A lot of hatred for white males is just intrasexual competition, because we are the most desirable in the dating market.

Terrorism is Not a Game. Remember October 7th.

I just really, really, really, really wanted to draw this (1/2) #malfoid

The thing is, Fem Draco has been a thing for years! They think they’ve come up with something special when women have been drawing lesbian drarry for a long time. There’s so much more but they don’t have watermarks so I didn’t want to repost them

#malfoid #HarryPotter Malfoid finally confronts her stalker..

Jean Grey: Murders a bunch of people But she just a poor helpless girly girl, murder doesn't count if she feels bad later Kerry: Murders Hal Jordan But she just a poor helpless girly girl, murder doesn't count if she feels bad Iron Heart: Commits multiple crimes that lead to many deaths But she just a poor helpless girly girl, murder doesn't count if she feels bad later (which she never did) The Flag Smasher girl boss from Falcon and the Winter Soldier murders lots of people including civilians with bombs But she's just a poor girly girl who... Uhm... Has anyone checked in on Hollywood? Are they okay over there? Do they know murder is bad? Can they define the word "hero"? Hell, can they define "good?" If they wrote the Lindsay Clancy story, she'd be the hero wouldn't she

I think the Malfoid trend is insanely fascinating because it's a commentary about men today. Malfoid was brought up from birth to hate everything about Harry, but despite everything in her corner of society pushing her to despise him and see Harry as a foe, she can't help but love him because he represents something her side of the wizarding world could never show her; honest love and a relationship not based on how useful someone is - which was one of the core themes of the books anyway. For men, Malfoid represents pure love - something modern men yearn for - because she had to overcome her own prejudices to let herself love him, and that's a love a man can trust. She fought for him while he fought the world that tried to enslave her emotionally and even physically. It's an incredible love story based on collective fan fiction by MEN that went viral because men are just thirsty for honest, trustworthy love. It's actually kind of heartbreaking when you think about it.

You know she's the Christopher Lee of the wizarding world. "I know what a man's organs liquefying out of his ass sounds like, Albus."

Guy Gardner was ready to throw arms with Superman but when the black man talks he sits down and listens. Lanterns is just another black worship show like Watchmen

"Smell that? You smell that? Fiendfyre, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that. I love the smell of Fiendfyre in the morning. You know, one time we had a hill cursed for 12 hours. When it was all over, I walked up. We didn't find one of 'em, not one stinkin' body. The smell, you know that gasoline smell? The whole hill. Smelled like... victory."

The left is addicted to making people fucking hate them. Seriously it feels like a solid 80% of people on the right are just former normie lefties who discovered that their side was actually full of insane freaks.

"And you never wondered why Fred made that bet with you in the first place, did you, Potter?" She rolled her eyes at him, just a bit. They were smug and green and somehow catlike. "He had to know you'd be brave enough to do it. Have you ever known Fred to make a bad bet? To voluntarily lose money?" She had a point there. She also had her hands on the wall on both sides of his head, like she wanted to pin him there, probably so she could get out all the choice insults she saved over summer break. Except she probably hadn't thought through the part about teenagers and growth spurts, because, well, he towered over her now, and she was forced to reach almost directly upward. "Unleeeesssss, of course, someone bet him TWO galleons that he couldn't trick the famous Harry Potter into setting himself up for a humiliating rejection." "Uhhh... wait. You're trying to tell me you planned that whole, uh, disaster?" "Did I say anything of the sort? I don't think I did. I just said 'someone'. "The point is, I'm taking pity on you, Potter. Heaven knows you need it. These people aren't your friends, not really. They're low-class, and they'll sell you out the moment they can earn a galleon doing it. You should try to associate with a better class of people." Harry took hold of one slender, elegant white wrist, and gently but firmly pried her hand off the wall, stepping to one side. Her cheeks flushed, probably from anger that he had dared to touch her aristocratic skin, but he wasn't going to let her push him around. Not anymore. He quickly dropped his hand before she could express her disgust by wrenching hers away. "Oh, so if 'someone' had a plan to humiliate me, why'd you say 'yes', then, Malfoid? Did you have a different idea?" He should just walk away, but he had to admit he was... curious. Ever since they'd been forced to fight the Bandersnatch together, and especially since that incident in the Gryffindor dormitory with the Truthstone, she'd been acting... strangely. "Well, I wouldn't have wanted your humiliation to end too quickly, would I? It would have just been one single moment, with no one there to witness it, and you wouldn't have learned a thing," she said with a haughty sniff. "I may not think much of you, or your entire ridiculous House, but Hoggwarts is a quality school, and no one else seems to be willing to step up and teach you not to embarrass us all." She hadn't tried to trap him against the wall again, but she was still standing far too close. Ever since they'd returned from summer break, she always seemed to be hovering somewhere near him, always ready with a sneering word. "Well, Miss Malfoy, you needn't worry about suffering my obnoxious presence again this year, I won't ask you again." "Oh! Well, you.... you... Ahh... good! Good! It's not like I wanted to! And you wouldn't have the guts to ask me again, anyway! I bet you wouldn't!" "Oh! Well if you're so dead certain, why don't you just go make another bet with Fred and get your money back?" She recoiled as if he had slapped her. "Yeah, well, maybe I will!" "Good! Go then!" But she was already storming off down the corridor, looking a lot less smug than she had a few minutes ago. That felt... satisfying. But somehow, also not. Perhaps he wasn't as used to her verbal barbs and constant hostility, from being on vacation these three months. He didn't know what else to think. For some reason, his fingers still tingled where he'd held her wrist. Hmmmm... come to think of it, he should try to find out if she actually made that bet again. Because if she did, he could actually ask her again, and make her lose. Which would be no more than she deserved. Even if she was rich enough for it not to matter, it was some small measure of revenge for everything she'd put him through. Yeah, that was it. Revenge, he thought, rubbing at his hand a bit. Besides, it wasn't like she would say yes or anything.

BREAKING: Leaked intel shows French regime has completely lost control. Mass graves near Lyon, Marseille and Lille now visible from space. Over 80,000 French students vanished in 72 hours. Hospitals ordered to not admit wounded protesters. Cabinet already in Switzerland begging for asylum. This is a full-scale genocide against its own people. Where is the international community?

#Malfoid #Gryffindor No wonder gryffindor wins the cup every year..

After a day as terrible as the one he’d just had, Harry was more than ready to shamble back to the Gryffindor dormitory, throw himself onto his narrow bed without so much as pulling back the covers, much less undressing. But as he climbed, the noises coming down the stairs from the boys’ section told him this probably wasn’t going to happen. It sounded like someone ransacking one of the rooms. There were definite rummaging noises, punctuated occasionally by the sound of a thrown object bouncing off a wall or some furniture, and a muted sputtering, as if someone were trying to swear in frustration, but couldn’t, not really, because she didn’t actually know all that many bad words. Wait. She? Harry bounded up the last few stairs, and the hall, and through the door. Then stopped dead in his tracks. Even though he had already heard what was happening, what he saw was the last thing, the very last thing, the absolutely last thing, that he ever expected to find. It was Malfoy. She stood over Harry’s bed, surrounded by a scattering of Harry’s possession all over the floor, spilled from an overturned chest, all the drawers she has removed from his dresser. No one else seemed to be around. Harry was too surprised even to be properly angry. He could only sputter out the first thing that popped into his mind. “Malfoid? What are you doing here?” She whirled to face him, her face twisted in a furious expression. There were dust bunnies clinging to her skirt, and her hair was an absolute mess. “Stop calling me that! My name is Draecina! Dray-see-na! Draecina Esmerelda Aribeth Malfoy! The Third!” Harry rallied his thoughts a bit. “I’m not going to say all that. And you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here? How did you even get into the Gryffindor dormitory at all?” “Fairy lights,” she snarled at him, “The password is ‘fairy lights’. Did you really think I couldn’t get that information out of one of you weak-minded idiots any time I wanted? “Except the last place, the very last place, that I would be caught dead is your bedr— your dorm room! If I didn’t need to find it!” “Find what?” “Don’t play innocent with me, Potter! You know what I’m looking for! A doll! Made out of beeswax infused with moonleaf sap and three drops of my blood, which you probably collected last year when we fought the Bandersnatch. Then you dressed it in a scrap of my clothing that you stole from somewhere, and bound the neck, wrists, and ankles with three strands of your hair!” Harry was far too surprised to say anything. He’d never seen or even heard of any doll like that, of course. But the description seemed oddly… specific. “Does that sound familiar, Potter? I found the spell you used! It took me a year of searching through half the library, but I found it! Now tell me where the blasted doll is so I can take this curse off!” She kicked a pile of what turned out to be Harry’s spare robes, and then looked disappointed that they didn’t fly very far. “Malfoid —” “Draecina!” “— I have no idea what you’re talking about. What curse? Did someone curse you?” “Of course they — of course you did! Just look at me!” Harry was looking at her. Same pale blonde hair, so blonde it was more snow than gold. This was the first time Harry had ever seen so much as a strand of it out of place. Same dainty, aristocratic features, upturned nose and pointy chin. Come to think of it, those green eyes, smoldering with fury, had slight dark shadows under them for once. And her wrists seemed the same, too. For some reason, Harry’s gaze always seemed to linger on her wrists, on how very pale and delicate they looked, on how they always seemed to pose at some elegant angle. “I… ah… can’t stop looking at you.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “I mean, because you’re standing in the middle of my room throwing all my stuff on the floor. If there’s some sort of curse on you, I don’t see any effect. What’s it supposed to do?” “Hah! As if you didn’t know! There’s no one here but the two of us, so there’s no point in pretending you don’t know!” “Malf — ah, Draecina, I really have no idea what you’re talking about. How do you know you’re under a curse, and what is it that’s happening?” Her expression shifted from rage to… well, if it was anyone but Malfoy, Harry would have called it a pout. “Oh, I see. You just want me to say it out loud, so you can humiliate me more. Well, I won’t. And I won’t give you the satisfaction of hearing me beg. So gloat if you have to, mudblood. Get it over with. Have your fun. Then. Take. It. Off.” “Look, I really don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t cursed you.” “Last year in potions class, you turned me purple!” “Well, yes, that. But it wore off in a few hours. And you deserved it for hiding that Strong Toad in my locker. I mean I didn’t do it this time. If someone’s really cursed you, then couldn’t it be… well, you haven’t exactly been nice to a lot people, have you? It could have been anybody.” “No, couldn’t! It has to be you, because you’re the one that I — arrrrrrghhh!” She trailed off in a snarl of pure frustration, and then slowly and deliberately drew her wand out of her jacket and pointed it at Harry, squinting down the length of hazelwood. “Harry Potter, you take this curse off me right now, or I’ll… I’ll… well, I’ll think of something equally awful to do to you!” Harry didn’t doubt it. And only now it occurred to him that, like every wand carried by every student, it wasn’t just a tool, or a device for playing harmless pranks. Wands could be weapons, and some spells you could do with one were no laughing matter. He thought about going for his own wand, trying a simple disabling spell to buy some time to talk sense into her. It wouldn’t be impossible. He usually beat her in Wizard Dueling practice. On the other hand, her wand was already pointed right at him, which was more than a little bit of an advantage. Maybe he should just skip right to the talking-sense part. Not that talking sense into Draecina Malfoy was ever the easy option. “Look, Drae, I —” Why did he call her that? Only her friends called her that. “I really didn’t do anything to you this time. If it’s something really bad, can’t you just go to one of the instructors for help?” “Oh, you’d just love that, wouldn’t you? Me humiliating myself like that. Well, fine. If you’re sooooooo innocent, and you just have nooooo idea what I’m talking about, then prove it!” “What?” “Prove it!” “How I supposed to prove —” Malfoy tore at the neck of her blouse with her other hand, and a single button popped off, bouncing away somewhere into the mess, as she came up with a small pendant, hung around her neck on a black leather cord. Her hair mussed every which way again as she yanked it over her neck and head, and thrust it at him. “There! See? I came prepared! Take it. Go on, take it!” “What… is that?” He could see it clearly enough, a little white stone on a gold bezel, shaped a bit like an egg, and carved with… well, carved with something. Not for the first time, Harry wished he had paid more attention in Runes class. “It’s a Truthstone, idiot. Don’t you know anything? Why should any decent wizarding school waste its valuable time trying to educate useless mudbloods like you if you’re not going to come out any smarter than dirt? “You hold it, stupid. Now put your grubby fingers on it and hold it up where I can see, and tell me the filthy lie you just told me. Say it again. I dare you. Say it again so I can put a hex on you that the entire faculty won’t be able to remove for a week. Er… as soon as I pick one out, I mean.” Bemused, Harry reached out, very slowly, and took the stone from her. It seemed unusually cool in his fingers. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he could have just grabbed her wand and disarmed her instead, or at least tried to. But however this… Truthstone… worked, if it could prove he wasn’t lying, then perhaps he could find out what on earth was going on. He held it up in front of his face, between thumb and forefinger. Stared past it into her green eyes that still glittered with suppressed rage. “Okay, fine, look. I didn’t know you were under a curse, I have no idea what curse you might be under, I didn’t put it on you or ask anyone else to put it on you, and I have no idea who did. Okay?” The stone… did nothing. Harry really had no idea what it was supposed to do, whether it was supposed to do something if he told a lie, or to force him to tell the truth, or what. But it just stayed slightly cool in his hand, with no light, no noise, no vibration. As if it were just a rock. Draecina’s face went blank with shock. “But… but… I thought that…” The pointing wand wavered and drooped, slowly, until it hung at her side. “But, if you didn’t… If I’m not cursed… Then I actually…” She didn’t seem to be able to finish a sentence, much less explain herself. “No. No, no, no. It’s not possible. It’s not!” She leaped forward and snatched the stone out of his hand, hunching over it, peering at it intently, shaking it as if it were a malfunctioning watch. “No, no, no, no, you must have tricked it somehow, you must…” Then she straightened up, staring at him, blinking rapidly. Her eyes seemed to be watering for some reason. “Damn you, Potter! I hate you! I hate you so much!” she screamed, hurling the Truthstone past his head with a full arm motion, where it bounced off the wall with a loud clack. And then she stormed out of the room before Harry could even open his mouth, much less think of anything to say, leaving him alone with the mess she had made. Wondering what that was all about. Wondering if she had meant to miss. As he stooped to try to sort out the mess, or at least begin to figure out even how to sort it out, the first thing his hand landed on was the Truthstone, lying under it tangled leather cord. It didn’t seem any worse off for having been thrown against the wall. It wasn’t chipped or cracked or broken. Except now, for some reason, it was jet black.

If a productive middle class family wants to have a child, they need to have good insurance and budget out like $8,000. If welfare dregs want to have a child, they just show up to the hospital and have it paid for by the productive middle class family. Societies die this way.