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#saha
agnezluf · 1 year
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Please Don’t Eat Me!
Plot : 8.5/10
The yandere : 9/10
The artwork : 8/10
Author : Saha
Artist : Baek ji-yeon and Sturgeon
Alternative title : Don’t Eat Me!
The yandere in this story scares me, NGL. I think his expression was superbly drawn by the artist. His ambiguous dialogue and murderous mood came across really well. Just like Ertha the female lead, I came to fear for her life.
The plot is quite fast moving, I like how we do not spend a lot of time in the past/flashback and quickly entering the cohabitation stage of the two leads.
In this story, magic is seen as a bad thing, dangerous thing. Magician uses it at the expense of their body. Those magic screwed with their health and sanity. A magician typically can master one element, but the male lead happens to master the all four elements. His body is a moving current of potent energy.
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Magician needs purifier, who can help them cleanse dark energy. The connection can be made through touch, sex, or flesh consumption. Yep. Literal cannibalism.
The female lead needs to be smart if she wants to protect her loved ones, herself and her heart. She may catch feelings towards the male lead, but she knows better to be careful.
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The yandere is doting towards Ertha. At least on the surface. He is the murdering-all-of-your-enemy type. Cute! However, it is unclear if he does that for love or for other purposes. He is very seductive, charming, but all of that could change in a blink of an eye.
The manhwa version has no smut, although contains some gore/gore concepts. The plot itself is pretty heavy with politics. Sometimes I found that the conflicts feel a bit cliche (ie. Evil Church trope), but still alright. I heard the novel contains smut. I mean, with a title like this one, who can blame reader for expecting some action? 🤭
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sarahespacial · 7 months
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00??
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hatsumishinogu · 8 months
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Suekko Kojo Denka Vol.4
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gokyuzunehayran · 1 month
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Voleybol oynamayı özledim.
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ceritaksara · 1 month
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Ini aku, masih sama
(tulisan lamaaaa)
Sore yang cukup singkat. Temanku, hari itu mengajakku pergi sebentar, ya sekedar ngobrol ngobrol. Masjid Gedhe jadi saksi bisunya. Diiringi sahutan sahutan anak kecil yang masih asyik menghabiskan waktu sorenya, mungkin juga sembari menunggu masjid dibuka. Kita berbicara, kurasa pembicaraan yang cukup terang terangan dari biasanya.
"Fa, kamu tu hilang. Ragamu ada, tapi ini bukan jiwamu." Begitu kurang lebih inti pembicaraannya, dengan hati hati dia menjelaskan semua yang dia dan teman lainku rasakan. Menjelaskan keganjalan yang setahun belakangan ini terjadi khususnya padaku. Aku menangis. Pikiranku melayang, membayangkan semua memori satu tahun terakhir, membayangkan sampai akhirnya dia berkata seperti itu, yang sedang berhadapan dengan sosok diriku yang katanya bukan diriku sesungguhnya. Aku menangis. Banyak sekali yang ingin ku ungkapkan. Saat itu aku hanya berharap tangisku bisa menjadi sedikit jawaban. Bahwa aku memang sedang tidak baik baik saja.
Terlalu banyak ketakutan dalam pikiranku. Aku takut, mengatakan semuanya sama, akan ada pihak yang tidak berkenan dengan pernyataanku. Akan ada kata yang tidak pantas diungkapkan. Entah, setauku dari dulu aku tidak pernah membiarkan orang tahu sampai dalam tentang diriku. Mungkin semua momen ini bertepatan jadinya temanku merasa aku hilang.
Tapi tangisku, tidak hanya menunjukkan tidak baik baik saja. Aku menangis, menangis haru atas kepedulian mereka terhadapku. Aku tahu, banyak langkah yang harusnya tidak aku ambil, tapi mereka masih menghargai ku bahkan memikirkanku saja masih sempat. Meskipun nyatanya kita tetap kurang komunikasi, ya karena aku yang terkesan pergi. Aku terharu, teman seperti itu masih bisa dicari gak sih? Meski dengan sederet keganjalan ku pada mereka di tengah kelebihan juga kekurangan. Aku sayang sama mereka semua.
Teruntuk temanku, sahabatku semua,
Makasih ya, udah pernah peduli.
Aku masih sama kok
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ruttotohtori · 1 year
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Mieti jos heräisit yöllä ja huomaisit, et sun kikkeli on pienen sahapukin päällä ja kaks tonttua ois just parhaillaan sahaamassa sitä niinku jotai tukkia 🪚🪵
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day0walkersdrafts · 5 months
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Xavier wakes up because of a nightmare—the same one he’s been having for the last couple of months on a never ending repeat. Tess blames it on the sleepover, where pre-teen boys with too much sugar in their system had stayed up past bed time and watched John Carptenter’s THE THING. She’d picked her little brother up at his friends house (even though it was past curfew and she’d had to steal the minivans keys), shaking and crying and post at least two throw ups.
And ever since, when some random Saturday crept up to haunt Xavier, he would wander from his room, right to hers. Equipped with giant, wet eyes the same color as hers and ask if he could sleep in her bed.
“You’re like way too old for this sort of behavior,” she chastises, even though he really isn’t. At eleven, Xavier is thin as a ruler. He has their mother’s long, gangly limbs but their fathers broadness. He looks like someone put a stack of books on top of him and left them there for far too long, like a flower pressed between pages, like a strong gust of wind could simply pick him up and take him away.
Xavier makes Theresa’s heart squeeze.
He sniffs, red nosed and pathetic, hands interlocked in nervousness in front of his chest.
“Oh my God,” she groans and throws back her covers. Xavier darts toward her bed swiftly and wastes no time crawling underneath them. Tess sighs and folds an arm down around him, his bird like rib cage fluttering in the still remembered fear of his nightmare.
Her seventeenth birthday looms a month from this exact Saturday, so she feels awkward and embarrassed, like she’d fucking die if any of her friends knew about this (particularly, Rebecca Holstead, who was so close to sleeping over this very night, the idea of which made Tess dizzy and warm and scared, herself)—privately, she also feels comforted.
Tess thinks the day Xavier stops coming to her first (not their mother or father) will be the worst day of her life, probably.
***
She expects it to rain, because it’s the UK, but she does not expect it to rain on the day of her brothers wedding. No one thinks its unlucky. In fact, Benji’s tiny mother (who quickly becomes such fast friends with her own mother, she starts to wonder if they secretly knew each other before this) laughs about it. She shakes her hands at the windows, elbows her husband and Benji’s quiet, but kind eyed father.
“It was raining the day Benji was born,” she tells Tess with a finger against her nose, one eye closed. She slips into her native language between words here and there, her voice melodic and fun. “Rain’s good.”
Rain is good, Tess thinks. But it postpones the ceremony, which is being held outside, in the sprawling backyard to Benji (and Xavier’s?) home. She doesn’t mind, because it gives her more time with her brother—who sometimes looks so different from the brother inside her head that looking at him gives her whiplash. Not always the good kind.
“You’re sure the suit is fine? I look out of place with the grooms family, get what I mean?” Tess adjusts the suit collar again, shifts on her feet. It’s tapered to her waist, stylishly slim fit but still masculine, flattening her natural curves and making her look…boyish. The way she usually likes. She tucks shoulder length red strands behind her ears—she’d grown it out, in prep for the wedding photos that were still to come.
Tess never wanted to make Xavier’s life difficult—and it was a miracle their father had flown across the ocean to make it to the event. One of the most important fucking events he could make it too, she thinks hotly, prepared to get angry about it all over again. She’d deal with her hair long (or longer than it has been in years), just so he wouldn’t make comments about the usual buzz cut she liked. Anything to stop a fight from happening between Xavier and the senior Wolffe.
“Stop fussin’,” Xavier laughs, patting her shoulders. He says it like fussen. Like with an accent and it makes Tess soften. Her shoulders round, her fist resting on Xavier’s chest. He has that sometimes—a little bit of an accent. A curl of Liverpool around his words, because he’s been with Benji…how long now? She sniffs back tears that threaten again as Xavier groans.
“Don’t cry either,” he warns. In contrast to Tess’ suit, their mothers gown and their fathers humble button up, Xavier is in a traditional fit. His gold toned sherwani should wash him out, considering he’s so pale, but it doesn’t. Instead, it makes the dark auburn color of his hair contrast even prettier. It brings out the color of his eyes—it is handsomely complimented by Benji’s dark, sage colored matching garb. Not that she’s gotten a glimpse of the two of them together, side by side yet.
They weren’t really supposed to see each other until the ceremony. Tess had a hard time believing they went ten minutes without seeing each other.
“I need you to like, absolutely fuck off,” Tess says, swiping thumbs under her eyes. “If you’re around me for any longer than ten minutes, I’ll start bawling like a fucking little kid. Do you think Benji’s mom hates how much I curse, by the way?”
“Benji’s mom is cursing, just not in English.”
“God, I fucking love her, you know? She’s like—she’s so good. And mom likes her so much. I think they’ve talked about every single childhood moment you or Benji have ever had, in the span of an hour.” Tess continues wiping, because she wasn’t necessarily lying when she said she was going to cry, just looking at him.
He’s found her in the kitchen, which she tries not to think is ironic, but it probably is. Tess wasn’t necessarily looking to crack into Benji’s (because they are most certainly Benji’s and not Xavier’s) cooking supplies, just because she was antsy. But the temptation was there nevertheless. Even if the catering was on it’s way, surely. Instead, she and Xavier lean against the counter, where the windows overlook the duck pond. They swim in happy circles, enjoying the rain that will bring worms up to the grass for them to peck at.
Tess steals secret glances at her brother. He has a noticeable scar across his jawline that she wonders about. Sometimes, she thinks of taking his hands and telling him she knows. She knows—that something was not adding up and that something was the military service he kept promising was real. Tess could spot a Xavier lie a mile away, but it was more than that. More than a lie. The scar on his jawline is so terrifying. So thin and white, that the blade must have been razor like. Would have split the skin cleanly, like a butcher.
She swallows hard, looks down at her high heels. They suck and they hurt.
“I’m so nervous,” Xavier admits. She looks back up in surprise and he’s smiling at her. “Like, I’m absolutely going to throw up.”
“You haven’t out grown that?”
“Was I supposed to?”
“Guess not,” she laughs. It makes him laugh too as he sags against the kitchen counter more. He looks so dressed up, and yet the kitchen is so…ordinary. There are sticky notes on the fridge. Something that looks like a work schedule is pinned with a magnet for a terrible punk band she also loves. There’s a stain on the counter and also a chip in the cutting board (a crime, but her wedding present will remedy that). Tess can imagine Xavier living in this kitchen and it overwhelms her. His entire life that she has been absent from for so long, overwhelms her.
“Dude, I’m getting married,” Xavier says, as if conjuring her thoughts from thin air. “Like, married.”
“And he’s like, really out of your league.”
“Trust me, I know,” he jokes as he starts toward the exit of the kitchen, where raucous laughter is coming from a room over. Tess recognizes Jes’ high, wheedling laugh. For a moment, she is staring at her own reflection, because Jes was to Xavier, what he’d been to Tess. Her’s to care about, while their parents were too busy earning money to simply keep them alive.
When he passes out of the room, she decides to stay there, alone, for just a bit longer.
The alone part only lasts a few more minutes before someone crashes into the kitchen.
“Oh, absolutely—of course, trip over yourself, why don’t you? Rip somethin’ while you’re at it—not like this isn’t hand made.” There is nothing to do but stare at the woman as she plucks at the ankle length skirt she wears. Judging from the way she picks at the fabric (which is so red it makes the entire kitchen look instantly pale in comparison), it might be longer than the ankle, which seems to be the problem.
Tess, for what its worth, tries very hard not to look at the slight reveal of dark brown skin across her middle, eyes swinging toward the duck pond. The rain’s gone down to a drizzle, sun opening up around clouds to wash everything golden like her brothers wedding outfit.
“Need help?” she finally musters.
The woman looks up, in absolute shock that another person is in the kitchen. She flattens a hand to her chest. That level of surprise is so cute it makes Tess’ hands twitch. She folds them behind her back, which pushes out her broad shoulders.
“In more ways than one.” Everyone has an accent here, but Tess feels a familiarity there. A tone, or note. Something…
“Oh wow,” she finally laughs, scratching at her longer-than-usual hair. “Yours is much cuter than Benji’s. No offense to him or anything.”
“My what is much cuter than Benji’s?” Saha, the older sister that she’s heard about on many phone calls to Xavier, has an animated face. Her expressions are all big and blown out yet uniquely genuine. Like she isn’t putting on a show, but the world is a bit of a stage anyway. Tess bites her lip, tries to hide the all encompassing smile that completely threatens her. She steps forward instead, extending her hand.
“Your accent,” she says. “You’re Benji’s older sister, right? You look alike.”
“Oh,” Benji’s older sister deadpans with her mouth in the perfect shape of the letter itself. Then, “Oh!” louder as she darts forward to slip a soft hand into Tess’. “You must be Theresa then, yeah?” A bit of the Liverpool comes out there, in a way that is still similar to Benji’s somewhat off-putting brogue (sorry, Xavier). Saha has the dwindling accent of someone who likely spends a lot of time away from her hometown.
“Oh my God, no.”
“What?”
“No, I mean—” Tess laughs, giving Saha’s hand a good firm shake. She watches the other woman’s arm flap a bit at the strength she’d put behind it accidentally. Tess is all too used to shaking hands with other professionals in her line of business—and most of those professionals were men who were ready to underestimate her. Not just because of youth (thirty-three is not old, unless she’s browsing twitter) but because of her gender. Tess could shave her head and dress in a mens cut chef’s frock; they still saw her as feminine.
“Call me Tess. People only call me Theresa when they’re mad at me.”
“Promise I’m not yet,” she says, quick and clever. Their hands are still together. Saha looks down at them and then quickly pulls hers away. It makes an anxious, probably not entirely conscious pluck at the skirt again. The red makes her skin tone even prettier, even richer. Tess probably looks like a penguin.
Whatever conversation they might have had next, and it’s branches of possibilities (hating each other instantly, or getting along straight off, or everything being awkward and uncomfortable and one of them immediately retreating to find a brother)—it’s entirely stifled by the loud growling that comes from Saha’s stomach. She puts hands there, her eyes so wide the pupils look like little coins. Tess tries not to smile, but it fights onto her face anyway, tugging up at the corners. It puts dimples in her cheeks. Her eyebrows raise.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Saha exhales in an embarrassed laugh. “That—I swear—it only ever happens to me, y’know? Get caught dancing in the grocery aisle, or someone takes a candid of me tripping on the street. It’s just my luck. Really, I mean it. You’re laughing at me!”
“No!” Tess does laugh. Keeps an arm around her stomach, a hand flattened over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Her hair spills out from behind her ears, tickling her jawline. “No—I swear. Ask Xavier. I got this weird laughing disease when I was a kid. Stuck permanently grinning.” She puts index fingers to the tips of her smile, wiggling her brows.
“You Wolffe’s,” Saha sighs, but Tess can tell her God awful sense of humor is…working. Should it be working? It’s only in that moment that she realizes she’s flirting. Tess drops her hands, tucking them behind her back again. She shouldn’t be flirting. “Okay, I came in here to find some leftovers ‘til the catering gets here. I know Benji has some—cooks Xavier a feast practically every Sunday.”
“Explains where my skinny little brother went.”
“But he looks good with it, right?” Saha is crossing to the fridge then. A hand on her hip. She taps a finger on her chin as she contemplates. For a moment, Tess doesn’t know what to say because, yeah. He does. Xavier looks…so much better. He looks healthy now, with a padded layer to him. His hair’s longer than she’s ever seen it. His cheeks are full of color all the time.
“I’ll make you something,” Tess offers, completely on a whim—or completely out of love. She doesn’t know Saha, they’ve never met before. It happens, she guesses, when one family lives on an entirely different continent. That Benji’s family and Xavier’s family are being introduced on their wedding day. She chalks that up to privacy too; she liked the kindred spirit Xavier had found in Benji with that.
But she wholeheartedly loves Saha for that comment alone. But he looks good with it, right? Such a simple statement that said so much.
“Oh no, you don’t have to. I know Benji has roti around here. Xavier inhales the stuff by the handful—”
“What do you do for a living?” Tess asks as she crosses the kitchen. She opens a few cabinets on whim, tries to figure out where bread might be kept. When it’s located, she then moves on to the fridge.
“I’m…an entrepreneur.”
“You sell make up?” Tess asks, as she crouches to pick through condiments and find cheese.
“That’s actually insanely offensive, you know that? You assume because I’m a self employed woman that I sell make up?”
“Well,” Tess rises slowly, grinning all the while, and Saha’s eyes follow her up. They’re dark dark. That sort of brown that looks to be all pupil, until sunlight hits it. Tess knows those kind of eyes get beautiful then. She can picture them in early morning, blinking open as she lays her pretty face on a white pristine pillow. In her imagination, Saha is just perfect enough to have an imperfection, like a few crazy strands of hair or something.
“Actually, I assumed it, because yours looked so good.”
“No compliments get you out of that one!” Saha has retreated to the kitchen island, sliding onto a stool. Her pursuit of food given up. Tess is still trying to contain her smiling.
“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, then.”
It doesn’t take long to find the other items she needs. Frying pan and butter. A plate to slide the sandwiches onto when they’re done. She doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but Tess is surprised no one came running to the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches; or even came looking for two very important guests. Older sisters to the grooms didn’t often get stolen time like this.
Instead, they have their private moment together. It feels surreal. A little carved out scene from a movie that she would have replayed on repeat as a child, wondering how two women get to be together like that. If that’s a real thing that happens. At thirty-three she is more than aware that two women, do, in fact get to sit in a kitchen and eat sandwiches and talk together.
It’s just very Halmark and a bit of her gay teen heart sort of throbs at that.
“You weren’t lying,” Saha says in a gasp after a mouthful of sandwich.
“Why would I lie about that?” Tess replies, chin in her hand, elbow on the kitchen island. She watches Saha take another bite, a delicious little pull of cheese between sandwich and her lips. She groans as she chews, turning fully on the stool so they can face one another.
“This is better than any grilled cheese I’ve ever made. This is ludicrous.”
“That’s a wild word for a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“Is this what Gordon Ramsay was teaching you?” Tess bursts into a laugh, picking her own sandwich up. She eats like a bird, unfortunately, tugging pieces off and popping them into her mouth. She had learned it in culinary school, where things had to be eaten this way. Small portions, flavor testing. She remembered eating a whole meal in just small bites through out the day, because she was testing every single plate she was cooking.
“He taught me how to make the best omelet you’ll ever have, if you want a rain check on that.” She puts another torn off piece of sandwich into her mouth, eyes to the side to catch Saha. She’s blushing; the color is dark, dark red on her high cheekbones. God, she’s fucking beautiful. The sort of pretty that made someone stop and blink. Not single, Tess thinks instantly. No fucking chance.
“You said you live in Seattle? I’ve been. I’m—well, I’m an influencer, alright? So I travel. I’ve been.” Saha chews, has to tuck cheese into her mouth when she pulls the sandwich away from her again. There’s a second on the plate, because Tess was a firm believer in two sandwiches make a meal.
“What are you influencing?” She asks.
“People.”
“So you do sell make up?”
“You’re awful!” Saha bumps their shoulders together. Warmth blooms in the middle of Tess’ chest and she tried to ignore it. “I’d boost sales at your restaurant if I posted a review.”
“Are you saying my sales are bad?” Tess accuses in a wounded voice. Saha shrugs, pinches her face into an apologetic expression, slowly takes the final bite of her second sandwich. She scoots herself closer then. Tess had abandoned the high heels (they fucking hurt) when she’d started cooking. And so she hooks a long leg around the stool, the bare metal cold as she continues that scoot closer. “How about, if you come to Seattle, I will make you that omelet and you’ll write me a review?”
Saha taps a finger on her chin again. It seems out of habit. It’s frankly, so fucking cute it makes the closeness of them feel tense and warm.
“Bribery,” Saha intones softly. “So American.”
Tess holds out her hand. Saha takes it and gives it what must be her most firm shake (it is puny in comparison, which is somehow, just as adorable).
***
The wedding photos come in about a month later. That feels stupidly long, but what did she know about wedding photography? Her wealth of knowledge laid in herbs, spices and hockey. She was in her Bruins jersey at that exact moment, no less, sliding a letter opener underneath the flat photo packaging.
Tess will never admit to crying as she looks at them. She spreads them across her kitchen table, picking through them slowly. Reliving the day and every single other one before it; the anxiety and fear that Xavier was never coming home, the dual emotions of happiness and worry whenever she did see him in brief snatches of time. That thin, white scar on his jaw is present in many of the photos, but he also smiles in every single one of them. He looks unbelievably handsome and even mature.
She selects one of just Xavier and Benji for her fridge. Tess doesn’t do wall art or photos. It would be depressingly bare if not for the amount of things she’s otherwise shoved into her apartment. Cluttered with hobbies picked up and tossed aside, gifts from her friends, nick nacks on bookshelves stuffed so tight that a robber might be confused on what was actually valuable.
The fridge got the pictures. Emily’s college graduation, an old polaroid of Jes’ and their first baby tooth, blood in their hand. James and Lorelai Wolffe and Tess in between them, a toddler with a giant smile that dimpled her cheeks, before all the other Wolffe children came to be.
And now Xavier and Benji, in gold and green. They were looking at each other in it, but the photographer had caught them in a moment when others were stealing their attention. It was one of those candids where the edges were blurry, where the lighting at the ceremony was all little pops of amber and orange hues in the background. It was Xavier, arm slung around one of his guests (a man named Lark, pretty guy, with an even prettier girlfriend) and Benji, shoulder to shoulder with his father, who was bent in to tell him something.
But Benji and Xavier still, despite all that, looked at each other.
One that’s done and makes her heart bleed and her eyes hurt from the pressure of crying, Tess selects one more photo that she will instead keep on her desk at home, next to her laptop. She puts it there, just then—a photo of her and Saha, standing together, laughing. Her hand rests on Saha’s shoulder, her (now, thankfully buzzed off) hair wild from all the humidity. And Saha is looking at her, with those brown eyes she knows are gorgeous under the sunlight.
Next to the laptop it goes, where an email stays open. An email of a plane ticket receipt, and a cheeky ‘does your restaurant need a review?’ in the caption.
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deardiaryilovesarah · 8 months
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rosaromance · 8 months
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Love U ♥️
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sarahespacial · 3 days
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travelbinge · 2 years
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By Jason Teele
Gamcheon, Saha District, Busan, South Korea
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kuberafest · 2 years
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Hidden Abs by Redna
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fendaira · 2 years
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rksaha · 1 year
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My Favourite colour is Blue . What is yours ? When people wears blue , i somehow feel connected to them. #blue #blueeyes #blueeyes #bluehair #blueaesthetic #bluenails #blueaesthetic #bluefamily #blueplanet #bluehour #kolkata #calcutta #westbengal #bengali #saha #bangaal (at Kolkata) https://www.instagram.com/p/ClB61Zyy9fR/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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gundembuca · 3 days
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CHP Buca Belediye Başkan Adayı Görkem Duman "Anne ve Babaların Gözü arkada kalmasın"
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CHP'li Duman "Anne ve babaların gözü arkada kalmasın" CHP Buca Belediye Başkan adayı Görkem Duman, seçim çalışmalarına hız kesmeden devam ediyor. Saha çalışmaları sırasında ebeveynlerle karşılaşan Duman, çocuklar için gerçekleştireceği güvenli parklar, kreşler ve etüt merkezleri projelerinden bahsederek, "Bizim başkanlığımız döneminde anne ve babaların gözü arkada kalmayacak" dedi. Güvenli parklar CHP Buca Belediye Başkan adayı Görkem Duman, çocuklar için güvenli parklar inşa edeceklerini belirterek, "Çocuklarımız için güvenli parklar inşa edeceğiz. Çocuklarımızın sağlığını ve güvenliğini tehdit etmeyen ham maddeler ile oluşturulmuş oyun grupları olacak. Güvenli parklar içerisinde ailelerimizin çocuklarıyla gönül rahatlığı ile zaman geçireceği güçlü aydınlatma sistemleri ve 7/24 izlenen güvenlik kameraları yer alacak" diye konuştu.
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Ebeveynlerin gözü arkada kalmayacak İş hayatına katılan kadınların başarılı olabilmesi için önlerindeki engelleri kaldırmayı hedeflediklerini ifade eden CHP'li Duman, "Çalışan annelerin çocuklarını gönül rahatlığı ile bırakabilecekleri kreşlerin sayısını artıracağız. Kuracağımız kreşlerle çocuklarımıza nitelikli eğitim olanağı da sağlamış olacağız" dedi. CHP'li Duman ayrıca ilkokul ve ortaokul çağındaki çocuklar için ilçenin belirli noktalarında etüt merkezlerini açacaklarını söyledi. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Rcpe8Jq9nA&t=33s Cemil Şeboy https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3Tbjg4CeWk Read the full article
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