#Lai Mohammed

[alabs1]

Lai To LP, PDP: You Lost Presidential Poll Woefully, Stop Lamenting

Lai Mohammed, minister of information and culture, has asked opposition parties to desist from “bleating” about the outcome of the presidential election. While speaking on Thursday at a meeting with APC governors in Abuja, President Muhammadu Buhari said while the All Progressives Congress (APC) was working hard to retain the presidency, opposition parties were basking in the euphoria of “false…

[goldmynetv]

Leaked Audio: FG Challenges Peter Obi, Seeks Further Clarification

The presidential candidate of the Labour Party, Peter Obi, has been challenged by the federal government to further clarify his position on the alleged leaked audio conversation between him and Bishop David Oyedepo. In his address to the media on Monday, the Minister of Culture and Information, Lai Mohammed stated that Obi ought to clarify his meaning when he said the audio was “a fake doctored…

[paper-mario-wiki]

hey! i've been in talks with Mohammed/@help-mona.

their campaign (verified here) has been going on for quite a while, and donations have significantly slowed down.

i've been a bit destitute lately, but i was able to chip in 50 euros.

i'd love to see someone match my donation, or even match 10% of it.

if you can't, i'd greatly appreciate it if you could help spread it around.

even with small donations, little by little we can build bridges to safety.

but only if people are willing to help lay the bricks.

[transmutationisms]

31 July: Update on Mohammed Iwais

Hey everyone, a lot of you have seen my posts about Mohammed @mohdiwais in Gaza. Since October 7, Mohammed has lost his house and his company to the IOF bombing, and he is struggling to access clean water, food, and necessary medical care. He has 9 brothers, all of whom are married and have children, and he's fundraising to help all of them get to safety and eventually rebuild their lives.

In my last post I told you about his sister, who got shot and had a massive bullet embedded in her leg:

Luckily, the operation to remove it was successful, and she is still alive. However, today Mohammed told me that her condition is getting worse due to pollution and lack of access to medications she needs. Caring for someone after surgery is hard enough without enduring a horrific genocide at the same time. Her family are desperately hoping she recovers, but they are stuck in unsafe conditions, being bombed and deprived of basic necessities by the IOF.

That's where you come in. Mohammed and his family are in an ongoing crisis, and they need your help. Since I started boosting his campaign, he's raised a few thousand more SEK, and he's extremely grateful to everyone who has donated and helped share his campaign.

However, he still has a long way to go before he reaches his goal of kr500,000 SEK, or $46,679 USD.

This is an attainable goal! But he desperately needs your help to get there.

Before October 7, his family had 37 people, including his brothers and sisters and their children. They lost more than 10 people when their house was bombed, and even laying their bodies to rest properly was not possible in the rubble. Please don't let the Iwais family lose another member. They are still here with us, and they need help urgently.

The support you have given already is amazing, both by donating and by sharing Mohammed's campaign when you can't give anything. Please keep that up. Don't look away, and don't forget about Mohammed, his family, and the horrific abuses they are enduring.

This is an ongoing crisis, and your help can make a tangible difference. Any amount helps; nothing is too small. If you've been waiting to donate to a Gazan campaign, consider this a sign and help Mohammed. Everyone deserves a decent life, and right now Mohammed is still praying just to survive.

kr31,010 SEK / 500,000

verified by @/90-ghost

[rebirthgarments]

Disabled 17 year old Mohammed Hammad needs medical Evacuation immediately!! $10K needed ASAP Mohammed has a fixator on one leg which has sepsis; he will need it amputated (life threatening in current conditions) if he isn't evacuated to Cairo immediately. He takes care of 6 younger siblings essentially by himself. a @FedUp4Palestine verified fuhnd-raizer! givebutter.com/mogaza

[Image description: a graphic with black text on a white and seafoam background that says the text above. There is a QR code above the link that goes to the Give Butter site. To the left of the text is a photo of Mohammed Hammad laying down with his right leg propped up. His leg has a Ilizarov apparatus, a metal fixator that holds pins in his leg (so they are both external and internal, and are easily infected). He is wearing a brown shirt and is smiling. There are two QueerCrip symbols on the graphic that are filled in with pal-eh-steinian flags.]

This is the most urgent fundraiser that I, (Sky from Rebirth Garments), am currently working on!

please please give as much as you can and share!

Stay Connected: Mohammed's Instagram

[albardawillhazem95]

My name is Hazem Mohammed Albardawill. On October 11th 2023, my house was bombed by the Israeli army. I was taken to the hospital, where I lay in intensive care in a coma for days. When I woke up, I was told that my children and pregnant wife had all been martyred in the attack. I was the only survivor.

Now I am alone. I am without my family, and without a home. I live in a shelter that does not protect me from the weather- neither the heat nor the cold and rain. Everything has been taken from me in the most violent and horrifying way possible.

I sustained serious injuries from the attack on my home, but I do not have the funds necessary to treat them. In fact, I struggle to even provide myself with daily necessities like food and water. Your donation will go a long way to providing me not only with my basic needs, but with hope. You are my only lifeline.

Please help by donating if it is within your means, and please reblog and share this post so that more people will see it. Thank you for taking the time to read my story.

@wellwaterhysteria @nabulsi @el-shab-hussein @irhabiya @mohameddd @sar-soor @appsa @fancysmudges @just-browsings-world @mothblogging @aleciosun @serica @fluoresensitive @katherineonlyoneperson-blog @khizuo @lesbiandardevil @transmutationisms @schoolhater98 @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 @brutaliakent @raelyn-dreams @troythecatfish @theropoda @tamarrrra @4ft10tvlandfangirl @queerstudiesnatural @northgazaupdates2 @skatezophrenic @awetistic-things @baby-girl-aaron-dessner @nabulsi27 @gaza-evacuation-funds

[pinkbeetroot]

good news!! please share!!

Mohammeds GFM is back up and running and he needs the donations now more than ever!!

the hospital where his wife Manal is currently laying in a coma has contacted him and said they will try and move her out of Gaza as soon as the new year! this is all very good news as she needs comprehensive care for her uterine cancer that just simply is not possible in Gaza right now.

please give any amount you can to the Al Manasra family so the treatment of Manal can be secured. the evacuation and further medical expenses will be very expensive

https://gofund.me/b0a04ead

https://gofund.me/b0a04ead

@save-mohamed-family @ezrazone @determinate-negation @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @fleshdyk3 @omegaversereloaded

[heavenbloom]

🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: BOYCOTT TLOU • HELP TODAY • DAILY CLICK.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒊: 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒆𝒓

knight!abby x princess!reader

you can find chapter one here! and the series masterlist here

songs: (act one) main yeh sochkar uske dar se utha — mohammed rafi, (act two) ang laga de — aditi paul, (act three) sealed in fire and blood — ramin djawadi

summary: in the aftermath of your crime, one is eaten alive by regret and the other is consumed by vengeance. the innocence of a blooming love lies dead and from its ashes rises something raw and sweltering.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut and angst, fingering (r!receiving), grinding (?), betrayal, typical fantasy and monarchal political themes, typical period-piece misogyny, mentions of death and a funeral, extensive descriptions of blood, violence and death, nightmares, enemies to lovers, threats made with both words and a weapon, side character deaths, profanities, derogatory language used, please read at your own discretion. semi-proofread

wc: 6.3k

a/n: sorry for the wait!! i hope y’all enjoy <3

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

The turned over soil was dark with its upheaval. The drag of earth, the thud of it, was the rhythm of a drumbeat, one that called for grief and received no answer in turn. The only ones to mourn poor Asha were the other servants. Her mother’s wails cut through the air, a skull-rattling cry of anguish. The others did not allow themselves to weep. The workers of the Palace had seen enough bloodshed within its cold, white walls, now numbed to its horrors. Only exhaustion engulfed their features. Another one…

Asha understood this pain as much as she did the thump of her own heartbeat. That was why she decided to work with you, to be a gatherer of secrets. You could still remember the lightheartedness that graced her features, her lopsided smile when she said, whose eyes are all-seeing if not a maid’s? 

You were the reason for this girl’s demise. It may have been that nobleman’s blade that sliced to the bone, but it was your promises of hope and security that led her to an untimely grave. 

You, a coward. You, a murderer.

You slipped back into the Palace as the rosy shades of dawn swaddled the figures of the grieving, before the welling of tears threatened to fall. Your weeping would have been a mockery, something disingenuous to those who would bear witness. Did you have the right to wear mourning white and feel emotions strong as the beating sun, throat dry and body weak?

Another face flittered into the forefront of your mind, freckled and sharp-lined. Grief clung to the inside of your ribcage. If only you could crack it open and pour this ugliness of yourself out, become pure and benign. Become something worthy of any of the graces you had been given.

You could taste bitter salt on your tongue, feel warmth drip from nose to lip to chin. You could pray and cleanse yourself of your sins all you liked, but it would never be enough. She would look upon your heart with fondness no longer. She saw you as you were, now. Treacherous, rotten, worm-eaten.

☾𖤓

You still adorned funerary attire when you arrived at the Palace’s holding cells. It was located deep within its bowels, lacking its upper cleanliness. The bricks here were haphazardly laid, and an oppressive dampness had seeped itself into each nook and cranny of the place.

The guards had sputtered at your presence, choked words of you not being allowed down here falling from their lips in a weak attempt to deny you entry. But you knew them well. Their loyalties lay at the feet of the Crown’s coin, not at the throne of the King. All you needed to do was shove a necklace and a few bangles their way, and their lips were sealed.

The soft leather of your soles caught slightly with each step, made for marble floors and not the rough and dusty ground beneath. The only sounds present were that of your jewellery chiming with each step and a distant drip, drip, drip.

There were no other prisoners within the holding cells, long since shipped off and never to be heard from again. Icy tendrils ran up the length of your spine as you made your way down the cramped hallway, eyes frantically searching.

She was in the cell at the end. Her back was turned, silhouetted from the little light that encompassed the space. Her outline looked equally defeated and taut, as if she was grappling with what was and what should have been. 

You stepped closer, an exhale forcing its way past your trembling lips.

”Abigail.” Relief tapered the ragged edges of your voice. Your intricately stained hands clasped around the rusted metal of the bars as your entire being lurched forward.

Her body snapped tense, bowstring-tight, the set of her shoulders alone divulging the bitterness that simmered just beneath the surface. There was a moment of palpability as you let your presence hang over her, as unwelcome as pelting rain.

”Abigail,” you said more urgently when she remained unfacing. Softer, “Look at me, please.”

At your coaxing plea, she turned her head to the side. Her familiar profile was illuminated by the weak, flickering flame upon the wall. The sight of her was faint, but there was a certain fatigue about the set of her brow, something restrained in the pinch of her lips. 

”You...” The word was pushed out on a weak breath, hazy as if pulled forth from a dream. Then, she gathered her bearings, shoulders rolling back and straightening so her broad frame swallowed up more space. Acrid venom coated her vocal chords as she squeezed the word, again, through the grit of teeth. “You.”

“What are you doing here?”

You crouched to your knees with the hesitance of somebody trapped at the whims of a beast. Her sclera shimmered violently in what little light there was. Those eyes had always been a weapon against your resolve. Each glance of hers was a nocked arrow aimed at the fortified centre of your heart. Now, it was as if she had dipped the arrowheads in oil and set them ablaze.

Your voice tumbled, an unfamiliar bubble of uncertainty rising within it. Carefully chosen, sweet words would not work on Abigail. You were disarmed by her, at the mercy of your own foulness that had been laid so bare before her.

So instead you decided to speak a truth, one that would not gut either of you so quickly. “Asha, my… the handmaid. She’s dead. She was killed by that nobleman.”

You waited for a response but Abigail remained silent, eyes pinning you in place and searching for any sign of trickery. Your fingers tightened around the bars as you stared back, seeking any crack that she bore, any fissure you could slip through and work to your will, but none sifted to her stony surface. Perhaps she just relished in watching you squirm.

“Her burial was this morning,” you spoke gently, the image of the lively girl flickering across your mind, seared there forevermore. “I came here immediately after. I knew that— I was overcome with an urgency to see you.”

Her eyes drifted to your white clothing. A hateful, bitter smile split the plaster of her features. 

“Will you blame that poor girl’s death on me as well?” she asked in a mocking tone, voice laced with amused contempt. “Oh, I can hear it now, what they will say about me. Abigail, so faithful a knight that she struck down feeble noblemen and maids alike for her princess.” 

Heat crept up your neck as you bristled at her mockery. There it was, the stinging lash of the truth coming to strike once more. 

“If I recall correctly, you were the one who took the fall for the crime. This is on you, Abigail, and your own foolishness. You have… you have no right to scorn me for it.” 

Her body dipped forward, closer, and it was the first time you heard the weighty rattle of chains. They were fastened onto her ankles. Normal conduct for an alleged killer, yet they looked so misplaced now. Such a far cry from the shining knight she was only days ago.

The derisive tone she had moments ago slipped away to reveal a nakedness, a rubbed-raw thing that clawed its impatient fingers up her aching gullet. “And you did not fess up to your crime. You watched like a helpless little lamb as they dragged me away, all the while you were bathed in that man’s blood.” 

Her voice shook with the vulnerability of leaves caught within a storm, but it was not tears that she tried to reign back. It was rage, pure and sharp as the edge of a diamond. 

“Where is your honour, princess?!”

The same dormant fury that she held close to her sparked to life in your chest. If it were anybody else, you would have shoved the vile emotion down, but it was her. She had already seen the violence, the pulsing and ever-malleable wrath, that consumed your entire being. For once, you could be outwardly wretched. You could be honest.

Honour this and honour that. The blood of a hundred monarchs shaped the very drum of your heartbeat and she wished to speak of honour? You would laugh if it weren’t for the tightening fist around your lungs.

The colour seeped from your knuckles as you pressed yourself closer to the iron bars, as if you could melt into them with the very ferocity racing within you. “You forget yourself,” you reprimanded firmly. “If you dare question my honour again I’ll—”

“What will you do?” Her chin jutted out, mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line. The possibility of challenge hardened her features. “My title has been stripped, my morality brought into question– all on the basis of a lie. There is no worse pain that you can inflict upon me.”

Yet your life remains intact, you thought viscously. Yet I let you sit here and lick your bloody wounds, unharmed. 

“You should know my capabilities well by now,” you whispered, your words drifting to her like opiate smoke; low, heady, perilous. You were not subtle in the ribbon of a threat you wrapped around your words, tightened noose-like in the way your eyes pinned her in turn.

She rose to her feet then, the clank of iron ringing in the air as she dragged herself closer to the bars. She stopped just out of arm’s breadth from it as the chains screeched in protest. 

You had never felt threatened by her presence, but now you could at last understand the notoriety of her legacy that followed her like a shadow. As she looked down her nose at you, you felt a dull pang of sympathy for the long list of her opponents on the battlefield. Even restrained, she was a formidable sight.

“And you remain ignorant of mine…” she spoke lightly despite all things. “You would do well to remember them, princess.” 

There was a pointed promise in the way her lips shaped around each word, as if each one was loaded with the very essence of vengeance.

You lifted yourself from the ground, elegant as ever as you straightened your back and met her eye, drawing the veil that had slipped onto your shoulders over your hair once more. A princess. Her superior.

A smile curled on your lips, the cloying quality of milk beginning to sour. “We shall see, then, how… proficient you are from within a cell.”  

Your head dipped forward slightly, a hand pressed to your left breast. There was a taunt in how respectful the gesture was. It was one only exchanged between equals.

“May the gods smile upon your determined spirit, Abigail.”

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

You were dreaming of it again. Metal in your hands, metal in a gut. The bubbling groan of a man mere moments away from death. And, oh, the crimson, everything red-slickened and raw. His eyes were no longer his own, but rather beads of boundless contempt, staring and staring and—

Reality slammed its fists into your chest, awakened with a choked gasp squeezing its way out of your throat. Your eyelids flew open to the deep blue near-dawn. The crooning of first birdsong flitted through the arched doorway, eerie in its solitary note. You blinked up at the roof, the carvings of deities and flowers shifting and mingling, one and the same, in your unfocused vision.

The man you killed was not owed any sympathy. He was egotistic and wished to be as close to your brother as a cat curled on its owner’s lap. He would have done anything to garner the love of a tyrant, and you felt a nauseating amount of hatred for him even in his demise. There was no remorse for killing him, and you reminded yourself that it was an act of rooting out bad weeds before your reign, but your subconscious disagreed. 

It was still taking a life and it was a defiling rake of nails beneath your skin. No matter who the man was, he was still human.

You wanted to be ruthless, to cleanse yourself of any feeling and barrel towards your goals with cold, uncaring resolve. But then you would be the spitting image of your brother. The thought of it made your stomach turn.

You sat up then, the sheets slipping off of your torso and heaping onto your lap. You dragged your shaky hands down your face until your fingers traced the soft outline of your lips. 

Your thoughts parted then drifted back to Abigail. At this hour, they seldom didn’t

You recalled the strength in each of her actions even as she moved about with an easy fluidity. The glimpses of raised white scars that littered her body, one that you had never known the complete bareness of. 

What were her feelings when she first killed someone? Was she now plagued by a thousand phantoms in the world of her dreams, still bleeding from the wounds she inflicted upon them? Did she feel nothing at all?  

Your rumination was cut short when a faint breeze wafted through the curtains, fragrant from the foliage below. You lifted your head to it as it stirred the loose hair that brushed against your forehead. The action should have been soothing, but what you spotted turned the blood in your veins glacial. 

You had no idea how long Abigail had been here. She was sitting on top of a floor cushion in front of the balcony doorway, one knee propped just beneath her chin and the other leg stretched outwards. The position would have looked regal, akin to the uncaring languidness of a ruler, if not for the way she watched you. Chin pointed towards her chest, a blue glare slicing through long brown lashes. 

She was motionless in the purpling hues of morning, more beast crouched in wait than leisurely empress.

The fear you felt seeped marrow-deep, but something else lurked beneath it. swirling in the pit of your gut. It had been months since you had seen this face last, yet it was stitched into the seams of your every thought, conscious or dreaming. 

Something within you lurched.

For once, words eluded you. Ambition was a potent drug, you knew, and paired with vengeance it became absolute. How could you placate such a resolute mind?

Your throat dried as you watched her stand. There was no preamble as she crossed the room in a few long strides. This time, there were no chains and bars to keep her sequestered. The truth of this should have sent you scrambling, but astonishment buoyed you to the bed, quiet. 

Her freckled cheeks were awash with a rosy red, almost cherubic despite the face that she wore. A hateful expression. A hate so powerful, it teetered on a look of pain.

Your thumb twitched as she stopped mere inches away, the desire to smooth out the uneasy crease of mouth and brow shoved back into the depths of yourself. Why did her presence, the mere concept of her, steal away all reason and substitute it with something so sickly vulnerable?

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words wilted on your tongue when you felt the cool press of steel against your neck. There was no tremble in the blade. Her grip on the hilt was certain. 

Understanding came as steadfast as the morning unfurling itself to the earth beyond your chambers. You, lovesick. Her, loathing you for it. For all of it.

“If you utter a single word…” she warned through gritted teeth, pressing the tip of the blade closer to your skin, the pressure of its presence imminent. 

Her eyes drifted down to the column of your throat, eyeing the stable heaving of your chest. A scowl fractured her features. “I should end your vicious little life right here and live up to the title you've cursed me with.”

You could sense it, the unspoken however. The wraith of the word settled over you like the gauze of a veil. If she wished to kill you so badly, she could have left you gutted on the fine sheets and fled before buttery sunlight engulfed the room. 

Why hadn’t she?

“I expected the same amount of goodness in response to my sacrifice. I expected you to come clean or… or to at the very least free me from that miserable cell!” Her features contorted at the remembrance of the dark, cramped space, the stifling silence, the numbing solitude. 

Then, the more chilling memories. Your face, flitting behind each blink. Your laugh, heard in the heavy rhythm of her own breath. Your lips, whispers and kisses and bites, felt only in the slumbering hours of a place that remained in stasis. Her hand flexed around the weapon.

Her voice took on the timbre of fervently plucked sitar strings. “The very thing I pledged my life to, the very thing I killed for, left me to rot. My King and his supposed sweet, saintly sister… how do you think such a wound festers, princess?”

You could not dignify her question with an answer. You had known no such discomfort, no such betrayal or ache. 

“Abigail…” Her name, spoken again with the quiet of a clandestine prayer. What else was there to do but acknowledge her through these three sweet syllables?

A prick of pain. The warmth of lifeblood trickling down the length of your throat. Just a nick, a rivulet. Abigail drew in her breath. Her irises seemed to shiver in their anger.

“I told you to be silent,” her voice sank into an exacerbated whisper. “Or would you rather I skewer you now?”

Gone was the radiant, gentle-hearted knight, eclipsed by the moon of this new vindictive creature. You were enraptured by the jaggedness of her being. Hair uncharacteristically dishevelled and loose around her shoulders. Dilapidated sleeves rolled up to the elbow. 

“How angry you are…”

“Insolent–”

“Your beauty shines like this.”

Silence, thick and saccharine as flowing honey, settled over the moment. 

Abigail looked as if you had snatched the dagger from her and plunged it bone-deep. The first tremors of uncertainty twitched beneath her sure, calloused fingers. 

The wanting, besotted thing within Abigail gnashed its craving teeth. No. She would not let you disarm her of this, the one vein of conviction that pumped purpose into her battered heart. I will not waver.

But it was another thing entirely, to resist the beckoning call of surrender when you reached for her.

The moment your sleep-warmed hands came in contact with her own, she knew that fighting was futile. Her grip loosened, the blade slid from between her palms and into your own grasp. 

It was without a doubt stolen. It was weighty and intricately engraved with motifs of the sun and moon. The crest of your kingdom. How ironic.

Your gaze flickered from it to Abigail, whose eyes chased every movement of yours. She was waiting for you to return the favour, to press the blade to her own throat.

It never came. 

The blade was placed on the low, wooden bedside next to the bed, its mass clattering against the varnished surface. Surrender.

“Why…?” she breathed through the constriction of her lungs. Where was the familiar fire, that arrogance she came to despise?

“We were not destined to be adversaries.” Spoken as if this rivalry was something you alone could decide. 

Your features were aglow as first rays of dawn crept its way into the room. Brilliant eyes, straight spine, parted lips. In the liquid, shifting gold, you looked incorporeal. Coaxed from the most bereft parts of her mind.

A large palm cupped the softness of your cheek, a thumb running over the bending bone of your jaw and leading up to the bridge of your nose. She had to remind herself, sometimes, that you were flesh and bone beneath the title and crown. 

They say that the royal blood carried on the legacy of a fallen deity, who perished for nourishing this very kingdom. She never considered herself a particularly pious person but it rang true to her, especially now. 

“Then, enlighten me, princess,” she spoke softly. “What path have the gods carved for us?”

“The gods have no hand in this.” Blasphemous words that cut into her. “No, I won’t accredit this to divinity.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you let yourself melt into the coolness of her touch. “I want you, Abigail.” 

A litany of pleas that danced, unsaid, on your tongue. Love me, love me, love me. 

Begging was unnecessary, for the same thrill of need sang in her own bones. She tilted your head up slowly, admiring the way grandiosity slipped from your being as swiftly as it came.

Her lips against yours were a beckoning. They moved with a sure rhythm, gentler than the last time. Her kiss told you to unveil yourself to her. Give me sincerity, it whined. Give me an honest place to lay this love.

You fell back against the plush pillows, pulling her down with you. Her weight crashed against yours, hefty and unknown, yet comforting in its corporeality. She smelled faintly of mildew and rain, a scent splintered with the sharp tang of rust.

Your tongue ran across the bottom of her plump lip gently, asking for entrance. If she wanted the truth, you would offer it in its entirety.

Your searching fingers found her blonde tresses while hers skimmed down to the hem of your nightgown. She slowly drew the airy fabric upwards from your ankles to your knees and then the middle of your thighs. The contact of the calloused drag of skin sparked something within, warmth coiling in the pit of your belly like a slumbering dragon.

You broke away from her to sit up, pulling the piece of thin cloth up and over your head. Abigail watched, sitting back on her haunches, as each inch of your skin was bared to her patient gaze. The softness found in each curve was a marvel to her, a body unmarred by the outside world. She observed you like one would an intricate tapestry, each whorl and knot revealing more depth with each second passed.

A hum of appreciation reverberated through her chest as she began to focus on discarding her own threadbare clothing. First, the tunic and then the tight hose that stuck to her skin. 

Her body was a thing conjured from epic poems and scriptures. Robust and sunkissed, with the new dawn melting over her back and haloing the outline of her body. A hero, draped in the splendour of victory… a god, blessing the mortal realm with its incomprehensible presence.

You reeled Abigail back towards you, the searing heat of her heaving chest pressing against yours. Her lips trailed dulcet kisses along your jaw as her fingers splayed against the flesh of your thighs. 

Your bodies melded together, pressing as if through the sheer force of passion, you could become one. Your bodies sang with pleasure, thrumming out an ancient and gasping melody. 

Hands and eyes, dilated with velvet-black pits of ecstasy, explored. You traced over the scars that ran down her body, transforming them into rivers and pathways, her body an entire world that they occupied. 

Her fingers grazed over the wet, sensitive flesh between your legs, silky and petal-like. They found the sensitive bud there, rubbing gentle circles upon it with her thumb while two of her other digits prodded for entry. 

You arched into her, a sweet noise dancing off of your parted lips as she slid them in knuckle-deep. She lured bliss from your body with each thrust and curl, each sweet word and absentminded, drunken press of her lips against yours.

Your writhing figure against hers was enough to make her own cunt throb with pure need. You felt, even through the haziness, her broad body rocking against yours, her pelvis gently seeking friction against the plushness of your thigh.

A symphonic crescendo of moans swelled in the morning air as you both neared shivery climax. Her ministrations grew more frenzied, eyebrows knitted together and bottom lip drawn tightly between her teeth. 

The pressure snapped, swift and blinding. You held onto Abigail tightly as she shook along with you, shallow breaths mingling together. The hard planes of her stomach were now sweat-slicked and she felt almost feverish against you.

As the throes of orgasm subsided, you raked a hand through her hair and pressed a dry kiss to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She was still panting, slumped on top of you.

 This was a first, this contentment that wound itself through her being. There was not an ounce of tension in the sculpted divots and muscle. 

You pressed another kiss to her temple and you exhaled as she buried her nose further into your collarbone. 

Vulnerability rose up within you, and this time you loosened your grip on its reigns. Insatiability had always been your greatest weakness. You wanted her, you realised, not just in passing but always. You wanted to wake up to golden hair fanned across your pillows and a freckled nose pressed up against yours. You wanted the surety she guaranteed and the devotion that it promised.

 You wanted to love with all of yourself, and not just through the confines of the mould that you had been trapped in since birth. You wanted to be loved, no matter how many times you were forced to bloody your hands.

For that, however, you would have to peel back one last layer.

☾𖤓

Abigail was turned away from you as you told her your plans of usurpation, her face tilted up towards the heat beating in as she gathered up her scattered clothing. She pulled each piece on with a languidness, the nape of her neck still flushed beneath curling blonde baby hairs.

The lack of reaction turned the sweetness of your post-lovemaking haze sour. Your thoughts raced and tangled together in an incessant bundle as you forced the words leaving your mouth to remain a steady stream.

Would this revelation swing the pendulum of rivalry into motion once more? With your prior actions, you could sympathise, but this… this was grander than her. It was the ember that would flare the kindlings of hope; a prosperous future assured.

No remorse could be felt for that.

“Abigail…” you spoke slowly, the shape of her name dripping with solemnity. “My conviction is stone.”

You drew breath into your lungs as you watched her drag her bottoms up her legs, as if you were whispering sweet nothings and not outright treason. 

“If you are not my ally… if your heart's not in this, I will declare you my enemy.” 

You touched the dagger still resting at your bedside, precious and half-forgotten. “Do we have an understanding?”

She turned to face you then, absentmindedly fastening the ties of her tunic. Tousled but bright as noonday, she was beautiful enough to crush the new bloom nestled in your heart. 

She gazed at the weapon before looking at you directly. Clear blue and milky white, unwavering and unreadable.

Not so much an arrow now, her eyes were a roaring blaze, and your resolve was the aftermath of something swallowed whole.

𖥸 𖥸 𖥸

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓��𝐑𝐄𝐄

The wind wailed into the silence, crashing its invisible body against the looming Palace and whistling in the gaps of the sun bleached stone. Chaos roiled in the underbelly of the night, the closing notes of summer felt in the lashing heat that lingered.

Despite the late hour, the oil lamps in the throne room and surrounding hallways burned low and perilous. Servants scurried out of the way, prostrating themselves on the ground as a cloud of white and gold glided past them. 

The tremendous, ancient doors opened with a loud groan, making you swivel around. Encased in the rigid formation, like an egg warmed by a hen, was your brother. He spared you so much as a glance as he climbed up the stairs leading to the throne, his footfalls muffled by the plush, richly coloured carpet. The knights dispersed to their positions as he did so, silent and armed witnesses.

“My King…” You knelt low to the ground, your head centimetres from the cold marble. You were his subject first, his blood second. 

You heard the rustle of fabric and the sigh of a feather-stuffed cushion being squashed beneath weight. 

“Rise.” His voice was clear and authoritative. You lifted your head to your mirror. The same eyes beneath a cruel set of brows. Same mouth, pressed into a thin line. The same hands, enclosed around the sheath of a sword, merely ornamental. A dutifully polished thing that had never tasted violence.

You stumbled onto your feet, and noted his clothing; a plum-coloured robe and a necklace of pearls and rubies dripping down his throat, like bone and blood congealed. Ever opulent, ever the lavish King, even in the privacy of nightfall. 

“State your business,” he spoke with a now bored inflection. “Tell me why you have disturbed me at so late an hour.” 

There was a hum of warning beneath his tone. If the reason for this disruption was frivolous, you knew he would not think twice about spearing you through.

 After all, what was an imperial daughter? Your value was held in your capability to be married off, to secure alliances, to fawn and charm and pamper. You had proven long ago that you would not be a bargaining chip in the game of monstrous men. 

You may have been worthless in that regard, but perhaps there was a way to regain his favour…

Eyes wide and lips quivering, you huddled your arms to your chest. Weak, small, inferior tohim in every way.

 “I caught her, Your Grace. The knight that escaped her cell,” you spoke through the warbling tones of fear. “She… she made an attempt on my life, but, blessed by the gods, I was saved.”

This piqued his interest. Your brother rested his chin on a thickly jewelled hand, his body leaning forward. Frankly, there was no love in his heart for the nobleman that lost his life, nor was there a thirst for vengeance because of it. Nonetheless, Abigail’s escape had tarnished his punitive, unbested reputation. 

For that alone, her head deserved to roll.

“Ah… finally a useful word you speak.” He smiled, his lips still wrapped around his teeth. Its mirthfulness stopped short of his eyes, still as shrewd as ever.

You watched as he gestured around the room, turning his head this way and that in mock confusion. “Well? Where is the unloyal cunt?” Joy trickled down into his demeanour now and, like a child anticipating gifts, his body straightened and his eyes shone. Only in his cruelty did the more human parts of himself show from within. 

You turned to the guard standing beside the entrance, and inclined your head deeply. 

There was a whirl of feather-white silk as he left the throne room, and mere moments later, the clang of metal against the marble floors reverberated through the vast space. It was different from the cheerful, jingling song of the anklet bells of dancers that typically graced these halls. This was weightier. It held no rhythm or reason.

Abigail was dragged in hastily, adorned from waist-to-toe in chains. The men who pulled her along dumped her onto the ground unceremoniously and her form sprawled with no resistance. The dry scratch of her voice, pain, left her lips. Her golden, knotted hair clashed with the deep red of the carpet, spilling across it as she tried to right herself. It was one last shred of dignity, to rise upon trembling knees.

A low, appreciative whistle shot through the air, drawing your attention back to your brother. A grin now split his features, a thing with too many teeth. Each gemstone shimmered as he stood, a wave of light as he clutched his sword tightly by his side.

“You’ve done well, sister,” he praised as he descended the stairs slowly. His eyes were trained on Abigail as he spoke to you, his steps were punctuated with the chime of finery. He had a likeness to a predator in this moment, something feline slinking towards its prey.

“Very well, indeed.” Deep purple pooled at his ankles, his finely crafted shoes just centimetres from Abigail’s form. He looked down his nose at her, undeterred by the glare she shot up at him. 

There was a hiss of steel being drawn. Your brother’s sword was an elegant thing passed down to the new King when the old died. Golden hilt and flowering carvings that twined up the blade, it gleamed prettily in the lamp light. Despite its deadly point, it had never been used for battle, only a symbolic cementation of status.

What was he…

He tossed the sheath away and its impact rang hollow across the cavernous room. Then he turned away from Abigail, his attention on you. 

Instead of blinding pain, you were met with the handle being held towards you. His eyebrows softened, you supposed, in an act of what he believed was familial fondness. If I cannot exploit you as a flower, I will make use of your thorns.

“I believe this victory is yours.” 

You had no choice but to take the sword in shaking hands. The surprisingly lightweight hilt felt like fire, burning in your grasp. In all your years, you had only ever gazed upon this ancient relic.

Your brother rested a hand on your shoulder, as if to soothe your nerves. You were a skittish animal, always, in his mind. 

“Even a fool can do this if the blade is sharp enough,” he whispered, lullaby-soft. “Get your vengeance, my sweet sister. Honour our blood and let the final image of her life be the throne that she betrayed.”

Your fingers pressed into the cool metal. Abigail’s eyes were trained on you, her mouth parted ever so slightly. You watched as her body shifted. Lungs expanding, throat constricting.

“Now!” 

In an instant, disarray seized the room. The clang of armoured bodies sounded everywhere and so too, the squelch and roar of men dying. The resounding whine of the doors being closed and barred. Trapped in the midst of massacre.

You kept your gaze trained on your brother’s face. First, you watched as he recoiled with shock. The curtain-lift of realisation.

Finally, anger.

The hand on your shoulder tightened and bunched the fabric of your nightgown. His teeth were bared and the veins in his throat protruded with rage.

“What have you done?! You spineless little bitch!”

Your brother was wrenched away from you with full force, curses and spittle still flying from his mouth as he was forced onto his knees. Abigail was out of her chains, never completely restrained to begin with, and she eyed you with a tight expression as she held him down.

“What have I done, brother?” Your voice now trembled with the venom of restraint snapping. “I have done what is right. Our people deserve a true ruler, not a coddled man who plays at one.”

A wet laugh bubbled from his mouth, hysteric over the symphony of steel around you. “And you think you have what it takes to be a ruler?” His eyes were open, drinking in the light, wide pools of disdain. “If I am so coddled, what does that make you? Tell me, what do you know of history? Of warfare?

“What are you but a woman? You were raised for marriage,” he continued, his amused mask slipping to reveal the undercurrents of fear that roared within him. “I was raised to be King! This is my birthright and you cannot simply snatch it away!”

“Princess.” Abigail’s voice was stern over your brother’s prattling. A simple reminder. 

You stepped closer and watched as he faltered.

“W… Wait and heed my words. There is an order to these things,” he spoke desperately. “Disposing of me won’t alter it. Do you think the masses will warm up to you just because you are soft-hearted? They will still starve and slave their lives away, and they will hate you all the more for your gentleness. See things as I do, sister. When their hunger grows, will they look upon you kindly? You struggle, even now, to hold a sword. 

“They won’t view your weakness as benignity.”

Even in the act of begging for his life, he managed to crush you beneath him, like wilted petals in the palm of an enclosed fist. You brought the blade close to your face and inspected each silver bud of jasmine and rose. 

“Should I care about whether they view me as strong?” you asked, the cadence of your voice sounding distant and foreign to your own ears. “You forget that within the hour, I will control your army.”

You held out the sword in front of you then, the steel glinting. Your ancestors were right not to use it. It felt like a sin to have to dirty it.

No matter, you supposed. Today, history will be rewritten. With its rebirth, it was inevitable that some traditions would rot. Best to start with this one.

“What was it you told me before? ‘If the blade is sharp enough…’”

The wailing of a man defeated pierced your ears. His eyes were unseeing and yet so filled with despair. He slumped against Abigail’s grip and she let him fall to the ground with a thud. 

You loomed over your brother, sword raised over your head.

“Goodbye, dear brother. We will meet again, I’m sure, in the land of the damned.”

It was as clean as the business of death could be. A splash of vermillion against the desolate white. A whimper, followed by cloying silence. 

The deed was done.

[abdallaheyad99]

I am Abdallah Awad 34 years old, from to GAZA and my wife Haneen Awad ; father for 4 children: Mohammed Awad 9 years, Ziad Awad 8 years, Omar Awad 3 years, Amer Awad 4 years, In the heart of the Gaza war, amidst the thunderous roar of bombs and the piercing cries of anguish, our world crumbled into dust. Our home, once a sanctuary of peace and warmth, lay shattered and broken, razed to the ground by the relentless onslaught of conflict. With it vanished our sense of security, our shelter, and our means of livelihood. As the chaos raged around us, I battled not only the horrors of war but also the silent torment of illness. Stricken with multiple afflictions, I found myself in a desperate struggle for survival, with no access to the medications that could ease my suffering. Each day brought new pains, new challenges, and the grim realization that my only hope lay in undergoing countless surgeries, each leaving its scars etched upon my weary body. Medical reports stood as stark reminders of the trials I endured, testifying to the relentless assault on my health and well-being. But my own struggles paled in comparison to the anguish of my beloved child, Omar. His once vibrant spirit dampened by illness and despair, he fought a silent battle against the relentless tide of sickness. Time and again, he was admitted to the hospital, his tiny frame racked with pain and exhaustion, his innocence stolen by the cruel hand of fate.

[save-mohamed-family]

It was a devastating bombing near our camp. In just a single moment, the entire place turned into rubble and destruction, as if the earth had split open to swallow everything. The cries of children faded suddenly, the faces of women disappeared in tragic silence, and the men who tried to protect fell motionless. Dozens of bodies lay scattered among the debris—children who were never given a chance at life, women who lost everything, and elders whose journeys ended in heartbreaking stillness. Everything was reduced to ashes, even the air became heavy with the scent of death. The scene was like an endless nightmare, a reality that suffocates souls and leaves hearts suspended between pain and despair.

You are my only hope and the hope of these children for their safety. Your donation, even just five dollars, could save their lives. Please, don't leave us alone amidst this destruction and fear. Extend your hand to be their mercy and hope.

[musicfren]

Help Mohammed Rebuild His Home And Complete His Education!

I have helped set up this GoFundMe on behalf of Mohammed M Siam, who is not on Tumblr but is vetted through a friend of mine. I don't know how else this is going to get traction, so I'm gonna try to boost it here. Mohammed is a 23 yo Palestinian IT student whose home was destroyed by an IOF attack. He is trying to raise funds to rebuild as much of his home as he can manage and cover basic survival needs. If we're able to meet this goal, he hopes to raise enough money to travel outside Gaza and continue his education. In Mohammed's own words:

Mohammed's Story: A Gazan's Journey Through War and Loss.

My name is Mohammed, a 23-year-old young man from the heart of Gaza, Khan Yunis. My story is one of resilience, loss, and a burning hope for the future.

The war ripped through our lives with a ferocity that left scars on our hearts and our city. We were forced to flee our homes, seeking refuge from the relentless bombing that turned our once vibrant streets into a landscape of dust and debris. The "Al-Arous Ice Cream Factory," a familiar landmark and a source of joy, was reduced to rubble, a symbol of the devastation that engulfed us.

The journey of displacement has been long and arduous, stretching over ten months. We have endured hunger, the constant threat of violence, and the agonizing lack of essential medications. This shortage has created a desperate situation, particularly for those with chronic illnesses who struggle to find the treatment they need.

Our home, a testament to the love and hard work of my family, was shattered beyond repair. My brother, who had only recently begun his life with his wife, lost everything – their home, belongings, even their dreams for a future together. My father's shop, the cornerstone of our family's livelihood, was also destroyed, leaving us with nothing but the painful memories of what we had lost.

I, too, was a victim of the war's destruction. My pursuit of knowledge at the Islamic University of Gaza, where I was excelling in Information Technology, was abruptly halted. The university, a beacon of hope for countless students, lay in ruins.

We are now left with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the unwavering spirit to rebuild. My plea is for assistance – any help, however small – to rebuild our homes, our lives, and to restore the future we have lost. I long to complete my education outside of Gaza, where I can pursue my dreams in safety and peace of mind.

I hope that my story will touch your heart and inspire you to offer a hand of support. Together, we can help rebuild Gaza and give hope to those who have suffered so much.

This is Mohammed's story, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity.

أنا محمد، شاب في الـ 23 من العمر، من قلب غزة، خان يونس. قصتي هي قصة صمود وخسارة وأمل مشتعل بالمستقبل.

الحرب مزقت حياتنا بعنف ترك ندوبًا على قلوبنا ومدينتنا. اضطررنا للفرار من منازلنا، بحثًا عن ملجأ من القصف المتواصل الذي حول شوارعنا النابضة بالحياة إلى مشهد من الغبار والركام. مصنع "العروس للآيس كريم"، معلم مألوف ومصدر للفرح، تحول إلى ركام، رمزًا للدمار الذي اجتاحنا.

رحلة النزوح كانت طويلة وشاقة، امتدت لأكثر من عشرة أشهر. تحملنا الجوع، والتهديد المستمر بالعنف، ونقص الأدوية الأساسية المُؤلم. هذا النقص خلق وضعًا يائسًا، خاصةً بالنسبة لأولئك الذين يعانون من أمراض مزمنة ويصعب عليهم العثور على العلاج الذي يحتاجونه.

منزلنا، شهادة على حب ��عمل عائلتي، تحطم بشكل لا يمكن إصلاحه. أخي، الذي بدأ حياته حديثًا مع زوجته، خسر كل شيء - منزله، ممتلكاته، حتى أحلامه لمستقبل مشترك. محل أبي، ركيزة رزق عائلتنا، دُمر أيضًا، تاركًا لنا ذكريات مؤلمة لما فقدناه.

أنا أيضًا كنت ضحية لدمار الحرب. طموحي في المعرفة بجامعة الإٍسلامية في غزة، حيث كنت أتميز في تكنولوجيا المعلومات، توقف فجأة. الجامعة، منارة أمل للعديد من الطلاب، تحولت إلى أنقاض.

لم يبق لنا الآن سوى الملابس على ظهورنا وعزيمة لا تتزعزع لإعادة البناء. مناشدتي هي المساعدة - أي مساعدة، مهما كانت صغيرة - لإعادة بناء منازلنا، وحياتنا، واستعادة المستقبل الذي فقدناه. أطمح لإكمال تعليمي خارج غزة، حيث يمكنني متابعة أحلامي بأمان وهدوء بال.

آمل أن تلامس قصتي قلبك وتلهمك لتقديم يد العون. معًا، يمكنكم المساعدة في إعادة بناء غزة وإعطاء الأمل لمن عانوا كثيرًا.

هذه قصتي، شهادة على صمود الروح البشرية في وجه محنة لا تُصدق.

Before the destruction:

After:

tagging below the cut

@dlxxv-vetted-donations @fairuzfan @nottesilhouette @ethanscrocs @newdog14 @funds4gaza

[opencommunion]

"'Nothing, absolutely nothing, justifies what we have witnessed here,' says Dr Mohammed Tahir, an orthopaedic surgeon from London. 'People bring in their children, who are dead on arrival, and want us to try to resuscitate them – even though their bodies show no sign of life. They then leave carrying the limbs of their dead children in cardboard boxes.'

'The Palestinian medical students are the real heroes,' says Tahir. 'They have had their universities destroyed and flock to us for any knowledge we can impart that may help them, help others. They are young volunteers, who aren’t getting paid, but turn up to work every day, trying desperately to prop up a failing health system because the world has failed them.' One day, the doctors say they visited the sites of the destroyed Nasser and al-Shifa hospitals, where the mass graves of hundreds of Palestinians were recently discovered, many stripped naked with their hands tied, according to reports published by the UN human rights office.

'It was apocalyptic,' says Dr Laura Swoboda, a wound care specialist from Wisconsin. 'The sheer destruction was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Decomposing bodies still stuck beneath the rubble. All around us, we could smell death.'

As she walked among the debris, Swoboda says she saw overturned ambulances and a burned-out dialysis centre; medical supplies scattered everywhere and the sound of black body bags flapping in the wind. 'There were notes scribbled on the walls of theatre rooms by doctors who had been hiding there,' says Swoboda.

... 'One day I went to the emergency room and lying on a stretcher was a small boy, the exact same size as my four-year-old son; his ashened baby hands were becoming toddler hands,' says Kattan. 'His name was Mahmoud and he was a victim of an Israeli bombing campaign that left more than 75% of his body burnt. His eyebrows were singed off, his hair smelt of smoke.'

Mahmoud lay crying in pain as Kattan unwrapped his wounds; an ultrasound revealed a shattered spleen and crushed lungs. 'We did not have the resources to save him and he died in front of us – cold and in pain with no one who knew him,' she says, holding back tears. 'I wish I could have protected him. He was only four.'"

[mariacallous]

Israel and Hamas have reached a cease-fire deal that would bring about a much-needed pause in fighting in Gaza after 15 months of war and secure the release of 33 hostages held there, the governments of Qatar and the United States announced on Wednesday.

The deal—which is based on a proposal put forward by U.S. President Joe Biden in May 2024—will see an initial six-week cessation in fighting and a surge of humanitarian aid into the Palestinian enclave.

Hundreds of Palestinian prisoners held in Israeli prisons will be released in the exchange. The agreement will also see the gradual withdrawal of Israeli forces from Gaza, with the broader goal of laying the groundwork for a permanent end to the fighting under the second and third phases of the deal.

The agreement is expected to come into force on Sunday, Jan. 19, on the eve of the inauguration of President-elect Donald Trump. 

“At long last, I can announce a cease-fire and hostage deal has been reached,” said Biden, who spoke to the press flanked by Secretary of State Anthony Blinken and Vice President Kamala Harris in what is likely to be his last major foreign-policy speech as president. 

“The road to this deal has not been easy,” said Biden, whose senior officials have made dozens of trips to the region over the past 15 months in a bid to secure a deal. 

The president cited the storied U.S. diplomat George Mitchell, who once described diplomacy as “700 days of failure and one day of success.” 

Senior Hamas official Bassem Naim confirmed to Foreign Policy that a deal had been reached. 

The office of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said in a statement on Wednesday that remaining details of the deal were still being finalized. Israel’s security cabinet is set to meet at 11 a.m. local time on Thursday to approve the deal, according to reports in the Hebrew press. The agreement would then go to the country’s parliament for a vote. 

Israeli President Isaac Herzog called for the government to approve the deal in a speech on Wednesday.

Herzog met on Wednesday with Mirjana Spoljaric, the president of the International Red Cross, which will facilitate the handover of hostages. 

Previous attempts to secure a cease-fire deal in recent months have fallen apart at the eleventh hour as Hamas and Israeli officials struggled to reach an agreement on the withdrawal of Israeli forces.

Senior U.S. officials have been signaling since Monday that a deal was imminent.

Trump, who warned Hamas that there would be “hell to pay” if hostages weren’t released by his inauguration on Jan. 20, became the first leader to confirm that an agreement had been reached in a post on Truth Social. “WE HAVE A DEAL FOR THE HOSTAGES IN THE MIDDLE EAST. THEY WILL BE RELEASED SHORTLY. THANK YOU!” Trump said.

In a speech announcing the deal, Qatari rime Minister, Mohammed bin Abdulrahman Al Thani—whose country has brokered talks between Israel and Hamas—said that negotiators had seen momentum start to build toward securing a deal in the past month. 

Al Thani said that the involvement of Trump’s Middle East envoy Steve Witkoff was a “clear signal” of enduring U.S. interest in reaching an agreement, and the Qatari official credited officials from both administrations for the deal.

A monitoring mechanism based in Cairo and led by Egypt, Qatar, and the United States will observe and report on any violations of the agreement, Al Thani said. 

The cease-fire, which is poised to bring about the first break in the fighting in more than a year, is expected to play out in three phases. Biden emphasized in his remarks on Wednesday that there are a number of details to be negotiated to move from phase one to phase two. 

“But the plan says if negotiations take longer than six weeks, the cease-fire will continue as long as the negotiations continue,” the president added. Phase two will see all remaining living hostages released and all remaining Israeli forces withdrawn from the enclave. Additional negotiations during this stage will focus on bringing about  a “permanent end to the war,” Biden said. The final phase will involve discussions on Gaza reconstruction efforts and the return of the remains of dead hostages. 

More than 46,000 Palestinians have been killed in the war, the majority of them civilians, according to the Hamas-run health ministry in the enclave. Some 98 hostages are believed to still be held in Gaza, and Israeli officials estimate that around half are alive. 

Biden also said he was “confident” that the deal would hold, despite the many challenges that lay ahead in terms of maintaining peace between two bitter enemies with fundamentally conflicting visions for the future of Gaza.

At the end of a press conference, a reporter asked Biden whether he or Trump deserved credit for the deal. Biden turned and smiled. “Is that a joke?” he said.

[rebirthgarments]

Mohammed Hammad increased his goal for evacuation to $25k so that he can bring his 6 younger siblings with him!

I was informed by my comrade Brenda that the first goal was originally $10k to evacuate Mohammed Hammad and his mother because since he is under 18, he can only evacuate with a parent or legal guardian. But in this case, his 6 younger siblings would have to be left behind on their own, so @fedup4palestine raised the goal to $25k so that Mohammed’s whole immediate family can all evacuate together. Since you all have been so amazing and we have raised $9k in just 24 hours, I think we can do it!

[Image description: an amazing colored pencil drawing by my 12 year old student Mos @NicoCavalu made of Mohammed Hammad laying down with his leg propped up with the metal fixator on his knee. Hand drawn block text in red, black, white and green reads “Disabled 17yo Mohammed needs medical Evacuation immediately”. Red typed text in red reads “Goal increased to $25k so that his 6 younger siblings are not left behind alone in Rafah

givebutter.com/mogaza

There is a QR code that goes to the Give Butter Link.]

Caption continues:

I’ve had some questions from people asking about my vetting process and about @fedup4palestine and if @moh.2090727 is able to access the money for sure, so here are some short answers:

I or a trusted comrade have personally vetted all of the fuhnd-raizers that are under the heading labeled “Pal-eh-stienian Fundraisers Sky of Rebirth Garments is helping with” in my AllMyLinks. Half of them we vetted through video chat, and the other half were already friends of my friends from before the “escalation”. Mohammed Hammad’s campaign was already vetted through @fedup4palestine , and over the course of the last 36 hours I have messaged with him extensively. I talk to every one of the people that I have been working on helping every day (unless they lose access to the internet).

Pretty much all of the families I am working for are more than down to be connected with anyone and answer questions, so don’t be shy, if you are not supporting fuhn-raisers because you are not fully sure about them, just DM me and I can get you directly connected with a family so you can see how real they are!

Note: I am currently not able to add on any more fuhnd-raisers for me to personally work on (until more of them have been totally met)

@fedup4palestine is a very new nonprofit, they have been too swamped with making the fuhnd-raizer pages to finish and launch their website yet. They have their nonprofit status, and they use it to create the GiveButter campaign pages. I just went through the process with my other fuhnd-raizer with Seraj to make a GiveButter, and you have to be a nonprofit in order to make any campaigns there (I ended up using my fiscal sponsor Allied Media Projects’ GiveButter in order to make the auction for Seraj, which will go live in the next couple days!). GiveButter is now the recommended alternative to GFM, since GFM keeps shutting down Pal-eh-stinian fuhnd-raizers. This does not mean you shouldn’t give to GFM’s that you know are vetted, but it means that you should also work to help folks get GiveButter campaigns as well!

Mohammed Hammad has a bank account with Bank of Pal-eh-stein , and I have confirmed with both him and @fedup4palestine that he has access to withdraw the money from his fundraising money anytime he needs. He is currently waiting to withdraw until he now has the full amount for him + his siblings’ evacuation because he doees not want to leave them behind.

[daddymilker691]

A true tale of MI5 deep cover opps James arrived to the dreary MI5 building this was of course the 1950s and not of course the building we are all so well aquatinted with across Vauxhall Bridge , James was as usual spotless in a pin striped suit when his commanding officer walked in and said in that upper crust firm British accent you’ve seen so often in spy films , James your flying to the Algerian Embassy they have some highly classified documents and you need to bring them back pronto James solemnly nodded his head understood chief he replied , James darling for that was James last name I’ve managed to procure you a job in the heart of the embassy but and I’m not sure how you will take this James you will be an Embassy maid your uniform is ready and you leave from an airfield in Surrey later tonight , James baulked at the idea but this was for queen and country within an hour the girls from HQ had done his make up and he boarded the plane , and heading for a remote embassy in Tunis for two days he managed to keep his identity hidden and when he got his chance he slipped down into the basement where all the secret documents lay , just then as James was pouring through the documents an taking photos from the hidden camera in his blouse the door flew open and a strapping Arabian man walked in what are you doing he demanded James was more flustered than at any time before in his career and found himself lost for words I’m dusting came his reply Mohammad pushed him against the door a hard shove your not a woman , James gulped yes I am he replied no your a fucking spy James thought his number was up and prepared to be shot or tortured but instead he felt a large warm Arab hand caressing his red satin panties this was most undignified but Mohamed was smiling you like said Mohamed grinning James grit his teeth and said yes Mohamed continued his hand now firmly gripped around James reluctant yet throbbing cockette , James as far as we at MI5 are aware is still at the embassy

[transgenderer]

(cw for frank discussion of rape and murder)

ok so anon has been sending me messages about natalie shotter for like a month now so i finally googled the case and...

A man has been convicted of the rape and manslaughter of a woman while she lay unconscious on a park bench in west London after a night out. Natalie Shotter, 37, an NHS worker, was attacked after apparently passing out in Southall in July 2021. Mohamed Iidow orally raped her “until she died”, his trial heard. Iidow, 35, pleaded not guilty to rape and manslaughter but did not give evidence in his defence. The prosecutor, Alison Morgan KC, said Shotter’s body was discovered on the bench by a passerby early on 17 July, hours after the attack.

Shotter had been drinking on the night she died and is also thought to have taken poppers, but these were not identified as a cause of her death. Pathology reports found the cause to be “unascertained”, the trial at the Old Bailey heard. CCTV footage showed Iidow with his shorts around his ankles and his groin close to Shotter’s head as she lay on the bench. Shotter appeared to be unconscious in the footage. In his police interview, Iidow said Shotter had approached him and offered him sexual services. Morgan told the jury Shotter was raped repeatedly and that this led to her death, thought to be as a result of a heart attack.

i mean, it looks like he raped her but a murder charge seems pretty dubious! also the whole point of anons fixation is that this means immigration is bad but i cant even find any real sources saying he's an immigrant? surely bbc or the guardian would have mentioned that. lidow isnt a somali name