One light goes out, you find another 🌿
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Three Goblin Art

oozey mess
trying on a metaphor
NASA
occasionally subtle

titsay
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
AnasAbdin

#extradirty
Cosmic Funnies
Keni
almost home
Acquired Stardust
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Discoholic 🪩

pixel skylines
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Mike Driver
art blog(derogatory)
seen from Spain
seen from Malaysia
seen from South Africa

seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Brazil
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from Poland
seen from Brazil

seen from Thailand

seen from Malaysia
@amyritter
One light goes out, you find another 🌿
A true story that happened to me in the Al-Rimal area of Gaza. I am not going to take you into fiction.
I was walking to fill water from a place nearly one kilometer away. The burning hot sun was shining directly on my head, dust surrounded me, and the sound of warplanes echoed above me. My head started hurting badly, my heart was beating very fast, my eyes were trembling, and my body was completely exhausted. Then suddenly, I collapsed onto the ground, a ground soaked with the blood of innocent children.
When I woke up, I found myself inside Al-Shifa Hospital. I asked them what had happened, and they told me that I had been found lying unconscious on the ground. After medical tests, they discovered that my blood level was only 7. They told me my condition was very serious and that I needed urgent treatment because it could lead to my death.
I also suffer from thalassemia, a blood disorder inherited genetically from my mother, which is another reason for the severe drop in my blood levels. In addition, many members of my family urgently need treatment as they also suffer from inherited thalassemia.
Any donation will help pay for our treatment and the medications needed for everyone suffering from severe anemia. Even sharing this message could help save lives. I know many people prefer donating to organizations or larger causes to help more people, but right now I ask you to help save our lives first.
I sincerely beg everyone to share this message because every share can make a huge difference in helping us receive donations and treatment.
Wuthering Heights is a strange, inartistic story. There are evidences in every chapter of a sort of rugged power—an unconscious strength—which the possessor seems never to think of turning to the best advantage. The general effect is inexpressibly painful. We know nothing in the whole range of our fictitious literature which presents such shocking pictures of the worst forms of humanity. Jane Eyre is a book which affects the reader to tears; it touches the most hidden sources of emotion. Wuthering Heights casts a gloom over the mind not easily to be dispelled. It does not soften; it harasses, it extenterates [sic]. ...] It is a sprawling story, carrying us, with no mitigation of anguish, through two generations of sufferers—though one presiding evil genius sheds a grim shadow over the whole and imparts a singleness of malignity to the somewhat disjointed tale. A more natural unnatural story we do not remember to have read. Inconceivable as are the combinations of human degradation which are here to be found moving within the circle of a few miles, the vraisemblance is so admirably preserved; there is so much truth in what we may call the costumery (not applying the word in its narrow acceptation)—the general mounting of the entire piece—that we readily identify the scenes and personages of the fiction; and when we lay aside the book it is some time before we can persuade ourselves that we have held nothing more than imaginary intercourse with the ideal creations of the brain. The reality of unreality has never been so aptly illustrated as in the scenes of almost savage life which Ellis Bell [Emily Brontë's pen name] has brought so vividly before us. The book wants relief. A few glimpses of sunshine would have increased the reality of the picture and given strength rather than weakness to the whole. There is not in the entire dramatis personae a single character which is not utterly hateful or thoroughly contemptible. If you do not detest the person, you despise him; and if you do not despise him, you detest him with your whole heart. Hindley, the brutal, degraded sot, strong in the desire to work all mischief, but impotent in his degradation; Linton Heathcliff, the miserable, drivelling coward, in whom we see selfishness in its most abject form; and Heathcliff himself, the presiding evil genius of the piece, the tyrant father of an imbecile son, a creature in whom every evil passion seems to have reached a gigantic excess—form a group of deformities such as we have rarely seen gathered together on the same canvas. The author seems to have designed to throw some redeeming touches into the character of the brutal Heathcliff by portraying him as one faithful to the “idol of his boyhood”—loving to the very last—long, long after death had divided them, the unhappy girl who had cheered and brightened up the early days of his wretched life. Here is the touch of nature which makes the whole world kin—but it fails of the intended effect. There is a selfishness—a ferocity in the love of Heathcliff, which scarcely suffer it, in spite of its rugged constancy, to relieve the darker parts of his nature. Even the female characters excite something of loathing and much of contempt. Beautiful and loveable in their childhood, they all, to use a vulgar expression, “turn out badly.” Catherine the elder—wayward, impatient, impulsive—sacrifices herself and her lover to the pitiful ambition of becoming the wife of a gentleman of station. Hence her own misery—her early death—and something of a brutal wickedness of Heathcliff’s character and conduct; though we cannot persuade ourselves that even a happy love would have tamed down the natural ferocity of the tiger. Catherine the younger is more sinned against than sinning, and in spite of her moral defects, we have some hope of her at the last.
Unsigned contemporary review of Wuthering Heights, published January 1848 in Atlas, reproduced in the Norton Critical Editions release of Wuthering Heights (fifth edition). An all-timer in the category of "negative reviews that make the work sound incredibly good."
(The Brontës' poetry and novels were initially published under the masculine pseudonyms Currer, Acton, and Ellis Bell; hence the comparison to Charlotte Brontë''s Jane Eyre. There was also speculation that the three Bell "brothers" were in fact one individual, though this review also notes they could be women, or a mixture of women and men.)
(Dming evil girlfriend) you love me because l am the one virtuous pretense in your fetid black heart
(Dming good girlfriend) you love me because l am your secret shame
when i was born i said hi and then i started tumblr posting immediately
fem lew again :p
we probably gotta stop rating things women do on a scale of empowering/not empowering at some point
If my page suddenly stops posting one day, know that my baby Qais has died. I will never forget the people who saw my child bleeding, suffering, and begging for help, yet chose silence and continued scrolling.
I feel completely broken and deeply ashamed begging strangers for help every day, because this suffering has turned me into a mother forced to sacrifice even her dignity just to keep her child alive.
I want nothing from this world except seeing my baby Qais walk and laugh again. Please donate so I can buy medicine and bandages instead of expired drugs and torn clothes cleaning his wound.
Please donate now Gofundme
Every day, I fear opening my messages and finding nothing, because silence now feels more terrifying than hunger or bleeding. It feels like watching baby Qais disappear. Donate and save him.
Hmm depression
unironically when i’m sick i just chant this shit in my head until it’s over
meow meow meow meow meow
HEATED RIVALRY (2025−) 1.05 "I'll Believe in Anything" [in/sp.]
truly an honor and a privilege getting to witness everyone's first time in public ever every single time i go grocery shopping
It’s a pity we don’t see many female werewolves, considering that are many parallels between lycanthropy and womanhood. The rage, the moon cycle transformation, the blood, the pack protection. The lack of wolfwomen obviously come from an inability to depict women as hairy dirty monsters, and from the misunderstanding of alpha/pack relations. Lycanthropy breaks the societal mould of the ideal feminine woman, just like vampirism breaks the mould of the manly male.