Remember The 6 Year Old Girl Who Was Surrounded By Israeli Tanks And The Red Crescent Couldn't Reach

Remember the 6 year old girl who was surrounded by Israeli tanks and the red crescent couldn't reach her? Her name is Hind Hamadeh. Here you can hear the phone call her 15 year old sister, Layan Hamadeh, made with the medics. She was killed exactly a moment later including all people in the car, except for 6 year old Hind who was stuck in the car with the dead bodies of her family, Israeli tanks and IDF surrounding her, shooting, preventing anybody to reach her.

That was last night (29.1.24). Today, still nothing. The fate of Hind remains unknown.

palestine red crescent ambulance team went to rescue her yesterday evening, but they have not returned as of now. We lost contact with them about 18 hours ago, and we still remain unaware of their fate and whether they succeeded in evacuating her or not.

Please, share Hind's story as much as you can on any platform. We need to know what happened to her. Put yourself in her place, how terrified she must be. Don't scroll past this.

This is Hind.

The lamb!! But I added bull-like horns for extra intimidation!

I've been seeing Cotl content all over my fyp and decided to draw my take on Lambert!! I love them sm!!!

It's still surprising to see people say that when they see the upcoming strike post I made that this is the first time they're hearing about it, especially because I've seen several posts now talking about the same strike.

That being said: regardless of what kind of blog you are, please spread the news about the genocide, the strikes, boycotts, etc.

Even if you are a small blog, spreading word allows for more people to know what's going on and also do their part in protests and strikes, and maybe even the right people will be able to do more than what you're able to do.

And reminder: there is an upcoming strike on February 18th-25th. Prepare accordingly, protest, boycott, call your reps, and spread the word so more people are aware.

I JUST HAD A REVALUATION!!!!

I've been writing the first chapter of my DCA x reader Mafia AU fic and I've been STUCK on the ending for A LITERAL YEAR until just now I FINALLY figured out how the ending will play out!!!

The brain is braining and I'm high on ego boosters!!!

I'll post the chapter here and on my AO3 (even Wattpad if I'm feeling generous) and you guys will read for yourselves the SHEER CREATIVE JUICE that is leaking out of my face rn (I'm crying with joy)!!!!! AAAÀAKKSJSKDJSKSKHXDKDGKSHDKDHDBSKNSMSLSNDB

Gangle has some opinions...

Something I wrote about cooking bacon.

As the hand presses the prices of bacon down on the searing skillet, the last remnants of an animal, unremarkable in any way, yet with the same instinctual will to fight, its angry spirit embraces the fire that burns it. It embraces the hot oil that melts it's fat and cooks it's flesh, and uses it's torment to act in desperate rage. It's juices let up, the oil starts to boil, and with the merciless flame underneath, the oil cracks and hisses.

A warning for it's eminent retaliation.

And as the cruel spatula descends once again to press the meat down on the burning skillet, its anger explodes in a giant pop of vengeance. It's juices, it's blood, tainted by white hot hatred, transcends the bounds of it's torture device, and reaches higher, higher, straight for it's torturer. In it's anger, it attacks the first thing that it reaches, punishing the sinful hand that has been tormenting it. The sprays of the bacon's pain now become the pain of it's consumer.

The hand flinches. Weak. Unable to handle a drop from the scorching ocean the prossesed pork has endured. The hand relents. The skillet is being moved. The heat is letting up. A victory. One achieved by the burning desire to fight. Not for it's life this time, but as a last ditch effort to achieve something meaningful. To leave it's mark, no matter how small. And it did. It left a raw, red mark on the presteine skin of the omnipotent hand.

But the hand is stronger.

The bacon is long gone. Devoured. As it was always meant to be.

But its mark remains.

Still raw. Still red. Still hurting.

To the hand, it is of no consern. The hand will heal, regrow, forget.

The mind however, despite not getting marked, continues to remember.

In it's breakfast it found something greater. Something human. Emotions it experienced, parallels it understood.

The mark the bacon had fought for was fleeting and insignificant. But what it never lived to see, was that with it's vengeance, it left something far more everlasting than it could ever comprehend.

A post on Tumblr.