#but in this case it just doesn't work for me honestly

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Sometimes I think about Harry being sent back to his relatives after his 4th and 5th year, and I lose my mind a little. It's bad enough he's sent back at all, but these two summers especially. Like how are you looking at this traumatised, grieving kid, who has been tortured and lived through some truly horrible events, and think taking him to people who hate his very existence is a good idea??? And no adult checks on him in person. They're watching him post gof sure, but no one actually speaks to him. No one tell him anything outside a few cryptic messages, he's left hurt and isolated. It's just crazy to me.

(Crazier that some people complain about Harry's behaviour in ootp. He's mild, all things considered)

I know!

Like, I don't know what Dumbledore was smoking, honestly... like, even if we're being generous in our interpretation of his actions and say Harry really needed to spend some time with Petunia every summer to keep his blood protection going (personally, I don't think it's the case, but I'm being generous), he doesn't need to spend the whole summer there. Like, he could stay there for one afternoon, one day, a week, maybe, max? Why does he need to stay there longer? Why between GoF and OotP Dumbledore plan for him to stay at the Dursleys the whole summer when Grimmauld Place was probably safer?

But, like, after OotP, at least the plan was for Harry to only stay with the Dursleys for a bit, even if longer than I would have left him there (which is none at all), but the concept of just spending there enough time so he could refresh the blood protections before going to the Weasleys is decent, like, I can understand that. Dumbledore came to pick him up on June 12th, a bit later than I would like, but he still spends most of the summer and his birthday with the Weasleys.

What I don't understand is leaving him completely cut off from everyone who cares about him and from all information about the Wizarding World (aside from Daily Prophet propaganda) after Voldemort returned, murdered Cedric in front of Harry, and tortured Harry. Like, what the hell?

I can't fathom how he could think this is a good idea. Like, at all. Between OotP and HBP, I get it assuming the blood protection really works like that or he believes it does, but the summer between GoF and OotP is near unforgivable, man.

I mean, I recently reread the graveyard scene for my fic and that was horrifying. Like, every time I reread it I am horrified anew at what happened there and what Harry went through... just, that whole scene is a lot (and maybe I'll do like a little rundown of it, since I feel like it needs talking about), and, like, damn, you're right that Harry's response is mild compared to how it could've been in OotP.

OotP Harry will always be one of my favorite Harrys (I love him in all the books) and I will forever stand behind his anger being a trauma response and that he isn't actually hot-headed. OotP was Harry reaching his limit, and boy, did it take a lot to get him to his limit. I mean, he's the opposite of a hothead considering just how much he had to suffer to reach his boiling point. I talked about his trauma responses here and his anger in particular here.

[thoughtfulfiction]

While We’re Young

Author’s note: Anon requested, Hope you all enjoy!

“Wait,” you said, your voice breaking the comfortable silence in the car. You twisted one of your hoodie strings around your finger, tightening your grip on it and staring at Justin as if the realization had just crashed into you. “What if they don’t like me?”

Justin glanced over, his brows furrowing before his expression softened. His hand found its place on your thigh, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern through the fabric of your leggings. You were convinced that his soothing touch could change lives. “They’re going to love you,” he said simply, as though it wasn’t even a question. “My mom’s already planning to interrogate you about your favorite foods so she can cook for you. That’s her love language.”

You wanted to believe him, but your mind was already racing. “I mean, what if they think I’m not good enough for you? Or—oh god—what if I say something stupid and embarrass myself? Bad first impressions are impossible to recover from, and if this doesn't go the way we hope…” You trailed off, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten.

At the next stoplight, Justin leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “First of all, you couldn’t embarrass yourself even if you tried. And second, I’ve seen you charm complete strangers. My family doesn’t stand a chance.”

Despite his confidence, your nerves didn’t fully settle. “Thanks, babe,” you murmured, managing a small smile. “But what am I supposed to do with the next thirteen hours? That’s so much time for me to go through worse case scenarios.”

“And to make me listen to your Sad Girl playlist,” Justin switched gears to remind you, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Oh, absolutely.” You laughed, connecting your phone to his car’s Bluetooth, taking a break from your negative self-talk. The opening chords of your favorite melancholic ballad filled the car as you leaned back in your seat.

Justin groaned dramatically but didn’t complain. Instead, he reached over to squeeze your hand, the warmth of his skin a quiet and comforting reassurance that you’d carry with you all the way to Eugene.

The fact that he was bringing you was a big deal already but to know that he’d only really done this a couple times made you feel special. Even if he didn’t really say it, he was falling for you just as much as you were falling for him.

Justin pulled you out of your thoughts when he asked, “are you hungry at all? Because I’m thinking about stopping somewhere. I’m starving.”

“Oh yeah, lunch sounds good. I think I saw a Wingstop sign towards this next exit but I can look it up.”

You opted to sit in the car and eat, giving him a long winded breakdown of what you wanted to do and see in Eugene.

“I want the works. Walk me down memory lane. And definitely take me to Nike. It honestly feels illegal not to go to a Nike store where it all started. I’m sure you’re looking to add to your endless collection anyway.” You note with a laugh. If Nike made suits, he'd definitely be first in line.

He gave you a pointed look. “It was an endless collection until I met and started dating a thief. Do you know how many of my sweatshirts I found in your closet this morning while helping you pack? I was looking for the purple one for weeks.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked on your fries, swapping spots with him after lunch so he could take a break from driving. “Well I’m sorry! It’s not my fault your clothes are so big and they smell like you. Anytime you’re gone I just throw one on and it’s like you’re always with me.”

“Nice save…Catwoman.”

You scoff. “I prefer Robin Hood, actually. Take from the rich and give to the poor. You’re rich, so I take from you and...give to me. The poor.”

“That would work better if I didn’t get most of that stuff for free, but that is a pretty solid comparison.”

After about 8 hours of you being on aux, you decided to cut him so slack and let him take over on music as you continued to drive, mouthing the lyrics of the latest song that was playing from his phone, quickly getting lost in the rhythm.

He glanced over at you, chuckling softly, nodding his head along to the beat. “I didn’t know you were an 80s rock fan.”

“I didn’t either but you played this a few weeks ago while we were making dinner and I’ve been listening to it ever since. Hate to admit it but this is kind of a banger." You smirked, tilting your head toward him. "You know…I won’t tell anyone if you sing.”

Justin immediately starts shaking his head. “No shot. You’re not doing this to me.”

You turned up the music, singing loudly and deliberately off-key as he sighed deeply, his head dropping back against the headrest. But to your surprise, he joined in during the chorus. Both of you were screaming the lyrics to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by Def Leppard, the car practically vibrating with your energy.

“What happens on the road trip stays on the road trip,” he said, holding out his pinky.

“Deal,” you laughed, locking your pinky with his before refocusing on the road.

A few hours later, Justin motioned for you to take the next exit. “Let’s hop out right here. I want to show you something,” he said cryptically.

The stop turned out to be a scenic lookout, the perfect place to watch the sunset with Mt. Shasta looming majestically in the distance. Justin laced his fingers with yours as the two of you walked toward the edge, stretching your legs after hours in the car.

“This is the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen,” you whispered, mesmerized by the golden and pink hues painting the sky.

Justin turned to you with a warm smile, his eyes full of something that made your stomach flutter. “Yeah… me too.”

You smacked his arm, keeping your gaze on the horizon. “Justin, focus. You’re not even looking at the scenery right now.”

“Sorry, I just got really distracted by the view in front of me. It’s kind of become my favorite.” He stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. His beard—something that came and went whenever he felt like it—tickled your temple, making you smile.

Turning around in his arms, you finally look up at him, the sight still stealing your breath even after all this time. His green eyes were softer in the glow of the setting sun, flickering between your eyes and lips as if he couldn’t decide where to focus.

“You’re my favorite view too,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Wouldn’t mind waking up to you for a while...the rest of my life even.”

The words hung in the air, fragile yet heavy with meaning. His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment, you worried you’d said too much. You hadn't even meant to say that last part out loud and you almost backtracked. But then, his lips curled into a small, hesitant smile, like he was processing the weight of your words.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and steady. His hand came up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “You—you see us doing this? Getting married, spending our lives together?”

The vulnerability in his tone made your heart ache in the best way. “Yeah, I do. Which is funny because I’ve never actually been with someone that I see a real future with.”

Justin didn’t respond immediately, but his actions spoke louder than any words ever could. His hands slid to frame your face fully, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if memorizing every detail. He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted to—but you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, it was soft and deliberate, like he was pouring everything he felt but couldn’t say into that one kiss. It wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was the kind of kiss that made the world fade away until it was just the two of you.

His hand gently cradled your head, holding you in place as if he was afraid you might slip away. You gripped the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer, your heart racing as the kiss deepened. There was something so raw, so unspoken in the way his lips moved against yours—it wasn’t just passion; it was promise. Everything you saw, this bright beautiful future together? He saw it too.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting together. He let out a shaky laugh, his hands still cradling your face. “I’ve never actually been with someone that I see a real future with either,” he admitted, his voice hoarse but filled with a quiet certainty. “Until now.”

The kiss lingered for just a moment longer, both of you savoring the connection, the sound of your heartbeat matching the rhythm of your breath. When Justin finally pulled back, there was a brief moment of silence, a quiet understanding between you. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, giving you a small smile before pulling away completely to open the door of the car.

“I think we’ve stalled long enough,” he said, his voice a bit rougher than usual but still carrying that calm confidence you admired. “Let’s get this over with.”

You both shared a laugh, though it felt a bit nervous on your part as the reality of the day hit. You had no idea what to expect, but you knew this was a big moment for Justin—and for you.

Justin took the keys from your hand, giving you one last reassuring squeeze before getting in the driver's seat. You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the jittery nerves you hadn’t even realized you were holding onto.

The final leg of the drive felt like it stretched on forever, even though only a few hours had passed since you were on the mountain. There was something different in the air now. The soft, quiet hum of the road felt more like a countdown to something important.

Every few minutes, Justin would glance over at you, a soft smile curling at his lips as if trying to reassure himself just as much as you. His hand eventually found itself encasing yours, his thumb making lazy circles over your skin. He wasn’t saying much, but his presence, calm and unwavering, was more than enough.

When the exit for Eugene finally appeared, you felt your pulse quicken. This was it. This was the moment.

“Here we go,” Justin murmured, his voice somehow more steady than his movements, as he guided the car off the highway and toward the familiar road leading to his childhood home.

The transition felt sudden, but not uncomfortable. It was a quiet moment of realization that everything you’d shared so far had been leading to this point. He was letting you in. You were meeting the people who mattered most to him, the ones who had shaped him into the man he was today.

As you approached the house, you could see the familiar outline of the porch, a few trees swaying in the breeze, and a small garage you guessed held memories of Justin’s childhood. The house was modest, but there was a sense of warmth and familiarity that seemed to radiate from the front door, even from the car.

Justin slowed as he approached, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours one last time before he parked the car. He looked over at you, eyes soft but serious, like he was searching for your reassurance.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with both excitement and nerves.

You nodded, squeezing his hand back. “Yeah. Ready.”

And with that, the two of you got out of the car and walked toward the front door of his family’s home, the journey that had brought you here feeling like both an ending and a beginning.

The door swung open before you even knocked, and there stood his mom, her arms outstretched.

She was gorgeous, her dark hair a stark contrast to Justin's much lighter features. But she wasn't interested in him at all, making a beeline for you straight away. “Oh, you’re even more beautiful than he said! I’m Holly—come in, come in!"

You barely had time to process her words before you were enveloped in a warm hug, her energy immediately putting you at ease. Over her shoulder, you spot Justin’s dad, Mark, standing on the porch with a reserved smile, and Justin’s brothers are leaning against the doorway, smirking. Justin laughed softly behind you, side stepping you and his mom. "Alright, let her breathe please? It'd be helpful if she made it through this entire night without suffocating," he jokes as his mom pulls away, rolling her eyes as she gives him a hug.

A younger guy who looks almost exactly like a mustached version of your boyfriend greets you next. "Hi, I'm Patrick. Glad Mitch wasn't lying and you are a real person, but pro tip? You're way out of this dork's league," he says with a serious face, nodding his head towards his older brother.

Justin glares at him and doesn't respond, muttering something under his breath that only Patrick catches as he bursts into a fit of laughter. You give Mitch a hug—the familiar face of Justin's older brother a welcome sight. He was a first-year orthopedic surgery resident at UCLA, the perfect situation for him and Justin to live together again. You'd been able to meet him on several occasions which proved useful in easing your nerves about meeting everyone else. “How was the drive? Are you guys staying at the ranch tonight?”

“We are,” you replied with a smile. “I’m really excited to finally see this infamous place.”

Justin’s dad steps forward, his handshake firm but warm, his eyes studying you with quiet curiosity before his face softens into a welcoming smile. “Don’t let these two scare you off. We’re happy to finally meet you. Let's head inside, I think Holly already has the baby pictures set out and ready for you to go through," he smiles, patting Justin on the back as his son shakes his head.

"You're lucky your dad talked me out of making a PowerPoint Presentation because we were seconds away from watching a pre dinner slideshow." Holly says to him with a small smile as everyone steps inside.

Patrick's voice cuts through everyone's laughter, "she's not even kidding, it was about to have music included and everything but dad saved you. I was about to give her some of the best material." He looks over at you, overenunciating for emphasis. "Two words: bowl. Cut."

"See what I have to deal with?" Justin whispers, gently pulling you into his side. Mark and Holly exchange knowing looks but don't say anything.

The house smelled of cinnamon and fresh bread, like warmth itself had settled into the walls. Framed pictures lined the hallways—some faded with time, others vibrant and new—each capturing a story of childhood adventures and hard-won victories. The fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the cozy living room. This wasn’t just a house; it was a sanctuary, a place where love was stitched into the very fabric of its foundation.

On the table in the living room is a stack of photo albums from when Justin was a newborn all the way up until his senior year of college. Countless memories were shared in these frames, a clearly busy but joyful childhood filled with love, laughter and lots of sporting events of all kinds. You could see that this family valued quality time with each other and the home you were in radiated warmth and love.

You ran your fingers lightly over the plastic covering of one album, tracing the faded marker label: Justin – Year 3. Inside, a chubby-cheeked toddler grinned back at you, his tiny facial features stretched in a mischievous but slightly forced smile.

“He never changed,” Patrick teased. “Still hates cameras.”

His words made you laugh a little because it was true, but you also saw something deeper. A boy who had grown up in a home where love wasn’t measured in trophies or contracts but in moments. The same boy who had fought to protect his private life in the face of stadium lights and national attention. You understood now—it wasn’t about secrecy. It was about keeping his people, the most important part of him, safe.

Your gaze flickered to Justin, his fingers tapping against his thigh—a telltale sign of deep thought. He wasn’t just reminiscing. He was remembering what it felt like to carry all of this, to be seen as something larger than life before he even had a chance to grow into it. And yet, here, he wasn’t the NFL quarterback. He was just...Justin.

"He was the starter by the end of that season, kind of became the hometown hero from then," Mitch sighs, sifting through some of the photos. "Things kind of got chaotic after that, with comparisons and people talking on social media."

"It was annoying," Justin cuts in, "deleted my Instagram after that. Only got it back around the draft for endorsement purposes." His words are dry, like it was painful or embarrassing thinking back to that time.

You had always respected, even admired, Justin’s need for privacy. But sitting here, surrounded by the people who had shaped him, you understood where it all came from: it wasn’t just about keeping the world out—it was about keeping his world safe. The weight of expectations, the relentless scrutiny, the unspoken pressure to be perfect—it had started young. He hadn’t chosen to be private. He had been forced to learn how to protect the things that mattered most.

And that’s what this house and his family was.

His one refuge from a world that always wanted more.

"Alright," Holly says, breaking you out of your epiphany, "who's ready to eat?"

This was a family you could definitely see yourself being a part of. Justin seemed so much more relaxed and at ease here which was a stark contrast to what you'd seen from him recently. His job was unforgiving, unrelenting. And the fans? You thanked your lucky stars daily for the fact that Justin wasn't on Twitter, especially after the Houston loss. This is where he belonged, these were his people. They didn't care about the stats or the money or everything that came with it and that's exactly how he wanted to be treated. He had a home in these people. He'd only found that comfort and peace one other time since he left Eugene.

And that was when he met you.

Dinner went on seamlessly, Mark joking asked if you two had a wedding date set after watching his son not-so-subtly check in on you throughout your stay. There were inside jokes, little moments of laughter from your relationship with Justin like how you had to adjust to his crazy hours in the facility from Monday-Wednesday but Thursdays were the days that really mattered, it was just the two of you. And sometimes Mitch and Isabella. But those were the days that brought you even closer, those little moments, just like this one that brought you so much joy it felt like you'd explode. There was easy laughter, Patrick telling some story about Justin being so private and how much he likes to keep to himself that he never thought he'd see this day. You spoke up and reassured him that you think you've successfully peeled back some layers and found your best friend in the process. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Mitch giving Patrick a nudge. Even Mark cracked a little smile, but all you could focus on was Justin's subtle smile that spoke volumes, in his own unique way. After everyone was finished with their meal, you found yourself in the kitchen with Holly, helping her plate dessert while the guys debated football in the other room.

“He’s different with you, you know.” She nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel before leaning against the counter.

Your hands froze mid-reach. A small knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. “Different good or…?”

She smiled, her eyes soft with something unreadable. “Good. Really good.” There was a wistfulness in her expression, something unspoken lingering in the air. “You remind me of someone.”

You tilted your head, curiosity sparking. “Oh?”

“His grandma. My mom,” she said, voice quieter now, like the weight of memory had settled over her. “She was the only one who could ever get my dad to slow down. He was always moving—always thinking about the next challenge, the next goal. But with her, it was…different. She had this way of pulling him back to the present, reminding him that love isn’t measured in achievements. That life isn’t just about what you do—it’s about who you share it with.”

Her eyes met yours then, her meaning unmistakable. “Seeing you and Justin felt very similar to seeing them together again. It’s really nice to see him be with someone who helps him to reel it in a little.”

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, forcing out a small laugh. “Well, he’s still a workaholic, so I might not be that good at it.”

Holly chuckled. “That’s just who he is. But I see the way he looks at you. The way he’s always checking in. You’re his home. His safe space.” She paused, and added softly, “And that’s all a mother could ever want for her son.”

You blinked back the unexpected sting of tears and watched as Holly swiped at her eyes. Before you could really process what you were doing, you were hugging her again. All the nerves and tension from earlier have completely vanished. Justin might not say much, but his actions had always spoken volumes. And now, hearing it from his mom—knowing that she saw it too—meant more than you could put into words.

The two of you walked back in with trays holding little bowls filled with apple crisp and a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top with caramel drizzle.

As Justin watched you, something settled in his chest—a feeling he hadn’t even known he was searching for. His mom was smiling at you in that way she only did when she had already decided someone was family. His dad—usually quiet, reserved—nodded along to your words like he genuinely enjoyed the conversation. His brothers, relentless as ever, had already started pulling you into their teasing.

And there you were. Sitting beside him, laughing like you belonged here. Because you did.

An hour later, after lingering goodbyes and a few last jokes, you walked side by side to his car. As Justin slid into the driver’s seat, he exhaled slow and deep. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying finally lifted. Maybe it was the fear of his two worlds colliding. Maybe it was the quiet, unspoken worry that you wouldn’t fit into this part of his life.

But you did. Seamlessly. Effortlessly. Like you were always meant to.

“Well,” you said, patting his thigh with a teasing grin, “that went great. Can’t believe you were so freaked out.”

He turned to you, feigning offense before shaking his head with a laugh. The sound of it filled the car, warm and easy. You joined in, your laughter melting into his as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

This. This is what home should feel like.

Justin leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “Told you they’d love you,” he murmured.

But as he pulled back, hand still wrapped around yours, the thought hit him like a slow-burning realization.

I think I might love you too.

[ghelullu]

You dont think emertius is a name? I always see them referred to as emeritus brothers

Hi anon,

obviously I don't know what TF thought and planned - there are a ton of lore inconsistencies and deviations from how real world things would work, after all (because Ghost stuff isn't that deep and we, including TF, are here to have fun) - but in *my* opinion it is not a family name, but a title. At the very least it was intended as a title originally:

Emeritus as a real world addition to the title (papa or professor etc.) simply means they've retired from their position and are still there but, like, chilling. My fave Prof at uni did it and he'd still be around and help students and do research, but he didn't hold the chair anymore. Also see what Josef Ratzinger/ Pope Benedict XVI did when he said 'bye suckers'

Benedict was also a hilarious case of messing up TFs idea shortly after starting Ghost: Papa I, originally, was supposed to be undead, that's the whole joke here: because until Benedict XVI retired in 2013, usually (bc the last pope retirement happened in 1415) papacy meant sitting on that damn chair in the Vatican until you die. So a "retired" Papa meant he had died. This alone is - to me - a perfectly fine reason to assume that TF meant "Papa Emeritus" as a whole title and not just "Papa" with Emeritus as family name

if you go from Catholicism then the Family Name of the person becoming Papa/Pope doesn't get included in the papal name, but rather you take on a whole new name (Josef Ratzinger becoming Pope Benedict XVI and not Pope Ratzinger)

Of course it IS a bit weird that they're Papa Emeritus (0) I-IV when the line of papacy has started with Nihil's father's father(many fathers here)...but that's just one of the goofy inconsistencies in the Ghost lore I guess.

IMHO this started out of a) confusion over latin words and knowledge about general catholic church working and b) the desire to know these dudes names. Until long into Papa IIIs reign it was normal to call them papa i, ii, iii, only into the later Papa III era and especially with Copia fronting the band the trend of calling them Primo, Secondo and Terzo came up and only in the late Cardi/Popia era the Emeritus last name thing really took off (afair).

(Sidenote: I won't get into the first name debate here, bc honestly it doesn't matter; but I WILL say that numbers can be valid names, especially when your father kinda doesn't care, but also see: Prima, Secunda, Quintus, Sextus, Septimus, Octavian, ... just to give a few Roman names. and Papa 0 is reffered to as "nihil", so I don't think it's too far off to call the others by their italian succession number names))

Use Emeritus as a last name if you want, obviously! This is a playground and you can HC whatever the hell you want. In *my personal opinion* based on the catholic church, TF's sense of humour and general latin words, the title is "Papa Emeritus" and Emeritus is not a last name.

[envolvenuances]

honestly my biggest advice would be get comfortable making your body language more expansive/aggressive and looking men directly in their eyes without hesitation. in my experience that's the number one thing that makes them back down and half the time I don't even have to say anything just stare. and I wouldn't call myself particularly intimidating I'm 157cm tho I do have a reputation by now.

if you don't feel you can do aggressive I like a lady's content on tiktok about how you can creep them out by breaking the script of interactions when it comes to strangers (mainly catcalling). her name is Kitti I've even shared one of her videos here

but this of course doesn't work for men in your life like coworkers and family. in that case the best is reacting as fast, clear and assertive as possible. do say "this makes me uncomfortable and I better not catch you doing it again". of course they will ask "or what?", so have your honest answer to it ready. for me it is involving someone else on the first case and punching him on the second. but this has to fit your personality and be something you are willing to do. most men back down from the threat of a scene or you screaming if they feel you are actually going to scream if he doesn't get his hand off you on the next five fucking seconds. the key is finding something that works for you. and having fun with it.

if you’re a mean radfem please tell me how to be more mean to men who make me uncomfortable. or like tell me how to let some female socialization go. like is there any way to make the process easier????? like i’m just allergic to being disliked and allergic to conflict i can’t do it.

[npdkondraki]

hihihi it’s me again ^_^ can i get a basic rundown/explanation of theresa and sam i would like to know more about them 🙏

(also funny story, our first rewrite was also named moore)

oh god oh fuck . this got so long . stelly i am so sorry you activated my autism trap card. enjoy the uh . multi-paragraph infodump.

ok FIRST OFF. basically the very very very basic lore rundown vis a vis What The Hell Is Their Issue is that essentially theyre both semi-hosts to a fucked up fungus* (*think of cordyceps fungi if u want a similar example ^_^) thats using their bodies to keep itself alive.

in moore's case it primarily resides in his throat & mouth* (*hence the fucked up hoarse & wavery voice + stutter) & in theresa's case it primarily resides in her heart* (*hence the fact she essentially just. cannot die. it just refuses to let her heart stop beating. lol. sucks to be her). moore's "healing" is essentially speeding up the healing process but sacrificing pieces of himself to do so, meanwhile he recovers at the same rate a normal human would with those injuries. the entire process is just . incredibly painful and draining for him. sucks to be that guy Lol Lmfao Even.

ok hope you got that. NOW onto their . like. normal actual dynamics i promise this is Far easier to explain.

moore works primarily on site as a sign language interpreter, and he'll pretty much work on anything he can have access to. the man loves information and its basically enrichment for him to be allowed to translate things. he also doubles as an off site medic, traveling primarily to areas where medical help isn't able to be received quick as a first resort health system so they don't use up their medical resources as quick. really the only reason they even have him on medical calls is because he was a med student who just . never went into nursing after graduation. worlds most traumatized 42 year old man who has not socially progressed past the age of 10. He Sucks Bad. its great

THERESA, on the other hand, is just. worlds worst interviewer. she works primarily with the more "violent" or typically dangerous humanoid scps doing interviews which . usually ends in her getting her ass kicked or being dragged out of the room before anything actually gets physical (really, its just because the foundation doesnt want to spend more money on fixing her messes than they have to). her main goal is pretty much to see how much they can take before it turns to violence. theresa takes primary control over anything relating to moore with the justification that he doesn't "truly understand what he's getting into", so long as she has permission from the higher ups.

theres just So Much happening in the background in their relationship honestly like. brief examples include theresa purposefully keeping him sheltered and insisting he not socialize with anyone as a way to keep him under her thumb, the fact moore hates her but literally wouldnt know who he is without her and also thats his sister still and he cant just Leave Her, and also just the fact alone that she, even within foundation walls, has found a way to isolate him further and keep him truly controlled. also like . dont even get me started on theresa purposefully injuring herself so moore will heal her so she has to take care of him and just manipulate him further. endless spiral. they suck so fucking much. my constant go-to is just "cain & abel if they sucked shit and were awful for eachother". but that would take Forever to properly explain so i will not even try to. anyways.

fuckignff. yeah thats it. thats the most basic summary i can nail down. thumbs up.

[pagerunner-j]

Fair warning, this is probably going to be incoherent. I haven't slept much and I am in a mood.

-

I have so many criticisms of CR campaign 3, and a fair few about the finale in particular, but here's where I'm drawing a line in the sand. The sort of complaints from people who've put all their energy into clinging onto a pet tragedy, and then whining about how this story "undoes" it, are doing my head in. It's exactly like the complaints about Donna's story in the DW 60th anniversary specials and I hated hearing it then, too. Because a plot that's still willing to grapple with the long-term effects of something tragic, even though the story eventually turns in a different direction, doesn't erase the fact that the tragedy happened. It's just a story that's willing to let its characters change and circumstances soften until eventually, finally, they might find somewhere to put those burdens down. It's a story that's willing to take a breather in the end and be kind.

What in the world is wrong with that?

Seriously, that's the part we're choosing to be up in arms about?

This?

There's a very real point at which I feel like this attitude is a twisted-up mess of some weird sort of sunk-cost fallacy, crossed with grimdark nonsense. Like, to return to DW, Sally Sparrow brooding through life going "sad is happy for deep people" was not supposed to be aspirational. That was self-absorbed drama-queen bullshit from the get-go. Spending all your time wallowing in misery (and especially other people's misery. Fictional misery, even. I mean, how selfish is that? You want all the woe in the world to be melodramatic about, but none of the personal consequences you claim to be All About, because ugh, that might...suck...? Yeah, no kidding) and pretending that that's more real and worthy and smart, and that it gives you a superior perspective to everyone else? It doesn't. It's not a healthy way to live. And insisting that everyone else has to put up with a sad thing forever, too, because you've pinned that much importance and your own self-worth on it, is really just you dumping your own misery on everyone else in order to go on proving your case.

And it is so much worse (warning here from Editor Page: personal rant ahead, because yeah, this is why I'm getting so angry and frustrated) to do that straight at people who've lived through years of very real tragedy, who are desperate for any of that to get lifted and find reasons to keep trudging on, somehow, somehow, wanting some shred of hope fucking anywhere, please, and who really don't need sanctimonious lectures about someone else's own supposedly superior understanding and how I guess people are just shallow and stupid if they aren't willing to wallow in the murk forever while droning on about how that means they know better. Even if they fucking don't. Give it a rest.

...and, um, yeah, that might be me projecting a wee bit. just possibly.

But I'm exhausted with listening to people who maybe need to stop listening to themselves talk for a bit and could use a smack upside the head with the perspective stick once in a while.

The perspective stick I'm holding says this:

The consequences you won't shut up about still happened. And "consequences" doesn't only mean misery and death and that's it forever. As far as I'm concerned, consequences matter a whole lot more if you still have to live with it. That you have to accept that certain things have permanently changed you and you're still bearing the marks, and even if something good comes along, you're still going to have to do the work to figure out how you fit with that, now. But that still doesn't exclude the possibility that better things could come of it. If you can't believe that, what's the point?

Groaning on about how tragedy is forever and it's worthless if it isn't is honestly the easy, lazy, selfish way out. It's collapsing under grief and then insisting that the rest of the world does, too, because otherwise you're feeling called out and invalidated about the fact that you gave in. And personally, especially after spending a good decade absolutely clinging on by my fingernails trying not to do the same, I'm not fucking here for that. Ever.

So yeah. tl;dr: Some of y'all self-absorbed drama queens need to get the fuck over yourselves and try letting some joy back into your lives once in a while.

Rant ends.

*faceplants into a pillow*

[ennobaka]

In college, my interpretation teacher said to never translate "~~じゃないか" (looks like negative connotation but is actually positive) into a sentence like "Isn't it ~~" (in my language, not English). I never took that to heart until now. I'm currently reading ORV on a novel website and there are a lot of sentences like "Aren't you ~~" which honestly sounds quite tacky

[rosesonbreeze]

Is he blushing because of her slew of heartfelt compliments, or because she'd just complimented his package minutes before? Either way, Anna would happily track every moment of the 'Aiden Fitzgerald makeover montage' if it means getting to this result. "Well, it helps when you're magic, too. Also - rave reviews from the whole team. They may just like you more than me." It doesn't come lightly; Petra and the team may be bright and kind, but they have high standards of who they work with. Mainly - not pricks with giant egos, like Anna's last ex. Petra's words, not hers.

"We're asses for alliteration, aren't we?" Honestly, she's unbothered, especially when she can proudly be one of two cufflinks priming his look together. Aiden stands tallers, looks brighter, and it makes Anna want to reach across the screen and touch him. Not an unprecedented impulse either. "You can, but really, your joggers make your ass look insane." Very squeezable. Anna has to remember Chelsea's a place of work. "In case you didn't know." She suspects he does; Aiden's got assets to be proud of.

"Hey," Anna says, softly this time as she politely steps into the aisle. A subtle smile at those who peer over, awash with recognition. "It's just one night. Shake some hands. Smile politely. Oh! Ask people where they plan to summer. Rich people can go on about that." Which gives Aiden a chance to breathe, and maybe look for friendlier company. No underestimating rich people's ego, that's for sure. Anna hears the echo of Petra's voice, undoubtedly ushering the team out the door. Likely leaving their pixie dust (aka beauty tools and balms), but still.

"Nah, it's alright. It's the other way and you can't be late." He has to make it there at the sweet spot - fashionably late, not atrociously late. "Besides," she adds with a little wink, finally stepping off the plane. "There's no running from Petra after she's poured her styling heart into you." Hence Anna's heartbroken body shlepping through fashion week. Regardless - "You know what babe, I gotta run." Literally - she's gearing up for a sprint, a half-finaggled chance of making it to the party. "No foods with spinach in it. White wine or whiskey, nothing red until dinner - or else your lips can get a little red."

"And no crazy dance moves until after dinner."

Maybe Aiden should’ve let Petra cover his face with half the stuff on the counter; he’s pinker than any shade of blush in the entire collection. Tugging the ends of his jacket, then smoothing it down, he shakes his head and shrugs. "Thanks." It's the simplest thing he can say, because every other emotion seems to have hit his internal bottleneck of expression. No matter the context, he could never take all of the credit, adding, "Your team works magic." And if they clean up well after themselves, they'll basically be perfect.

He props his phone up on the nearest table before glancing around the room and locating the box in question. When he flips the cap open, some kind of light fills his eyes. "Oh..." Simple, yet elegant, it's his exact preference carved into an accessory. He takes a moment to run his thumb across the letters, to appreciate their craftsmanship before pulling them out.

"'A' for Aiden," he says, securing one link on his right cuff, "and 'A' for Anna." It's not just a trick of the lighting; he's standing even taller than usual, smiling with unbridled gratitude and pride. "Thank you." With both pieces secure — and her glowing approval — he feels ready to take on whatever chaos comes his way. He would, however, be remiss not to mention, "Might have to start going to work in a suit, just so I can use 'em all the time." Kind of like her necklace, right? The small pieces that anchor them together, even through all of the distance between them.

Just in time, he hears the chorus of some electronic, dance-y pop song blast in the kitchen, alongside the words, 'Car's coming in five!'

"I think that's my cue." What a funny coincidence— a drop of dread suddenly hits the bottom of his stomach. Maybe it's the prospect of finally facing the music, all the folks waiting to pull him into the world of glitz and glamour, or maybe it's just the idea of having to hang up again. Either way, he does a little check of all of his belongings while asking, "You want me to ask if we can swing by and get you?" Not that he thinks she'll agree, and anyway, he knows how hard the exhaustion hits her. She'll probably make it to the couch before collapsing and sleeping the next day away. It's why he keeps an extra blanket right on the armrest, these days. "Promise I'm not trying to run away. I gotta make you and the team proud, after all."

[please-read-the-manga]

One thing I'll always find funny is Tobirama trying to make this random plea for the democratic process to keep Madara (and the Uchiha) out of power due to his own prejudiced fears.

And then doing an absolute 180 on all that when he's in power so he can self-select and field promote his own student (but of course not Kagami 'one of the good ones' Uchiha lol).

Where did all that talk about public discourse and democracy go, king? Think of the social contract, Tobirama! The separation of powers!

[itspileofgoodthings]

one of my favorite things about pride and prejudice is that in the last third of the book Elizabeth’s internal monologue about Darcy is her admitting that she’s in love with him but also putting all sorts of qualifications around that statement that kind of ...tamp down the level of emotion (the “feelings, if not as tender as Jane’s for Bingley, at least as just” line, even the whole thing about her and Darcy being well-matched objectively speaking) and as soon as she’s engaged you get the unbridled joy in the narrative about her own joy, cc: “I am happier even than Jane; she only smiles, I laugh.” 

[shalom-iamcominghome]

People findinging out that antisemitism does, in fact, victimize people

[vaguely-concerned]

I don't know what I love more, the fact that as rook you can make a statement in NO uncertain terms that you are NOT responsible one way or the other for the theological implications of the shit you're discovering in the 'regrets of the dread wolf' memories. not my jurisdiction. quite simply none of my business. not my chantry circus not my chantry monkeys. irrelevant to the matter at hand here we'll kill that god if we get to him he can get in line. or if the best thing about it is seeing the lone little 'lucanis approves' that pops up right after choosing it. corvid with a knife about to commit deicide keeping it real and sensibly, pragmatically, wilfully agnostic with me here in this magical lighthouse today

[bluesey-182]

as someone who doesn't even personally use audiobooks, i will die on the hill that they count as real reading. and i'm willing to kill on this hill too

[quietlyblooms]

@goldcnpeaks helps me test kojirou!

" what the fuck's going on? "

his tone is harsher than he'd typically use, but surely jovie will understand, considering blood pools beneath his fingers. his neck aches and stings where chiyo bit him only moments ago, though the blonde is nowhere to be seen now. she bolted the minute jovie and luka managed to tear her off of kojirou, her eyes wide and panicked as he stared back at her. he isn't sure what he felt, what he feels -- scared? concerned? both, perhaps, and confused definitely. maybe a little woozy, too ( blood has never been his friend ).

speaking of which... the artist pulls is hand away from his neck and goes white, feeling his stomach churn at the crimson glistening upon his fingertips. hastily he discards his flannel and presses it to his wound, takes several steadying breaths. oh, this is bad. he's not lightheaded yet, but this has to be pretty bad, right?

" you know something i don't, so spill it. " it's easier to focus on jovie than himself. " why the hell did chiyo nearly take a chunk outta me? "

[pandaspwnz]

I just took my second shot of victoza/liraglutide after starting it yesterday and I'm still surprised that it doesn't hurt at all, because even though the needle is the tiniest goddamn thing it's still a needle, yknow? I figured yesterday at the hospital, when they taught me how to use it and it didn't hurt, it must have just been a fluke or like adrenaline from being nervous hid the pain, even to the point where the rest of the day I was a little nervous if I actually maybe didn't even penetrate my skin, but nope! Legitimately can't feel it at all, which is such a relief! I had the worst needle phobia when I was younger (specifically syringes) and while I've thankfully gotten past that with many years of medical issues forcing me to get blood tests, IV's etc, I was still nervous about if this would hurt, and if I'd be able to do it, but it doesn't and I can!

I hope that if anyone who has a needle phobia and needs victoza reads this (I'm assuming also ozempic needles are probably the same size but I have no way of knowing), that it might calm you a little, because it's really not bad at all, and when I say you can't feel it, I don't mean 'oh there's a baby pinch but it's not bad', I legit mean that I'm doing a double take and staring at where it's pressed into my skin to make sure the needle is actually in there because I cannot feel ANYTHING from it at all!

[zangoonse]

oh i dont know if i should be laughing or mortified at the fact that we may have just had a fictive show up but then very quickly disbelieve himself out of existence??? hello?????