If this page suddenly goes silent one day, know that my brother Samer didn’t make it. I will never forget those who saw him suffering from severe bombing injuries, lacking his vital medications, yet chose silence and kept scrolling.
I feel completely shattered and deeply ashamed begging strangers for help every single day. This endless nightmare has stripped us of everything, forcing me to sacrifice even my own dignity just to keep my brother and my family alive.
I want nothing from this world except to see Samer healthy and free of pain, and to save my family from this slow death. Please donate so we can afford his essential psychiatric and medical treatments before it’s too late.
Samer is slipping away, and we cannot fight this alone. Every single second matters now as his condition worsens without treatment. Please, don't look away, your support is his only chance to survive this nightmare.
‼️Farah is between life and death… your hand could save her or say goodbye 🙏🏻💔
Farah, 16 years old...her life is now suspended between pain and waiting 💔 A serious kidney disease is exhausting her body, and a severe drop in potassium threatens her life every moment... and the doctors decided: urgent treatment outside the country.🥹
🚨 What is needed now: 600 euros only to save her and start treatment Every moment of delay means greater danger.😭😭
💔 If you can't donate, share the post — Farah may reach someone who will save her life.🌹❤️
Note: if you would prefer to pay via paypal, you can do so here.
✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #451 )✅️
Don’t just like and scroll that does absolutely nothing Please help a Palestinian in need by donating or sharing with someone who can they haven’t been getting the donations they need to support their families please they are dying and desperate I’ve gotten so many messages from people begging for help just follow me and the people I repost
💔 I beg you... Do not let this call pass in silence. Help Farah before her illness becomes more severe. She is weakening before my eyes. I extend to you a hope burdened with pain... Help us before it is too late.🙏🏻🇵🇸🥹
🌷🫀 Thank you to everyone standing by Farah. If you can contribute a tangible donation—which she truly needs—or share her appeal, you are helping give her a chance at treatment and safety.🫂💗
Please donate to this family if you have any means to. They're in an incredibly dire situation, and if this money doesn't get raised as soon as possible, that situation is only going to get worse. Don't feel bad if you can only give a small amount or don't have any spare money, everyone's situation is different, just do as much as you individually can and it will make a difference. Reblogging with tags and sharing this with others will make a good impact as well, the more people this reaches the more people there are helping.
Heartfelt thanks for this sincere humanitarian support, and for every word, share, and act of goodwill. The presence of people like you brings hope amidst suffering and can truly save a life in urgent need of a chance. May you be richly rewarded for standing by those who have nothing but their prayers and hopes. 🤍
My name is Mamdouh, and I'm trying to reach safety for myself and my family from this difficult situation. My children are clinging to life, living in extremely harsh conditions in a small tent after everything was destroyed. We had dreams, but unfortunately, everything was destroyed after my wife and I lost our jobs and became without income. My son, Muhammad, needs surgery, medication, and to travel abroad.
Please donate to help provide breakfast for my children and to cover the necessary medical treatment for my son Mohammed. Please don't abandon us in these difficult circumstances.
It's truly heartbreaking to see people who are able to help but ignore you. If you're browsing, please help me in any way you can. Donate or share; it would make a difference in the lives of my young children.🙏
These aren't scenes from a movie; this is our life tonight. An apartment building is burning, a civilian car is reduced to ashes, and the sounds of explosions never cease. And I'm trying to shield my young children from fear and hunger amidst this inferno.
Please donate to this family if you have any means to at all, even if you can only afford to contribute a small amount it will still make an impact and is absolutely worth it, and be sure to reblog this post using tags so it can reach more people and donations can keep being made consistently!
They have been vetted by @gazavetters, with their number on the list being #736. You can check out this information yourself via this link to the list: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1YGgkXoyam7tnbXb-vqWsHFs3Puyf_xYeXY2dPrZQY1M/htmlview
GazaVetters
If you’d like to donate to them, you can do so through this link to their campaign: https://chuffed.org/project/166565-a-father-writes-his-story-here
Donate to provide food and treatment for my innocent children.
Please donate to this family if you have any means to at all, no matter what it is that you can afford to contribute doing so as soon as possible will make an impact and is absolutely worth it, and be sure to reblog this post using tags so more people can see it and donations can continue being made consistently!
It's truly heartbreaking to see people who are able to help but ignore you. If you're browsing, please help me in any way you can. Donate or share; it would make a difference in the lives of my young children.🙏
Please don't leave us to face these difficulties alone. Ease our suffering during these times. Donate to my children and share our story as widely as possible. Please. Mohammed needs treatment. Mohammed suffers from bronchiectasis.
I am struggling to provide food and nutrition for my children. We don't have enough money for my family because prices are rising so rapidly, and food has become very scarce. We are living in dangerous conditions; our homes have been destroyed, and our dreams have been shattered
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 (or more) people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out <3
Awww tysm!!! You too!! 😭🧡🧡
But fr you were one of the first people I came across on tumblr and I genuinely thought you were super cool and was so nervous to interact. Thanks for being so welcoming!!
The Finweans are so brown, they broke contact for YEARS over talk of property. Unskippable cutscene/canon event in brown households. 😭😭😭
It's been 10 years, and my father's family haven't even named his second-something-something uncle.
Literally the biggest mood. Canon event indeed.
Never thought of the Silmarils like that and now I can’t unthink it. Thank you. Perfection right here. I am stealing this forever.
That one part of the family that’s so extra they take their every single one of their father’s/grandfather’s disputes as their own for no reason. Like this had so little to do with you, and there were a hundred better ways to deal with it. What do you do? Bluster in and shout about it cause that did your dad so many favours, right?
Like the other cousins would have moved on literally years ago, but said part of the fam is still stuck in this ancient battle for this thing literally no one but them (and the elder generation) cares about anymore.
Everyone else looking at them like:
Bro. Get a life.
Also you just know the name Fëanor was forbidden in Fingolfin’s house for the longest time. Probably Finwë as well after he left with Fëanor.
“We don’t speak of him. He abandoned us, his family. Those most loyal to him. He thinks so little of us he didn’t turn around and ask twice before going into exile with his favourite son.”
i know that feanor canonically traveled a lot with his family and distanced himself from his half siblings BUT i do headcanon that the feanorians were those cousins that somehow always were at grandpa's house .
Just chilling there . Every single day .
The other cousins also visited a lot , but there was always a son of feanor or two around .
Let’s face it. Hangout spot is always mum’s side of the family, not dad’s XD (Nani’s house frfr.)
I kinda like the idea that most of the grandkids don’t really care about this as they get older. Their maternal grandparents adore them, and their maternal cousins are a vibe.
Like their fathers read: Fingolfin because Finarfin gave up on this feud before the kids were even born are bent on trying to be Favourite Child and demand their kids support them. And the only reason they even make public stances is Dad’s side of the family is Royal Drama Central and everyone keeps hounding them on the streets.
The younger, more hot headed cousins are still young and easily fired up. So they do get worked up about the Drama TM.
Then Fëanor pulls out an honest to Valar sword and the elder kids get really involved.
Sidenote here: Finarfin’s kids are split between Finrod and Galadriel who are Ambitious TM. Angrod and Orodreth who really Don’t Care. They’re sick of hearing about the same problem over and over again. And Aegnor who goes back and forth.
Help Us Survive the Winter: A Desperate Plea for Sela and Our Future 💔🌧️🙏
The silence of a stalled campaign is a different kind of cold. As donations have dried up, the desperation in our tent has grown. I am writing this with a heavy heart, reaching out to anyone who can hear our plea. My family is at a breaking point, and we need your kindness now more than ever.
### Sela Cannot Wait Any Longer 😞🥺
My little sister, Sela, is only two years old. She has been fighting severe malnutrition, and though she is starting to recover, she is still so tiny and fragile.
Now, the freezing winter rains have become our greatest enemy. Our tent is badly torn, and every storm brings a flood inside. Our blankets and clothes are constantly soaked, and I watch Sela shiver uncontrollably in the bitter cold. I hold her to my chest to keep her warm, but I am terrified that the cold will take her from me before the hunger does.
Your donations go directly toward a sturdy, waterproof tent and the nutrition Sela needs to stay alive.
A Career Sold for a Crust of Bread 💻🚫
The war has stripped us of everything. I hold a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Engineering and have professional experience, but the starvation became so extreme that I was forced to sell my laptop just to feed my family. It was a devastating choice. Now, I am stuck in a cycle of survival that leaves no room for hope:
I spend my days carrying heavy water containers across ruins.
I spend my nights trying to start fires just to keep us from freezing.
I have no way to work, no way to study, and no way to pull my family out of this nightmare.
How Your Donation Changes Everything 💸🤲
I have launched a new campaign with a trusted friend after my previous one was unfortunately banned. Every dollar donated is a brick in the wall of our protection. We urgently need funds for:
Emergency Shelter & Food: To keep Sela dry, warm, and fed.
A New Laptop & Internet: To replace the one I sold so I can apply for remote software or data entry roles and provide for my family myself.
Medical Care: To ensure Sela’s recovery from malnutrition continues.
Please, if you can find it in your heart, donate today. Even the smallest amount is a miracle for us. If you cannot donate, please share this post—your voice might reach the one person who can help us survive.
Hi, my name is Max and I am raising funds for Mahmoud and his family who are living in Gaza. Please read his story below:
In the Blessed lands, Fingolfin, last of his House, walks out of Mandos’ gates with his older brother. Reconciled at last.
Maglor keeps wandering.
Finwë returns amongst the Eldar. Finarfin, the golden king who kept Aman running for Ages upon Ages, who elves of all kinds claim as theirs, bows before his father. His father does not let him. The Eldar of Cuivienen watch with pride as Finwë bows before his youngest. His strongest. His heir.
But Maglor does not know this. He wanders still.
A call comes from Námo, calling the House of Finwë to welcome their most broken member. The one Morgoth feared to challenge until he had Dragons and Balrogs in swathes, yet still he could not breach the Frozen Mountain. Maedhros stumbles out into his parents’ arms, the rest of his family not far behind. He looks upon them in wonder. For Maedhros Fëanorion spent much of his life keeping his people together, and he would not heal until they were whole again, feuds left in the past. Finarfin welcomes his nephew and clothes him in white and gold. Places a golden circlet on copper curls, a small grin as he promises it’s just symbolic. The responsibility of High King remains his Uncle’s.
Maglor does not know this either.
Endless song flows from his lips, a power that sinks into the ocean itself.
Makalaurë died in the exile to Formenos. Kanafinwë when his voice could not sway his brother form Morgoth’s trap. Maglor when his brother fell. He goes by other names these days, names that once had meaning but now fall like ash from a tongue that still lisps on instinct. To call his existence lonely is to call a raindrop an ocean, but Maglor does not dwell on this. He cannot afford to.
This punishment is only just. A small dose of suffering for all the blood shed by his hand. He does not hear the ocean’s call any more, nor the water’s pleas for his return. Ossë and Uinen sing from their domains, Ulmo sends crashing waves and clear blue seas, but nothing penetrates the song of the last son of Fëanor still on these shores.
Nothing can stop his wandering. Nor heal the tears trails carved into his skin.
Nor erase footsteps marking the sands a bloody red.
Across the sea, Maedhros grows restless. Finwë waits by the Halls. Fëanor finds no peace in his forge or his home. The rest of Finwë’s house take turns to watch the seas. The boat never comes. The Valar have no answer.
It’s Miriel who bears the message, her latest tapestry disturbing even her Patron’s husband. More shade than elf, she guides the House of Finwë to the edge of the Gates of Mandos where a Maia waits with her work. A delicate weaving in terrible detail revealing a hollow face scarred with tears, a grotesque, blackened hand still dripping blood, and blistered feet walking, walking, walking-
“He does not hear our calls…” the Maia whispers. “He will not come home.”
Maedhros weeps inconsolably at the state of his dearest brother. Fingon declares he will walk across the Helcaraxë again if need be to bring his errant cousin back, Finrod threatens to tear apart any Maia who dares keep Maglor stuck to those shores. Fingolfin grabs his brother as he collapses.
And Finwë turns heel. A fire in his eyes, lips twisted in a furious sneer. He leaps onto his horse and rides to the Mahanaxar, spirit brighter than his sons’ when they chased Morgoth. Fingolfin tries to stop him. Fëanor begs him not to fall to rage as he once did. Finarfin remains silent. He cannot turn away from his lost nephew’s hollow form.
The gates to the Ring of Doom are open. Before Finwë can utter a word, Námo speaks a single word.
“Yes.”
Thorondur sweeps over Manwë’s shoulders to Finwë’s side. The former King does not so much as acknowledge him.
“I will bring him home myself in the ships I once used to cross the sea to this land.”
It’s a bold claim. But one that cannot be denied.
“I will come with you.”
Three voices speak at once, echoing in the chamber. Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin stand sure and steady against the weight of the Valar’s gazes.
“Why?” The Doomsman asks.
“He is my son. I raised him. And I cursed him to this fate. His suffering rests on me.”
“He is my son. I abandoned him, I fell to grief and did not protect him in my brother’s stead as promised. His loneliness rests on me.”
“He is my son. I turned away from him. He knows not my open arms will welcome him to this new world. His fear rests on me.”
A small smile plays about Námo’s lips.
“Then join your father in this endeavour, Sons of Finwë, and take with you these words: The time of enduring pain has ended. Makalaurë atoned long ago, he need not punish himself longer.”
“He has paid more than any of his family, with sword, blood, and song.” Nienna’s whisper swirls around them, answering their unasked questions. “We would have brought him home many Ages ago if we could. But the Valar have meddled enough in the lives of the Eldar, and we would not force him to our choices again.”
“So the Valar have spoken.”
Manwë dips his head to the party of four as the gates burst open to reveal the rest of the family.
(But Maglor does not know any of this, either.
He hides his feet in the sand and his hand in his cloak, and listens to a little blonde haired girl singing to the birds, trilling a tune of friendship when they flee from her waving arms. Her giggles as they return brings a small smile to his face. He can afford this moment, he will not burden her with his pain.)
The three sons and their father prepare for the journey. Maedhros tries desperately to join them, threatening to follow if they don’t allow it, and Fëanor takes him aside. Some truths must be faced. It took him far too long to realise that.
“Makalaurë hallucinates you, Nelyafinwë.”
The words, soft but blunt, bring his eldest to a standstill. Maedhros is smart, and he knows his little brother well. Perhaps best of all. His face crumples as he falls to his father’s feet.
“Atya please- please. I have to make this right.”
Fëanor drops down and clutches his son to his chest, closing his eyes in grief.
“There will be time for that, my son. But first I ask you to consider who you truly wish to console. Laurë? Or yourself?”
It’s cruel. He knows it’s cruel. The furious gaze as his eldest pulls back is almost enough to make him regret the words.
But Fëanor also knows Maedhros’ ardour burns even more fiercely than his own, and it can blind him to nuances. The singleminded determination as he pursues what he believes to be right and rouses a crowd to follow is an admirable skill, but it does not allow him to see every outcome. Or even fully understand his own intentions. It’s why he and Maglor were always such a good team.
When Maedhros loosens his grip, fury turning to grim acceptance, Fëanor drops a kiss on his head and helps his son to his feet.
“I will bring our songbird home, little one. And you will make the necessary preparations for his recovery upon arrival.”
His other sons relax. Fëanor almost smiles. As if he’d forget his eldest needs something to keep busy with lest he fall to his own mind. ‘He’s far too much like his father,’ Nerdanel says.
She isn’t wrong.
They both burned in the end.
——
Across the courtyard, Fingolfin asks his eldest to keep a close eye on Maedhros as Finarfin passes orders to his own: Empty the harbour they arrive at. Keep details quiet. Let the people know the sons of Finwë go united on this trip, and they will return shortly.
Finwë doesn’t speak to anyone.
His gaze remains distant but even as he methodically straps knives and small daggers to his person, all concealed under layers of fabrics. Instead of his kingly attire or even the white robes of Mandos, he wears simple brown garb. His hair is decorated only with silver and gold threads, half up with two thick braids on either side of his head.
All in all he looks more like he’s going to war than retrieving a lost child. Then again, perhaps that’s more accurate than anyone wants to admit.
Makalaurë was stubborn, but could be reasoned with. Kanafinwë was powerful, but soft hearted. Maglor was unreadable and changed as easily as the tides. It made him hard to pin down, and even harder to bring to your side if he wasn’t fully convinced of your idea.
A trait Finwë had once dearly admired in his Míriel.
“Father,” Arafinwë calls over the gathering wind. “We are ready.”
Finwë spares a smile for his youngest, then returns to even determination.
They ride hard for several days, stopping only when the horses need rest. All are quiet. Olwë waits for them by the harbour when they arrive, and he too is silent as he guides them to a well furnished swan ship. Someone must have told him… or perhaps he recognises the steely look in his friend’s eyes. Before they set off, he nods:
“Tell your grandson his songs are missed.”
Finwë nods once. Sharp and cold. Olwë raises a hand in farewell, and they sail into the mists.
(Maglor stumbles to a cave as rain and wind batters his body. But even as icy ocean waves soak his legs, spraying against his scarred face and cracked lips, he doesn’t stop singing. He’s long used to the salt in his wounds.)
So I fully expected to think Anakin-Fëanor but I’m actually gonna suggest Sauron.
Sauron in the sense that he was always going to be a servant. He was seduced by power and knew he’d never go beyond his Master, but that’s not why he left. He wanted his idea of freedom no matter the cost, and paid more dearly than he ever could’ve imagined.
Sauron because he was Morgoth’s best lieutenant and even years later when he regretted it, when he hated it, he still couldn’t let go. He still followed this path of destruction. Where Vader became chaos and destruction to Sidious’ ordered evil, Sauron become the opposite to Morgoth. But ultimately they were still tools of their Masters.
Anakin and Mairon losing everything that made them beautiful in their cruelty and destruction, no way back to the people they once were.
Anakin and Mairon eventually denouncing their former names though they once preferred them.
Vader and Sauron defeated by small people from unassuming backgrounds. From places they never even considered a threat. From the goodness in Luke and Frodo’s hearts and the love they held for their families and friends.
I did consider the angle of regret and redemption, but to be completely honest, we don’t know what became of Fëanor and if ever did regret his actions. So I’m sticking to Anakin-Sauron.
