got distracted mid-conversation to follow a particularly shiny object, but he found himself watching you with a mix of exasperation and fondness. Your unconventional intelligence challenged him, and your whimsical nature softened the edges of his ambition.

Jade Leech

Jade found your airheadedness endlessly entertaining. At first, he mistook it for naivety, but when you casually corrected one of his mushroom classifications while admiring a random shell, he realized there was much more to you.

You fascinated him. The way your attention flitted from one thing to another like a butterfly, yet you still managed to come up with solutions to problems no one else could. Jade often tested your intelligence by subtly steering conversations into complex topics, only for you to surprise him with insightful answers delivered in the most absentminded tone.

“Jade, did you know the anglerfish has a symbiotic relationship with bacteria for its light?” you’d say, staring off into the distance. And just like that, Jade’s carefully laid plan to throw you off would unravel.

He enjoyed the unpredictability you brought into his life. Your head-empty demeanor paired with startling intelligence kept him on his toes, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Floyd Leech

“Oh, Shrimpy’s got no brain cells, huh?” That was Floyd’s first impression of you, and for a while, he treated you like his personal amusement. He’d throw random questions your way just to see what absurd answer you’d come up with.

But the day you absentmindedly explained the physics behind the Mostro Lounge’s faulty pipe system and how to fix it? Floyd was floored. His mouth hung open for a good five seconds before he burst out laughing. “You’re a sneaky little jellyfish, aren’t ya?”

From then on, Floyd decided you were his favorite. He’d sling an arm around your shoulders and drag you around, showing you off like his prize catch. “Shrimpy’s dumb-smart,” he’d declare to anyone who’d listen, grinning ear to ear.

He loved how unpredictable you were, never knowing if you’d say something brilliant or completely off-the-wall. Floyd thrived on chaos, and you were the perfect mix of calm airhead and hidden genius to keep him entertained. He might tease you endlessly, but deep down, he adored you for being unapologetically yourself.

Malleus Draconia

When Malleus first met you, he found your airheaded nature oddly calming. Unlike others, you didn’t seem intimidated by his presence. Instead, you’d blink at him in wide-eyed wonder before blurting out random thoughts like, “If dragons hoard treasure, do they also have snack stashes?”

At first, Malleus assumed your absentmindedness was due to a lack of understanding. But during one of your meandering conversations, you casually corrected his misconceptions about a historical event—one even he hadn't noticed. He realized you weren’t just carefree; you were deeply knowledgeable in your own peculiar way.

Your ability to switch between whimsical musings and sharp observations fascinated him. He found himself seeking you out for your unique perspective, even if you occasionally got distracted by a passing butterfly mid-discussion.

“Child of Man, you are quite… unique,” he’d say with a soft smile, finding solace in your unorthodox approach to life.

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia thought you were adorable. Your head-empty demeanor reminded him of the carefree youths he’d seen in his centuries of life. He’d often pop out of nowhere to startle you, laughing when you gasped and then immediately got distracted by a question like, “Why is it called a jump scare if I didn’t jump?”

But it didn’t take long for Lilia to notice the flashes of brilliance hidden behind your seemingly aimless chatter. You’d drop profound insights into conversations as if they were afterthoughts, leaving him pleasantly surprised.

“Oh-ho! You’re sharper than you let on, aren’t you?” he’d tease, ruffling your hair affectionately.

He loved how unpredictable you were, and he often encouraged your tangents just to see where your mind would wander. To Lilia, you were a delightful enigma—one that made his long life all the more entertaining.

Silver

Silver appreciates your calm presence, even if he sometimes struggled to keep up with your wandering thoughts. He’d sit quietly as you mused about the stars or wondered if birds dream, finding your voice soothing no matter how odd the topic.

He initially thought you were simply a kind but scatterbrained individual. However, when you offhandedly helped him improve his sword stance with an unexpectedly insightful comment, he realized there was more to you than met the eye.

“You notice things most people overlook,” he said, his tone soft with admiration. From then on, he started paying closer attention to your words, knowing they often carried hidden wisdom.

Silver respected your unique way of thinking and found comfort in your presence, even when you got distracted mid-sentence. To him, you were a gentle yet brilliant soul, someone who brought unexpected light into his life.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was baffled by you. At first, he couldn’t fathom how someone so easily distracted could survive at Night Raven College, much less so many Overblots. He’d often lecture you, only for you to nod absentmindedly and then ask something completely unrelated, like, “Do crocodiles ever get lonely?”

It drove him up the wall. He thought you lacked focus, which was unacceptable to him. But then, during a heated argument about magical theory, you calmly pointed out a flaw in his reasoning that left him speechless.

Sebek stared at you, wide-eyed, before clearing his throat and crossing his arms. “Hmph! I see you’re not as oblivious as you appear,” he muttered, trying to mask his begrudging respect.

Despite his initial frustrations, Sebek grew to admire your hidden intelligence. He’d still scold you for your airheaded tendencies, but deep down, he appreciated your unique perspective and the unexpected wisdom you brought to the table.

Masterlist

[the-microphone-explodes]

Well for one thing, you (or the West for that matter) didn’t create the word genocide, it was coined by a Polish-Jewish lawyer named Raphael Lemkin. In his book, the Axis Rule in Occupied Europe he showed his research of the way the Nazi occupied Europe and narrated how he thought the crimes the Nazi committed against the Polish during their occupation came down to 5 main policies that displayed their will to completely destroy the Polish nation which included:

1) The mass killings of Poles

2) Bringing “serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group”,

3) Planned deterioration of living conditions "calculated to bring about their destruction

4) Implementation of various "measures intended to to prevent births within the group" such as promotion of abortions, burdening pregnant women, etc.

5) Forced transfer of Polish children to German families

He used these instances as proof for the Nazi plan to completely terminate the Polish identity and these markers are still used by the Genocide Convention as proof of genocidal intentions. He also used this word to describe the atrocities that Nazi committed against the Jewish people during the Holocaust. Lemkin also spent the rest of his time advocating for an international convention to stop the rise of “future Hitlers”, and on December 9, 1948 the U.N. authorized the Genocide Convention, which had many of its clauses based on Lemkin’s own research and proposals.

Also this is a very narrow idea of racism and discrimination. Anti-semitism was rampant in American and Western society years before Hitler came into power. I mean in 1942, American literally turned away a boat load of Jewish people seeking refuge. People didn’t look at Jews and think “Oh man they look just like us, so their murders must be important and we have to create a word that describes their condition and the crimes being committed against because we care sooooo much about them”. In reality, most people didn’t really given a shit about all of the Jews being murdered, only when America and the West was being directly threatened by war did they retaliate.

So no, the West didn’t coin the word Genocide to describe the atrocities that Nazi Germany inflicted because the victims looked like them or whatever, the word was created by Polish-Jewish lawyer to describe the oppression that his people were put under.

[dessarchive]

DR IDEAS. A COLLECTION.

the list below is based off of my current list of drs and i thought i’d share to give others more ideas! i will be updating this often because i often have ideas for drs but i can’t say how often that will be. happy shifting!

KPOP (join an established k-pop group, create your own, redesign the lore of your faves, make the group or just yourself the opposite gender, make joint groups, switch members, script members out, switch the generation of the group, whatever your heart desires)

aespa, billlie, bts, enhypen, fromis_9, girls generation, girlnextdoor (sister group of boynextdoor), illit, ive, le sserafim, loona, monster high (based off of monster high), newjeans, powerpuff girls (based off of the powerpuff girls), p1harmony, rescene, secret, stray kids, tripleS, twice, winx (based off of winx club)

FAME (act in a movie, television series, or film, sing on stage or be a backup singer, dance on stage with your faves or be their choreographer, become the it person of a certain decade, become a world renowned artist, become the next nba player, interview your faves, create the next big book that will live on for generations, play your favorite video games as a living)

actress, artist, author, band, basketball player, ballerina, celebrity interviewer, ceo (favorite brand, an app, music), choreographer, director, drag queen, fashion designer, figure skater, gaming youtuber, influencer, katseye, lifestyle youtuber, mukbang youtuber, nepo baby, olympic medalist, royalty, singer, soccer, supermodel, teen fame, travel vlogger, victorious secret angel

TV SERIES/MOVIES (add yourself into the plot, remove the plot and live a chill life, fight off evil, have the perfect love story, be best friends with barbie, be barbie and have her many many careers, have a talking pet…. be a talking pet…, be a mermaid, vampire, be friends with or be the sidekick of superman, batman, iron man, etc)

13 going on 30, the 100, accidentally in love, a.n.t. farm, alvin and the chipmunks, the amazing world of gumball, the aristocats, a series of unfortunate events, austin & ally, avatar, the babysitters club, back to the future, barbie, barbie's life in the dream house, barbie mariposa, barbie in a mermaid tale, barbie thumbelina, batman, best friends whenever, beverly hills chihuahua, boo bitch, bottoms, boy meets world, bride wars, brooklyn 99, business proposal, camp rock, captain marvel, cat in the hat, cheaper by the dozen, coraline, criminal minds, curious george, deadly class, derry girls, descendants, despicable me, diary of a wimpy kid, dog with a blog, eternals, euphoria, fantastic beasts, footloose, franny's feet, frozen, freeridge, garfield, gilmore girls, girl meets world, good luck charlie, gravity falls, h20: just add water, hannah montana, happy feet, harry potter, heartstopper, high school musical, hocus pocus, home alone, hotel transylvania, how the grinch stole christmas, i am not okay with this, icarly, jessie, kc undercover, kickin’ it, komi can't communicate, lab rats, law & order, lemonade mouth, let it shine, lilo & stitch, little miss sunshine, little rascals, little women, mako mermaids, metal lords, moana, modern family, mr. popper's penguins, my babysitters a vampire, night at the museum, the office, on my block, outer banks, peanuts, percy jackson and the olympians, phineas and ferb, pirates of the caribbean, pixie hollow, the polar express, pretty little liars, princess diaries, the princess and the popstar, ratatouille, riverdale, the santa clause, sam and cat, sesame street, sex and the city, shake it up, shameless, sharkboy and lavagirl, sisterhood of the traveling pants, smallville, smurfs, space jam, spider-man, spongebob squarepants, spy kids, starstruck, stranger things, strong woman do bong soon, the suite life on deck, the summer i turned pretty, the thundermans, teen beach movie, the teenage mutant ninja turtles, toy story, twilight, victorious, wicked, wizards of waverly place, zoey 101

VIDEO GAMES (there’s so many more i can’t think of)

animal crossing, hogwarts legacy, life is strange, minecraft, roblox, uncharted

MISCELLANEOUS

a certain decade or time in history, all women paradise (i love women), animal kingdom, atlantis, angel, babylon, baker, better cr, boarding school, dragon academy, dream college student, eternal childhood, eternal summer, farmer, idol school, marine biologist, new colors paradise, santa’s elf, small town, studying, summer camp, teacher, time traveler, vampire, waiting room

[woniwontons]

could you possibly write a joaquin x fem reader fic where the reader gets severely injured after getting caught in the crossfire of a fight. can you make joaquin super anxious and guilty about it and have him really upset. when they see each other again he wont let himself touch her, and if she tries to touch him he physically shakes. idk if this makes since and i know you are probably busy, but i hope you like it.

i hope this is what you were looking for! this plot is pretty similar to a fic i already have (zephyr), so i made some tweaks to the request. 🥹🫶🏽

shrapnel of guilt | joaquin x reader

w.c: 2.8k; warnings: gunfire, blood, politicians, reader injury

“You’d look really good in one of those fancy dresses, you know.”

Joaquin leans over the back of the couch, dangling his government-issued invitation like it’s a golden ticket. His grin is all mischief, boyish and smug and clearly proud of himself for snagging a plus-one.

You don’t even look up from your laptop. “Is that your way of asking me to be your date, or do you just want to see me in a dress?”

“Both,” he says, dropping the invite in your lap. “Also, it's a state dinner. When do you ever think we'd get another opportunity like that?”

“Since when do you care about rubbing elbows with Senators? Especially after what happened after you met the ex-president.” you ask, giving him an amused side-eye.

Joaquin shrugs, climbing over the couch like the house was a jungle gym and flopping down beside you with a dramatic oomph. “Since Bucky said there’ll be press. Sam said that any positive publicity I can get as Falcon will help the public trust us again.”

You turn your head toward him. “And me showing up makes that better… how?”

“Because you make me look like a real person,” he says, a little too rehearsed. “Not just the new guy in wings, you'll make me look approachable and human. Sam really wants that for our image, to inspire the kids, you know?"

That silences you for a moment. His eyes search your face, playful glint softening into something closer to vulnerable.

"Are those your words or Sam's words?"

He exhales, tries to cover it with a chuckle, but avoided the question with a sheepish grin. “Also, I kind of just… want you there. Selfishly. I’ve been doing all these missions and briefings and press calls, and it’s boring without my girl around. It’d be nice to walk into this one with you.”

You blink, and he quickly adds, “You don’t have to. I mean, I can go alone. It’s not like—”

“No, I’ll come,” you say, cutting him off.

His brows shoot up, surprise giving way to a blinding smile. “Yeah?”

You nod once, trying not to let on how much his words got to you. “Yeah. But you're paying for the hair appointment.”

Joaquin throws his arms up in triumph, then collapses sideways across your lap like he’s been emotionally winded. “You’re the best. Just a perfect and great everything.”

You laugh, brushing his curls out of his face.

"Anything for you, Joaquin."

The ballroom of the White House shined like something out of an old movie. Warm amber chandeliers swing faintly overhead, their light scattering across polished marble floors and tall, mirrored columns. There’s a string quartet playing something soft near the far end of the room, and every table is dressed in crisp white linens and centerpieces that cost more than Joaquin’s entire wardrobe.

He’s never been to anything like this. Not for real.

And yet, you—standing beside him in a champagne-colored dress that clings and glimmers every time you move—fit into it effortlessly.

He barely hears the words coming out of Bucky’s mouth.

Something about intellectual property clauses. Legislative oversight. Sam, looking just as uncomfortable in his tux as Joaquin feels, nods along while sipping on his drink and subtly trying to loosen his tie.

Joaquin clears his throat and straightens his shoulders as a well-dressed older man approaches your group. A balding, sharp-eyed man with the telltale lapel pin of the New York State Senate.

“Senator Greene,” Bucky says, offering a handshake. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Senator Barnes,” the senator replies, smile polite but guarded. “Wilson. Torres.”

Joaquin feels a jolt in his chest when he hears his name spoken like that.

He steps forward. “Good evening, sir. I’m Lieutenant Torres—and this is my—”

His voice catches slightly.

You smile and offer your hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Senator.”

There’s a second where Joaquin just watches. How you hold yourself, how your dress glows under the golden lights, how you don’t flinch under the weight of political scrutiny. Like you belong here more than he does.

Senator Greene accepts the handshake with a nod. “Likewise.”

There’s talk after that. Some mention of trademarks and future legislation. Sam cracks a joke about the Avengers’ name being harder to copyright than Mickey Mouse. Bucky deadpans something about merchandise royalties. Joaquin tries to keep up, but his mind wanders.

To you.

To how your fingers brushed his when you took your glass earlier. To the way your perfume still lingers on his jacket from when you leaned in to fix his crooked bow tie.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, voice low beside him.

He turns, startled. “What? Where are you...?”

“Bathroom,” you murmur, flashing him a look. “Don’t worry, I saw it on our way in.”

He nods, a little too quickly, trying not to make it obvious how reluctant he is to let you out of arm’s reach.

You glide through the crowd with ease, the hem of your dress brushing against the floor like liquid gold.

Joaquin turns back to the group just as the Senator launches into a longwinded story about his campaign.

But something unsettles him.

Maybe it’s just the chill from the nearby service doors. Maybe it’s nothing.

Still, he finds himself checking the time.

The Senator is still talking when the lights flicker.

It’s subtle at first, just a momentary dip in brightness. Enough to make a few guests glance upward, confused, before brushing it off with nervous laughs. Power surge, maybe. Faulty wiring in an old building. Nothing new.

But Joaquin’s stomach twists.

His eyes flick toward the direction you disappeared in, by the archway leading to the restroom hall. It was now half-obscured by servers weaving through the crowd with champagne flutes and dessert trays.

Then—

Boom.

The chandeliers rattle before shattering over the room, as a deafening blast erupts from somewhere deep in the east wing. The floor jumps under Joaquin’s shoes, glass rains from the ceiling like a second wave of shrapnel, and every conversation in the ballroom dies mid-breath.

Then comes the screaming.

Then the gunfire.

Sharp, deliberate cracks that echo off the marble, coming in calculated bursts as bodies begin to fall to the floor.

Joaquin’s ears are ringing so loud he can’t hear Sam yelling his name, but he sees him. Across the floor, pushing someone behind a pillar, waving Bucky into position. There’s already blood on the floor; someone hit by debris, maybe, or something worse.

Joaquin doesn’t move.

Not yet.

His eyes are locked on the archway.

The last spot he had seen you, reduced to partial rubble.

“No.”

He takes off running, shouldering past civilians, ducking when another round of gunfire erupts from the mezzanine. The air is thick with smoke now, coating his lungs in dust and plaster. He can’t tell if the pressure in his chest is adrenaline or panic or both.

He skids into the hallway, finding it empty.

Doors flung open. A sconce flickering. One of the Secret Service guards is on the ground, blood leaking from a gunshot wound to the throat.

Joaquin steps over the body and sprints for the bathroom.

All he can think is: Too slow. Too far. Too late.

“Please be okay,” he mutters, barely realizing he’s saying it aloud, over and over. “Please, please, please…”

He hits the women’s room door, shoulder first—it swings inward, hanging off one hinge, glass everywhere.

The mirror’s shattered.

The air smells like smoke and perfume and hot metal.

And there you are.

Slumped against the far wall near the sinks, knees drawn to your chest, arms trembling. Blood speckles your arms and collarbone. Nothing appeared deep, but enough to stand out against your champagne-colored dress.

Your eyes are closed tightly as you curl in on yourself, hands covering the top of your head.

Joaquin rushes to you, knees nearly buckling from relief.

“Hey, hey,” His voice is ragged, hoarse. “You're okay. You’re okay, baby. Look at me—”

You flinch when he touches you, but you don’t pull away.

“It's just me, I'm here. You’re not alone. Can you move for me?”

It takes a second. Then a slow, stiff nod.

He helps you up, gently pulling your arm around his shoulders. Your weight sags into him, and he grips your waist tighter. He badly wishes he could carry you, but putting your body in front of his felt wrong.

When he turns to lead you out, he steps over the body of a security guard face-down on the tile. Blood trails out beneath him like black oil, the edge of a steel pipe protruding from his back where the wall must’ve given out.

Joaquin keeps your head turned away.

Another wave of gunshots erupt from the ballroom, closer now. The familiar cracks of suppressed guns. The metallic clatter of fallen chairs. His ears are still ringing terribly, but his adrenaline cuts through the haze of his splitting headache.

He tightens his grip on you.

“We're getting you out of here, okay? I got you. Just stay behind me.”

Your fingers fist the lapel of his jacket like you’re afraid he’ll vanish.

Behind you, the shattered mirror glints under flickering lights.

Ahead, screams rise again.

But Joaquin doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

The air tastes like ash.

Joaquin’s grip tightens around your waist as he pulls you through the smoke-filled ballroom, weaving between overturned tables and burning linen. The room around you had collapsed into chaos, elegance turned to warzone. Splintered chairs. Blood-slick marble. Glass raining down from the balconies where figures in all black move with terrifying precision, rifles snapping in controlled bursts.

You stumble, barefoot now, your heel lost back in the hallway. Your breathing is sharp, quick, shallow. Shock still holds you tight, your movements jerky and unsure. The cut across your arm glistens in the firelight, a thin, but angry red line. A slice from the mirror. You don’t speak, and he doesn’t ask you to.

Joaquin scans the room for cover, spots a fallen Secret Service agent not far ahead. Blood pools beneath the man’s jaw. One arm still clutches a sidearm.

Joaquin moves on instinct—snatching the pistol, checking the mag, then stepping in front of you.

“Stay behind me.”

You nod shakily, trying to wipe your face with trembling fingers.

He fires twice—cutting down a hitman on the upper balcony. The recoil shudders up his arm. Another burst rings out in retaliation, closer this time.

Then it happens.

A hollow crack, sharp and wrong, and your body jerks beside him.

The sound you make isn’t a scream. It’s a fracture in his already aching head, splitting the sanity holding him together.

You twist as the bullet grazes your shoulder, blood blooming against your dress like spilled paint. Your legs buckle. You fall hard, crashing backward into a table, then sliding to the floor, one hand clutching your shoulder, the other scrabbling for balance. Blood spatters across Joaquin’s collar as he instinctively turns towards you.

Without hesitation, without regard.

His vision narrows to nothing but you.

The horrible ringing in his head spikes to a blinding pitch. Static swallowing sound. The world moves in slow, jerking frames for him then. Somewhere behind him, people scream. He takes your body and drags it behind the cover of the table to survey your condition.

Joaquin drops to his knees beside you, grabbing your uninjured side, fingers already sticky with blood. His hands trembled. You’re conscious, but barely as you attempt to regain your bearings. Pain etched deep into your face. Your fingers dig into the wound for pressure to slow the bleeding.

“No, no, no.”

“I’m fine,” you gasp, voice breaking. “I’m okay, I swear—”

“You’re not okay! You’re bleeding," he cries out, at a loss.

You try to stand in retaliation to his words. He doesn’t let you.

One of his arms wraps around your back, the other bracing your legs as he prepared to lift you up.

“Joaquin!” Sam’s voice cuts through, distorted through the ringing. “You need to move now!”

Bucky clears a path ahead, covering with clean, practiced shots. Joaquin forces himself up, hauling you with him despite your cries. Every step you take, more blood soaks the fabric of your dress. You’re crying now, not just from the excruciating pain, but from fear. You’re trying to stay conscious, trying to stay calm, but it’s so much.

Joaquin sees the exit doors and barrels forward.

Two agents cover him as he crosses the foyer. A guard reaches out to him. “We’ve got her from here Lieutenant, go!”

“No, I’m staying with her!” he snaps, voice cracked and hoarse.

But you, barely standing, shake your head.

“You need to go back,” you cry. “They need you, they're outnumbered. I’m okay,” you wince, buckling slightly. “Just go. Please.”

Joaquin doesn’t move.

He doesn’t want to.

But you look at him with such pleading certainty, even through your tears, that something in him breaks. You reach out to him, but he falters then, stepping back away from you. His hands shakily undo his tie as he thinks to himself.

He turns to the nearest guard. “Get her out safely. I’ll find her. Find out which hospital the ambulance she will be going to and report back.”

The guard nods, pulling you gently into his arms.

Joaquin hesitates one second too long, eyes locked with yours, before turning back to the smoke.

The door clicks shut behind him with more force than intended.

He winces.

It’s nearly 3 a.m. The street outside is silent, wrapped in the hush of a city trying to sleep after the terroristic events of tonight. His ears are still buzzing; not from an explosion this time, but from the hours that followed.

Briefings. Statements. Orders. The President’s tight voice behind a sealed screen. His friends tense with restraint and anger at the situation. Pictures of bodies and bullet trajectories and names of people Joaquin shook hands with just hours ago.

All Joaquin could think about was the blood on your shoulder.

The way you screamed.

The way you crumpled to the floor from the pain of the shot, and yet he was morally forced to leave you.

He’d called to check on you more times than he could count. Left frantic voicemails if they were unanswered. A single text from your best friend that you were okay, just sleeping at home now.

“Just checking you’re home.” “Text me, please.” “I’m on my way now.”

He sets his keys down with a shaky breath and steps into the living room.

You’re there.

Curled sideways on the couch, into the oversized throw blanket he'd gotten you in your Halloween basket. The room is dim, lit only by the low blue flicker of the muted TV, still playing some old re-runs of your favorite show. An empty mug sat on the coffee table, your phone on the floor beside it.

You're fast asleep.

Your dress is gone and replaced with one of his old t-shirts. Your hair is damp, hinting towards the fact that you likely showered at some point. And your shoulder, the one that took the bullet, is wrapped in a thick bandage.

Joaquin swallows hard.

He drops slowly to the floor beside the couch, resting on his knees as his eyes trace over every inch of you. You had texted him that it was just a graze. The medic said it didn’t need stitches. Lucky.

But it doesn’t feel lucky.

Not when he can still see it. The blood. The way your body hit the table. The sound.

The implications of the position he'd put you in, unable to protect you in what was supposed to be one of the safest buildings in the country. How he begged you to come, only to regret it all. How much worse the situation could have been if the bullet had hit you just inches to the right.

His hand hovers inches above your hand but never lands. His fingers twitch, aching to press against your skin, to feel you warm and alive and breathing.

But he doesn’t.

Because he'd replayed the situation in his mind hundreds of times already. He shouldn't have brought you, should've walked you to the bathroom, should have made sure you were covered before he returned fire, should've...

But he didnt. And so, he just sits there in his self-made wallow and contemplation. Because some part of him thinks if he touches you, you’ll wake up and flinch. You'll hate him for making you go with him, blame him for not being a better man for you.

He's shaking in his silence. Watching your chest rise and fall beneath the blanket, slow and steady and beautifully boring.

His head drops into his hands.

And for the first time since the explosion, he fall apart. Lowering himself down to the ground next to your place on the couch, letting his head rest on the floor. His gun placed on the coffee table, just within a moment's reach.

And silently cried for you.

[noorpersona]

Confessions: Kageyama

It started with borrowed notes and ended with a study group. Well—started might be generous. It accidentally evolved into a study group.

You hadn’t been trying to be helpful, exactly. Yachi had asked if she could borrow your English notes one afternoon after class, frazzled and muttering about upcoming quizzes and something about Hinata writing “past tentacle” instead of “past participle.” That part might’ve been a joke. Or maybe it wasn’t.

“I just— I think they need someone who’s not already burned out,” she said, waving her hands while balancing her notebook and a pen. “They listen to me, but it’s like… they hear English and immediately go blank. You’re good at this. Could you maybe... help?”

You’d agreed, mostly because it seemed cruel not to. And that’s how you ended up in the back corner of the library, sitting across from Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou as they squinted at their textbooks like the words had personally offended them.

At first, it was just the three of you. You tried to keep things light — patient examples, color-coded worksheets, and a rotating snack selection that Hinata always finished by the halfway mark. Kageyama didn’t talk much. But he listened, sharp-eyed and silent, only interrupting to ask dead-serious grammar questions like, “Why does this rule exist if no one uses it?”

(You didn’t have an answer. You never had an answer for that.)

A week later, Yamaguchi drifted over with his usual quiet smile and a question about conditional clauses. The next session, Tsukishima showed up, leaned against the end of the table, and said, “You’re all hopeless. Move over.”

And just like that, it was a group.

You started looking forward to the sessions — not because of the grammar (which remained abysmal across the board), but because it felt easy.

Even Tsukishima, for all his sarcasm, had a rhythm to him. Yachi jotted notes and brought candy. Yamaguchi helped quiz people with a soft, steady voice. Hinata vibrated with caffeine and overconfidence. And Kageyama… Kageyama sat next to you every time, his chair just a little closer than strictly necessary.

He didn’t say much. Not when everyone was there. But he always paid attention. Always lingered a little longer after cleanup. Always walked you partway out, even when the others took a different exit.

You weren’t blind. You noticed it — the way he turned toward you when you talked, how he never interrupted, how his ears turned faintly pink when you gave him a compliment. But he never said anything. And you never asked.

Until the afternoon it all cracked wide open.

It had been a long session. Hinata had gotten into a minor (loud) debate with Tsukishima over the pronunciation of “colonel,” and Yachi had spilled water on someone’s handouts. When the group started packing up, you offered to return a few library books to the front. You weren’t gone long — maybe two or three minutes — but when you came back, the table was already half-empty.

You rounded the bookshelf toward your usual spot—

“—just tell her you like her already,” Hinata was saying.

You froze.

Kageyama let out a low, warning sound. “Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata groaned. “You’re so obvious about it. You sit next to her every time, you remember everything she says, you start blushing if she even looks at you—”

“Hinata.”

“You like her, dude!”

Silence.

Then your voice, flat and confused:

“…Uh. What?”

Hinata looked up like a man just realizing he’d walked into oncoming traffic.

You stood there, clutching your tote bag, eyes wide.

He blinked. “Oh no.”

You blinked back.

Then Hinata ran.

Not a slow backpedal. Not a stammered excuse. He bolted, arms flailing like he thought he could outrun the memory of what he just said. “I’M SORRY!” echoed behind him as he vanished down the hallway.

Kageyama hadn’t moved.

Neither had you.

A heavy silence fell between you, padded only by the distant slam of a library door.

Kageyama shifted, his hands at his sides, stiff and tense.

“…I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he said quietly.

You let out a slow breath, heart thudding. “Okay.”

“I mean, it’s true,” he added, eyes still locked somewhere near your shoes. “But I wasn’t going to say anything. Not yet.”

You stepped forward, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because?”

“Because I didn’t want to ruin anything.”

His words were simple. But the weight of them hit your chest like a stone.

He finally met your gaze — hesitant, blue eyes clear and unflinching despite the visible tension in his jaw. “I like the group. I like studying with you. I like being around you. A lot.”

Something tightened in your throat.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you said.

“I didn’t plan it,” he rushed out. “I just— you’re good at explaining things. You don’t make me feel stupid. You’re calm. You listen. And I started noticing other stuff, too.”

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He hesitated. “Your notes. You write neatly, but your margins are always crooked. You tap your pen when you’re thinking but never when you’re reading. You always bring something sweet to the group but pretend you didn’t mean to share.”

Your face grew warm.

“I notice that when you smile after Tsukishima says something rude, it’s because you’re trying not to laugh. And when Hinata stresses you out, you do that thing where you rub the bridge of your nose.”

You stared at him.

“I notice you,” he finished simply.

Silence fell again, but it was a different kind of quiet this time — not strained, not shocked, but soft. Full.

You stepped a little closer.

“…You never made it weird.”

Kageyama blinked. “Huh?”

“I mean, if you liked me this whole time… you didn’t make it weird.” Your voice faltered just slightly. “You were just… present. Thoughtful. I always felt comfortable with you.”

His mouth twitched. “That’s good. Because I felt like I was dying inside.”

You did laugh then, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.

Kageyama looked down, but not away.

“So,” he said cautiously, “do you hate me now?”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I don’t hate you.”

His shoulders loosened a fraction.

You bit the inside of your cheek before you added, “I might like you too.”

His eyes widened.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you added, “but you’re kind. You’re quiet, but you listen better than anyone. And when you’re serious about something, you go all in. I noticed too.”

His breath caught just slightly.

You smiled. “So. Maybe… if you wanted to walk me home sometime, or split snacks before a session, or sit a little closer—”

“You’re literally within arm’s reach,” he said.

“I know,” you said, grinning. “But now it’d be on purpose.”

He blinked. Then, after a moment, he nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A pause.

“…Want to chase after Hinata and make him cry?”

Kageyama smirked faintly. “A little.”

You laughed again, feeling the last of the nerves melt away.

And when you stepped back into the hallway, your arms brushed.

This time, neither of you moved away.

[babyleostuff]

── GOING (CRAZY) SEVENTEEN

SYNOPSIS: chan can't help but fall for their new director, no matter how many clauses in the contract prohibit him from doing so

🎵 CLOSE TO YOU - gracie abrams

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, strangers to lovers / idiots to lovers, a whole lot of pining, svt being menaces, attempt at humour 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!chan x fem!gose director!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 4.5k

“you’re going to be the youngest director they’ve ever had.” 

well, that was one way to make you even more nervous. 

you didn’t have to think twice when pledis offered you the job of being a gose director two months ago. of course, you were grateful for all the jobs you’ve managed to get over the past years; they were the ones that helped you kick-start your career and established your name as a pretty well-known director after all, but this - this could be your big break. working for a company as big as pledis, well technically hybe, was a dream come true, and it would look great on your CV.

though you wouldn’t lie - you were scared shitless to meet seventeen. 

they were a big, big group, and if they were as chaotic and loud in real life as they were on camera, then you weren’t sure how you’d survive the next few months. 

especially not with your crush on one of them.

“did you hear we’re getting a new director?” some of the boys raised their heads from where they were laying on the grass, while the rest ignored seungcheol as usual. “she’s going to be here today,” he continued, and flicked hoshi’s forehead to get his attention, “so please be nice, and try to act somewhat normal.”

the boys mumbled something in unison, too tired to talk. as much as they loved shooting gose, doing it after a full day of schedules was a nightmare. they’d much rather be in their beds than laying on the fake grass in a warehouse because it was too late to shoot outside.

“why the hell did they pick a sports concept for today?” seungkwan mumbled with his cheek pressed to the ground. “couldn’t they do like a,” he sighed, “sleeping concept.”

“yeah,” hoshi agreed, his voice just as drowsy as seungkwan’s. “carats would eat that up.”

wonwoo rolled his eyes, and turned his head towards chan so the boys wouldn’t hear him, though they probably wouldn’t have either way considering they were seconds from falling asleep. “if they’ll keep on whining like that i’m literally going to walk out of here,” he groaned, and rubbed his face to wake himself up a bit.

chan couldn’t agree more. he was tired, and hungry, and he was starting to get cold, the loose sleeveless shirt doing nothing to keep him warm, and all he could think about was bed bed bed, so hoshi’s and seungkwan’s whining did not help a single bit.

fifteen minutes later, with half of them asleep, and the rest barely awake, the filming crew started to gather up to set up all of the cameras and microphones, with the rest of the staff placing different props they’d be using all over the warehouse.

chan could feel his eyes drooping for the tenth time in the past few minutes, when he suddenly heard a quiet “uh-oh” over his head. before he could ask a simple „what?”, a sharp pain pierced through his shoulder. 

“i’m so, so sorry. i really didn’t mean to.” 

he exhaled sharply, and put his hand over the small red patch on his skin, that was pulsating from the hit. well, at least he was more awake now. “no worries, my shoulder has been through much worse than getting hit by a… um,” he looked around himself to check what exactly almost crushed his bones, “a medicine ball,” chan let out a strangled laugh. no wonder it felt like a dumbbell fell on his shoulder.  

but then he looked up, and the person standing in front him left him utterly speechless. 

chan wasn’t sure if had fallen asleep or if he was being delusional because of the sleep deprivation, but the girl had to be an angel. in the twenty five years of his life, he had never seen anyone as gorgeous as her, and he was not being dramatic. 

“are you okay?” you asked, and crouched in front of the boy you just managed to almost injure. you said you’d be able to carry all of the medicine balls yourself - clearly that wasn’t true at all.

wait a second… the eyes. the hair. the gorgeously sculpted biceps. you knew him, it was…  no it couldn’t. 

and yet, you found yourself crouching in front of the one and only lee chan. 

you didn’t consider yourself a big fangirl, but you were (obviously) aware of who he was. for some reason whenever you stumbled upon any content of seventeen your eyes were instantly drawn to the short dancer, that despite the lack of height stood out to you the most. and you weren’t going to lie - he was hot as fuck, and he looked so good while danicing that it was almost impossible for you to tear your eyes from him.

and now you almost killed him.

“i’m really, really sorry,” why wasn’t he responding? maybe the ball hit his head after all? what if he was pissed, and they would fire you? “please, say something.”

chan, on the other hand, was completely gone. “god, i must be looking so pathetic right now,” he thought. his band met tens of people on a daily basis - from stylists, interviewers, photographers, makeup artists, stage assistants - whoever you could think of, chan has already met them.

everyone but you.

“um, i’m um,” pull yourself together chan,” i’m cool.”

“i'm cool”?! he wanted to take the medicine ball that just hit his shoulder, and bang his head against it instead, because that had to be the lamest response he could have ever thought of. it wasn’t like the prettiest girl was right in front of him, nope.

“are you sure? do you need me to get someone to check the shoulder for you?”

and now you thought he was being a wuss? oh god, he really screwed up.

“no, no,” chan said quickly, and sat up a bit more straight to look like he had his shit together, when he clearly was not. “i’m fine, really, don’t worry.”

you nodded, though you weren’t sure if you could trust him. his shoulder was still slightly red, but thankfully it didn’t seem like anything was broken. injuring one of the boys would be like the worst way to start your new job. 

„okay, so um,” you pointed in the direction of the cameras, “i have to go.” 

“go?” the words slipped out of chan’s mouth. “loser, loser, loser.”  

“work,” you whispered, your throat suddenly dry. why was the air so stuffy, it was quite perfect just a minute ago. 

„uh, yes, of course,” chan said, matching your breathless tone. 

you took a last, long look at him, and got up to pick up the ball that fell out of your arms.

time to get professional again.

“i’d like you to meet the new director. as you probably know, she is going to be in charge of today’s episode.” 

this had to be the most awkward situation of your life. standing in the middle of a circle of people you barely knew was not an ideal situation, definitely not when it looked like you were about to be sacrificed in a weird kpop idol ritual. also the seventeen boys looked like they’d rather be anywhere else than there, so that in itself made you want to run out of the building. you didn’t know what to do with your hands, or where to look, or if you should say something, and if you should - then what? “what’s up?” “how is everyone doing?” “can you stop staring or i’ll pass out?” 

you figured it couldn’t get any worse than that, if it was officially your humiliation day - then so be it. “hel-,” 

“because we don’t have much time today, let’s just start right away.” 

well, there went your speech. 

you had to be looking like the biggest loser, standing there with a half-opened mouth, and an awkwardly raised hand.

as everyone started to take their places, with the boys gathering in the middle in front of the main camera, your eyes wandered on their own to find the only person that made you feel somewhat comfortable amongst the chaos, which was kind of ironic since you hit him with a ball and exchanged a total of three sentences. unfortunately, you quickly had to push away your thoughts about the boy with dark hair and kind eyes and focus on your work. 

you were sure everyone could hear your heart pounding, as you yelled your first, official “action.”

“dude, why do you keep staring at her like that?” vernon nudged chan’s arm. “you know you look like a total creep, right?” he asked with an amused expression. 

“i’m not staring,” chan said way too quickly for it to be true. his parents were right - he was a terrible liar. 

“uh-hu, sure,” vernon snickered, and shook his head. “then tell me why you’re suddenly so interested in the cameras that you keep gawking that way.” 

chan felt like crying. he was sure he wasn't staring at you that much. right? “i think seungkwan needs a hug, so could you leave me alone?” no one needed to know about his little infatuation with a girl he had just met, and though technically vernon wasn’t the one to walk around spilling people’s secrets, it was still embarrassing. 

“whatever you say,” vernon said, and got back to typing away on his phone. 

the truth was - chan couldn’t keep his eyes away from you. sure, at first the main reason why he paid attention to you was because of how pretty you were, but when the shoot actually started, and you fell into your element - he just couldn’t get over how attractive you looked behind the camera. your face was more often than not covered by the multiple screens from which you monitored the shooting, but from whatever glimpses he could catch - you looked absolutely mesmerising. 

and now he wasn’t talking about your looks, but about your attitude, and confidence, and how you carried yourself. 

“okay, let’s shoot the last scene, and we’re done,” you said, pointing the cameramen to where they should stand to get the perfect shots. 

and again, for what felt like the hundredth time that night, the boys positioned themselves in front of the main camera, with mingyu explaining the rules of the last game. 

“but the twist is, we’re going to have our eyes blindfolded, so we won’t be able to see the football or our opponents,” he said, showing the ball and thirteen blindfolds he was holding in his hand. “we won’t be able to see our teammates either, for that matter,” he added, earning a couple of laughs from the boys. 

after a quick game that you didn’t understand the rules of, they divided themselves into three teams, and started the game. 

for once, everything seemed to go on smoothly, and you figured that nothing would happen if you stepped out from behind the cameras for a moment, and stood aside with the rest of the staff to watch the guys play (or rather fall or bump into each other).

however, there was one thing you didn't see coming. 

somehow, by pure accident, chan managed to get the ball. "guys i have it!" he shouted, and immediately started running in the direction of the goal. or so he thought. 

you couldn't help but laugh quietly. the boy looked so adorably clumsy, kicking that ball like a child who had just learned to walk, and waving his arms as if it would help him with something.

chan, however, overestimated his ability to determine exactly where the goal was, because the moment he kicked the ball to score, everyone suddenly started shouting "stop". 

but it was too late.

he quickly took off the blindfold, and his heart sank when he saw what, or more precisely who, he shot the ball at. “shit,” chan didn't wait for his eyes to adjust to the light, but quickly ran towards you.

“i’m so, so sorry,” he said, looking at your face twisted in pain. “i didn’t mean to, i’m-” 

“i think i heard something similar today,” you laughed, and pressed your hand tighter against the spot where the ball managed to hit you. “it’s not as bad as it looks,” you added, seeing chan’s worried expression. 

“not that bad? i hit you right in the forehead!” 

“no need to make me feel even worse about this,” you sighed, sending him an apologetic look. “i think i’ll grow a second head from this hit.” 

chan groaned, and hid his face in his hands. “i’m a fucking idiot.” 

he hadn’t been on that many dates in his life, but he had never acted… like whatever that was. “i really didn’t mean t-,” but then a thought hit him, “oh my god, what if you have a concussion? or if i damaged something inside your head, or-,” 

“chan, i promise, the inside of my head is fine.” 

chan. oh, the way you said his name. he's never been more grateful for someone to call him by his real name rather than his stage name.

“are you sure?” he asked, worry filling his voice. 

“positive.”

“but please, if, god forbid, your head starts aching, go to the hospital, okay?” 

“i will,” you nodded, gently pulling your hand away from your forehead. chan could see a bruise starting to form, and he swore he had never felt that bad in his whole life. “you can say we’re even now,” you added with a small smile. 

now that he was sure you were relatively okay, he finally breathed a sigh of relief and looked around him to gather his messy thoughts, and that's when he noticed everyone, every single person, looking at the both of you. because of this whole mishap, chan forgot that you were literally surrounded by dozens of people who were now watching you like you were in a shitty sitcom. only the boys' looks were too amused for his taste, and now he was sure that they figured out his little crush that he had on you. 

“good job, brother,” mingyu snickered, when chan went back to the boys. “good job.”

“wake up on monday.” → “go for the shoot.” → “cry because i can’t have her.” → “go home.” → “cry even more.” “repeat.” 

that’s how the past couple months looked for chan. every single week he waited for the day when he could finally get on set and see you again. it was honestly heartbreaking how the only thing he was allowed to do was to greet you with a shy “good morning”, and bid you “goodbye”, but if he did anything else it could look suspicious to others, which he could not risk. still, those moments were the best part of his week. 

when the third month had passed since you came into his life, chan began to regret having met you in the first place. what was the point if he couldn't even ask you out for coffee? you were everything he was missing in his life - and he didn't even know you that well. chan couldn't count how many times he spent his time off stalking your social media to find out more about you, to get to know you better, because he couldn't do it any other way. and each time he felt his feelings turn into something more than just a small, innocent crush.

“you look so miserable right now, it’s almost pathetic,” seungkwan said, eyeing chan from head to toe. “can’t you just like go and talk to her? that would put us out of the misery of seeing you look like a kicked puppy.”

“you know i can’t just do that” chan sighed, looking at you with longing in his eyes. 

“why not?”

“because of our contract? we can’t get close with our staff, you know that,” he said, each word piercing his chest. knowing that you were so close, yet so out of reach was really hard. 

“and you’re going to let that stop you?” seungkwan deadpanned. “seriously. you like her. she obviously likes you,” wait, she did? “so please, just talk to her.” 

obviously he didn’t approach you that day. if, with a big emphasis on if, he finally decided to talk to you, he had to be ready so he wouldn’t look like an idiot like last time. though you probably already thought he was a creep (he liked one of your instagram posts from a couple of years ago by accident), so it couldn’t really get any worse than that. 

but seungkwan said you liked him too, right? 

“ugh, why does it have to be so complicated?” 

“chan,” suddenly he felt a featherlight touch of a hand on his shoulder. wow, no one has ever touched him with such gentleness, “could you stand over there?” 

“huh?” he turned around, just to come face-to-face with the person that made herself at home in his thoughts, and would not leave, no matter how hard he tried pushing her away. chan cleared his throat quickly and straightened his shirt. “where do you want me to stand?” good job, that was smooth. 

you pointed to the marker on the floor next to jun. “just for the beginning, then you can obviously, um,” the way he always left you speechless was starting to piss you off. he always knew what to say, and here you were - as awkward as ever. “you can move around later.”

“what should i say now?” chan thought, his brain panicking. this was his chance to finally say something, but as usual he couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t make him look stupid. “why is she always so well-spoken?” 

in the end chan just lowered his head and waddled over to the marker where he was supposed to stand, giving up at making a move. once again. 

two hours later went by, and you couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was off with chan. he didn’t joke, he didn’t smile, he didn’t laugh even once, and he didn’t really engage in the discussions with the boys. he was just… there. it was eating you alive that you couldn’t do anything. without his spark he looked so tired, like he hadn’t slept for days, and if it was up to you you’d halt the whole thing, and take chan far away from here because seeing him like this was unbearable. key word - if. 

“let’s take a break, guys!” you said, hoping that no one would question why, but you had to get chan out of there, at least for a minute. “uh, chan?” please, just don’t fire me for this. “could you come over here for a second. i, uh,” you should’ve come up with an excuse before you opened your mouth, “i need to fix your mic.” 

“is something wrong with his mic?” one of the staff chimed in, looking between you and the boy. “i can get it fixed.” 

“no!” you said in unison with chan. you bit your lip to hide the smile that was threatening to bloom on your face, and stole a quick glance at him, taking in the blush dusting his cheeks and neck. 

you cleared your throat, and tried to put on your most indifferent expression - you couldn’t blow your cover now. “no, it’s okay, i’ll do it,” okay, okay, we’re almost there, “but can we go outside for a second, i need some fresh air.” 

chan nodded quickly - way too quickly, and followed you through the set towards the door. 

“don’t stay out for too long, lover boy!” seungkwan yelled, and a couple of boys couldn’t help but burst out laughing. you even saw mingyu falling over seokmin’s lap in silent giggles, his whole body shaking. 

if chan was a blushing mess before, he had to be looking like a tomato, now. “i will kill them,” he promised himself. 

“i’m sorry for them,” he said once you made it outside. it struck chan that it was the first time in months that you were finally alone - not a single soul was breathing down his neck, and no stupid bandmates waited for the opportunity to make fun of him. “they are idiots sometimes,” he said, rubbing his arm nervously. 

“it’s okay,” you mumbled, suddenly very self-conscious. maybe you should’ve just stayed inside? what were you thinking? god, this had to be the epitome of your stupidity. “i guess that’s just their love language,” breath girl, breath, “like bullying, you know?” 

“tell me about it,” he snickered, and shook his head. why were his hands shaking so much? “so um, what about the mic?” 

“the mic?” 

“yeah, the mic,” he laughed softly, pointing at the small device. 

“oh, yeah. the mic.” 

it was now or never. 

“look, everything is fine with the mic i just…,” this was so so stupid. “i just wanted to…,” spit. it. out. “you know what, nevermind.” 

you officially hit rock bottom. now chan would not only think you’re lame but stupid, and a creep, because who drags someone out of a building to “fix” their mic just to tell them that the issue never existed in the first place. plus you couldn’t even get a proper sentence out. 

what you didn't know was that chan's heart was beating like crazy. he'd never seen you so nervous, but god - you looked so cute. the way your eyes shyly met his, how your cheeks were adorned by a faint blush, and how you constantly tucked your hair behind your ear even when there was nothing to tuck anymore. 

so seungkwan was right after all - you liked him as well. 

he had to do it. he had to do it now or he would never do it and he would never forgive himself for it for the rest of his life. maybe all he needed to finally confess his feelings to you was the knowledge that you also treated him as more than just someone from work?

“wait,” chan said, and grabbed your wrist as you took a step towards the door, “i need to tell you something,” he loosened his grip, and lightly ran his thumb over your skin. he saw your eyes wander from your joined hands over to his face, and god - he could get lost in them for eternity. “maybe this will be the biggest mistake of my life but i have to tell you this. i understand if you don't feel the same way as me, but," inhale, "i like you. i really, really like you,” he said and laughed because shit - he finally did it, after so many months. 

for a few seconds, there was a deathly silence between you, interrupted only by the sounds from the set, and chan felt as if time had stood still. sure, he was prepared for the possibility that you didn't feel the same way as him, but please please please. he wasn't sure how he would cope if you rejected him.

“i-i,” you stuttered. was this really happening? or was this all just a cruel dream? but the feel of his skin on yours, his gentle hold, the smell of his cologne, his hair blowing in the wind - it all felt so real. “is this some kind of joke?” you managed to mutter.

the corners of the chan's mouth turned down. "a joke? baby, i've never been more serious about anything as i am now," your breath caught in your throat hearing the pet name coming from him, but it seemed like chan didn't even realise he said it.

"do you have any idea how many nights i spent thinking about you? about what makes you laugh, and what makes you cry? i tried to figure out what your favourite food could be, so i could ask you out and take you to the best restaurant. if you prefer sunrises or sunsets, or if you pour the milk or cereal first, and what are your biggest icks and pet peeves. if this is your definition of a joke, then yes, i’m joking."

at this point chan was ranting, but he didn’t care. he needed you to understand how bad down he was for you, and if he had to make the biggest idiot of himself - then so be it. 

“and if this is all a dream then i hope i’ll never wake up, because i can’t imagine my world without you in it,” he said. 

“are you always this dramatic, lee chan?” you mumbled, looking at him with big eyes. so this was real, after all. the boy you spent the last months pining over was just as crazy about you as you were about him. 

chan breathed a sigh of relief, and shook his head. “when it comes to you? yes. i’ll be as dramatic as i have for you to understand how i feel about you.” 

you blinked, still in denial. “what about the contracts?” you asked, and reached out to push back a couple of loose strands of hair from his forehead. 

chan could feel his heart bursting as you slid your hand down from his forehead to cup his cheek, and he immediately nuzzled closer to your touch.“i don’t know, and i don’t care,” he twisted his head to place a gentle peck on your palm, “i don’t want to spend another second on thinking about what it’d feel like to be next to you.” 

one year later…  

“i still can’t believe you made bets on my relationship,” chan groaned, as he plopped beside you on the couch, but before he could make himself comfortable you were already snuggled into his side with an arm draped over his middle. 

“it was the only way for us to have some fun. you both looked so lovesick it was honestly disgusting,” seungkwan pretended to gag, which earned him a kick in his shin from your boyfriend, and a couple of laughs from the rest of the boys.  

“still, you guys are stupid.” 

“not more than you moping around for months,” wonwoo sighed. “talking about a slow burn,” mingyu added. 

“well at least i’ve got a girlfriend,” chan kissed your temple, and cuddled you closer, “and the closest thing to a relationship you have is with your dumbbell.” 

mingyu put his hand over his heart. “ouch,” he said, and wiped a non-existent tear from his cheek. 

it's been a whole year and the guys still loved to joke around about your slow burn of a relationship, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. each day with chan was a blessing, even the boys became such a big part of your life to the point where you couldn’t imagine it without the whole thirteen of them. 

lee chan was like a last missing puzzle piece that you were searching for to become whole. he was your best friend, your rock, your safe place that you’d search for in every crowd. 

“i love you,” you muttered into his neck quietly, so only he could hear. chan’s grip tightened around you for a second. “i love you too. so much.”

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl@uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot@iamawkwardandshy@icyminghao@heeseungthel0ml@goyangiiwonu@bath1lda@ruurooozz@ny0sang@luuxian

[pokemonshelterstories]

Wait, there are housing units/areas that specifically ban Hatterene and its evolutionary line?

they're not targeted specifically at just the hatterene line, but most apartments (and many groups like homeowners' associations) will have a clause in their contracts about not allowing pokemon species that are a significant risk of danger or disruption to other occupants/neighbors.

some pokemon that are frequently included in this type of clause:

fire types with open flames, e.g. ponyta and chimchar

pokemon that can achieve a certain volume threshold, e.g. exploud

pokemon that shed poison or a certain bacterial load, e.g. grimer and trubbish

pokemon that shed spores, e.g. oddish and shroomish

pokemon that regularly cause psychic disruption, e.g. mr. mime and hatterene

pokemon that regularly cause ultrasonic disruption, e.g. noibat and zubat

pokemon that interfere with nearby mechanical devices and appliances, e.g. probopass, magneton, and rotom living outside of a rotomphone

that's not a complete list, and not every housing system is the same, but it can at least give you a sense of some of the common aspects to consider when trying to bring a new pokemon home. a lot of these pokemon aren't really suitable for home life anyway, though, so it's mostly something that battling trainers have to worry about.

[official-linguistics-post]

hi! i wanted to know if any other languages have a flexible sentence structure or whatever they're called. it's easier to explain with an example - in english, there's a SVO structure.

eg: We have no relation with them.

but in one of the languages I speak, you have a group of words (i think they're called clauses? no, probably not) - in the above example (translated) they would be "We", "have no relation with", and "them".

you can arrange those three in any which way and it makes perfect sense. in english, "Have no relation with we them" would not make sense. but in my language, it would.

so yeah, tldr - are there any languages with extremely flexible sentence structure?

direct from the open access textbook essentials of linguistics (yes i'm going to keep plugging it, it's a great resource):

The relevance of word order for grammaticality is particularly strong for a language like English, which has relatively fixed word order. There isn’t much flexibility in English to change the order of words in a sentence, without either changing the meaning or making the sentence ungrammatical. Lots of other languages also have relatively fixed word order—among them French, Chatino, and Choktaw (and many more as well)—but lots of other languages have much more flexible word order. Languages with relatively flexible word order include Latin, Anishinaabemowin, Kanien’kéha, and ASL, to name just a few. For users of these languages, the order of words in a sentence is often determined by style or by the topic or focus of the sentence.

so yes, there are plenty of languages with flexible word order!

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 A father checks on his injured son laying on the floor of a local hospital after the Israeli occupation forces bombed their home in the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, resulting in a number of casualties. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

273 DAYS OF GENOCIDE IN GAZA: ISRAELI OCCUPATION SENDS DELEGATION TO RENEW HOSTAGE EXCHANGE TALKS WITH HAMAS, GAZA TO FACE DISASTER AS FUEL BEGINS TO RUN OUT, ISRAELI OCCUPATION ARMY CONTINUES MASS SLAUGHTER OF PALESTINIAN CIVILIANS

On 273rd day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 4 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 58 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 179 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands, of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

The Israeli occupation Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, and his Security Cabinet have implemented the decision to send a delegation to meet in Doha, Qatar, for hostage exchange talks with the Palestinian resistance group Hamas.

Netanyahu met with his negotiating team prior to their departure to stress "again that the war will end only after achieving all of its goals, and not one moment earlier."

Meanwhile the occupation Prime Minister held a phone call with US President Joe Biden where Netanyahu reiterated his commitment to the Israeli occupation's goals in its ongoing genocidal war in the Gaza Strip, even as the occupation sends it's delegation to meet with the Hamas resistance group he swears to destroy.

The Israeli negotiating team will be led by the Mossad Chief David Barnea, who is expected to meet with the Hamas delegation prior to the arrival of the rest of his team, who will be brought in if the negotiations progress.

US Officials say they are optimistic that a deal can be reached, and the Americans said they welcomed the decision of the Israeli Prime Minister to send his delegation to Doha to continue with talks.

An anonymous American official who spoke with Reuters on Thursday evening said the Hamas proposal “includes a very significant breakthrough.”

"It can serve to advance negotiations. There’s a deal with a real chance of implementation. Though the clauses are not easy, they shouldn’t scupper the deal,” the official continued.

Another senior official told reporters on a conference call on Thursday that Hamas had made a significant adjustment in its demands for a hostage exchange deal, and expressed hope that it could lead to an agreement that would be a step towards an eventual ceasefire.

“We’ve had a breakthrough,” the official said in the call, going on to add that there were still some outstanding issues related to implementation of the agreement, and that a deal was not expected to be closed for several days.

The latest proposal is closely related to the one outlined by President Biden in a speech he gave back in May, which would introduce a format based on three stages of talks, which could ultimately lead to an eventual ceasefire and the release of all hostages.

The Israeli Prime Minister has faced intense criticism from both sides; some that want the government to reject all talks, versus groups such as the mother's of the hostages being held by the Palestinian Resistance who continue protests, demonstrating in Habima Square in Israeli-occupied Tel Aviv, joined by more than a thousand protesters to demand the Netanyahu regime come to a deal for the release of all hostages.

Meanwhile, in other news for Friday, July 5th, the World Health Organization (WHO) is warning the Gaza Strip faces a fuel shortage which could result in "catastrophic" consequences, as the enclave's healthcare system faces a potential collapse of basic services that require electricity to function.

Speaking on the social media platform X, WHO Director-General, Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, said that "Further disruption to health services is imminent in Gaza due to a severe lack of fuel."

The WHO warned that just 90'000 liters of fuel entered the Gaza Strip on Wednesday, even as the healthcare sector alone requires a minimum of 80'000 liters daily just to provide basic care.

Fuel also must be provided to the some 21 ambulances which are still operational in Gaza, while the WHO said that fuel supplies were currently being rationed to "key hospitals", including the Nasser medical complex and Al-Amal Hospital in Khan Yunis, as well as the Kuwaiti Hospital in the city of Rafah, in Gaza's south, while the European Gaza Hospital in Khan Yunis has been out of service since Tuesday under threat of Israeli bombardment.

Further, Tedros Ghebreyesus gave warning that “losing more hospitals in the Strip would be catastrophic.”

In other news, the skin disease known as "scabies" has begun to spread widely among the Palestinian populations in densely populated camps, where Palestinian refugees in Gaza have taken shelter during the ongoing genocide.

Medical sources in Gaza say the accumulation of sewage water between the tents of the displaced, combined with the lack of hygiene due to the scarcity of clean water and basic necessities such as soaps and detergents, threatens to cause the accelerated spread of various infectious diseases and epidemics.

Currently, around 2 million displaced Palestinians live in shelters and camps under harsh conditions, with few resources or necessities that the population needs.

Worse still, a severe shortage of medicines and medical supplies threatens complications for the sick and wounded, who've packed into Gaza's hospitals by the hundreds and thousands. Already, dozens of Palestinians have died due to the shortage of medicines and supplies.

Since the start of the Israeli occupation's genocidal war in the Gaza Strip, international institutions and non-governmental organizations have warned of the spread of disease and epidemics among the displaced as overcrowding and a decline in personal hygiene has overtaken the majority of the population.

Medical sources have confirmed that thousands of Palestinians remain under threat of death as a result of continued lack of medicines, supplies, hygiene products and fuel for generators at the handful of remaining hospitals after 10 months of Israeli bombardment.

At the same time, the Israeli occupation's genocide of Palestinians in the Gaza Strip continues unabated as the occupation army intensified its bombing and shelling of residential neighborhoods and shelters, as well as public infrastructure.

In some of the latest attacks, Occupation warplanes bombed the Sheikh Nasser area, east of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, resulting in the deaths of two Palestinians who were transported to the Nasser medical complex in the city.

Similarly, Israeli fighter jets bombed a house in the Nuseirat Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing four civilians and wounding several others, while two others were killed after Zionist air forces bombed a gathering of civilians in the Al-Mawasi area, northwest of the city of Rafah, south of Gaza.

In another atrocity, Israeli occupation aircraft bombed a house belonging to the Al-Rifai family in the Al-Daraj neighborhood of Gaza City. After the bombing, civil defense crews and local residents managed to recover the bodies of two citizens killed in the strikes.

The horrors continued in Gaza's north when the Israeli occupation army bombed a site in Jabalia al-Balad, killing 5 Palestinian civilians, including at least 3 children, and wounding a number of others.

At the same time, occupation artillery shelling pummeled several areas in the town of Beit Lahiya, in the northern Gaza Strip, as well as the Nuseirat Camp in central Gaza.

In another assault, Zionist warplanes bombed a residential home belonging to the Al-Bardawil family in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, east of Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of 4 civilians and wounding several others who were taken to Al-Ahli Baptist Hospital in the city.

Simultaneously, occupation fighter jets bombarded the eastern neighborhoods of the Al-Shujaiya neighborhood of Gaza City, coinciding with intense gunfire from Zionist soldiers, who detonated a number of homes in the neighborhood, continuing the army's systematic destruction of Palestinian housing.

In another massacre, Israeli occupation forces bombed a residential house belonging to the Khader family on Old Gaza Street in the town of Jabalia, north of Gaza, killing 5 civilians, including Bassam Khader, his wife and three children.

The atrocities continued with the bombing of an Israeli occupation drone, which targeted Al-Sikka Street east of the Jabalia Camp, north of Gaza, resulting in the death of a civilian and injuring three others who were transported by the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS) to Kamal Adwan Hospital in Beit Lahiya.

Another body of a Palestinian who was killed by the occupation army near the Tahrir Station on Salah al-Din Street, east of the city of Rafah, was transferred to Nasser Hospital in Khan Yunis.

Meanwhile, Israeli artillery shelling targeted the Al-Nasr area, northeast of Rafah City, while at the same time, Zionist armored vehicles and other military vehicles penetrated into the Abu Halawa and Abu Al-Hussain areas, as well as the outskirts of the Al-Nasr area, east of Rafah City.

Additionally, occupation fighter jets bombed a home belonging to the Radwan family in the town of Bani Suhaila, east of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip, resulting in the death of Adly Radwan, and wounding his wife, who was transported to the Nasser medical complex in the city.

The Israeli occupation forces also fired flares in the southeast of Khan Yunis, while Zionist warplanes bombed an uninhabited house in the town of Abasan Al-Kabira, east of the city.

The Zionist army went on to hammer the northwest of the Al-Nuseirat Camp, in central Gaza, using artillery shelling and gunfire, while occupation artillery shelling also targeted the north of Al-Zahra'a city, also in central Gaza.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing war of extermination in the Gaza Strip, the endlessly rising death toll now exceeds 38'011 Palestinians killed, including upwards of 10'000 women and well over 15'000 children, while another 87'445 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

July 5th, 2024.

(No updated figures for death toll have been announced for July 5th)

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[cravinganotherworld]

Amorous - Squid games Frontman x Fem! Reader (series)

See the other chapters below:

Chapter 2 Part 1

Chapter 2, Part 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

You enter the games to save your grandfather but it is nothing like you imagined yet something is keeping you there. Is it purely to save your grandfather or is it something more?

WARNINGS: Death, shooting, guns, anxiety

NOTES: Each game will be a new chapter, if you haven't seen squid games or do not want any spoilers for season 2 episode 3 Don't read. This will be a romantic pairing with the Frontman because i truly am a simp :))), Apart from that I hope you enjoy!:)

You stood still in your tracks, the sounds of gun shots firing to the left and right of you making you freeze. Out of the corner of your eye you see bodies fall to the ground and ear-piercing screams fill the air. Dozens of players began to run towards you trying to escape, your heart beating fast as all you can think of in this moment is if they push me…I’m dead. As the crowd rushes past you, you feel many trip over your feet but you stand there motionless, for moving will cost you something much greater than your pride. Soon enough the shots stopped and the doll turned back around shouting ‘Green light’, nobody moved and the doll turned back around on ‘red light’. On the next ‘Green light’ player 456 ran to the front.

“If you don’t cross the line before the time runs out they will still kill you, they cannot detect you if you are behind something” you heart beat quickened. “Time is running out, go on the next Green light!” He shouts. The doll turns around and shouts ‘Green light’, your legs move as fast as they’ll carry you and soon enough you had crossed the line observing as others too either crossed the line or failed. Never before had you seen someone get shot, never before had you ben in the same room as death. Your body began to shake as you walk across to the wall, sliding down it and placing your head on your knees. Suddenly you feel a hand on your shoulder and look up to see player 456 looking down at you.

“Are you alright?” he became blurry as tears welled up in your eyes but you nodded your head with a small smile. He returned your smile and walked away comforting the next person. As the game ended the guards in pink suits guide you all back to the dormitory. Nobody spoke as you all shuffled over to your beds your minds now smeared with the memory of the previous game and the silence more deafening than anything. Soon enough more pink guards returned, revealing the outcome of the first game and the money accumulated. Before they could however multiple players deemed it wise to argue. 

“If the majority of us agree to leave then the games will be terminated, is that correct?” Player 456 shouted, there is a moment of silence.

“Clause 3 of the agreement – if the majority vote to leave then the games will be terminated and the accumulated prize money divided equally between players” The pink guard replied. “At the end of each game there will be a vote, you can have your say if you want to leave or stay” Behind him you see two more guards wheel in a table with an X and O on. “You will place your vote at this table and then stand on the aide you have chosen, you will also get a badge with either an X or O depending on your choice” You take a deep breath, surely everyone must want to go. “If you decide to continue the games the full amount to be won will be 45.6 billion Won, if you leave now each player will get 24,931,500 million Won” Shouts of outrage come from a few players in the group before they died down. “With that let the voting commence, we will begin with player 456”  

You watch as player 456 walks up to the podium and confidently presses ‘X’. A small smile comes to your lips happy about the possibility of leaving this place. Slowly the numbers go down until it reaches you.

“Player 394” Your number is called and you slowly make your way to the podium pulling down the sleeves of your jacket nervously. As you stand there looking at both options your mind begins to race. If you stay you could win so much more and pay for your grandfathers treatment, but if you leave you are sentencing him to death. Without thinking your hand presses ‘O’ causing the ‘O’ team to cheer. As you walk towards the blue side you look up and are met with player 456’s confused eyes. You quickly turn away and watch the rest of the vote unravel. Soon enough the last player was called.

“Player 001” You watched as he confidently strides towards the podium, his hand hovering over the ‘X’ before quickly pressing the ‘O’. A breath of relief washes over you and you knew that you now had to fight for your life. You stand still in your place watching the guards take the podium away whilst everyone else dispersed, thinking about what other games there could be to play.

“Lights out will be in 30 minutes, please prepare for lights out” You hear as you suddenly realize you are the only player left in the middle of the room. Your face turns red as you look down and quickly shuffle over to your bed, unaware of the glances shot in your direction by a certain player. You settle into bed, laying on your back staring at the bunk above you with thoughts of the previous game falling into your mind. Tightly you closed your eyes doing anything you can to shake the images of your teammates bodies scattered on the floor but to no avail. You sit up and bring your knees to your chest as the lights dimmed. You sighed and prepared for the longest night of your life.

[elf-trash]

reposting this bc the OP blocked me (and is blocking anyone else who disagrees which means blocked people can't reblog) and i want to say this loud and with my whole chest!!!!!

another Dragon Age fic was recently outed as being AI, and this is what the writer had to say for themselves about it:

so actually, Grammarly uses generative AI and is just as bad as ChatGPT. it also objectively makes your writing worse, it sucks the voice out of your prose and turns it into corporate sounding homogenized paste. it's also unethical for all the same reasons any generative AI is unethical. get a writing group and have a real human beta read for you if you don't trust yourself to check your own grammar etc. but honestly something unpolished and written entirely by your human brain and human imagination will ALWAYS be better than AI slop.

also, the part about published authors doing this is patently untrue. i know this is a huge problem in the self-publishing space, but most publishers now are including clauses in their contracts that expressly forbid the use of AI in ANY part of the creative process. this includes using ChatGPT to generate or clean up outlines or Grammarly to spellcheck and revise. so if you're trying to publish, don't fucking do this or you could literally be asked to return an advance if you get caught.

i've posted about this in the past, but AI detectors are actually shocking accurate these days. i've tested them extensively recently and they can consistently and correctly flag individual sentences written by ChatGPT in an otherwise original passage. and they almost never flag false positives. so the argument that AI detectors can't be trusted is just flat out wrong. are they correct 100% of the time? no. but can they indicate with a high degree of accuracy if AI was used in some capacity? absolutely, especially if there is additional evidence.

and for all the people hand wringing about AI detectors flagging false positives, let me just say this: if something is not AI written it is very easy to prove. you can't write anything of any considerable length without leaving a massive paper trail of notes and drafts. almost all writing software tracks changes and makes it very easy to prove you wrote something yourself. being falsely being accused of AI isn't actually a real problem and is only being made to seem as such by people who are trying to get away with and justify using AI or who are worried about getting caught.

i think a lot of people are just lured by a seemingly easy shortcut, and to their untrained eye, what the AI is spitting out feels "better" to them than their own writing. but i promise you it's not. trust your own brain and put in the work to improve at your craft rather than outsourcing the gift of your imagination to a robot that steals from other people's work.

i will continue to die on this hill!!!!!