Please Donate To Shatha's Fundraiser So She Can Get Her Son The Treatment That Will Help Him Stand Up

Adding to this:

Revivedbur smokes candy cigarettes- they look so convincing that everyone else and their relatives thrice removed 'know' that he's a heavy smoker. In reality, he just has a huge sweet tooth and bad chewing habit (he used to chew his fingernails down to the edges so he replaced that with something objectively healthier) I like to imagine that his 'smoking habits' spark some kind of conversation with Phil later who grows concerned for his health only to find out that no, his son had not been taking up heavy smoking for the past couple of months that he'd been alive (like he and everyone else had thought,) but it was in fact him enjoying some sweets.

Image credit: junquedrawerstudio . com

Crows n headcanons

Children of Gaza suffer from diseases, severe cold and fear of violent bombing. Save the children of Gaza 🙏🍉🥺😭

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Donate to Help me save my family, organized by Osama Al angar

I am Osama Al-Anqar and my wife's name … Osama Al angar needs your support for Help

this is a weird request. can you help a transman and their wife move out of a controlling parent's grasp and out of a red state?

spoiler alert: its not even our parents.

we moved in with a friend because he made the mistake of buying a house when he didn't have the means to and needed help paying for bills, and we needed to move into a place that let us live in more than just a single room.

now we're constantly harassed by his parents because they think he shouldn't have let us move in and should have let someone of their own choosing move in. they go through our stuff, and weekly visits to "clean" because they think we're all incompetent and dig their noses into places they shouldn't be. Just today they introduced new potential housemates without warning or any communication, and just before that they stormed our storage room and began organizing and cleaning it without asking or warning. We cannot go back to being shoved into a single room again.

With the upcoming political climate, living as a afab trans POC (and native, at that) in a red state like South Carolina is going to be insanely dangerous. I've already been preached to, I've already been harassed at work, and it's dangerous for us to even live in the area we do, since the further from downtown you are, the more red it gets. and we're at the edge of the county.

I know there's a lot of GFMs going around right now, but we aren't in a safe spot, and we have friends in northeast that might help us. We just don't have the means to get there.

If you can, please help us move up north, if you'd like to help us pay bills for the time being, or if you'd like some commissions from my amazing wife ( @parememi ).

you know, it kind of irks me that tommy told wilbur that he didn’t get a grave. because he did.

when phil traveled the long, winding rabbit trails that led to techno’s arctic home, he left footprints in the snow that traced the frozen earth in looping cursive letters in the way a lost man wanders - and that was a grave.

when tubbo laid the stone foundations of snowchester’s nuclear storage facility, he carved a plateau out of the cliffs, which looked out over the sea from the highest point on the island. he could see birds below him tracing their dark shapes through the rolling fog - and that was a grave.

when niki wore wilbur’s old trench coat, it was muddy and torn and rusted red around the chest where he had been shot and stabbed and brutalized by explosions. she mended each hole with the careful precision with which she had sewn his flag - and that was a grave.

when fundy threw his father’s hat into the sea, he heaved a sob and fell to his knees, and he dug his fingers into the thin, dry seagrass until it fell in shredded piles at his sides. the sand was all he knew as it made raw the skin on his palms - and that was a grave.

so when tommy tore the patches from his jacket, when he sealed the entrance to pogtopia, when he set wilbur’s old guitar in the empty dockmaster’s house as finely tuned as he could make it, when he looked ghostbur in the eyes and didn’t flinch, didn’t waver, didn’t cry until he sat on his bloodied bedsheets and gripped the cloth in a white-knuckle grip and screamed until his voice gave out - that was a grave. that was wilbur’s grave.

Learning names :]

"It’s the pink and white striped savior that stills right by the park, stark and blinding in the middle of a long-scorned, scorching summer sunup, shimmering, as the sun, savored."

the author's barely disguised longing for a kinder world

Hello, I am Tareq from Gaza Iam trying save my famliy from the genocide happening here. I ask for your help in spreading my story and donating if you can contribute anything, no matter how small.Please don,t forget to sharethe latest post from my page and follow my account to help spread the story to the world. Thank you.

htps://gofund.me/481656bc

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Donate to Help my family escape death in Gaza (Updated Version), organized by David Jones-Krause

Hello, my name is Tareq Ayyad, a Palestinian living in Gaza. … David Jones-Krause needs your support for Help my family escape death in Gaza

Mond. [Never finished, July 22 2022]

The rustle of the winds,

The ruse of the gale,

The gaze which imbues.

It’s lies an everlasting rune

An unquestioned rule.

Bespoke the breeze which said with a smile,

“What a joke.”

0. Origin. Creation. The Begining.

Tether to-and-fro, the frocks of the maidens and lasses, the laughter that hops buoyantly over the air, the smell of luncheons. 

Yes, this was home and more, the land which was once miles over, moved on-to a better place, under his jurisdiction. 

Did you know, that Mondstadt was once even more mountainous than Liyue? Whispers and laughter is what now fills the air, but once those were powerful gales which pierced even the land itself. Those were which the first birds flew on, and now those angry winds are gone, alongside the previous rule and the mountain caps. Now the natural terrain doesn’t train on those sharp airs funneled through high peaks, but calm and gentle ones said to match each breath of Barbatos.

It’s strange, how much change could happen over the span of 400 years. It’s strange, what something as elusive as corrosion could do. Because of it, a dragon lies, crystalline tears bead right on it’s golem cheeks, several feet underground, under a monument marked with stone which remembers it only as a mad thing of no life.

It’s terrifying, waking up after several years of slumber, and seeing all of which once you cherished, to have undergone such significant changes, it is the reason why he prefers dreaming, drowning under the illusions of booze or straight to slumber underneath a breezy canopy or in the rough sheets of the inn.

It is why he forsakes the present and deigns everything around it. He can only afford to look forwards, with nothing else to think of but the necessities.

It hurt when he had to acknowledge Stormterror’s pain, and that he had both failed as a friend and as an Archon. But with little to lean on and feeling lost, he had been unable to lift a finger until someone else had passed by. A girl with bright hair and bright eyes, with a small chatterbox companion; their name, Lumine. A new face, but it was not unwelcome, as he gazed from afar her feats and willingness to help save Mondstadt.

In a way, it was also a punch in the gut, as this completely unheard of traveler from afar, managed to do the responsible things and managed to save both his friend and Mond when he could not.