hello dearest irl in person actual legitimate same mother and father older brother, I agree with myself in the ask from over a year ago (that you didn't answer) that your blog is plain as fuck and I WILL be mean about it, you may have added a blog title after I harassed you but DEAR GOD please add a banner PUHLEASE (if any of my moots r seeing this if I reblog the creatures response please send him random images to be his potential banner through his ask box PLEASE)
(also big bro U should be ashamed of leaving my ask for like over a year when Tumblr didn't even eat it what the freak 💔💔)
Throwing a rock at you lovingly
ok. will do. on to-do list. Banner candidates and inspiration welcome.
also, rock accepted. I have since learned more of the ways of tumblr, and with a waning fear of not-pressed-by-me-before buttons I shall forge a future to be proud of. . . or something cheesy like that ig. Thankyou for the ask, the guidance, and the laugh-wheezing along the way
I would like to preface this as a shitpost. This is MEANT to be dumb.
Lego is upholding the trans agenda!!1!1!!!111
Look at the Lego mens hands? THEY'RE TINY1!!
This shows how Lego is blatantly blurring the lines between the two TRUE GEDNERS!!1! MALE AND FEMAL1!!1! ALL MEN MUST HAVE GARGANTUAN HANDS >:( IF THEY DONT THEY ARE TOO FEMALE TO BE MALEEEEEE and MUST be excommunicated from the man hut. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A BLACKSMITH, CAN DEADLIFT 30000000000000000000000000000 KG, HAVE A BEARD, DRINK 31 BEERS A DAY, PISS STANDING UP, WATCH RUGBY AND PROUDLY STATE YOU'RE A MAN!!!1 FEMALE TENT TO YOU (because tents are more feminine than huts ig?)
Lego is allowing femalls to mascara de as MEN! NO LEGO MAN HAS A BULGE??? EVEN WORSE!1!!1!1!
if anyone has any more info on theis topic, please send it to [email protected], where we may further research how the transgenber agenba is muddying the TRUE PURE GEDBDHRS
Every time I see a red hat I swear I get a spike of adrenaline. Every time I see an American flag pfp I get suspicious of wether or not that person wants people like me to have rights.
I've never even set foot in the USA, let alone live there. There were certain places I wanted to visit (mostly nature parks and nuclear historically significant buildings), but I don't know if I'm ever going to now.
I have never watched a mr beast video and every time I see his face doing that weird dead smile he does in every thumbnail, it just looks like that one photo of charlie from always sunny to me
Thanks Tumblr for reminding me ace week exists. The asexual community will always hold a special place in my heart. When I hadn't quite figured out I was trans, I assumed I was ace because well, I didn't want to sleep with anybody. In hindsight, it was just dysphoria, but the asexual community was so supportive every step of the way in that journey of discovery for me.
So from this bi trans girl, thank you to the asexual community. Enjoy your very well deserved week of celebration and remembrance.
Amidst the Ruins of War and the Pain of Illness: A Mother's Journey to Save Her Son
One morning, the sun rose like any other day… but it wasn’t just another day.
It was Saturday, October 7th, and I woke up early, filled with hope and excitement, ready to head to my new job as a pharmacist — a dream I had long aspired to. I had landed the job just a week before the devastating war broke out. It was 5 a.m., and my responsibilities as both a mother and a pharmacist intertwined. I was preparing breakfast and lunch at the same time, getting clothes ready for my young son, Youssef, who was only 17 months old. We were supposed to go together to the nursery next to my workplace, where I had planned for an ordinary day, filled with work and life.
But fate had something different in store for us.
Suddenly... the missiles rained down.
Everything around us turned into smoke and terror. All the dreams I had painted for myself and my son’s future vanished in that moment. It felt like the world had crumbled around me. I called my manager, apologized for not being able to go to work, and told him I had no choice but to flee. Our home in East Gaza was no longer safe. From the experience of four wars and six escalations, we knew the west was usually safer.
As I hurried to pack up and prepare Youssef for the evacuation, I saw the fear in his little eyes. He looked at me softly, with the innocence of a child who had never known war, and asked, "Mama, what’s that loud sound?" How could I explain to him that it was the sound of destruction? I gently said, "Sweetheart, that’s thunder, the sky is going to rain."
But the truth was, the sky wasn’t going to rain anything but fire.
Youssef, my son, suffers from a chronic illness.
Just four months before this war, doctors discovered that Youssef had grade four esophageal varices, a serious condition. The only treatment was available in Israel. I had been taking him there for treatment with medical and security permits. His next surgery was scheduled for October 29th, but now everything was in turmoil.
We fled to the home of relatives in the west of the strip, trying to adjust to our new reality, gathering food and preparing ourselves for the worst. But the worst was yet to come. One day, on a Thursday, the house next to us was bombed, and the rubble fell on us. I screamed his name, searching for him through the debris. But God was merciful. Youssef emerged safely from the wreckage, and in that moment, I knew I would do anything to protect him.
The next day, came the order to evacuate from the north to the south.
My only thought was: How will I treat Youssef? How will I secure his needs amid this chaos? We fled to the central part of the strip, beginning a new chapter of suffering — finding food, water, gas for cooking. Everything became a battle.
Youssef couldn’t eat normally because of his illness. He survived on boiled eggs and fried potatoes, and I desperately tried to get him to eat some tahini to stimulate his appetite. With every bite he took, I exhaled a sigh of relief, knowing that my strength as a mother wasn’t just about feeding him but keeping him alive in the midst of lethal circumstances.
But time was not on our side.
Weeks passed, and his symptoms began to show again.
On December 17th, Youssef started vomiting blood. My heart jumped out of my chest as I rushed him into my arms and headed to the only central hospital. They did what they could with their limited resources, but they refused to refer him for treatment abroad, claiming his case wasn’t urgent enough. There were cancer patients, children with amputated limbs, and thousands of similar stories, all fighting for the same scarce medical attention.
But I wasn’t going to give up. We submitted the request for a referral and waited for our turn and a chance to travel, but the fear never left me.
Youssef, with his innocent nature, asks me every night, “Mama, when will we go back to our beautiful home?”
How do I answer? Do I tell him that our house no longer exists, just like everything else we lost? I would tell him, "Soon, my love, soon." He would then ask for his favorite green car. I promised him I’d buy him a new one when we found it, but each night he would fall asleep, and the car never came.
As I lived through this daily anxiety, the painful decision arrived.
My husband and I decided to sell everything we owned and borrow what we could so we could travel before the border closed and Rafah was overtaken. Travel was our last hope for Youssef’s treatment, but what we didn’t know was that fate was already reshaping our tragedy.
The border was closed, Rafah was completely destroyed.
The dream of treating my son now seemed unreachable. I watched him grow before my eyes, suffering — not only from his internal bleeding illness but also from the destruction that surrounded us from all sides. Every day, I see the pain growing in his innocent eyes, and I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness, as a mother, as a pharmacist, as a human being, unable to save him from this nightmare.
I cannot describe the weight of the pain that resides in my heart now; Youssef, who should be playing and laughing, is living every day under the weight of his illness and the fires filling the skies above us. Every night, after his questions about his green car and "when will we go back home?" I try to stay strong, but inside, endless tears of helplessness flow.
I am fighting to keep my son alive, but each day, I see the hope slipping further away…
Writing these words has been one of the most daunting challenges I've ever faced. Findi… Kamel Shahwan needs your support for Help
I feel that my people's culture, connection, and community has been ripped from my grasp before I even got to inherit it.
I want to learn the Wiradjuri language, help keep it alive but I need some help. Tips, advice, resource recommendations, ect for learning the language, especially one with as many cases as Wiradjuri.
I already know about Stan&Flo Grant's Wiradjuri Dictionary (based on Dr. Stan Grant and Dr. John Rudder's work)
I have mostly enjoyed learning languages on my own before, but have never had good results.
It also might be important to know that I am autistic
