Hello,,

Hello,,

My name is Ashraf Alanqar, and I am 30 years old. My wife, Widad Issa, and I have a one-and-a-half-year-old son named Bakr. We used to live peacefully in the Al-Shuja’iya neighborhood, in a house we built just a week before the war began. I worked as a farmer and owned a large chicken farm that provided for my family.

Beloved of my heart (Bakr)

Then the war came and destroyed everything. Our home was reduced to ashes, and our chicken farm was obliterated. We lost our home, our livelihood, and even our basic rights. We've been forced to move from place to place in northern Gaza, simply trying to survive.

My House before...

Me.. while trying to recognize what has happened..

The terror we feel as we flee from heavy bombardment is unbearable. The sound of explosions around us, the constant fear as we navigate through the rubble of destroyed homes searching for safety and food, haunts us every day. My son Bakr is constantly scared and suffers from severe malnutrition and skin diseases due to the lack of food, water, and sanitation.

Our beautiful memories.. :(

We urgently need your help. I am asking for your support to fund this campaign to move my family to a safe place, provide us with a proper home, and ensure we have enough food, water, and medical care.

Baker used to play with his dog.

Your donation, no matter how small, can make a significant difference in our lives. We desperately need your support and solidarity during this difficult time. Together, we can restore hope and safety to Ashraf and his family.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for considering my plea. Your support means more than words can express. Together, we can turn a story of loss into a journey of hope and resilience.

gofundme.com

Donate to Hope for Gaza: Support Ashraf's Family Rebuild Their Lives, organized by Ashraf Alanqar

Hello,, My name is Ashraf Alanqar, and I am 30 years old.… Ashraf Alanqar needs your support for Hope for Gaza: Support Ashraf's Family

With deepest gratitude,

Ashraf & the Family

The Nakedness Of Moonlight and Agony

Pairing: Aemond x Velaryon Reader

Tags: dark characters, mention of blood purity, mutilation (not described), vengeance, humiliation, not Luke-friendly, discussion of violence and humiliation as foreplay, vaginal fingering, p. in v. sex

Author's Note: this is a dark story, please mind the tags before reading and proceed at your own discretion.

On the night following the petitions, you decide to avenge the truth your father Vaemond Velaryon died for and to offer your husband Aemond the justice he deserves.

Aemond Masterlist

Weeping in the nakedness of moonlight and agony. —James Wright.

Your eyes were looking ahead of you, unblinking and unseeing, and the sound of Dark Sister cutting through your father's head was still rushing through your mind. You did not make a sound as your lady accidentally pricked you with one of the pins keeping your dress in place, and you did not hear her as she rushed to apologize.

"You should not come," Aemond said, his voice low and soothing, and you answered him without looking up at his worried expression.

"I shall come and stand in for my father's honor," you replied without warmth or coldness to your voice, and Aemond sighed. He gestured for your maid to leave, taking the cushion of pins from her. She bowed and scurried out, leaving Aemond to finish pinning your dress to your corset.

He did so with precision, a sort of silent reverence to his movements, the sort that his words could never quite carry. You had not been married long but he had always shown you the utmost respect, even more so when you shared with him the rumors that ran along the waves within House Velaryon—that of the true parentage of its heir.

He appreciated your taste for truth and honor, and you appreciated his—now both of you had lost blood to the lie that plagued the royal family and threatened to split the dynasty in two.

That is no true Velaryon. Her children are bastards, and she is a whore.

We know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them.

Aemond did not try to convince you, or even to order you to remain in your chambers as the dinner demanded by the king would take place. Instead he pushed the pins that would keep your steel blue dress fastened and its silver embroideries in display—shells and seahorses, symbols of the salt that ran through your blood.

"We shall remain proud, tonight," Aemond hummed as he pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, and you gladly took the arm he offered you.

You kept your head high as you walked into the hall, ignoring the looks of pity from the women and girls, and the way Daemon's mouth curled in a small amused smile. You nodded to Baela and Rhaena in respect for their mother's blood, loathing the fact that it would soon be diluted. You could not have cared less about which house Jace and Luke's father would have come from, an Andal or even a First Man, as long as its offspring didn't usurp the Velaryon legacy.

A boy from the land, a Strong, did not deserve to inherit from the greatest sailor there ever was. Driftmark had to pass to salt and sea, and to pretend that these dark-haired boys carried salt in their veins was an insult to all Velaryons. It was an insult to Ser Laenor, to the ancient ways of your line.

The Old, the True, the Brave, such were your House's words, and your father Vaemond had held to them until his dying breath, and you were left to avenge this motto.

You held on to your composure all throughout the supper, fury surely etched onto your features, but you hoped you appeared dignified enough that Rhaenyra would soon leave King's Landing with shame slipping through the cracks of her soul. Surely the Gods would punish her for her deceptions, one way or another.

However it wasn't the Gods who would set this plan into motion, but your husband himself, his fist coming down on the table before he rose, ever graceful, his cup in hand.

"Final tribute," Aemond announced, and with those words he knew he was sealing his fate and perhaps yours, his wife.

The rotting hatred he had done his best to conceal all these years was now tearing at the seams of his discipline, and the sorrow of his lady wife mourning her father was the last rip in the fabric of his patience. Vaemond Velaryon had spoken the same truth Aemond had lost his eye for, the one his father the king was too blinded by his own sorrows to see.

"To the health of my nephews. Each of them handsome, wise..." he exclaimed, poised on the edge of his own damnation, and the way your hand came to rest on his lower back, giving a slight push, emboldened him. "Strong."

He heard you breathe a sigh of relief, and his love for you roared in his chest, making him arrogant as he walked to Jace, his grip steady on his cup. You could barely conceal your own dark amusement as your husband loudly goaded Prince Jacaerys, and as he turned to you again, unfazed by the punch to the face he had just taken, Aemond’s eye was burning.

"I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother," he placated as he slid an arm around your waist and you gracefully came to rest against his side.

The both of you stood in front of Daemon, wrists poised on the pommel of Dark Sister, the blade that had cut down the only man brave enough to speak a truth that would alter the very fabric of history if not revealed.

"Come, husband, I shall see if the Silent Sisters have finished their work," you calmly led Aemond away, but he could tell of the fury and desire for vengeance that thrummed beneath your skin. He allowed you to pull him along.

Later that night, as your husband was deep into slumber, his body bared to your sight as his empty eye socket sat on display, his hair as silver seafoam on the pillows, you could not find rest.

Rather than the sound of Dark Sister piercing the air, it was now the mocking chuckle of Lucerys that kept rushing through your mind. Your pain was plain for all to see, and for all to imagine, and no one would ever begrudge you for mourning your father, but Aemond's pain was one of secrecy.

For nearly a decade now he had had to endure to indignities that came with the loss of an eye—the loss of a face one grew familiar with, the pain that often plagued his nights when storms came from the Narrow Sea, the shame he carried deep within and that often lashed out like a wounded beast.

You had often been on the receiving end of that violence, in the form of rejection and this formidable anger that came in biting words. You had never taken them at heart, only ever held him when he collapsed in exhaustion, sometimes hazy from milk of the poppy, and sworn to him that you would avenge him one day.

You sat up in bed suddenly, as if struck by the claws of the Stranger himself. "An eye for an eye," you murmured in the pitch black silence.

"Wife?" Aemond murmured, ever attentive to you, even in slumber.

"I need air and solitude," you replied, slipping from the bed and padding out of your chambers, feet bare on the stones. You knew he would not follow you nor question you, just as you did not pursue him when he wished to be alone with his pain.

A strange calm was in possession of your body, your long curls and braids swaying at your back as you made your way to the wing where the guests quarters were. The few guards ignored you, used to your nighttime wanders in the castle, unnoticing the dagger you had taken from your husband's belt on the dresser, slipped into your sleeve.

In the darkness, you waited for a few breaths in front of the door and counted the seconds until your fate would be sealed in blood and sin.

"An eye for an eye," you repeated to yourself, pushing in quietly and closing the door behind you, locking it.

"Jace?" came a boy's voice, heavy with sleep.

To your horror, two beds sat side by side against the great painted wall, facing the hearth and settees. Heart in your throat, your eyes fixed on the smaller form, unmoving under heavy sheets and covers, you walked to the second bed.

An older child sat up, the white face of Lucerys appearing under his dark curls, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Jace, is that—" he started, quiet so as not to wake little Joffrey, and his question choked in his throat as you pressed your palm to his mouth.

"Wake you brother and I shall turn the blade to him," you said, quiet and cold in a way you did not recognize yourself in. You sat on the bed, the dagger slipping from your sleeve into your palm, and you brought it up to the pale, quivering neck of your nephew by marriage.

"Justice has finally come to collect its debt, little Luke," you murmured, feeling your lips widen in a smile you did not understand—there was no happiness to such a collection, but if the laws of men didn't seem fit to punish wrong deeds, you would obey the Gods' laws.

Lucerys' eyes widened in horror, tears coming to them as silent sobs wracked his frame. His gaze fleeted back and forth from his sleeping brother to you, his throat trembling beneath the blade.

"Stay silent and he shall be safe. I swear to you, on the memory of my father," you vowed, slowly removing your hand from his mouth.

Lucerys' lower lip wavered and a wet plea came from his mouth, his hand coming to rest on your wrist. "Please, you do not need to do this, I will not tell anyone," he begged, and you made a soothing sound.

"Oh but you will, child. You will tell everyone of what I did," you crooned, marvel tinting your voice. "You will tell how the blade of justice came to you in the night, and that I was carrying it."

"You cannot mean that," he replied, terror and confusion creasing his brow.

"Oh but I do, little Luke," you chuckled. "Did you really think you could take my husband's eye without ever paying your debt? Did you really think that you could sully the name of my house with your bastard blood without fearing any wrath?"

More silent shudders shook his small frame, hot tears running down his face and wetting the blade where it was pressed under the line of his jaw, denting the alabaster skin. "If it is Driftmark that you want then I shall gladly give it to you. I do not want it," he bargained, his grip on your wrists tightening, his nails pressing half-moons into your skin. "I will speak to grandsire, surely he—"

"Lord Corlys is not your grandsire," you spat in his face, pushing yourself to your knees until you were hovering over him. "You are not a Velaryon."

"You are right, I am not," he sobbed, his free hand coming to press against his mouth, silencing the cries that he could not swallow. You watched as he choked, desperate to keep his panic silent, and a strange sort of heat curled in your stomach.

You suddenly regretted that Aemond was not here to witness such a pitiful sight and relish in it as you were.

"Now, now," you soothed, wiping the salty tears from his eyes with a gentle thumb. "Keep your wits about yourself, it is almost over."

Lucerys nodded hurriedly, forcing his chest up to accommodate deep, calming breaths, and soon his hand retracted from his mouth.

"What do you want, if not Driftmark?"

"I already told you," you replied gently. "Justice.”

"For your father?" he whimpered when the blade slowly made its way from his neck to his cheek.

"For the lie he lost his life for. For the lie my husband sacrificed his eye to," you said, your eyes once again losing focus—instead of tears it was rivers of blood running down the boy's cheek that you saw, splashing on your sleeves and pouring over the bedsheets. "An eye for an eye, as the Gods intended."

Lucerys pushed himself up, crying out, but you slapped a hand over his mouth again, hissing in disgust at the wetness that coated your palm. "Quiet or I shall cut it out from your brother instead," you hissed furiously, and Lucerys froze.

You watched as horror and humiliation spread across his boyish features, and the sheets grew dark at his lap, wetness spreading on the fabric.

You huffed, a corner of your mouth curling up in mirthless humor. "You are older now than Aemond was when he lost his eye to you, and yet you have nothing of the dignity he possessed, even at that age," you said with disdain. "Choose an eye."

Lucerys sobbed against your hand, both his eyes closing for a moment as he shook his head. "You're leaving the choice to me?" you asked. "How galant..."

You removed both your hands from him, and watched as he collapsed against the headboard, looking pleadingly to the side where Joffrey was still asleep, peaceful under pure white sheets. He flinched as you tore some of the sheets from the bed spread and rolled it into a ball, forcing his mouth open to shove it in.

Lucerys once again choked on his own breaths and pleading words, but you ignored him. Your mind was swimming with urgency, and you knew the vicious current taking you under would only relent once your dark deed was committed.

Holding him down, you brought the blade to his face, uncaring when his terrified screams broke through the cotton.

Aemond was awoken by commotion in the hallway, and as he reached across the sheets, he found them cold. He shot up, grabbing a robe from the foot of the bed and slipping it on his bare frame.

The stones were cold beneath his feet as he made his way across to the royal quarters, to his mother's chambers where several voices were coming from, some panicked and some incensed. Dread curled in his stomach as he stepped over bloody prints and stains on the floors, following their lead to the Queen's chambers.

As he entered them, he was suddenly brought back years prior to the Hall of Nines where his eye had been sewn shut.

Rhaenyra, her sons and her husband were standing around a weeping Lucerys, sitting on an armchair while Maester Orwyle was working on his bloody face with a needle. The boy cried out and whimpered pleadingly as he saw the silhouette of his uncle, and Aemond would have felt elated if not for his confusion.

Across from them, Ser Criston Cole and Lord Commander Westerling were holding his wife by the arms, Queen Alicent standing as a living shield in front of her daughter-in-law.

"Aemond," his mother gasped.

You looked up and your face brightened as you saw him—it was spattered with blood, as was the front of your nightgown, while its sleeves were drenched in it. On a nearby table, his dagger laid, painted in bright red from the handle to the tip.

"Are you injured?" Aemond inquired as he rushed to you, but Lord Westerling kept him at arm's length, a gloved hand to his chest.

"I did it for you," you said in wonder, looking up at him with love. Aemond was stunned, and even Cole slackened his hold on you, as you reached into a fold of your robe, procuring a crimson ball of linen.

Across from you, Rhaenyra heaved as you presented Aemond with it, and he steadily unwrapped the cryptic present. He breathed a trembling breath, ice going down his spine when he took in the bloody eye in your palm.

"An eye for an eye, you are avenged now," you murmured, the High Valyrian rolling easily off your tongue. This time Lord Westerling did not hold you back as you fell forward into your husband's embrace, burying your bloody face in his chest, cradling the severed eye between your two bodies like a talisman.

"The girl is clearly disturbed. A madness has taken over her," Alicent defended. "Surely upon seeing her father being slain before her very eyes, and his memory mocked at dinner," she cried out, looking at Daemon, and the man laughed darkly.

"I demand retribution," Rhaenyra exclaimed, holding her son's head steady as the Maester worked the needle through the jagged cut.

"And yet you were so eager to dismiss my own demand when my son was maimed!" Alicent thundered.

"A trial would surely set all minds at ease," a calm voice came from the doorway, and all turned to Princess Rhaenys as she spoke. Silence fell over the royal quarters for a moment, and only the sound of steel piercing skin could be heard, along with soft Valyrian being spoken in Aemond's chest.

Madness was indeed the word decided upon at the trial that the Lord Hand and the Queen held on the following day, the Council looking at you in pity and vague disgust. It was decided that the fragile mind of a sane woman could not conjure such vicious violence as Prince Lucerys told, and your own wavering words sealed your fate.

"I do not remember a moment of it," you vowed before the Council and Ser Otto's kind gaze.

"It is known for violent scenes to trigger a bout of madness in young, impressionable minds," Maester Orwyle explained, his nails still caked in the blood of the prince. "Violence will come to them, with no memory of the act afterwards."

"The debt has already been paid," Lord Jason concluded. "The girl's father is dead, and Prince Aemond's eye was taken many years ago. Surely those quarrels can be put to rest now."

However as Rhaenyra flew back to Dragonstone, Daemon glancing at you over his shoulder as they left the Throne Room, cradling Lucerys in their embraces, you knew a blade was coming for you sooner or later. You did not fear it, as you knew your husband's own blade would protect you, even though he had been cold and silent since his sudden awakening in the night, and the present you had made him.

As you entered his chambers once the trial had released you to the care of your husband, he was sitting at the foot of the bed, lost in a sea of thoughts you feared to step into.

Instead you stayed on the shore, praying he would come to you, and crimson tides would not keep you apart. "Are you not relieved, or at least grateful?" you inquired, a bitter taste flooding your throat like a mouthful of seawater.

"Why did you do it?" came the cold question, and Aemond remained perfectly immobile, save for his eye that rose to you from under its white lashes. "You risked death, or at the least dishonor or exile."

"I did it for you," you replied feebly, confusion bringing hot tears to your eyes. "I could not stand and watch your nephew mock you, after his very existence forfeited that of my father."

Silence was your only answer, Aemond observing you with intent, his shoulders squared as his elbow rested on his knees. He hummed quietly, and you decided once again upon the truth. "I lied," you murmured. "I remember every moment of it."

Aemond's lips parted and a shallow breath pushed past his teeth, harsh and short. "The only madness present in this castle is the lie that the king is too weak to recognize," you hissed, and at that Aemond shot up from his seat, coming to tower over you.

He pressed his palm to your mouth, stunning you for a moment, but the heat in his eye made you melt into his touch. "What a marvel you are, my wife," he murmured with reverence, and this time your hot tears were ones of gratitude.

He dipped his head to kiss them away as you moaned against his palm, savoring their salt on his tongue as flashes of crimson appeared behind his closed eyelid. He could not escape the sight of you covered in revenge, one you had pursued in his name and executed with steadiness.

His hand slipped from your sweet lips and he swallowed your next moan, his tongue sharing the salt of your tears. "I can hardly believe it," he confessed against your lips.

"And yet it is real," you vowed. "I would do it again, you needn't even ask."

"Tell me about it," he hissed, his tight grasp on your shoulders pushing you against the nearby table, and never before had you heard such heat in the vowels of his High Valyrian.

"He cried and pleaded," you recounted as Aemond hoisted you up effortlessly. "He begged so sweetly, and he was so terrified he soiled himself."

Aemond chuckled darkly against your neck, his teeth marking it with bruises as his large palm sought the warmth of your thigh beneath your dark blue dress. You pulled at the fabric, revealing your golden skin like the sands beneath the retreating sea on the shores of Driftmark. .

His mouth following the lines of your clavicles and breast bone down the collar of your dress, Aemond sought your wetness and your pearl, his parted lips twitching as he found it easily. He pressed firm circles onto it with his thumb as two of his fingers slipped into you, and you clenched around him, rocking into the pleasure.

"He offered Driftmark, but I would not take it," you continued your tale as Aemond pressed his hardness into your thigh, the stiff leather leaving delicious burns on your skin. "Justice for you is more important to me than any throne," you murmured, and Aemond's rhythm on you never faltered, the pressure of his fingers riding the edge of pain.

Aemond almost snarled as he took his fingers away abruptly, your wetness smearing on his clothes as he unbuckled his belt hurriedly, and you could only hold on to the edge of the table, your knees parted around his waist. You braced for the rough thrust you knew was to come, and you threw your head back as his cock pierced you, the sudden stretch making you mewl.

"Tell me again," he pleaded in a broken groan, his breath hot against the side of your face.

He started a rough, punishing rhythm that had you scrambling for purchase, the table dragging on the stones from the force of his thrusts. It was as though your madness of that night had passed to him and he was now crazed with lust.

"I took his eye for you," you repeated, your voice breaking with moans as the drag of his cock took your wits from you, dragging you down the pit of heat that Aemond had lost himself in. "I made him cry and plead for mercy like the bastard he is deserves. I did it to avenge you."

His gratitude came in the form of relentless waves of the most exquisite pleasure—you usually liked his slow, measured endeavors, but there was no stopping the storm of his passion now, and you found would gladly drown in it. You closed your eyes and allowed him to take you under, the delicious stretch of his cock and the drag along your sweet spot making your head spin and your pearl throb.

He chuckled again, dark and victorious, as the pressure in your core snapped and you clenched around his cock, your hips grinding up into his. You cried out, coating his cock in your pleasure as you pulsed, surrendering to your peak and its ebbing waves until you could catch your breath again and your eyes fluttered open.

"I did it because I love you," you said, gaze peering into his, and you watched as his peak took over him, his features twisting in ecstasy.

You sighed along with his broken whimpers as his brow creased and his lips parted, his eye blown wide. He looked wild and crazed, more devastatingly beautiful than ever, his white hair falling over his shoulders as his hips seized and ground into yours, his cock pulsing hotly inside you.

He fell forward into you and you remained in silence for a while, forehead to forehead and the thundering of your hearts settled. You hooked your legs behind his, cradling his head into your hands, trusting him to hold you up against the tabletop. "When they come for you, I shall be ready. I will avenge your father," Aemond vowed, the lilac of his eye reflecting in the seawater hues of your own purple gaze.

Dividers by @/saradika

This was requested by @crystal-syren and proofread by @arcielee.

Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed reading. Comment to be added to the taglist.

Aemond Taglist 1:‬ @snowystark @qyburnsghost @darkenchantress @itscatlien-blog @castellomargot

@cardi-bre91 @avengingangelfanfic @malfoytargaryen @mari0302 @iamfandomnerd

@hb8301 @pasta-rask @chattylurker @svtansdaddyx

@its-sam-allgood @amarillys92 @namgification @dahlias-and-marigolds

Aemond Taglist 2: @valleyof-goldenlilies @yentroucnagol @drakonflames @moris-auri @mysteris-things

@aemondsbabygirl @toodlesxcuddles @xxxkat3xxx @bunbunbl0gs @fullmoonworshipper

@whitedarkmoonflower @minttea07 @heavenly1927 @starzzgirl @i-mushi

@namgification @elleclairez @esmeralda-tupi @merovingianprincess

Aemond Taglist 3: @darylandbethfanforever9 @marvelita85 @partypoison00 @nina2697 @helaenaluvr

@llearlert @666cherrybby666 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theoneeyedprince @greenowlfactif

@whimsywilde @thenameswinter99 @blackswxnn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @dixie-elocin @aemondwhoresworld

Which Targaryen do you think you would be able to make Freud rise from his grave faster?

....Daemon? Daemon. He checks every single box.

He has massive mommy issues because his mom died when he was a baby. Because she specifically died in childbirth, it rings a lot of Freudian bells related to things like womb envy. The lack of maternal presence is what causes his relationships with all subsequent family members to be so clingy. He also has daddy issues, because Baelon was heavily affected by the losses of his favorite sister and brother and likely never paid much attention to him as a second son.

The mommy and daddy issues combine into him projecting his maternal and paternal needs for affection/approval/etc. onto his only remaining relative, his older brother Viserys. This is also because his parents were both siblings, so they blended the fraternal with the romantic and sexual, AND his grandparents did the same because they were also siblings. All of the romantic relationships modeled before him were between siblings.

So Daemon loves Viserys in every possible way (fraternal, paternal, maternal, and romantic) and desires the same from Viserys in return. Because it's the only way he knows to love. This is also why Daemon has def got some gender envy, because if he'd been born a girl, then Viserys would have married and loved him (in his mind) and they could have had babies together (he's super into Valyrian bloodline stuff).

Here's where Daemon's obsession with Rhaenyra comes into play. He views her as a kindred spirit, sort of who he thinks he could have been if he'd been born a girl, especially because she gets Viserys's favor the way he thinks he would have if he'd been a girl. He also sees her as an extension of Viserys; if he can't have Viserys, then at least he can have Rhaenyra. He loves her because she gives him the affection he wanted from Viserys, because he can't be in a relationship with Viserys and she's the next best thing (Ryan Condal has confirmed this verbatim btw in case you think I'm reaching).

This is part of why he's SO happy to have babies with Rhaenyra. Baby Aegon and Viserys represent the children he wishes he could have had with Viserys. They carry Viserys's blood, through Rhaenyra, and Daemon's blood, through himself. They represent the union (yes, romantic and sexual) that Daemon subconsciously wishes he could have had with Viserys.

(Also, if you're asking within the Stormbreak universe, Aemond looks fairly similar to how Daemon's mom, Alyssa, is described. Plus he's also like an extension of Viserys, maybe even more so because he's male.)

Like, this mans' psychosexual fuckery has LAYERS. The incest aspect of him and Rhaenyra is only the tip of the iceberg because of how much it ties into his fucked up feelings towards Viserys. And it would honestly have most of these layers even if his parents had survived, because they were still siblings, as were his grandparents.

I think a lot of this Viserys stuff would be WAY more clear if they hadn't aged Viserys up in the show, btw. In the book, Viserys is only four years older than Daemon, but in the show he seems like a grandpa by the time he dies. If Viserys was played by someone who was younger and hot the way Matt Smith is, I guarantee they would be one of THE most popular ships in the fandom, and this type of analysis would be super commonplace.

Anyways yes if Daemon existed in real life he would single-handedly resurrect Freud and also probably render him immortal by virtue of being the single most fucked up incesty individual on the planet.

Idk what’s happening with her in this season I just wanna:

Ahhh

Alicent is pissing me off so bad like girl the fuck why are you talking about your SON like he’s a fucking stranger????????????

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Hello my friends !

🍉I am a Palestinian from Gaza😭😭 , coming from an extended family ❤❤that have been suffering😭😭 for 300 hard days of an aggressive war. Our life is dire and tough as we lack all the basic necessities of life . Everything has become rare and hard to get.

So, I am asking you to help me keep my family safe and a life especially after we had lost all our livelihood sources.

please don't leave my family struggle and suffer these dire days alone. You can support my campaign by donating whatever you can or by sharing my posts to reach out to others who can help us survive the war to safety and peace. you help the souls of many people with your small contribution. ❤❤🍉🍉

Don't spare this moment to be beside us in this incredibly hard and tough times.

gofundme.com

Donate to Urgent aid ! Help to fight starvation for an extended family, organized by Mahmoud Ayyad

I am Mahmoud Ayyad, 26 years old, a Palestinian young man fro… Mahmoud Ayyad needs your support for Urgent aid ! Help to fight starvation fo

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