Domestic bloodymary Iām gonna hurl
occasionally subtle
I'd rather be in outer space šø
$LAYYYTER
noise dept.

Origami Around
Sweet Seals For You, Always
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopiaļ½ęµ·ć®åŗć§čØę¶ćē“”ć

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
Xuebing Du
Monterey Bay Aquarium

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Three Goblin Art
AnasAbdin

#extradirty
DEAR READER
cherry valley forever
sheepfilms

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@mama-max
Domestic bloodymary Iām gonna hurl
A once-in-a-lifetime shot ā the moon perfectly framed by a rainbow. Caught at just the right time. š š
during these exciting times (heated rivalry) i am once again encouraging you guys to watch womenās hockey, where this ACTUALLY publicly happens
the PWHL season is on now, watch it on TSN/CBC/Sportsnet in Canada and on YouTube in the USA/internationally!!
Every day we wake up to the same reality: destroyed homes, no safety, no stability, and needs that keep growing. People think the pain paused⦠but for us, it never did.
Even with a so-called āceasefire,ā nothing has really stopped. The explosions, the drones, the fear ā the violations never ended. And our suffering definitely didnāt.
Your support is the only reason many of us manage to keep going.
Your donation šš ā no matter how small ā can mean medicine, food, warmth, and a little bit of dignity in a life thatās been stripped of everything.
Please, stand with us. Donāt let this struggle fade from the worldās attention.
We still desperately need you to get back on our feet.
š [Family post]
š [Donation Link]
Verification ā ļøVetted by @gazavetters ( #533 )ā ļø
verified by @bilal-sala7 ( #36 ) ā ļø
The necessary documents for proper verification have been submitted, and anyone who wishes to verify is welcome to contact me.
(poly werewolves 141 x female human reader || part one)
The forest had a rhythm to it.
Not one of ticking clocks or hours counted on a calendar, but a living rhythm- crows taking wing at dawn, the hush of deer at the river come twilight, the cicadas sawing the silence into ribbons each dusk.
You had lived long enough in your solitude to learn that rhythm as if it were your own pulse; it told you when the seasons turned, when the rains would come, when the bears would lumber down from the higher ridges.
And now, it told you this: you were no longer alone.
Not alone in the way of creatures and their breath in the dark. That, you had already grown used to. It had been weeks since the night of blood and storm, since four shadows had collapsed on your porch and vanished again like wraiths. Weeks since your quiet life had been rewritten with the subtle signs of guardianship- the gifts left on your steps, the predator tracks cut short by heavier, sharper prints circling yours, the strange hush that fell upon the clearing as though the forest itself bowed to some unspoken command you werenāt privy to learn just yet.
This was different.
It began with smoke: not yours, but a thin, rising thread of it curling from the tree line across the lake. The abandoned cottage there had stood for years, sagging into the earth, its roof bowed, its hearth gone cold. You had passed it once in your first spring here, peered into its hollow frame and decided it was a place ghosts might linger and one youād not waste time on.
But one crisp morning, you looked up from your own chopping block and saw smoke rising from that chimney, steady and sure. Not ghosts, then. Neighbors.
You almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it. Neighbors. Out here, where the road gave way to little more than deer tracks, where storms cut power for days and the forest demanded a kind of loyalty from those who dared live in it. Few came this far. Fewer stayed, and the closest civilization was the village more than a few miles away.
And yet, the very next week, you saw them.
Four men, crossing the river path with lumber on their shoulders, voices a low rumble of camaraderie. They moved like soldiers: even in their quiet, you recognized the familiar cadence of it. Broad-shouldered, scarred in places they did not bother to hide, eyes sharper than any civilianās had right to be. You stood at the edge of your garden with your cane, watching from beneath the brim of your hat as they passed.
They raised hands in greeting. Not intrusive, not prying. Just a neighborās courtesy.
āMorning,ā the one wearing a cap said, polite and friendly.
You returned the nod, though your throat felt thick. Morning.
And then they were gone, melting into the forest trail with their burden of timber.
It should have ended there; A curiosity, an oddity you would eventually grow used to, the way one grows used to a ravenās nest high in the eaves. But it didnāt end, because you noticed the rhythm shift again.
One night, when the coyotes returned, you woke to find your porch lamp already lit, its flame burning steady in the storm winds. You had not lit it. And in the woods beyond, instead of growls, you thought you heard the heavy tread of boots driving the animals off.
Another morning, your cane slipped from your hand as you struggled with a basket by the river. Before you could stoop to fetch it, one of the new men appeared on the path, his russet-colored sweater catching the light, eyes gleaming. He bent and handed the cane back with a grin quick as a flame, gaze bright and unreadable. āCareful there, Miss. Slippery ground.ā His voice was warm and careful as honey, and he vanished again before you could properly thank him.
And yet another time, as dusk bled into the forest, you froze on your porch when a bear lumbered near the treeline. You were reaching for your gun when you saw movement from the corner of your eye.
A pale shape- no, a man this time- standing just beyond your gardenās edge. He didnāt shout, didnāt wave his arms. He only stood, utterly still, eyes fixed on the animal. And somehow, impossibly, the bear huffed, turned, and wandered off, as though cowed by something larger than it could name.
When you blinked, the man was gone before you could thank him.
They eventually introduced themselves to you proper, of course. John Price, Kyle Garrick, Simon (just Simon), and Johnny MacTavish. Normal names. Names no one in the village had, so they couldnāt be related to anyone there. They gave them easily, with the kind of ease soldiers had when lying about where theyād been stationed or what unit theyād served in- it wasnāt so much dishonesty as a well-worn habit of keeping the truth folded deep.
You offered your own name, a little stiffly, though your voice warmed when Johnny tilted his head, smile bright enough to catch in the lamplight.
āBonnie name for a bonnie lass.ā Heād said, syllables lilting. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and you found yourself looking away too quickly, unsettled by how closely he looked when he said it.
John had only given you a slow nod, his pipe stem caught between his teeth, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. Simon- towering, quiet, eyes like bruised steel- didnāt say much at all, only let his gaze sweep across your porch as if assessing its defenses. Kyle had been the first to offer a hand, warm and calloused, his grin kind, his touch gentle and firm.
It should have ended there, polite words shared over a fence-line, the sort of introduction that fades back into distance.
But it didnāt: you began to notice them even in the smallest corners of your life, even after those previous few instances.
Once, when you walked to the cottage after a trip to the village with a pack too heavy for your frame, you found yourself flagging by the first step of your porch. The weight dragged your bad leg nearly to buckling.
Before you could curse the ache in your thigh, the strap lightened- lifted clean from your shoulder. Kyle had taken it without asking, carrying the burden as if it weighed nothing at all.
āYou shouldāve called for one of us,ā he said, his tone almost scolding, though softened by his smile. āCouldāve saved you the trouble.ā
āI didnāt know I was supposed to.ā You replied, half defensive, half annoyed by the pack, the fall, and the ache in your leg.
His answering smile was gentle and so pretty you wanted to look away, boyish in a way that contrasted with the scars along his jaw. āSupposed to? Maybe not. But next time, eh? Youāve got four big men around, weād carry anything you asked for.ā
He didnāt give the pack back until you were safely at your door, and even then he dropped it on your table and only then left.
Another evening, you lingered in the garden, tending to the last stubborn shoots of late summer. Your hands were deep in the soil when you realized you werenāt alone: Simon stood just beyond the fence, arms folded, shadow long across the tilled earth, a balaclava on his face.
You startled, dropping the trowel. āHoly shit, I didnāt hear you.ā
āYou werenāt meant to,ā he answered simply, voice deep enough that it seemed to stir the very air. Then he climbed over the fence, and knelt beside you. āLet me help.ā
You frowned, brushing dirt from your palms. āā¦. Why are you here?ā
His eyes moved- slow, deliberate- across the treeline, then back to you. āBecause youāre out here.ā
He didnāt explain further and didnāt step closer. But something in the words lingered in your chest, heavy and oddly steadying. He remained until you finally rose, cane in hand, and went inside.
Only then did his shadow slip away into the dusk.
John was more deliberate in his approach, but quieter too, woven into habits you didnāt notice until later: your woodpile, once dwindling faster than you liked, seemed replenished each week with neat stacks of logs you didnāt recall chopping. Your fence rail, loose and wobbling, had been reinforced with fresh nails one morning before you woke.
You caught him once, pipe smoke curling through the mist as he set down an axe (deliciously bare-chested, though you didnāt let yourself focus on that for now).
āJohn, you donāt need to-ā you began, bristling at the thought of being pitied like this.
He cut you off with a steady look, his voice calm but edged. āA stormās coming, and I hate having nothing to do, doll. Let me do this for you.ā
There was no mockery in his tone. Just fact and just care wrapped in command.
And when he walked past you to the gate, boots crunching against frost, he paused just long enough to murmur, āYou shouldnāt be doing it alone, anyhow.ā
Johnny was the opposite of Johnās steady gravity. He was the fire you kept roaring in your fireplace during winter- restless, bright, and impossible to ignore. He turned up most often in the in-between hours, whistling as he carried back game from the woods, or lounging on your porch rail as if it were his own.
āDinnae like the way that trap was sittinā,ā he remarked once, nodding toward the line of your snares along the brush. āLet me change āem for ye, lass. Or add more.ā
āIāve been setting those for years.ā You replied, defensive and unimpressed.
āAye, and maybe Iāve got sharper eyes.ā He winked, grin flashing quick. āHumor me, hen. No harm in letting me take a look.ā
And somehow, by the end of it, youād let him place new snares, his broad hands surprisingly delicate with the wire. You told yourself it was easier than arguing, but the warmth in your chest when he looked up, face flushed with exertion, said otherwise.
There were subtler things too. Things you couldnāt explain: when you once left food cooling on the windowsill overnight, you woke to find no scavengers had touched it, though the forest was full of them.
When you walked the river trail, you sometimes caught the smell of woodsmoke and earth that wasnāt your own, and felt the hair on your arms rise as though someone padded just beyond sight.
And in the coldest nights, when your pain kept you awake and the silence pressed too close, you sometimes swore you heard it: the long, low timbre of a howl rolling down from the ridges. Not threatening and not mournful, but something as deep as the forest itself. Claiming.
It should have frightened you.
You fell asleep without clutching your gun.
Bit by bit, you softened toward them: At first, it was in the way you didnāt chase them off when you found them mending something around your homestead. Later, it was in the way you let Kyle carry heavy things without argument, or let Johnny sit on your porch and chatter until the stars came out, or let Simon stand in the dark corners of your garden without demanding he explain himself.
And with John, it was in the way you eventually set two mugs on the table instead of one when you brewed tea on colder mornings- never asking if heād stay, but always finding the second cup drained when you returned from the stove and found new chopped wood.
They were men, yes. But they were something else too, something you hadnāt yet named. Their movements were too fluid, too sure-footed, their eyes too sharp when they caught the light. They carried the forest with them, as if it bowed to their passage.
And sometimes, when you looked too closely, you thought you saw it: a shadow of fangs when Johnny grinned too wide; a glimmer like molten gold in Simonās eyes when the moon was high; the twitch of Johnās shoulders, as though his body itched to shake free of its human shackles; the way Kyle sniffed the air, subtle, like scent was as telling as sight, and accirately told you whethere itād rain or not.
Subtle signs and little truths you kept tucking away, telling yourself they were tricks of light and fancy- but you knew the rhythm of the forest better than anyone.
And the forest whispered back to you, clear as bone and blood:
These men are not just men, and perhaps peace did not shatter.
Perhaps it only changed shape.
so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god
okay so i just got my dream job??? a week after applying to it?? and now iām thinkingā¦.maybe this is the good luck post
ā¦..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
i need all the help i can get for finals
Hey so
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.Ā
So you know.Ā
This might be the real one, yāall.
what the hell? i could use some luck *hits reblog*
You know what I could use some luck
Men are using a powerful hashtag to fight back against emotional abuse
According to NCADV, 4 in 10 people have experienced some kind of coercive control from an intimate partner. Sadly, #MaybeSheDoesntHitYou is raising much-needed awareness for a widespread problem.
This is disgusting. It really is. I hope that people gain awareness of this issue and their own situation and I really hope that we all find better.
I appreciate the hell out of the women reblogging this. As a survivor of such emotional abuse, I know itās vital for men to step forward and talk about their experiences. The oldĀ āman upā narrative needs to die.Ā
Absolutely right. Abuse is abuse, no matter the gender
Abuse is Abuse, No Matter the Gender.
Please remember to hit anon when you send me the death threats!
You need to move off of Google Docs!
I know some people have seen the news recently and may be doubtful of it. To the uninformed, Google Docs has started using AI to find "inappropriate" and "problematic" content, scraping your documents and deleting it. I know some people are unsure if this is real or think this is not going to affect them.
I regret to inform you that this is real.
As I was on a call with some writers and we were moving our documents as a precautionary measure, one person discovered entire pages missing that they did not delete themselves. This is happening to us, it's not a hoax or a rumor, it's happening right now. You need to move everything if you want to preserve it.
If you're a writer with writer mutuals, please reblog this so they know. I rarely write on Google Docs anymore, but I started my fanfics on there, and I would be devastated if I lost works more than ten years old because people decided marketing appeal is more important than creative freedom.
Made a little something on slur reclamation.
And there it is, yeah.
ive been illegally downloading shit like its my job since i was 10
Every day I am overwhelmed by the way almost everyone in the global north redefines health away from collective survival and toward promotion of individualism and eugenics.
People will talk about "hygiene" and they mean extensive skin care routines and cosmetics instead of preventing the spread of contagious diseases through requiring structural renovations for better ventilation of workplaces, schools, & public spaces and universal healthcare that includes easy, accessible, free testing & vaccinations.
People will talk about "nutrition" and they mean promoting expensive, restrictive diets dependent on imperial food systems and the promotion of anti-fat and anti-black policies, instead of doing anything to prevent the widespread nutrient deficiencies caused by our government's deliberate, ongoing starvation of Palestinian people.
Even NPR, a publication funded by the United States government, reported this morning that:
"One in three people are no longer eating for days at a time, warns the U.N.'s food program in Gaza. The United Nations says about 100,000 woman and children are severely malnourished in Gaza and need immediate medical care. The international organization Doctors Without Borders, known by its French acronym MSF, says 25% of the pregnant women and children ages six months to five years old whom it has been able to screen in Gaza are malnourished. Even if Gaza's severely malnourished children survive, Farrah from Nasser Hospital worries they will suffer from neurological impairments brought on by starvation. [...] after 21 months of shifting Israeli restrictions on how much and what kind of food can enter Gaza, he is seeing a shortage of significant nutritional elements in children's diets, such as iron, magnesium and calcium, because meat, vegetables and fruit are nearly impossible to obtain. The vitamin and mineral deficiencies "impact the development of a child's heart, liver and circulatory system," he says.
When you are thinking about health and nutrition, I want you to think about the people of Gaza.
When anyone starts a conversation with you about issues of health and nutrition, I want you to talk about the mass starvation of children in Palestine.
Do you have a responsibility to helping others survive? How do you care for the children in your life? The elderly? The disabled? Who is in your circle of care? How wide does it extend?
My friend Mahrah (@mahrahpalestine) and her brother Mahmoud (@palestinian95) Balousha are trying to keep their parents alive.
Their father lives with diabetes, high blood pressure, and osteoporosis. How can he maintain his health with no food and constant stress? Their mother has lost 27 kilos due to starvation.
The Balousha family fundraiser has been vetted by 90-ghost and shared by fairuzfan. The campaign is hosted by @omegaversereloaded, and funds donated are transferred directly from her to the Balousha family. Donating to their campaign is completely safe and urgently necessary.
Donating makes a direct and immediate impact on their family. Every single dollar or euro counts. It matters. Please donate.
we are hungry. The occupation promotes that it is bringing in aid, but in reality, only a few trucks have entered, and it directs agents and those who work with it to steal them... so that the people remain hungry
I'm doing all of this so that if I die, people will still remember me.
I want my photos to be in every city I've ever dreamed of visiting and couldnāt
Today was one of those days that carve their weight deep into your chest. I faced something both humiliating and painfully heavy. It started with a phone call, the kind no parent wants to receive. The school was summoning me as a guardian for my son, Adam. I went immediately, heart pounding, trying to stay composed. Inside the principalās office, I was met with stern eyes and little softness. She told me it was unacceptable to send Adam to school with a meal of rice. He hadnāt eaten it properly, she said. Some spilled on the kindergarten floor, causing what she called a "disaster." Worse yet, the other children laughed at him... said they were disgusted by what happened. š
We usually send him with a small sandwich, just a quarter of a pita. But yesterday, I couldnāt find even a single kilo of flour. All we had left was a bit of rice. So we cooked what little we had, just plain white rice, hoping he could have something, anything, to eat that morning. My wife and I⦠we didnāt eat at all. After the principalās lecture and the long walk home, something inside me quietly broke. Weāre now thinking about keeping Adam home. The school is far, the journey is exhausting, and it only makes his hunger worse.
As I write this, neither my wife nor I have eaten. I had some tea⦠unsweetened, bitter. That was all. Soon Iāll head to the market again, hoping this time, maybe Iāll find something we can eat. 𤲠This pain⦠I donāt even know why Iām writing all this. Maybe just to release some of whatās been building inside my chest. Maybe putting it into words will make it hurt a little less.
Children and Mothers in Critical Danger
An estimated 71,000 children and over 17,000 mothers urgently require treatment for acute malnutrition, which is now widespread across the entire Strip. Medical supplies remain critically low, and aid organizations warn of rising child mortality due to starvation and disease. Source: WHO, UNICEF
The Zionist occupation is besieging us with brutal force, depriving us of food and water as part of a systematic policy of killing and displacement. The crossings have been closed for months, and humanitarian aid barely enters. What does arrive is not enough to feed even 1% of the population.
Prices are astronomical: the cost of one kilo of flour has exceeded $40, and the daily expenses for a basic family have surpassed $300.
We appeal to your conscience: please donate to save our families from hunger and death. We urgently need food, water, and basic necessities for survival. Donāt let our children die of starvation our campaign is verified by @/Gazavetters #644.
My GFM donation Link
Please help Mohamed and his family to afford food! Anything you can give is meaningful š Please give as you can and share so that they don't have to continue to endure this š
No one asked but I think the secret to making the enemies-to-lovers trip work is respect. They can loath each other, but they have to loath each other as equals. Like āsorry but no one else is allowed to murder this man but meā + āitās an honor and privilege to despise you.ā
#oh that is KEY #itās enemies-to-lovers not ājust some upsetting person-to-loversā #they have to Matter to you in one specific direction of which the polarity gets flipped #the other one is also a thing but itās a different Thing #enemies to lovers is based on them being the most important person in the room - it's just that the reason inverts
Please take a few minutes to watch the video and read this post.
I am writing these words after losing hope in everyone⦠except for you, my friends. Tumblr has a very large number of users, estimated in the millions . Thatās an enormous number! But imagine, with all those of people, how would you feel if people saw you and ignored you? Youād feel deeply disappointed, right? Or maybe youād even wish for death.
Have you ever wished for death? For me, I feel like Iād rather die than be ignored by everyone. If I wasnāt in desperate need of help, I wouldnāt ask anyone for it. I really need help.
Imagine for a moment that you have a small child you love dearly, and youāre forced to watch her suffer in front of your eyes. This isnāt just an imagination for me; itās my reality. My family and I live this pain every day.
Please, be our hope. Be our voice. Be the ones who save us from despair. Donāt ignore us. Donate, even if itās just $5 .
There are so many people reading this post right now. I beg anyone who sees these words to donate if they can, and if not, to share this post. Please, donāt leave us behind.
Be our family, or think of us as members of your own family, and save us from this suffering. No matter how small the amount, your help means the world to us. And if you canāt donate, share this post and add a few kind words to inspire others to help.
Hi, I'm Lia & I'm organizing this fundraiser for my friends the Shehabs. They're⦠L J needs your support for Help Sahar & Her Family Survive
Thank you so much, everyone. I wish you all the best.
ā vetted by The ButterflyEffect Projects #764 on verified campaigns list) previously shared by 90-ghost ā
Kind of a hot take but i dont think we can solve the issue of marginalized people being treated like children without asking ourselves why we treat children like subhuman objects incapable of thinking and undeserving of autonomy
Have you done something good to the QUEER community Today?
Yes
No
Possibly
No matter your answer, you have another opportunity right now.
We are a group of LGBTIQ+ refugees struggling to survive in Sudan. Every day, we face unimaginable persecution, violence, and rejection. On top of this, we are battling severe shortages of food, medical care, and shelter.
Hunger is a daily reality. Many of us go days without food, and medical assistance is nearly impossible to access. Our shelters are small and inadequate, leaving us exposed to harsh conditions. For lesbians, even basic sanitary products are out of reach.
With your help, we can change this. Your donation will go directly toward food, medication, and urgently needed tents to provide safe shelter. No amount is too small every dollar makes a difference in our survival.
š Please donate today and be part of our fight for survival. Your kindness can help improve and even save our lives.
Hi, my name is James Goebel and I'm from the US. Iām organizing this fundrais⦠James Goebel needs your support for HELP LGBTIQ REFUGEES IN E
https://gofund.me/4d80b32c
If you canāt donate, please share this post to help spread awareness. Thank you for standing with us!
Vetted here ā
Evidence video uploaded here āļø
šāØ A Voice from Gaza: Fighting for Hope ā¤ļøāš©¹
Hi, my name is Mosab , and Iām from Gaza. Life here has been harder than I could ever imagine, but today Iām sharing my story with hope in my heart, because your kindness has already given us so much strength.
This journey hasnāt been easy. The war has taken 25 family members from usā25 beautiful souls we loved deeply. Their laughter, their presence, their love⦠all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.
Our Journey So Far When I first reached out, I couldnāt have imagined weād make it this far. Your support has been a light in these difficult times, and we are so deeply grateful for every single contribution.
But the road ahead is still challenging. Every day, weāre reminded of how much weāve lost and how much we still need to rebuild.
Hereās what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now: š Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us. š¢ Loss: The absence of the 25 family members weāve lost is a pain we carry every moment. š Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.
How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:
$5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.
Canāt donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.
My name isĀ Mosab Elderawi, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Life as I knew it has been completely destroyed. I have lost my home, my
Why Your Support Matters Your kindness isnāt just about helping us meet our goalāitās about reminding us that weāre not alone in this fight. Itās about hope. Itās about survival. And itās about giving my family a chance to rebuild our lives, even in the face of unimaginable loss.
Thank you for helping us get this far. Your generosity and compassion have already brought us closer to a better tomorrow, and for that, Iām endlessly grateful.
With all my love and gratitude, Mosab and Family ā¤ļø