Thinking About Louis' Assertion That "for Claudia, All Humans Died With Charlie" Motherfucker???? You

"Please, do not ignore my story. Your donation and sharing this message is a part of your humanity and support for us. Every help, no matter how small, makes a huge difference in my life and my children's lives. Be our voice, be the hope for those who have lost everything." 🇵🇸🍉🙏🏼

gofundme.com

Donate to Help me save my children from death in the Gaza war, organized by Ahmad Mahmoud

I am Ahmed Mahmoud,34 years old, from Gaza, married with four childr… Ahmad Mahmoud needs your support for Help me save my children from dea

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #521 )✅️

Share, donate, help us survive. 🕊️❤️

In a corner of Gaza, my family and I are drowning in destruction, with the echoes of suffering surrounding us. I sat beside my modest tent, hastily erected after losing my home in the latest bombing. The faces of my family tell stories of patience and resilience, with lines of time etched upon them, as if they were records of unforgettable events. 🇵🇸⏳🍉

I once lived in a small home, filled with the laughter and voices of my children. Today, I have become a witness to the agony of displacement. The bombing forced me to flee with my children after a shell struck our home, leaving behind years of memories and simple belongings I never imagined would become unreachable. 🏚️💨

Every morning, I leave my tent and go to work, using a clay oven to provide food for my children. Meanwhile, my youngest son heads to the charity kitchens that offer aid, waiting for long hours under Gaza’s scorching sun. Despite the exhaustion that weighs down his frail body, he carries the food mixed with his tears and returns with a fake smile, hiding behind it the burdens of his struggles. 🍞🥀

At night, when everyone else is asleep, I remain seated at the entrance of my tent, gazing at the dark sky, reminiscing about days gone by… about my home that was once filled with warmth. Yet, I still find remnants of hope in my heart—a hope that one day peace will return, and my children and I will live in a new home, filled with joy. 🌙🏡✨

In moments of solitude, I find peace in prayer and supplication. I plead to God to protect Gaza and its people, to wipe away the dust of sorrow from our hearts. I always repeat🇵🇸🍉🌿

"We are here to remind the world that we are stronger than war, and we will rebuild our lives anew, no matter the cost!" 🙏

which pokemon is the most baby?

I absolutely will die on this hill, access to fiction that makes your skin crawl and open discussion about it is the best way to keep that skin crawling fiction from happening in reality.

It doesn't matter if it is ~positively~ or negatively portrayed. If you censor it, we don't talk about it, then we can't protect against it.

I think it’s very healthy to spend time alone. You need to know how to be alone and not be defined by another person.

Oscar Wilde

au

To my uk trans people and allies out there.

No one:

Me: The Picture of Dorian Gray but James McAvoy plays all roles.

Dorian:

Basil:

Henry:

thinking about basil hallward and his relationship with religion. the fact that he’s the only(?) explicitly religious character in the book. the way his reaction to the corrupted painting is so inherently tied to religion—he urges dorian to pray and repent. and yet. despite his religion. he so specifically uses the word “worship” about dorian ALL the time. he worships dorian. dorian was made to be worshipped. “i worshipped you too much. i am punished for it.” idk something something idolatry and false gods and religious guilt and homoerotic yearning and being on your knees to worship someone anyways i’m going fucking insane!!

Dorian sat down and let the long, gossamer dressing gown fall from his shoulders, revealing a lithe, youthful body, accentuated by a lacy chemise and bloomers, with a corset that clung to his narrow waist.

Basil felt the vines tighten around his lungs even as his heart hammered at the sight. The perfect, boyish face framed by Grecian curls, the white lace chemise tight against his flat chest, pulled even closer by the corset. Innocence and devilry intertwined in the boy who meant so much to him that he could never speak its name. Basil choked on the unspoken words and into his handkerchief fell a pair of blood red rose petals.

(Read More on AO3)

tomgreg & the picture of dorian gray.