MORE PALESTINIAN ESCAPE FUNDS CLOSE TO THEIR GOAL

Is This The Life "Eileen" Deserves ?!

The color of her eyes is not blue or green, it is yellow, and her face is the same. I'm Mahmoud and she is Eileen, my niece and my spoiled child. She is 8 years old, Malnutrition and unhealthy eating due to the war is what did this to her. We took her to the hospital several times. A doctor says It is a "liver epidemic", and another doctor says it is a "breakdown in the blood", and another doctor says it is a "disease common among children", but everyone agreed that it is due to malnutrition. My niece, Eileen, is a beautiful girl and does not deserve what is happening to her.

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She desperately need your support to provide her with life-saving medical care, Every donation, no matter how small, Helps.

Please consider donating today to help survive this unimaginable ordeal. By sharing this post, you can help Eileen and our family survived , we have lost a lot and we do not want to lose any more.. 💔🍉

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Donate to Help save my family to survive the genocide in Gaza, organized by Mahmoud AlBalawi

Hi world , it’s Mahmoud Please read this as if you were in my… Mahmoud AlBalawi needs your support for Help save my family to survive th

Please help Eileen and our family get the life they deserve 🙏🍉

sorry to be negative on the dash but..... y'all need to be nicer to fanfic writers. we all know interactions are decreasing, and even during the nine months i've been on here, i've noticed a decrease.

tell writers you like their works. comment on their works, reblog their works.

some of you act so entitled, and idk if you've noticed but you're literally making writers miserable. it makes me so sad to see my mutuals deactivate because the joy of writing has been taken away from them by ungrateful readers who are constantly demanding more, more, more, to the point where people are experiencing burnout and anxiety because they can't keep up with the constant unrealistic demands.

reminder that even though it takes you five minutes to read 1k words it might've taken the writer hours to get the words down, proofread, edit, and make the perfect fic layout.

some of you complain that there are no "good" fics anymore, yet you do nothing for the fandom, do nothing to support writers and just hide behind anon and blank blogs, complaining about every little thing till you've driven all writers off this site.

it's so tiring. please be kinder. we're all trying our best here.

That nonsexual intimacy of just being in each other's spaces, of gravitating towards each other, always subconsciously reaching out to each other. Finding comfort and satisfaction in being close to each other, breathing each other in, existing together.

"If you're freaky, you're hot. If you're hot, you're freaky." - Pedro Pascal

Palestinians, 1979. Thomas Billhardt,

…yea sure why not?

-

baker!simon who’s known for the bit he’s got going on – something you wished your friends would’ve told you because the first time you walked into the niche bakery (at six am to boot) and saw simon, big and tall and inked and masked simon, you screamed bloody murder.

“jesus-!” he yelled back in surprise, almost dropping a tray of freshly baked shortbreads before whipping his head up to see what was going on only to feel like he’s been punched in the gut because there you stood by the entrance, bundled up with thick jackets like you’re preparing for winter even though fall was just settling in, your hair a haggard mess and your face gaunt from exhaustion, and looking like all parts of simon’s dream woman.

“um,” you stammered, staring at him with wide eyes and trembling hands, your heart hammering in your chest as you began to panic. “i, uh. i’m…?”

simon watched as you continued to stammer before finally taking pity on you. he placed the tray on the counter and turned to fully present himself to you, spreading his arms out in hopes that it would show you that he’s not dangerous. that you would see his flour-covered apron and see that all he’s got going on in life is baking, and then instantly be enamoured with him.

“you here for breakfast?” he asked, clearing his throat upon hearing the awkward croak of his voice. thank god for his mask because he was able to hide the flush of his cheeks, allowing him to continue to play it cool in front of you.

“yes?” you replied, still confused as to why the… baker? was wearing a homemade skull mask.

“sure,” he said and you watched as he wiped his hands on his apron. “come over here then. what’d you want to order?”

baker!simon who isn’t really a big sweets enthusiast but whose desserts are the best in the block. you asked him what made him pursue this career and you watched as he stilled, his face falling slack like he can see something you couldn’t – like he is reliving a memory – before shaking himself with a deep inhale and finally whispering, “for my brother.”

you did not probe any further, your heart heavy with guilt, but simon just turned to you with a small smile and asked, “wanna hear about ‘im?”

he gathered you in his arms as he recounted the few fond memories he has of his childhood, and you breathed him in, smelling the faint smell of macaroons and toasted butter on his skin.

baker!simon who begins dedicating his daily special treats to you. “for the apple of my eye,” when it’s apple fritters day. “for my beloved cheri,” on cherry pie day. “for my precious sugar,” on sugar cookies day.

baker!simon who proudly prances around in his frilly pink apron that has “husband material” embroidered on the chest. you gave it to him as a gag gift but simon loves it so much that he began to wear it to work, showing it off to his friends with a deep chuckle.

“my girl got it f’r me,” he says to johnny. “pretty, isn’t it?”

johnny nods amidst laughter, his body folded into himself as he clutches the counter for support.

-

fuck. baker!simon might even be better than biker!simon

Hello. This is Mahmoud. I hope you are well. May I ask you please to check my new post and consider sharing my new blog in a post or reblogging it? My campaign was vetted by el-shab-hussein #151 on the "Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List'' as explained in my recent blog. Thank you in advance!!! https://www.tumblr.com/mahmoudkhalafff/755062755057434624/what-do-i-and-my-family-in-gaza-matter-anyway?source=share

wishing you and your family all the best, mahmoud 🫶🏼 aroha nui brother

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Donate to Death chases my family in Gaza; help me save them, organized by Mahmoud Khalaf

People say: "Family always comes First," and to that, I say: "Amen!".… Mahmoud Khalaf needs your support for Death chases my family in Gaza;

There are currently ZERO functioning hospitals in Gaza City.

If you get injured: You die.

I'm Nour Alanqar, and reaching out to you during a time of unimaginable hardship. I am 26 years old, married to Ashraf Ismail, who is 32, and together we have three beautiful children: Hussein, 6, Rajaa, 5, and Youssef, just 10 months old. Our lives have been turned upside down by the devastating war in Gaza, and we desperately need your help.

My daughter Rajaa is a radiant beam of sunshine, bringing boundless joy, warmth, and love to everyone she meets.

On a dark night at the beginning of the war, our area was subjected to massive bombing. The explosions reached our home, forcing us to flee into the night, running amidst periodic explosions and searching for survival. We made our way to southern Gaza by morning, seeking refuge in Rafah.

This is our home, filled with our memories and moments of joy and happiness, now reduced to rubble. Its destruction shattered our hearts.

In Rafah, we found shelter in a crowded warehouse filled with strangers, all of us struggling to find basic necessities like food, water, safety, and cleanliness. Despite these challenges, we were again hit by direct bombardment. My husband was injured in the shoulder, and the scene around us was filled with blood and corpses. The cries of my children in those moments still echo in my head.

A fragment of what it once was, and now, what it has become.

We moved several times to places described as safe, only to face new tragedies. During this period, my precious daughter Raja contracted hepatitis, adding to our suffering.

It was incredibly difficult for me to endure these disasters, especially as I was in the process of giving birth. Youssef was deprived of proper breastfeeding and the necessary nutrition for his age. Hussein's right to education and a safe childhood have been cruelly taken from him.

My baby Youssef, whom I clung to throughout the war, running with him through the rubble of shattered homes to escape.

At an age when Hussein should have been enjoying his childhood, all his rights were taken away from him.

Our situation is dire, and we need your support to rebuild our lives and provide a future for our children. Your kindness and generosity can make a profound difference. Your contributions will help us secure safe shelter, access to medical care, and the basic necessities of life.

Please, consider helping us during this critical time. Every donation, no matter the size, brings us one step closer to safety, stability, and a chance to rebuild our lives.

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Donate to Rebuilding Live: A Mother's Plea for Hope and Safety in Gaza, organized by Nour Alanqar

Hello, I'm Nour Alanqar, and reaching out to you during a… Nour Alanqar needs your support for Rebuilding Live: A Mother's Plea for Hope