Stupid sexy sombra strikes again, this time it was specifically made to kill a friend <3
GITM -> @venomous-qwille
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today we learned to sit in our assigned spots unless we want our asses to be squished by a red mop
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Oh yeah, i should post them here too
Shuffler design from DougDoug's Shufflemania stream
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I have a hypothetical question for you, Hannah. I know you’re not going to like it and I hate to ask or even think about it but sometimes girl my mind just goes down a rabbit hole and there’s no coming back! And I apologize in advance. Say in TPFY before the Grimmauld place Harry is off on a mission, everything possible goes wrong, and he dies. How would Ginny cope with his death knowing she never got to be with him or tell him she loves him? How would she take the news of finding out what really happened in the forest from a letter Harry left for her in his will? Would she ever be able to recover from that? Or would it have been too much for her? You can’t dismiss this question missy because it’s for TPFY Ginny and you know her mind set the best! I need answers!!! 
jesus christ
i don’t even know—
ok
wait. wait!
if harry died post war but before the events of tpfy ginny finds out about the horcrux hunt from ron? maybe hermione? maybe both? good god. ron. he’d be a mess. and hermione!! harry was the only family she had left! god why
this whole thing is going off the rails.
It starts out as disbelief.
Ginny spent so long refusing the prospect of reconciliation… she never acknowledged that a part of her always expected it. And now it's all wrong. It doesn't matter how emphatically she had moved on. It doesn't matter how earnestly she had insisted her indifference.
They were supposed to have it out. He's supposed to be here.
And he’s not.
She knows this feeling. She knows what it’s like to exist in the world when he doesn’t. Except this time, he doesn't come back.
It's not just that he's gone. It's that he took a part of her with him.
The gaping wound in her chest feels rough, and barbed, and ugly. The pain is relentless.
Days, weeks, and months pass. It festers.
It turns into regret. And it lingers.
Hermione talks about the five stages of grief like it’s a to-do list. Like if she follows the instructions it’ll somehow explain what she’s—what they’re all—feeling.
Ron settles into something like barely functioning depression.
Ginny never really moves past anger.
It burns so hot, she swears her tears come out boiling. But she can't rage and shout at him, so she flings her fury at everything—at everyone—else.
Sometimes she feels him, just over her shoulder. The anchor in her chest receiving a gentle tug. It hurts so much she feels like she might die because of it. So, she just yells at the empty room until it goes away.
It never really goes away.
Maybe he never does.
Or at least, the shadow of him that lives fully formed in her mind's eye. The echo of him, the pieces that she remembers without even trying to. The way he would nervously try to pat down his hair. The way his smiles were always halfway reluctant, as if he wasn't sure he was allowed to find whatever it was funny. His sharp glances and even sharper tongue. His contempt for all things performative. His never ceasing surprise that people could care about him. Not his name, or his scar, or his destiny. But him.
The color of his eyes in the afternoon sun.
Eventually, she stops yelling. And she just starts talking. No one ever knows, no one ever catches her at it, no one ever walks in on her telling the empty kitchen that she'll never forgive herself for being so bloody petrified of their collapse that she couldn't even attempt to try.
Her anger turns inward.
She never reaches acceptance, not really, she just accepts that she'll have to live with the shame, and the grief, and the guilt, for the rest of her life.
Decades and decades later, she sits in a rocking chair on a porch and talks to someone. Her nieces and nephews, and grandnieces and grandnephews, and great-grandnieces and great-grandnephews, are used to it by now. Auntie Ginny has gone a bit senile after her last birthday, but this time, on this golden May afternoon, Ginny talks...
And he finally answers.
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if you weren’t raised christian, then you will never understand the instinctual fear that courses through me every time i reblog a post about judas or even consider the idea that judas didn’t suffer eternal damnation. and god forbid i start thinking about the inherent homoeroticism of betraying jesus with a kiss, because at that point you might as well just bathe me in hellfire now
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please tell me someone edited this to look like it's on the pornhub page because i know im not the only person who thought of it
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those "im just a country girl in love with an emo boy🥀" type memes have been resurfacing the internet and whenever i see one i just think that its special limited edition cowboy darrell x turbo rad LOLLLL (also for context trad is crushing gerald nametag w his bare hand)
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