#normative sanitarie

[pier-carlo-universe]

"Cure mediche low cost all’estero: il lato oscuro che nessuno ti racconta"

Turismo sanitario e rischi della pubblicità sul Web: una riflessione sulla sicurezza e sull'etica

Turismo sanitario e rischi della pubblicità sul Web: una riflessione sulla sicurezza e sull’etica Turismo sanitario: un fenomeno in crescita globale Il turismo sanitario è un settore in rapida espansione, con milioni di persone che ogni anno si recano in altri Paesi per accedere a trattamenti medici, interventi chirurgici o terapie non disponibili o troppo costose nei loro Paesi d’origine.…

[just-a-little-radish]

Trans male has risqué bulge/outline when wearing women’s jeans and shorts, refuses to tuck or even just wear decent fitted clothing

The top comment:

More comments:

The partner being trans doesn’t even have anything to do with the fact that it’s standard decency for males to keep their crotches under control in public, and that includes not wearing things that draw attention to (or perfectly outline) their dicks. Genitals are expected to be safely out sight behind clothing. Men’s clothing is made to accommodate a package down there and blend it in, whereas women’s clothes expect only the slightest curve to the crotch, if any, and therefore dicks have nowhere to hide.

I sincerely believe these commenters are a) too blinded by the partners’ gender id to apply their logic to any other non-trans-woman, and b) underestimating just how obvious the bulge must be and how often it happens, probably.

Also, I really doubt the partner’s statement that he “doesn’t notice” AND is “not bothered.” He has to have noticed at least a couple times if he wears women’s jeans and shorts semi-regularly, and if he isn’t self conscious about that it makes me wonder how it does make him feel to have people acknowledge his crotch in that way…

[dyspunktional-leviathan]

There is also no moral failing in not washing yourself and not being normal, being normal however involves considering people who have body acne and/or don't wash "enough" or at all gross.

you guys can make as many positivity posts as you want but until you start like, being normal about people with bodily acne i don’t want to hear anything you have to say

[aboredindividual]

Male omega anatomy

Here is my poorly drawn version of male omega's anatomy :)

In my mind i picture that when growing up, the omega's testis stop growing past certain age and when near presentation they will gradually slithers back up from the sack and settle internally. The testiless sack then will slowly be reabsorbed to the body.

The penis will be the smallest of all the other dynamics (picture the biggest omegan phallus will be comparable to average beta ones)

I kinda detest the version where their uterus is connected to rectum because of ✨sanitary reasons✨so i made my own version.

When it comes to fertility the male omegas ability to impregnate is very diminished as previously mentioned, the testis are not developed enough to create sufficient amount of sperm to secure concievement. Yet they compensate it by their very fertile ovaries who are highly efficient at their job. While female betas' pregnancy will result in only one child with twins and triplets being out of norm, the omegas regardless of sex will carry litters of 2-3 children on average.The male gender will have predispositions to having just two babies at a time because of the strain but the pregnancy will be no different from others.

[silentcryracha]

❍ ‗ Taking care of you during your period x hyung line (skz) ‗ ❍

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Pairings : Chan x reader, Minho x reader, Changbin x reader, Hyunjin x reader

Genre/warnings : reader has periods, breasts are mentioned, mention of painkillers/mood swings/blood (yk), nothing else just fluff and really sweet boys

Summary : Like the title says, the oldest boys take care of you when you have your period. You are their s/o in this. Half headcanon and half scenarios.

Word count : 1.5 k

A/n : I'm currently on the FLOOR trying to get through this so I just, indulged myself I guess lmao! I hope it'll be an enjoyable read and also if any of y'all is also suffering now, good luck babes we got this <3

ps: There could be grammar errors, my first language isn't english!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Chan ‗ ❍

First of all, he wouldn't be weirded out or immature about it at all, he grew up with women in his family so he wouldn't be completely oblivious. Second thing, he seems to be natually very nurturing and attentive, so you know for sure that you'd be well taken care of, more than usual.

Depending on how this time of the month would be for you, he'd act accordingly. For example, if you are usually on time or late, if you tend to suffer more or less. In general he'd probably remember the days/week and always make sure to have a little bit of every essential thing at home beforehand. Sanitary products, painkillers, snacks, comfort food; you name it, he got it. Wether you lived together or not, doesn't matter.

In the best case scenario you'd just be having a shitty day and he would make sure to spend time with you (full day if he's not working, and even then he'd check on you multiple times), taking care of you, cuddling and probably babying you more than you need. And you'd let him of course, even just to show him you appreciated him caring for you. He would be really attentive but... chill at the same time. He just wants you to be comfortable, not further stress you out.

On the other hand, if you were someone who usually hurt a lot or maybe had some issues related to your condition, then he would be more clingy. If hugs and cuddles were an actual solution you'd be CURED.

He hated seeing you in pain regardless, but if the pain in question was out of the norm/more severe he would absolutely be in the worst mood. Again, every supply possible would to be 100% ready at the right times, and you truly wouldn't be allowed to lift a finger.

"Channie, baby, I've been handling this stuff since forever, I'll be fine, okay?" and then he'd frown and pout like "But I want to take care of my baby, that's the least I can do". Of course you wouldn't be able to refuse him even if you wanted to, so you'd just end up accepting the help making sure to thank him all the time to let him know how grateful you were for him. <3

Minho ‗ ❍

Minho just kind of learned along the way how to take care of you at the best of his abilities. Something that seems to be very important to him is health, and you having your period to him it's almost like a seasonal cold. Something that just kind of happens? He would learn which foods or beverages help the pain/body, or the things that would make you feel better, but he'd be kinda random about it? lol.

"You know what? I really feel like eating some good meat for dinner" and he'd pull some shit like "Actually, I was thinking of salmon for tonight. You know, it would be very good for you now", Not gonna lie you would be lowkey impressed that he bothered to search up stuff like that in the first place. He wouldn't be pushy though, he couldn't deny you even if he tried. Want a specific dinner/dessert? It's yours. You want to watch a movie and cuddle? Done. Or do you just want to sleep and hug? Good enough for him. He just really wants you to have a calm and comfortable day.

This being handled as a health matter would also mean that he'd probably be quite precise with keeping track of the days/week. If being irregular wasn't a usual thing for you, one day late and he'd be asking questions lol.

"How are you feeling?" "Do you need anything from the store?" "Need any help?" and so on. Especially if we were talking about a person with more severe pain/issues.

At this point he would be a little more insistent with the whole "take care of yourself right" but only out of worry and you knew it. "I made some ginger tea for you" "But-" and you wouldn't be able to finish the sentence without him raising one eyebrow like 'I dare you'. Two minutes after the cup was EMPTY. You'd also get belly rubs with warm hands afterwards so it's okay :')

Minho would never miss to make you feel loved and taken care of, it's like he needs you to know that you can count on him whenever you need.

Changbin ‗ ❍

Changbin also grew up with a sister but I feel like he was the baby of the family so I think he'd try to replicate that more than anything. His s/o would be treated like royalty regardless, don't get me wrong, but during this time I feel like he'd feel bad for you and the fact that he can't really help, and would try to 'fix it' by indulging you a lot.

He probably wouln't keep track of the days/week, just in general. But, I think that he'd realize it quickly when you start acting a little off or being fatigued, and at that point he'd piece it together quickly and offer his help if he can. And if he can't, then he'll just settle with random gifts that could cheer you up. It could be something cute like a plushie, a treat like your favorite sweets, or something more unique like an expensive gift. You don't want him to spend such money on you, but you lowkey know that's his love language and appreciate it ten times more for it. He would also remind you of it "Shh, you know I love to spoil my princess", that would make you melt and he knows it well.

In a more severe case I think that he would make sure to not let you lift a finger. Dinner? Dishes? Medicines? Cuddles? Tissues for a particularly off moment? The remote being an inch too far? HE'S GOT IT. Changbin would also probably try to be there for you physically during this time and would get annoyed when he can't manage. At that point expect multiple calls and texts throught the day and maybe even a few cute selfies too that would never fail to make you smile and lift your mood.

If you happened to be crying, he would try to handle himself but just wouldn't be able to do it so you'd probably have a nice liberating ugly cry session together and then fall asleep hugged comfortably :(

He would also make sure that you're comfortable wherever you are, and that usually means completely laying on him, the best pillow in the house.

Hyunjin ‗ ❍

Hyunjin is shy and an empath, we know. I feel like at the beginning of your relationship he could be a little uncomfortable handling this situation, mainly because he'd like to help in some way but would be unsure of how to ask. You would also probably try to hide it or not mention it, you know like in early stages of any relationship, but out of shyness more than anything. You know he's a very sweet guy and he would probably feel bad that you feel bad. And he does.

One day during movie night you'd probably unintentionally flinch or hiss at the pain and then he'd decide that he had ENOUGH and would blurt out a "Can I do anything for you?". You'd be kind of taken aback but appreciate it a lot. You would give in "Yes actually" you wouldn't have to say it twice before he's back with what you asked for.

From that moment on I feel like it would be a process for him to learn how to know you and your needs and after a while he would just...do it. Which were your habits or comfort foods, your preferred type of sanitary products to use, what could make you uncomfortable and so on.

I feel like he wouldn't necessarily intentionally keep track of it but would randomly look at the date and go "Mhh, isn't this that time of the month?" and you'd probably show up with a belly ache and an extreme need of hugs so yeah he'd be like "I figured" and kind of laugh at you being cute.

You'd probably have something silly like a "Cursed week" playlist to cry to or a specific list of things to watch that would absolutely wreck you emotionally because why not. And you'd plan it together and go back to them like a routine. You probably have a very sad or angsty tv show/drama that you go back to once a month just to either cry your eyes out or comment together like two bitter old ladies. And you have a blast.

Hyunjin would try to be lowkey about it though. Once he learned how to properly take care of you he would just do things and not be obnoxious about it. Like he would be they type to leave a sticky note for you before leaving for work that said "Good morning my love. Remember to take it easy and take some medicine if you need, I love you <3"

In general I think that he would be the type to try and distract you as much as possible, wether it was with some nice cuddles to warm you up or even tease you to make you laugh. He could be out of pocket sometimes but that's exactly what makes it hilarious.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

This is it for the hyung line! Maknae line link. Hope you enjoyed my silly writing, feel free to leave feebacks if you feel like it :')

[haleingstorm]

This is related to my previous questions.

Healers are not only those who heal, but also those who take care of bodies before giving them fire. At least that's how it is at Camp Half-blood. Will Solace was the one who took care of Percy Jackson before he was wrapped in a shroud and burned, as if he were just another camper and not their own mini-god. It was the most surreal experience of his life. He remembers how he washed his hands carefully and carefully, following all the sanitary norms and rules, as his brothers taught him before they left him. He separated himself from his body and his responsibilities, there was only the Apollonian healer and not Will Solace. Will Solace curled up in the corner of the room and sobbed instead of acting cool and flawless. Wash off the blood so that the skin is clean, sew up the wounds with transparent threads as tightly as possible, apply light makeup, do the job so well that it, a cold corpse, looks alive. Will succeeded, and Percy, as beautiful as ever, looked like he was sleeping lying on a marble deathbed, surrounded by shimmering silk, when Annabeth, with completely empty eyes, held up a torch to him, and the fire greedily consumed his body. Will still refuses to admit that those sobs were his. Now, under his fingers, a child's skin, so lovely, smooth and tender, untouched not by war, not by monsters, not by semi-divine pain. And life, the life that boils under this skin and which is so palpable. Percy is in a baby's body and he's alive. Will's own baby body feels so wrong. This body doesn't know how to remove Will Solace and leave only the healer.

I like the way you've written Will here and honestly the way it translates to just about every Apollo kid. The idea of compartmentalizing things at all cost is a fascinating concept for a healer and of course something that comes with age. I wonder how Will's siblings would feel seeing him compartmentalize like that.

I also like the way you talk about shrouds and setting someone up for burial. It's an interesting concept even though personally I've always envisioned the shroads covering the bodies completely.

[potchatok-art]

Sutviprra Update and Addendum

I have reconsidered some parameters, and some were present in an early version but not stated clearly enough.

First of all - previous versions of trunks would need a lot of resources to sustain and no evolutionary pressure would make such a hypertrophy. I still don’t completely delete such length - if the allele that made current trunks happens, Sutviprra will get abnormally long trunks, but do they stay alive and pass them down - question to their environment. Norm, from now on is such. Sutviprra ancestors lived on the jungle river shores, and lengthened lips allowed them to forage from the bottom, catch fish and, potentially, stand up and reach a low branch with a fruit. As the jungles receded, they also started scavenging, and this is where tool use and sapience development really started.

Tentacle apparatus is not as massive, but still, this adaptation disrupts previous muscle connections. Sutviprra belong to phylum Tetragnata - “four jawed”. In their class, jaws are capable of both vertical and horizontal motion and upper jaws serve radula-like grate function, grinding down food. In Sutviprra, trunks took up so much muscle attachment, movement of radula became restricted. At first, lower jaws complemented the function, developing an incisor-like section for cutting the food items and improving a tongue to move the food under the radula. With diversification of the diet, chewing apparatus alone stopped being sufficient, but this is what incited a pressure to develop pre-ingestion processing, so tool use and fire.

Their class, Cryptotheria, arose in a frigid polar environment, so at first all their adaptations all work to preserve energy and heat. Previously continuously hermaphroditic, In this condition producing redundant organs is not worth the energy, and, given the population density, sequential hermaphroditism becomes a norm. Most of such creatures are born male and depending on their condition become female later in life. As the conditions change, the race for populating new niches has begun, while conditions stayed rather rough - boreal forests are the warmest regions available. Many creatures evolve some sort of childcare, as this improves their chances. Proximapters already had ovoviviparity nesting and nest guarding behaviors, while Cryptotheria diversified with different strategies. Marsupacrescentia just rely on long gestation, when the embryo can be atrophied or put in a hibernation depending on resources of availability, while Mellacrescensia adopt altricial young, but their scent glands mutate to secret a gel, that helps the young to develop to a proper degree. This allows them to fill in niches of smaller animals, both sanitary and migratory. One of such offshutes, a medium-sized omnivore, reaches Oujsoerian jungles, diversifying there into the Tropicasussa. Such creatures lose their fur, have long gestation periods and a high intelligence. Living on the river coasts, Tropicasussa encounter pressures that kick them into the Sutviprra path. Energy efficiently of Cryptotheria allows them to achieve such brain functions, Mellacrescensia’s high requirement for parental care establishes fundamentals for learning from the adults, Tropicasussa’s opportunism allows for a wide variety of energy sources and a big range of behaviors - smartness. Of course, there were different species of sophont Tropicasussa, and Sutviprra represent hybridisation of some of those, that ended up colonizing the continent.

[scribblertown]

Fates of the Fateless Ch 10: Service with a Grimace

it ain't much, sanitary, humane, dignifying, well paying, or fun. But it's honest.

This is a mature story, this is where themes start to become mature and trigger warnings are relevant from this point forward. You have been warned.

TRIGGER WARNING!!

violence against women, graphic description of body horror and violence, implications of rape/non-con

ao3

wattpad

“Hey! Girly, pay attention! I got dishes that need cleaning and customers that need servin’!”

“Yes sir Mr. Roper! On it!” Struggling to corral the mob of drunken men out of your way to reach another soiled table. Quick to wipe it down as quickly as possible while juggling a plethora of shot glasses piled nearly over your head. Dashing to and fro through a crowd with absolutely no regard for your wellbeing. But then again, they were probably too shitfaced to even comprehend anything beyond shoving even more booze contaminated with who knows what down their gullets. Bumping into each other exchanging foul words and even more foul bodily fluids. Leaving you with various questionable stains along the hem of your skirt and shoes. It was dirty work. But at least it was honest work.

“Heeeee—eeeey llady! Me ‘nd my buddies need shomore drrrrinks. Pronto!” Another one of your regulars who you’ve never actually seen leave the saloon slumps against the bar top slapping his hand into the wood to emphasize his pronto, soaking his shirt sleeve into a puddle of mystery liquid that went flying in every other direction upon impact.  

“Ok, ok! Give me a second Albert!” You scrambled around the bar quick to deposit your load of dirty dishes into Mr. Ropers hands as you scramble down the cellar door ladder, shuffling through the sawdust to grab as many bottles of cool liquor as you can while still being able to climb back up. “Money first! Then you get your drinks.” You scold the many grabby hands that lamely flop to their pants, creating a pile of rusted coins that you then swept into your apron’s skirt and over to the large old cash register.

“Hey! Hamish, I’m not paying you to sit around!” Mr. Roper screams over the mob, wiping down glasses with an old rag before deeming them “clean” enough to be served back into the masses. Hamish who was most likely skimming drinks and used cigarettes began an upbeat tune on the old piano, stirring up the group of men even more into a mass of dancing bodies. Busy pouring shot after shot you felt yourself seize up with dread as you watched one particular man lose a boot, soaring through the air before landing a straight bullseye into one of the unemptied spittoons. Pouring it’s viscous and rancid contents all over the floor, only to be stepped in and dragged across the rest of the wooden planks as you felt the start of sick sour the back of your throat.

It’s honest work. It’s honest work. It’s honest work. It’s honest work.

________________________________________________________

It wasn’t until well into the night did the masses finally decide to call it a day, slowly filtering their way out the saloon’s swinging doors leaving anything and everything undesirable for you to clean up. The scene was the same every night. Chairs and tables were strewn across the room, usually not standing and in the wrong places. Playing cards strewn every which way, never adding up to a full 52. Shattered glass shards were to be expected. Vomit was the norm. Someone’s forgotten hat or boot or… shirt? Cigarette butts everywhere but the ashtray. And you’d clean all of it for the hefty sum of $1.42 a night.

But it’s the most fucking honest $1.42 you’ve ever made.

“I’m gonna call it a night Mr. Roper… I’ll uh… see you same time tomorrow.”

Mr. Roper was sucking on a cigar while satisfyingly counting out his piles of cash. “See you then, you too Hamish.” He nods the two of you off with an exhale of white smoke before going back to his counting.

The night air was cool and crisp. A slight breeze brought a light shiver as it passed through your soiled layers. Ones you’ve had to wear for the 3rd week in a row. Now with a full-time job that sucked every ounce of energy and time you had, left you with no time to clean your only other pair of clothes. Your feet barely leave the final wooden step when you hear someone call your name.

Your eyes drift upwards toward the balcony to find a woman. One of the working girls. “Madame Penelope wants a word with you.”

“Look I’m not interested or will ever be interested in that kind of work so-”

“I’m just the messenger. As far as I know she just wants to talk.” She gives you a once over with her eyes, face blank and tired. “I’d at least listen to what she has to say.” She turns her back to you, walking a few steps before stopping and turning her head in your direction. “She’s the only one looking out for us girls, not just her whores.” She then disappears from your view. You almost don’t go back in, far too tired and dirty to really socialize any more, but against your better judgment your feet find themselves climbing up the main level of the building, down a luxurious hallway and finally to the lavish door guarded by the most popular ladies of the night, who swept you inside quickly. 

There was low light inside, a lantern hidden behind a red curtain cast everything in a rose-tinted glow. You spot a large woman scribbling away at a desk, a deep baritone voice finally acknowledged your presence. “Give me a moment darlin’.” A moment passed with only the sound of pen and paper.

“I’m sorry but…I’m not interested in your line of work. And I’m not going to change my mind about it.” You break the silence. 

“Oh, yah’ve proven that much, turnin’ every generous offah me and mah girls throw your way.” She chuckles deep in her chest, she collects whatever paperwork she had into a stack, tapping them into uniform order before placing them to the side, eyes now falling upon your person. “Hm… Young. Pretty little thing.” she eyes you up, taking a moment to really take you in. “Make the sweetest little pet.” She stands, pulling a cigarette from a little metal compact. Lighting it as she comes ever closer. A flick of her hand and the match is extinguished, a deep inhale and a musky cloud of burnt tobacco fills your lungs causing you to cough. “How’d yah end up here?” The wispy smoke clears and you finally get a good look at the mysterious and powerful woman you’ve heard only through whispers and gossip. The boss of the boss. Her hair was a vibrant red, styled in those classic old fashioned sausage curls, perfectly shiny and uniform. Stripes of white and grey could be seen amongst the fiery locks. Her eyes were a deep green, bloodshot, framed by sagging lids and heavy makeup. Lines deep in her face evidence of a long life lived. She was large in stature and frame, ruby colored lips sucking in another puff awaiting your answer. 

“Life happened.” You wave her second puff out of your face. “Are we done here? I’ve got a long day of work tomorrow.” She smiles, another laugh billows past her lips.

“Ah yes, the stable is where yah sleepin’ ain’t it?”

“Can’t afford anything else.” You cough into your elbow, trying to dispel the tickle in your throat. It practically shakes your whole body in the process. She makes a grab for your arm, pinching your wrist and clicking her tongue.

“Haven’t been eatin’ well either. Gettin’ skinny.” Her bright eyes give you a knowing look just past the dark strands of her lashes. Caked with far too much mascara. “Yah could be liven’ bettah if yah come work for me.” As if to rub it in your face she tinkers with the heavy gold set necklace resting along her freckled throat. “Make thrice the commission. A roof ovah yah head. No longah sleepin’ in that filth and gettin’ by with scraps.” Her nails clinked against the shimmering metal.

“I’d be sleeping with the filth instead.” You snatch your hand back. Mr. Roper may be the manager. But she was the boss. If she really wanted to, she could increase your pay without trying to traffic you into sex work.

“Hm, still have that naive vigor of hope in yah eyes.” She taps off the excess ash building up on her cig, “Just haven’t learned the lesson all women come to learn eventually.” She toys with one of her curls, pulling on it before it springs back into form. “We don’t get a choice.” She’s deliberate to blast the next exhale straight into your eyes, causing them to burn and tear up. She glides to her velvet couch, decorated with fine pillows threaded with bright colors. “I didn’t call yah up here to recruit yah.”

“No?” You give her a confused look.

 “A man came by, flashed a big bag of money in mah face askin’ about the new flowah servin’ the devil’s nectah at the bar. Got real haughty when ah told him yah weren’t one of mine.” He. A man has noticed you, the last thing you want in a time where men are free to do whatever they want without regard for someone like you. “Don’t know him, just know he comes through every once in a while.” Her face scrunches up in annoyance. “Don’t trust his kind…” she taps off the extra ash accumulating at the end of her cigarette. “Got that air about him… used to takin’ what he wants. Don’t care if he gotta hurt others to get it.” Her fingers tap aggressively against the velvet arm of the couch, leaving little divets in the fabric as they land.

“Yah got a gun?” you nod your head and a small “yes” leaves your lips. “Good, ah suggest yah keep it on yah person from now on.” She turns away from you, her cigarette a nub in her fingertips now snubbed out into an empty glass cup. She remains transfixed on the ashes. “By the way, I had mah girls fix yah a bath.” She turns to look at you, lids heavy and gaze uninterested. “What’s been said stays between you and ah, undahstand?”

_______________________________________________________

You can feel the cold metal of the gun pressed against your stomach, engulfed by extra fabric and held there by the ribbon on your apron. A poor attempt at a makeshift holster. It’s odd comfort nonetheless. Your hyper aware of every new body that comes in through those swinging doors. Eyes critical and intense, attempting to take in every single detail of each new face that enters your eyeline. Picking apart how their looking at you.

Uninterested.

Annoyed.

Shy.

Dazed.

Lecherous.

Drunk.  

But which one has put a target on your back? Who could be so interested in some nobody? What do you have that they want?

You’re vulnerable.

You’re scared.

You’re alone.

You’re an easy target.

You’ve been nursing the same sleep deprived headache since you got the horrible heads up from Penelope, it throbs just behind your eyes. Making you slightly nauseous. Unable to stomach much and in turn low on energy.

Your hands are shaky causing you to spill a whole 2 shots worth of liquor onto the floor. “Dammit.” Swooping down to wipe up your mess. Low to the ground and preoccupied. A large shiny black shoe enters your vision, fancy and expensive looking, deliberately steps right on your rag. Catching a couple of your fingers.

“Ow! What the hell!?” You angrily snap your head up to chew out whoever felt the need to make your already terrible day even worse. The curse words catch in your throat and your blood runs cold. Deep set brown eyes stare down at you. Hair parted down the middle. And a stupid pencil ‘stache sits atop a smirk.

It was Samson.

“That’s a good look on you.” His eyes narrow and his smile extends up the corners of his mouth. “On your hands and knees, all domestic like.” He grinds his foot down harder, you rip your hand out from underneath the force. Taking some skin off as you do. Standing quick and several steps back, cradling your hand as you gape at him angry and shocked.

Your eyes dart across the many bodies within the saloon, looking for the familiar faces of the gang. But none appeared.  

“Don’t worry, none of Van der Linde’s other strays are here. Just you and me.” He puts his hands behind his back, taking you in with a long and tortuous stare. “I for sure thought you’d be dead by now. From what the others said about you.” When he smiles, his eyes remain cold and dead. “Useless. Stupid. And a waste of a pretty face.” Your heart twists a bit, and you ponder why you feel the sting at the thought of the others saying such things.

“What do you want?” You tried to sound strong and confident. But it comes out exhausted. “I got drinks to serve.” Surely with so many people around he wouldn’t dare do anything.

“By all means, serve me up a whiskey.” He shoves a man aside to take his place at the bar, throwing a couple coins carelessly in your direction.

“Hey what’s your-!“ the customer turns in anger, ready to throw hands before taking in the sheer size of Samson. “uuh- ‘scuse me.” Scurrying away. You’re quick to grab a bottle and a glass. Tempted to dump his drink in a dirty one but think better of it with his eyes watching your every move. Slapping the drink down, deliberately causing some of it to spill.

Samson eyes you up, grasping the glass and taking a swig. Tasting it on his tongue before his face twists.

“Don’t taste like 50 cents worth to me.” Despite his seemingly dislike of the liquor, he throws the rest back and downs the glass. “Now you on the other hand-”

“That’s not part of my job description so save it.” You blank at him, monotone. His smirk drops. Staring you down without a word. He slides the glass towards you aggressively.

“Another.” He says. As you pour he continues to feel the need to speak. “And with a smile this time.”

You deliberately force an even deeper scowl onto your face. Slamming the drink down harder this time, causing the liquid to splash up his shirt.

“Hey! What the hell-!” Before he can get his words out you slip away to the opposite side of the bar where other degenerates await your service.

“What can I get you?” in your peripheral you can see him marching over to you. You stubbornly keep your eyes forward.

“Yeah, let me get a gin.” Your current customer requests. Slipping you the cash, before delving into his pockets again. “And something for yourself.” He utters with a smile.

“Thanks, but I don’t touch the stuff.” You counter, sliding the extra money back to him.

“Hey! I wasn’t done talking to you!” Samson shouts, bulldozing his way directly into your view, knocking the man you were just serving out of the way. However, unlike the other patrons, this one seemed much more daring. Jabbing his elbow into Samson’s side and shoving hard, retaking his place at the bar.

“Watch yourself partner, be nice to the lady…” The strangers face appears calm, but there’s a look in his eyes that says otherwise. Samson eyes him up, smirking. Standing up straight to accentuate his clear advantage in size.

“I had my eye on her first. So, how’s about you run along and find some other whore to disappoint.” Samson jabs his finger into the man’s chest.

“Shut your fucking mouth!” You holler, drawing his gaze to you once more. With the focus now on you the other man took the opportunity to roughly grab Samson’s finger and twist him into the bar top. There was an audible pop along with a shout of pain. The stranger is quick to then grab the glass of booze and slam it down hard onto Samson’s face, shattering on impact and leaving a large bloody gash on his brow. Samson whimpers helplessly against the cold hard bar top, held down by his throat.

“A gentleman would apologize to the lady.” He says it in such a casual manner, as if he was simply talking about the weather and not breaking fingers or nearly gouging a man’s eye out with glass.

“I-I’m sorry okay! I’m sorry!” Samson’s cowardice surfaces with whimpers and misty eyes blinking back the blood that edges dangerously near his lash line. The stranger tilts his head curiously at you.

“That good enough for you?” he asks.

You glare down at Samson, “No. I want him gone. I want him to leave. Me. Alone.” You growl.

“That gonna be a problem for you? Are you gonna be a problem?”

“Nono! I’ll go, I promise I’ll go and never come back!” Samson squirms, the sight leaving you with a disturbing feeling of satisfaction.

“I wouldn’t mind if you hurt him some more…” you spoke, staring directly into Samson’s eyes. And there it was. That look of desperation. 

“By all means, it would be my pleasure.” The mystery man smiles, slamming Samson’s head down on the bar top. HARD. You can practically feel the force shake the floor boards. He does it again before finally letting go, allowing Samson to fall to the floor. In a flurry of panic, he scrambles to his feet and barrels out of the building. Slamming his shoulder into the door frame painfully hard before disappearing. “I think the next time he looks in a mirror he’ll be sure to remember what he’s been told.” Wiping down his jacket, smoothing out the edges.

“Shit…” You mumble, “He didn’t pay for his drink…” You rub your eyes, no doubt the unpaid tab would be coming out of your paycheck.

Guess I’m skipping dinner again…

“Well, I’ve got plenty to spare,” The mystery man digs around in his pockets, a glimmer in his eyes, a handful of bills placed on the damp bar top in a neat pile. 

“That’s too much I don’t-”

“Please, for your troubles.” He begins to pick up his mess of glass and whips out a handkerchief to wipe down the table. 

Your tongue stumbles around in your mouth, only able to muster up a simple “Thank you…” Scooping the bills into your hand.

He pats his hands dry onto his dusty coat, extending one to you. “Daniel.” 

Your hand finds his giving your name, his grip squeezes yours firmly and lingers a bit too long before finally pulling away. “You new to these parts?”

Before you can utter a reply, one of the working girls sidles up to the scene, nestling herself into the crook of Daniel’s side. “Hey honey. Lookin’ for a good time?” Her hand slides up his front as she flutters her lashes. Pressing her bust up towards his face. She shoots you a sneaking glance that said “Beat it.” 

“Um, thank you again Daniel.” You give a small wave. Slipping off to the other side of the bar.

Keeping your eyes laser focused on your dirty dishes. Lingering on an already clean plate before daring a glimpse upwards only to have your eyes meet Daniel’s stormy gray ones once more. He was watching you. A group of men, each of them taking peeks in your direction, linger with him near the entrance. He finally waves with a smile as he departs out the saloon doors.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s the next day. No sleep, but for once some food to put in your belly. Up bright and early for another day of saloon work. You notice the stable owner isn’t around hauling hay, nor his farrier that usually lingered on his old rickety chair, reading the day away. Only Big Enough and his new friends to spend breakfast with. You find them farther in town, along with practically half the town as well clustered together in one spot. 

They’ve all gathered around the opening between one of the buildings. Chatter and concerned looks are exchanged as they continue to gawk at whatever has such a grip on their attention. You drift closer, eyes trying to peek through the small gaps that form each time a body moves. Soon a lawman arrives and attempts to dissipate the crowd, ushering them further back and finally revealing what was once hidden.

A woman lies dead in what was once a puddle of her own blood now soaked up by the sand leaving a damp dark halo around her head. She was facing the sky when she died, eyes glazed and pale, deep bruises around her throat, practically engulfing her whole neck. Blood coating her fingertips and clothes torn from her form leaving her naked and vulnerable for all to see. Even worse, you recognize this girl. Someone you’d seen often around the saloon, always smiling and with a light in her eyes that is now extinguished. Taken away in the night.

No one saw anything. No one heard anything.

Your breakfast doesn’t stay down for long.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re at the bar somberly serving drinks. Unable to manage even your worst half assed customer service facade. 

 “Was she a friend of yours?” you recognize the voice. Eyes slowly trailing up to a face half shrouded by a gray flat billed cap. Gray stormy eyes peeking out.

Your head shakes. “I just… She was just a kid.” What else is there to say? Just a fucked-up situation.

“Well whatever friends she had have a strange way of mourning.” He remarks, eyeing some of the other girls laughing and flirting. Like it’s just another Tuesday.

You watch one of the girls caress her hand down a man’s vest, fingers slowly plucking away buttons before she reaches the bottom. Hand subtly cupping his crotch, her lips find his ear. Whatever is said causes his eyebrows to skyrocket to his hairline. 

“She isn’t making them money anymore so why should they care?” You spit out in frustration. “Sorry,” you sigh out “Did you want anything?” He eyes you for a minute before he leans away.

“How’re the grits today?” He asks, eyeing the menu and its minimal options. After all, this was a brothel not a bed and breakfast.

“Don’t know, I’m not allowed to eat on the job.” You eye the back room to the dingy stove at the back wall, couple of old and likely dirty pots and pans lingering on a low flame. “Probably a little burnt. And I think there’s some beans and rice stewing away.” He knocks his knuckles on the wood bar top.

“I’ll take a plate.” He fiddles in his pockets, money in exchange for a dingy plate of food. And as you predicted, the grits had charred bits in it. He saunters off to a table to eat. You find there to be a few extra bucks thrown in, just for you.

Your day goes by as usual. At one point Daniel brings up his empty plate, exchanging it for a drink. You spot him later playing a game of cards. He comes back up to you for lunch and dinner. And when it’s closing time. He’s helping you turn the stools upside down as you sweep.  

“How’s about I walk you home?” He asks. He notices right away how rigid you get at his proposal. He throws his hands up in a mock surrender. “Now I ain’t being forward or nothin’ but I wouldn’t feel it right to allow a vulnerable young woman to walk alone after…” He pauses, eyes turned upwards in thought, “Well, it just wouldn’t sit right with me.”

Your hands grip the broom, twisting it in your palms. “I don’t live far.” You dismiss. Pushing the pile of dust and cigarette butts towards the entrance. “Besides. I imagine you’re tired of hanging around here all day.” You turn to him with a reassuring smile. “You can head on home. I’ll be fine.” You brush the remnants of dirt and debris off the porch edge.

Daniel cocks his head. “I suppose your mama and daddy wouldn’t be too keen at the sight of their daughter coming home with a stray mutt like me at her heels.” He chuckles to himself. Leaning against the wooden beam. You remain silent a moment. Standing with the broom nestled in the crook of your elbow, resting against your shoulder as you gaze out onto the dark empty street.

Daniel clears his throat, “Pardon me, I didn’t realize- I shouldn’t have assumed your family situation.” He apologizes. You remain silent, eyes watching someone across the street dim their lantern in the window. “Do you have… Is there anyone waiting for you?” He asks. He’s met with the same silence. You hear the scuff of his boots on the hard wood as he pulls away from the beam. “That settles it, I’m walkin’ you home.” You finally turn to meet his eyes, dark stormy gray eyes bearing deep into yours. “I insist.”

You awkwardly lead the way, walking at a brisk pace, keeping just ahead of him. Your hands nestled securely atop the hidden pistol, pressing it into your belly. “I noticed the other girls don’t seem too friendly with you.” He comments.

“No, not really.” You blank.

“Don’t like the competition I suppose.”

“I only serve drinks. Nothing more.” You curtly correct. “I guess… they probably assume I think I’m better than them to do… well what they do.”

“Jealous at your conviction.”

“I don’t know about that.” You both fall quiet; you can practically feel his eyes on the back of your head.

“And your boss. He treatin’ you well?”

“I don’t get breaks, I don’t get meals, and I don’t get to keep my tips.” You tilt your head just enough to see him in your peripheral. “So not really.”

“That include-“

“Yeah.” You interrupt, “It was very kind of you to give me all that extra cash but, you’re just lining his pockets.” Or more like Penelope’s. Her girls watching you like a hawk; you’d seen the beatings that came with disobedience.

The two of you had finally made it to the big green wooden door of the stable. You see the farrier smoking a pipe and reading by lantern just outside of the side door. He pays you two no mind, but his presence is a comfort none the less. You turn to finally face Daniel; he slows with a confused look on his face. Eyeing up the stable barn and then back to you.

“I told you; I don’t live far.” It’s true, the barn itself was well within sight of the saloon. Really just a pleasant stroll down the street. “I um- I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.” Daniel calls your name.

“Things’ll get better. I promise you that.” He smiles and winks. You only huff a small laugh.

“I sure hope so.”

The next day Mr. Roper, walking a bit strangely, silently hands you an envelope with your name written in elaborate cursive on the front. There are various bills inside along with a hand written note in the same cursive.  

I keep my promises.

D.O.

[loopspoop]

Backstory for Fujiko perhaps? ^u^

Unsurprisingly, she’s one of the harder ones for me to write, but I’m giving it my all!

She’s born in Japan to a single mother. They live in a tiny apartment and, while her mother is young, she tries her best to do what she can for her. She’s made mistakes but she’s trying her best for her child. However, the stress gets to her. Her family has shunned her for having a child out of wedlock and for being so young. She leaves her child alone in a park one day. Fujiko is wailing after hours of loneliness and is finally picked up by police after a concerned couple realized the abandonment. Despite her age, the memory is something she recalls often and is where her first distrust of the police comes in. She felt they took her from her mother. She was coming back for her, she had to be.

Group homes were a change for Fujiko. She wanted her mom, but the kids are nice. The girls in the homes get in trouble for painting her nails. Why paint his nails?! He’s a boy! Fujiko was as pissed as a 4 year old could be at that point. She looked great in red nail polish! How dare they? However, this is where she learned that turning on the charm got her what she wanted. She was a cute kid and grew into a beautiful adult. She knew how to work the system before she was 7. Even if it was just for cookies or an extended bedtime, it worked. If that didn’t, she was good at tantrums too. She was an angry kid.

She ends up more rebellious in middle school. Group homes aren’t as nice when they realize how much you act out. She’s angry. She’s realized her mother abandoned her. Nobody concretely adopts her and it pisses her off. She’s shunted from home to home as she begins to steal jewelry and expensive things from foster parents. Sometimes they find everything, sometimes they don’t. She’s caught stealing her files trying to find her mother, which ears her a beating with a ruler for snooping in important files. It intensifies her rage against systems like this. There’s no information on her past except her permanent records of all of her misbehaving. Stealing, fighting, tantrums, she’s done it all.

Puberty doesn’t help. Hair in weird places makes her feel like she’s losing her good looks. She can’t get what she wants by just asking or trying her best. She’s learned this early on. Looks are what gets her what she needs. She’s alone and only has herself. She will kick someone’s ass, but that’s a last resort. She steals razors from the girls sanitary products room and teaches herself to shave. She steals makeup and perfume from stores and grows her hair long. Fuck societal norms at this point, she was whoever she wanted to be, damnit! She ends up getting arrested at 15 for stealing makeup. The group home cuts her hair as punishment. She gets more enraged against these systems. The group homes punish her for self expression. The police made fun of her hair and makeup. She pierces her own ears and fixes her hair to her best ability and runs away.

She adopts a new name. She’s Fujiko Mine now. Her hair grows back beautifully and she manages to learn to hide any masculine features well. Watching enough people teaches her how to raise her voice and she puts on an act to get money from rich suckers who treat anyone below them like garbage anyways. She ages into a woman on the streets, sleeping in fancy condos when she’s doing well and living with filthy men she tricks into letting her stay. She always leaves before they find her out, stealing their wallets and milking their bank accounts dry.

She’s in her 20s when she gets a high mark, gets herself a good amount of money but ends up losing it before she can do much. Down on her luck, a love struck Frenchman sweeps her off her feet and she makes him a mark.

It doesn’t work out like she expected.

He doesn’t leave. He found her out immediately. The stealing, her secrets, everything. He doesn’t care, despite the fact she holds a knife to his throat. He’s Lupin III and he’s… got really great boobs- oh. So that’s how he knew.

Lupin helps her pay her top and bottom surgery and handles all the recovery. He was really sweet for it. They form a bond pretty quickly. She heals and steals his wallet. He kept Monopoly money in it, the little creep. And a phone number. He invites her on heists, presents her with diamonds and dresses and designer bags. It’s what she always wanted. And while Lupin does want things in return, namely sex, he’s not greedy about it like the other men were. He isn’t forceful. If she says no he accepts just cuddling or even sharing a coffee and a chat.

Eventually they end up with a samurai and a gunman in the same situation. Jigen is prickly and thinks she’s just after Lupin’s body. The only thing she really wanted was to exchange chests, but that problem was solved and not much of Jigen’s business anyways. Goemon was shy and a little funny to mess with. He gave her hair tips and they became fast friends in exchanging passing tips. A lot of her anger dies down. She stills hates laws and systems like foster care but she’s not as angry at the world because people like her can do just fine when they get the right family. And she has her family, finally.

[klimt7]

CONTRO IL GOVERNO DEGLI ASINI, DEGLI INCOMPETENTI, DEGLI INADEGUATI, DEI GAFFEUR DI PROFESSIONE...

L'appello degli Scienziati, del mondo Accademico, della Ricerca scientifica Italiana, degli uomini più illustri in campo sanitario, che avvertono l'urgenza di lanciare l'allarme contro lo smantellamento del Sistema Sanitario Nazionale Italiano.

Prima che sia troppo tardi e non restino soltanto i cocci da raccogliere di ciò che fu l'orgoglio della Nazione italiana dal 1978 agli anni 2000.

Poi vennero i guastatori, vennero gli speculatori lombardi, i leghisti, gli Egoisti, i Berlusconi, gli interessi dei Formigoni di turno, a demolire il sistema Pubblico, per accordare favori e privilegi agli amichetti degli amichetti.

Alle speculazioni delle Cliniche Private che fanno profitti sulla pelle di chi si ammala.

Poi non accusiamo nessuno che non lo sapevamo cosa stesse tramando questo sciagurato Governo di Destra-Destra, che ci porterà a sbattere e a disgregare la coesione nazionale mettendo tutti contro tutti, gli enti locali contro il Governo centrale, grazie alle norme sulla Autonomia differenziata e alla proposta di Premierato forte preteso dalla burina della Garbatella: la caciottara Giorgia Meloni.

Sappiamolo fin d'ora, cosa stanno preparandoci questi picconatori della Repubblica Italiana.

NOI CI BATTEREMO STRENUAMENTE PER DIFENDERE IL SISTEMA UNIVERSALE CHE GARANTISCE CURE A OGNI CITTADINO, SENZA DISTINZIONE DI REDDITO, CENSO, AMICIZIE DI PARTE O LEGAMI CORPORATIVI.

LE CURE SANITARIE VANNO PRESTATE A PRESCINDERE DAL PORTAFOGLIO CHE HAI IN TASCA. È UN DIRITTO SACRO QUESTO. È IL DIRITTO ALLA VITA, ALL'ESISTENZA IN VITA PER TALUNE PERSONE IN DIFFICOLTA' GIA ORA DA PERSONE SANE.

Approfondimento su Repubblica di oggi 4 aprile 2024.

.

[t-errifier]

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆, he had plenty of noises that came along with him. tinkering with objects that would be used for murder was just another one of his hobbies. they had plenty of time to reside in the home they had made & he needed something to fill the time - cooking up creative ways to bring people to their demise. he was a master at the art of murder. VICKY knew better than to disturb him when he was deep in thought about his latest creation, it was a stroke of genius that she couldn't readily interrupt. he was a jokester - but he still had his moments of seriousness that couldn't be taken away from him, not even by @madnessdescend .

she was coddling her RATS again when he had returned; those creatures that he was not so fond of, yet he allowed to scurry about, for her sake. their hug came covered in blood, as it always did. there was nothing between them that was sanitary. they were covered in dirt & grime - the blood of the innocent, & their own innards at all times. no means of cleaning themselves up, this was simply the norm. they didn't need music to dance around - inside of their twisted heads, there was music enough. the both of them were broken beyond repair; the perfect duo for one another. it felt amazing to be with a partner. while he could manage himself on his own, being with another being was so much more satisfying. sharing the love of the kill with someone else . . . there was nothing that could compare.

twirling her around for a moment, he sets her back down on her feet. a gentle gesture, making sure that she was balanced on her own two legs before he lets go. VICKY is someone dear to him - even if she might be more sporadic about her actions than himself. he cannot blame his toy for being broken, it was his own doing.

[astralikacastle]

I get the urge to be like "hey why can't we just love fat people, why does it have to be a fat fetish", I really get it. But like...

One, the ideas surrounding the kink/fetish aren't all the ones surrounding trying to break down the norms involving thin as the metric of beauty. Frequently, portions of fatness either unrealistic, normally unappealing, or otherwise just not really part of the 'loving people' discussions, are then focused on. It's not about the beauty of the curves of fatness, it's frequently also like. The emphasis of the weight on the subject's mobility. Or actively about making a subject fatter.

Two... Like. You guys know a lot of fat people are also into "fat fetish", right? Like the whole idea of leaning into the concept of fatness, of fattening, is something that at least in some ways is achievable. I'll see folks post about 'gaining' tips. About how to eat to better Get Fatter, and to do that safely. And those people are still worthy of love, because the way they sexualize their own experiences isn't some Othering of those who don't feel that way.

And even the ones who actively seek out fulfilling their desires in real life involving stuff like that will frequently also talk about stuff that isn't really realistic. Because it's also fun to think about things that aren't even possible, or may in some specifics be unbearably unpleasant or actually unsafe if you were able to replicate it in real life*, because fantasy is fun.

*the example in my head is the fantasy I see sometimes, of fattening via feeding tube. I'm certain the people who have spent a long time thinking about it know how to make it like. Safe and sanitary, and possibly even mildly pleasant tasting?, but I can't imagine it'd taste particularly good, and also that you'd likely get nauseous really easy, but that might just be me. Idunno!

[leftistfeminista]

Captive Revolution: Palestinian Women's Anti-Colonial Struggle within the Israeli Prison System

Having female detainees watch the torture of male detainees in order to frighten them and force them to collaborate was not unusual in the experience of many. Israeli prisons’ techniques of torturing Palestinian political prisoners included ‘Shabeh’ and ‘kees’ among others. The term mashbooh, or mashbooheen for the plural refers to detainees who are bound to either a chair or the wall, with their hands tied behind their backs or on top of their heads. The actual act is known as shabeh. The term kees, used by various interviewees refers to a black hood placed over the head and shoulders and often reeks of urine smell.

Here is what Haleema ‘A.’ relayed about her experience:

When I arrived one female security guard took me to a cell and demanded I take off all my clothes, including my underwear. She took my clothes with her and left me naked for a whole hour, hoping I would harm myself. After one hour they came back with my clothes; I put them on while one of the guards ordered me to carry a chair … I refused. He picked up the chair and walked towards a corner in the corridor which to me sounded like a slaughter house. From that corner,

I would hear the screams of men undergoing torture, while walking towards my cell I also saw two men mashbooheen, with the kees which reeked of urine smell covering their heads then they entered another corner, one of them put the chair on the floor and demanded I sit down. Then he cuffed my feet, tied them and hung them through a hook on the wall, and placed the kees on my head, it had an awful stench, and the smell of urine was suffocating. I could hardly breathe.

Haleema ‘A.’

This said, female Palestinian political detainees experience sexual abuse, molestation, threat of rape and even rape more frequently than do men. Playing on their own imagined stereotypes of Arab culture, especially the traditional norms concerning sexuality, Israeli military officers and prison authorities deliberately target Palestinian female political detainees and victimize them sexually. In my conversations with the former detainees, there was hardly any woman who was not sexually harassed or threatened with rape.

When Haleema ‘A.’ voiced her experience about one interrogation session, she described it as ‘the most excruciating form of torture.’ Here is what she said:

During one of the interrogation periods, I refused to answer their questions. One of the interrogators slammed my head against the wall several times and another one held my breasts tightly. I was resisting both interrogators. I never cried and stayed steadfast throughout … I was unable to find sanitary napkins nor did I have any extra underwear … I asked the interrogator for sanitary napkins. He said, ‘You talk, we will get you some.’ He [the interrogator] put one of his legs here [she stood up and demonstrated the scene for us]; he pushed one of his legs between my legs and wrapped his other leg around me … I knew they were exploiting Palestinian social or traditional norms. I wanted to give him the message that he will not scare me by this pressure he is putting on me. He looked at me and said: ‘You are smelly and filthy. Fuck off.’ He kicked me with his boots and said, ‘you disgust me … you sharameet [plural of sharmouta] always move from one man to the next in the PFLP.’

Haleema ‘A.’

Ghada’s experience of sexual assault was voiced thus:

I was beaten very frequently, on all parts of my body. There was a lot of psychological terror and threat of rape. They kept saying: ‘We will sleep with you now if you do not answer our questions ….’ I went through shabeh many times. One day, several interrogators entered my cell as I was defecating in my cell. They would take me to interrogation, then to the solitary confinement. I spent five weeks in solitary confinement. After two months of my detention, they moved me to a room with other women and I stayed there for 20 days; the room was very tiny. It had a bathroom and one tap that dripped all night. I was sleep deprived throughout my detention. I lost eight kilos during interrogation.

Ghada

his orders: ‘Take off your clothes.’ I placed my hands over my chest for protection. He did not give me any time, and asked the others in the room to undress me. I resisted but it did not help as I was lying on the floor naked, with my hands cuffed behind my back, I was thrown on the floor. The cuffs were pressing on my spine and it was painful. The short interrogator placed his both ankles on my belly. The tall one – Uzraeel – opened my legs using a wooden pole, and the woman held my head in place with her foot. The one who was holding me with both ankles started brushing my breasts with his huge hands, while Uzraeel started pushing a wooden pole into my vagina. They kept crushing my breasts, and trying to penetrate my vagina with a wooden pole, but could not do it … I resisted fiercely. Aisha

The use of sexuality, especially in the form of attempted rape, as a method of torture of Palestinian political prisoners was rather widespread in Israeli prisons. Qahira al-Saadi, who was released after ten years of imprisonment in Israeli jails in the January 2012 prisoners exchange with Hamas, said that she had been held for interrogation for three-and-a-half months at the Moscobiyya, then transferred to Ramla (Ayalon) prison. Referring to her incarceration, she said that Israeli guards mistreated and tortured her during the interrogation; the guards ‘threatened to rape me.

Targeting women’s body and sexuality was a policy used in Israeli prison interrogations of Palestinian female detainees. Women complained about the refusal of the interrogator or the prison guard to provide them with sanitary pads during menstruation. Detainees who were sentenced and placed in prison rooms would rip some of the rags used as bed sheets or covers and use these; others in solitary confinement, in isolation cells or during interrogation would be left bleeding all over their only pants.

Salwa expressed her feelings on this issue thus:

During interrogation I had my period; I asked for napkins, for cotton, anything, but they refused. I begged for toilet paper, and they refused. They kept saying: ‘You stay the way you are because you are smelly and filthy and we want you to die, and then we will say you committed suicide …’ My blood filled my underpants and pants, and during these days, I was in a lot of pain.

Salwa

[udhhyog2]

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[theantarwitch]

Diatomite: Between Witches and Cats

You have a cat? Do you have litter? Then you probably have something interesting between your pet's paws. Today: Diatomite and its possible uses (long post).

First, disclaimer. There are many types of litter, made of different materials, today I will only talk about diatomite (those white porous stones).

I'm going to get into a topic that I touched lightly a while ago. The uses for feline sanitary stones (uses in witchcraft, because it has many uses in the everyday life, which can be googled in 3 seconds). It is not exactly a 100% safe material, but it is cheap and anyone who has a cat inside the house probably has a bag of it.

Let's start from the base. What is it? It is a siliceous sedimentary rock, formed by microfossils of diatoms, which are unicellular aquatic algae that secrete a siliceous skeleton called a frustule. That is, a stone formed by algae fossils. FOSSIL STONE. First interesting fact.

Diatomite then has 3 “parts”. It is a rock, a sediment that remains between layers of stone and earth. It is a fossil of a plant. From an aquatic plant. Therefore, its rock/fossil nature gives it the correspondence of Earth, while its aquatic plant past gives it the correspondence of Water.

From the “algae fossil” section, let us remember the characteristics of both.

Fossils: There is a lot of information about fossils out there in the ocean of the internet, so I'll keep this short and basic; In general it brings protection, security, stability, long life, good for grounding, great tools for ancestral work, etc.

Algae: The ocean itself is a source of endless wisdom, healing and magical powers, it is the “primordial soup of life on earth.” Algae, due to be so much out there, provide good luck and abundance, and are often considered a bridge between land and water. Due to their characteristic of living in the shadows of the sea, they are also imbued with dark and deep energies, which is not usually the norm among other plants (terrestrial plants, in general, are loaded with solar energy, while algae have less of this element). That is why it is said that algae are more linked to the moon than to the sun.

This characteristic of darkness, moon and depth makes them a great tool to summon entities (Mermaids and Merme, Gods and Goddesses of the Sea, Nymphs) and dark entities in general.

Being a plant that grows, is born and dies surrounded by salt water, its energy repellent capabilities are more than evident. Salt + water + moon = extreme banishing powers (drive away evil spirits, change bad luck, neutralize negative energies, neutralize curses).

Although not all algae have the same magical properties, they do share the aforementioned.

Diatoms (the algae that make up diatomite) are microscopic algae, basically Phytoplankton. These algae are responsible for half of the planet's oxygen.

With that we already have a wealth of useful characteristics for witchcraft, just considering its basic physical properties. But there is more.

Now let's remember some of the uses of diatomite: It is used as a filtration aid, mild abrasive, mechanical insecticide, absorbent for liquids, cat litter, thermal insulator, and a soil for potted plants.

Filter? This ability can be used when a spell is needed that lets the good through, but not the bad, to get rid of small annoyances.

Absorbent? Just as some recommend activated charcoal to make curses that fuck up the effects of medicines, this stone can do the same. And it can absorb both the good and the bad.

Thermal insulator? Perfect to add to “freezer spells”, since in addition to isolating it from any “warmth”, it filters it, leaving the person behind. Added to the banishing capabilities of the algae.

Safety Notice: Diatomite dust is bad for the lungs. The toxicity is low, one time will not hurt, but breathing it for a long time can cause harmful effects. Being abrasive and absorbent, it can dry out your hands, so it is suggested to use gloves. But likewise... Those harmful abilities can be perfect for ruining the health of someone who really deserves it.

But until now we have talked about the “clean” version. Let's remember what we said at the beginning, it's litter. Absorbs cat urine. If you have a cat and have the stomach for it, you can use the used stones.

What better element for a curse than cat urine? It is waste, toxic, with a pungent, repulsive smell, highly difficult to remove...

Extra important safety: Do NOT wash any cat urine with bleach, the chemical reaction is highly toxic. Water and detergent ALWAYS.

Diatomite can also absorb other things (less or more disgusting, it depends on you) and function as a “liquid soaked in rock”, you can add different liquids to enhance it according to your interests. Consecrated water, holy water, sun or moon water. Perfume, blood, herbal oil, tears (?), sweat, drinks, coffee, milk, tea, potions... A world of possibilities.

In addition, it can function as a miniature “spell jar” that does not attract attention. Liquid spell, imbue it in the stones and leave it where it is needed, its absorbent properties will make it very difficult for someone to smell it and the “just rock/trash” appearance makes it perfect for stealthy spells or for closed witches.

Anyway, next time you buy litter, maybe it's a good idea to save some for yourself!

[istanbulperitaliani]

La Turchia è ufficialmente sotto sfratto

Queste non sono foto che riguardano il terremoto del 6 febbraio del 2023. Sono foto di Istanbul ed in qualche modo sono collegate al sisma dove persero la vita circa 60mila persone.

Decenni di urbanizzazione disordinata accompagnata da una edilizia mediocre hanno prodotto città vulnerabili.

Facciamo una premessa: Dopo il Terremoto di Van del 2012 nasce la legge 6306 per facilitare la trasformazione delle aree urbane a rischio sismico (si stima circa il 66% della Turchia).

Questa legge alla fine ha spalancato le porte alla speculazione. Lo abbiamo visto nel Terremoto di Gaziantep del 2023 dove case di recente costruzione sono collassate.

Dopo il terremoto di Gaziantep venne approvato un maxi emendamento alla legge 6306. Anche questo emendamento alla fine sta producendo una campagna nazionale di espropri e di ricostruzione perché vengono date priorità ad aree ad alto potenziale speculativo rispetto a quelle ad elevato rischio sismico.

Come funziona? basta l'assenso del 50%+1 dei proprietari (prima erano chiesti i 2/3) con minaccia di esproprio per chi non approva. Sono dimezzati i tempi per i ricorsi, gli abitanti hanno 90 giorni per lasciare la casa con immediata chiusura delle utenze e lo sfratto forzato. Oltre alle spese di demolizione ai proprietari viene addebitato l’aumento di valore dell’immobile. Chi non può farlo é costretto ad un nuovo indebitamento con lo Stato, o a farsi versare il valore stimato dell’abitazione pre-trasformazione o si vedrà trasferire la proprietà altrove, per esempio in un comprensorio di edilizia pubblica.

Gli affittuari non sono presi in considerazione.

Questo ovviamente riguarda tutta la Turchia. E sono in atto molte proteste. E' vero che c'é bisogno di una velocizzazione del rinnovamento edilizio ma se non é seguito da un riassetto urbano ragionato in chiave antisismica rimane del tutto inutile. Infine questo tipo di ricostruzione rende la sicurezza più che un diritto un asset economico. In pratica in Turchia la sicurezza vale solo per chi riesce a permettersela.

Tralascio il discorso sulla rimozione dei milioni di tonnellate di detriti. Meritano un discorso a parte. Basti pensare che in moltissimi casi vengono rimossi in fretta e senza seguire le normative sanitarie e ambientali. Con le proteste delle comunità insieme ad ingegneri ed ambientalisti.

La mia Vita a Istanbul: consigli e informazioni turistiche. Disponibile come GUIDA per delle ESCURSIONI in città. Scrivi una e-mail a: istanbulperitaliani@gmail.comSeguici anche su www.facebook.com/istanbulperitaliani