The Cannibal Prince

VIDEO: Living Under Israel’s Missiles

Four boys of the Bakr family were killed by a missile strike during last year’s incursion. Their surviving family members are still scarred from the attack.

More than anyone, children bear the brunt of regular Israeli military assaults on the Gaza Strip. During the 51-day war in the summer of 2014, 551 children were killed and 3,436 were injured. But these gruesome figures say little about the psychological state of the nearly 800,000 children who have survived the periodic bombing campaigns. After the final cease-fire that ended Israel’s Operation Protective Edge on August 26 of last year, UNICEF estimated that at least 425,000 Palestinian children in the besieged Gaza Strip require “immediate psychosocial and child protection support.”

[ The physical wounds of Gaza children might have healed, but they live with enduring psychological trauma ]

You know, an interesting tumblr transformation that's happened gradually, and which I've seen no one talk about: ask-culture has essentially dropped off to nothing.

By which I mean, asks used to be WAY more of the tumblr economy. They used to be more common to send, and receive, and see. They were integral to the collaborative, forum-like behavior of old tumblr communities, not even to speak on the HUGE number of ask-blogs that used to exist to only be interacted with in ask-form.

I'm not saying this in a vying-for-attention way but instead in an observational way: I used to get way way more asks in like 2015, even with a fraction of my follower count. I wonder if it's due to the homogenization of social media sites? There's a lot more of this divide between "content creator" and "consumer" instead of just a bunch of peer blogs who would talk to each other. "Asks" aren't really a thing on twitter, are they? And as I understand it, the closest thing to an "ask" on instagram or tiktok would be a creator screenshotting some comment and responding to it in a new reel or video or whatever those content mediums are. Are asks just too tumblr-specific? Is that aspect of the site culture dying out as more and more people converge to using all their social media sites in the same way?

the woman dies.

Rotten root in Little Hangleton

tom riddle—a certain romance.

.ೃ࿐ྂ tom riddle x fem!reader

summary: tom provides a distraction when your period arrives.

word count: 1.1k

fanfic no. 024

tom wasn’t used to being stood up. he’d had no chance to harbour a dislike for the act because it had never happened until now—not that he could recollect anyway. but now that it had, he hated it.

it was basic manners to turn up to something you’d organised, or at least let him know sufficiently in advance if you weren’t able to attend. he felt cheated. and not that he was particularly concerned with his reputation at hogwarts (but he was), he couldn’t let this go.

currently, unbeknownst to tom riddle, you were hauled up in your dormitory, cradling your stomach, hoping that this change of position would relieve some pain. the water on your bedside had long been empty, and the food you’d taken from breakfast was hardening. on the brink of tears, you slipped a blanket over your shoulders and stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow you whole.

tom, on the other hand, was storming through the castle with a stone cold face, lips pursed and hands in his pockets. it wasn’t unusual for tom to strut through the halls like this, but something about his blank stare caused some alarm with the younger students.

“watch out!” a second year hissed, pulling his friend back by the collar as tom flew past.

he barely noticed.

there was sharp knock at your door, and at first you thought someone must’ve gotten the wrong dorm, but it persisted despite you not answering. stomping over to the door, you whipped it open before another knock could disturb the little peace you had left.

“what?!” you seethed, only recognising the person in your doorway afterwards. “oh, tom. what are you doing here?” you asked.

tom screwed his eyebrows together. surely it was obvious what he was doing at your door. he had waited for you in the library for nearly forty-five minutes—he must have looked like an utter fool. how he hated to be humiliated.

“i-”

“oh! oh, tom, i’m so sorry. i completely forgot,” you threw your hands over your mouth guiltily.

tom looked past you and into your room, noticing the strewn sheets, blankets, stale food and tipped over glass on your bedside. then he looked back at you, expression softening slightly.

“are you unwell?” he questioned you.

“in a matter of speaking, aunt flo has come to visit,” you said delicately.

tom made no answer, only continued staring as if asking you to elaborate further to relieve his confusion.

“that time of the month, tom.”

he shifted. “oh.”

you nodded, leaning against your doorframe. the pain had subsided momentarily in tom’s presence, but now that the excitement had died down, it was coming back full force.

tom said nothing, but his eyes poured into yours, and suddenly his anger had vanished and in its place was a much softer emotion he didn’t care to name. he brushed past you into your room, ignoring the questions you threw his way. retrieving your glass and plate of food, he exited your dorm and placed them on a nearby table.

he was back in an instant, pressing his hand to your lower back and silently ushering you back into your own room. he stopped in front of your bed, and you sat down. the next moment he was gone, and you weren’t aware of how long he’d been away, still trying to understand what he was doing and whether he was coming back or if that was the end of your odd exchange.

but before you knew it, he had returned with a full glass of water and a bowl of fruit. he could barely believe it himself. he didn’t care to look after people other than himself, it wasn’t in his nature, nor in his interest. and he seldom did things that weren’t in his interest.

but he found himself in the hogwarts kitchen arranging fruit in a bowl and asking specially for blackberries because he’d seen you eat them frequently.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he looked down to you, his gaze sliding down his sharp face and onto yours. he didn’t speak much, not unless he deemed it necessary, and sometimes you appreciated this.

“you’re welcome,” he replied, sitting in the chair in the corner of your room, his ankle resting on his knee and hand gracing over his lips as his elbow rested on the arm of the chair.

it was as if he was examining you. you tried not to wince or react to the pain in your stomach for as long as you could, but eventually you couldn’t help it. tom didn’t move a muscle as he watched you.

“do you like to read?” he asked finally, cutting the tension in half.

“yes,” you answered, “my books are over there if you’d like to have a look.”

tom’s eyes flickered to where you had pointed, and he could see several titles from where he was sitting. in one swift movement he got up from the chair, slipped his hands in his pockets and stepped over to your shelf.

he selected a novel from your collection and returned to the chair.

“you can sit over here, you know.”

tom turned, looking at the space next to you on the bed. “very well.”

the mattress dipped with his weight, and you tried to control your pulse from racing just by him being so near. but his scent was intoxicating—he smelled expensive—and his thigh was almost touching yours. it was the perfect distraction from the pain, though you wouldn’t have guessed such a thing.

tom, too felt nervous, and he didn’t like to feel this way. but he suspected that this type of nervousness wouldn’t be as bothersome as the rest. he pushed the tremble in his voice down and opened the first page of ‘a room with a view’.

his deep voice was calming, diverting, too. though lucy honeychurh and george emerson’s story was also, over time his body had inched closer to yours subconsciously, and now you were touching like it was the most normal thing in the world. after a while, you’d moved back on the bed, head resting against your pillows and legs curled up into you. tom had been resistant at first to make himself comfortable, but had done as you asked and situated himself against your headboard.

bravery had taken hold of you nearly an hour into the reading session, and you dared to rest your head against tom’s shoulder. he didn’t stop reading, he didn’t move, but you could feel him stiffen ever so slightly, and then let go.

after a while, he even ventured to twist his pinky finger around yours, forcing himself to awkwardly turn the pages of the book one-handed—though neither of you were bothered about this.

it was quiet, it was intimate and private, and the moment was yours. and though it was only george and lucy who had shared an embrace, you hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before you and tom would share one of your own.

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @mad-elia @velvetcloxds @garfieldsladybird @flesh--amnesiac

Darth Plagueis being the third wheel for Oshamir is one of the funniest things that’s happened in the star wars fandom

Larys realizing Aemond won't make him his Hand so immediately he goes back to Aegon like babe

when we were young [levi ackerman]

now playing: when we were young - adele

tags: fluff, old levi reminiscing, established relationship, flashback, canonverse, mentions of violence (non-graphic)

levi didn’t mind getting old, not really. he didn’t care for the deep smile lines or the wrinkles around his eyes. however, he did mind that he couldn’t pick his wife up and carry her to bed with ease anymore. he especially hated that his knee would still buckle if he didn’t use that bloody cane to get across a room.

levi ackerman, for the first time in his fifty-five years of life, had managed to nick himself while shaving. you stepped into the bathroom to grab something, eyes wide at the stream of blood running down his neck.

“what happened?” you were quick to grab the first-aid kit from the cabinet, eyes panning at him.

“i was just shaving, keep it down.” he rolled his eyes, sitting at the edge of the tub. he unbuttoned his shirt, already stained at the collar, and discarded it on the floor.

you looked down at him with a smile. his muscles were still there, though much less defined. the scars from his youth, long healed, a painful reminder of what he had been through.

you dabbed alcohol on a cotton pad before sitting down on his good leg.

“this is pretty deep, levi.” you muttered. he winced when the alcohol came in touch with the cut on his cheek, his fingers pressing against your waist.

“my hand still shakes sometimes.” he looked down at his three remaining fingers with a sigh. the nerves were all messed up, but he was insistent on using that hand for everything still.

“it’s okay, old man. i’ll shave you from now on.” you chuckled, cleaning up the dried-up blood from his jaw.

“you know what this reminds me of, brat?”

levi’s brows were furrowed, a scowl permanently etched in his features as you tried to make him sit down.

“captain, your face is full of blood.”

“it’s not mine.”

“some of it is yours.”

you weren’t really sure what had happened. it was all so fast. a soldier calling you a slut, you punching him, him slapping you back. that’s when levi had stepped in.

you finally managed to get levi to sit down, opening the first-aid kit beside you on his desk.

“he shouldn’t have slapped you.” was all he muttered before getting up again. you brought your hands to his shoulders, pushing him down with all the force you could muster.

“hey! let someone help you for once.” gray eyes shot up at yours, growing wide when you sat down on his knee to keep him in place. he didn’t utter a single word as you cleaned his face up with a damp towel, not even wincing when you dabbed alcohol against his busted lip.

he realised he didn’t particularly mind your breath fanning against his cheek, or your hair falling in his eyes. he certainly didn’t mind you shuffling on his lap, like you weren’t his soldier and he your captain.

“you’re sitting on me.” he said, more like an acknowledgment. you panicked and tried to get up, but levi’s arms wrapped around your hips. “thanks.”

“for sitting on you?” a smile played on your lips in the dimly-lit office, “captain.” you added, to be safe.

“don’t call me captain like that.”

“like what?”

“you’re making it dirty.”

“what does it remind you of, captain?” you shook levi out of his thoughts. he wrapped his arms further around your waist, pulling you closer. he knew you remembered the same thing.

“almost thirty years later, you’re still cheeky.”

“it never goes away.” you sighed, leaning down to peck his lips.

in his memory, he was lifting you up with one arm to plop you down on the desk and kiss you. in the present, you had to pull him up carefully and hand him his cane.

levi didn’t mind, though. some parts of him still worked just fine.

NASA DID NOT CONFIRM THAT THERE IS A PARALLEL UNIVERSE/REALITY!!! guys please stop spreading misinformation. The whole parallel universe thing is a theory amongst many other theories about what's going on with the high energy neutrinos coming upwards and out of the ground.