#how to do blog commenting

[freelancernoyon]

Exploring the Benefits of Blog Commenting

Blog commenting is a form of engagement where users interact with a blog post by leaving feedback, questions, or opinions in the comments section below the post. It serves as a platform for discussion, allowing readers to express their thoughts, provide additional insights, or ask for clarification from the author or other commenters. Blog commenting also helps build community around the blog, fostering connections between readers and the author, and potentially generating valuable insights and feedback for both parties.

[ummybd2343]

Leveraging Blog Commenting for Success

In the expansive realm of digital communication, where blogs serve as platforms for ideas, discussions, and interactions, blog commenting stands as a vital yet often overlooked component. While the act of leaving comments on blog posts may seem trivial to some, it carries significant weight in fostering engagement, building communities, and amplifying voices across the web. At its core, blog commenting represents an avenue for individuals to express their thoughts, share insights, and engage in conversations sparked by the content presented. It transcends the role of a mere spectator, transforming readers into active participants in the discourse. By offering perspectives, asking questions, or providing feedback, commenters contribute to the richness and diversity of conversations surrounding a particular topic. Beyond individual expression, blog commenting serves as a catalyst for community building within digital spaces. Through the exchange of ideas and interactions among commenters, a sense of camaraderie and connection emerges, creating virtual communities centered around shared interests or passions. These communities serve as hubs for knowledge sharing, support networks, and sources of inspiration, fostering a sense of belonging in an otherwise vast and impersonal digital landscape. Furthermore, blog commenting plays a crucial role in amplifying voices and perspectives that may otherwise go unheard. In an era where algorithms often dictate visibility and attention, leaving thoughtful comments allows individuals to carve out their digital footprint and engage with audiences beyond their immediate circles. It provides a platform for marginalized voices, emerging creators, and underrepresented communities to share their experiences, challenge dominant narratives, and spark meaningful discussions on issues that matter. From a practical standpoint, blog commenting offers several tangible benefits for both commenters and blog owners alike. For commenters, it serves as a means of networking, establishing connections with like-minded individuals, industry peers, or potential collaborators. Engaging in meaningful conversations within comment sections can lead to opportunities for professional growth, partnerships, or even new friendships forged in the digital sphere. For blog owners, comments serve as valuable feedback mechanisms, offering insights into the reception of their content, understanding audience preferences, and identifying areas for improvement. Furthermore, active comment sections contribute to the overall engagement metrics of a blog, signaling to search engines and algorithms the relevance and quality of the content, thereby potentially improving its visibility and reach. However, despite its potential benefits, blog commenting is not without its challenges. The rise of spam, trolls, and toxic behavior in comment sections has led many blog owners to implement stricter moderation policies or even disable comments altogether. Additionally, the sheer volume of content available online can make it challenging for bloggers to keep up with and respond to every comment effectively. In conclusion, blog commenting remains a powerful and valuable tool in the digital landscape, facilitating meaningful connections, fostering communities, and amplifying voices across the web. By recognizing the importance of thoughtful engagement and nurturing vibrant comment sections, bloggers and readers alike can harness the full potential of this often underestimated aspect of online communication.

[aropride]

is there a psychological reason people do this like what goes through their heads. if i ever go to grad school for psych i'd write my dissertation on this in hopes of gaining even a glimmer of understanding

[clockworkreapers]

[myokk]

PSA‼️‼️

If you are a fic writer who posts oneshots and chapters to tumblr, PLEASE use the “read more” feature. When you don’t, you have a whole block of text, that can sometimes be 5k+ words, and it really reduces the chance people will read it/scroll through your blog/reblog your works.

When you don’t, if someone wants to see the next post on their dashboard or if they’re scrolling through your blog, they have to scroll SO MUCH to see the next post🫨 this feature lets your blog look so neat and pretty, and people who go on your blog to scroll can more easily see your posts.

Tumblr is a really fun place to post fics, BUT it’s still a blogging platform first and foremost (not really like ao3 or wattpad) & workarounds like this feature really help out♥️

I would love to hear from other people!! Do you agree with me or is it something that you’ve never really noticed and doesn’t bother you? I’m fully willing to accept that I’m weird about this😆😆

[untoldstar]

rich yandere x reader part 3

part 1 part 2

I missed my bby warner so yay part three after a decade everyone applaud🙏

male yandere, female reader

Warner impatiently drums his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes locked on the restaurant's window. Specifically, on your figure sitting on a table in front of the window, allowing him a front-seat view of your supposed 'date' with this random man. After he shows you all he could offer you on a silver platter, somehow, you still run to another mediocre man who takes you to an alright restaurant at best for a first date.

He's a little disappointed in you if he's being honest. And he's more disappointed with how you're acting like you're actually enjoying this.

You sip your wine with a smile, cheeks flushed bright in the warm lighting, eyes glazed over and gazing into that man's eyes like he's the only one you see. Leaning over the table closer to him, letting him touch your hand.

Just what do you think you're doing?

The drumming fills the silence of his car, and he's surprised the windows aren't fogging up with the way he's huffing and puffing. He's waiting for this little playdate to be over so he can have a little chat with you, and if you aren't being a difficult brat like you always are, he could take care of you properly. You shift in your seat slightly to rummage through your purse, and his eyes zero in on the movement., You only twisted your body slightly to the side, but the slight movement made the fabric of your dress shift, revealing a dark navy strap tugging at your skin.

He stills. Were you wearing his present for another man? Were you planning to show it to him? To use it?!

His body is moving before he even realizes it, swinging his car door open and slamming it behind him like a madman. A couple walking down the sidewalk whip their head to the sound, concern painting their face, but he ignores them and keeps walking towards the double glass doors. He charges towards your table, and your date notices him first, his smile fading as his eyebrows pull in a tense line, you turn to look over your shoulder and your eyes are blown wide, you almost jump out of your seat and bolt but he makes it to your table in long strides before you get the chance to, eyes locked on yours the entire time.

Your date notices your reaction and straightens up "Can we help you-" Warner looks at him with absolute disgust and disdain, like he's nothing more than a pest that dared to crawl near him "I'm not in a great fucking mood tonight, I'd mind my business if I were you." His gaze slides back to yours, softening only a little but still having that hard edge where his anger burns slowly. "Come on love, let’s go." He sighs extending his hand out for you to take it, and you feel like your entire body is on fire. "Excuse me? I'm not going anywhere with you, and if you thought for even a second that I'd do otherwise, then something is seriously wrong with you." He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Save me the dramatics, love. Come with me so I can dine you properly and discuss this little stunt you pulled." Your jaw drops, "Stunt?!" You don't mean to but you shout making a few heads turn in your direction. You feel embarrassment creep up to color your cheeks as you hear murmers around you but you don't back down "You follow me and crash my date, which I have been enjoying up until now, and I'm the one who pulled a stunt?" You're both glaring at each other, fire burning behind your eyes, bodies tense. You dates eyes dart between both of you, almost hesitating to intervene. He pushes his seat back, the wood screeches against the floor, and you both snap your head towards him. "Listen, man, you need to leave. She doesn't want you here, and we'd like to finish our date. We don't need to make a scene." Warner doesn't say anything, only stands still and stares unblinkingly at your date. You hold your breath, You wouldn’t be completely surprised if he pounced on your date right now.

But he never does. He only walks away from your table and through a door in the back disappearing deep in the restaurant. You share a worried glance with your date and shrug, both of you not saying a word. A few minutes later, Warner is walking out with a paper in his hand and determination in his eyes. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes "He fucking didn't.." You whisper, and your date looks confused.

The entire table shakes when Warner slams the paper down, silverware clinking and wine spilling on the white cloth. He crosses his arms and taps his foot impatiently. You take a closer look to read and have your suspicions confirmed.

The fucker actually did it.

"I assume you have the basic capability to read, meaning you realize I own this place now. Get the fuck out of my restaurant." Your date scoffs "Whatever man, you're insane. Come on, let's get out of here." He picks up his coat and reaches out to hold your hand when Warner blocks it "You won't be taking her anywhere or putting your hands anywhere near her." His tone isn't the usual polite classy one you're used to. He sounds viscious, like he's being held back by a thread. You spring up from your seat catching both their attention “This is ridiculous. Look, I need to take care of this, you should leave." Your date almost looks betrayed and he looks at you like you're the craziest person he's ever met "Are you serious? He's crazy-" You reach a palm up to pat his chest comfortingly "I promise I'll be okay. I'll call you later." Warner scoffs, muttering under his breath "Like hell you will." You hold back from shooting him a glare instead focusing on your date who seems to be having an internal conflict. Eyes darting between you and Warner before he slowly nod "Okay I uh- Just text me or call me or soemthing. Let me know you're okay.” You nod and give him a gentle smile and he finally leaves but not without looking over his shoulder about five times. As soon as the doors shut behind him you hastily grab your coat and purse and walk around Warners body to the door, not once looking at him and not bothering to put on your coat either, the only thing on your mind was getting as far away as possible from him. A decision you soon regreted as the cold air hit your exposed skin. You were only a few steps out of the restaurant before you heard the door open behind you followed by shoes tapping on the concrete floor. He gently tugs at your arm "Wear your coat, it's cold." you shake your arm out of his grasp and coontinue walking "Not cold." He hufs behind you.

You don’t have to look at him to know he’s rolling his eyes "I don't mind working for it love but I really don't think either of us is in the mood tonight." You hear his footsteps behind you but you continue ignoring him. That is untill yout feet are lifting off the air and you're being thrown over his shoulder like a sack of patatoes "What are you doing?!" Your hands ball up into fists and pound on his back “Put me down. Now!” You tel when you feel a sharp sting on your ass “Stop fussing darling.” You reach his car and finally he lets you down. If he notices how red your face has gotten he doesn’t show it. He opens the passengers door and looks at you with a bored expression “Get in.” You’re tempted to spare a glance behind your shoulder to see if you could make a run for it but settle with quietly getting in the passenger’s seat. After tonight you’re sure he has no issue picking you up and placing you in the car himself if it came to that.

The car ride is quiet. Only the hum of the cars engine and the clicking of the blinker filling the silence. You shift uncomfortably in your seat and clear your throat “How did you know I was on a date tonight?” He sighs and smiles softly “I always know what you’re doing. I thought you knew that already.” You roll your eyes “So you followed me like a psychopath and ruined my date?” He shakes his head bitterly “That was a joke not a date. He doesn’t deserve you.” You turn to him fury in your eyes “And you do?!” The car stops abruptly and you brace a hand on the dashboard “Yes I do. More than anyone and I truly don’t understand why you can’t see it. I’ve shown what I can offer you and you’ve barely considered it. What’s worse after everything you go to a random man who can’t give you half the things I can” He growls “Do you truly despise me that much?” His eyes hold desperation and frustrations. Your glare softens “Are you really never going to stop chasing me?” His gaze hardens “Never. You can hate me all you want, you can throw out everything I give you and I’ll never stop.” You sigh your body going limp. You look out the window to see you’ve been outside your apartment this whole time.

You bite your lip and curse under your breath “Okay.” You’re probably going to regret this “One date.” He smiles and reaches a hand up to caress your cheek tenderly “Thank you love.” He leans in and his breath fans against your ear “I promise you’ll wish you would have done this sooner.” You shudder and push him away. “Don’t get ahead of yourself I’m just getting you off my back.” You grab your purse and reach to open the car door “Burn it.” You blink “Burn what?” He looks at you with an unamused stare “What you’re wearing under that dress. I’ll buy you a different one.” You scoff “Pervert.”

You make sure to slam the door behind and not look back once knowing he’s staring at you.

The next morning just as promised a package arrived at your door. Dark red, lacy and filling your head with thoughts you don’t want.

“I should make it clear you don’t wear this for anyone else love.

See you soon.”

You don’t crumple his note and chuck in the trash like you normally do.

Guess you’re going on a date.

[artsekey]

It really does look like pivoting to Harris has thrown the Republican party for a loop. She's speaking clearly, concisely, and with wit; if she were to be put in the ring with Trump, it would be a knockout if only because she's coherent.

I'm voting blue regardless, but I've started to feel like I've moved from voting for the 'least bad' option to someone I might actually be more passionate in supporting.

[squarebracket-trickster]

By the way, lurkers are welcome on my blog<33

Yeah, yeah, Writeblr is a community and all that. But I get it.

Some of us have anxiety disorders. Some of us are (or were once) minors on the internet who had it drilled into us to never make our presence known in online spaces lest we get stalked or groomed.

It's okay if interacting is outside of your comfort zone.

Some of us aren't actually on tumblr enough to make making a Writeblr intro worth it.

Some of us prefer to take a few months, maybe years, observing the community to learn the rules. And let's face it, there is a huge learning curve to Tumblr culture. I came here from Pinterest in like 2018 and hooo boy was it intimidating!

Like, I was that 17 year old pinterest lurker with an anxiety disorder who was taught that internet safety meant "never comment on anything" who took a few years before I felt comfortable enough with tumblr culture to reblog things with tags, let alone make public posts.

So I guess what I am saying is, I can't judge. Because I've been there.

Writeblr is a community. And the community (for me) is the best part. And remember that if you don't contribute to the community you don't get to complain about it either. But this is also a public space. Silent observers are to be expected. And on my blog you are welcome.

[screamting]

what r ur thoughts on reconciliation between jason and bruce. is it really possible? what would it take? what would it look like? seen some stuff on my dash lately about that particularly thorny issue and would love to get your perspective. (hopefully this is the kind of ask ur looking for)

(you are FINE this is going to be the bane of my fandom career) 

So realistically we're not going to see Jason reconcile with Bruce because a) everybody loves angst b) no one is talking about the ISSUE. 

The ISSUE is not the murder thing. Like. The murder thing doesn't help but it isn't the root; killing people is something Jason decided to start doing because it was something Bruce is extremely firm on. He stands by the 'no murder' thing even when his own life and the lives of others are in danger. He stands SO firmly by it, that if you break that rule maybe you can break the entire foundation of Batman, which is that things are never so far gone they can't be redeemed. Gotham is never so far gone it isn't worth trying to repair. We are not cutting the rot away we are building an environment which no longer collapses into rot around us, even if it is gross, demeaning, dangerous work. 

If Bruce killed the Joker in Under the Red Hood I think Jason would have been lost forever. Because it would've been proof that Bruce's most fervent beliefs meant nothing. If Bruce's hardest promise, that he would not kill, was broken so easily, then what does that mean about all his other promises? All the promises that he loved Jason and would never send him away? If his hardest promise can be broken, do those easy promises even stand a chance? 

I think the issue is and always will be: Did you love me? Do you love me still? 

All those posts about coming back wrong and unlovable, and what if I was unlovable the whole time and it was just that I can't even be bothered to pretend anymore? That's Jason Todd. He crawled his way out of his own grave an open wound and he is trying to convince himself that he's doing fine while actively bleeding. I feel insane reading some of the discourse because it's talking about Jason from the pov of his disenfranchisement and that as driving him in Red Hood and like. No! Jason is disenfranchised, he was failed by the systems, absolutely; I do not fucking believe he is doing any of this for people like him. He is saying things that validate his pain because he cannot deal with the enormous amount of pain he is in. He died and came back to life. He did it in a way people don't know or understand, or via Lazarus pit, which people condemn. I think to resolve things they'd need a god damn religious discussion to even start with, to ask Jason if he thinks anything that has died and come back to life can ever be good, or if it's just him. 

I think he must have had self-loathing and insecurity built up before his death and it Exploded when he came back to life several years later and saw from the out side people attempting to move on. This is not a victim blame because of course he had self-loathing and insecurity, he was a kid with a difficult childhood and you need at least five years to a decade to start feeling like someone else, who maybe has confidence and certainty. I think being Robin let him borrow confidence, and so like, probably did feel great! He had a script and a role to fill and he was given a lot of practice to do it!

I think part of the problem is that post-resurrection is Jason has to figure out who he is for the first time again, even older now. He lost some of his teen years in figuring things out. He has the life experiences of a 14 year old and then training under assassins and then like. Drug lord?? For a bit?? 

Jason is not fighting for the disenfranchised. He is trying to figure out who the hell he is and is bouncing around so many teams and timelines and shit that all already know him and know him as the dead kid that I think for him and Bruce to make up, like. He probably needs to have a job?

Not for money necessarily, because like. The Wayne fortune is right there. But I think he needs to go somewhere, with a schedule, for like at least six months in a row, and have something low stakes dependent on him. Like a dog or something. Maybe get involved in local theater. Take the dog to dog training twice a week and teach small children acting in the afternoons. 

And once a week or whenever they feel like it Bruce and Jason can have a phone call, and Jason can bring up what's happening at the theater and how the dog is, and Bruce can talk about Wayne Corp shit. 

And if Jason learns from dog time about someone who is mistreating an animal or a partner then like maybe he goes and steals a dog or tells someone to come stay over at his house for a while and gives them some cash. And after he does something rash he still needs to come back to his apartment and feed the dog and show up to the theater the next day. 

I think he needs to see the world around him when it ISN'T homelessness and assassins guilds and running out into the streets at night looking for trouble. 

'but you haven't addressed anything for bruce to do' for Bruce to have to do anything we first need to get jason at the table. 'bruce beat jason in x comic/brainwashed him into an overactive fear response/almost certainly also something else' 

1. i'm choosing to say besides the throat thing that people hate (bc I get that. Bruce needs to say 'yes I was panicking and my writer was being dramatic I'm sorry' ) bruce doesn't beat his kids or any rogues in general once they're at a point they're no longer trying to kill/hurt anyone either. 

2. tbh I think the anxiety brainwashing is facinating and definitely something Bruce might have thought about but making it and using it is fully in 'I was also having a 3 day long mental breakdown' territory. However since Jason put a lot of heads in a duffle bag during HIS mental breakdown I think this might again be within 'yeah that was fucked up I'm sorry about that' territory.

Honestly I wish that Jason had gone to Bruce after the Selina 'making thieves pay 15% to charity' thing and they had just had the BIGGEST bitching fest about it with each other.  I think that, faster than literally any amount of relaxation and therapy, would have gotten them back on the same side. They need to get in a room together and just. Bitch about it. Jason saw the WORST adaptation the other day. Bruce is dealing with the MOST stuck up prick at the board meeting. 

Before they can fix anything they need to remember why they even loved each other. If they feel it again maybe they'll work to save it. But no one is going to fix a relationship where it feels like an obligation for a feeling you aren't sure even exists anymore.

[kindahoping4forever]

📸: Emilia Staugaard for Behind The Blinds magazine

[myokk]

remembering the snow

pairing: Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting

word count: 3,2k

summary:

Imelda remembers the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

***

Or: a character study on Imelda and how she grew up because I love her & she doesn't get enough appreciation :)

cw: none, this is just a love letter to Imelda

a/n: or: this was the first oneshot I ever wrote, and it holds such a special place in my heart. I think it might be my favorite 🥹🫶

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves.

Her mother always talked about the circumstances of her birth with pride: Imelda came quickly as if she were eager to get out and see the world already, screaming even before she had fully left her mother's womb, determined to leave an indelible mark on the world.

The women in their village who had assisted the birth crossed themselves, chattering to each other in quick, soft, beautiful Spanish staccato about the baby who was already unlike any they had ever seen before. Strong and healthy and beautiful, her deep brown eyes already taking in her surroundings and watching them solemnly moments after her arrival.

Her father always talked about the circumstances of her childhood: running wild and free, flying before she could walk (a source of great pride), his little shadow who peppered him with endless questions about the world. He always brought her along to his work meetings much to everyone's delight; she was with him when he was offered the enviable position of Spanish Diplomat to the British Ministry of Magic.

At the age of five, they left the beautiful sleepy village where time hadn't seemed to exist. Imelda still dreams of long, hot, dusty days playing under the shade of orange trees, going to the market every two days with her mother draped in their finest silks, sleeping and lying around during the hottest part of the day, only leaving their house once the sun left its highest point and was about to disappear behind the mountains.

The older women in the village doted on her. If she thinks hard, she can recall their beautiful, wavering voices calling out to her as she raced past them: 'ten cuidado, cariño, te vas a mancar', 'ven aquí, cielo, te quiero ver la cara tan bonita', 'mira cómo se está creciendo, se nota que va a ser una belleza de mayor'...voices filled with comfort and love. She never knew anything different then.

She's their only child. Her mother was always brushing her hair and humming, trying to get her to sit still and listen to her endless fairy tales as the sun bore down on them; her father, treating Imelda like the son he had always wished for but accepting and loving her all the same. Sometimes, her mother would let her out of the house before the sun became too strong and they would fly around the mountains and be free free free.

Arriving to Edinburgh at the age of five, Imelda hadn't even realized she didn't speak the same language as the other children around her. As with everything else, she jumped in headfirst. Her mother always jokes that she became fluent in English the second she stepped foot on Scottish soil. To Imelda, it does seem that way. She can't ever remember not speaking in the soft Scottish burr, reminiscent of the soft Spanish she had left behind and still spoke at home.

As a child, she never had problems forging relationships with whoever was around her. She was brash and inquisitive and irresistible, taking charge wherever she went. The other children flocked around her, hanging on to her every word.

It changed, though, when her mother got her cough. It started out harmless enough, a slight cough and headache before bed each night. When her mother woke up every morning, she would be fine. But going to bed early changed to going to bed even earlier and earlier until it was time to accept what the three of them were steadfastly ignoring: she was getting worse.

Imelda was nine. She remembers her mother drying her tears with gentle, soft hands, caressing her cheeks and whispering to her that it would be fine. That she wasn't gone yet: they still had time.

'No pasa nada, mi amor. Siempre estaré contigo.'

At Hogwarts, things changed even more. She was a Slytherin and proud of it, but she never quite fit in with her classmates. She wasn't one of them, hadn't grown up with them, and they made sure she knew it. Gone were the days of running wild: she turned her single-minded determination to her studies and quidditch and found herself excelling at everything she put her mind to. It all came easily to her and she had no time for anyone who could distract her.

She wasn't a complete loner. She had her quidditch teammates, her partners in various classes, but nobody she hung out with outside of classes. She always studied alone, learned alone, trained alone.

(Of course, the picture she paints to her father in owls home is much different. He has enough on his mind - a daughter struggling to make friends is a non-issue as far as Imelda is concerned. And besides: she's fine.)

Imelda was quite content with the way things were working out for her. She would never admit if she was lonely or not, and enjoyed every part of her life. Until her fifth year, when everything began to change. Gone were her rigid schedules and studying alone and discipline. A new girl was sorted into Slytherin and Imelda found she didn't hate the girl's company. The two of them laugh together at night while they braid each others' hair, Imelda teaches her Spanish, and they have started to study together.

The new student drags her around Hogwarts and Imelda finds herself actually enjoying herself and enjoying spending time with the classmates she’s spent so many years ignoring.

This is when she meets Poppy Sweeting.

Well...Poppy swears that they met ages ago, during their first year when they were partnered together in Potions. Imelda has no recollection - that whole year was a blur - it was the year her mother succumbed to her illness - so she has to take Poppy's word for it.

She finds herself with friends for the first time in a long time. But, when the new student is running off with Sebastian doing Merlin-knows-what, things that Imelda definitely does not want to be a part of, she still finds herself seeking Poppy's company.

Poppy is sweet and fun and introverted in a way that Imelda finds familiar and comfortable: whereas Imelda turns to her studies and quidditch, Poppy often opts to spend time more time with beasts than humans. But there's something endearing about her earnestness and Imelda starts to find herself craving Poppy's calm company.

She always knows what to say when Imelda finds herself getting worked up over nothing.

On the train home for the winter holidays, as Imelda is striding down the long corridor in search of an empty cabin where she can read and concoct fail-proof quidditch tactics, Poppy calls her over to her carriage and asks Imelda to keep her company. She only needs to ask once. There's an unfamiliar fluttering in Imelda's stomach as she sits across from Poppy and the other girl beams at her but it's...well. It's not altogether unpleasant. They play exploding snap and exchange book recommendations and laugh together and...well, if Imelda's knee brushes against Poppy's occasionally or their fingers linger as they exchange essays to look over...

She can't be blamed, can she?

A letter from Poppy arrives over the break. At the sight of Poppy's small brown owl tapping the window with the letter in its beak, Imelda's heart starts racing and she runs over to the bird, grinning like a fool, but she pauses before opening it. Her fingers tremble as they hover over the wax seal.

Imelda's father is largely absent these days, a shadow of the man she had grown up with. She's noticed the difference over the summer too, of course, but the winter always feels different. More desolate; more harsh. They're nearing the four-year anniversary of her mother's death. It's impossible to ignore the fact that losing his wife has damaged his soul irreparably, and Imelda's seeing first-hand what being deeply in love can do to a person.

Maybe she'll put the letter aside and read it tomorrow.

Tomorrow bleeds into the next day turns into one week and before she can blink the bleak winter vacation with her father has ended and she's heading back to Hogwarts.

On the train, she walks past Poppy: the two of them make eye contact but Poppy flushes and looks out the window, tucking her honey-colored hair behind her ear and Imelda moves on to the next empty carriage. She pulls out some parchment and works on revising her Charms essay. It's for the best, anyway, she tells herself. For the best that she doesn't have any distractions. Their O.W.L.s are coming up and she's determined to get an O in every subject.

The month of January goes by in a flash. Between the insane quidditch schedule she's concocted for her team and the study sessions in the library, she keeps herself busy. The new fifth-year, her first real friend, starts to show concern for Imelda, gently trying to ask her what's going on as they braid each others' hair before bed.

Imelda doesn't want to bother her, though.

(She doesn't truly know what's the matter, anyways.)

She resolves to do a better job with keeping her emotions in check - her friend has enough on her plate, and Imelda doesn't want her to have to worry over something that's not even a problem in the first place.

She's fine.

Out of the corner of her eye in the classes she shares with Poppy, Imelda notices that she doesn't look as happy as she normally does. Her face is more pale and withdrawn; whenever Imelda's eyes flicker to her, her own gaze darts away.

With the beginning of February come a lot of blizzards, and they make Imelda remember the first time she saw snow.

Her parents always started the story telling her that she cried and cried and cried.

They had both run over to her, covering her with warm hugs and kisses, the tiny family huddled together in this foreign place where the people looked and spoke differently, where nothing was the same and she missed the old women who would give her mazapanes whenever she ran by, missed the tiny clouds of dust that would puff up as she ran and the hazy mountains in the distance and the hot, hot sun beating down while she played in the shade of the orange trees while her mother slept away the heat. Pulling her mittened hands off of her tear-stained face and telling her 'mira cariño, mira qué bonita es la nieve. Tócala, ya verás que no pasa nada...estamos aquí contigo...'

Her tears had soon dried and she was laughing and playing in the snow and she couldn't even remember what had made her so sad in the first place.

Imelda's sad now as she stares out the window.

Her mother isn't there anymore. She has no one to turn to in this self-imposed exile.

Four years ago today.

She's hidden herself away in an alcove, curled up, arms wrapped around her knees watching the snow swirling out the window. She canceled quidditch practice today due to the storm, much to everyone's surprise. Just last week, she had forced them to train in the freezing rain and today's snowfall is mild in comparison. But...today she doesn't have the energy. She's spent so much effort pretending that everything's fine when it's not and now she's sad and alone and confused.

She doesn't hear Poppy when she comes near.

The other girl crowds into Imelda's space, pressing against her in the alcove. The two face each other, and Poppy brings a gentle hand up to Imelda's face to brush away tears she hadn't even realized were falling.

"What -" Imelda starts saying, but a fresh sob chokes her and she can't. Poppy leans forward and wraps her arms around Imelda, pulling her into a close embrace. Imelda feels everything crumbling around her and she sobs into Poppy's shoulder - Poppy whispering reassurances and smoothing her hair, cradling Imelda as she cries and cries and cries.

They don't leave the alcove for another hour, almost staying out after curfew.

Imelda is subdued the next few days. The snow continues to fall until the whole castle looks like it's straight from one of the fairy tales her mother used to tell her as she brushed her hair. Imelda shows up for meals, shows up for classes, shows up in the study group, but she feels like she's just going through the motions.

She can tell her friend is getting worried, but Imelda can't confide in her. Her friend does small gestures anyways because she understands: saving Imelda a seat in class, asking her about quidditch, saving her favorite muffins for her at breakfast.

Maybe she talked to Sebastian about her worry because even he is being nicer than normal to Imelda, asking her if she wants to play wizarding chess with the two of them. Imelda doesn't really understand how or why they like playing the game so much - her friend is awful at it and Sebastian seems to enjoy the destruction and chaos more than actually strategizing. Even though Imelda hates the game - every move is painfully obvious and she can't understand how nobody else sees it like she does - maybe it would be nice to do something different.

Imelda freezes when they enter the Astronomy Tower to play: Poppy is there, waiting. For her. They haven't seen each other since she broke down humiliated and sobbing and she doesn't know what to do.

Sebastian looks between the two of them, brows furrowed, then leans down to their friend and whispers something in her ear. She nods and the two of them disappear, leaving Imelda and Poppy alone.

Poppy stands and Imelda can feel her heart start to hammer against her throat. Poppy walks forward slowly, only stopping when she's right in front of Imelda. When she speaks, her voice is high and sweet and Imelda realizes how much she missed her. "I-I'm sorry, I just didn't know how else I could talk to you. Will you come with me? I have something to show you."

Imelda nods mutely and Poppy takes her hand. They lace their fingers together and it's the first time - apart from a few days ago - that they have voluntarily touched each other. She feels Poppy's fingers tighten around hers and Imelda focuses on the feeling of soft knuckles under her thumb, but now...she's self-conscious for the first time about her quidditch-rough hands and maybe she should have listened to her friend when she tried to encourage Imelda to use some hand lotion.

Maybe Poppy will let go of her hand and leave in disgust.

But...Poppy doesn't do any of that. Every so often, she looks up at Imelda, smiling slightly. When they reach the Entrance Hall, she lets go of Imelda's hand and Imelda feels its loss with a pang.

Poppy opens the bag at her side and pulls out two huge yellow and black Hufflepuff scarves. As she's reaching up to wrap one around Imelda, she whispers: "sorry, I only have these. But yellow looks good on you."

Both of them flush and smile at each other and Imelda doesn't know how long they stand before Poppy grabs her hand again, making sure their fingers are laced, and then they are heading out.

Poppy looks more and more excited the closer they get to the Forbidden Forest, but Imelda's never set foot even remotely close to the forest, and she feels quite apprehensive at first. But, Poppy's excitement is exhilarating - Imelda can feel it rolling off of her in waves and despite herself, she begins to feel excited too. They still haven't spoken since leaving Hogwarts, but it's a comfortable silence. Imelda's glad for the scarf - their breath is puffing out in soft clouds as they breathe and it's quite cold - the freezing temperatures in Scottish winters are still something she's never quite gotten used to.

Their boots crunch through the snow-filled landscape - it's nearing dusk and the sky is turning a brilliant shade of orange and pink, but it gets obscured by the tree branches the further into the Forbidden Forest they venture, the golden light only showing in bursts now.

"Almost there," Poppy says breathlessly. She beams up at Imelda, whose breath catches at the sight, before turning back and pulling her faster and faster until they stop in a clearing. They've stopped in the middle, and Imelda looks around.

Here, they can actually see the sky and it is breathtaking in its beauty - the gnarled, naked trees around them twisting and reaching up as if they could try and grasp some of the beauty for themselves. The snow is perfectly smooth and untouched except for the footprints that the two of them have just left. Apart from that, the clearing is nondescript.

This is what Poppy had been so excited to show her?

Poppy gives no explanation for why she brought Imelda to the Forbidden Forest, but she's almost quivering in excitement - Imelda can feel the tension in the hand that's clutching hers tightly. The sun sets lower and lower, the two of them watching it as the colors around them start to fade and mute and then -

Poppy gasps in delight.

There -

A small, dancing, brilliant white light sparks to their left and disappears just as quickly.

"Look," Poppy whispers. Imelda glances over to her - she can barely make out her face in the dimming light, but Poppy seems to be glowing with happiness.

There - again -

More and more of the brilliant white lights appear, glowing and flickering on and off, and moving in almost a pattern, dancing around their heads. Imelda laughs as she watches the tiny creatures fly around them. It's magical and beautiful and -

"I found the snow sprite nest a few weeks ago, when the blizzards started, and I've been observing them since then. I...I wanted to show you and tell you about them the second I found out because I haven't stopped thinking about you but after...well, you know...I just wanted to cheer you up..."

Poppy trails off, looking uncertain when Imelda doesn't say anything in response.

She can't, even though she desperately wants to. Her mouth goes dry as she looks to the girl at her side, who has done all of this, for her.

Poppy looks impossibly lovely in the glow of the snow sprites, as they dance and spark around their heads in a beautiful waving pattern and Imelda doesn't even think as her hand goes to Poppy's cheek. Poppy stops rambling as she looks up into Imelda's eyes.

Then, before she can lose her nerve, Imelda leans forward and presses her lips to Poppy's. It's only the lightest of touches, but her heart is beating so quickly and Merlin, she can't believe she just did that. She quickly retreats, face flaming, but before she can get away Poppy reaches up to cup Imelda's cheeks with both hands and she pulls her forward, her mouth greedy, desperate, as they finally kiss.

When they finally pull away, breathing heavily as their foreheads rest against each other, Imelda can't help the huge smile that's threatening to split her face open. It mirrors the expression she sees on Poppy, her eyes bright and cheeks flushed and she is just so lovely that Imelda can't help but lean forward and capture her mouth again. Their lips mold to each other and it's the culmination of all of their stolen glances, touches, secret wishes.

Imelda Reyes has never been one to do things by halves, after all .

A HUGE thank you to @dom1re and @thingsmaygetalittlecrazy for reading this oneshot recently and leaving me such amazing comments on ao3😭♥️♥️♥️ they made me reread this oneshot & I remembered how much I love it🫶

[sysmedsaresexist]

Reminder: I'm not required to be nice to people who act like they're an authority and are ready for actual debate but are harming young CDD systems with inaccurate definitions, REALLY bad analogies, and ableist interpretations of medical texts

You shouldn't be debating if you don't understand basic definitions and concepts

[every-sanji]

[retrogradedreaming]

my least favorite thing is when people compliment someone's work by using passive aggressive comments about what they hate about other people's work. like please, just focus on what is actually in front of you

[twilight-princess240]

I am seething. I am furious. I am crying inside. What was that portrayal of Alyssa Targaryen in House of the Dragon?

Fire and Blood explicitly described her as having dirty blond hair, mismatched eyes, one violet, one green, ungainly features, and a crooked nose because she broke it when she was six. She knew she was not a great beauty and never would be, but never gave a shit about that. She preferred trousers over gowns, rode Meleys whenever she had a chance, was openly a tomboy, and once again, never gave a shit about any negative opinions about that. She was spirited and fiery, openly saying she was "as bawdy a wench as any barmaid in King's Landing."

Why couldn't they have portrayed her like that? Was it so hard to show that she was still a Targaryen and Daemon's mother, the parent he took after the most, while using the book description of her? The fans, especially those who have read Fire and Blood, know how Alyssa really looks and what her personality is like. Do the show's creators think all fans don't know anything about the source material?

The grievances I have with the scene depicting her and Daemon are innumerable. I have just become more Team Black than ever before and am so relieved that I never watched Season 2 except for the new intro. I know now that I won't be able to stomach the show from now on knowing they ruined my girl Alyssa in such a, excuse my wording, blasphemous way. I now feel afraid, no, terrified, for the day that Targaryen women like Alyssa's many sisters, her mother, and Shiera Seastar will be adapted for the screen, because they will be ruined and reduced to unrecognizable beings who might not be like their book descriptions at all. Since the story of Dunk and Egg is being adapted, I feel afraid of how any Targaryen woman in that show will be adapted, such as Aegon V's (Egg's) sisters Daella and Rhae, and possibly his daughters Shaera and Rhaelle. Hell, maybe Egg's wife Betha Blackwood, his mother Dyanna Dayne, his sisters-in-law Kiera of Tyrosh and Princess Daenora Targaryen, and his niece Princess Vaella Targaryen should be on that list too because they were Targaryens by marriage, in Vaella's case, by birth, and in Daenora's case, by both birth and marriage.

Targaryen women have been ruined for far too long, and Alyssa Targaryen was only the latest. She was reduced to an unrecognizable being who was used to make fans unsympathetic to Daemon and by extension Team Black, and it disgusts and infuriates me. Yes, Daemon has done morally questionable, if not outright immoral things, throughout the books and the show, but this scene feels too much like they want to depict him as an irredeemable monster in contrast to Team Green, and that is, to me, abhorrent.

I apologize if this rant makes anyone uncomfortable, but I absolutely had to get it off my chest after seeing (on here, not the episode itself) and hearing about Alyssa's appearance in House of the Dragon and how it was used. The only things this show has accomplished is me confirming that I'm solidly Team Black all the way and me desiring justice for not just Alyssa, but every Targaryen woman who was ruined before her, might be ruined in House of the Dragon, and might be ruined in future shows.

[afropearl]

realizing i am not depressed

but i have outgrown this environment, this routine, this version of life

but the newness i want to live is stuck under the old and dying,

but how do i truly get rid of what must go,

how do i embrace the metamorphosis my soul craves?

*exasperated sigh*