I had not heard about how well the Hamas prisoners were treated until i saw your post. That's not something mentioned in the news.
Yocheved Lifshitz, the hostage released by Hamas had made a statement that she “went through hell” referring to during the initial October 7th attack. The media took that statement and ran with it and made every headline that she went through hell while in Hamas captivity which once again twisted the narrative of how Hamas treats Israelis. What she actually said about her captivity is that she was treated well, given the same food as Hamas soldiers, received medical care and said she was treated gentley and all of her needs were provided, even things as small as shampoo. A member of Hamas told her that “they are people who believe in the Quran and wouldn’t hurt her.” When she was released, she shook one of her captor’s hands, because she knew she was treated as fairly as possible.
The recent stories of the released of Gazan labourers held captive in Israeli detention facilities is the complete opposite- they were tortured, abused, killed, and deprived of all necessities. They were “branded” with wristbands with a number on them for identification. When some were released, they were forced to walk all the way back to Gaza amidst bombings and attacks. All of their accounts detail days of physical and psychological torture.
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under-realized horror concept from Danny Phantom #714298: ecto-acne.
In the show it's basically a joke. Haha! Vlad's life-ruining ghostly medical disaster... was acne! The proto-portal accident gave him ghost pimples! This is relateable humor for teens!
But damn when you think about it. There is ectoplasm, the very essence of something dead, rolling and roiling under your skin. Your living body is trying to reject this dead thing that is part of you; your skin bubbles, warps, pops under the strain of your body trying to reject itself, your body trying to force this otherworldly thing out of you. Your skin is twisting and cracking as it slowly kills you, your body destroying itself trying to get it out.
But from the outside sure, haha acne, right
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☆ from gold, i am undone
{☆} characters tsaritsa
{☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader
{☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts
{☆} word count 0.9k
You weren't meant to be here.
You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.
You are changed, and you are whole.
But you are so unbearably broken.
A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.
Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.
All you see is a monster.
Something new, something old.
A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.
But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.
You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.
But you know it will not satisfy you.
Nothing does anymore.
You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.
And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.
There is nothing left but absolute authority.
You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?
Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.
Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.
You welcome it.
It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.
Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.
You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.
For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?
Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?
Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?
Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.
For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.
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What is your favourite Doctor Who story?
TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST
synopses and propaganda under the cut
World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls
Synopsis
The Doctor decides to test how good Missy has become by sending her on a trial run with Bill and Nardole. However, when things go wrong, the Doctor takes over. With Bill trapped in a different time zone, can the Doctor make it to her before it is too late, and who are all those people getting cured?
Propaganda no propaganda submitted
Heaven Sent
Synopsis
As if the death of his best friend wasn't enough, the Doctor's situation has only gotten worse. What initially started as an attempt to help clear someone of a false murder charge has evolved into to something much worse.
Now trapped in an old rusty castle in the middle of an ocean, the Time Lord is being stalked by a mysterious creature that only pauses when he gives up his deepest secrets. What does this thing want? And can the Doctor escape and find his way back home?
Propaganda no propaganda submitted
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Anger is such a normal part of recovery, and I wish it were normalized. I think it is genuinely harmful to depict recovery as this era of your life that only sets you free and makes you euphoric, and there will never again be a cloud in the sky because you have Ultimately Healed.
It's the fucking opposite sometimes. Recovery can feel violent, because the things you are recovering from are often (though not always) violent. It is so common to feel white-hot rage, grief, catharsis, elation, numbness - in essence, a whole host of emotions that aren't pretty, or aren't simple little categories to be neatly boxed and sorted and understood by the "normals."
Those recovering: Your emotions are real, and they aren't bad. You aren't a bad person for how you are processing and healing. You, however, aren't alone. You are doing so fucking well, no matter what it is you are healing from or for. I genuinely hope you can be proud of that.
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ch.18 Origins | ch.24 Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu
so the horrifying great thing about this parallel is that if this is how bingge regularly treated sj after imprisoning him.................................... then the cycle of abuse has come full circle: shen jiu raised a worse version of qiu jianluo and himself. in his youth he was treated like a dog by an abuser he killed later, and in his last days he was treated like a dog by the abuser he made, the child he treated like a beast
brb i'm just gonna... i'm just gonna sit with this for a moment
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