War - Tumblr Posts
It’s a huge space, a room in somewhere so vast that the horizon is just endless black wall and endless black space.
There’s an ocean with dark waves you can sense and hear, but can’t see.
And an island at the center of it, with a city. Look around you and see the ships. They are behemoths, huge and angular and organic, arching skeletal profiles silhouetted. They are waiting.
Everything is smooth as stone and ebony like a night without stars, cut through with fine lines of amber, gold, ivory. Soft, organic light pulses in those countless lines. Ancient, undeniable heartbeats.
It’s freezing. Your breath comes out in billowing fog. Thin, dark ice frosts across structures as if it were a fine artisanal coating.
The doorways are too tall for anyone human, and they flower open, or the seams vanish making the entrance into a wall. Nothing has blemishes, nothing here has been built. It’s grown. Manifested. Every surface is eerily warm against the biting cold, ridged with intricate carvings so small you have to feel them to know they are there.
Everything is too big for normal people, avenues are so wide and broad, buildings like skyscrapers that simply vanish up into shadow. It goes on and on. A labyrinth for titans.
Everything meets at the center, at a statue ringed by black water in circular canals, but it’s so massive that you can’t see it up in the gloom, just two claws on the mount, and giant legs bent backward at the joints. Is it a God for the vanished builders? A triumphant warrior? You feel an awful foreboding, an ominous realization that somewhere far above you— the statue is looking back.
They know you are here.
An overpowering night. Even with the backbone of stars above its ancient darkness sprawls, swallows up the earth beneath like an oncoming ocean from above. It is the greatest enemy of the People. The night shelters their foes and predators, cloaks the stalking tigers even as helpless familiars are dragged off into tall grass or hides marauding Others, their fierce gazes and fiercer obsidian knives unseen. The night is the first and final God, a beautiful destroyer, merciless and immutable to the fates that play out beneath. The People fear it, respect it in a matter-of-fact absolutism. It *is*.
They pay little mind to an unfamiliar star above.
They are few. Numbers and abstractions are as far away as those twinkling, cold constellations. These people have short memories, awareness like a mirage over far away sands. But they know that they are less. The People are dwindling just as cool water dwindles under scornful sun. Voices forever vanished and dexterous, shaping hands stilled. In a world so big with the People so few, each loss is a Holocaust. Soon there will be none.
Bodies huddle in the dark as attentive, fearful eyes peer out into the blackness. Waiting. Each breath is an anxious rattle bound by animal-fear heartbeats pounding, sometimes screams erupt and throw themselves echoing into the darkness. Long grass bends, under sun rustling as antagonizing shapes manifest for the briefest of seconds before vanishing. Unseen Others circle. Hooting to themselves. Preparing. Starlight glints over sharp, brutal looking stone knives like so many lifeless eyes.
A frenzy passes between the People. No prayers exist yet, no gods have been born to give name and respect and loyalty to what lives deep within mankind. Even their emotions are thin things. More instinct than empathy. A frost of humanity over primordial depth. The hoots rise, hands thump at muscular chests, teeth barred and feet kicking, stamping into dry season dust. No rallying cries. No sympathies pass between adults and their clutching, cooing infants. When the Others emerge, all that awaits them is untamed fear and territorial aggression. War is an ancient impulse.
The foreign star observes, sentinel over a dim world. Words-without-words are exchanged. Unfathomable processes respond. *Thy will be done* relayed with majestic computational composure. The prairie below experiences sudden, catastrophic daylight as golden-red illumination splashes in all directions, like a rippling sea of wildfire. Everything in a hundred miles skitters, runs, jumps, howls. Undisturbed, natural darkness has been violated, and the terror it invokes is absolute. Even the elephants, giants of memory thousands of years long and deep, scatter, turning the savanna into pandemonium as all that lives beneath their command responds. *Flee*.
The Others are there. The Others are not there. Binary thinking shatters like predawn darkness meeting glorious, gilded morning. The world is burning. The Night is banished. The grass is alive with motion and sound, People falling to their knees, hands upraised by this intrusive sunrise. Silent. No sounds to conjure in the face of this. Unanimous clatter as brandished weapons meet solid earth below.
The foreign star looms. It is the first *made* thing to ever kiss the soil of this place. It will not be the last. A passageway opens, unfurling with the same practiced and liquid ease of a blossom in springtime. And like a blossom, it bears something within. Many somethings. New, and strange to this world. They stand. Taller than the mightiest matriarch amongst those tusked behemoths. Too many feet for one individual touches down amongst the undulating grasses. The People are laid bare before their visitors. Small as children, quivering in fireball illumination.
The night has been usurped and it’s place comes new, unfamiliar daylight for unspoken centuries to come.
Time is the great band. Beginnings bleed into endings, bleed into beginnings. This is the nature of all things. What dies nurtures the soil, and life rises out of its black foam, and what falls upon it is consumed in turn to nurture what comes next. Out of the muck from the earliest days until the hammer blow of extinction sent it back, only to crawl once again forward— ever forward. Defiant to the cyclical ends that are so numerous. Death. Plague. Conflict.
How many times were our ancestors reduced, resigned back to primitive form? How many generations of potential obliterated by so many fearsome ends, each form cut away by that cold scythe that dictates what lives and what dies? Ninety-nine percent of all life forms upon the Earth have withered and died. A cathedral of the extinct is the greatest achievement of this living world, not the things it has produced that breath and fight and breed, no— it’s mightiest haul is all the bones, all the skeletal remnants tucked away in her soils. The chorus of life is but a whisper to the requiem that follows, millions upon millions of voices strong.
When my people arose it seemed that we were the inheritors of a mighty mantle. An impossible age was upon us. Immortal, invincible— the apotheosis of industries and arts that our minds had summoned from purest imagination to hardest realities. Continents became little more than gardens for us to shape, the weather and its rebellious storms tamed with simple amusement until every day was pleasant and demure to our liking. We forged metal, flesh. Even light became just another palette to the artist and the engineer in all the shapes of our divine whim. We kissed other worlds until the stars in the night sky sang with the influence we wrought. Those first travelers, machines as they may be— they were the heralds of our coming upon the Galaxy..
And then came the loss. The disease that was upon us then was slow and ancient already, a stilling sickness that did not rot flesh or weaken bone; no, no, this silent dredge did nothing more but dull our minds, weaken our wills. Immortality brought weakness, endless resources stifled creativity. Our art, majestic and vast and mighty as it was, and it was mighty!— all of it blended, meshed. We were all doing the same in our countless, same-same-same heavens.
That was not what killed us, no, but it did weaken us just enough. Cracks in the walls from tenacious vines, hungry mold. Just waiting for the right push.
The Adversary came. Our Nemesis. And it was relentless. Merciless. It was the face of annihilation. An out-of-context event that turned so much divinity and so much power into ash, into the painfully folly that was. We crashed, we burned. We broke. So many beautiful fresco shards immolated. The continents we had tended melted away into slag, the storms we had tamed became raging gales that stripped the soil and stone from so many surfaces until all that was left was obliteration. They scoured all that we had touched. Like God erasing our hubris from his creation.
We ran. What else was there to do?
We vanished into the dark. Burning and burying all that was left behind, all that might incriminate the direction of our exodus. Some fled to a distant galaxy, believing this affliction was here and here only, amongst familiar stars. Others buried themselves in obscure, esoteric ritual and mindsets, hoping to vanish into regressive pasts that might unfold. Legions of dreamers and acolytes wove wonderful delusions for themselves, for the minds that remained, bodiless and hidden in tiny alcoves scattered. Others still went out into the Maw, believing they could reason with our oncoming extinction. Their questions were all silenced. One by one.
In our flight we found the ruins. The tombs and abandoned projects, the memories; all of it came with the realization of what had come before. The endless cycles of time realized in fragments, in pieces. Life arose, mind igniting in the sludge and the cold and the harshness, the inevitable ascension. And then the hurried, black silence that was total and uncompromising. Snuffing out civilizations in a methodical diminishing. One by one. Until nothing remained but the silence. When we found the remnants of our distant, forgotten forebears, and the telltale signs of their own inescapable fates, we had no time to mourn. The Adversary was already upon us.
It still is. We are at our Cradle now, though it is unlike to be where we truly originate from. It is all that remains. Our enemy walks the surface and soon will be amongst here, down beneath. Finishing their ultimate work. We do not why. Never will we know.
In our final hour, in our last struggle, we leave this record for you. These few, precious gifts.
May the cycle end with you.
Or let your end be sudden and complete.
The story behind attributing colours to genders
Originally, the colour pink was masculine. Yes, shocked, aren't you? During the 18th century, European armies, including the British, used red as the primary color for their uniforms. Red was chosen because it was a strong, distinctive color that could be easily spotted on the battlefield. These red tunics were often made from a type of dye that wasn't very colorfast, meaning they would fade over time and with repeated washings. As a result, after numerous washings and exposure to the elements, the red dye in these soldier tunics would often fade to a lighter shade, including pink. These faded red uniforms were still worn by soldiers, and it became a symbol of their toughness and experience in battle. This association with strength and masculinity contributed to the idea that pink was a color of masculinity.
In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the concept of gendered colors was not as firmly established as it is today. In fact, some fashion experts during this time period suggested that pink was a more suitable color for boys, as it was seen as a stronger and more vibrant shade, while blue was considered a softer and more delicate color and therefore more appropriate for girls.
Earlier, newborns were clothed in white, clothes often worn before by other babies as money was short. Eventually, when people stopped buying these clothes, manufacturers turned to advertising and started attributing these colours to genders because people would have to buy mew clothes every time a baby was born because what are the chances that a girl would be born after another girl? Pretty low.
The shift in perception began in the mid-20th century, and by the 1940s, advertising and marketing played a significant role in shaping the color associations we know today. Advertisers and manufacturers started promoting pink as a symbol of femininity, often using it in products and clothing for girls. This marketing strategy eventually solidified the modern perception of pink as a feminine color and blue as a masculine one.
Mace Windu lives... WM
Hi 👋, My name is Mohammad, and I’m reaching out in a moment of desperate need. I’m a father of three young children living in Gaza, and we are caught in the midst of a catastrophic war. Our home is no longer a safe haven, and the future here seems increasingly uncertain. 💔
I’ve launched a fundraising campaign with the goal of raising $40,000 to relocate my family to a safer place where my children can grow up in peace and have a chance at a brighter future. 🕊️🇵🇸
Unfortunately, my previous fundraising efforts were abruptly halted when my account was terminated without explanation. However, I remain determined to keep fighting for my family’s safety and well-being. 🫶
If you could take a moment to read our story, consider donating, or simply share our campaign with others, it would make an incredible difference. Every act of kindness, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to safety and a new beginning. 🙏
Thank you for your time, compassion, and support. ❤
https://gofund.me/fd1faea2 🔗
I gave what I could 🙏
‼️Please don’t skip taking a look 🍉🇵🇸
Hello dear, I am Nasser Mohammed from Gaza. I live in very harsh conditions in Gaza, especially in the displacement camps. Life has become very difficult since my father was martyred and my sister was injured. I lost my home and now I live in a tent. I hope you can help me, even if it is a little. Your donation will save our lives from death.🍉🥹💔
https://gofund.me/c48a7cc4
I am Motaz Mohamed ❤ a palestinian youngman from Gaza🍉🇵🇸, seeking to find safety and peace ☝️for my family if twenty members. We have been ❤🇵🇸🍉passing through all forms of torture and pain for almost ten months because of the war on Gaza.
Life is very miserable and tragic❤🇵🇸 as we are now deprived ❤🇵🇸🍉of all means of living. Drink water, healthy food health care and medicine❤🇵🇸 have become things 🇵🇸🍉❤of the past. We are dying dear friends. That is why I am asking you to help us break through this tough situation.Life in hot tents is incredibly sad and miserable. We are now experiencing the worst circumstances we have ever had in our life. The war has stolen happiness and life from us.
Please don't leave us alone in such dire times. Your kind contribution either through donating whatever you can or sharing my posts will be highly appreciated and valued.❤🇵🇸🍉
Link to their gofundme: https://gofund.me/a96b4aee
I gave what I could
[ID: 4 pictures of 4 Palestinian children. The first three pictures feature them on big chairs, 2 children per chair. The fourth picture features the children in a building, standing on what appears to be rubble.]
Hello, my name is Hala, and I am a mother of four children from Gaza. A few days before the war started, my husband traveled for medical treatment, but unfortunately, he hasn’t been able to return. Now, I am left to care for my children on my own, and I am struggling to provide for their basic needs, which has placed an immense burden and pressure on me.
We were directly bombed, and unfortunately, my home was completely burned down. We no longer have a place to shelter. I am constantly moving with my children from place to place, trying to protect them and keep them away from danger. There is no safe place here, as all of Gaza is under threat.
I am pleading for help to leave Gaza because I am suffering greatly. I want to take my children and go to Egypt, but that requires a large sum of money. The coordination for each person costs $5,000, and I cannot afford this amount after losing everything—our home and livelihood.
https://gofund.me/75b52b8a
I'm tired of repeating the same thing to get people's attention to our suffer 💔😫
We are stuck in a nightmare of war and we don't feel anywhere because of the constant bombing 😭😭
Please, if you can reblog or donate!🙏🏻
Vetted By @90-ghost , Here vetted ✅
Vetted By @gazavetters , #78 on the list ✅
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Sorry for the tag, Please Share and Boost 🙏
@mushroomjar @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @fromjannah @neechees @irhabiya @ibtisams @lacecap @dykesbat @northgazaupdates2 @appsa @wingedalpacacupcake @elksewer @a-shade-of-blue @tortiefrancis @socalgal @ankle-beez @mahoushojoe @transmutationisms @deepspaceboytoy @zionistsinfilm @beserkerjewel @babacontainsmultitudes @spacebeyonce @mauesartetc @vakarians-babe @ghostofanonpast @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @ot3 @xinakwans @komsomolka @chilewithcarnage @akama @feluka @effen-draws @pkmnbutch @ghostingarden @sayruq @gohishine @fangoffenharel @dumbhero @neechees @galaxyofviscera @balmahe
let me know if you want to be removed from the list ❤
Meet Marty, the little green man who lives in a hole and tells the most heart-wrenching stories you've ever heard. Marty may seem like a cheerful, silly little guy, but he's been through more than anyone could imagine.
Marty comes from a world far, far away, a world that was once full of life and happiness. But one day, a terrible war broke out, destroying everything he knew and loved. Marty was the only survivor, forced to flee his home and wander through the galaxy alone.
He eventually stumbled upon a small planet with a hole in the ground, and he's been living there ever since. Marty may have found a new home, but he's never been able to shake the memories of his past. Every day, he's haunted by the faces of his loved ones, who he couldn't save.
But even in the darkest of times, Marty refuses to give up on hope. He tells his stories to anyone who will listen, stories of love, courage and the power of the human spirit. He hopes that through his words, others will find the strength to keep going, just as he has.
So, if you ever come across Marty, listen closely to his stories. You may be surprised by the depth of emotion and the tragedy behind them.
One day, while Marty was exploring his hole, he stumbled upon a strange creature he'd never seen before. It was a bloomf! A fluffy, fluffy creature with a fluffy mane and a fluffy tail. Marty was amazed and asked the bloomf where it came from and how it lived. And the bloomf told Marty the most ridiculous story you've ever heard.
According to the bloomf, bloomfs come from a magical land called Flufftopia where everything is made of cotton candy and rainbows. And in this land, the bloomfs have the ability to fly by flapping their fluffy manes like wings. They also have special powers like being able to turn into any flavor of ice cream they want and making it rain sprinkles.
Marty couldn't believe his ears, but the bloomf assured him that it was all true. So, Marty decided to pack his bags and set off on an adventure to find Flufftopia.
Along the way, he met all kinds of strange creatures, like the talking cupcakes, the dancing donuts and the singing waffles. They all told him their own silly stories and Marty had the time of his life.
But the best part of his journey was when he finally reached Flufftopia and discovered that everything the bloomf had told him was true! He met the king of the bloomfs and was crowned the honorary prince of Flufftopia.
So, kids, if you ever feel bored or lonely, just remember Marty and his wild adventures with the bloomfs. You never know what kind of silly stories and magical creatures you might discover in your own backyard.
War thoughts
A person in my life was taken hostage some time ago. He was at a family dinner. through exchange he has returned, but it's such an adsurd scenario. I can see the trauma on his face. I can see the looks people give him, how before he was anonymous and how he can never return to that anonymity so many of us take for granted. I can see how I've grown close to him, when before he was just a name, A face in the corridor, a smile at the end of the day, not at me, but at the people who know him.
I feel like people miss the point of the "war is bad" message
What it's supposed to mean is that war is terrible, it's destructive, it ruins lives, it leaves scars, and you should only partake in it when there are no other options, because even if you win, even if you survive, you will not be the same, which is why the phrase used to be more commonly known as "war is hell"
But "war is bad" seems to have been construed by people in fandom into "any fighting is bad, if you fight you're morally terrible and impure, you should not fight at all, no matter what", this is annoying in fandom, as it often misses the point fiction is trying to make, but what's worrisome is when people apply this to real life, as I have seen people do regarding russia's invasion of Ukraine
And that's almost never the point of "War is Bad" works
Works like Lord of the Rings, Avatar The Last Airbender, Transformers, The Clone Wars, Halo (especially Reach), etc all have themes on how horrible war is, but they categorically do not say it is wrong to fight, what they say is usually along the lines of "war is terrible, and what makes it so terrible is that we have no choice but to fight, it would be ideal if we didn't have to fight at all, but we must fight, because not fighting is not an option, because not fighting, not opposing tyranny, conquest, and evil only allows those things to exist unimpeded"
Hello👋, 🍉❤️🖤🤍💚
I am reaching out to you today with an urgent plea to support my family, who has been deeply affected by the war. These difficult circumstances have placed unexpected challenges upon us, and we are now struggling to make it through this tough period.
Our immediate goal is to raise 1000 euros to help ease some of the pressure and allow my family to stay strong.
Any contribution, no matter how small, will make a significant difference for us and provide a glimmer of hope during these hard times.💔
I deeply appreciate any support you can offer.Thank you so much for your generosity and compassion🙏
https://gofund.me/107a8322
Hey there! Sorry, as I said in a previous post, I don't have a bank account connected to this device. However, I encourage everyone who sees this post to please go help this person out! Every donation helps!
To all Palestine supporters 🙏
🫂🫂
We still need less than 1000€ to reach our short term goal of 21k€ ‼️
Your donations are important for our survival
Please help me reach our goal as soon as possible 🙏
We appreciate your help ❤️🙏
🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸❤🤍💚🖤 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸
Once again, people reading this, I encourage you to help these people out! Every little bit of support helps!
Hello lm hamdi ayyad ,I humbly ask for your support by reblogging this post on your account to help save my family. As newcomers to Tumblr and GoFundMe, we are in desperate need of your kindness and support. 🙏🇵🇸🍉😔Please donate 🙏🏼Let's reach the goal as soon as possible!!! https://www.gofundme.com/f/hamai-ali-ayyad?utm_source=copy_link&utm_medium=customer&utm_campaign=man_sharesheet_tip&attribution_id=sl:6829f712-b01e-4b79-ace7-f376582ddccc
So sorry! I myself can't donate, but if anyone is reading this post, please help these people!