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blake kathryn
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we're not kids anymore.
titsay
⁂
taylor price
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dirt enthusiast
i don't do bad sauce passes
AnasAbdin
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
Product Placement
d e v o n
@theartofmadeline
Andulka
Show & Tell
Cosimo Galluzzi
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
trying on a metaphor
seen from Malaysia
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seen from Colombia
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seen from United States
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@naravitss
⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑ kang yeosang — beige aesthetic
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beyond the shadows
“They told us that the shadows outside the gate were hungry. I just wanted to know what they tasted like.”
Chapter 1
The leaves brushed against each other as the wind fought its way through the gaps in the branches. The streets were lined with clocks at every corner, people compulsively checking the time as the sun began to hide itself behind the gates surrounding Windermere. As the sunlight barely touched the tip of the towering church bell, businesses began locking up—bolting their doors shut and pulling down the blinds in a hurry. One might think the town was preparing for a natural disaster, but this was just another day for this rural town.
Adelina rushed back to her house, running through the now-empty streets as she kept glancing at her watch. She couldn’t believe she had lost track of time—her exhales leaving her mouth in rhythm with her sneakers hitting the pavement. Just as the sun fully disappeared, she made it to her house, slamming the door behind her and making sure every bolt was secured.
“Adelina!” a stern voice called from the kitchen. “Where in the hell were you?”
It was Adelina’s mom, Mrs. Katz. Her face was full of worry; her eyebrows knitted together as she shot a cold glare at the teen girl.
“Mom…” she began, though the words froze in her throat. She didn’t know whether to tell the truth or make up some half-thought-out excuse about where she’d been. Her shoulders dropped, her breath still heavy from sprinting across the town. “I… wasn’t looking at the clock.”
Mrs. Katz scoffed, somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. “The town is flooded with clocks and timers, and you’re trying to tell me you weren’t checking?”
Adelina sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor as she stepped closer to her mom. She pulled her mother into a tight hug, not wanting to admit what had distracted her enough to forget the time. Mrs. Katz let out an exaggerated sigh, hugging her daughter back.
“Dinner’s on the table. Clean up and shower once you’re done,” she said softly, pulling back from the hug. Mrs. Katz headed upstairs—her footsteps fading, the sound confirming for Adelina that her mother was safely in her room now.
Throwing herself on the dining chair, Adelina slumped over the table. Her breath was finally calming down as she rested her head on her forearms. Her mind rushed with endless possibilities as she’d never actually seen what happened past dark– just heard the warnings that were passed down to children like bedtime stories meant to scare them. But don’t stories always have a root? It was instilled in her from a young age that if the sun was gone, she was to remain inside the house until it came back up. She used to ask her mom what would happen if someone lingered out there longer than they should have. Mrs. Katz would just tighten her jaw and tell her to wash up for dinner.
She shifted positions, propping her head up with one hand, her elbow pressed into the table for balance. With the other, she messed with her food without purpose, her spoon scraped the plate like a clock ticking too loud. Her heart still hadn’t settled from the sprint home. From almost missing her curfew.
As she blinked slowly, half-chewed memories rose to the surface– of days at the creak. Laughter echoed through the trees that were now too quiet. She didn’t know why they always came back at night. Perhaps it was the silence. Maybe it was the way the wind seemed to howl among the leaves.
Adelina’s gaze flicked towards the window, where the curtains pressed against the frame like a barrier. Without thinking, she rose. Her fingers curled around the hem of the fabric, she was hesitant. She inhaled, holding it in as she tugged the curtains open.
It was just enough to show her what she knew already; the streets were empty. Still… waiting. The wind stirred the leaves in spirals across the sidewalks. A streetlight buzzed in the corner– flickering ever so slightly– casting a pale gold across the spot where someone once dared to climb. The lamppost still wore the marks of rust where hands gripped too tight.
No one really talked about what happened. Not anymore, at least. It was as though the town had decided silence was safer– as if silence could erase what really happened that fateful day. Not Adelina though, she remembered. She remembered a person who always pushed boundaries and scoffed at warnings. Adelina remembered a voice– a stubborn one, that laughed in the dark.
“It’s just darkness,” they once told her, “Why are we so scared of it?”
Those words stuck to Adelina’s mind as if it was a crown woven from thorns.
Something moved out there, or maybe nothing did. But something out there was luring Adelina in. The kind that pried at your thoughts– the feeling that waited for you to be curious enough to follow.
Adelina snapped the curtains shut, her breath stuck in her chest. The scraping hiss of the curtains against the rod echoed louder than she had anticipated. Without a word, she headed upstairs– each step of hers slower than the last.
The smell of dinner still clung to her clothes, but the hunger was long gone.
She threw herself onto her bed, the wooden frame thudding against the wall. Her eyes shut hard, her thoughts louder than her heartbeat.
“If only I just… If only I didn’t…” she didn’t finish that thought. She never did.
carrd inspo made by me (inspired by other peoples carrds)
Hello friends, supporters, and EveryTumblr, Today I have tragic news I want to share with you. We started our day with new evacuation orders for our displacement area 💔 This will be the 13th time of evacuating and fleeing from a real danger with my family, and everytime is harder than the previous one I almost can take my breaths, to bear a new displacement!!! Even the tents are worn out and cannot be dismantled and installed in a new place!! I really feel suffocated from this situation, and need your support to start over in a new place I appeal to the whole world to hear my and my family's mournful cry in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety
We are really tired. I am making a great effort to convey my voice to you, and your donation is not a simple thing, it is a chance of new survival for my family Amplify me by reblogging and donate if you can, please 🙏🏻
• Our campaign is vetted by 🇵🇸 @/gazavetters List at #291 • DONATE HERE / VETTED HERE
🚨 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.
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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 )✅️
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
@fancysmudges @brokenbackmountain @just-browsing1222-deactivated20 @mothblossoms @aleciosun @fluoresensitive @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater @timogsilangan @appsa @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @palestinegenocide @sar-soor @akajustmerry @annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @tortiefrancis @flower-tea-fairies @tsaricides @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @visenyasdragon @belleandsaintsebastian @ear-motif @kordeliiius @brutaliakhoa @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrud @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @camgirlpanopticon @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi @sygol @junglejim4322 @heritageposts @chososhairbuns @palistani @dlxxv-vetted-donations @illuminated-runas @imjustheretotrytohelp
🌟 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! 🙏
witches + art
ATEEZ - 'GOLDEN HOUR : Part.2' 11th Mini Album Concept Photos
I Am From
I am from the culture of the crashing waves against the jagged rocks of the shore, while churches sing their songs.
As well as from the culture of ancient prayers echoing among the sun-soaked streets and the hum from bustling bazaars.
The cultures which intertwine so effortlessly, yet mangle each other like a thorn drawing against the skin.
From my father who is strong and determined, scars covering his brown-skinned body, telling the stories of his childhood on the island.
From my mother, who is gentle and caring, scars that veil her damaged heart, telling the tales of her Islamic upbringing.
I am from a home where love overpowers all, no matter the sound of shattering plates, slamming doors, and yelling echoing down the hall.
Where food means forgiveness, whether the savory steak or the mouth-watering chocolate cake.
I am from the prolonged nights on the road in the mountains; the soaring heights that made my stomach churn any time we neared the edge.
The sharp, distinct smell of wet evergreen trees, bark, and mud filling the cramped car with the windows down.
I am from a sweet yet pungent smell of gasoline that would overwhelm the nose at every stop.
From the lingering lysol mixed with urine in the bathrooms, where the toilet lids were fragile and damaged.
And from the foggy, clouded mirrors that were marked with streaks from harsh scrubbing, that no amount of Windex could fix.
I am from the meals of Subway and gas station sandwiches. The crispy lettuce that was no longer crunchy, but soggy and tough to chew.
I am from the crumbs of chips flooding the car seats nestled underneath the plastic bags and wrinkled up saran wrap.
The frigid air swarming the car as soon as the windows creaked downwards,
The soft yet rugged blanket I kept with me, covering my small body,
The body growing with every move we made.
I am from the crowded hallways where laughter and voices echoed through corridors.
Where people migrated in flocks, like birds swarming the vibrant blue sky above the school.
I am from the irritating ringing, not to dismiss us, but to remind the teachers.
I am from the sleek, smooth papers that were textured with tiny ink letters.
From classrooms engulfed with deodorant far too rancid to rid their body odor,
And the perfumes where the alcohol overburdened the fruity scent.
From the giggling and snorting amongst friends at the circular tables,
To the salty, stingy tears and quiet sobs that reminisce the quiet winds in the woods.
From the sugary fruits we would pass around after hours of our stomach rumbling like a broken machine.
To the crammed gymnasiums where athletes and parents alike would flood the moments the doors open.
The early mornings where our bare skin made contact with the chilled basketball court.
From the numbers that flash a watermelon green, guaranteeing us our spot to wrestle.
To the moment our shoes step onto the mat, the whistles blowing and coaches screaming,
To the teammates cheering on the mat, celebrating a win
From the mixture of the tangy sweat and tears that drip down our bruised and damaged bodies,
From the wins and losses that weigh heavy on our heart, like a boulder crushing against our chest.
The lessons that we learn through discipline and hard work, to the family we have through bonds not blood.
I am from a place of love.
Where home was not a structure held by wood and nails but rather the relationships we built.
The branches of genetics and connection rather than the materialistic buildings.
I am from a place where holidays were not needed to spend time together.
A place where the houses and parks were filled with howling and chuckling of childrens and adults alike.
Where the aroma was filled with a citrusy spice, hot like the grill's flame.
Our relationships intertwined like the baskets we weave from the leaves from the trees.
From a culture where respect was a given not a privilege,
The aunts and uncles who were merely childhood friends,
Those aunties who wore flashy gold jewelry that clanked against each other each time they wave their hands,
To uncles who wore their colorful i’e because they couldn’t fathom wearing pants at home.
Where passing by an elder prompted a quiet “Tulou” as you bowed whilst walking,
A place where names like “sosisi” and “valea” were terms of endearment rather than insults.
A place where love can spread thousands of miles, across the powerful ocean.
From a place where our family is our pride, and our pride determines our family.
⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑ jongho — beige aesthetic
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⭑ jeong yunho — sunset aesthetic
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⭑ phuwin tangsakyuen — blue aesthetic
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⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑seonghwa — green n beige aesthetic
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⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑ joong archen — red aesthetic
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would you be my friend, my freak? ୨୧ ꒱ ．
⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑ dunk natachai — black aesthetic
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⪩⪨ n e w p o s t . . .
⭑ dunk natachai — beige aesthetic
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