quirkyhero

[quirkyhero]

Hello everyone, if you can please share and donate to the Shehab family’s campaign to support them through displacement and famine. Sahar, her family of eight (five of whom are children), and extended family (three are children) need funds to survive as food, water, formula and baby products become more and more scarce and expensive. All donations will go towards evacuation funds, and to help them recover afterwards and build towards a brighter future once more. Please keep this family in your hearts and minds, and show them your kindness through sharing and donating, thank you. @danashehab is one of the accounts for the family who contacted and asked me to make this post for them.

Tags below the cut, let me know if you’d rather be removed.

@fricklefracklefloof @pocketsizedquasar-3 @a-shade-of-blue @autisticmudkip @punkitt-is-here @heritageposts @sayruq

[quirkyhero]

Meet Shelldon and Chloe!

Okay... so you may have already met Shelldon.

I'm not gonna go into deep backstory for these kiddos yet. But basically Shelldon is Donnie's son now in a fleshy body rather than his robotic one. While Chloe is Leo's adopted daughter- his baby girl!

Shelldon is five(5) while Chloe is three(3). Shelldon is protective of his baby cousins in his own way much like Donnie in a sense... but Shelldon's more touchy than Donnie.

[quirkyhero]

if you have a moment, please consider giving some attention to my friend Nader ( @nader202-3 )'s campaign. besides himself, he is providing for his wife, Sally ( @sally2033 ), and their three young children, Laila, Nour, and Ahmed, as well as his parents and siblings. Nader's father was injured in the airstrike that destroyed the family's home; due to the lack of available medical care, he continues to struggle with long-term complications. this bombing also killed several of the Gibril family's relatives, including Nader's aunt, uncle, and cousin with his whole family.

now, their situation has gotten even more dire. earlier this month, Nader attempted to get food for the family at one of the israeli/US-run GHF aid distribution sites. as you've likely heard, these facilities have been used as cover to deliberately kill and injure people who come seeking desperately needed food. over 240 humanitarian organizations have called for the GHF to cease operations, and according to the UN, over 1,000 people have been killed while seeking aid. thankfully, Nader was not among them—but he was shot in the back and is now recovering from this serious injury without the benefits of easily accessible medicines, nutritious food, or even a safe and quiet place to rest.

Nader and Sally's children are all under ten years old. they are acutely vulnerable to starvation and the long-term consequences of malnutrition. if the Gibril family's campaign doesn't raise sufficient funds to buy food (which can be over $200 USD per day), Sally or one of the other adults in the family will have to risk their life seeking aid from the GHF. this is not tenable. they should not have to choose between being shot and watching their beloved children fade away from starvation.

your donations and engagement with Nader and Sally's campaign mean that Nader can recover without having to worry for his family, that Sally won't have to risk death or injury to feed their children, and that Laila, Nour, and Ahmed can survive and stay healthy. even just sharing their posts, following one or both of their blogs, or dropping a kind word is a reminder that they are not facing this terrible situation alone. whatever you can do to help is valuable.

(The Gibril family's campaign has been verified by @/90-ghost and is facilitated by @/pocketsizedquasar-3)

[quirkyhero]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

My name is Fatima, a 21-year-old woman🤰.Just one month before the war, I was engaged, dreaming of a warm home and a small family.But the war tore us apart—my fiancé and I were separated between northern and southern Gaza, with no way to communicate💔.

Despite the pain, we held on to hope. Months later, I left my family and joined him.We got married, believing it was the start of a new life.But the bombing returned, and we were displaced again… Now we live in a fragile tent in western Gaza, awaiting the birth of our first child amid conditions unfit for life🥹😭.

I’m pregnant🤰, and my due date is near🥹. I have none of the essentials I need as a mother or even as a human being🙏.We lack everything: medical care, food, clean water, and basic supplies for childbirth and the baby🥲.

I’m not asking for the impossible—just enough to protect my life and my baby’s

Your donation is our only hope🥹😢.

My campaign is new and has not received much support. Please support me and my family.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpfatema

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

[quirkyhero]

Hello everyone, if you can please share and donate to the Shehab family’s campaign to support them through displacement and famine. Sahar, her family of eight (five of whom are children), and extended family (three are children) need funds to survive as food, water, formula and baby products become more and more scarce and expensive. All donations will go towards evacuation funds, and to help them recover afterwards and build towards a brighter future once more. Please keep this family in your hearts and minds, and show them your kindness through sharing and donating, thank you. @danashehab is one of the accounts for the family who contacted and asked me to make this post for them.

Tags below the cut, let me know if you’d rather be removed.

@fricklefracklefloof @pocketsizedquasar-3 @a-shade-of-blue @autisticmudkip @punkitt-is-here @heritageposts @sayruq

[quirkyhero]

I have no vet proof so please consider this before donating but- but I will still share in case.

*⚠️ URGENT | Humanitarian Appeal to Help Tasneem and Her Family in Gaza 🇵🇸*

The suffering in Gaza continues to grow each day...

*We are hungry, thirsty, and struggling in silence under tents* ⛺☀️

We live in tents that don’t protect us from the intense summer heat, with no enough food and *no access to clean drinking water*.

Water desalination stations have shut down due to the lack of fuel — *even clean water is now out of reach* 💧💔

*Flour costs 35 per kilo*, and we can’t even afford that.

So we had to knead bread from lentils, so we had to buy it because it was a little cheaper than flour, as a kilo costs $20.

We search daily for anything to feed the children... sometimes we sleep hungry.

I’m Tasneem. I launched this appeal because we’ve lost everything…

I need your support to feed my family, continue my education, and regain our basic human dignity.

*Any help matters — even5 can make a real difference.*

*Please, don’t ignore this call for help 🙏*

*Save Gaza. Save the lives before they’re completely lost.*

#SaveGaza #SupportTasneem #GazaUnderAttack #HumanityFirst #GazaAppeal

[quirkyhero]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

My name is Fatima, a 21-year-old woman🤰.Just one month before the war, I was engaged, dreaming of a warm home and a small family.But the war tore us apart—my fiancé and I were separated between northern and southern Gaza, with no way to communicate💔.

Despite the pain, we held on to hope. Months later, I left my family and joined him.We got married, believing it was the start of a new life.But the bombing returned, and we were displaced again… Now we live in a fragile tent in western Gaza, awaiting the birth of our first child amid conditions unfit for life🥹😭.

I’m pregnant🤰, and my due date is near🥹. I have none of the essentials I need as a mother or even as a human being🙏.We lack everything: medical care, food, clean water, and basic supplies for childbirth and the baby🥲.

I’m not asking for the impossible—just enough to protect my life and my baby’s

Your donation is our only hope🥹😢.

My campaign is new and has not received much support. Please support me and my family.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpfatema

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #640 )✅️

[quirkyhero]

Okay, going off of your rise Leo headcanons, how would he react if the reader were to reveal they’ve never had the big o in any capacity? Not through themselves or through others? imo I think he’d consider it a travesty

He Realizes You’ve Never Had An Orgasm (Suggestive/Cracky?)

Rise!Leonardo x reader

A/N: Following my Random Headcanons About Leonardo (18+) and my First Time Headcanons (18+), this takes place several months before Leo admits his feelings to the reader. Hope this was what you were looking for💙

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Talk of orgasms, talk of sex, talk of masturbation, implied sex.

Leo was - at a lack for better words - absolutely fucking shocked. He would sit up straight on the couch, staring at you with his mouth hanging open, looking offended for some reason. For what reason you didn’t fully understand. He still hadn't even tried having his dick in you, so why on earth would he be offended? Not that he hadn’t tried. Just while sitting on your couch for a few hours, he had already been hitting on you several times, hinting STRONGLY at him wanting to, promising you he would give you a good time. That was when you finally told him that no one had ever been able to make you orgasm, so you had a very hard time believing that he would be any different… Maybe that was why he was acting so offended…

Then Leo - feeling no shame - would even have the guts to ask you, why you haven’t had an orgasm yet, suddenly looking much less offended, but instead very worried. Like you had just told him that you would die in a few months, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

“How the hell would I know?”, you said after letting him know how rude that kind of question could be for some people. He was just lucky that you saw him as a friend. “Because people keep saying so much but never living up to it?”

“Well, not everyone can be as good as me. That’s simply not possible”, Leo said, becoming his usually cocky self. “But at least you’ve had the pleasure of an orgasm from your own hand. Not my favorite, but certainly better than none at all”. But when met with silence from you, and when you suddenly avoided looking at him, instead taking a sip of your drink, Leo sat up straight, looking much more shocked than before, screaming - still with no shame - at the top of his lungs; “YOU HAVE NEVER MADE YOURSELF ORGASM?!”

The rest of the evening you could hear him mumble things along the lines of; "I can't believe you've never had an orgasm. Are you sure you're okay?"

For the next two months, Leo would follow every pick up line up with a comment, on how he was going to rock your world with your first orgasm, at times even giving you a long list of ways he would do it, getting more and more shamless with each point.

That didn’t get him anywhere with you, but he would bring it up every once in a while, as he was hoping that he could tempt you in some way. Instead you would roll your eyes at him and keep dreaming.

But in the end, Leo would be the one to give you your first orgasm, after he finally decided to drop the fuck boy attitude, and finally reveal his true feelings for you. But not only would Leo give you your first orgasm, but he also proved to you that he indeed was capable of everything he had been telling you for so long.

[quirkyhero]

Shush Mikey... It's ✨️✨️art.✨️✨️

"How did your first date go?"

Kendra likes to pretend that date went a little differently 🤭

Once again, @birdsnout draws the most amazing work!!

Inspired by this cover that was making its rounds!

[quirkyhero]

Attempted Execute of Non-Executable Memory - Chapter 25

RotTMNT Michelangelo x Kendra

It seems like a million moons ago that I requested this from @ditzyblues for @tmnt4p. It was such an incredible piece (with their art how could it not be?) that I knew I had to write a chapter to live up to it and here it is. I really put my all into this one so please enjoy!

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings/Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Romance, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Human/Turtle Relationships (TMNT), I Flesh Out Kendra’s Character, Character Study, I Give Kendra a Backstory, Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Childhood Trauma, Fake/Pretend Turned Real Relationships, First Generation Immigrant Kid Problems, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chaos Soulmates, They’re the Same Flavor of Unhinged and I Swear it Works, Shared Trauma Shared Goals Shared Bed, Mutually Assured Character Development, Happy Ending

Synopsis: Years have passed since Kendra hit the lowest of lows. It only took a couple of prison stints, but she’s carved out a simple existence that keeps her from repeating past mistakes. Plan goes according to boring plan until divine inspiration walks in using the form of one specific orange coded mutant. Kendra only needs to get close enough to him to plant a virus in his infuriating brother’s servers, but will she be infected along the way?

Also available on Ao3

First 🧡 Previous

Kendra moved at an even pace. Her sneakers hit the pavement pleasantly and were a step away from going silent. Her pants fit loose enough that she could move how she wanted and her hoodie drowned the rest. It was a covert outfit recrafted from old layers. Kendra didn’t have winter wear exactly; she had her regular clothes which she could throw on until she was warm enough to withstand the elements. The hoodie was one of those pieces, even if it wasn’t currently serving that purpose.

She was probably going to ditch it soon.

In that way, she was wearing an inverse of the layered look.

She could relegate the hoodie to around her waist because she had other covers below it. There was her dark colored tank that covered her torso. She had sun sleeves taken from some UV conscious Ibu which took care of her arms. It was the best she could do considering she apparently didn’t own a dark colored long sleeved shirt. If she was supposed to be as clandestine as she hoped, then she needed to cover up. Her lipstick was left in the tube, which left her hair as her biggest calling card and the beanie she had chosen didn’t exactly mask it as much as it should, but it did the job.

Job.

This felt like one.

There was that illicit exhilaration that came with what was going to be an illegal act.

Many years ago, this was the sort of high she pursued. Both in some grand scheme of supposed glory that was really supremacy and because she really thought she was untouchable. Back then, she didn’t bother with dressing down. She wore her school jacket proudly when she committed crimes and believed full well that they could hack any of the necessary cameras. They were teens with nary a thought of consequences because they were young and stupid.

This was different.

It wasn’t like her and Mikey’s botched trip to the museum or that time with the skateboard.

This time she had planning and preparation.

This time she knew exactly what her boyfriend was up to.

To a point.

Except now it made sense.

There was always going to be an enigmatic component to Michelangelo that she couldn’t control. It infuriated her to no end, but it was also exactly the reason they melded so well. He was chaos that she couldn’t reign in by design. By being his own stubborn factor, he could take her on without having to play mind games. He was as refreshing as he was annoying and she cared about him deeply.

She was about to see how bad he was.

Tonight was a clarifying gesture that spoke to his apparent misconceptions. He had a good version of bad that he agreed with and over time, that made more sense to her. There was a level of illegality that must have come from his mutant existence. It was a fact of his life as much as anyone who grew up with that level of poverty. It didn’t come with pity or baggage and she saw him no differently. It was context given to his erratic being as much as his desire to convert his less savory family members. His skewed vision on good, evil, and redemption came from his upbringing and some core character trait that existed relentlessly despite everything that happened to him.

She didn’t know how she felt about some distinction between levels of misdeeds. It was the socioeconomic discrepancy that bothered her. Depending on who you were, how you had grown up, and, mostly, how much money you made, that truly dictated what was apparently bad or good. Superheroes, the idealized versions of these supposed powers that be, were entrenched in that same idealism. Those were the powers that be that she wanted to fight.

Dismantle.

Destroy.

Rewrite.

Was graffiti a gateway?

She had no idea.

She had never given the scrawls much thought.

They lingered in many of the areas she had hung out in her life, but they were what they were.

Etchings.

She preferred calling cards in code, but it was hard to deny that it wasn’t the same thing.

Done in a different medium.

Mikey would show her.

Thus, she moved.

Through the city and without a certain level of fear, despite it being night. There was something to be said about criminal acts. When you were out to do them yourself, it was hard to be wary of others. It had to do with awareness, she guessed. To be covert, one had to inherently clock their surroundings. Though her attention was mostly strung on a wayward cop, she made note of every individual nearby. She was hyperaware of her space both around and what she took up. The mini can of pepper spray was something she thumbed in her hoodie pocket and felt ready to deploy it if necessary.

Though it didn’t feel like she would.

A quick check to her phone made sure she was close before she shut it off against wayward trackers. She arrived at their agreed upon meeting point and found that she had beaten him here. There was a level of what could be considered excitement driving her. Preparing her wardrobe and thinking of all the necessary details had been a project she enjoyed. That might have had her out the door earlier than expected just for the sake of it. 

This was her ploy that she could tailor fit as she pleased. 

She observed the space.

Her senses said she was safely tucked away and there was some graffiti here. She took steps to observe it and found it to be small stuff. It seemed like someone had taken a marker to the brick based on the choppy edges to the lines. That meant the marker’s tip skipped over and didn’t bleed into the porous structure. She didn’t bother touching it to confirm and moved on. A few fading and bubbled stickers were slapped on near the alley’s entrance. She wondered if that was a part of the culture too or just some regular vandalism.

Did it matter?

What made it an important distinction?

There were murals that were commissioned.

She had seen them around or showcased on social media.

How were those different than ones scrawled out on abandoned factories where no one could obviously see?

Those she had only glimpsed when riding the train every once in a while.

There was a noise to the top right.

Kendra readied herself and looked directly there.

A silhouette looked down at her with white eyes.

She gawked.

Mikey leaned forward and caught the light that illuminated the alley. “Hey! You’re here!”

“What was that?” She squawked.

He heaved something that rustled and jumped.

She watched him bounce from one wall to the other in a learned way to soften his momentum as he reached her side.

“What was what?” He set a duffle bag down. “Coming from the roof? It’s fast travel!”

“No, you’re-” She pointed to her eyes, but saw his empty gaze and decided it wasn’t worth it. “Nevermind. That the stuff?”  

He stood close to his belongings. “Yeah! My gear! I was gonna do a straight letter piece for you to see! I practiced the design and I wanna do one that can go up extra fast so you won’t have to wait.”

“I don’t have work tomorrow.” She looked over the bag.

He inched closer. “The hands on part comes at the end, we gotta walk you through the course first.”

“Course?” She swept her gaze up to study him.

He loosened on visual contact.

He was being protective of his things.

“Yup, a little light schooling so it makes sense! Don’t worry, I got it timed! I did a couple of walkthroughs.”

“You practiced.”

“The things I do for you.” He pretended to lament.

“You put all your effort into things I don’t care about.”

He gasped loudly and with his whole being. “What kind of teacher would crush a young mind like that?!”

“One that wants to prepare their students for the real world.”

His expression pinched with displeasure.

She clapped his shoulder. “Welcome to the School of Hard Knocks.”

He turned his beak up. “The streets weren’t so mean! You’ll see!”

“Not exactly what someone who’s bad would say.”

“Then let me show you! I’ll show you exactly what bad really is…!” He swept his bag up, threaded through its strap with an easy dip of his head, and moved all in one motion.

She followed after.

“We started here on purpose!” He threw up his arms toward the buildings. “I’m not gonna teach you the history of graffiti unless you wanna join in. You can’t start writing without knowing your history. Seriously, if you wanna do this, you gotta at least read Subway Art. It’s the graffiti bible.”

She listened as they walked.

He only led them a few blocks away. “Read the book, learn the lingo, watch the documentaries, devour it all, and then jump into the scene…”

He stopped near an unassuming corner.

He listened.

Kendra found herself looking around in the moment of silence. 

This was a quiet place.

The building they stood in front of was clearly abandoned.

It butted up against some concrete pillars that held up some kind of unfinished public works project on one side and across the other street were desolate homes.

The businesses were vacant.

There was no one around.

“But let’s assume this is a one off for you…” Mikey took a leading step around the corner.

Kendra followed attentively at first before she slowed.

From behind the edge of the building, its side blossomed like a packed garden. The entire facade was covered in lettering of all kinds. Styles bent and twisted out like scrap metal. From the wreckage they birthed color. The dark did nothing to hide the plethora. This piece was probably hard on the eyes during the day. There was no end or cohesion in sight. Just endless swirl and scrawl written by what must have been hundreds of hands. She stepped backwards because it was too much for her eyes to view all at once.

Her sneaker hit the curb and she resisted stepping into the street.

Mikey’s voice drifted in. “You look just like I did. I’m glad…”

She didn’t speak as she was still taking it in.

“This place is near our original lair. The one we grew up in that got destroyed. Before we officially snuck up to the surface, we each sort of went in waves. Doing it around the others, tattling as soon as we found out…” Mikey turned and the movement pulled her eye.

She watched him point to one of the old pillars.

“There used to be a manhole right there. It’s where I came up.”

If he had popped his head out where he was pointing, he would have seen was this wall.

“The first thing I ever did was find a chill spot…” His voice softened. “I couldn’t believe it. Even back then it had all this.”

He moved again and this time it was to walk up and put a hand to the brick.

“Layers and layers of names. Everyone who came before me…”

She finally met his side.

He threw her a quick glance. “This is where we start. No big lesson, but seeing history in motion. Graffiti is all about making your mark. In this world, especially here in New York where everything is commodified and taken from us, this is how you take it back. You make your mark. You sign your name. You make something yours, finally yours. It’s vandalism because it has to be. Where you put it, how you make it, what you do, it all says something. Something about you, the area, anything and everything. All while on a time limit.”

She nodded.

“Tags!” Mikey walked away to point at some simple black scrawl far off to one side that had yet to be covered up. “That’s how you start. You write your name. Plain and simple.”

Her eyes darted as she searched for other examples.

“This wall is too busy to pick out the other kinds, so let’s go!” He started walking.

She lingered to look in spite of his dismissal.

There was a tag near the ground that looked like cursive. A few were drawn within larger pieces.  Two of those she saw had huge X’s drawn over them. She guessed that was bad form. Another barely peaked out from beneath larger letters where it almost became part of the line art of another piece.

Unless that was intentional.

Mikey was right that it was hard to tell where one work began and another ended. She began to follow him and just before the building clipped out of view, she saw one last tag.

At an impossible height.

It was written near the roof as if someone had hung off the side to write it.

She swore it said ‘Angel’ and she bet it was that because the L curved up and around the top to create what had to be a halo.

Topped with horns.  

It was faded with age, but a scar in its untouchable position.

Kendra looked after Mikey as it disappeared.

“The next example isn’t far from here!” He pointed.

“If this is where you first saw graffiti, how long was it until you started doing it yourself?”

He bobbed with the question and she could tell it pleased him. “Pretty much right after! I was too scared to stay up top for long. I did a lot of whack-a-mole peeking and creeping, but I had a canvas all my own downstairs. I practiced for hours on the sewer tunnels and only passed out twice.”

“What?!”

“Didn’t realize I needed a mask for the aerosol…” Mikey tipped to an embarrassed side, but kept walking. “When folks dump their cans, they don’t really toss the protective gear…” 

“How long until your brothers found you?”

“Not long and I’m hardy with this whole situation.” He swept a hand over his being. “They made me spray where they could watch for a while after that. I tagged our skate ramps and walls. Toy stuff.”

She nodded and he turned a few corners.

She worked between maneuvering the streets with him and keeping an eye out.

They soon reached some brush that was overgrown. Instead of making her wade through it, Mikey asked her to wait as he dove in. She listened to him rustle like a wild animal until he located what he was looking for and shoved entire bushes aside. Holding his body there to keep the path open, she ducked through his limbs and found huge bulging letters that spelled out what seemed like ‘ZEST.’

“This is throw-up!”

It was a bit hard to tell in the light, but it seemed to be outlined in green with a yellow interior. “I’ll say.”

He chuckled and didn’t seem put out from his contorted form. “It’s called that because it can be written quickly.”

“Like cursive ‘cause there’s no straight lines to stop.”

“Who writes in cursive?”

She gave him an annoyed look over her shoulder.

He grinned guiltily.

“Why rush a piece here?”

“There didn’t used to be bushes. This was visible from the street.”

She gazed out further and saw there were a lot of windows glaring down this spot.

“Tagging. Throw-up.” She spoke.

“Next part takes us down.” He nodded at her to step out.

She went back through his limbs.

The bushes snapped shut behind him. “There’s a clear path over here.”

She waited for him to lead.

He got them around the overgrowth and to where the concrete cropped back up. It was poured out semi-recently, but clearly wasn’t kept up. It led down, as Mikey described, in smooth swaths that bowled out to gravel. From there a few shoddy pieces of track were rusting orange. Kendra identified it as the rest of that public works project that had been forgotten. It was clearly a rail line that would have connected this area, but the dwindling population meant they hadn’t kept going with the process. 

Not enough money.

The people weren’t worth it.

It was the usual story.

Mikey slid down a slope with ease and turned with his arms out. “It’s steep!”

“I can see that.” She stared down at him where he clearly meant for her to follow.

“I’ll catch you.”

“From there?!”

“I’ll jump if I need to.”

She groaned and cursed on her breath as she crouched down.

A sneaker tipped at the edge.

She moved her body weight.

Remembered the drop in from the skateboard.

She trusted the fall and redistributed her weight.

It culminated in her jogging straight down where Mikey caught her with an ear tearing, “That was amazing, Kendra!!”

Her heart raced out of her ears and she clung to him. “Yeah! Well!”

He ushered her further onto the gravel. “You were like, zoom! Right to me!”

“Uh huh!”

He gave her more praise until she was steady and pushed him away.

Once she could, she looked and found several throw-ups drawn around the curved walls. “These are the same.”

“You’re getting the eye!” He chirped and pointed out a tunnel. “Next part’s in there.”

“No.” She stared.

“I got lights.” He patted his duffle.

“We’re not going in some dirty tunnel.”

“It connects to the subway, but that’s way down, we’re not going-!”

“No!” She reared.

He watched.

“This place is abandoned, isn’t it?” She kicked rocks. “The tracks aren’t even connected.”

“Well… Yeah.”

“How’s that make sense? Why tag down there? No one’s going to see it but hobos and other people crazy enough to go down there!”

“A ton of writers.” Mikey clarified.

“Why? You said this was about reclaiming the city. Who wants to reclaim… this?!” She threw her hands out around them. “This should have been something, right? A new subway! Helping people get here and get home, but look at it! Another thing abandoned by the city. I can take a guess at the wealth around here.”

“From the level of graffiti?” Mikey ventured.

“From the amount of abandoned buildings. The overgrown shit. All of it.” She sniped back.

Mikey digested. “You’re… right.”

She waited and looked him up and down.

“Graffiti is part taking back. Part leaving your name. It’s also art. Art itself is rebellion. It’s an act of pure expression that can’t be commercialized.”

“Say that again, Banksy.” She clicked her tongue.

Mikey was on her in a moment and she startled against his wild expression. “Don’t say that name. He is not a graffiti writer.”

“Uh…” She drawled.

“That’s street art. A performance.” He had bile in his throat. “I’ve done both. I’m a writer and I’ve done street art. It’s totally different. Banksy may have come out of the Bristol graffiti scene, but he moved on from being a writer. It stopped being about him and fully became about the social issues, which is fine, but it’s not the same. That’s not the culture. You don’t commercialize it and you don’t stick your name on it.”

“All of this is names!”

“They’re not-!” Mikey growled more to himself before he took a breath. “His name isn’t Banksy, but that’s the name it’s sold under. It goes against the code. There is a code to doing this. History. The people that came before you, their struggles. Banksy went too far. It wasn’t about the local area. It was about where he could get the most eyes. Yes, stencils can be graffiti, but his pieces are too thought out. You can take time to work, you can come back to it. Heck, you can literally write, ‘I ran out of paint,’ so they know you’ll be back and your stuff will be untouched, but Banksy…”

Her brow loosened some.

“His work is good. It says good things, but he’s forgotten the point.”

The concept felt as dichotomous as Mikey.

She let it be.

She wasn’t sure she understood, but Mikey was passionate about it and that’s what mattered.

“It’s art.” He emphasized with his hands. “Yes, it’s making a mark, but that’s what art is. Writing down here. You’ll see it if you look, it’s part of it. There’s the part about being seen, but that’s temporary. That’s making a social statement of what’s yours. Down here, there’s pieces dating back way before I was alive. Tributes and time capsules. History. Ones I get to be a part of. Ones where I have a place because I don’t belong either. In that tunnel is where we show our stuff. We have time to make the pieces that show our skill levels. We outdo each other. Practice something that’s all our own.”

She relaxed.

“It’s hard to explain.”

“It is.”

“I don’t mean to get mad, but that’s always the talk right before they say what an eyesore writing is.”

She nodded.

“Brings down the property values. ‘Not like Banksy.’” Mikey gagged. “It’s frustrating.”

“I’m sorry.”

He heard it come out so plainly that it brought his wide eyes over to her.

She pouted off to the side.

He approached cautiously.

She turned away.

He wove around her body.

She looked the other direction.

He was a coil around her back. “Kendra…?”

“Hm?” She kept her lips tight.

“Will you please go down a murder tunnel with me?”

“If I see someone else I’m going to pepper spray them.”

“You brought your cute bottle?!”

“It’s not cute!” She turned.

He was right there and pecked her cheek with a quick, “Thank you.”

She didn’t respond, but began to walk.

He righted himself and followed after.

At the mouth of the tunnel, he unzipped the bag to pass out flashlights.

She spun her beam around the urban cave mouth and immediately saw scrawl.

Tons more than was on the side of that building.

She started forward.

Mikey followed.

He pointed out artists.

Attributed tags.

The shapes lost clear meaning.

They were words that needed ciphers.

They were also mind-boggling.

Some were math pieces whose angles could be charted.

Others wrapped back on themselves like ouroboros without a clear start or end.

More still were flanked with wings and what had to be the tribute pieces Mikey mentioned as tiny similar models cropped up around them along with clear ‘R.I.P.’s.

It was history.

Layers of paint like before, but taken with time down here.

Away from it all.

A writer’s own spot.

One they actually owned.

Kendra understood.

Why they did it and why Mikey was attracted to it.

“Here.” Mikey pointed his torch.

Kendra squinted.

She couldn’t make out the letters, but she could identify four of them.

They stretched tall and vibrant from a burning orange.

“You’ve seen a few now, but this is what’s called a piece.”

It was highly detailed and had a variety of colors.

The name that burned twisted away from the rot beneath. An organic sort of magenta was worming its way around the bottom of the letters. It reached out with grotesque tendrils that tried to extinguish the flames. Eerie pops of green bulged out like eyes where the magenta was trying to take control.

Kendra took her hoodie of a similar color off.

Mikey said nothing as he held the flashlight steady. “Full color pieces are showcases. They’re a way to show off your skill and line control.”

He stepped forward and pointed.

“As much as I hate cursive, you’re right about speed. It’s easy and fast to do a curve. Depending on the push or pull, you get line weight, but straight lines are hard. Each jagged edge of the fire here is a chance to mess up. Then there’s the layering. You got the fill, the force field, the highlights.” His hand swept out.

She tied it around her waist, but the drooping sleeves felt wrong as they hung.

“Not to mention how this is a dual piece…” Mikey coasted over the magenta. “I have sketchbooks full of designs, but it’s not like you can use them when you actually get to a wall or whatever. There’s no blowing it up. You’re freehanding it. You can start with a sketch, but each color adds another variable that you have to account for and you gotta know how to occupy the space.”

“It’s spontaneous and not.”

“Exactly.” He oozed pride as he stared at the wall.

“What’s this artist’s name?”

“ZAZZ.” Mikey disengaged fully and couldn’t look again.

She gave the piece a lingering glimpse.

“Let’s get out of here. There’s one last thing I want to show you before you get to watch that demonstration.”

He started to walk.

She picked up her flashlight to keep viewing the piece.

There were dozens more around it.

Through the tube.

All works that seemed to surround this one by ZAZZ.

They all had one thing in common.

They were tales about the Krang.

Memorial pieces.

Some with full government names.

Others that wished peace to other writers.

Kendra stood among them for one last second before following after Mikey.

She swore she heard him murmur about the death tunnel as they walked.

She listened to the crunch of the gravel underfoot.

They soon emerged and packed up the flashlights.

Mikey carried her out of the bowl.

They were back on city streets again.

They walked.

Out of that more desolate area and toward where there were more people.

Still paltry few in comparison and none of them looked at the pair.

“You said there were rules?” She ventured.

“Unspoken, yeah.”

“Do you have a crew?”

He chuffed. “I’ve been approached a few times, but no.”

“Why not?”

He hummed and looked out as he crossed a street.

She kept close behind him.

“Wasn’t my style.” He told her when they were on a straight path. “When I started to write up top, I broke so many rules. I didn’t get it, ya know? What to do or who to connect with. The history.”

He sent a cheeky gaze back at her.

“They call what I did wild style or, really, ignorant style. I didn’t know what I was doing or why I was doing it. I wanted to be a part of something, but didn’t get why. A writer found me one day. She said she recognized the trail of destruction from my work. She was sick of me and said I wasn’t even responding to her disses. I had no idea she had done anything because I hadn’t gone back to any of my work.”

She listened as they walked.

“I spent one night with her. That was it. She took me all over the city. She taught me everything she knew, gave me direction, and I never saw her again. I never even got her tag name…”

He slowed and she matched him.

“I feel her sometimes when I look at certain works. I don’t know if it’s her, but I like to think it is.”

Kendra lingered near him.

“We need to go up. Mind if I give you a lift?”

She put her arms around his neck.He smiled into her and hooked an arm around her body. She kept her gaze to his. His lids were dipped and he reached up. An orange chain appeared and caught somewhere. With a twist around his hand and a yank, it propelled them straight up. Kendra continued to stare as her stomach soared. It bottomed out as they rose higher than a rooftop and Mikey whisked her body up to make the landing. He held her to get her bearings and she looked out. They weren’t on a particularly high building. One side was blocked by a tower and the other overlooked some raised tracks.

“Should be right on time…” Mikey pointed downwind.

There was a train coming.

“Don’t blink. This is called a burner. It’s considered a writer’s pinnacle piece.”

Kendra readied herself.

The train’s lights illuminated the way.

It clicked along a faint sound from where they were.

It drove by.

Art started almost immediately.

A stretch of color that looked like ribbons.

Red.

Blue.

Purple.

Orange.

Winding into a knot of green.

It scaled from there and the letters started in reverse from how the train moved.

They were sharp and enunciated.

Drawn for their purpose of being seen just like this in passing.

A splash of neon green gave way to what had to be a U.

Reptilian markers turned softer thrown-up edges into something else on a J.

Nunchucks fought bodacious action lines around an N.

It rounded off very literally with an O that was segmented like a pizza pie.

Each slice spoke of something.

Evoked a moment in time.

All that made up this writer’s life.

It spilled out from there.

Saying there was more to come with a rush of lava that cooled as the train passed.

New ground was being made.

This writer was not done.

Far from it.

They stood long past the time the train was gone.

“Ready to see me in action?” Mikey asked like it was on a whim.

“Let’s go.” Her voice was ready.

He swept her up and they soared.

Only for a few moments and Kendra drew up designs for that jetpack.

She really needed to put that to paper.

She would buy some.

To make art of her own.

Once they were on the ground, Mikey gave her a readied glance. They were going to run. She gave a curt nod and they were off. As they moved, Mikey slung his bag around. He pulled out a black square of cloth and tied it around his throat. She pulled down her beanie and tucked up stray hairs into it. He turned a corner and she took lookout. Mikey dropped to his knees and opened the bag.

She could finally see inside.

There was a slew of cans to one side and a segmented pocket full of colorful caps.

He selected two cans and dove into the baubles.

He capped the cans, shoved one so it bulged in his pocket, pulled up the scarf around his neck so it covered his beak ,and began to draw on a large length of empty wall.

He outlined a first letter that was rounded and Kendra’s eyes went up and down the street. Coming around the next sweep of Mikey’s arm went up and down. The jagged line within the throw-up created a contrast that he curved away in a knee bending swish. He came up with a flourish on another round that took him inside and out. From there, he pocketed one can in exchange for another.

He ran back over a choice few of his lines with a different color. Up the road, Kendra swore she saw a body, but as she stared there was only a closed door. She watched hard into the window to see if there was movement, but none came. The fizzle of Mikey’s spray cans continued and when she checked back in, he was going side to side with orange. This was the fill, she remembered, and she watched him expertly lay out horizontal lines that left no gaps in color. She had seen a few pieces tonight where the fill was spotty, but Mikey knew no such mistake.

He moved back and forth in a lapse of time and the fumes wafted to her nose. Mikey shook a fading can and went to swap it out for another. It took a dig to find that same orange and in the process he pulled another scrap of black. It was passed off for Kendra to use as her own mask and he nodded to her smartly before resuming his back and forth. He layered paint until the fill was completely done before he rushed his bag in a new way.

There was a sense of urgency that tickled the hairs on the back of Kendra’s neck. Mikey was back to writing with a deep purple and a precise nozzle. He outlined small sections of the piece. It didn’t make spatial sense to her, but he rounded the interior while also wafting out from the sides. The floating lines didn’t fully connect, but he continued to line through them. He only checked over the writing as a whole with quick glances and then he sprayed in heavily on the outer lines.

It was a background color, Kendra placed.

It helped pop the orange and, while she examined it, Mikey switched cans again.

The small ball that shook up the paint clattered in a constant tick like a clock before the sizzle of a spray followed it up. Time melded beneath the sound and this time he was laying down what was clearly an outline. A now recognizable O, N, J, and U appeared within flicks of his wrist and large reaches. He moved with his whole body as if dancing around the subject matter and came away with a nod before he went right back to the bag.

The back and forth left no evidence other than what was on the wall.

Kendra held her mask tight to her nose as fumes circled her.

With neon green, Mikey pockmarked corners of the pieces. He then swept through with white to add inner highlights that came with writing more dimensionality. It was done in her mind, but he approached her with a can when she thought he would be coming to her to tell her what she decided.

She looked at the object.

It wasn’t immediately obvious what color it was, but its cap was hot pink.

It entered her hand.

“Write fast. Don’t think. Just spray.” He backed away. “Only let up when you’re done.”

Like cursive, she reminded herself.

He wanted her to draw on this.

She would mess it up.

Ruin it.

Or.

Just like reality.

Embellish it.

Teach it something.

As he had taught, helped, her.

She shot forward.

Threw her hand up as high as it would go.

In an awkward swivel that dripped because she sprayed it too close to the wall, she drew a halo over the piece.

It was her color.

Her blue.

Her favorite shade.

She jumped to do two triangle horns on top of the sweet symbol to make a mockery of it.

To show it, like it showed the world, what it was really made of.

She dropped down.

With curled flicks, she drew droplets being squeezed out of the O.

They didn’t quite match up and made the letter look like it was sweating.

She carried on.

With indelicacy in the shape, she drew a shoddy bow around the stalk of the J.

It was tied off in dangling sleeves that squeezed it, but never fully possessed it.

She moved on.

To the U and the final marker.

Mikey drew the year in white to one side.

In a quick wag, she scrawled out a squiggled line.

With a sharp thrust and tug she made it into an arrow.

One that never traveled straight, but relentlessly kept going.

“Sign it.” He told her as he looked up at her with pride.

She tucked into the corner of the piece.

Messily made a K and a B in cursive scrawl.

Mikey smiled.

It was so bright it blinded Kendra’s eyes.

“Hey!!” A man shouted.

It wasn’t her boyfriend’s teeth, but a cop.

The light shook away from her as the officer, several long yards away, began to run. “Hey! You two!!”

Mikey dove.

Caught her and the can she dropped out of the air.

In clicks of the ball inside the paint, he flicked the cap off in a way that sent it amongst the others.

Threw the can amongst its brethren.

Added his own.

Zipped the bag shut.

Hoisted it over his head.

Her over his other shoulder.

Ran.

The officer closed in with the time.

Kendra couldn’t grab her pepper spray.

It was both in her hoodie pocket that was tied around her waist and beyond Mikey’s hold.

She reached behind her head.

Her DNA was in the database.

Mikey’s wasn’t.

She undid the knot of his black mask as they turned a corner.

Whipped the swatch of fabric around.

Timed it.

Released.

The cop appeared, the scarf hit him in the face, and he choked on it.

Mikey leapt.

Hit brick and bounced.

They went higher, above the buildings, then down as gravity beckoned.

He stumbled into a run that he tried to halt.

Her weight and the bags swung around him and threw off his balance.

They went over the side of the building they had landed on.

Kendra swallowed a scream.

She heard his palms scrap brick as if kicking off sparks before they finally landed.

Mikey collapsed with an effort to roll her safely away from him.

She did one somersault and landed, barely scathed, on her ass with her legs kicked out separately.

She reached for her mask.

Mikey shot upright and checked his duffle bag.

Kendra tossed the black fabric aside and brought a hand up to her heat moistened lips.

Everything was in order with his gear and he looked at her.

She returned the glance. “Nice one, bad boy.”

“I thought so! Total ten landing!”

He scratched the back of his head.

She giggled.

He smiled.

(Check out behind the scenes for this fic and more on my Patreon. You can follow me there, here, or the tag #AENEMfic for updates)

My betas @tmntxthings and @unrestrainedhotsoup didn't just edit this, but they had to listen to me gab about all the graffiti knowledge I learned! I can't thank them enough!

[quirkyhero]

ah.... AH- AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- I didn't expect my comment to be on here but holy shit the - is this how it feels when one of your senpais notice you??!

...

Okay that was cringe! But anways please give this fantastic writer's work your love and attention! It's gosh darn brilliance!

I'm not here to beg.

I'm not here to plead.

All I'm here to do is to point to the above and tell you:

If you've ever felt like something I wrote was real enough to live in...

If anything I’ve written has ever made you feel seen...

If you've ever been swept up in the way I write love...

Or if you ever just happened to even like my writing style...

Then I can confidently say that AENEM is for you!

It is written with the same, if not more, care than anything else I've written. I pour as much of my heart and soul into every chapter as I have anything else. I craft what on the surface appears to be a crack ship with as much attention as I would any of my stories. I just want to put it out there that if you were to give it a chance, I promise you that you won't be disappointed.

[quirkyhero]

Things like this will, always bring me joy.

Words to replace said, except this actually helps

I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.

IN RESPONSE TO Acknowledged Answered Protested

INPUT/JOIN CONVERSATION/ASK Added Implored Inquired Insisted Proposed Queried Questioned Recommended Testified

GUILTY/RELUCTANCE/SORRY Admitted Apologized Conceded Confessed Professed

FOR SOMEONE ELSE Advised Criticized Suggested

JUST CHECKING Affirmed Agreed Alleged Confirmed

LOUD Announced Chanted Crowed

LEWD/CUTE/SECRET SPY FEEL Appealed Disclosed Moaned

ANGRY FUCK OFF MATE WANNA FIGHT Argued Barked Challenged Cursed Fumed Growled Hissed Roared Swore

SMARTASS Articulated Asserted Assured Avowed Claimed Commanded Cross-examined Demanded Digressed Directed Foretold Instructed Interrupted Predicted Proclaimed Quoted Theorized

ASSHOLE Bellowed Boasted Bragged

NERVOUS TRAINWRECK Babbled Bawled Mumbled Sputtered Stammered Stuttered

SUAVE MOTHERFUCKER Bargained Divulged Disclosed Exhorted

FIRST OFF Began

LASTLY Concluded Concurred

WEAK PUSY Begged Blurted Complained Cried Faltered Fretted

HAPPY/LOL Cajoled Exclaimed Gushed Jested Joked Laughed

WEIRDLY HAPPY/EXCITED Extolled Jabbered Raved

BRUH, CHILL Cautioned Warned

ACTUALLY, YOU’RE WRONG Chided Contended Corrected Countered Debated Elaborated Objected Ranted Retorted

CHILL SAVAGE Commented Continued Observed Surmised

LISTEN BUDDY Enunciated Explained Elaborated Hinted Implied Lectured Reiterated Recited Reminded Stressed

BRUH I NEED U AND U NEED ME Confided Offered Urged

FINE Consented Decided

TOO EMO FULL OF EMOTIONS Croaked Lamented Pledged Sobbed Sympathized Wailed Whimpered

JUST SAYING Declared Decreed Mentioned Noted Pointed out Postulated Speculated Stated Told Vouched

WASN’T ME Denied Lied

EVIL SMARTASS Dictated Equivocated Ordered Reprimanded Threatened

BORED Droned Sighed

SHHHH IT’S QUIET TIME Echoed Mumbled Murmured Muttered Uttered Whispered

DRAMA QUEEN Exaggerated Panted Pleaded Prayed Preached

OH SHIT Gasped Marveled Screamed Screeched Shouted Shrieked Yelped Yelled

ANNOYED Grumbled Grunted Jeered Quipped Scolded Snapped Snarled Sneered

ANNOYING Nagged

I DON’T REALLY CARE BUT WHATEVER Guessed Ventured

I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM Hooted Howled Yowled

I WONDER Pondered Voiced Wondered

OH, YEAH, WHOOPS Recalled Recited Remembered

SURPRISE BITCH Revealed

IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD Scoffed Snickered Snorted

BITCHY Tattled Taunted Teased

Edit: People, I’m an English and creative writing double major in college; I understand that there’s nothing wrong with simply using “said.” This was just for fun, and it comes in handy when I need to add pizzazz. 

[quirkyhero]

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #622 )✅️

My name is Adham, I'm 20 years old, and I'm from Gaza City. I dreamed of a happy life, completing my studies, and getting a job, but the war turned this dream into something impossible 💔😭. We lived through this massacre in all its painful details, and we're still in pain 😔. We were very happy when the ceasefire was announced, and we returned to our homes in northern Gaza after being displaced for a year and a half in a tent in the southern Gaza Strip. After we fixed a small room in our destroyed house to live in and start over, unfortunately the war returned stronger than before 💔. Now, we have no shelter and no source of income. We exhausted all our savings during the war. I know that I started my campaign very late, but that's because there is no other way to help my family 🙏. I am completely confident and optimistic that someone here will help us as much as they can and save my family in these difficult circumstances 😔.

I know that the feeling of starting from scratch is painful and frustrating, but I hope to receive any amount for my family 🥺🙏.

Even a small donation would have a great impact on us 🥺. May God bless you, my friend 🥰❤️.

[quirkyhero]

From Starvation to Displacement💔🍉🇵🇸

Khan Younis: A City of Displacement and Hunger🇵🇸🍉

Khan Younis… a city overwhelmed by displacement, suffocating under the weight of tents and silent screams.Families fleeing from one danger into another, with nothing but broken dreams and borrowed blankets.

Children are starving. Mothers spend the day searching for crumbs. Fathers are shadows of themselves, carrying pain they can’t express. No clean water. No food. No medicine.

This is not a page from history — this is now. In Khan Younis. In the dust and mud, among torn tents and empty pots.

Hunger is the only language left. The cries are loud, even if the world has stopped listening.

Please, don’t turn away. Every share, every donation can help.

@samerpal @sadbiooi @battleofthegarys @illpunchababy @alliterate-accident @flashingdaydreams @s7ar-sai10r @playstacean @tallytals @monotremesoup @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ilikefoodandyourmom @i-named-my-cactus-albert @pogasssm @thethrillbasisindeterminable @agremlinthing @huzni @bagofbonesmp3 @amigarobot @hussyknee @divorce-enjoyer @treffyfrinn @lm13y @effen-draws @thatsonehellofabird @neechees @queerpotat @queerstudiesnatural @maester-cressen @lampsbian @freddyfazbearboyfriend @sundung @totally-six @shinydreamtacoprune-blog @rad-lightning-boy @sunidentifiables @groovy-tragedy-girl @aloudlyprofoundduck @comrademango @ami-yonanaya @trompe1oeil @rob-os-17 @loversdesires @autisticmudkip @broccoliaskjgnbhb4444 @brokenbackmountain

@ot3 @mangocheesecakes @good-old-gossip @dragon-master-kai @vakarians-babe @prinnay @neptunerings @paper-mario-wiki @newsfrom-theworld @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @buttercuparry @westaysilly @sunflowersmoths@nieyaoevents @finalgirlabigailhobbs @normal-thoughts-official @flower-tea-fairies @mephal @mothfishing @theaethernetconnection @90-ghost @gaza-evacuation-funds @northgazaupdates2@treeen@keikuri@archivist-goldfish @loook-back-at-it @lookineedsleep@a-scary-lack-of-common-sense@ot3 @reminded @neechees @ankle-beez @paper-mario-wiki @khanger@treesbian @pigswithwings @mobiused @poss-um @possiblythebesteyesintheworld @noble-kale @a-shade-of-blue @chokulit @neptunerings @heydreamchild @dlxxv-vetted-donations @segamascott @autisticmudkip @shadowedskies178 @rowansugar @t-800terminator-blog @greggorylee @wellwaterhysteria @theleechyskrunkly @notlikingbestgirl @inkxplashes @ragtoons @blackcherri-stuff @ajloun @@irangp @sayruq

@appsa @sar-soor @sayruq @stuckinapril @heritageposts @neptunerings @feluka-blog-blog @malcriada @queerstudiesnatural @rizzyluke @determinate-negation

@tamamita @serial-unaliver @vampiricvenus @punkitt-is-here @2spirit-0spoons @paper-mario-wiki @omegaversereloaded @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @ot3 @killy @prisonhannibal @aimasup @anneemay @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @memingursa @b0nkcreat @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @vamprisms @girlinafairytale @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @schoolhater @3000s @annevbonny @fools-and-perverts2 @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @valtsv @postanagramgenerator @feluka @fairuzfan

[quirkyhero]

Hello 🙋

My name is Ahmed, I’m 20 years old, and I’m from Gaza City. I used to dream of a peaceful life, completing my education, and getting a job, but the war has turned that dream into something impossible 💔😭. We lived through this massacre in every painful detail, and we are still in pain 😔. We were so happy when the ceasefire was announced, and we returned to our homes in the north of Gaza after being displaced for a year and a half in a tent in the south of the Strip. After we fixed a small room in our destroyed house to live in and start over, unfortunately, the war returned, stronger than before 💔. Now, we have no shelter and no source of income. We have exhausted all our savings during the war. I know that I started my campaign very late, but that’s because there is no other way to help my family 🙏. I am fully confident and hopeful that someone here will help us as much as they can and save my family in these difficult circumstances 😔.

I know that the feeling of starting from scratch is painful and frustrating, but I hope to receive any amount for my family 🥺🙏.

https://chuffed.org/project/helpahmedfamily

Even a small donation would have a great impact on us 🥺. May God bless you, my friend 🥰❤️.

[quirkyhero]

Hello everyone, if you can please share and donate to the Shehab family’s campaign to support them through displacement and famine. Sahar, her family of eight (five of whom are children), and extended family (three are children) need funds to survive as food, water, formula and baby products become more and more scarce and expensive. All donations will go towards evacuation funds, and to help them recover afterwards and build towards a brighter future once more. Please keep this family in your hearts and minds, and show them your kindness through sharing and donating, thank you. @danashehab is one of the accounts for the family who contacted and asked me to make this post for them.

Tags below the cut, let me know if you’d rather be removed.

@fricklefracklefloof @pocketsizedquasar-3 @a-shade-of-blue @autisticmudkip @punkitt-is-here @heritageposts @sayruq

[quirkyhero]