re: last post. evan rosier being sacked from st. mungo's & then swiftly scooped up by tom to fill the death eater's need for a healer is something that can be so personal
evan had his own room at the back of riddle house. it was filled with antique surgical devices and "medical" textbooks with the most concerning titles & absolutely NOBODY ever wanted to get healed. i picture like, avery or whoever clumsily healing lucius's wounds until tom comes upon this like ? i've specifically enlisted a VERY SKILLED healer for this exact purpose. and the other death eaters are just like.... i don't know how to tactfully say that you couldn't PAY me to enter evan rosier's den of inferi autopsies & rusty bone-saws. he was FIRED from st. mungo's. his healing magic hurts WORSE than the original wound. he's WEIRD and it smells like DEATH in there
they go anyway because they're scared of tom. barty is the only one who just simply can't relate. that's his happy place
“That doesn’t mean you get to steal my gloves and leave your scent all over them, sergeant.” Soap’s eyes widened at that statement. “Excuse me?” Soap asked. Ghost leaned in a little, his hand tightening on Soap’s waist. “You heard me, Soap.” Soap’s mouth fell open slightly. “I-” He tried to protest, but Ghost put a finger to his lips. “Just be quiet.”
last week i bought myself jay's enhypen fate tour trading card set for my birthday and the last two cards to complete the set arrived and it looks so beautiful in my binder its making me so happy
You were a haunted house. You were the bones, the unsteady frame that time had begun to take its toll on, pieces crumbling from the weight of everything it's forced to uphold. The rooms were all empty, once full of carefully picked decor that echoed life. Now, they were barren. Years of people coming and going, taking more than they left until the house grew completely and utterly empty. No one wanted an empty house, an ugly house, a useless house, and so, you were left to rot with nothing more than the ghosts lingering about as a constant reminder of all you'd lost, all you'd let them take from you.
You were all peeled wallpaper and overgrown vines. Resilient grass growing out from under your floorboards— "life always finds a way," your mother would've said if she wasn't just worm food and soil nutrients, a decomposing carcass fueling the circle of life.
Life always finds a way.
The irony was almost humorous.
Almost.
You'd gotten used to the everpresent, overbearing quiet, only the ghosts and the occasional creak of the old floorboards to keep you from insanity. Sometimes, on nights when it was real quiet, not even the whistle of the wind to keep you company, you thought you could hear your mother's voice calling to you from the back garden where she lay— calling for help, pleading for it even. But you've learned to ignore the symphony of agony that the afterlife brings, convincing yourself it's just the maggots and flies enjoying their banquet.
I've legitimately been thinking a lot about trans women lately and like the women I know in my life and how complex and human and real they are. Specifically because I understand the world is not kind to trans women and likes to generalize them horribly.
I know a woman who's an artist and spending her time dreaming about stars. I know another woman who's a terrible friend and manipulative as hell. I know one who's shy and sweet and so intelligent. Trans women can be so many things 💖
I really care deeply about trans women and I hope in my friend groups I'm a good ally to them and know to stand up vocally for them. Trans women deserve so much and they're given not enough. Everyone can do something to stop transphobia by speaking up when they hear it. Don't let your friends make transphobic jokes. Don't let your dad regurgitate trump's words. Protect the trans women in your life and everywhere else, they need to be loved and respected. Mwah! 🥰