#dark academia boys

[sponssett]

you are art

[ellie-makes-mbs]

name moodboard for “kodi” for anonymous

[zexox]

Every boy is a red flag, you just need to choose your favourite shade of red.

[kiranightart]

Aster, The Curator 👁️

Ink & colored pencil on watercolor paper, with digital finishing

[mournfulroses]

Nikita Gill, from Fierce Fairytales Poems & Stories to Stir Your Soul; "Boy Lost,"

[heyimanonboy]

what i can't find in my life i may find in the bottom of another bottle

[graciepasty]

Neil Perry. Dead Poets Society (1989).

[shubhadeep385]

BEST PEOPLE OF 2024💖✨

Anyone you tag through this post, is/are the best people you met in 2024💖✨

[savethedeadboys]

If you vote, please also reblog to spread the poll ✨

[asoftepiloguemylove]

BUT WHO COULD LOVE ME? I AM OUT OF MY MIND // IVAN & TILL

pinterest // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Anne Sexton Complete Poems of Anne Sexton, "The Papa and Mama Dance" // Fall Out Boy Hum Hallelujah // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Ernest Hemingway The Garden of Eden // Florence + the Machine Grace // Elliot Wake Black Iris // The National Daughters of the Soho Riots // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Mitski I Guess // Adam Silvera They Both Die at the End // Lorde Writer in the Dark // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Margaret Atwood Cat's Eye // Chris Abani Dog Woman // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Warsan Shire Souvenir, "Our Men Do Not Belong to Us" // VIVINOS Alien Stage, "ROUND 6" (via youtube) // Louise Glück Faithful and Virtuous Night

[hourlyhoon]

[sponssett]

gif by @ye-ek

[niko-sasaki-dbd]

Edwin Payne (1900 – 1916)

Dead Boy Detectives Agency

[source: wasted by marya hornbacher || dead boy detectives, episode 1 || all-night pharmacy by ruth madievsky || notion by the rare occasions || pin by margaret lee || dead boy detectives, episode 7 || anecdote of the pig by tory adkisson || dead boy detectives, episode 1 + a study in scarlet by arthur conan doyle || the duchess of padua by oscar wilde || tumblr]

edwin / charles / paineland / niko / crystal

[byaseashore]

The Boy and the Heron (2023)

[aphoticarachne]

What is this feeling?

Tom Riddle x Reader

>> next chapter

Wherein you and Tom Riddle seem to loathe each other . . or do you?

a/n: I watched Wicked a few weeks ago and the song “What is this Feeling?” has been ringing in my mind so here we are.

Everyone who roamed the shadowed corridors of Hogwarts knew of the quiet war that lingered between you and Tom.

It was not something declared aloud, but rather something that settled in the air, cold and thin, like winter mist curling through the cracks of stone. You never quite understood why, but there it was — every word you spoke, every step you took, seemed to sharpen the edges of his gaze. It began subtly. A stray remark from the faculty during first year, their praise falling at your feet like scattered petals. You hadn’t thought much of it. But Tom had. Tom always noticed.

And then, of course, there was your magnetism. You drew attention without meaning to — a pureblood with a mind quick enough to match his, and a beauty that moved through rooms like a breath of wind. Naturally, people admired you. Naturally, he despised it.

There was no mild disdain in Tom Riddle. Only unadulterated loathing.

You learned not to flinch beneath the weight of it. His cold eyes followed you as if hexing you from afar was a temptation barely restrained. And perhaps, in some quiet part of you, you welcomed it. Rivalry, even unspoken, was still a kind of recognition. Over time, you had begun to play along, careful and deliberate, weaving your way into his path just to see the flicker of irritation cross his face.

In the end, you were as much to blame for it as he was.

So when Horace Slughorn, your Potions Professor, announced in seventh year that you’d be partnering with Tom, you nearly lost your composure.

It was absurd, really — the sudden heat in your chest, the tightening of your grip on the desk. Across the room, Tom’s gaze flicked toward you, impassive but sharp, as if Slughorn’s words had only confirmed something he already suspected.

The room felt smaller.

“Professor!” You called, carefully schooling your expression as Slughorn announced the partners for brewing Draught of the Living Death. He turned to you, his ever-present smile stretched wide, brimming with that thoughtless cheer he seemed to carry everywhere.

“Yes, dear girl?”

“Might I partner with someone else? Or perhaps work alone?” Your voice was light, polite, though the faint smile you forced felt stiff. Across the room, Tom’s gaze settled on you — disinterested, yet razor-sharp beneath the surface.

Mindless imbecile, you thought.

Slughorn’s brow furrowed, his jovial demeanor dimming by a flicker. “You’ve no issue with Mr. Riddle, I presume? No, I see no reason why two of my brightest students shouldn’t work together!” He clapped his hands, already drifting toward another group, humming contentedly.

A quiet, defeated sigh slipped past your lips. Was Slughorn truly so oblivious, so incurably naïve, to think this pairing was anything but disastrous?

You told yourself it was fine. You would endure it, as you always did. But there was a quiet undercurrent to it now, something that twisted beneath the surface like a serpent curling around bone.

As soon as class ended, you slipped through the door, your steps quick and deliberate. The weight of the room lifted the moment you crossed the threshold, and you exhaled quietly, eager to disappear into the steady flow of students crowding the corridor. The last thing you wanted was to linger, not with him still there, his gaze undoubtedly following you as it often did.

But just as you merged into the throng of robes and chatter—

Tom had called out your last name, like he always did whenever he felt the need to address you.

His voice rang clear, smooth and precise, cutting through the noise with unsettling ease. You didn’t stop. Didn’t turn. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to catch your attention, and by now you’d learned to brush past it, to pretend not to hear.

The students around you shifted, moving like water around stone, and you were ready to lose yourself among them—

Until his hand caught your wrist. Firm, but not careless.

A startled breath caught in your throat as Tom pulled you aside, his grip steady as he steered you into a narrow corridor. The sudden absence of noise made the air feel heavier, too still.

You tore your arm from his grasp, distaste flickering sharp in your eyes as you stepped back, creating distance between you.

“What do you want, Riddle?” Your tone was cold, sharpened by irritation you no longer cared to hide.

Tom straightened, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you with that same calculating look he always wore, the one that felt more like an assessment than anything else.

“Do you make a habit of ignoring everyone, or just the ones you despise?” he asked, his head tilting slightly. His voice was infuriatingly calm.

“I didn’t hear you,” you replied curtly, though the lie felt thin even to your own ears.

He hummed softly, the sound light but edged. “Lying is beneath you.”

You held his gaze, the quiet tension settling between you like fog. “Was there a reason you stopped me, or do you simply enjoy cornering students in secluded places?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed faintly, though his expression remained unreadable. “Starting next week, we meet after class. Every day. We work on the potion until it’s flawless.”

There was no invitation in his tone—only fact, as if the decision had already been made long before this conversation.

“I’ve already arranged for the use of Slughorn’s classroom. Go there when classes end.”

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer, cold and unwavering.

“Do you understand?”

"And what if I'm busy next week? Have you no consideration?" you shot back, arms crossing as you met his gaze without flinching. The truth was, your schedule was perfectly clear — not a single obligation to be found. But that wasn’t the point. Who was he to dictate your time as if it belonged to him?

Tom’s expression didn’t shift, not even slightly. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but something colder.

"And who, exactly, would be foolish enough to keep your company?" His voice was soft, almost thoughtful, but the insult laced beneath it struck hard enough.

Your eyes narrowed.

"4 PM," he continued, brushing past your challenge with practiced ease. "I expect you there. On time. Or I’ll brew the potion myself — and I’ll make sure Slughorn knows you contributed nothing."

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy and unmoving. His gaze lingered, deliberate as if daring you to test him further. But before you could summon a retort, he turned sharply on his heel and strode down the corridor, his robes trailing behind him like shadows curling at his feet.

You stayed rooted in place, watching as he disappeared around the corner.

Infuriating. Absolutely infuriating.

Deena speaks .ᐟ

English isn't my first language so I apologize if I'd made any mistakes, if so, please correct me.

I plan on making this a short fic, mayhaps 5+ chapters? Please give me opinions on how I should end this story! + I'm also sorry if it sucks, this is my first time writing!

[night-orcid]