Gay fanfiction

Occasional fanfiction | 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈 | He/Him | 24 y/o

[bye-bye-gremlings]

Masterlist

Started: 06/05/2026

Updated:

Total works so far: 6

A/N: Some of these are really old, so don´t mind the bad writing 😄😄😄 Also, I´ve gotten more into the groove of "active" writing, so hopefully there will be more stories/chapters fairly soon (but don`t hold your breath 😄)

The Pitt 🩺

John Shen

"Fuck! Ouch!"

Grey`s Anatomy 🩺

Mark Sloan

Mads Mikkelsen 🎭

Part 1

Part 2

Palaye Royale 🎵

Remington Leith

Sebastian Danzig

[trickgenderr]

: ̗̀➛ Runaway

pairing: teen!billy butcher x m!reader

theme: angst + fluff

cw: weed and alcohol

happy pride month 🍆

Friday night, the basement is filled with the smell of smoke and booze. The old radio was playing music in the background, static occasionally interrupting the electric guitar solos of some local station that was playing bad punk music. With a huff you reached over, trying to adjust the antenna.

"You really gotta have to update that ol' thing." Billy chuckled from the other side of the couch, a bottle of cheap alcohol placed between his legs and a badly rolled joint dangling between his fingers. He looked really out of it, giggling at everything and anything. But you didn't even mind, automatically joining in his fits of giggles. It's not like you were any more sober than he was.

"Do you have any money?" You slurred, turning your head to glance at him with a wobbly grin.

"No." Billy huffed, raising an eyebrow at you. "What does that have to do with your radio?"

"If you have a problem with my radio, you could at least buy me a new one." You responded, still grinning at him. It was just a silly joke, and seeing the confusion on his face made it even funnier. You swore you saw the wheels turning in his head before he fell into another fit of giggles.

You don't even really remember how Billy started being your friend. Is he even your friend? Well, he's sitting in your basement, your parent's basement, drinking some cheap beer and smoking some sketchy weed you bought from your local dealer. Or maybe stole. Same thing.

The other boy had been your classmate for a while, an outsider, a troublemaker, or whatever teachers liked to call him. But eventually, you started talking, maybe because he was so similar to yourself. A sad teenager with a lot of psychological problems. Just that you didn't see yourself or him like that. The world just didn't understand you or whatever teenagers liked to tell themselves.

You got along well, well enough that you shared everything with him. Not just your booze and drugs but even your bed whenever he was running away from his father again. He was your friend, or best friend, or maybe something else. But during times like these, too high to function, it didn't matter much to you. Neither does he seem care.

"Do ya' sometimes just wanna run off?" Billy murmured, his accent thicker, his voice slurred. At this point, you weren't 6 feet apart anymore. Your limbs were tangled together, his head leaning on your chest. You were sure he was going to fall asleep sooner or later, right on top of you. Hopefully, your father won't walk down the stairs; he really doesn't need to see you huddled together with another boy.

"Run to where?" You muttered back, staring up at the ceiling. There was no more weed to smoke, and you felt too sick to have another sip of alcohol.

"Anywhere." Billy's breath was calm, his arm wrapped around your middle. Was it considered gay to lay together like that? "I thought of going to the military."

"Why would you do that?" You almost felt bad for laughing, but the thought of running away just to join the army and roll around in mud just felt odd to you. But maybe that was just you. Because a lot of boys your age were talking about joining the military. Maybe you thought about it once or twice as well.

"Dunno." Billy hummed as he shifted even closer to you. "Would you come with me?"

"Sure." Did you really think about it? No. Did you just agree because you're high out of your mind? Probably. But you also meant it at the moment. You would go anywhere with him right now, even if you had other plans with your life.

"Cool." It was the last thing that came from him before you felt quiet snoring vibrating through his chest. Maybe life will be kinder to him in the future, that's what you hoped. It doesn't matter if he's your friend or not; you do care where he went and how he was feeling. At least you do in this moment, with his weight pressing you into the old basement couch.

[bye-bye-gremlings]

Really freaking cute. Loved it 💕💕

[orangeboulevard]

I'll Spend My Money On You

So... I just got into this show and I'm already on like season two episode 7. It's so gooooddd. My favourite old man (even if he's being such a dick rn in the show)

Content: Established Michael Robinavitch x male reader, secret relationship, some characters mentioned in background

Dynamics: Older man x younger man, biker buds ig lmao

Word count: 1040

I've uploaded this like five times, it better format right this time

Entering the ER where your boyfriend works, you're struck by the level of organised chaos. Nurses rushing back and forth, patients on carts being wheeled away, and the overhead boards filled with a backlog of patients waiting in the waiting room; you do not envy the job these people do, but damn are you grateful for their work. 

You pull off your sleek black motorcycle helmet and tuck it under your arm as you glance around for Michael. You don't notice the raised brows of interest and the appraising looks down your body from the nurses nearby. 

"Hey there, young man, you lookin' for somebody?" A woman with clipped-back blonde hair asks you, a polite smile on her face and a no-nonsense demeanour - one look at her badge tells you that she's the 'nurse leader'. 

"Oh, yeah, is Michael Robinavitch around?" You offer a friendly smile, "I'm a- a friend." 

"Yeah?" The lady, Dana Evans, nods and gestures for you to take a seat at a nearby desk, "I'll try to find him for you, hun, but he might be busy, sit tight." 

"Sure, no worries," you shake your head, settling down into the seat, "Thank you." 

She waves you off with a 'no worries' and your eyes follow her as she effortlessly navigates through the busy aisle, further into the ER. You accidentally make eye contact with the two nurses stationed at the desk and give them a nod and a smile of acknowledgement. 

You can hear them whisper to each other in a language you don't understand, "Kaibigan yan ni Dr Robby? Sa tingin mo, single siya?" 

The one with a headscarf chuckles quietly and playfully smacks the other, "Subukang huwag magambala sa bawat guwapong mukha."

You awkwardly glance around, kissing your teeth as you wait for Michael to show up. You know he's a busy man, which is precisely why you brought him lunch - the man would, no doubt, only down a couple of protein bars or two, and a fruit if it's a good day. However, if it's a meal you lovingly bought for him? Well, you'd know he'd feel guilty not eating it. Is this classed as manipulation? Whatever, it's for a good cause. 

"Hey, pretty boy," A hoarse voice calls for your attention and you glance up, addressing you is an older woman handcuffed to a wheelchair, "Didn't know the hospital had a rent boy service nowadays." 

Your brows shot up before a laugh escaped you, "Oh, I'm not a rent boy, unfortunately." Did you look like one, what did a 'rent boy' even look like-?

"No?" The woman gave you a leery grin. "Here I was hoping I could take you for a spin," she playfully scooted her wheelchair closer. 

Before another incredulous laugh could escape your lips, a familiar voice arrested both you and the woman's notice, "Myrna, I hope you're not harassing my friend here?" Michael's voice is lilted in amusement. 

"Oh, 'friend' is it?" Myrna looked between you two before scoffing a laugh, "Whatever, fruitcake, have fun with your boytoy." She blew a condescending kiss before rolling on. 

"Again, let's not with the insults," Michael half-heartedly scolded, rolling his eyes at the middle finger he received back. 

"She seems charming," you grin, "Are all your patients like that?" 

Michael turns to you, eyes softening slightly before he shakes his head, "No, no... Myrna is her own brand of special. Is everything okay?" His eyes scanned over you, looking for any injuries or maybe using the concern as a guise to appreciate you in denim and leather. 

"Oh yeah," You shake your head instantly, "Don't worry. I just brought you lunch though." Holding up the grease-stained brown bag, "I don't know how well the burger held up after a motorcycle ride but hey, at least I didn't steal any of your fries." 

Michael takes the bag and the soda can you hand over gratefully, "You really didn't have to-" 

"No," You admit with a shrug, "but I wanted to. It's almost like I like you or something. It's crazy." 

He chuckles at your humour, brown eyes gazing into yours with no small amount of tenderness and fondness, and damn, if he wasn't at work right now, he'd spend the time to give you a proper thank you. The sight of you, so casually handsome, waiting for him at his desk, smiling up at him; him- a man, a decade or two your senior, you could have anyone you wanted... yet you still want him. Obviously, there's something wrong with you but hell, it makes his chest feel warm. 

"So," You mindlessly fidget with the pen on his desk, "What time do you get off? Wanna get some ice-cream and go for a ride after your shift?" 

"Yknow, with all the junk you eat, it's a wonder you stay in shape," He playfully reprimands.

You gasp in mock affront, pointing the pen at him accusatorially, "Hey! I eat healthy... Enough. Whatever, old man, you're just jealous that I still have metabolism." 

Michael's brows raise at your cheek and he has to bite back a grin, "Is it me or are you being especially bratty today?"

"Wow," You shake your head and laugh, discarding the pen and standing up, "I try to do something nice and what do I get for my troubles? Insults. I'm hurt, yknow?" 

He leans in and to anyone else, it looks like he's just grabbing something from his desk behind you, but he whispers low in your ear, "Hurt?- Want me to kiss it all better when I get home?"

You lock eyes with him, a heated glance is shared between you two before your pulling on your helmet to hide your blush, "You better." 

"I promise." Michael isn't aware of the stupid smile that's on his face as he watches you walk out; how you effortlessly lifted his mood with your banter and reactions never ceased to surprise him, it's as if you knew just what to say and when to say it. 

"Incoming trauma, five minutes ETA," Dana informs from where she's suddenly at his side, a subtle sly smile on her lips, "C'mon pack it in, Romeo." 

"I'm not- it's not-" 

"Sure, whatever you say." 

[bye-bye-gremlings]

So cute 🥰

[bye-bye-gremlings]

"Fuck! Ouch!"

John Shen x Husband!Male reader

(Divider credit to @pixopix)

Summary: You accidentally slice your thumb open with a cat food can lid. Well, atleast now you get to visit your husband, while he's at work. Oh, and meet his coworkers for the first time ever. Oops.

Warnings: Blood, cut on thumb, stitches, cursing, fluff, kissing, hidden relationship/marriage (not on purpose though)

WC: 1149

A/N: There for sure is going to be some grammatical errors, since english is not my native language, but I've tried my best to double check. There might also be some notes left from me if something I wrote might not make that much sense to you, but it might to me (I guess lol) so, you can also just ignore those 😄

Do not: post this anywhere else, feed it into AI chats or AI things in general or translate!!

(Divider credit to @saradika-graphics)

"Dexter!! Are you hungry?" You yelled from the kitchen, while making yourself a late dinner —caesar salad and french fries—a girl dinner if you will.

The meowing and heavy pitter patter of Dexter the maine coon, could be heard coming down the stairs, where presumably, he was playing with John's socks, that he had forgotten to throw in the hamper.

"I have some of your chicken and liver pâté that your dad insists we buy. He says it's better for your little tummy and your fur too. Do you like it, Dexter?" A few resounding meows could be heard from the floor next to you, companied with the gentle pets on your thighs, from Dexter reaching up towards you. "Oh, I guess you really like it then!" You laughed, while patting the top of the cats nogging.

You had gotten the lid of the can open without any problems and were spooning out the pâté onto a cute little plate for Dexter. His meows were getting more frequent and louder in volume once he caught a wiff of the food he oh so loved. "You're gonna have your food soon big boy. Your papa just has to add some water to it to get you to hydrate some more, because you don't drink enough water."

After adding some water and mixing it with the food, you gently placed it on the ground, on Dexter's little place mat, so the dish doesn't move around —and to catch any food flying off the sides of the plate.

You were starting to clean up after yourself, when you decided to put the lid inside the can itself, so it would be easier to recycle, since everything would be together rather than 2 pieces loose in a recycling container (I don't know if that actually makes any sense, but at least I get what I mean lol).

At first, the lid didn't want to go in and that ended up being your ultimate mistake. In a matter of milliseconds, the lid popped up and on it's way out, sliced the pad of your thumb. Deep.

"Fuck! Ouch!" Your blood immediatly started to pool on the kitchen counter. Thank god you hadn't wiped it down yet. You would be even more pissed off if that was the case.

Quickly, you grabbed a dishtowel off of it's hook and wrapped it around your bleeding and throbbing thumb, while starting to make your way to the entryway. "Dexter! Papa has to go to the hospital to see your dad!" A few distressed meows came from the kitchen, where he was still eating his dinner.

Grabbing your car keys, phone and wallet, you hurriedly went out the door, simultaniously trying to call John to tell him you were coming to the ED. He wasn't answering—which was expected—but you still tried a few times, just in case.

Once you arrived to the ER parking lot, you decided to check if the bleeding had subsided. Unfortunately it hadn't. You walked into the ER briskly and got in line to get signed in. The waiting room was moderately full, but still had enough open chairs for you to find a place to sit down in later.

It was finally your turn to sign in. "Hello. What brings you in today?" The kind looking clerk—with the name tag reading Lupe—asked you. "Hi! I accidentally cut myself on the thumb with the lid from a cat food can. It seems quite deep and it's still bleeding pretty badly." Lupe was writing down what you were telling her and then she asked for your insurance and other personal information.

When you told her your last name (Shen) she paused and directed her gaze towards you. After a few seconds she vontinued like nothing happened and told you to sit down, that they will call your name when there is a dictor ready to examine your injury.

You found a seat in a somewhat quiet corner, sat down and just started browsin through various social media apps while waiting.

Meanwhile, while you were waiting, John was helping a kid with a broken ankle.

"So, unfortunately you can't go swimming with the cast on, unless your mom or dad puts this special plastic covering over it." Poor kid had broken his ankle when he had fallen off his bike—and it being the start of the summer break for school kids—sucked even more.

John was going over to the computer to start the discharge paper work, when he glanced at the patient intake board (is that even the actual name for it?? Idk). - - Shen. "What? What the hell?!" He quickly walked to the chairs, paying no mind to his confused and concerned coworkers, who had never seen him this serious and scared, almost terrified.

"Honey?!" John was looking around the waiting room frantically, trying to find the familiar face, among the 10s of strangers' faces. "Babe, are you ok? What happened?" He had his hands on you cheeks the instant he was infront of you, looking over every little thing, when finally he noticed the bloody dishtowel on your hand.

"John, I'm okay. Calm down." You were chuckling at your husband's panicked look. "I just cut my thumb on Dexter's pate can lid. I think I just need a few stitches. That's all." You had your non-injured hand over John's wrist, slowly moving your thumb back and forth, trying to reassure him of your condition.

"You're coming with me. Right now. No husband of mine is waiting 6 hours, to be seen." John took a hold of your wrist and started guiding you towards the doors that lead to the ED floor. You huff quietly, but go with him, because you know he won't relent otherwise.

" Lena! Where's an open room?" Lena looked up confused, seeing Dr. Shen dragging an injured man behind him. She quickly looked at her computer screen, "Central 7 is good to go. Who are you taking in? I'll update the board."

"My husband." He said curtly, moving the curtain blocking the doorway.

"Babe, seriously, I'm okay. You don't need to fuss over me, it's just a small cut. There are people with way more serious injuries in the waiting room." John had already started getting supplies together on a metal tray. He was slightly shaking his head side to side, with a small furrow to his brows. "What kind of husband would I be, if I let my partner stay in the waiting room for who knows how many hours, when I can get it stitched up in 15 minutes? Just... let me take care of you, honey. Okay?"

You had never seen John Shen this serious and frightened. He was always so laid back, nonchalant and unflappable. Obviously he took his work and your guys' relationship seriously, but... this was something else entirely.

A smile started to take over your face, while having a lovesick look in your eyes. "Yes, my dear. I'll let you take care of me."

(Divider credit to @strangergraphics)

I'm going to make this a part 2 or more story, but it's going to come out slowly, because life and writers block 🤦 Hope you liked it!!

[inkdippedquills]

me trying to read the fics that post in that small-ass font.

[deansdeer]

Hi really quickly sorry

FUCK TRUMP

FUCK ICE

FUCK FASCISTS

FUCK ISREAL

FREE PALESTINE

FREE THE CONGO

FREE SUDAN

I LOVE IMMIGRANTS

I LOVE QUEER PEOPLE

I LOVE PEOPLE OF COLOR

HUMAN RIGHTS ARE BASIC RIGHTS

If you support ice, support the genocide, racist, homophobic, maga, or a nazi.

THEN YOU ARE NOT WELCOME ON THIS BLOG.

This isn’t a matter of “opinion” it’s a matter of are you a fascist or are you normal

[and-fishing-equipment]

in 2026 DO NOT ask yourself whether your art is GOOD

instead ask:

is it SINCERE

was it CATHARTIC

was it FUN TO MAKE

is it MADE BY ME

and don't forget to stay silly

[novatheory]

logan howlett, as a soft place to land after a long day—

his boots by the front door. a hallmark that he’s home before you.

your bag, slung to the floor as soon as you enter. shedding the extra weight, realizing just how much you’d been carrying; realizing how bone tired you are.

logan, already sprawled across the couch. mindlessly clicking through the channels and static on the TV. there’s nothing on that he wants to watch—there almost never is—but it helps pass the time, regardless.

one beat. two beats. you stand in the doorway from the front foyer to your living room. for a second, it’s enough to just observe.

your home. your heart. all in one. it’s peaceful.

the crease falls off of your forehead, face relaxing.

logan looks up. he knew you were there, wanted to wait and see what you would do first. his eyebrow quirks at your quietness.

one step. two steps. steady forward, with one mission.

he clicks the TV off. doesn’t make a sound otherwise.

you slink. slow, melting, your body on top of his. legs slot together, forehead against the crook of his neck, arms bracketing his sides.

he’s warm. he smells like pine and smoke and a hint of lingering soap from where he tries to scrub the outside from underneath his fingernails—the subtlety of the way he tries now that he has something precious to hold.

he doesn’t say anything. just lets you mold against him. one hand cradles against the base of your skull; the other somewhere at the small of your back.

enough time passes to signal that you’re where you want to be. logan grunts softly, acknowledging, shifts himself accordingly on the couch. your eyes open just enough to confirm that he’s fine with this.

of course he is.

logan once thought of his inevitability as a curse. he was solid. a constant amongst the years. he could never understand why he stayed, what or who chose him to be different.

but his hand slides underneath your shirt, just for his palm to be against your skin. just to touch, to feel your warmth against his. just to feel the way your shoulders lower in response.

he thinks maybe there’s a reason, after all.

[chxrry-bombs]

5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.

What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒

[tgtbata]

someone must have been praying for me

[bye-bye-gremlings]

LOVE. IT. 😍😍

[lifehacksthatwork]

Signs of a heart attack are different for each gender yet we only really teach the male warning signs. Make sure you’re aware of both and spread it to as many other women as possible!

[branwyn-says]

EVERY SINGLE TIME I HAVE TAKEN A CPR CLASS I have had to be that person who points out that the training videos ALWAYS frame the “male” symptoms as the default universal heart attack experience, while the “female” symptoms are framed as though they’re a deviation from the norm, rather than the primary symptom set that cis women experience. 

ALSO: I just showed this post to my roommate, who is an MD at a clinic that specializes in care for the LGBT community in the Baltimore area. I asked her  whether hormones were responsible for the difference in the “male/female” symptom arrays. I asked how that would apply to her trans patients (which, she treats a LOT of trans patients). She said, basically, that the longer you’ve taken testosterone the more likely you are to get the intense chest pressure and the arm pain, versus the upper back pressure and shortness of breath.

Obviously I am not a doctor myself, consult your own health care provider, etc.

[sanscarte]

Reblogging this comment because this is the FIRST TIME I’ve ever seen someone address what XYZ medical condition would look like in trans patients. Also this is partly why my great-grandma died: the (male) doctor dismissed her heart attack as basically indigestion, because she didn’t have the typical male symptoms.

[solarpunkarchivist-deactivated2]

Oh my God someone was able to answer the trans patient question!

[fuckyeahstufficareabout-temp]

[sicklesium-moved-deactivated201]

i dont get offended at white people jokes even though im white because: 

i can recognize white people as a whole have systemically oppressed POC in america, which is where i live 

most people when they make white people jokes only mean the shitty white people and i am not a shitty white person 

im not a pissbaby

[damncommunists-deactivated20180]

my white friends that have reblogged this give me life

[zelda-tempest]

4. Sometimes I am a shitty white person and the jokes remind me to FUCKIN STOP

[lallamariamhabibi]

If ur white and like this post I fux with u

[birdpapi-deactivated20171121]

^absolutely

[verdant-witch]

5. It’s hard to be offended when white people jokes involve bland food/tourist dads in socks and sandals/white girls in yoga pants obsessed with pumpkin spice/suburban PTA moms and other harmless and mostly true stereotypes while jokes about POC involve them being called thugs/criminals/slurs/uneducated/illegal immigrants.

[blackpoeticinjustice]

i fucks with u heavy if ur white and you reblog this

[queerasaurus-rexx]

6. jokes about white people are actually funny

[hostilecandle]

If ANY of yall EVER do this shit to me, im deleting every single fic out of spite.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

THIS GOES DOUBLY FOR ARTISTS.

[hodari-pavels-good-boy]

Posting this here from my main too bc I feel that strongly about it

You dont get to witch hunt and scour peoples work just frothing at the mouth hoping someone messes up so you can publicly humiliate and gang up on them. Fuck genai and every single poser and lover that uses it but if you are not 1000000000% certain that something is made with it you shut. the. fuck. up.

Pathetic loser behavior on display here

[mintedwitcher]

I'm about to get mean because this shit? this pisses me all the way off.

"hurr durr these very common writing practices are SUPER OBVIOUS AI TELLS!!!!!!!!!! obviously this is an AI invention and not the result of AI being trained on THOUSANDS OF REAL FUCKING STORIES!!!!!!! we're all very intelligent!!!!!!!"

I hate yall. I hate yall for fucking ruining fanfic with your goddamn motherfucking AI obsession. "ooh there's em dashes!" YEAH REAL WRITERS USE THOSE. "there's long paragraphs!" YEAH BECAUSE THATS HOW PEOPLE WRITE STORIES.

we're not "writing like AI" - AI is writing like us, because it fucking stole from us in the first fucking place.

I've never used AI in my work, not ever, but guess what, my fics are ALL written like that. long paragraphs, long sentences, em dashes and hyphens and other grammatical tools, because I fucking know HOW TO WRITE.

quite frankly, if you think these things are "genAI inventions" you're just telling the world that YOU DON'T READ ENOUGH.

[urfavhatesterfs]

YOU hates terfs

[switchingtogeico]

[captainhaterade]

[stankpasta]

rb if u hates terfs

[the-real-nikki19]

a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

[rose-of-pollux]

Reblog if you're a writer who doesn't use AI.

[mssbdr]

🚨 We Need Your Kindness to Survive 🚨

Hello, My name is Mosab Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with my family. Life here has become harder than I ever imagined, and I’m writing this with hope in my heart that you might hear our story.

The ongoing war has devastated my family. We’ve lost 25 family members—each one a beloved part of our lives, taken too soon. I miss them deeply—their laughter, their presence, their love. Every day is a reminder of this unimaginable loss.

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

64.media.tumblr.com

We are now facing daily challenges to survive—things that most people take for granted, like food, clean water, and a safe place to sleep. The harsh realities of life here have replaced our dreams with the constant fight for survival.

Our Current Situation:

💔 Lost Stability: The war has left us without work or a stable source of income. 🍞 Basic Needs: Food and water are becoming harder to afford with rising prices and scarce resources. 📚 Dreams on Hold: Like so many here, my family’s dreams have been replaced by the need to simply survive. 😢 Unimaginable Loss: Losing 25 loved ones has left a void that can never be filled.

How You Can Help:

I’m sharing our story with the hope that someone out there might care. Even $5 can make a big difference for us, and if you’re unable to donate, just reblogging this post can help spread the word.

Your kindness, no matter how small, is something we’ll never forget.

What This Means to Us:

Your support is not about changing our entire situation—it’s about giving us a little relief, a little hope, and a way to keep going. We are not asking for much, and we understand if you can’t donate. Sharing our story is just as valuable to us as a donation.

Thank you for reading this far. It means the world to us to know that someone is listening. Your kindness gives us strength and helps us believe in a better tomorrow.

With all our gratitude, Mosab Elderawi and Family ❤️

✅️ Vetted by ✅️

@gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #309 )✅️

Donate to Help me saving who's left of my family, organized by Mosab Derawi

Hello Everyone, I am Mosab Suleiman Al Derawi, 28 years old, my wife Nadine Adel A… Mosab Derawi needs your support for Help me saving who's

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[mssbdr]

🌟 We’re getting closer to our goal! 🌟 With your incredible support, we’ve already raised $1,673 out of our goal of $20,000! ❤️

Every contribution or reblog helps bring us closer to a brighter future. Thank you for standing with us in this journey.

👉 Donation Link

Even $5 can make a huge difference! 🙏