#dranas

He has continued to help people even with his own illness. ANd famine has combined with cancer to make complicated conditions. you can see in past reblog above

see thread for more info

Vetting info! Can be seen he is a well known public figure featured in news. been boosted Gaza evacuation funds! () ¡ a Girl Carrying her Injured Sibling ! (GAZA) – @virovac on Tumblr

Gaza Evacuation Funds is trusted because they are Palestinian run/managed. It was founded by Nabulsi, El Shab Hussein, and Mo Ayesh.

Donation commissions

Spokelse's anime art for palestine relief is

Spokelse is accepting those boosted by the creators of Gaza Evacuation funds, see message screenshot below cut

Post by @spoekelse · 2 images

💬 0  🔁 46  ❤️ 64 · Anime Artwork for relief in Palestine · This is the full post showing everything that I offer. How this works is, you sh

Tumblr

Flowerpawarts has compiled a huge list of similar artists providing incentives for vetted

Remember the legal murkniness of paid fanfic so probably keep on down-low

(check links to make sure they accept any of the verification lists or vetters for campaign you want to support , and you should make sure they accept the big verification lists or aren't just for a specific family)

a lot of awesome art 4 gaza fundraisers

FAHRİYE ABLA

Hava keskin bir kömür kokusuyla dolar, Kapanırdı daha gün batmadan kapılar. Bu, afyon ruhu gibi baygın mahalleden, Hayalimde tek çizgi bir sen kalmışsın, sen! Hülyasındaki geniş aydınlığa gülen Gözlerin, dişlerin ve ak pak gerdanınla Ne güzel komşumuzdun sen, Fahriye abla!

Eviniz kutu gibi bir küçücük evdi, Sarmaşıklarla balkonu örtük bir evdi; Güneşin batmasına yakın saatlerde Yıkanırdı gölgesi kuytu bir derede. Yaz, kış yeşil bir saksı ıtır pencerede; Bahçende akasyalar açardı baharla. Ne şirin komşumuzdun sen, Fahriye abla!

Önce upuzun, sonra kesik saçın vardı; Tenin buğdaysı, boyun bir başak kadardı. İçini gıcıklardı bütün erkeklerin Altın bileziklerle dolu bileklerin. Açılırdı rüzgârda kısa eteklerin; Açık saçık şarkılar söylerdin en fazla. Ne çapkın komşumuzdun sen, Fahriye abla!

Gönül verdin derlerdi o delikanlıya, En sonunda varmışsın bir Erzincanlıya. Bilmem şimdi hâlâ bu ilk kocanda mısın, Hâlâ dağları karlı Erzincan'da mısın? Bırak, geçmiş günleri gönlüm hatırlasın; Hâtırada kalan şey değişmez zamanla. Ne vefalı komşumdun sen, Fahriye abla!

yağmurlar dindiği zaman geleceksin

bekleyeceğim elbette gelişini; yaşamak başka nedir;

bekleyeceğim elbette gelişini; yaşamak başka nedir ki...?

The hunter in Nirah warned to stay aware, spoke of a lethal predator whose appearance belied abilities. The rest of Nirah, the person she was.. recognized her lover, furious and exhausted, but alive and (for the most part) unharmed. Lightsabers leave orange hands, lazily arcing over to where Shamara stood---and the ragged figure springs into motion, strong legs propelling her into the air as her compact figure spins, hands scooping the weapons out of the air with practiced ease.

Boots hit the ground with a finality that spoke of Shamara, that spoke of the necessity of letting her do this alone. Two blue-black blades snap-hiss into life, one held reversely. A moment of shocked silence, and she spins into movement, taking that silence to her advantage.

Shamara moves like water, pliable and fluid, but striking hard. Where she struck, no one stood back up. People broke where she struck, and those strikes were precise, disabling.

Bodies fall faster than anyone could’ve guessed, pieces of blasters falling to the ground with their severed edges still glowing red-orange.

She stands still for a long moment, waiting, watching, daring---daring them to stand back up and challenge her again. Daring them to try to take her captive again. When none move, when they remain down out of fear, only then do her lightsabers’ blades disappear, vanishing within cylindrical hilts.

Blood dripped from knuckles, from a gash on Shamara’s forehead, from a split lip. Sweat stained the ragged garb in which the lightsaber hilts disappear into the clothing, the tiny mirialan crossing the space between them.

It's not a Jedi thing, to be passionate.

Blood rushes through veins, driven by a suddenly beating heart. Heat suffuses her face, a knot tying in her stomach as soft hands run down her sides, stop at her hips, as fingertips trace tiny lines in the skin there, as hands touch every inch of her body.

It's not a Jedi thing, to love another singularly.

Warm breath touched her ear, whispered words slipping along. Promises of what was to come--promises of loving the other entirely in more than one sense of the word. Breath catches as a hand slowly dances its way up her body, across her sides, running over her shape.

It's not a Jedi thing, to get attached.

Body flushes dark with heat, with anticipation. Arms wrapped snugly around her waist, back to her lover. Feet can barely touch the floor and she finds herself whining deep in her throat, almost begging because the height difference makes every moment an agony.

But it's a human thing, to crave love, attachment, stability.

When they lie in bed, nothing but the sheets and bare skin, they pretend. Pretend they are not Jedi, they are not warriors. That they are no more than any other couple in the universe.