DONATE HERE

This is me Aya.. ‏🇵🇸

Imagine you wake up with nothing left.That's exactly what happened with us .we moved from having everything to having nothing.In a blink of an eye ,we lost everything, our house ,dreams, memories belongings and our works. We are starting from zero and need your help to climb the leader step by step from scratch.

All the positive words cannot express how generous you are, especially in sharing my posts to inform other donors about the people of Gaza who are still suffering from the terrible conditions caused by the unjust war on Gaza!

Please continue to support us by donating directly or by sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in difficult and miserable times until the dark days are over. 🙏🏻🍉

https://gofund.me/c4c2cf82

Please stop and help my family 😢

I am Saba, a nurse, and I have not finished my last year of education. I am married and live with my family from Gaza. I have a family of 5 people, my father and mother. My father is mentally ill and suffers greatly. My sister has children who suffer from lack of food. My niece is chronically ill with diabetes and the situation is getting worse every day. She needs a lot of care and organized and very expensive food. We do not have money and the severe cold in the tent is becoming more dangerous with the rain every day. Every day my family is becoming more dangerous. Please help save my children, my father, my mother and my family 😭

https://gofund.me/5adfe159

@gothhabiba @tsaricides @buttercuparry @appsdotli @feluka @turian @sylvianritual @brokenbackmountain @dirhwangdaseul @appsa @postanagramgenerator @pcktknife @heritageposts @omegaversereloaded @theinconvenientlifestyle @punkitt-is-here @officialspec2 @transmutationdice @northgazaupdates2 @northgazaupdates2 @dragondemoness @divortion @anarcho-smarmyism @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @anarcho-smarmyism @wellwaterhysteria @deathlonging @mazzikaty @mahoushojo @deepspaceboytoy

Save my family from hunger and cold 😭🍉‼️

Last month, you helped Nour’s family afford her medication. She needs your help again.

Nour was born with a congenital heart condition. This has put her life in jeopardy on several occasions, and greatly impacted her growth and overall health and wellbeing. She requires medications to help keep her condition in check. This prescription will be ready for pickup tomorrow, Thursday 14 November 2024. We would like for the family to be able to procure the medication ASAP!

There are multiple disabled people in their household who require frequent medical treatment, and yet the family has 0 income with which to procure it. Right now, the family is particularly concerned about young Nour. Her condition is chronic and serious. Without this medication, she could suffer frightening and painful symptoms, and her young life will be in danger!

Last month, you all helped the family procure Nour’s medicine. I know we can do it again this month! The medication costs about $400 USD or $559 CAD. If 40 people gave $10 USD, or 20 people gave $20 USD, or 10 people gave $40 USD, the medication would be paid for in no time!

Please note the currency conversion rate! The fundraiser is in CAD, but expenses on the ground in Gaza are paid in USD. The conversion rate is $1 USD = about $1.40 CAD. Here is a quick conversion guide:

If you want to send $5 USD, donate $7 CAD on GFM

If you want to send $10 USD, donate $14 CAD

To send $20 USD, donate $28 CAD

To send $40 USD, donate $56 CAD

Thank you❤️❤️❤️

Link to donate:

gofundme.com

Donate to Help a family from Gaza, organized by Yaser Matar

Hello, I am Ibtisam Al-Habil. My suffering began in 2014 when my husband was martyred, and I was … Yaser Matar needs your support for Help

I hope everyone can help my family🙏

Hello everyone,

I will tell you my story about the war in the Gaza Strip, and I hope you will help me get out to safety. Thank you very much. I am Ali Miqdad, 33 years old, and my wife, Aya Hamdan, 25 years old. I have two children, my beloved, who is 5 years old and Adam, who is 2 years old

In light of the war on us, we lost everything: home, money, business, and even clothes. I paid everything in the house and business that I had because of the bombing that we witnessed throughout the days. To this day, we have been displaced several times, and the first night was very difficult. In the morning, it was our first displacement and exit from the house, and then we lost. We all lost our beautiful memories and the wonderful things that me and the family used to live on

We lost our beautiful memories and the wonderful things that my family and I used to live on. The hardest thing we lost was safety and peace due to the violent bombing that surrounded us at every time and moment and in all the places to which we were displaced. Also, the days that we spent in displacement several times were difficult due to the lack of work to obtain. For money, clothes, food, water, and meeting the needs of the family and the needs of the children, especially since we are in tents and there is no healthy food or medicine due to the spread of diseases.

Through the process of repeated displacement, we lost the stable and recreational life that I used to live with my wife, my children, Habiba and Adam, who lost their beautiful childhood, the first days of their childhood, and their toys that they loved and played with all the time. My daughter, Habiba, lost her studies in kindergarten, and my wife, who suffers from fatigue and exhaustion all the time. As a result of displacement from one place to another, and from tent to tent, which completely changed the nature of our lives from a beautiful house to a tent in the middle of the street in which we sleep.

I need your cooperation and help in raising money to leave the Gaza Strip because the exit from the Gaza Strip is due to the war

I hope everyone will donate for my family and children🙏❤️

Vetted by:

@gazavetters

@appsa @sar-soor @sayruq @stuckinapril @heritageposts @neptunerings @feluka @malcriada @queerstudiesnatural @rizzylu @determinate-negation

There are moments when we have real fun because, just for the moment, we don't think about things and then--we remember--and the remembering is worse than thinking of it all the time would have been.

L.M. Montgomery, Rilla of Ingleside

Wednesday in Wyoming

—From July 10 2021

TW // cults , possession , murder , death of parent , confinement , sacrifice , mentions of blood , mentions of gore

Wednesday. It’s a day of the week that eliminates at least half of your primary school spelling bee competitions. It’s a day that marks the half-way point to freedom, and to Techno, it’s a hard day of the week to stay alive through.

Techno was a young boy. He was but six when he was first possessed. It was by a lesser demon, but to such a small vessel, such a tiny mortal, it didn’t seem that way. Maybe this was better, that the demon decided to possess a small boy, because if it had decided to possess a grown adult, who knew what damages it may have caused. His parents didn’t do much to help, and it wasn’t that they were clueless either. It was not even that they did not believe in the supernatural. No, they were the ones to call upon the demon, although their target wasn’t necessarily intended to be their own son.

Techno grew up in a cult. It operated in a ruined, vacant house in the middle of nowhere, in good old Wyoming. Wyoming’s a strange state. It’s very barren for how beautiful it is, and very little of it is talked about by anyone else, including it’s own inhabitants.

It’s Wednesday in Wyoming, and Techno had just been possessed in the basement of the cult’s meeting place.

It was somehow, someway, somewhat going to plan. Someone had been possessed (Though once again, the target was not meant to be the child) and the sacrifice had been planned. What was not prepared for however, was the demon’s own bloodshed. A man was killed that day, guts spilt all over the newspaper covered walls and remains burnt to dust upon the satanic circle that was only seconds ago used to call open the spirit. Claw marks that could not belong to anything of this realm littered the man, and black veins popped up across the skin, making the man look more demonic than dead. No one was called, and no one let the word get out. The body was dumped in a lake in the middle of a national park, and nothing else came of it.

It ended underwhelmingly, and Techno had just been possessed in the basement of the cult’s meeting place. No one said a thing, including any comforting words to the confused and dazed Techno. Demonic possession at a young age couldn’t go well though, the world just wouldn’t allow it, no matter how competent you were calling for the possession or no matter how well you could banish the thing. So, he was left with the Voices. He named them, not long after, Chat, as they were all but silent. He almost went insane once, and he wondered if secretly, that was what the higher people in the cult had wanted, so he, out of spite, and for his own sanity, learnt to control them. He fed them ideas and treats, gave them what they wanted so long as it was mostly harmless, and in turn, any other time that he demanded it of them, they would stay quiet and well-put, at the back of his mind, only making a small quip here and there.

So his childhood went. Demonic possessions and nothing good to come of it.

So their childhoods went, demonic possessions and nothing good to come of it.

Their name was Tubbo, years had passed and it was another Wednesday in Wyoming. He was born into the cult as was Techno, although his case was a little more unfortunate. His parents were traitors of the cult; they had demanded they be let go and live out their life in silence, but of course, such a community that killed it’s members in flocks and made such festivals out of them, strung their bodies across laundry lines to serve as party streamers and using roadkill as a table for all their festivities and feasts, of which none knew the ingredient, would never let anyone go willingly, not unless they were out of their minds- more out of their minds than usual.

So, they were killed. Not killed, not physically, but tortured until they couldn’t think of anything but pain, and could not move a muscle, left at their homes and set up as if props so it looked as if they had simply tried to commit a lover’s suicide, only to fail trying to overdose. The reason? Their son had disappeared and his room was covered in blood, which could only lead them to think of the worst. The cult had been more active recently to top it off, and his parents were old and ragged; already mad as were side effects of joining such an inhumane society, if you could call any group of anything inhumane societal at all, if being social meant being living, and sane.

Everything made sense for their neighbors, and they were carted off to mental asylums, as they screamed for mercy and the accompaniment of god.

Tubbo was left alive though. His adoptive parents were humans, but being a hybrid, adopted out of pity, he was more than valuable, especially since he had only, on his most recent birthday, grown horns, the horns of a goat- the second best thing that the cult could have.

‘Descendant of the relative’ was his title, (and of course the cult was not referring to his parents, traitors, ‘Relatives’ in any sense of the word; it was something else entirely) They never spoke a word of them anymore, and out of self-preservation, he had never asked. Being older, he didn’t bother anymore, having already tied the loose ends together. He was pale, being deemed missing then dead, but unlike how the world knew of him only until he was a boy, he knew enough of the world beyond his age of ‘boyhood’ through the newspaper clippings that were brought in every so often, helping him see what had happened without the cult knowing.

Small child, naïve child, Descendant of the Relative.

Descendant of the Relative, what words do you have for us today? Would you talk of the light, that shone through the cracks of the ceiling boards at exactly 5 am everyday, that woke you up from your place on the bed, or will you inquire of the spirit whom punished the traitor of yesterday? Will you ask for the water which keeps you alive, or will you beg for even a morsel of a crumb of a crumb, as you have starved in this ‘wretched place’ as you have christened it? Descendant of the Relative, be not foolish, for you cannot die with such holy blood in your veins.

Descendant of the Relative, the title drove him mad, and Techno watched him from his seat every meeting, the scrawny child growing and growing to only serve as another sacrifice which would fail to fulfill the prophecy that was but a fluke.

And Techno would watch, unable to offer the morsel of a crumb of a crumb, or offer the dew from the leaves from the flora that littered the paths outside, all which gathered in speckles from the rain yesterday. He would wonder if he was still sane at all if not for the glimmer of hope, of escape, of which that collected in his eyes with every news of the cult’s doings outside, recognized only by those who shared the sentiment.

Tubbo wanted to escape,

Techno did too.

Techno despised his Wednesdays, and Chat shared the same sentiment, although for wildly varying reasons. He wondered if they had a life of their own sometimes, when he was left to himself, as they talked of various jobs and resources and duties that he didn’t know a speck about. Then, he’d brush himself off, as those were the thoughts of a madman.

Madman that he was, he attended the Cult only less frequently as he did the Church. He knew the Cult knew, although he knew as sure as they that they thought it was only a cover. He stared at the empty isles of Friday, basking in the silence that came with self-employment. Flexible work hours, flexible free time. 6 am on a Friday, he’d listen to the bible readings voiced by his one and only friend.

Phil was a priest who had attended the same college as him. He initially approached him for a group project, and things had worked out from there. He decided to become a priest upon graduation, no hesitation in his voice as he spoke of his plans. It was unexpected, hearing such sureness from someone only freshly out of the education system, but with religious parents, he had support every step of the way.

Techno stared at the robed man, seeing the peek of green fabric under it. The same green collared shirt every day, which never seemed any more worn than last year. He wondered if he replaced it often, or if his clothes were simply well-maintained. The pristine priest in front of him seemed too distant from the friend he knew, although he didn’t enjoy it any less. Words upon words and verses upon verses, voice having never once cracked since he had chosen his profession. He wondered if it really was a holy calling, a gift, having experienced possession before and believing in the otherworldly. The Voices chimed in, adding their own theories and questions for the man.

They didn’t know much about him, having tuned out more often than not during his years at the boarding school. Day and night, nothing but studying, he understood why they might’ve been bored.

“Amen,”

“Amen.”

Tommy ran down the halls. It was Friday which meant that there would be no one present in prayer except Phil and Techie. He burst down the doors as they finished up their prayers, Phil looking up just in time to catch his eyes. “Ah Tommy, it’s good to see you.” “Good to see you too, old man!” He ran up to the cabinets on the sides, sneaking a few crayons into his pockets. Phil never minded. Techno grumbled, getting up from his seat in the pew, seeing his friend was back to off-duty mode.

“Want to go grab some lunch?”

“What time?”

Lunch was plain. Some tomato pasta at a family restaurant ran by one of Phil’s many friends- and a foster parent for a kid named Ranboo. He was serving them right now, parents busy finishing up orders in the kitchen. The walls were well worn and the marble tiled floor was slightly tinted, but it all came together to make a comforting atmosphere. Maybe it was only because he was used to messes bigger and nastier than this. The pasta was good, as usual. He looked at the awkward kid taking down orders, too tall for his age and fidgeting every other second. His tail was out of sight which meant that he had hid it for some of the more racist customers. It was effective, as he was a late bloomer and his horns had been completely covered by the fluffy mess that was his hair. You could only be able to tell if he told you or you tried touching it.

“A glass of lemonade, water, a kid’s meal and two breakfast specials…” He muttered as he passed by, voice quickly masked by the dull chitter chatter all about.

“He’s a good kid, helping out.”

He only bothered to nod, eyes fixed on the glint of gold in the kid’s hair.

Tubbo was a lonely kid. Fifteen and growing. His sixteenth birthday was coming up, and he had to devise a complete plan and a backup for his escape. He knew what happened to parentless cult-born kids such as himself, and he’s sure they said the word ‘sacrifice’ at least thrice the usual amount around him.

He thought he’d never see the full sun, never see the outside until a week ago when they had to move locations due to the possibility of a bust by authorities. The cult was in a panic, moving the most incriminating things first before the smaller artifacts and trinkets. Blood soaked newspapers were torn off and burnt, and the whole place was scrubbed down clean with at least fifty different chemical products. They were on the run in small groups, and him and a newer lad was paired together, disguised as brothers. They ended up taking a break at a restaurant, the other’s stomach growling like a wild beast. He was allowed a meal, a proper meal, and he met another kid his age. Today was an eventful day.

“It’s Ranboo actually,”

“Whatever Boo”

The kid had flushed, clearly not used to intimacy from strangers, and they quickly made good friends. He wasn’t able to ask about too many things, even under the gaze of the careless man on the phone. He may have some freedom now, but the man wouldn’t be too idiotic as to let him discuss ‘forbidden topics’ such as anything concerning the outside. The conversation was dull in that way, but they ended up with a friendship ring each, a small trinket made from one of those crafting wires that Ranboo had leftover from a science fair.

Ranboo’s was gold,

His was silver.

They were almost matching.

The ring was tucked away in the furthest corner of Bee’s pocket, the worn yellow jacket from childhood that no one bothered to wash except himself.

Ranboo thought a lot about that kid from a few days back, and the ring on his growing horns felt heavier each time.

Though this was only for the moment that he was thinking of him.

Only for the moment.

Need urgent help to my family survive 🍉 🇵🇸

Please Donate or Reblog 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Hello Everyone,

I am Momen Al Madhoun, 35 years old, a graphic design from gaza, my wife Nour Al Madhoun 30 years old, a computer engineer, We are two self-made people united by a love of work, ambition, and self-development. We used to work remotely in programming and design. We had a cozy home that we built hand by hand, stone by stone.

Ezzdeen my big son was 7 when the war started now he is 8 years old and suffering from huge weight loss because he is very picky in his food, we try to buy him the food he accept but it is hard in our situations, Ameer my little son was 5 and now he is 6, he supposed to be at his first year at school now but what he forced to live is very diffirent!

Today after a whole year of displacement and the harsh suffering we are still living in this genocide in Gaza.

After our many attempts to survive, we actually survived, but it was only the survival of the body, the soul and the psychological health for me, my husband and my two children did not survive! Even the body survived apparently, but it is very weak due to the famine and the suffering in obtaining food and drink.

As the conflict escalates, our access to food, clean water, and basic necessities has dwindled. Everyday here is like a battle, not just with death surrounding us everywhere, but against huner and despair.

Today, after more than a year of living under the genocide, losing everything in our lives. More than a year of patience on famine and suffering and trying to overcome difficulties to survive, A whole year full of WHERE DO WE GO? what is our fault? what is our kids fault?

We are exhausted and need your help, I came to you today after all this patience with a heavy heart, asking for help! My family needs your help to survive

I ask you to show your beautiful hearts for my family ❤️🍉🇵🇸

✅Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #291 )✅

gofundme.com

Donate to Help my family rise from the ashes, organised by Tahir Awad

Hello Everyone, I am Nour Al Madhoun, 30 years old, a computer engineer from gaza, my h… Tahir Awad needs your support for Help my family r

Deadline 8 December

Subject : Payment of tuition fees for the second semester

Current process :

USD 2085 / $4120

Hello my dear friends, thank you very much for saving my parents from staying on the street, now the university fees must be paid for the second semester after a month from now, the amount must be made during this month, which is $4240, the tuition fees for me and my sister, we must reach $6240, we are able to do it, my friends

Verified by @opencommunion @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2

gofundme.com

Donate to Help support a Palestinian family in Gaza and Egypt, organized by Zach K

Help Support Our Family in Gaza and Egypt Dear friends, My … Zach K needs your support for Help support a Palestinian family

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veiled in the wilds

flavourful illustration of Lotte with her cloak that lets her shapeshift into animals.

I don’t think you’re ready to have an adult conversation about politics until you’re able to admit that there are things you love and enjoy that would not and should not exist in a just world. $8 billion dollar budget movies every other month don’t exist in a just world. New 900 GB AAA video games every year don’t exist in a just world. Next day delivery doesn’t exist in a just world. 80 different soda brands don’t exist in a just world. 

All of those things come from exploitation on some level, and if you wouldn’t trade those for a world where everyone can eat and have a home no matter who they are or what they do, I don’t know what to tell you.