The Term Mary Sue Irks Me

No I don't have a favorite oc wdym 🤨

Anyways, Illustration pose study I did with my bbg Magnolia

GIF version below

I fkin care you guys know the drill go give love pls.

Everyone is so talented on this app I am in love with the setting of it all

Ik no one cares but i wanted to draw my tf2 oc lmaoooo

Please save my children from the Gaza war 🚨😭💔 I am begging you to donate urgently for us. You are our only hope in these difficult and harsh circumstances 🇵🇸😓 I hope everyone will donate if possible or share the post. Thank you for your support and generosity ♥️

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Hello everyone I hope you are all well 👋🤍

we need your support to provide a safe travel opportunity to safety for my aunt the elderly woman who needs food and healthy food, medical care 💔💔.

Also my friends we lost our only home in northern Gaza Strip due to Israeli bombing we hope you can help us rebuild it even with a little bit 💔🙏.

Thank you I hope you are all well 🌹

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I love oc x canon and self ship artists so much. Seeing people talk so passionately about how much they love their f/os and ships fills me with such love and joy and it's incredible how some can even imitate the art style of the medium their f/o originated from. Y'all have my total love and support! 💖👋

Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit

“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.

In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.

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When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.

Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”

nytimes.com

Lessons From a Lifetime of Animal Voyages

There is an animal-size hole at the center of modern life. Some of us will search the world to fill it.

Me when my pookie @joonliebe expresses interest in an old hyperfixation of mine.

Nurse Amélie, my old superjail oc ft. Dok who is @joonliebe 's.

I love them.

Hi

My name is Saeed,I am 19 years old

I live in a dark reality I live in Gaza 🍉

I suffer from the scourge of war, constant bombing,and famine that my family and I are experiencing So I launched a fundraising campaign to move my family and I from the war zone to a safe place

link 👇

https://gofund.me/f585afef

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Please check Islam's new blog here @islamgzacc4

Islam, a 27-year-old physical therapist from Gaza, needs urgent help after his home was destroyed by Israeli bombings. Now, he and his family, including his 85-year-old grandfather who lost a hand in an earlier attack, are without shelter. They are struggling to find clean water and food, and with winter coming soon, they worry the tent they live in will flood again, just like last year.

Recently, Islam shared another heartbreaking update: his mother has been diagnosed with malignant cancer. Years of war, limited access to healthcare, and the toxic conditions caused by ongoing bombings have severely impacted her health. Now, in addition to securing necessities, Islam is focused on providing his mother with the treatment she urgently needs.

Islam tries very hard to share his story through his blog, but it has been banned four times, making it difficult to tell people what is happening. To help his family, Islam made a GoFundMe to raise £30,000 for food, water, and shelter. Sadly, only £3,000 has been collected so far, and they still need a lot more to survive.

This fundraiser is confirmed by trusted sources like @gaza-evacuation-funds, @90-ghost, @northgazaupdates2, @riding-with-the-wild-hunt, and @mushroomj.

Every small donation or share can make a big difference in helping Islam and his family during this hard time.

Please donate to Islam’s GoFundMe if you can. If you cannot donate, sharing this post will help spread his message. Together, we can give hope to Islam and his family.

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Hello dear🚨🚨. I am Hesham from Palestine from Gaza and I speak to you with a sad heart about what happened to me and my family, I was seriously injured in the war in my left foot since March 2024, and until today I have not received treatment. I am married and have 4children Oday, Mahoud and Mohamedand Noor, my wifeSalam gave birth to a baby girl, but unfortunately as a result of the war my child died due to lack of food and water, air pollution and lack of money. And share the link on social media that will be kind of you. May God make you happy all your life, thank you. Please help us get out of life's crises and the woes of war.🌿

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