I’m So Proud Of Myself For The First Time In Forever Omg
i’m so proud of myself for the first time in forever omg
i’m eating >1000 cals per day naturally with no restriction?? who even am i 😻
i sometimes just put off eating for a while then end up forgetting omg
i prayed for times like these 🙏
More Posts from Mxriisbored and Others
you never hated summer, you just hated your body
click the link to help the uyghur muslims‼️‼️
🍉Please don't skip !!🍉
🇵🇸Please help me by donate and reblug🇵🇸
Hello, my name is Amal Ghilan, I am 25 years old, a mother of three children (Abdullah 8 years old, Salwa 6 years old, and the youngest is Nour 9 months old). We were living in a beautiful house full of happiness until this war of extermination came, our house was bombed on the third day of the war (and I was eight months pregnant at the time), our house and car were destroyed 😭
my father-in-law and my husband’s sister were killed, and we lost our only source of income, so we were displaced from one place to another more than once, and I suffered from severe malnutrition during my pregnancy due to the lack of bread until the time came for my delivery, so I did not have a warm crib or even clothes to protect my little girl from the cold of winter 😢, and we were in December, where the journey of childbirth is difficult without medical care, so I left the hospital with my little girl to that damned tent that was eating our bodies from the severity of the cold, as my children did not have warm clothes to relieve them from the bitter cold, and suddenly we saw death with our own eyes from the occupation tanks, so we were forced to move again to Rafah, despite the difficulty of displacement, it is very expensive in addition to the high price All the goods were crazy and we had no source of income which made my children suffer from severe malnutrition. 😔
Then in May we were forced to leave Rafah and go to a shelter school in Al-Maghazi where we lived with 6 families in one classroom. Suddenly the school was bombed and we escaped certain death, so we were forced to move to a tent in the Mawasi area of Khan Yunis where the sun’s rays began to burn our skin and melt our bodies. My children were afflicted with skin diseases and amoebiasis due to the scarcity and scarcity of water and the difficulty of bringing and carrying it from long distances under the scorching sun. And here we are suffering daily inside this hateful tent that does not protect from the heat of the sun or the cold of winter. I hope that you will help me save my children by evacuating them outside of Gaza before it is too late.
@appsa @brutaliakhoa @turian @malcriada @neptunerings @thetownwecallhome
@timetravellingkitty @tiredguyswag @brokenbackmountain @imjustheretotrytohelp @sylvianritual
@magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @aces-and-angels @marnota @cenobutch @transmutationisms
@schoolhater @three-croissants @briarhips @kellkyy
@appsa @90-ghost @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @nabulsi @sar-soor @sayruq @queerstudiesnatural @appsa @communistchilchuck @fairuzfan @neptunerings @just-browsing1222 @appsa @akajustmerry @feluka @marnota @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisection-gf @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @animentality @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @violetlyric-blog @the-bastard-king @tamaytka @4ft10tvlandfangirl @northgazaupdates @skatehan @awetistic-things @nightowlssleep @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @friendshapedplant @mangocheesecakes @commissions4aid-international
Look.
I have made you a chart. A very simple chart.
People say "You have to draw the line somewhere, and Biden has crossed it-" and my response is "Trump has crossed way more lines than Biden".
These categories are based off of actual policy enacted by both of these men while they were in office.
If the ONLY LINE YOU CARE ABOUT is line 12, you have an incredible amount of privilege, AND YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT PALESTINIANS. You obviously have nothing to fear from a Trump presidency, and you do not give a fuck if a ceasefire actually occurs. You are obviously fine if your queer, disabled, and marginalized loved ones are hurt. You clearly don't care about the status of American democracy, which Trump has openly stated he plans to destroy on day 1 he is in office.
i hate feeling full, i want to feel empty forever
intro since i’m gonna try to be active🎀
hi!! im new to posting on edblr but not new to being on it 🩷
STATS!
HEIGHT: 5’2
SW: 131
CW: 118
GW 1: 120✅ GW 2 115 ❌ UGW 110-107 ❌
any tips are appreciated🤍
I Missed My Funeral
jason todd x reader
aka you learn what happened to jason
warnings: detailed discussion of how jason died, this is not so happy but i can promise you my jason angst will always have comfort
You wonder if your nightmares are accurate.
Your brain is probably just conjuring up every worst case scenario it can fathom, but maybe there’s truth to one of them. You hope not.
It’s something you haven’t been able to keep out of your mind these past few weeks, and everything seems to remind you of it. When you see his guns, when you’re using a knife to cut up dinner, when you see a car crash on the news, or even when you walk past a fucking pharmacy. The thoughts are everywhere, all the time.
Even as you lay in bed, head on his chest, your mind keeps on drifting where you wish it wouldn’t.
You know he died. He never said it out loud, but you’d seen his autopsy scar plenty of times. You’d always refrained from asking questions, he seemed nervous enough the first handful of times he was around you with his shirt off. Enough time has passed that he’s comfortable being shirtless around you, even okay when you touch his chest. The decrease in boundaries has granted you more solace in one another, but it’s also caused your mind to go wild with possibilities.
Even now, as you lie against his bare chest, you can’t keep your cat-killing thoughts away.
“You’re being quiet,” He comments, not accusatory, just factual.
You snap out of reverie, “Sorry, I—”
His hand soothes up and down your arm without pause, “Don’t be sorry. What’s going on?”
“I just…” you look down, thinking over your words. “What…what happened to you?” You ask quietly.
He goes still.
You immediately regret bringing it up, sitting up from his chest to meet his eyes, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to—”
He shakes his head. The slightest response from him shuts you right up. “No, it’s…it’s okay. Probably should’ve said something by now.”
He nudges your head back down to his chest and you oblige, trying to relax your body against him again. It’s a difficult thing to talk yourself into when his isn’t any more relaxed.
“I…you know I used to be Robin?” His voice is low, hesitant.
You nod.
“Well…I made a mistake—a few mistakes. I wasn’t as careful as I should’ve been and I walked into a trap.”
You’re sure he’s placing more blame on himself than he should, though you don’t know enough to fight him on it yet. You wrap your hand around his forearm that drapes across your chest, a silent affirmation that you’re here with nothing but support and reassurance.
His breath stutters, “The, uh…the Joker set me up and…well, he killed me.”
You don’t want to ask how. You don’t want to know how. But you feel like you have to and it’s selfish and you know that but you can’t leave just it at that.
It’s a barely audible whisper. You’re not even sure Jason could fully hear the word, but he understands the intent anyway.
His next exhale is shaky, “Yeah, um, that’s the rough part.”
Your head twitches. “That’s the rough part?” You breathe out, scared to hear what’s next.
You can’t see from this angle, but Jason’s eyes are welling over, trying desperately not to let tears fall. It takes him a moment to prepare himself to verbalize the next part.
“He…he be—” he stops himself. “…He hit me with a crowbar. A lot.”
Oh.
You can physically feel your chest sink.
That’s worse than all the horrifying scenarios you’d built up in your head. That’s…he was beaten to death. For trying to help people.
You don’t want to leave him in the silence for too long, so you ask the only thing you can think to.
“How old were you?”
He drops his head to press his mouth against your head, like he’s trying to ground himself. “Fifteen,” He murmurs into your hair.
Oh.
You flip over so you’re chest to chest with him and hold him tight. “I’m sorry.”
He wasn’t expecting you to say that. The very very few times he’s had anything even remotely relating to this conversation, the revelation is always met by silence. Or worse.
But you’re sorry. No one’s ever said that to him before. About anything, but especially this. What does sorry even mean in this context? You didn’t do anything, are you sorry for asking? Do you…do you feel bad for him?
He swallows hard, “You’re sorry?”
“Yeah,” You say, furrowing your brow. “You’re a good person, Jay. You’re a really good person and…you didn’t deserve any of the shit that happened to you. Especially that. I hate that you’ve been through so much and I’m sorry.”
He refuses to blink but the tears are threatening to win anyways with nowhere else to go.
He shakes his head weakly, “It was my own fault.”
“Jason,” you say seriously. “It was not your fault. You were trying to help someone, weren’t you?”
It takes him a moment to respond to that. “I—yeah. Yes. My mom. My birth mom.” He takes a breath, “He, uh, he was blackmailing her and I tried to help her—I tried. But she gave me up to try and save herself…it didn’t matter in the end.”
While you didn’t know about the history with his birth mom, you’d been sure he’d died helping someone. That’s just who he is—whether he knows it or not.
“There was a bomb and it…” He lets that bit trail off. “I don’t remember the explosion. I think I passed out before it happened.”
He doesn’t remember the explosion. But…
He does remember the other part.
You have to drop your head into his neck so that he doesn’t see the way your eyes well up.
“Please know you’re a good person. Please,” you plead. “You’re the best person I know.”
“But…” his breath comes out shaky, “No one…no one did anything.”
The tears fall now, and in spite of the fact that he hasn’t let himself cry in front of anyone since he was ten, he doesn’t feel the usual burning impulse to hide. Not from you.
His voice breaks as he says, “He killed me and he didn’t…”
You sit up straight again and hold his face in your hands, looking him in the eye. “That’s not your fault. Whatever Bruce did or didn’t do, it has nothing to do with you. It’s all about him.”
You gently wipe his tears with your thumb as the weight of his head drops forward, leaving your touch the only thing holding him up.
You know he has…problems with Bruce. You know his death is a sore subject among them for more reasons than the obvious. You also know the Joker still lives and breathes today and there’s some sort of rule or agreement that Jason isn’t allowed out on patrol when he’s loose.
There’s clear trust issues there, on both sides, but you’ve always had trouble figuring out what exactly Bruce had done to leave Jason so closed off. It pushed him away from his family and caused potentially irreparable scarring to his ability to trust other people. It actually makes a lot of sense that this is what caused the rift between them—you’d been thinking maybe Bruce was the reason Jason died or he couldn’t stop it, but this…this is a different kind of damaging. Fuck, no wonder Jason feels like he doesn’t belong in his family.
You take a heavy breath, “You’re important. You’re important to me and whatever moral roadblocks Bruce couldn’t get over doesn’t change that—it has nothing to do with how good you are.”
You’re definitely crying now but at this point it doesn’t matter. It’s more important for him to hear this than for you to pretend like this isn’t as horrible as it is.
He doesn’t look up at you but you can see his own tears dripping off his face. You don’t see him cry very much at all, and definitely not like this.
You sniffle, “Do you wanna switch?”
He nods against your palms and lets you out of his hold to sit up as he shifts lower on the bed and wraps his arms around your torso. You weave one of your hands in his hair and stroke softly. The other rubs soothing patterns on his back, feeling the heaviness of his breath under it.
You kiss the top of his head, “I love you. So much.”
He holds you tighter, murmuring “I love you,” into your chest.
It’s quiet for several minutes after as you both process the words said.
You’re the first to pipe up again, “How did…”
He exhales, “Ah…it’s a little complicated…”
He wants to talk about it another time. That’s fine by you.
Another silent minute passes before, “Bruce isn’t…he’s not a bad…we had a lot of problems after I came back. Both of us. Took a while to get over ‘em.” There’s a beat before, “Still getting over ‘em.”
You nod, continuing tracing onto his back. His voice is clearer again, stronger.
“Is that why you don’t like being at the batcave?” you ask.
“No,” he murmurs. “It’s ‘cause he keeps the suit on display.”
You look down at him, frowning. “What suit?”
“The robin suit.”
You pause.
“That robin suit?”
He nods.
…what
for clarification bc i think i thought this was canon oh well
🔮🕯️the reblog witch bids you do her bidding 🕯️🔮
Having an ed and not being skinny is torture😭 st4rving and being fat feels so pointless.
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