Caption On Post -

Caption on post -

Interview with released prisoner and cancer patient Mohammad Aklouk, who had been detained since the start of the war. Mohammad describes the horrific conditions of his detainment, including the small, oppressive cell windows and the inability to see sunlight. The repression units frequently ordered prisoners to drop to the ground and brutally beat them. Mohammad emotionally recalls a fellow prisoner, Mohammad Al-Kahlout from Jabalia, who was struck in the head and died in his arms. Aklouk is one of 70 prisoners who were released on June 11th 2024 through the Zikim crossing west of Beit Lahia currently staying in Kamal Adwan Hospital.

By @translating_falasteen on Instagram.

Source: @mahmoud_awadia

Translation: @translating_falasteen

Link to post.

This is my mother preparing bread despite the war and bombing everywhere 😔💔 I hope you can help me, I want her to be fine 😔 Thank you very much my friends🙏🙏 https://www.tumblr.com/ahmed-ziad/752355342201028608/plea-for-safety-a-cry-from-the-heart-of-gaza?source=share

I don't have any money to donate right now but I'll spread this

YAAAAASSSSS KILL THOSE BITCHES

Hii!! I would like to request a Sukuna x Reader, bcs I just love how you write him:))

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though please!

Hope you have a great day!!:))

to provoke — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: glad you like him! <3

you had always known that being with sukuna meant navigating through a maze of power plays and manipulation. his affection—if it could be called that—was far from simple.

but nothing had quite prepared you for this.

the concubines had arrived without warning, and with them, an unsettling shift in the atmosphere.

it wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they paraded through the palace, casting knowing glances in your direction, their soft laughter echoing behind closed doors.

at first, you’d ignored it, pretending their arrival hadn’t bothered you. after all, sukuna did what he wanted—always had. you were no stranger to his need to push limits, to test you.

but the whispers, the sly smiles, the way they flaunted themselves in his presence—it wore on you. each teasing glance felt like a needle, pricking at the thin veil of composure you were desperately trying to maintain.

one night, as you passed a group of them in the corridor, one of the concubines stepped forward, her lips curving into a smirk.

“he’s quite fond of us, you know,” she murmured, her tone almost sweet, but dripping with venom. “you must feel so… left out.”

her words struck you. it is one thing for sukuna to do something, but for them to think that they can even talk to you?

it seemed the bitch forgot who her queen is.

her impudence was the reason why her head was separated from her body and laid on the ground. you let out a breath, as the rest of the concubines fled the scene.

you wiped the blood of your face, eyes boring into the woman’s lifeless eyes. if sukuna wanted his concubines, fine. you wouldn’t fight for his attention. you wouldn’t play his games.

days passed. the concubines roamed the halls freely, their shrill laughter occasionally filtering through the walls as they entertained him. you found solace in avoiding them all—avoiding him

perhaps, you thought bitterly, if you stayed out of sight long enough, he'd forget you altogether. but sukuna, being who he was, had no intention of letting that happen.

“you’ve been quiet,” his voice cuts through the air one evening, startling you from your thoughts.

he stands in the doorway of your chambers, his presence filling the room with that suffocating air of dominance that never fails to make your skin prickle.

“I have nothing to say,” you reply, not bothering to look up from where you sit. your voice is even, but you know he can hear the tension lying just beneath the surface.

“oh?” he steps closer, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “and here I thought you might have something to say about the new additions to my palace.”

your hands tighten in your lap, but you force yourself to remain calm. “they’re none of my concern, husband.”

sukuna’s laugh is low, mocking. “really? you’re not even a little bit jealous?”

you clench your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. this is exactly what he wants—he brought them here to provoke you, to see how far he can push before you break.

but you won’t break. not this time.

“they’re beautiful, aren’t they?” sukuna continues, his voice a lazy drawl as he leans against the wall, watching you closely. “so eager to please. so quick to obey.”

your stomach twists, but you remain silent.

“and yet…” he trails off, his gaze sharpening. “you’ve been avoiding me, wife.”

“I’ve had no reason to be around,” you mutter, finally meeting his gaze, the weight of his scrutiny pressing down on you. you scowl. “and my pride will not allow me to be around a man who does not respect me.”

sukuna’s expression darkens, the amusement slipping slightly as he straightens. “is that what you think?”

you stare at him, defiant, but he only smirks again, his eyes glinting with something more dangerous now. without another word, he turns, motioning for you to follow.

confused, but unwilling to let him have the upper hand, you rise and trail after him, your steps hesitant. sukuna leads you through the palace, deeper into the dimly lit halls until you reach a secluded chamber.

he pushes the doors open with a casual flick of his wrist, revealing what lies inside.

you freeze, breath catching in your throat.

the concubines—every last one of them—lie lifeless on the floor, their bodies unnervingly still. blood pools beneath them, staining the once pristine floor. the air is thick with the scent of death.

sukuna steps inside, his voice disturbingly casual. “they served their purpose.”

you can’t speak. your mind reels, torn between shock and something else—something dark and twisted that tells you this is sukuna’s way of proving something to you. it’s not that you’re unused to carnage.

hell, you even killed one yourself.

but their bodies are so deformed beyond comprehension, they no longer look like humans.

“they were never meant to last,” he says, glancing at you with a bored expression, as if the carnage before him is nothing more than a trivial inconvenience. “did you really think they meant anything?”

the words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“you killed them?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

sukuna’s smirk widens, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “of course. they were disposable.”

a twisted part of you wants to feel relief—relief that they’re gone, that the torment is over. but another part of you feels sickened by the sight, by the casual cruelty of it all.

“you’re the only one deemed my queen,” sukuna says, stepping closer until he’s looming over you, his hand gripping your chin with just enough force to make you wince. “remember that.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else pooling in your stomach. sukuna is many things—cruel, violent, unyielding.

but in his own twisted way, this is his version of loyalty. his way of showing you that no matter how many games he plays, you’re the only one who truly matters.

you swallow hard, meeting his gaze. “and what if I leave?”

sukuna’s grin widens, his eyes narrowing with dark amusement. “you won’t.”

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HES THE LIVING PROOF OF MY TYPE OF GUY

could you please write something where maybe bombshell!reader hears one of the team members teasing about how she’s torturing spencer and she kinda backs off with the flirting and maybe it’s his turn to hold her hand and call her cute names because even though he always says he doesn’t mind, maybe he does and he just doesn’t want to tell her

tysm for requesting, 1k

Spencer's hair is brown silk in the sun. You bite your tongue to hold in a compliment rearing to come out, saccharine and completely true. Looking sweet, Spence. 

You love to compliment him and especially while Hotch is out of earshot. He and Derek play pairs against two agents from a different unit, their tennis racquets a shiny FBI navy. You start to speak and bite it back —a memory flashes, a shouting stop sign. 

You'd been teasing Spencer as he left the room, something about his indecisive hair. He's cut it shorter but left his curls without product, and you love it. 

Poor guy, Emily'd murmured, lips set against the rim of her coffee cup. 

What's the matter with him? you asked, perplexed. 

Nothing, just that he spins into a total meltdown every time you guys are within ten feet of each other. He must be exhausted.

She was joking and you know that, but something deep down worries she's right. It's not fair for you to keep winding him up… Especially when Spencer might be going along with you because he isn't sure how to say no. 

What if you're forcing yourself on him? 

You're sitting together on a small blanket in the grass with Anderson and a few of the other less competitive BAU agents. You bring your bottled iced tea to your forehead to cool down, condensation wetting your hot skin. The top of your head feels as though it has the full concentration of the sun beating against it. 

Spencer looks up at your movement. He's been reading a book for pleasure, or so he says, so he isn't going a mile a minute but he's still way faster than the average Joe. "Do you want to go find some shade?" he asks. 

"You look comfortable," you say, putting your iced tea aside.

Which is to say, I don't want you to come with me, it would disrupt you. Spencer nods and turns to the brown leather of his familiar satchel, popping the buckle open to dig around inside. 

"Do you think this would be okay?" he asks, bringing out his baseball cap. 

The fabric is starchy and the brim stiff as you accept it and wedge it over your head. You don't immediately cool, but your heart spins strange loops. "Thank you," you say. Thank you, handsome, gorgeous, baby, all beg to be said. 

Spencer stays looking at you for longer than normal. 

"Do I have something on my face?" you ask, swatting self consciously at your cheeks. 

"Nothing. You look really pretty," he says. 

"Thank you." Another loop. You point at his book, fingertip hitting a creamy page with a small thud. "Is this any good?" 

"I think you'd really like it, it feels like that last book I borrowed from you, and you loved that. They're very similar. I can lend it to you when I'm done." 

"Don't rush it for my sake."

Spencer gives you a private smile. "I won't. Just because you could watch a movie at two times speed doesn't mean you should." 

Your returning smile isn't half as nice. No shared lightness, no bright eyes. You're feeling awkward and unhappy —you really like Spencer. Like, you think you could be happy together for a long long time sort of like. He's charming and sweet and no one is ever as kind to him as he deserves, which is why you're trying to be kind now by putting distance between you.

You'll be brash forever. You can't change that, and Spencer doesn't need the stress of dealing with you, not on top of everything else. 

His smile fades as yours does. Quiet, without fuss, he scoots back on the picnic blanket, putting you knee to knee. The subtle muscle of his arm presses to yours and his hand wraps gently around your wrist as he dips his head down, his cheek touching briefly to your shoulder. 

"I know it's nice, but if the heat is getting to you we should go inside," he says, his fingers sliding across your palm to slot between your own. He squeezes your hand. "Heat stroke isn't obvious at first. Do you feel woozy?"

You stare at your twined fingers. He surprises you again, being this soft with you, and being uncharacteristically forward. Or maybe not uncharacteristic at all; Spencer won't let something like timidity stop him from comforting someone that needs it. 

"Spence," you murmur, closing your eyes, face angled down. 

"What?" 

"I'm sorry if I… If I've been messing you around. But I don't think this is a good idea." 

"What's not a good idea?" 

You can't make yourself say it. Instead, you rub the back of his hand, more for your own comfort than his, your tongue like a useless lump in your mouth. 

"You're sorry? Are you sure you're okay?" Spencer asks, no heed to the people sitting with you as he lets go of your hand to put his arm behind your shoulder like a shield. 

"I don't want to torture you," you say. 

Your friends love that word. You torture Spencer with your flirting and your easy affection. 

Spencer makes a face, eyes squinting and nose wrinkled. "They're just kidding when they say that. Emily, Morgan, they like making fun of me, it's like, sibling bonding or something. They don't say it because there's actually something to feel sorry about." He lowers his voice, bashful but sincere at once, "If you're torturing me, I guess I'm a masochist." 

You laugh without thinking, a breathless, girlish sound you'd regret if you had the wherewithal. "You're a masochist?" you ask. 

He takes the brim of your borrowed hat and pushes it up to unobstruct the view of your eyes. 

"If that's what it takes," he says. A hint of wryness creeps into his otherwise smooth tone. 

Despite his brave talk and his steady eye contact, his face has started to blush. A rosy hue kisses the tops of his cheeks and his nose, a dusting of pink splodges stark against his paleness. The curve of his lips seems extra tantalising now. He's very, very pretty. 

And he doesn't mind stepping in to take the reins when you're unsure of things. 

"We really should sit in the shade for a bit," he says. "Let's get drinks from the gazebo. Yeah?" 

You're halfway through a nod when he kisses your cheek too quickly for you to respond. You follow him to the gazebo without any more reluctance, weaselling your hand back into his, and attempt to pull another kiss from him.

Ayo something is wrong with my wattpad acc

I'm embracing my Kimi Ni Todoke era back now that season 3 is confirmed!