I Want To Come On Here And Talk My Shit About This Whole Entire Nick ‘cancelled’ Thing.

nothin but matt lookin fucked out

spot the difference,GO!

Vi x Male Reader headcanons!

yeah you fucking wish

"B-but Palestinians can get their freedom with peace not violence 🥺🥺" no. Screw your feelings. The armed resistance against colonizers and murderers is what will give Palestinians their freedom and what will eventually achieve real peace.

An enemy that bombs and uses white phosphorus against civilians doesn't know nor practice what your broken moral compass describes as "peace". Freedom was proven throughout history not to be achieved through kneeling and asking the oppressor to kindly stop. Freedom needs to be taken by force. Your little Utopian way of thinking doesn't work in the real world. Your feelings don't matter because you're not the one living under occupation. Your feelings don't matter because you're not one of the thousands of children who lost their limbs. You're not one of the children who became orphans due to this genocide. You're not the mother who lost her child to the carpet bombing. You're not the father carrying the remains of your child in plastic bags. You're not the newlywed woman who lost her husband. You're not the one at risk of either getting killed any second or losing your loved ones in the blink of an eye!

"Peace" is not really a thing you see during a live ethnic cleansing!

manifesting a pretty masc girlfriend that plays guitar

family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”

me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:

𝐀 𝐌𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐮𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

fluff| Tom Riddle | ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.| | Tom Riddle Masterlist | Masterlist

Summary: Y/N asks Tom Riddle for something he's never given—comfort. Though hesitant, Tom awkwardly mimics a gesture of affection, pulling her into an embrace. As warmth spreads between them, Tom battles with unfamiliar feelings of connection, but when Y/N pulls away, he struggles to hide his desire for the closeness to return.

Word Count: 718

Tom Riddle was always observant, his sharp mind attuned to even the smallest changes in the people around him. And today, something about Y/N was… off. She wasn’t her usual self, quieter than normal, and there was a subtle tension in her movements that hadn’t escaped his notice. They sat together in the dim common room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. He studied her closely, brows furrowed.

"Tom," Y/N's voice broke the silence, soft and hesitant. She glanced at him, eyes pleading in a way she rarely allowed herself to show. "Can I have a hug?"

For a moment, he stiffened. A hug? Tom had never been one for displays of affection. It wasn’t something that came naturally to him. His mind raced, trying to recall if he had ever seen anyone in his life offer comfort in such a simple gesture. But none of that mattered now, not with her looking at him like that. Still, he hesitated, unsure, his body rigid with discomfort.

When Y/N reached out, her hand brushing his shoulder, he instinctively tensed. Yet, before he could pull away or say something cold to mask his uncertainty, she leaned in, pulling him gently toward her. Something in the way she clung to him—like he was her anchor in a storm—made him react.

Tom moved awkwardly at first, imitating what he'd seen others do, slipping one arm around her back and, after a beat of hesitation, placing the other behind her head. He'd seen people embrace like this, hadn’t he? It seemed… right, though foreign. Y/N nestled against him, her warmth seeping through his robes, and despite himself, Tom found the rigid lines of his posture beginning to soften.

At first, every fiber of his being resisted the closeness, but as the seconds ticked by, something strange began to happen. His body slowly relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing as the unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He didn’t understand it, didn’t quite know how to process the sensation of having her so close, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, there was a certain peace in it, a calm that settled over him, one he hadn't anticipated.

Tom Riddle was not used to comfort—neither receiving it nor giving it—but as he held her, the scent of her hair and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing made something inside him shift. He didn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but he was… enjoying this. The closeness, the contact, her trust in him.

And then, just as he was getting used to the feeling, Y/N pulled away. Tom's arms, which had grown accustomed to holding her, instantly felt cold in her absence. He couldn’t stop the slight furrow of his brow as she moved out of his grasp, nor the faint flicker of displeasure that crossed his features.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured, as if she thought she had overstayed her welcome in his arms. She gave him a small, tentative smile, unaware of the internal battle waging within him.

Tom sat still for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I hated that," he said, his voice flat and emotionless, as if he was making a simple statement of fact.

Y/N blinked, a look of mild surprise flickering across her face. “Oh… okay.”

She started to turn away, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something he didn’t let slip often. Desperation, maybe? He quickly masked it, but not before it left an imprint on his thoughts. He hadn’t hated it. No, the truth was far more uncomfortable to admit: he wanted her to do it again. Desperately.

But Tom Riddle was not one to give in to such vulnerabilities. Instead, he scowled and crossed his arms, his tone curt, almost irritated. "I mean, it's pointless. There's no need for such… gestures."

But the way his eyes lingered on her, how his body seemed to slightly tilt in her direction even as he tried to maintain his cold composure, told a different story. Deep inside, buried beneath layers of control and calculated indifference, Tom knew he craved that closeness again. He wouldn’t admit it, not now, but the memory of her warmth remained, and he silently hoped she’d reach for him again.

When your genocidal warmongering colonialist imperialistic buff butch milf wolf mom wants you to join your home country’s military industrial complex but you’re too busy being artdeco steampunk fenty beauty mogul diplomat goddess with a buff latino-adjacent boytoy who has a situationship with a sad eastern European 90’s heroin-chic machine messiah Czech hunter twink boyfriend

oh my fuck

i need to ride his face

Seth Clearwater | Moodboard