Writing Description Notes:

There are two types of writers:

1. 'It's fiction, it doesn't need to make sense!'

2. 'I didn't account for the rotation of the planet and how that affects the constalations while my characters stargazed at different times of year, I have failed as a writer, and this entire thing is trash'

"How can you like these very toxic and horrible characters that have done despicable and unforgivable things?" oh it's quite simple actually, this is fiction and I think with my dick.

mtsf dump from twtr : )

reminder: it’s okay to be here only for fandom things

you don’t have to reblog all the posts about politics, the election, the coronavirus outbreak, or really anything else. it’s okay to preserve your fandom spaces for fandom only things. you’re not apathetic or cruel to separate out your spaces. if you find yourself stressing out about what tumblr has to say about these things, get your news from news sources and stick to reblogging beautiful gifs and contributing to meta and recommending mutual pining / fake relationship fics here. it’s okay. it’s natural to need some space to just focus on happiness for a moment. it’s okay. take care of yourselves out there <3

Did you know that many gastropods can create a pearl, including terrestrial snails? The difference is nacre which is only found in some species of mollusks and which which gives pearls their beautiful shine. Terrestrial snails occasionally produce very small translucent white pearls which are usually lost. One non-nacre secreting sea snail, the melo melo, produces gorgeous pearls that are extremely prized and rare.

Source: abdul_rabby___

The Shards of Childhood

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Donate to Fundraiser to help Ghada's children from Gaza, organized by Lucrezia Fontana

Hello, I'm Lucrezia. I created this fundraiser in hopes of helping a fr… Lucrezia Fontana needs your support for Fundraiser to help Ghada's

The city I knew, the one my children chased pigeons in and learned to ride bikes on, is gone. War, a cruel sculptor, has reshaped its once vibrant streets into a desolate landscape of twisted metal and shattered dreams.exclamation Buildings that held laughter and the scent of baking bread now stand as hollow shells, their windows vacant eyes staring back at a ravaged sky. Memories, too, lie fractured beneath the rubble. Gone are the echoes of children's games played in sun-dappled courtyards, replaced by the relentless thud of shelling. The familiar scent of jasmine, once a signature note in the summer air, is now tainted by the acrid tang of destruction. Each corner used to hold a story - the bakery where my daughter devoured warm croissants, the park bench where my son scraped his knee for the first time. Now, these fragments of our lives exist only in the fragile museum of my mind, a place where the war cannot reach, but still manages to cast a long shadow. Yet, amidst the wreckage, a flicker of hope remains. Like fragile wildflowers pushing through cracked concrete, the resilience of the human spirit endures. We, the survivors, carry the weight of this loss, but also the fierce love for our children and the yearning to rebuild. We will gather the shards of our memories, piece by broken piece, and weave them into a tapestry of a new future, one where laughter finds its voice again and our children can dream safe dreams, free from the haunting echoes of war

The Princess Royal

Mont Saint-Michel, France by Allyson Beaucourt