𝓉 𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝖾̀𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇 𝖽𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝖾 𝗍'𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍───que les couleurs du ciel immense un jour de mai ❪ 𝟤𝟨𝟢𝟧𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟧 ❫ tout recommence , tendre est la nuit les illusions qui meurent les idées de bonheur
If youre a carat why do you have so many enha mutuals
I write for enha!! Even tho its not my main fandom (im a carat first) im still an engene:) I also dont write for svt bc it just feels icky and weird for me to write about 26yo+ men..
Unfortunately, the Palestinian Ministry of Health has announced the suspension of chemotherapy, intravenous therapy, and medical follow-up services for cancer patients in the Gaza Strip. Eleven thousand cancer patients in Gaza, And I am one of them, I do not receive any treatmentand are at risk of death. I need you, I desperately need you, to be able to leave Gaza and pay for travel and treatment.
“I ran out of medication, I'm so tired, I can barely stand on my feet,and I need chemotherapy urgently“
Please click on this link to see the condition of my foot
I am Raafat, 38 years old, from Gaza, a father of three. I die a little every day from the pain, the anguish, and the injustice. I have lost everything in this war: my home, my job, and my health. If you could see how my children and I live in Gaza, you wouldn't believe that a human being could endure all these horrors and still survive! If I were a rock, I would shatter; if I were a sea, I would evaporate; if I were a mountain, I would crumble; if I were iron, I would melt! But whoever perseveres, God will grant them patience.
I suffer from a malignant disease (CANCER)
A synovial sarcoma (also known as malignant synovioma) is a rare form of cancer which occurs primarily in the extremities of the arms or legs, often in proximity to joint capsules and tendon sheaths. It is a type of soft-tissue sarcoma
Report proves the necessity of traveling abroad to receive treatment
I need surgery and medication. I can't get the necessary treatment in Gaza. Every day I go without treatment, the cancer continues to spread in my body, so I desperately need money for treatment and travel. If you help me achieve my goal, you will be saving the life of an entire family, not just Raafat. Don't let this family, which has already lost so much, lose their father.
My house that was destroyed by the Israeli occupation
Donation link
How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:
$10 may seem small, but for us, it’s a little relief, a moment of comfort, and a reminder that kindness still exists. ❤️
Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #616 )✅️
Everything changed the day Amira was born.
The world outside was collapsing — bombs, dust, screams, and fear. Yet inside a small room, by the dim light of a single candle, a new life began.
While others were running for shelter, I was holding my newborn daughter, trembling, crying, trying to believe that something so pure could still exist in a place like Gaza.
I named her Amira, because I wanted her to feel like a child of life —not a child of war.
A year has passed since that night, but nothing has really changed
Our house is still rubble, our streets still carry the smell of smoke, and the sky still echoes with sounds that make Amira flinch in her sleep.
She has just turned one.
She’s learning to walk, holding my finger with her tiny hand, laughing at the smallest things — as if she doesn’t see the destruction around her.
She doesn’t know the word “loss.”
She never met her father, but when she smiles, I see him there.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping, and I wonder what kind of world she will grow up in — whether she will ever know what peace feels like, what home smells like.
And yet, when she opens her eyes in the morning and says “mama,” everything becomes bearable again.
I want to rebuild our home.
Not just for the walls — but for her future.
For Amira to have a small room, a safe place to dream, a life that belongs to her, not to war.
I’m not asking for much. Only for a chance to give her a beginning filled with warmth instead of fear
My name is Saja. I am a mother, a wife, and just one of many women in Gaza trying to hold on — to hope, to my family, and to a life that no
A Mother’s Message
To everyone reading this — thank you for listening to our story.
Your kindness means more than words.
Every share, every message, every donation — it all helps me rebuild not just a house, but a future for Amira.
From the heart of Gaza, from a mother learning to hope again —
we will live. And I will make sure my daughter grows up in a world that knows love more than war.
idk if you’re taking requests but i got this idea after reading your no doubt! jakey/n princess treatment. you know the “asking my bf rage bait questions” trend? i’d love to see how you’d write no doubt! jakey/n doing that !!
no worries if not tho! i love your writing and this series so much they’re so cutie 🫶🏻
──── JAKE V. RAGEBAIT QUESTIONS 📝 💢🤍
↳ requested // part of the no doubt series !
જ⁀➴ ⭑ everyone in jakeyn nation loves ragebaiting him,,,,but jakey stands strong LOLL anywhoozers sorry for the lil break on the jakeyn content </3 life's busy and there's saur many requests in and i'm trying my best to tailor them all for jakeyn hehe bare w me pls ty luvs also warning: this one they're so freaking cute and touchy im so touch deprived it's physically SICKENING .
"are you ready?"
jake's seen this setup way too many times—the camera already rolling, propped up in a specific way on the coffee table, you sitting cross-legged next to him on the couch, an excited glint in your eyes, fingers bouncing against your knees like you can't contain yourself.
and yet he always gives in. every. single. time.
because it's you and he has a chronic inability to say no to you.
"am i being set up—this feels like a set up," he peers at the way you're smirking at him, the corners of your mouth curving in that way that screams mischief but will always make his stomach do that annoying flutter thing he'll never admit out loud (yes he has. many, many times, actually).
his hair is still damp from his post-practice shower, the strands slightly curling at the end, his hoodie sleeves tugged halfway over his hands, and he's sunk into the couch cushions, his arm automatically slipping behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder as he leans back.
"nooo—" you say, smiling sweetly, a little too sweetly if you ask him. but because you're you, and jake is jake, he doesn't question it. "just answer honestly, don't think too hard about it, 'kay?"
he hums skeptically, but sits up straighter anyways, turning toward you with that stupid, beautiful, dimpled smile. "alright—hit me."
your lips twitch. "would you rather kiss someone else for a million dollars or kiss me for ten?"
jake goes completely still.
for exactly two business seconds, he stares past you and at the wall with deep thought. then, he deadpans at you.
"you."
you lift a brow, "for ten dollars?"
"yeah." he shrugs easily, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. his hand reaches out absentmindedly, fingers finding a strand of your hair and twirling it around his finger. "then i'd kiss you nine more times and boom. a hundred dollars already. easy math."
you stare at your boyfriend.
"i—that's not—" you exhale sharply, giving him your best attempt at a glare while he just sits there, looking too proud of himself for someone who's very clearly missing the point. "okay, whatever, fine."
you sigh dramatically and scroll through your list of questions, ignoring the way jake's eyes still fix on you, one hand still lazily going through your hair like he's got all the time in the world.
"next question," you say seriously, "would you be attracted to my identical twin sister?"
jake pauses. tilts his head. purses his lips. "why would i be? she's not you."
your jaw drops, "jake—she'd look exactly like me."
and he doesn't even hesitate. his hand drifts from your hair to your sleeve, tugging it idly as his voice gets soft, "sure, but she wouldn't laugh the same. wouldn't squint the same when she smiles, or pretend she didn't steal my hoodies the same, or burn pancakes the same way every sunday morning."
he leans his head closer to yours, as if just to make a point, "you're not copy paste, pretty."
you immediately groan, feeling the heat rush to your face as you throw your head back onto the couch cushion in defeat, "stop saying things like that, you're ruining it!"
jake just grins like someone who knows they're winning (because he absolutely is). he shifts closer until his arm slides easily around you, tugging you against his chest, his chin finding its spot on top of your head, his voice a low, teasing murmur against your hair, "should've picked a harder opponent."
you roll your eyes but still sink a little deeper into his hoodie. "okay, fine. new question."
you then sit up just enough to face him, the look on your face dead serious. "would you rather have never met me or go cheat on me right now?"
he immediately makes a face. "what—who made this question?"
"answer it!"
"okay, okay—" he throws his hands up dramatically. then he pinches the bridge of his nose before blurting, "i'd rather have never met you."
"excuse me?" your eyes widen and you pull back from his hold, glaring at him. "okay so you hate me now—"
but because jake is jake, he doesn't miss a beat. he hooks an arm around your waist and effortlessly pulls you right back into him, the motion smooth and simple and muscle memory, an easy smile already on his face.
"because if i never met you," his voice softens, "then i wouldn't know what i was missing. i'd much rather not have the joy of you at all than be the guy who hurts you."
you freeze. then, you blink up at him, the warmth of his words sinking in slowly. "...you're so annoying."
jake chuckles, a hand patting your head as you stay half-buried in his hoodie, "you love me."
you groan again, but the smile growing on your face says otherwise, "okay, final question. do you love me because i'm pretty, or do you think i'm pretty because you love me?"
and jake goes still. you feel his body tense slightly under you, like he's actually thinking about it. his thumb traces lazy circles against your arm where it rests over his chest, and he hums softly before he finally exhales.
"i think," he begins slowly, quietly, "i think you're pretty because i love you."
you tilt your head up, lips already parting to argue, but he keeps going—his voice gentle, every word warm and unhurried.
"because, yeah, you're beautiful. always have been." his eyes drop to you, fond and so, very certain that it makes your chest ache. "but the way i see you now—the way every little thing about you feels like home, that only happened because i love you. like..." he chuckles softly under his breath, "you're not just pretty. you're you. and that's way better."
you stare at him again. and you know, like you always, always have with him—that he's not even looking for imaginary points anymore. he's just being jake—completely, absolutely, and hopelessly sincere.
"...okay," you murmur eventually, pressing your face into his chest to hide the stupid grin you can't even try to stop anymore. "i'm officially ending the game. you're annoying and you win at everything, i get it."
jake just laughs, the sound warm and genuine against you as he's wrapping his arms around you tighter, resting his chin on your head again, pressing a small kiss into your hair.
you then pull back just enough to look back up at him, pretending to glare even though you're still smiling. "you're impossible."
"yeah, but you love it," he corrects, grinning when you groan again, the sound landing somewhere between a laugh and defeat.
i haven't been active here for a bit but i just had to come on here to speak up on the events in sudan, something the media hasn't been giving attention.
the war tearing sudan apart
since april 2023, sudan has been in an all-out war between the sudanese armed forces (saf) and a paramilitary group called the rapid support forces (rsf). what started as a power struggle between generals has become one of the worst humanitarian disasters on earth.
entire cities are rubble. hospitals bombed. families executed. women assaulted. markets burned. in places like khartoum, omdurman, and especially darfur, the rsf have unleashed terror that human rights groups describe as ethnic cleansing.
you open a live map of sudan right now and you can literally see blood. not metaphorically. red zones marking massacres, sieges, famine. a whole country bleeding on the screen.
who the rsf are
the rsf didn’t come from nowhere. they’re rooted in the janjaweed militias, the same groups responsible for atrocities in darfur in the 2000s. they were later rebranded as a “paramilitary” force. and now they’ve grown into one of the two main armies destroying sudan.
they control large parts of darfur. they’ve cut off food, medicine, and aid routes, trapping millions. there are verified reports of mass executions, village burnings, and systematic sexual violence. it’s genocide-level brutality, unfolding almost unseen.
famine and collapse
the united nations has confirmed famine in parts of sudan — one of very few countries in the world right now where famine is officially declared.
more than 25 million people are facing severe hunger.
over 770,000 children are suffering from life-threatening malnutrition.
and in places like el-fasher and zamzam camp, people are dying not from bombs but from starvation—because food and aid are being deliberately blocked.
it’s not just war. it’s war plus famine plus cholera outbreaks plus displacement. the perfect storm of human suffering. this is one of the worst humanitarian crises on the planet. the un says so.
why this matters beyond sudan
sudan is not the only place where genocide is happening.
as we scroll, people in palestine, congo, sudan, myanmar, afghanistan, china (xinjiang) and so many other places are being slaughtered, starved, erased.
and the pattern is always the same:
the world looks away.
media coverage fades.
governments issue “concerns” but no action.
social media moves on.
donation links even the smallest donation matters. use the power you have to help the ones in need.
rescue.org donate to people in need in palestine, sudan, afghanistan, ethiopia, ukraine and many more countries.
crisisrelief.un.org available donations for many specific appeals
arab.org click to help the people in need in palestine, no money needed, just 20 seconds of your time.
heeseung was never the type to say much when he was nervous. you could always tell by the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, the way his eyes darted between your lips and the ground.
tonight was no different—except for the bouquet hidden behind his back.
“what’s this?” you asked, tilting your head when he kept shifting his weight from one foot to another.
“uh—nothing,” he said too quickly, then sighed and finally brought it out. “okay, fine. it’s for you.”
you blinked, stunned. “flowers?”
he nodded, cheeks faintly pink. “i passed by this shop and thought of you. but now that i’m actually giving them to you, it feels kinda stupid.”
you smiled, stepping closer to take them from his hand. “it’s not stupid, hee. it’s sweet.”
his shoulders relaxed at your words, lips curving just slightly. you could see his heartbeat in the way his throat bobbed.
“good,” he murmured, scratching his neck. “’cause my hands were shaking the whole walk here.”
𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝘂𝘁!
𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗃𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗇𝗀.𝟣𝟧𝟫.
you’re standing in jay’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up and wooden spoon in hand, pretending not to notice how many times he’s dropped things in the past ten minutes.
he swears he’s fine—but his hands tell a different story. he’s tried to crack an egg three times now. the first one broke too hard, the second slipped right out of his hand, and the third… well, that one’s on the floor.
“by… making scrambled eggs on the counter?” you tease, pointing to the yolk he missed with a paper towel.
he groans softly, running a hand through his hair. “you’re really not helping, you know.”
you grin, leaning closer to peek into the bowl he’s whisking. “you get nervous that easily?”
he looks at you for a second too long, spoon slowing in the bowl, and then his voice drops—quiet but honest. “only when you’re watching.”
𝗌𝗂𝗆 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗒𝗎𝗇. 𝟣𝟧𝟥.
jake is staring. again. he’s supposed to be helping you study, but for the past fifteen minutes, he’s been pretending to read the same sentence in the textbook while sneaking glances your way.
“jake,” you say, not looking up from your notes. “you’re doing that thing again.”
he blinks, clearly caught. “what thing?”
“that thing where you act like you’re totally focused, but your page hasn’t moved since like—forever.”
his ears instantly turn pink. “i- i was just… making sure you were keeping up.”
you raise an eyebrow. “uh-huh. totally.”
he laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, maybe i was a little distracted.”
you finally look up, resting your chin on your hand. “by what?”
he freezes. his brain clearly starts buffering, trying to come up with a convincing excuse. “uhm…by the light! yeah, the lighting in here makes my head pound.”
you glance around at the most average lighting imaginable and try not to laugh. “right. your head.”
𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇.𝟣𝟧𝟨.
it’s almost golden hour when you catch him looking. the light filters through the amber leaves, soft and syrupy, and sunghoon’s camera hangs forgotten around his neck. you tilt your head, pretending not to notice the way he quickly turns back to his viewfinder, fumbling with the lens like it’s suddenly foreign.
“you’re not even taking pictures,” you tease, stepping closer until your shadow falls across his hands.
“i—i was adjusting the focus,” he says, voice a little too quick, a little too high.
you grin. “sure you were.”
his cheeks are pink, matching the faint blush of the sunset sky. you lift your own camera, snapping a photo before he can hide behind his again.
click.
“what was that for?” he asks, still flustered.
“you looked nice in the light,” you say simply.
sunghoon swallows hard, trying to hide his smile. the shutter of his camera clicks right after yours.
“you did too,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for the wind to catch it.
𝗄𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗈𝗈.𝟣𝟧𝟦.
sunoo sits cross-legged across from you, his tongue poking out just a little as he concentrates on painting your nails. the soft hum of your playlist fills the room, mixed with the quiet rustle of blankets and the faint scent of your shared midnight snacks.
“hold still,” he says, brows furrowed in focus. his hand brushes yours, and he freezes like he’s touched something electric.
you laugh softly. “you’re shaking more than i am.”
“am not,” he protests, though his voice cracks halfway through. you tilt your head, smiling as he carefully swipes a pale pink across your nail, his fingers trembling just a little.
“you’re really good at this,” you say, watching the tips of his ears turn pink.
“i just like making things look pretty,” he mumbles, eyes glued to your hand.
you grin. “is that why you keep staring?”
his brush slips—just barely—but he still gasps like it’s a disaster. “y/n! now i have to redo that one!”
𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇.𝟤𝟧𝟤.
the bell above the door chimes softly when you step inside, and jungwon’s head snaps up from where he’s crouched beside a fluffy calico.
“welcome in—” his voice catches halfway through the greeting. you’re here again.
he stands up too fast, bumping the low table behind him with his knee. the small ceramic saucer rattles, nearly tipping over, and his face goes pink as he scrambles to steady it.
“hi,” you say, smiling, the kind that makes him forget what air feels like.
“h-hi,” he manages, tugging on the strings of his apron. “uh—your usual?”
you nod, glancing toward the same corner seat you always take, the one right by the window. jungwon follows your gaze, pretending it’s a coincidence when he wipes down that table every few minutes before you come in.
while you wait, a tabby hops into your lap, curling up instantly. jungwon watches from behind the counter, pretending to check the espresso machine but really just watching how carefully you stroke the cat’s fur.
“here you go,” he says when he brings your drink over, setting it down with both hands so he doesn’t spill anything this time.
your fingers brush his when you take the cup. he freezes.
you look up at him, eyes curious. “you’re always so careful with my order.”
his heart stumbles. “yeah, um… i-i like cats,” he blurts out, which doesn’t make sense even to him.
you laugh, soft and bright. “me too.”
jungwon can’t stop smiling for the rest of his shift—he even forgets to charge you for the extra shot of vanilla syrup.
𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗄𝗂.𝟤𝟢𝟩.
you’re sitting on the rooftop during lunch, legs swinging over the edge, the wind brushing your hair into soft little waves. riki shows up late—again—with his backpack hanging off one shoulder and that awkward half-smile he only does when he’s trying not to look flustered.
“hey,” he says, voice a little too quiet, like the word almost got lost on the way out.
you look up at him and grin, “you’re late. again.”
he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i, uh… had to—” he pauses, searching for an excuse that doesn’t sound as ridiculous as ‘i was practicing how to say hi to you in the mirror.’
“had to what?” you tease, tilting your head.
his ears turn pink. “nothing. just… forgot the time.”
you pat the spot next to you, and he sits down carefully, leaving just enough space to seem casual—but not enough to hide how stiff his shoulders are. you start talking about some random movie, and he tries to keep up, nodding along, though his brain’s just white noise and heartbeats.
you laugh at something he says—really laugh—and he swears he’s going to remember that sound forever.
he doesn’t even realize he’s smiling until you nudge his arm.
“you’re weird, riki.”
“yeah,” he mumbles, eyes darting away, “only around you.”