Amir And His Family Have Been Displaced 7 Times Since This War Began, And Are Under Threat Of Being Displaced

i get that miles being sheltered to punk culture/ideas is an easy assumption, considering his parents' attitude towards gwen, but like. i really really want to pose to you all miles morales the graffiti artist, who's incredibly aware that his dad wouldn't defend him if he was arrested, but still believes in and makes public art. miles morales the black scholarship kid at a predominantly white school that treats him in equal turns like a snowflake, a loose cannon and a charity case, who in one of the novels gets suspended for calling out & starting a protest against his racist history teacher. miles morales who in that same novel gave his own cash to a pickpocket he had to stop after giving him a chance to surrender. miles morales who keeps getting told to shut up & back down but doesn't, even if it's "for his own good". miles morales who after being told he'd never fit into a system that should've helped him said "then fuck your system" and electrocuted the leader.

miles morales might not be punk aesthetically, but he gets it. he gets it more than a lot of so-called "punks" do.

Polemoniaceae

"Friends dont look at friends that way" COWARD. I look at my friends with awe in my eyes, my chest is filled with love, im glowing because i get to be near my friends. I look at my friends and i would give them my everything. SO SKILL ISSUE, look at your friends with all the love that you have

posts that make me want to rip my heart out part 5

This machine kills AI

The children of the big three are painfully beautiful.

beautiful as poisonous flowers.

One touch and you're dead.

they are though—they’re venomous creatures, poisonous flowers, forces of nature. the world itself runs through their veins. gods treat them with caution; mere humans don’t stand a chance.

Percy is a riptide. he’s the calm of ocean, moments before its rage. he’s the sun on the beach, the warmth of the sand, the calming, constant crash of the waves. he’s the smell of the salt in the air and the cold of the water against your skin. you can swim, you think, you’ll be fine. he smiles and it’s more beautiful than a sunset over the shore. and then the pull starts. in seconds, you’re farther from shore than you’ve ever been before. trying to swim back tires you out and sees you no closer than before. in fact, now you’re even farther out. the water pulls you under, still as beautiful as it was from shore, and you can’t find your way back up.

Thalia is the eye of the hurricane. the deceitful calm at the end of the storm, luring you out from your shelter. there is nothing more peaceful, more still and tranquil. the sun peeks out from the clouds that surround you from all sides. the wind and rain have died. there’s a rainbow in the sky. the storm is over—except it isn’t. one moment is all it takes, and the hurricane is back with a vengeance. the wind tears at you, rain lashes at you, thunder shakes your bones in place. you walked too far from your shelter, and you might not be able to make your way back.

Jason is hail. the rain is beautiful. it’s a breathtaking storm: impressive thunder, streaking lightning, howling wind. the house shakes around you and the lights go out. the concussive sound of the rain on the roof is soothing, until it isn’t. until it isn’t rain, and the roof isn’t whole. now, the storm is invading your home. the hail is punching its way into everything it can reach. car alarms spring to life outside; those who were watching in awe are now fleeing in terror. it only takes one hit, after all—one lucky piece of hail—to end a life.

Nico is an earthquake. the planet is ancient; the ground was old before you were here and it will be old after you go. it’s sturdy, and supportive, provides life and food and shelter. long ago, when the ground danced, when it shook itself free and sent cities tumbling to the ground, they called it the gods’ wrath. now, it’s called plate tectonics. no matter what it is, no matter why it happens, it is lethal and dangerous and uncaring of those it affects. nowhere is safe when the world turns on you, and if it decides you and your shelter should fall, you will.

Hazel is a sinkhole. the appearance of stability, of rock-solid ground and firm foundations. nothing is wrong, will ever be wrong, she’s the rock that holds everyone up. and then that rock is gone, and you’re falling, down, down, down—your home collapsing around you, your belongings claimed by the morbidly hungry earth. there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but is it sunlight, far, far above you? or is it magma, far far below?

Turned into orange juice for a second

“Do not waste your time looking for an obstacle - maybe there is none.”

— Franz Kafka

I don't think people truly understand the gravity of Rafah being bombed.

There is nowhere left to go.

The lowest cost is $5,000 USD to flee to Egypt. There has been people paying over $10,000 USD.

That is the only option

Pay or die.

Rafah was the only place in Palestine promised not to be bombed. That promise is broken.

1.5 million people have nowhere to go!

Reminder, if possible, please donate to the PCRF, ANERA, Islamic Relief, Palestine Red Crescent Society, Medical Aid for Palestinians, Defense for Children International - Palestine, Doctors Without Borders, and all other trusted organizations.