#father pt 2

[dindjarism]

Bobby Nash and Evan Buckley 9-1-1 | 7.09 Ashes, Ashes

[variousqueerthings]

me like: and what if i think constable benton fraser is probably more like his mother than his father, but she died too early in his life for him to realise this fact and so in many ways he's actually ill-suited to the kind of toxic macho ideas that seem to surround mounties as a Lifestyle and he doesn't need to impress his father's ghost who ultimately didn't give him much of anything to properly hang onto other than his diaries and an idealised version of masculinity that ben/benny/benton seems to embody more authentically than he did (despite feeling as if he's not good enough much of the time)... and that it's because of all the traits he inherited from his mother

[bluecroc29]

My misadventures as the Lamb from my POV in my playthrough Cult of the lamb. Pt 1. Something tells me that the first baby born in the cult will give me trouble. She did but she is forgiven.

I have a ton of doodles still in WIP of my playthrough nearly ready. And other more not yet sketched out.

Plz no reposting.

[spockvarietyhour]

The return of the stand-up jefferies tube!

Star Trek V and TNG had stand up access corridors/jefferies tubes before the crawlways were introduced:

Also that TNG set was reused a few episodes later in "Sins of the Father"

and in the season 4 episode "Future Imperfect", this time as a (fake) Romulan base.

[xviruserrorx]

Strange Land - Clannad

[kiwanopie]

Please… Please let him take a nap

[whattraintracks]

30. Wrestling - TMNT 1990s

"You are unique among your brothers, for you choose to face this enemy alone. But as you face it, do not forget them, and do not forget me. I am here, my son."

Splinter breathes deeply, allowing the flow of air to guide the outside world to the forefront of his awareness. Stale subterranean scent, cushioned armchair beneath him, dim candlelight, footsteps. Someone has drawn him out of meditation. Perhaps his sons are home earlier than expected.

"You may enter, Raphael," he offers to the hovering shadow. The turtle creeps inside, halting but a moment before bowing deeply.

He smiles warmly, "Have you and your brothers returned?"

"The guys are still out." Raphael's shoulders hunch; from what emotion, he cannot tell. "I, I didn't go with them."

The scattered candles flicker. A great darkness seems to cross Raphael, and he glimpses someone very much unlike his passionate son. Someone exhausted, worn down, nearing the brink of collapse.

Raphael's voice brittles, "Can I stay with you?"

Splinter's not sure what is more alarming, that Raphael has declined an opportunity to go to the surface—with his brothers, no less—or this weariness so evident in him.

"What troubles you?" He implores.

Raphael shakes his head mutely.

He insists, trying to keep his disquiet at bay, "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong."

A coarse whisper, "It's nothing."

"This is not nothing," he creaks to his feet, "You must—"

"Dad."

The sudden plea stills them both.

"Master Splinter." His heart wrenches at the self-conscious amendment. It is not one he needs to make. Not about this. Not ever.

"Please, can I just," Raphael cuts himself off, breathing shallowly. Another flicker of candlelight and Splinter catches the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Oh," he breathes. What a fool he is. His son has come seeking comfort and company, not interrogation.

"Yes. Yes, come." He beckons, reseating himself. "Sit with me."

Raphael shuffles deeper into the train car, kneeling stiffly. Splinter clucks softly, reaching for his arm to pull him against the chair. He curls forward without resistance, breath hitching.

"My son," he says, soothing with hands and words. "I am sorry. You may always come to me. You need not tell me what is on your mind to do so."

He is unsurprised but nevertheless heartbroken as Raphael releases a heavy sob, giving in to whatever weight he has been carrying. Tears prick in his own eyes at the openly hurting sound. He internally chides the parts of himself that demand answers over acceptance with open arms. Wrapping them now around as much of Raphael as he can, he mourns with his son so clearly wrestling with a great burden. He sends a prayer of gratitude to his Master Yoshi for guiding Raphael to him when that weight grew too large to bear alone.

Much time passes before the rest of his sons return. Long after Raphael cries himself past exhaustion into sleep. At some point, concerned at the angle of his son's neck, Splinter maneuvers out of his chair to rest them more comfortably on the floor. His ears prick at a whisper of movement. Ah, three movements.

Michelangelo peers into the train car, his brothers close behind. "Oh," he blinks, "he really did stay here."

Protectiveness flares within Splinter. "We should not begrudge Raphael's need for comfort or rest," he reproves.

Michelangelo's eyes widen in dismay, "Of course not!"

Donatello shakes his head, "No, we're not— We don't think Raph—" His eyes dart as they do when he's searching for the most precise explanation. "We're just worried about him."

"He's been having a rough week," Leonardo murmurs.

Oh, his sweet sons. He should not have been so quick to assume they meant anything uncharitable when they are but concerned brothers. As with Raphael, he wishes they had come sooner instead of struggling and worrying alone. He can be grateful they are here now.

"Tell me," he invites, resting a muffling hand on Raphael's tympanum.

They glance between themselves as they kneel, silently urging one another to speak first. He is careful to display only calm patience despite his inner turmoil.

Michelangelo finally bursts, "He's not eating." The other two look at him, befuddled.

"Okay, he's not, not eating," he revises, "but he didn't even finish a whole pizza at April's on Monday!"

Splinter trusts this is a remarkable incident, given their identically serious nods.

"I think he's having nightmares," Donatello contributes. "At the very least, he's not sleeping well. I keep finding him awake at odd hours, and sometimes he's pretty freaked."

Splinter huffs fondly. "Should I ask what you are doing awake at 'odd hours', Donatello?" The turtle shrugs cheekily.

He ponders these insights, soothing Raphael as he twitches. Do dreams haunt him now, even surrounded by loved ones?

"Leonardo?" he prompts, drawing his final son from deep thought.

Leonardo begins slowly as if unsure, "He's been more focused during training." As they all have. With their many hardships, each of his sons has increased their dedication to learning ninja, whether they realise it or not.

He listens keenly as Leonardo continues, "But when we're out, he hesitates. I've never seen so much slip past his defense."

He hums, "You are concerned he is a danger to himself and your brothers?"

"Never," Leonardo swears.

He tilts his head, not unkindly.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Leonardo concedes. "But not like that. Raph usually loves fighting." His eyes resonate with confusion and grief and fear. "He doesn't seem to enjoy it much lately. And he's always so tired, Master Splinter. It has to be more than him not sleeping."

"Maybe they're connected," Donatello suggests, "Maybe whatever's going on is affecting his sleep, and improper sleep is exacerbating the symptoms, on and on in a vicious cycle of—"

Michelangelo groans, "We get it, Donnie."

"Shh, quiet," Leonardo hisses.

They shush each other back and forth as Splinter watches Raphael slumber with a heavy heart. Holding up a paw, they fall silent. "You are right, my sons. Raphael is wrestling with something very grave indeed."

He reaches out to them. "My turtles, you have been through so much in your young lives." They lean in, allowing him to rest a hand on them, one by one.

"How do we help him?" Michelangelo asks.

Moved as he always is by Michelangelo's generous spirit, he is loath to admit he has no answer. He is stopped before he can.

"By following Master Splinter's teachings," Leonardo pronounces, looking at him eagerly. "Ultimate mastery comes not of the body but of the mind. Through mindfulness and unity, we draw each other up."

He is humbled to hear his own words in his son's voice. Warm with pride, he inclines his head.

"A break certainly couldn't hurt," Donatello rubs his chin, "A little downtime to focus on rest and healing together."

Michelangelo brightens. "Like family time!"

Donatello and Leonardo share a fond glance. "Yeah, Mikey," Leonardo says, tucking the turtle under his arm, "like family time."

"You guys are the sappiest suckers I've ever known." Splinter chuckles as Leonardo and Michelangelo startle at Raphael's sudden utterance.

Donatello laughs, "Please, you know like seven people."

"Yeah, an' the other three are normal," Raphael grumbles. Yet he unabashedly proves himself equally "sappy" as he shifts to nuzzle Splinter's hand.

Recovering from their shock, Michelangelo exclaims, "Raph!" as Leonardo yelps, "You're awake!?"

Raphael yawns widely, opening one eye briefly to check the room. "Hard to sleep with the lot of you yappin'." He appears, if only for this moment, at ease. It is a gift to see him comfortable and unguarded. More so, Splinter acknowledges, because these things have been absent in him for too long.

"I won't say no to a break," he mumbles. He lifts a hand to swat at Leonardo blindly, "But I refuse to participate in anything called 'family time'."

Leonardo evades the wild arm, a mischievous spark in his eye, "Fine then, we'll call it team building."

Raphael scoffs, "No. That's worse."

And as the four bicker good-naturedly Splinter knows they will find peace, as surely as he knows the love that binds them. However much healing Raphael needs, he will not do it alone. His family would not let him if he tried.

[acourtofquestions]

Chapter 108

*wide eyed, blinking, crying silently with no tears, screaming inside, frozen, more blinking* … like my face makes no sense; this makes no sense… um no? Like just no… because what. just. happened? … nope, like SERIOUSLY NO!

Because WHAT THE—JUST HAPPENED?!!!

No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NOOO!!! NONONONOOOO

[slverblood]

One thing I'm obsessed with is Aylin doomed to witness Isobel's death

[glcssed]

[how-what-why-huh]

- Rita Wong, Value Chain from “Forage”

- Aria Aber, Can You Describe Your Years in Prison?

- Lidia Yuknavitch, The Chronology of Water: A Memoir

- Olivia Gatwood, Manic Pixie Dream Girl

- Nicola Yoon, The Sun is Also a Star

- Michelle Evans, Just Another Dead Black Girl

- Mary Ruefle, Trances of the Blast from “Woodtangle”

- Adam Gopnik, The Driver’s Seat from “The New Yorker”

- TC Kody, Sonata: Erasure//Passing//Burning from “The Summer We Lost”

- Eduardo C. Corral, To a Jornalero Cleaning Out My Neighbor’s Garage from “Slow Lightning”

[keiteay]

Don't want to take it for granted that I get to visit places like these

[sedgewick-gayble]

roaring twenties tumblr simulator pt. 2

🎙 fancy-nancyboy Follow

men be like "i would never succumb to homosexuality" and then hold a mans face tenderly as he lights his cigarette with his own. okayy pansy we see you

( 655 notes )

💄 thewhoringtwenties Follow

art deco more like art dicko! aaaand post

( 27 notes )

🎥 claras-bowtie Follow

attended a petting party last saturday and there were no animals not even at all :(

#WHY WOULD THEY CALL IT THAT

( 12 notes )

🕯 tuberculosiswarrior Follow

i lov my mother and father so nuch forever i cannot wait to attend my new job at the dubious factory where there have never been any machinery incidents evr before

( 73 notes )

🎩 Rate-my-setup Follow

Submitted by anonymous.

( 3,887 notes )

thebeesknees Follow reblogged 🔁 jazzcat Follow

🎺 jazzcat Follow

The cocaine in coca-cola just doesnt hit the same anymore....

📰 itsallcopacetic Follow

OP they took out the cocaine

🎺 jazzcat Follow

WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY TOOK OUT THE COCAINE

🕰 thebeesknees Follow

tumblr heritage post

( 13,985 notes )

🚬 runrummer Follow

Hes so puppycoded

( 8 notes )

moonshiningitup Follow reblogged 🔁 moonshiningitup Follow

🥃 moonshiningitup Follow

The eroticism of the machinery incidents at the dubious factory

🥃 moonshiningitup Follow

Easy website

( 12,109 notes )

🥂 cake-eater Follow

There is a gang war in Chicago. The first gang to get to 100 kills, gets to take over that part of the city. You NEED to be careful, Babe Ruth. You could be at high risk because of your high status. PLEASE be safe, everyone in or around Chicago, and please reblog this to get it to the celebrities in Chicago

( 20,098 notes )

[eyesxxyou]

First Drink 🥃

🍺・・・l. howlett x fem!reader

rating. m

word count. 2.2k

synopsis. you were everything logan shouldn't want. young, religious, and innocent. you were sweet to everyone. and you've never been touched. logan wants to be your first everything.

or

Logan gives you your first drink

warnings. age gap relationship (reader is 21, Logan is nearing 50) , religious reader, innocent reader, drinking, forced alcohol consumption, dubious consent, fingering, squirting, not edited

↳ pt.1 / pt.2 / pt.3

Logan is far from a holy man. He drinks too much, smokes too often, hasn’t even stepped foot in a church in his entire life. He’d like to think he’s a good man though, one who tries to make the right decisions when he can, but he knows that what he’s like to think and the reality of it all were two wildly separate things. For how could he be a good man when he’s got it out for you, a pastor’s daughter?

He didn’t mean for it to happen. Kind of stumbled into it as one stumbles into trying cocaine. That is to say, he didn’t stumble into it at all. It was a deliberate decision made with addictive consequences. You were his neighbor, a meek, kind little thing often wrapped up in your bible while you sit quaintly on the front steps of your family house. You were young, not too young though. Freshly turned 21. Yet you still wore your modest clothing and pretty mary janes with frilly socks.

Logan was a perverted man. There was no way to get around it. You were as kind and as innocent as any one person could be. You spoke to him kindly, you brought him lemonade while he was working on his motorcycle and all he could think about was how pretty you’d look in his lap with his large hand on your tummy, feeling the bulge of his cock nestled nicely against your womb.

It was one of these days when you brought him lemonade and sat with him in his garage that he turned to you, hands covered in grease and oil. “You’re 21 now, right doll?” Logan grabbed a towel from out of the waist of his jeans and used that to clean off his hands before grabbing the small crystalline cup of fresh lemonade to sip on. It was almost as sweet as you, not nearly as pleasing to taste.

You sat on a small crate with your knees close to your chest. The toes of your sleek, black mary janes pointed to each other. “Yes sir.” He liked that about you, how respectfully you spoke to him. It reminded him of how much power he had over you, how many years, how much authority. Oh, he is far from a holy man.

“You had your first drink yet?”

You were a sweet, little thing, flustered at the mere suggestion of drinking alcohol. “Oh, no sir. I don’t drink. My father would never allow it.” You and your tender sensibilities. You and your innocent nature. Logan thought about how easy it would be to have his way with you. You wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t so much as make a peep. You’d be too entranced by the way his fingers slide along your tongue and his length snuggle sits way into the walls of your unused cunt.

Logan hummed softly. “You wanna?” He watched the way your eyes shifted as you considered it, a world within your grasp if you just had the courage to reach for it. He’d give it to you, all of it, a universe of worldly pleasures. Why restrict yourself now to go to heaven when you can have heaven on Earth right here?

“I shouldn’t.” Your voice is slow and unsure. All you needed was a little push and you’d tip right over the edge into depravity. That’s the thing about little girls like you, you long for a touch of what’s beyond you but you’re always too scared to get it.

Logan stood up to his staggering height, all legs and muscular torso. “Come on, no one will know but me and you.” He offered a hand to you and after a moment of hesitation, you placed your hand in his large palm and let him pull you up to your feet and guide you into his house. It was a world you had never before seen, rustic and dark, smelling so strongly of Logan you thought you might faint.

He had a whole cabinet for his alcohol, bottles of scotch, whiskey, and bourbon. Logan grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet along with a whiskey glass for you to sip out of. He poured some out and you watched with utter fascination. The golden brown liquid long kept from you for fear you may lose your spot in Heaven. Worldly pleasures such as drinking doomed you to Hell.

“Come here, doll.” Logan coaxed you towards him with two fingers as he sat down on his couch, legs open just enough to offer you a comfortable seat on his thighs. You trembled like a newborn deer, scared of this strange, new world you’ve found yourself in. He brought you into his lap, his hands resting on your thigh as he pushed the glass of whiskey into your hand. “Go ahead and try it.”

You looked into the glass, golden brown sloshing around. It didn’t look so intimidating, like drinking Coca-Cola. But it didn’t taste like Coca-Cola when you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip. It tasted bitter and burned your throat as it went down. “I don’t like it.” You pouted softly, turning to look over your shoulder at Logan. His fingers slowly began to gather the fabric of your skirt, pulling it up your thigh. “Just keep drinking, doll.”

You were a good girl. You did as told, entirely unaware of the way his fingers kept pulling at your skirt until it was entirely up your thigh. You felt his rough fingertips against your bare flesh and shivered as he traced figure 8s into your skin. “Mr. Howlett?”

“Shh, keep drinking.” Logan murmured as he felt up your thigh, closer and closer to your heated cunt. You writhed in his lap, simultaneously uncomfortable and aroused as you felt his rough fingers brush against the damp fabric of your cotton panties. The stuck to your pussy lips, wet and sensitive as he pressed his thumb to your clit through the fabric and began to rub. Logan took his free hand and pushed the cup back to your lips, tilting it to force you to drink.

Logan couldn’t help himself. You were here, splayed out before him for the taking. He’d be stupid not to take advantage of, take advantage of you. You didn't fight it, just as he had expected, like a good girl. “Spread your legs now.” He clicked his tongue and crooned into your ear.

Trembling, you shook your head. “I– I can't.” Your voice, all small and meek, only made his pants tighter. You could feel it, the bulge against your ass through his jeans. Or maybe that was the large buckle against his pelvis.

“Yeah you can. Open up, doll.” He shifted you slightly so that you were sitting on one of his thighs. He used his leg to part yours a bit further, skillfully. He’s had many girls in his lap, none as pretty as you.

Logan stroked your quivering cunt. “What a wet little girl you are. You been thinking about this, pretty girl?” He bounced you on his thigh and let you slide further into his fingers. A stifled whimper escaped you as you braced yourself against him. “Mr. Howlett– please.” You pleaded for your innocence, for your integrity. Most importantly, you begged for him not to expose your innermost thoughts. The sinful way you look at him, all muscle and hair and man.

Your fingers grasped at his wrist and forearm, nails digging into his skin. It wasn't like you were trying to move his hand, not like you could if you wanted you.

You gasped as he curled a finger into the side of your soaked panties and pulled them to the side. Your cheeks began to swell with the heat of embarrassment. Of course, you never expected to have any sexual experience before marriage so you hadn't shaved between your legs. Logan didn't mind at all it seemed, his finger dipped between your lovely lips and stroked in tender touches.

You squirmed in his lap, whimpering. “Mr. Howlett, I…I shouldn't. Please.” His thumb pressed on your puffy clit, pulsing with arousal, and you choked as the electrifying jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. You had ever been touched like this before, not even by yourself. Logan’s experienced fingers circled your leaking entrance, teasing at all the possibilities of pleasure.

“No one has to know, doll.” Grunted Logan. He felt the way your pussy fluttered, the whole thing aching with want. He eased a single finger into you, sighing out a sweet “Jesus” at the way your walls clamped down around him. You let out a squeal, back arching away from him, your nails sinking into his hairy forearm. Your entire body shivered. “Too big,” you murmured, “‘s too big.”

You were small, tight, and already complaining that a single finger was too much. How could he possibly fit his fat cock into your cunt? Logan was sure he'd tear you in half, his precious girl. “Relax, grab that bottle and drink some more, baby. It’ll help you loosen up.”

With a shaky hand, you reached out and grabbed the bottle off the table in front of you. You brought it to your lips and sipped at the liquid while Logan rubbed your hip with his free hand. “Good girl. I gonna keep going now.” You shook your head viciously. “No, no, no, ‘m not ready.”

He cared not for your concerns. Free hand pulling your legs apart, Logan curled pulled his finger from your gripping cunt before sliding it back in. You were all warm and soft on the inside, just like you were on the outside, even more so. You squeaked and squealed in his lap, his thumb attacking your clit in ferocious circles.

It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, being fucked with a single thick finger. You mewled, mind growing hazy as your hips rocked against your will. Logan knew you wouldn't be able to handle a second finger. He’d rupture your hymen and he wanted to save that honor for when he pushed himself into you and possessed you completely.

You were dripping down his knuckles. He fingered you so hard and fast, you nearly screamed as you thrashed in his lap. “Mmmh ah, ah… ngh.” Something wet trickled out of you and down Logan's hand, clear and dripping. A weak, little squirt, followed by a much larger one.

“I– I’m sorry, I didn't…” You panted out, whining. Logan cooed lowly in your ear. “Got myself a squirter.” He chuckled, a nice puddle on his leg and couch from your sweet show of pleasure. He curled his finger, messaging your soft walls in desperate search of that soft ridge where your g-spot lay.

When he found it, Logan smiled, chucking as you yelped and cried out, a rattling moan shivering up your spine. You tried to slow his hand, grasping and scratching at his arm. You fell back against his chest, legs splayed open while he took the time to abuse your pretty cunt. “You okay, doll?”

You whined vaguely, hazily, your body rolling then slumping, tensing then relaxing. “I– It feels weird.” Something was building within you. Something tight and breathtakingly beautiful. Tears pricked your eyes, wide and pretty, weeping with the brutality of your orgasm, pressing on the edge of unknown pleasures.

And it snapped like a rubber band. Everything that had been held back released all at once, ravishing your body to the point where there goes pointed in your Mary Jane's and your back arched. Shaking, you clawed at Logan's arm so hard you left bright red marks lining his flesh. “Mr. Howlett!”

“Shh, shh, don't want the neighbors to hear you, do you doll?” Logan slowed his hand, pulling his finger from your aching pussy. His entire hand dripped with your cum, sweet and creamy, some slick with your squirt. “Open up, little one.” He teased the tips of his fingers to your lips like he had that glass of whiskey. Coaxing your mouth open, Logan slipped his fingers between your lips and pressed his fingers to your tongue.

You tasted nice, sweet. Your body unmarred by the poison of excessive alcohol, smoking, or junk food. You were clean and pure, untouched by anyone but him. Logan loved it, knowing that he’s the first man to ever touch you. The knowledge was almost as good as an orgasm by itself. You were his, he possessed you. You were his before you were anyone else's.

When you stood, skirt falling back down to your knees, your legs trembled with the aftershock of your first orgasm. You let out a deep, shaky breath, trembling as you turned to look at Logan’s sitting figure. “M–M–Mr. Howlett.” It’s all you could manage to say to him, choking. You had been violated; your sacred temple desecrated.

And you liked it.

Logan hiked himself up to his feet from his couch and stood before you, towering. His hands on your hips, he pulled you in close to him. You braced yourself with your hands against his solid chest. Your cheeks were still wet with tears which Logan wiped away with the pads of his thumbs. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow, doll?”

You were such a good, obedient girl. You nodded slowly. “Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

[opencommunion]

“The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”

― James Baldwin

the way colonizers unchild Palestinian kids is so heartless and disturbing. colonialism crushes children's dreams ON PURPOSE to try to destroy indigenous people's futures.

Wafaa's nephew Ahmed is 17. Because of this genocide, he went from playing soccer on his high school team, to playing with the other kids in his refugee camp in the rare moments between his odd jobs to support his family during famine, and volunteering as an aid worker to help other families. Ahmed lost many of his teammates, including his best friend Mahmoud, who he saw martyred.

Ahmed's cousin Yazid is 18. He planned to marry his high school sweetheart after their first year of college, but the genocide stopped their education. Yazid's fiancee's father was martyred and Yazid is now working to support both his family and hers. He also volunteers alongside Ahmed, risking their lives as the genocidal IOF targets aid workers -- Ahmed has even been injured by drones targeting him.

I'm not saying all this to make them look like superheros (although they are both wonderful people). I just want you all to see how totally the genocide has shattered their childhoods, and how much they have to struggle to resist that violence and hold the pieces together, and how the free world has failed to care for them.

fortunately there is a way we can help them.

Wafaa @wafans-blog is currently raising money to evacuate Ahmed and Yazid. This is time sensitive -- she needs to pay the registration fees to Hala Company within the next 2 days, by August 11th.

The full amount needed to evacuate Wafaa's entire family is $80,000; to cover the upcoming fees we need to get to $40,000 by the 11th. We're nearly there but donations are slowing.

Please reblog, and most importantly, donate any amount you can spare. Those $5s add up if enough people help. So much of the world is so hostile to Palestinian boys, please stand up for Yazid and Ahmed and help them escape. Don't let them get separated from their family, don't leave them behind.

August 9th: $35,914 / $40,000

plain text and tags under the cut

PT:

“The children are always ours, every single one of them, all over the globe; and I am beginning to suspect that whoever is incapable of recognizing this may be incapable of morality.”

― James Baldwin

the way colonizers unchild Palestinian kids is so heartless and disturbing. colonialism crushes children's dreams on purpose to try to destroy indigenous people's futures.

Wafaa's nephew Ahmed is 17. Because of this genocide, he went from playing soccer on his high school team, to playing with the other kids in his refugee camp in the rare moments between his odd jobs to support his family during famine, and volunteering as an aid worker to help other families. Ahmed lost many of his teammates, including his best friend Mahmoud, who he saw martyred.

Ahmed's cousin Yazid is 18. He planned to marry his high school sweetheart after their first year of college, but the genocide stopped their education. Yazid's fiancee's father was martyred and Yazid is now working to support both his family and hers. He also volunteers alongside Ahmed, risking their lives as the genocidal IOF targets aid workers -- Ahmed has even been injured by drones targeting him.

I'm not saying all this to make them look like superheroes (although they are both wonderful people). I just want you all to see how totally the genocide has shattered their childhoods, and how much they have to struggle to resist that violence and hold the pieces together, and how the free world has failed to care for them.

fortunately there is a way we can help them.

Wafaa @/wafans-blog is currently raising money to evacuate Ahmed and Yazid. This is time sensitive -- she needs to pay the registration fees to Hala Company within the next 2 days, by August 11th.

The full amount needed to evacuate Wafaa's entire family is $80,000; to cover the upcoming fees we need to get to $40,000 by the 11th. We're nearly there but donations are slowing.

Please reblog, and most importantly, donate any amount you can spare. Those $5s add up if enough people help. So much of the world is so hostile to Palestinian boys, please stand up for Yazid and Ahmed and help them escape. Don't let them get separated from their family, don't leave them behind.

August 9th: $35,914 / $40,000

/ end PT

lmk if you don't want to be tagged next time! ty!

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[mrsparrasblog]

Regency Ghost

pt 2

Regency Simon never wanted to find a wife after he saw how his father treated his mother. He was ready to let the Riley family name die.

Regency Simon doesn't care about the ton or the fancy balls he never attends.

Regency Simon, who still is one of the most popular bachelors in England due to his handsome attributes.

Regency Simon, who doesn't even go to the brothel like his friends Viscount Price and Prince MacTavish do. It's too much of a risk of getting one of the poor women pregnant and sharing his cursed line.

Regency Simon, whose only friends, Viscount Price, Earl Garrick, and Prince MacTavish, invite him to the Gentlemen's Club, and he goes there.

Regency Simon, who sees you walking through the streets of Mayfair and thinks you're the most stunning creature he has ever seen, and is immediately in love.

Regency Simon, who doesn't pursue you because of his beliefs, knowing you will be gone soon since a woman like you must have good prospects on the marriage market.

Regency Simon, who is just a man after all and needs to see you one more time before he forgets you.

Regency Simon, who goes to his first ball watching you from afar until you run away crying in the garden.

Regency Simon, who doesn't know the rules of the ton since he never cared and runs after you, trying to comfort you.

Regency Simon and you, who get caught unchaperoned, standing next to each other by night.

Regency Simon, who needs to marry you now or your reputation will be ruined.