Please Don't Ignore My Story💔🇵🇸

🚨 Stop, please don't skip✋

🇵🇸Help me family🙏😭

Hello there!

I'm a little girl with 11 years old with two more little brothers 9 years old and 5 years old and our parents which my father works painter but no job for him because he got injured at the begin of the war beside there's no work for painters during the war anyway, the financial situation of my family have reached to minus which coused problems enough to make parents about to be apart and get divorce and i know this will be like ending us, specially the poor families lives on the edges of the side zones which no water almost and no any services or support, or even medical care, things more crazy than the words actually...

https://gofund.me/3b401079

Someone told me about this site and told me it can help same time i was shy but once the divorce is up between my parents i just rushed to do this, and i hope it's a right discission, thanks for your supporting, in case we got killed during the war i inform who helps me in this to post it here and freeze the account and spread what is left on the poor people like us, maybe they get the chance to have better life or just leave Palestine to better place.

Thanks everyone

🍉🍉❤️ Support My Family in Gaza: Help Us Reach Our Goal 🇵🇸🍉🍉

We are in urgent need of your help during these challenging times. Our family is going through difficult times and we are trying to rebuild our lives. Every donation, no matter how small, will help us greatly. If you cannot donate, please reblog and share our GoFundMe link.

gofundme.com

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

🍉🇵🇸🍉

Your support brings joy to our hearts and alleviates our stress and anxiety about the uncertain future. Thank you for your support and efforts. 🙏❤️

Please reblog or donate as much as you can.

Note :

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #160 )

Vetted by PaliLiberation 🍉, my number verified on the lis# is ( #95 )

Vetted by ButterflyEffect Project 🦋, my number verified on the list is ( #599 )

Verified by me @a-shade-of-blue

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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.

Give me your attention, please ✋

My campaign has stagnated💔

I am like you, exactly like you.

I was a successful person in my life; I have always been proud of myself, and my family was proud of me too. I had a life, dreams, and ambitions that I was striving for. My life was full of lectures, volunteering, teaching students, and adventures, but for more than 389 days, all of this stopped completely! Can you feel my broken heart? Can you imagine how I feel at this moment? Tell me what I can write for you to feel me and offer help to me and my family by donating and sharing?!

Hello, I'm Ola, a graduate student from the faculty of science - Al-Azhar University in G@za P@lestine. I truly appreciate you taking a moment to read my story. As you reading my message, myself and my family, “my mother, father, three sisters, and my little brother,” are trying to survive under all kinds of suffering including but not limited to fear, instability, and starvation, thirst, and poverty in northern G@za.

After the prices went up so crazy, I created this campaign to help my family provide food, drink and essential needs. I know for sure that you can't help all families that want your help but at least you can help those who come across your life.

I sincerely hope you can empathize with our dire situation and consider supporting us.

And yes, even the smallest amount can help because it's all about a collection of these small amounts until we reach our final goal and be able to rebuild our lives.

I am the eldest daughter who has to help herself and her family, but of course I will not be able to do it alone. Will you help me with that?!

Thank you for standing by me. ❤️

Please donate and/or reblog 🥺🙏🇵🇸

gofundme.com

Donate to Ola's Family Call for your Support Amid Crisis, organized by Nesma Khazendar

Hello, I'm Ola, a graduate student from the faculty of science - Al-Azh… Nesma Khazendar needs your support for Ola's Family Call for your S

My campaign has been vetted by:

@90-ghost here,

@northgazaupdates here

@el-shab-hussein , and @nabulsi 's spreadsheet of vetted campaigns #205.

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe @sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @transmutationdice @sawasawako @appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @turtletoria @tortiefrancis @ot3 @amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchameleon @dykesbat @komsomolka @notallmensheviks @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @stuckinapril @lacecap @determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @rooh-afza @shesnake @emil @stuckinapril @side-sidecast @brokenbackmountain @paper-mario-wiki @turian @buttercuparry @littlegermanboy @imjustheretotrytohelp

We can do it‼️

This campaign is for a doctor who works in the hospital and does not have time to publish her campaign‼️ It is our duty to help her as she helps the wounded in the bombing. Let's do a favor for the doctor

Every dollar will be a reward for her for alleviating the pain of those injured by the bombing.

This campaign has been verified

@\nabulsi @\el-shab-hussein here

Donate or share the link.

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Dr. Shahad and Farah complete their education, organized by Nassima Benbekhti

My name is Shahad Pharmacy student I have always strived to achie… Nassima Benbekhti needs your support for Help Dr. Shahad and Farah comple

@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @zigcarnivorous @z-moves @aleciosun @fluoresens @khizuo @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @girlinafairytale @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @anyonghalimaw @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygourie @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @imjustheretotrytohelp

We’re just one step away from achieving our goal—only $485 separates us from raising the $10000 needed to bring stability to our family. 🌿💞

This campaign isn’t just about numbers; it’s about providing hope and a future after the hardships of displacement. 🛤️🌟

Your generosity has brought us this far, and we’re so close to the finish line. 🕊️

Let’s make this dream a reality together. 🤲💖

Be the difference today. 🌟 Even the smallest contribution can help us reach our goal. Donate now:

https://gofund.me/abbc2759

Wait, don't skip this post‼️

Please help this family reach their goal so they can have a better chance of survival!

horrible news, everyone - while we were able to get samah all of the money for the urgent treatment for her son, her baby had to be transferred to a cardiology hospital that specialises in heart care.

staying at this hospital, in addition to the tests he has had to undergo, costs an additional $550 - an amount she once again isn't able to pay

they have told her she needs to pay this amount by wednesday, thursday at the latest - or they will refuse to care for her baby

please, let's help her once again get what her baby needs

Ko-fi

Support CAM.exe on Ko-fi! ❤️. ko-fi.com/systemprotocol

Support CAM.exe On Ko-fi. Ko-fi lets you support the people and causes you love with small donations

her campaign has been shared by 90-ghost

she requested i use my ko-fi as shown here

$30 / $550

Hoping he can recover soon <3

please remember that a ceasefire has not been reached yet and that israel's attacks have actually recently ramped up. people are also still being starved. combat this by donating to gaza soup kitchen