Hi There,
Hi there,
I’m holding on to hope, one day at a time—and today, I’m asking for your support. My family is living through a reality no one should have to face, and I’m doing my best to keep our voices heard.
📌 Please take a second to check out my pinned post.
🔄 Sharing it can help it reach someone who might be able to help.
🤍 If you’re able to give even a little, your generosity could ease a heavy burden.
Your support, your time, your care—it all matters more than you know.
With love and deep appreciation,
@jehadkhaled
…
More Posts from Meanderingwistera and Others
My first post on tumblr of a fanart of gojo :)
The modern version of Outlaw!Yuki is a die hard Chappell Roan fan.
Pink pony club is on REPEAT
Whatever you do, don’t get stupidly high then listen to Fourth of July by Fall out boy.
You will think about Satosugu.
And you will be in tears.
Sukuna is used to being pulled into the mortal realm, it was a part of the job as a demon. Most humans ask him for trivial things like wealth or immortality.
He has fun with it because he grants those wishes in the worst ways possible. A man will be wealthy but not be able to access it or if someone asks for immortality he will still let them age.
So when he was summoned he was more then ready to twist whatever wish the person had for him.
What he hadn’t expected was to be summoned to a small kitchen. A pot of something he can’t see simmers on the messy stovetop. He looks around for who summoned him here.
Sukuna’s eyes catch on a human sitting cross legged on the floor, an old tattered book in their hands. They are muttering something about thyme?
“Why have you summoned me here?” Sukuna booms and the human looks up in shock.
“Who are you? How did you get into my apartment?” You ask with confusion and rising concern.
Sukuna reiterates with a sigh, “You summoned me here, what do you want?”
Looking down at the book then back up at him then back to the book you look more and more confused.
“You were supposed to be chilli.” You say slowly to him.
If he wasn’t so miffed at being summoned for nothing he would’ve barked out a laugh. So he pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.
“How did you fuck up a chilli recipe this bad?” He asks you.
“I have never been that good of a cook- but this is a new low for me.” You admit and Sukuna joins you on the floor.
He doesn’t miss how your eyes trace the tattoos on his exposed torso. Maybe this won’t be so pointless after all.
“Well,” Sukuna gives you a smirk, “it looks like we are stuck together until you decide on what you want from me.”
Here is a snippet of Saint 🤭
My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza
My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.
The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.
Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.
I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.
Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.
I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.
Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.
Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.
Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.
Vetted by @gazavetters
reblog if you have skilled writer friends and you're damn proud of them
xie lian being weird, unhinged and slightly completely insane is MY favorite dianxia flavor. it's personal to me u all wouldn't get it
Fanboy!Gojo who basically becomes a sugar baby for Guitarist!Geto and Singer!Reader.
Gojo was against it at first he had reluctantly accepted the gifts and money that you two shower him with. Clothes, jewellery and food are all given to him as if he didn’t have any money of his own. His pride couldn’t take not paying for himself but his resolve begins to waver after a while.
Eventually he fully accepts his role in the relationship, his walls dropping to let You and Suguru take care of him.
