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hayanahed · 5 months ago

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Emergency: Help Evacuate My Family From GAZA WAR

Dear Humanity,

I'm Haya from Gaza , from a family of 8 people: my parents, two sons, and four daughters (two of them suffer from allergies).

I've witnessed the evidence of the tragedy that has struck our lives in Gaza, where my family and I have survived amidst numerous previous wars. But today, we face the most dangerous and fierce battle in the current war. The urgent need intensifies for us, as we have nothing left and are unable to secure our basic needs such as food, water, and safe shelter.

Here is our story - On October 7th, our lives changed forever, my family and I evacuated from northern Gaza to southern Gaza, hoping to return soon, but it wasn't meant to be. Our home was surrounded, burned, and then completely destroyed, Our home, once a fortress of hope, now lay in ruins, a stark reminder of our shattered dreams.

The night before we left from the north to the south was terrifying. Shelling sounds were everywhere, making a loud noise that felt like it went through our souls. Every explosions shook the ground like earthquakes, sending shockwaves of fear through our trembling bodies. filling us with fear. The air smelled of destruction and blood, making it hard to breathe. When dawn came, we saw the devastation around us, realizing our home was now a symbol of loss and despair.

We ran into the streets and with each step we took into the unknown streets, we felt as if we were plunging deeper into the abyss of our shattered existence, leaving behind everything we own in our home: Clothes, important official documents, the car, and literally it's almost everything - the enormity of our loss weighed heavily upon us.

Our home it was where we found hope, safety, and made precious memories. Losing it felt like losing years of our lives, leaving us adrift amidst the wreckage of our shattered existence.

youtube

A brief video depicting the devastation that struck our home and our entire neighborhood in Gaza.

Desperate Plea: Escaping Gaza's Allergy Nightmare

I, Haya, suffer from severe allergy to penicillin-derived medications, and my sister, Amal, also suffers from severe allergies to medications from my family such as Paracetamol and Ibuprofen.

These allergies create a deep sense of fear and anxiety for us, as we live in a constant state of tension and fear of anything that may require a visit to the hospital. We fear being given inappropriate medications due to the unavailability of suitable treatments in Gaza because of war or lack of awareness and not informing the doctor of our allergies, which could lead to serious consequences threatening our lives.

MY Father Income

Our dreams are heading towards oblivion in the labyrinth of an uncertain future

My story, along with my siblings, represents a united team of four individuals, three of whom are skilled programmers and one graphic designer. We work as freelancers in the world of freelancing.

As for my younger sister, she is a student studying at the College of Architecture. She has always carried a big dream in her heart, a dream of being part of changing Gaza, of making it more beautiful and better. She looked forward to the day when she would receive her degree and start building this dream. But the beginning of the war changed everything. The destruction of infrastructure and universities cast shadows of despair over her dreams.

When I think of my brother in Belgium, I can't help but feel deep sadness. He has been suffering from unbearable anxiety and insomnia since the outbreak of the war. Sleep eludes him at night, and his physical and mental health collapses under the weight of these heavy burdens, negatively affecting his performance at work. Problems and challenges pile up in front of him without the slightest opportunity for rest.

We all feel psychological pressure and extreme anxiety. The war hasn't been limited to external attacks but has deeply infiltrated our daily lives. We search among the rubble for a little safety and the basic resources for survival. Every day comes with a new challenge that we must overcome.

As we sway amidst the rubble of shattered dreams, our souls wrestle and our hearts beat strongly challenging the ravages of war.

Our parents earnestly seek a way to rescue us from this hell, feeling the heavy responsibility for every moment we spend under the shadows of fear and destruction. They dream of a safe place where they can build for us a better future, filled with security and hope, for we deserve life in all its meanings of comfort and peace.

Perhaps this fundraising campaign represents a light in the midst of darkness, it is indeed the only hope we cling to firmly.

I appeal to the world as a whole to hear my cry and the mournful cry of my family in Gaza. We need the helping hand that reaches out to wipe our tears and build a bridge to safety.

Your donation is not just a donation; it's an opportunity to rebuild life and brighten a better tomorrow. Be part of our hopeful story, for we need your hand to start anew.

The purpose of the fundraising campaign

The goal of this fundraising campaign is to rescue my family - my parents, my siblings, and me - through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt, which currently requires $5000 per person. This campaign is our only chance to stay alive, and I humbly request your assistance at this critical time. I will provide you with a comprehensive breakdown of the expenses, committing to transparency and clarity.

All of our important links are here https://linktr.ee/hayanahed

Verified by :

⭐️ operation olive branch, number 26 on their spreadsheet. (On Master list)

⭐️ Project watermelon,line 249 on their spreadsheet. Or you could see it as number 212 here is the photo for more clear proof

Thank you for your kindness and support.

.جزاكم الله خيراً

yours sincerely;

Haya Alshawish.

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carl1ghts · 2 months ago

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good. fucking. lord.

keep dreaming (d word matty smut)

(pre-relationship. mentions of unprotected sex. basically, matty's in his bed and he simply cannot stop thinking about you...)

in an ideal world, matty wouldn't be doing this.

in an ideal world, he would have staved off the nerves, gotten a grip, bit the bullet, and asked you to come home with him. part of him thinks he should've - it's not as if he hasn't done it before, with girls nowhere near as beautiful and girls he didn't like half as much as you.

but that's the point, he thinks, that's why he didn't. you're too special to him for your first intimate moment to be a post-awards show shag at his house. granted, he'd fucking worship you if it was, both in bed and then out of it, for every subsequent minute of his life... but he'd far rather take you on a few dates and spoil you first, before getting you into bed.

you... bed... fuck. despite himself, matty can't stop thinking about it.

or stop from gently stroking himself to said thoughts, caving further into that little voice in his head saying "imagine what it would feel like if it was her hand instead of yours" on loop.

god, he's sick for this. but he can't help it. after all, matty knows all too well what your right hand - the hand you use to write memos to him at work, and therefore the one you would surely use on him in bed - feels like, wrapped around a part of his body. less than an hour ago, it had grasped his wrist as you tugged him to the dancefloor at the afterparty, beaming warmly enough to melt his heart and redden his cheeks.

and then it had slid down his hand and twisted to grip the tips of his fingers, and matty was a goner. he mimics the motion now on his cock with a breathy whimper of your name, and repeats it - this time, slightly more softly, slightly more like you would. shit. you would look so good wanking him off, matty thinks, the edges of your nails ever so lightly scraping against him as you move; those nails that kickstarted this specific fantasy of you giving him a handjob, after you excitedly showed him their design when you first saw him earlier, a design based on the band's newest album, described by you as "look, matty, you're all over my hands". he had smiled at the adorable gesture and kissed your palm in gratitude, but his thoughts had gone somewhere far dirtier - literally - at your words.

he's jumping the gun with thinking about his cum all over your pretty nails now, though, so matty goes back to imagining your handjob position - he thinks of you lying on your stomach in front of him, looking up that way you do when he tells you something interesting: those beautiful eyes of yours all sparkly and focused and knee weakening-ly distracting, pretty lips curved and cheeks lifted into a bashful little smile.

those lips... always so soft-looking (and feeling, matty's sure, given he's a frequent witness to your habit of religiously applying lipbalm) and definitely kissable, but even more so tonight, lined and glossy. the colour looked shockingly perfect on you, and when he first saw you earlier he'd had to shove down a memory of a makeup artist for a shoot telling him that the perfect lipstick colour is the same as one's nipples before he started spiralling. now, though, in the solitary comfort of his own bed, matty lets his brain wind itself into imagining yours, spots of that lipstick shade on your perfect tits - accentuated incredibly tonight by the black silk of your cocktail dress, it has to be said - and imagining the way they would brush against him as you moved forward to wrap your lips around him, the same way you wrapped them around one of the bottles of expensive champagne given to the band's table after they won.

fuck. matty's wrist speeds up almost involuntarily at the thought of you sucking him off, while his other hand threads itself into the bedsheets the same way he knows he'd thread it into your hair, sliding the soft waves of tonight's hairstyle away from your beautiful face. he knows you would smile around him at that, the same little sweet smile you give matty whenever he appears with a coffee for you or offers you a cig or does anything requiring a bit of thankfulness, followed by a little "thank you" and a hum of contentment when you get what you wanted or needed. it makes him swoon at the best of times - it would surely ruin him if you did it with his cock in your mouth.

matty speeds up his movement again, imagining you humming and moaning happily as you slide your mouth up and down his length, whimpering when the tip hits the back of your throat. ignoring the inkling of guilt that appears in the back of his mind as he does, matty wonders just how deep you'd be able to take him. not that he'd ever force you to do anything you couldn't or didn't want to, and not that it would matter, because he knows if you actually were to suck him off he'd have to fight not to cum immediately, but he has a sneaking suspicion that you'd try to completely deepthroat him - he knows how stubborn you are, and he's sure he's not hallucinating the way you blush whenever he thanks you for going above and beyond to help him out.

and it's not like he'd dissuade you from trying; at the thought of you, teary-eyed but turned-on, inching slowly down his length to take it all, throat closing slightly around him, lips and nose pressed against his lower stomach, moaning, he bucks his hips up again almost involuntarily with a whine, beginning to properly fuck his fist the way he would fuck your mouth if you wanted him to. would you swallow, matty wonders, take every last drop of his cum down your aching throat and clean off the tip with little kitten licks? would he let you?

or would he stop fucking your mouth as he feels the orgasm start to build, so he can fuck you until you both cum instead?

god. what a thought that is, matty gently coaxing your head up from his cock and kissing you, before rolling you onto your back and just burying himself inside you. he fucks his fist the way he would you, mixing slow, controlled thrusts in amongst shorter, sharper ones to rile you up, before setting a strong rhythm with his hips that - hopefully - would have you screaming for him. he groans your name at the thought of that, wanking desperately now - not necessarily desperate to make himself cum, but desperate to see your eyes roll back in time with his hips, your jaw drop in pleasure, those fucking tits of yours bounce with every thrust; to feel your lips on his as you kiss him like you're trying to devour him, your hot breath in his open mouth as you moan his name into it, your long, gorgeous nails digging crescents into his back, your legs quivering around his waist as you reach breaking point, and - the thing matty's most desperate for - your cunt clenching around his cock, as he circles your clit and pulls an orgasm out from within your very bones.

matty's so fucking close now, hips jerking wildly into his hand, eyes heavy and clouded with pleasure, a cacophony of moans and groans and cries of your name leaving his lips and turning to incoherent dirty talk as they meet the cold air of the bedroom. "ohhhhh, fuck, m'gonna fucking cum, baby, shit, need to fuck you, mmmmmmmph, gonna cum, gonna fucking cum."

there is, however, one final thing for matty to consider about his fantasies of you before he reaches his orgasm - where would he cum, if he was with you right now? he could pull out, and let you either finish him off in your hand or mouth, coating your throat or covering your pretty nails like he briefly imagined earlier. or he could finish himself over you, decorate your beautiful face, your gorgeous tits, your soft stomach and your thighs.

truthfully, he'd let you choose - he'd just be grateful for the opportunity to even get to do anything with you in bed, and you'd look perfect in any of these scenarios (and in any scenario in general, really). but if matty got to pick, and you were okay with it, he wouldn't choose any of them.

what matty would do is stay buried inside you and fill you up with his cum, thrusting through his orgasm with his head buried in your neck, feeling you milk his cock for everything he has.

it's a delicious thought, and it's what tips him over the edge; with a final groan of your name and a "fuck!", matty cums all over his own hand, whimpering and lightly stroking himself until he stops pulsing out white fluid, which flows over his hand to pool on his lower stomach, reaching the very edge of his hip tattoo. in the aftershocks of orgasm, he can't help but imagine you cleaning it off with your tongue; with his free hand, matty reaches over to grab a pillow he can groan into to calm down before he finds himself cumming to the thought of you yet again. christ. he really is into you, isn't he?

matty doesn't move for a few minutes - the orgasm was so strong and took so much out of him that he just lies on his bed silently, until his breathing regulates and he comes back down to earth a bit. when the liquid on his stomach starts to feel icky, that's when he finally moves, swinging his legs onto the floor and walking to the bathroom to shower. he cleans his body just fine, but the grossness in his brain lingers a minute longer - he really just got off to imagining fucking you, his trusted friend and colleague, like some sort of depraved teenager. jesus christ.

if only he knew you'd just grinded yourself to an orgasm on your pillow thinking of the exact same thing.

#need..#him..#ranting and babbling.°+*

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