Hello My Friends

Imagine waking each morning to a world turned to ruin, with nowhere to go and nothing to hold onto. Vetted by: 1) gazavetters my number verified on the list is ( #89 ) 2) a-shade-of-blue Here or Here 3) 90-ghost Here or Here 4) dlxxv-vetted-donations Here

Dear Friend,

My name is Ghazi Al Amoudi, and I’m reaching out to you from a place of profound despair. My family and I are trapped in Gaza, engulfed in the unrelenting turmoil of war. We’ve lost everything—our home, our safety, and the life we once knew 💔. Now, we find ourselves huddled in a fragile tent, exposed to the harsh elements, enduring hunger, thirst, and the fear that shadows us every day 💨💦. Imagine waking each morning to a world turned to ruin, with nowhere to go and nothing to hold onto.

With a heart burdened by sorrow yet clinging to hope, I am pleading for your help 😢. Every gesture of support—whether a donation, a share, or a kind word—moves us one step closer to finding safety and solace in this nightmare. Our home, once filled with warmth and love, is now just a memory beneath the rubble 💔. We are left with only fear and uncertainty, struggling to survive each day, hoping for a compassionate hand to help us stand once more 😔.

Please, if you can find it in your heart, help us find a safe place to rest, a meal to eat, and a chance to rebuild our shattered lives 😭🙏. Even the smallest kindness can light up our darkest hours, giving us the strength to hope for a new beginning 🥺❤️.

Here is my campaign link: https://gofund.me/8a2c70d7. If donating isn’t possible, sharing our story may help us reach someone who can. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your kindness and support 🙏❤️.

With deep gratitude, Ghazi Al Amoudi

25% of my long-term goal

2,528€ out of 10,000€

Donations are protected by GOFUNDME

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I need to draw them, maybe add them to the animatic. I love ocs.

Beware the smoke:

Yes, more Hoard content, yall cant stop me, she is my muse.

Anyways, she can make and use smoke bombs now! :D

Usually, they're just for cover, but if she happens to steal from the medic, she can obtain a whole LITANY of chemicals to combine with her bombs. This turns the relatively harmless clouds into scary death clouds that can inflict all KINDS of status effects (including spontaneous internal bleeding! How fun!)

Be wary of enemy coloured clouds out on the battlefield, as entering them will greatly reduce visibility for everyone but the Hoarder, who only experiences a light tint to her vision. Chances are, there's an enemy Hoarder waiting to sneak up behind you and strangle you with an extension cord, or just shoot your head off with her trusty Tin Can.

Tin Can, btw:

Why, yes, she did make it herself! (I'm not great at guns, but it's LOOSELY based on the small gun used by Jinx in Arcane)

Anyways

✨️ her ✨️

(I'm done now)

hit me up if you so please teehee please im broke asf

This pleases me

@engag3d @scozthewoz

Tag game!!!

Do this quiz

And this picrew

And tag people(obviously)

@anartistwithamask @gummy-axolotl @shadowthegay @auseryoumayknow @copper-ichor @moonysfavoritetoast @alexthescaredenby @invaderxeya @fungal-boy-witch-yay @artists-void @hazbin-hotel-lucifer-simp @ka1-the-pr0ot @theautumnalcat

🍉🍉Please don't ignore our suffering and leave us alone My name is Masa Halas from the Gaza Strip. I was displaced from the north of the Gaza Strip to the south of the Strip and the family was scattered in tents.

Winter is approaching and our tent can't withstand. We sleep in cold, fear and hunger every day.

Donate to us so we can change a little of the reality.

Or share our story so it reaches those who donate to us.🍉🍉🙏🙏🙏

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Please read this man’s description of his dachshund and its most annoying habit

“I have a ridiculous dog named Walnut. He is as domesticated as a beast can be: a purebred longhaired miniature dachshund with fur so thick it feels rich and creamy, like pudding. His tail is a huge spreading golden fan, a clutch of sunbeams. He looks less like a dog than like a tropical fish. People see him and gasp. Sometimes I tell Walnut right out loud that he is my precious little teddy bear pudding cup sweet boy snuggle-stinker.

In my daily life, Walnut is omnipresent. He shadows me all over the house. When I sit, he gallops up into my lap. When I go to bed, he stretches out his long warm body against my body or he tucks himself under my chin like a soft violin. Walnut is so relentlessly present that sometimes, paradoxically, he disappears. If I am stressed or tired, I can go a whole day without noticing him. I will pet him idly; I will yell at him absent-mindedly for barking at the mailman; I will nuzzle him with my foot. But I will not really see him. He will ask for my attention, but I will have no attention to give. Humans are notorious for this: for our ability to become blind to our surroundings — even a fluffy little jewel of a mammal like Walnut.

…

When I come home from a trip, Walnut gets very excited. He prances and hops and barks and sniffs me at the door. And the consciousnesses of all the wild creatures I’ve seen — the puffins, rhinos, manatees, ferrets, the weird hairy wet horses — come to life for me inside of my domestic dog. He is, suddenly, one of these unfamiliar animals. I can pet him with my full attention, with a full union of our two attentions. He is new to me and I am new to him. We are new again together.

Even when he is horrible. The most annoying thing Walnut does, even worse than barking at the mailman, is the ritual of his “evening drink.” Every night, when I am settled in bed, when I am on the brink of sleep, Walnut will suddenly get very thirsty. If I go to bed at 10:30, Walnut will get thirsty at 11. If I go to bed at midnight, he’ll wake me up at 1. I’ve found that the only way I cannot be mad about this is to treat this ritual as its own special kind of voyage — to try to experience it as if for the first time. If I am open to it, my upstairs hallway contains an astonishing amount of life.

The evening drink goes something like this: First, Walnut will stand on the edge of the bed, in a muscular, stout little stance, and he will wave his big ridiculous fan tail in my face, creating enough of a breeze that I can’t ignore it. I will roll over and try to go back to sleep, but he won’t let me: He’ll stamp his hairy front paws and wag harder, then add expressive noises from his snout — half-whine, half-breath, hardly audible except to me. And so I give up. I sit up and pivot and plant my feet on the floor — I am hardly even awake yet — and I make a little basket of my arms, like a running back preparing to take a handoff, and Walnut pops his body right into that pocket, entrusting the long length of his vulnerable spine (a hazard of the dachshund breed) to the stretch of my right arm, and then he hangs his furry front legs over my left. From this point on we function as a unit, a fusion of man and dog. As I lift my weight from the bed Walnut does a little hop, just to help me with gravity, and we set off down the narrow hall. We are Odysseus on the wine-dark sea. (Walnut is Odysseus; I am the ship.)

All of evolution, all of the births and deaths since caveman times, since wolf times, that produced my ancestors and his — all the firelight and sneak attacks and tenderly offered scraps of meat, the cages and houses, the secret stretchy coils of German DNA — it has all come, finally, to this: a fully grown exhausted human man, a tiny panting goofy harmless dog, walking down the hall together. Even in the dark, Walnut will tilt his snout up at me, throw me a deep happy look from his big black eyes — I can feel this happening even when I can’t see it — and he will snuffle the air until I say nice words to him (OK you fuzzy stinker, let’s go get your evening drink), and then, always, I will lower my face and he will lick my nose, and his breath is so bad, his fetid snout-wind, it smells like a scoop of the primordial soup. It is not good in any way. And yet I love it.

Walnut and I move down the hall together, step by bipedal step, one two three four, tired man and thirsty friend, and together we pass the wildlife of the hallway — a moth, a spider on the ceiling, both of which my children will yell at me later to move outside, and of course each of these creatures could be its own voyage, its own portal to millions of years of history, but we can’t stop to study them now; we are passing my son’s room. We can hear him murmuring words to his friends in a voice that sounds disturbingly like my own voice, deep sound waves rumbling over deep mammalian cords — and now we are passing my daughter’s room, my sweet nearly grown-up girl, who was so tiny when we brought Walnut home, as a golden puppy, but now she is moving off to college. In her room she has a hamster she calls Acorn, another consciousness, another portal to millions of years, to ancient ancestors in China, nighttime scampering over deserts.

But we move on. Behind us, in the hallway, comes a sudden galumphing. It is yet another animal: our other dog, Pistachio, he is getting up to see what’s happening; he was sleeping, too, but now he is following us. Pistachio is the opposite of Walnut, a huge mutt we adopted from a shelter, a gangly scraggly garbage muppet, his body welded together out of old mops and sandpaper, with legs like stilts and an enormous block head and a tail so long that when he whips it in joy, constantly, he beats himself in the face. Pistachio unfolds himself from his sleepy curl, stands, trots, huffs and stares after us with big human eyes. Walnut ignores him, because with every step he is sniffing the dark air ahead of us, like a car probing a night road with headlights, and he knows we are approaching his water dish now, he knows I am about to bend my body in half to set his four paws simultaneously down on the floor, he knows that he will slap the cool water with his tongue for 15 seconds before I pick him up again and we journey back down the hall. And I find myself wondering, although of course it doesn’t matter, if Walnut was even thirsty, or if we are just playing out a mutual script. Or maybe, and who could blame him, he just felt like taking a trip.”

nytimes.com

Lessons From a Lifetime of Animal Voyages

There is an animal-size hole at the center of modern life. Some of us will search the world to fill it.

I'm so tired

@anyone

✌🏼

ay I found this really cool picrew, pretty detailed in my opinion~ tag ur friends <3

I look and dress exactly like that bro🤣

No pressure tag: @birdcopsfangirlsblog and anyone who’s interested🖤💜

I was 17 when I learned that the standard ear piercing hole is in fact not something everyone is born with. I didn't know smooth-lobed people were just walking around 🧍‍♂️and that unless you pierce it, you remain smooth-lobed

Like what is this, where is your hole??? Agh...

17

SEVEN

teen

@scozthewoz @fannymez anyone ig idk many people

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

46 character smash cake (brownie) my bestie and I did.

Theirs

Mine

Oh yeaaa...