#is just trying to come to terms with her grief. and in the end accepts that she doesn't have to stay stuck on this forever

[hamliet]

Jentry Chau Vs Netflix

So, I watched Jentry Chau Vs. The Underworld.

If you like beautiful (and unique) animation, complex storytelling, themes of coming of age and grief, and references to my favorite band (shout out NCT127), this is a story you should definitely check out. I would recommend it highly, even though I'm going to critique later on in this review.

Complex People and Complex Love

Gugu was a very complex character whom you could both hate as someone who was clearly manipulating Jentry in an almost unforgivable way after doing the unforgivable to her family. And yet, the series opening literally had Gugu sacrificing her life for Jentry, so no matter what was revealed, you always had to handle the uncomfortable reality that Gugu really loved Jentry.

And therein the series explored complexities in love and life, an understanding that comes with growing up and brings on its own grief. The people who raise us, our heroes, turn out to have their own lives and worlds too, their own motivations, that are often not exactly altruistic. We are not at the center of their world as much as we, as children, thought we were.

Jentry's wrestling with her relationship with Gugu was complex and interesting. The handling of Gugu's character was consistently the best in the series, and I loved it even if I'm still not sure I like Gugu. That's a good character--someone you're left pondering the legacy of.

Grief

Jentry working through her grief was a major theme of the series--grief for her parents, and grief for Gugu, not just in terms of her actually dying (which does happen), but in terms of her understanding of who Gugu was and who her parents were.

Jentry's grief journey contrasts with Gugu's grief for Iris and of course Cheng's for Xiao Lan. Which is why Jentry reaching out and healing her inner child through saving Xiao Lan was ultimately a beautiful way of handling her arc. She saw a child who was scared and didn't know what was going on, and destructive in that pain, and saved her.

If you look at the series, Gugu was scared and didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions and destroyed Jentry's family as a result. Kit was scared and didn't understand how to be human and was destructive in that pain.J entry too grieves Kit and projects that fear onto the possibility of losing Michael, which leads to a rift in their relationship. And some of that fear is not understanding who they wanted to be. To quote C.S. Lewis after the death of his wife:

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. 

Grief and fear intertwine in many ways in Jentry Chau, including through Moonie allowing herself to be possessed by the Mogui to get her husband back. This also then leads to Gugu's second death.

Gugu's farewell at the end had me full-on sobbing. In a sense, Jentry's entire arc throughout the story is a symbolic way of working through her grief for Gugu, settling with her accepting via choosing to focus on Gugu's love for her, and carrying her memory on in a literal form (the necklace). After accepting Gugu loved her, Jentry loses her fear of the underworld and her powers, and her fear of losing the people closest to her as well.

A Soul Is What You Choose

Jentry's ultimate power isn't burning, but it's being able to see people for whom they want to be. Kit and being human. Ed and being scary. Michael and joining the band.

In a world where everyone, demon or human, is trying to be what they think they need to be, trying to please others, Jentry asks them to be who they want to be, to live how they want to live.

The Best Character and the Worst Writing: Kit

Kit is by far the most compelling character. He's continually sympathetic (while Gugu is somewhat not), conflicted, and torn between how desperately he wants to be human and the inhuman acts he believes he has to commit to be one. Plus, he doesn't understand what it means to be human, nor the complexities of human relationships.

The scene where he helps Jentry create a skinsuit is really a metaphorical sex scene--like fairly obviously. It isn't subtle.

It starts in a bedroom (and yes, animators know what they're doing when they choose setting and objects).

Then we have talking about looking under layers.

Then we have some yonic symbols and this.

Like. And he uses a knife (a traditionally phallic symbol), and the next thing we see is cloth falling... with literal the next frame being clothes (ie, clothes coming off).

Sticking a brush (another traditional phallic symbol) in a vat of wet paint (yonic).

Kit: I've never done this before. It's strange. Jentry: I stand by what I said in class. You do have a soul, and you're more human than you know.

Also note the hand clasped position.

It ends with them literally "becoming one" in Kit embodying a Jentry skin to help Jentry uncover the truth--in other words, they help each other be human.

Which is why what happens next really doesn't make storytelling sense, and is actually kinda offensive.

Love Triangle: What Not To Write

The love triangle pretty clearly was supposed to represent Jentry's links to the supernatural (via Kit) and her links to the human world (via Michael). Great potential for a love triangle, a trope I generally hate because it's almost never well done.

This was not well done. What makes it even more frustrating is that it had a ton of potential to be well done via the thematic and symbolic potential.

Having Kit suddenly go aggressive ex who can't take "no" for an answer was lazy writing, nonsensical within the characters they'd set up, and offensive. Offensive, primarily, because you absolutely should never introduce a triggering element like, oh, harassment and controlling men if you don't plan on dealing with it in the story. And they didn't. At all.

The only reason that element was there was to resolve the love triangle in a clear way--oh, Jentry should be with Michael because Kit acted threatening, even though he never had before. That's just bad writing, because if there's a clear choice in a love triangle, you gotta actually write it. Make Michael the more compelling love interest. (More on how they didn't do this later.)

The entire sequence with Kit makes no sense. Jentry tells him he's actually "hundreds of years old," parroting Tumblr-esque anti arguments about Twilight and every other paranormal love story ever. Except, the story had always explicitly framed Kit as a child being abused by Cheng and "parented" by puppets. His journey to understand who he was, that he mattered, that he could be a human too, was clearly a coming-of-age story.

You don't tend to end coming-of-age stories with death, but they did, pretty much because after the threatening scene there was no coming back.

Plus, Jentry's treatment of Kit actually was pretty bad. Now, there's never an excuse for a threatening ex, but--Kit was right about her hypocrisy in terms of how she treated demons like Ed and himself, something that Jentry isn't really asked to reckon with.

If they wanted Jentry to end up with Michael, that's fair, but her decision was taken away from her because they just decided to stamp Kit with a lazy and offensive development and then kill him off in a redemptive death that emphasizes everything that can go wrong with that trope.

Michael Deserved Better

I feel like they didn't know entirely what to do with Michael. He started off with a cool arc, torn between his desire to be a band geek and his talent for football. His indecision leading to conflict with Stella and Jentry was also a great flaw, especially given that he also has visions of the future. An indecisive teenager with precognition has a ton of potential.

But, Michael's arc vanishes after the festival. Instead he's just... kinda there. Jentry chooses him because she wants to be a normal, human girl. But this isn't a good reason, because she's not (and arguably, he's not either!). Yet this isn't unpacked--the idea that everyone in this triangle is both human and supernatural, to varying degrees.

One interesting idea I spotted during the scene where Kit (as Jentry) gets asked out by Michael is that--well, it's a romantic-coded scene with two men, even if Kit turns him down for Jentry.

But it also coming on the heels of the metaphorical sex scene kinda seemed to almost hint at a throuple. Plus the scene after Kit's death where Jentry views them as merging, and where Michael expresses that Jentry views them the same. This would have actually been a very interesting turn for the story to take in future seasons, if they get those (especially since Stella x Tokki is apparently a thing?).

Because ultimately:

Netflix: The True Enemy

Honestly, almost all of the writing flaws I've talked about come down to the writers just not having enough time. If they had a guarantee of further seasons, they wouldn't have needed to rush to finish the love triangle. They wouldn't have needed to kill Kit. They wouldn't have needed to abort Michael's arc and conflict with Stella.

And really, Netflix continues to disappoint me in emphasizing just how much they focus on profits and money over art. They prefer fast food over an actual nutritious meal. They give shows like one season to get record ratings and if they don't, they get axed. Of course writers are going to rush to cram their story into a single season, because there's no guarantee of another season. Series aren't given any leeway to explore their interesting elements, or to find their footing. It's bad for art. However, Warner Bros exists so Netflix can't fully win the crown for worst example of capitalistic corporations killing art just yet.

I continue to be disappointed that series with no actual story that the writers want to tell (merely a concept of a plan) get renewed for seven seasons based on the writer's reputations (that they then tank with their terrible non-writing) while interesting stories with beautiful art and animation, complex ideas on grief and growing up, have to scramble to beg for another season.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

When Harrow is very obviously grieving, (and also when he wants to gaslight her) John tells her to make soup about it, to focus on the little things, to take it day by day. When asked to help with the lobotomy, Ianthe tells Harrow that the worst is over- she's a lyctor now, and she should try and move forward instead of sticking herself permanently in limbo. These are not terrible pieces of advice to give a grieving person; if actually practiced, they might even be helpful. Except for Harrow, they are the absolute worst things you could possibly say.

None of what happened to her should have happened, of course she doesn't want to accept it and progress further into lyctorhood. Everything is terrifying and new to her, of course she won't find peace in "the little things". John is actively trying to fucking KILL HER, of course SOUP isn't going to help! Like obviously the general grief advice isn't gonna work for Harrow because she's in a psychological horror book and is being haunted and is grieving jesus christ herself, but also, does it really work that well ever? Does being told to move on actually ever in any circumstance help the person move on? Or does it just make them feel more broken, more inadequate, more lonely?

Sure, focusing on little things that give you joy and trying not to ruminate on the past are on paper productive ways to cope, but its also the LAST thing a grieving person actually wants to do. Telling someone to simply forget about what they went through and who they lost, to just focus on the boring and isolating minutae of everyday life instead of the world-ending tragedy they've experienced feels impossible. To do it would be like betraying yourself, and the people you lost.

Most of the book is Harrow knowing that certain things would probably make her feel better if she would just try, being told constantly that if she would just do x y or z, things would fall into place and she would be less broken. She doesn't even remember WHY she feels like this, but she does, and it's all-consuming. Lyctorhood is the scale by which her "normality" is measured, and she is failing SPECTACULARLY. She refuses to set aside Gideon's humanity and significance in her life to use her as a battery, and that makes her weak and a failure in the eyes of the other saints.

But by failing to move on, she ends up actually preserving (??? who actually knows man) Gideon's life. For the classic grief advice to not only be unhelpful to her personally also ACTIVELY MALICIOUS/ HARMFUL PLOT WISE is such a great 180 to me. Instead of a "grieving character comes to terms with loved one's death for the Greater Good and moves on because its the Right Thing To Do" narrative, we get a kind of bereavement revenge fantasy. Harrow's complete refusal to move on stops Gideon from actually fully dying. And she does makes soup, not to cope with the constant terror she's living under, but to EXPLODE her tormentor from the inside out. These things probably aren't "good" for Harrow, or for anyone dealing with grief. They do not make life easier for her, and they do not make her a lyctor, but they are honest and they are SO satisfying. Having the power to bring back the person you lost, even at great personal detriment and to explode everyone who hurt you with your mind is i think the perfect power for someone in mourning and i love that htn let Harrow have it. There is no greater good to be served, no larger moral about loss to be told. The objective is not to see Harrow heal from loss, it's to see her by sheer determination and force of will, refuse to fucking lose.

[torglives]

"I'm sorry I don't seem to be the person you're looking for." "No yeah I.. I'll keep looking. Thank you."

i have a lot of things to say about realms pangi tonight (as usual) but i'll try to keep it concise. on his grief, on his coping mechanisms, and on his healing.

pangi has already grieved pili. he's disguised it under layers of vengeful plans and cartoon-villain monologues, but he's already arrived at the final stage of grief, and all he needed was the confirmation that this pili isn't his. isn't theirs. he's come to terms with the fact that he's gone.

i want to say that he's healing, but that's not entirely true yet. there will be a period where pangi denies in that way of his--not by believing that New Pili is Old Pili, but by immediately trying to move forward. quite literally by erasing the physical remanents of their friendship, and getting ros to fill-in the book in his place. he's trying to cover the open wound by painting it before it can get the chance to close. that isn't healthy! it's going to fall apart one way or another, and he's going to have to approach it again, but more gently. he has to come to terms with the fact that pili can be a memory, even if another version of him is living and breathing. pangi has to accept that no matter how angry he is at how it all ended, how shitty pili was to him, he can still miss him. he can hold onto the memories he has of him and let ros in at the same time.

pangi, as a character, is unable to linger. he feels the need to jump from thing to thing, never giving himself the proper time to sit and process. when his worst fear is proven, when he is shown that he isn't wanted or needed somewhere--he shuts down the part of himself that was trying to be wanted and needed. his way of 'staying on top of it all' is just adding another layer. he buries it under something new, and tries to forget about it and barrel onto the next thing. it never works.

as he said, he'll keep looking. instead of accepting that the spot he's carved out for pili has gone empty, he immediately tries to find someone to fill it. he hasn't entirely accepted that nobody fits that shape, and that ros cannot fill that spot. he does not believe in coexistence. i don't think this means he's stuck in an endless cycle of trying to find something to latch onto, though. i think pangi has people who will help pull him out of this loop, and i think today he took the first steps to slow it all down.

by letting go of that residual anger surrounding his death, by accepting ros' friendship and letting himself be honest with her, by teaming up with aimsey, by getting closer with hannah and bad, by letting himself admit that pili is truly gone-- he's healing. slowly and messily, as a griever does. he's getting there. he'll never be how he once was, or look at a cornflower the same way, but he's taking the initiative to be happy again. a stranger will continue to walk the realm with the body of someone he gave everything to, someone he loved, and it will hurt. but he has people who love him just as much as he aches, and eventually that will dilute the hurt. i think it already has.

[venomvalley]

BONE-CHILL

ghost!leon kennedy x gn!reader // 6.1k words

summary: Leon doesn't come back from his last mission, and you try to cope with the shadows that soon go bump in the night.

warnings: horror, brief description of gore, death, mentions of suicide, ambiguous ending

> read on ao3

The days drone long and monotonous after your recent shift to a home-work-home-work lifestyle, bland but necessary change given… recent events. The stagnation of limbo between reality and your own morality-fearing pessimism.

If only grief were tangible—a thing you could grasp between your fingers and rip apart. Something you could take your anger out on, sink your teeth into, hold when you cry. You think sometimes about chewing your own fingers off just for the stimulation of it. Maybe the bleeding wounds could finally bless your sadness with a chance at freedom.

After his last stint overseas, Leon failed to return. Three months gone by with no contact—a blaring red siren given his penchant for frequent calls or emails or anything to sate your worry. You kept your long-term relationship under lock and key, a decision ultimately hinging upon your safety in regards to the danger of his profession, a sacrifice greater than your need to hold his hand in public. But now the lights in your home tend to flicker, and the shadows in each room feel like the vacuum of a blackhole, and the buzzing silence might one day consume the grey matter of your brain.

What a stupid idea. A curse of hindsight.

There's been no knock at the door, no unknown number calling your phone. No government official announcing his passing, no news articles—you say this as if you would even know where to look. He kept his flights abroad tight to his chest, left details to the wolves. I work for the government was all he said, as if he owed you no explanation. As if you don’t chew your nails bloody to the thought of his corpse rotting in some far-off corner of the world with no way to bring him home.

Shit, you're unsure if he is dead, but you always preferred catastrophization. Better to accept inevitables than hold out dwindling hope. He talked in length about the danger of his job, emphasized importance that nobody ever knew you existed in his life. How lonely it was—for both of you. He loved his paranoia more than he loved you, but he also knew a lot of things you didn't.

Every homecoming brought him back to you a little less whole, a little less him. A little more angry, a little more tired.

In hindsight, you can't remember the last time you saw your Leon.

The winter wind bites at your cheeks when you step through the front doors of your office, building up to a jog on the way to your car, anticipation of full-blast heat pushing you farther. The weather spares none this year, blooms ice crystals between the layers of tissue and fat and muscle within your body. Snow still clings to rooftops, ice crystals stick to overhangs and metal and ledges. Everyone is miserable, but the weather suits your mood. Empty and dead. A shell of its summer counterpart.

The coworker you closed with calls you over to wish you well, reminds you of the upcoming pizza party that possesses all the appeal of ripping out your own teeth by brute force (something you choose to keep private). Heat pours from her window and you lean down to defrost your cheeks as she complains about her husband and her kids and the fast food she has to get on the way home.

The ring on your finger settles a heavy weight inside your chest, stalling the thump of your heart. But you smile and nod and laugh when she says something you perceive as a joke, grateful that she's perfectly content to talk at you and not with you. Exhaustion wrings you dry of energy these days.

After the five minute, one-sided conversation ends, she drives off with a wave, leaving you to glance around the parking lot: a concrete shell of ice sheets and empty spaces and shadows that defy the laws of light. You turn your head toward your car at the far end. The chill of each inhale burns your lungs, makes you expel a heaving cough, and the bright, full moon shines down on you. The maker of tides, of fate, bright enough to light the remaining hundred feet to your car. Mocking in its own right. If that's even possible. Anything seems possible these days.

Home is lonely. Quiet and dark and solemn when you step through the front door. The air stagnates, fills your inner ear with a dizzying static, a chill that bleeds through your coat. Frost smears across each window you pass to turn on lights and adjust the thermostat, and—

Wait. You shouldn’t be seeing the glass of the windows. You keep the curtains drawn to protect your privacy. Such an odd little detail that tightens your shoulders until you remember that, no, I opened the living room curtains this morning to look out at the snow. Just forgot to close them. Maybe that's what happened with the others.

And maybe it's the loneliness, or the darkness that permeates every corner of this place, but you stay on edge the rest of the night. A simple, odd detail, but you swear by routines, and leaving the curtains open is not one of them.

But you've been stressed lately, left on autopilot. You unlocked the front door to get inside and nothing else appeared tampered with.

Still. Your gut shifts and gnarls, alerting you to other, less realistic explanations.

Ultimately, you blame a bit of forgetfulness. Home is impossibly colder without Leon here. You miss him until you can't anymore and then you miss him again. It's natural to be a bit out of it.

At work, your coworkers sniff out a problem, express their concern, implore you to think about yourself before pulling another double shift, but home is not home anymore, and you prefer exhausting yourself so extensively that you barely make it to the couch every night. A better alternative to staring at the cold, empty side of your bed.

You hadn't seen Leon smile in ten years. Really, truly smile: all teeth and full cheeks and a scrunched nose. But you dream of it. A younger version of him you recall only through pictures at the bottom of a shoe box. But here, amidst the wispy fractals of sleep, he smiles. Says you worry too much, that he's fine, that he's here.

You wake the next morning with tears wetting the pillow. An emptiness claws, taints, scars the tissue of your lungs. Each breath feels like rotting.

After readying for work, you dig out the shoe box and look through each photo. Some of them are bent, torn at the edges, yellowed on the back. All of them marked with the year, most accompanied by a short sentence for commentary. At the bottom of the pile, you find the one that started the search. Taken two years after his military training, the first time you had seen him since he left for Raccoon City. He came back changed, a lot less himself, but still. He smiled for you.

You leave the box open and the pictures scattered all over the floor after rushing to leave for work, and when you arrive back home, the pictures are put away. The box tucked back into the closet. You dig through the contents, now a mess of scattered images, a haunting in and of itself. The smiling picture of Leon nowhere to be found.

It’s the first time dread overtakes you.

Your method of rationalization goes as follows: I've been stressed from work, had to rush, forgot I put the box back up. A justifiable, realistic explanation. No signs of break-in, no other tampering. Just the messy intestines of the box and the missing photo. Your coworkers were right. Gotta take it easy.

But the incidents continue.

A few days later, you startle awake to the pitch-black darkness of the living room, curled up on the couch. The television is off, everything lay quiet. A cold sweat sticks your shirt to your back, sharp spikes of fear lingering in the pit of your stomach. Your breathing stutters, leaves your mouth in loud huffs.

You can't move. You try to sit up, to curl in on yourself, to adjust the blanket, but your body refuses to comply. Can't even twitch a finger. You hold your breath, close your eyes—please snap out of it please help me please—and that's when you hear it.

Something hovers just over the back of the couch, a presence suffocating, almost tangible in the air, like sulfur in the back of your throat. The sound of its breathing strikes you as unmistakably human. Fear-filled, panic-induced huffs.

Your heart might actively give out, might break a rib with its hummingbird beat against your chest. But your eyes never open. This is a bad dream. Sleep paralysis. A fucking nightmare.

Something frigid—a finger, has to be, oh god—touches you at the elbow, trails a path up your arm, back and forth and back and forth. Your eyes clench tighter, breath mirroring the thing's: a sharp panic, acidic on your tongue, each muscle squirming against your brain's inaction.

After a moment, the longest moment of your life, either a half-second or three hours, the thing pulls away. The huffing stops. Your thumb twitches, then your wrist moves, then your head twists deeper into the pillow.

You never understood the phrase ��frozen from fear’ until now, and although your body is your own again, you can't bring yourself to move off the couch. You want to run to the bathroom and switch on the light and lock the door and curl up inside the shower. But you can't. Can't settle the worry that the thing still watches you, remains at the back of the couch just waiting for overwhelming curiosity to turn your head.

You lay there for an unknown amount of time, until sunlight bleeds through the curtains and triumphs over darkness. You've always felt safer during the daytime.

Sleep paralysis used to feature prominently in your life a few years back. Always catalyzed by stress, worse when laying in bed. But it seems the past has followed you to this couch and brought some demons along with it. Nowhere is safe now.

Leon always knew what to do. Always shook you out of it, talked you through it, blotted out the visions with his voice and his face and his touch. And you wish—

(you call your friend in tears, inconsolable as you recount the events of the past few months)

—god, you wish he was here.

You pack a bag for the next few days after an internally waged war about rock bottom and how far you can reasonably cope like this. Your friend offers a way out, a vacation stay for however long you need.

You leave that night.

Truly, the hallucination didn't scare you. In the moment, yes, of course, but you knew the cause. Sitting with the aftermath alone, in the cold, dark, silence, unsure of the trust you place in yourself? Questioning your own brain? That broke something within you.

Maybe the events leading up to the incident didn't help, either. The curtains then the picture that you failed to find and all the grief and worry added to such an oppressive bout of fear that you had no choice but to flee.

You don't tell your friend that, though. Instead, you twist the truth to recount a more rational version of events: haven't been sleeping well, grieving, misplacing objects, memory loss, sleep paralysis. You can't tell them that a war wages on inside you between earthly realm and ether. That you might be going insane.

By Wednesday, you sit on the same couch that chased you away, bag dropped at your feet, holding the lost picture of Leon in your hands. Found on the coffee table upon your return. His smile taunts you in a way indescribable to your brain. He would know what do, make you feel better, but where is he now to banish the darkness from this house?

You shove the picture into one of your drawers beneath a wrinkled mess of clothing. That isn't how you remember him anyway.

The next morning, you shower with invisible eyes watching, a gaze that soaks you in hot oil, that no amount of scrubbing relieves. Five separate times you peek out from behind the shower curtain and prepare to meet the gaze of… something. The subject of your fear doesn’t matter. You still wish to crawl inside your skin and curl up at the bottom of the tub.

When you step out, the familiar smell of Leon's cologne freezes you in place. Your hand remains outstretched toward the towel folded up on the toilet. The bottle sits on the sink, untouched, but you smell it. You smell it. Hints of musk and sandalwood, and against your better judgement, you inhale deep and home feels like home again.

If only for a moment.

When you spray a spritz or two, it's a reclamation of your space. A decision made with intent. You spray another on your chest for good measure (not at all because you wish for his smell to follow you around the house).

The chill of the kitchen floor helps calm your heartbeat. You flipped every light in the house on, but the curtains refuse to stay closed. A direct portal to the outside world and the darkness that threatens to overtake your haven, but you’re too afraid to close them, to look at your own reflection (and what might stare back).

Things escalate shortly thereafter.

You arrive home a bit clumsy on your feet, fresh out of the bar after a drunken evening with your friends. Can't remember the last time you had so much fun, allowed yourself to forget about the shadows haunting your home.

Dread settles like a lead weight in your stomach, a common sensation nowadays made worse by the alcohol. Eyes always watching, a presence lingering just out of the sight. The whole house feels cursed.

But you shake it off. You've had your best day in months. Can't let the cage of the walls collapse in on you.

You remove your shoes, drop your belongings on the table beside the door. Start to sing the song that played in your friend's car before you pause, hair rising on the back of your neck.

Even through the darkness, the poor adjustment of your vision, you recognize the silhouette sitting on your couch. The strands of hair, dark blond offset against the color of blue-tinged shadows. You should run to him, ask where the fuck he's been, but something keeps you locked in place, swaying on drunken feet.

It's Leon but it isn't. You know it, your brain knows it, your gut knows it, your heart knows it. You accepted his death long before this moment. Knew down to your bone marrow that he was gone for good.

And now something wears his skin.

The figure doesn't move, and you glance back toward the light switch. Just a few feet away, close enough that if you really stretch, you could reach it. You look at the couch to find the silhouette still sitting there.

You take a step and the floorboard creaks just as a finger finds the protrusion of the switch. Behind you, the couch groans.

You shouldn't look back. You shouldn't look back. A bad fucking idea—one of your worst—but blood-curdling curiosity leaves you turning your head.

Staring at you over the cushion are two shadow-logged pits where his eyes should be, the suggestion of his hair blotted out and cloudy. Too dark to make anything else out, but that same feeling from the shower soaks you in a bucket of cold water.

You can't move. You need to, should grab your keys and bolt out the door, but the communication between your brain and feet misfires. You hold your breath.

“Please don't,” the thing says, so quiet and pitiful and hoarse that you almost listen. Still, you flinch at the sound, the familiar words. The whisper goes off like a gunshot.

Something eats at you, deep down inside your belly, that this thing doesn't wish to hurt you. Let it in. Let it stay here. Let it warm your bed.

The thing stole Leon's voice.

You flip on the light switch and the thing disappears.

Over the coming days, you consider the possibility of a psychotic break. What hallucinations entail. How deep the paranoia punctures. What is real and what is a byproduct of your degrading mind.

You shower with the curtain open. You safety pin the window curtains together. One day, you spend three hours deciding which lights are necessary to keep the darkness at bay, and you never turn them off. You stop drinking. You park closer to the front doors at work.

Sometimes you cry in the car on your way home.

And still yet, the thing reappears. Your safety pins sit in a neat little pile on the kitchen table. You find blown bulbs after spending too long away. A bottle of brandy and a glass wait for you beside the sink.

After spotting a splotch of blond hair in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, you cover it with a sheet only to find that same sheet folded neatly on the end of your bed the next morning.

After your late shift, you spot a figure occupying the passenger seat of your car. Pinpricks of ocean blue in the rear-view mirror. You drop your keys one morning underneath your car and they skid back across the pavement before you can crouch down to fish for them (you were fifteen minutes late for work that day).

You don't get it. Can't understand why you're haunted by the memory of your dead love, why the grief manifests only to terrify you.

The days are lonely and the nights are horrifying. Even if you could tell somebody, what would you say? ‘Listen, I know this sounds unbelievable, but something is wearing my dead husband's skin. I can't sleep or eat or think straight anymore. I need help.’ That is a one-way trip to a mental hospital—the last thing you need right now. Nobody would believe you, and you can't even blame them. Can't trust your own senses these days.

You use your lunch breaks at work to nap. At your most exhausted, you consider sleeping under the desk until your morning shift. You consider couch surfing for the unforeseeable future, or sleeping on a friend's porch in the middle of winter.

But you think in inevitables. Going home happens to be one of them.

Winter turns to spring, bringing longer days and balmy weather and the occasional thunderstorm. The incidents go on and on, but they don't escalate.

After a week-long stint with the same friend as before, you return home bright and early on Sunday. The curtains in the living room are drawn shut, but you never shut them. You know that for certain. Stopped fussing over it after the tenth time you walked into the room to find them open again.

On the kitchen table sits the photo of Leon. Smiling, arm curled around you, eyes crinkled at the corners. You pull out a chair and sit down, and you think you want to die.

A fleeting yet comforting proposal. An end to everything, a perpetual nothingness. Maybe your souls would find each other in the aftermath, between the empty space of atoms.

You miss him.

Whatever lurks beyond the realm of possibility that resides within your home views this picture as important. It wants you to look. To remember.

You grab a photo album from the side table in the living room and switch out the picture (already a shot of you two) with the Smiling Leon.

“Okay,” you say, setting the frame on the kitchen table. “I'm leaving the picture out, so just…” A gnawing part of you knows this crosses some sort of line. Never interact with the scary thing haunting you, “move it wherever you want, I guess.”

You haven't yet tried appeasing the thing, communicating with it. Maybe it's lonely, same as you. Maybe it needs a friend, stuck in your apartment twenty four hours a day. Maybe that's why it watches you, likens your presence to a hamster on a wheel, a bird in a tree, a zoo animal. Entertainment.

Maybe you do need to go to a fucking hospital.

The picture frame turns into a little game. You wake each morning and come home each evening to find it moved, and spend the next few minutes searching for it. You find it under your bed, beneath a pillow, on the sink in the bathroom, between the couch cushions, in one of the closets.

The more you think about it, the deeper unease roots into your stomach. A ghost with free reign of your house, tangible proof of its existence. It journeys around your bed when you sleep, at your most vulnerable—the most horrifying thought of all.

You could capture the activity, but your ghost seems too smart for that. It watches you sleep and shower and watch television. Surely it would watch you set video cameras up. As if you have the money for them anyway.

Unfortunately, your plan backfires. The ghost grows more active at night. Footsteps echo from the kitchen, you wake to find furniture moved, it hides your keys. One morning your front door sticks while you already run late for work, as if a body leans against the wood.

As if the ghost doesn't want you to leave.

You're forced to squeeze yourself through the living room window, a prickly bush breaking your fall. When you get to work, a coworker plucks a leaf from your hair, asks about what activities you got up to this morning with a jesting laugh.

Nothing much. Just that the ghost haunting my house tried to hold me hostage.

It's an isolated incident, and you scold the ghost after you get home with all the intensity of an owner housebreaking a puppy. Ridiculous, all things considered, and you take the rest of the evening to reflect on how the fuck things got to this point. If you're in denial about your own mental state and you truly do converse with thin air or move things around without remembering. Maybe this is all one big scheme conjured up by a fractured mind to cope with the loss of your husband.

You aren't sure when the footsteps in your kitchen went from horrifying to comforting.

But even that changes.

You fall asleep on the couch during a rerun of some eighties movie you've seen half a dozen times. The dreams are vivid, fleeting, fragmented in execution. A loud, ragged death rattle wakes you, the water-logged image of a man with an unhinged jaw and a concave skull imprinted on your retinas when you open your eyes.

An infomercial for a cookware product plays on the television, and the air stagnates thick and buzzing, as if the house itself holds its breath.

You sit up to leave for the bathroom but a sudden cold blankets you in hesitation, turns your muscles sluggish and weary. It's so late and you're so tired, and maybe you don't have to pee that bad.

But you get up and pass by the kitchen and turn the corner into the hallway.

You don't believe it at first. Blink your eyes, dig the heel of your palms into the sockets, and yet. A figure remains stood in the doorway of your bedroom at the far end of the hall. A shroud of darkness outlined by the pitiful bloom of light from your bedside lamp.

This is not a thing, but a man. Flesh and blood. As real as yourself. If you look close enough, his lungs expand with breath. Blond hair catches on the light.

Fear collapses your legs, and you land hard against the wall. The thing—a man, a man, a man—takes a step toward you, swallowed up by blackhole shadow, and you pitch backward, hands dragging you toward the kitchen. Toward the sight-breaking safety of the island and the corner you know well.

This isn't like the other times. You were fine, okay, content when your ghost appeared as nothing more than a figment, a blink-away darkness from the corner of your eye. Present only in the aftermath of its hijinks. This thing is real, tangible.

You curl into yourself on the floor, shrinking toward your knees as heavy, stilted footsteps grow closer. Thumpthump… thump, thump… thump…. thump….

From your spot in the kitchen, you look toward the front door. Both locks are turned. The man is not an intruder in the literal sense, but that makes your predicament worse somehow.

You can't fight a ghost.

The footsteps stop somewhere in the living room, and your body shakes so hard the cabinets at your back threaten to creak. You bite the hem of your shirt to quiet ragged breathing.

A bloated silence drags on, and on, and on. Like that night on the couch, you fear moving, making noise, breathing too hard. You're sure the beat of your heart is audible, trapped in your ears, lightheaded as it makes you.

But you have to move. Gotta get to your phone on the coffee table, run outside, call a friend to help you pack your shit tonight because you're done. Fuck this house.

You glance around your corner of the island to find the path clear. A relieved breath chokes from your lungs. You shuffle toward the other, peek your head around the edge, and—

“Please don't,” the thing croaks, crouched down on the other side of the island, blue eyes wide and piercing as its head tilts to stare at you.

A phrase said once before, the first time it revealed itself.

Those eyes bore a hole into your chest, through bone and muscle and flesh already swallowed up by the rot of grief. If you compared a picture of the eyes you remember and the eyes you witness now, they would undoubtedly shine the same shade.

A wailing sob rises up in your throat, chokes off wet and reedy at the base of your tongue. Your chest squeezes tight with each inhale, halting the relief of a full breath.

It—he—moves back behind the island, and after a long moment, heavy, arrhythmic footsteps fade into the hallway where you found him.

You hide the rest of the night in the bathroom, sobbing so hard you cough then gag then vomit into the toilet. You shake and shake and shake, teeth suffering such a fierce chatter they risk cracking and breaking off.

Throughout the night, something knocks on the door in slow, regular intervals. You wonder for a moment what might happen should you answer, what manner of horror you would face, but your hindbrain forbids you from finding out. The noise stretches on for hours, until you finally use his words against him—please don't!—and the house falls into a solemn silence.

Only when hunger claws at your stomach do you emerge from the sanctuary of porcelain and tile, your home swaddled in shadow and melancholy, though the morning sun attempts to shine through the curtains. The lamp from your bedroom reflects off the glossy sheen of scattered pictures on the floor before your nightstand.

You hesitate to cross the threshold into the hallway, unsure of what lurks behind each corner, as if the four walls of the bathroom ensure protection. But you spot the open door of the bedroom closet, and the tipped-over box of pictures now empty.

Against every working cell in your brain screaming for you to run, you creep down the hallway. A shiver racks your spine, gooseflesh rising on your arms as you near the open door. It's cold here, impossibly so. Like someone bottled up a snowstorm and shook it loose within this place.

You step into the room and turn on the ceiling light, the mess of pictures coming into clear view. No harm has come to them, but they look as if someone violently slung the box. A few scatter across the bed, a few landed inside the closet.

The picture frame sits on his pillow.

Your ghost's breaking point, it seems. No coincidence that the picture scattered around all feature him in some form or another. He’s telling you something.

He's—

You really, really, really didn't want to believe it. You didn't. Fought this conclusion since the activity started because acknowledging the possibility means confronting your worst fear.

But it's not—

It is a he.

He is not a mimic.

He is Leon.

Your ghost is Leon. Has been this whole time. Which means—

Fuck. Fuck. You knew. You knew this whole time that something was wrong, that he died when the calls stopped.

And he tried to tell you. He showed you the picture you loved so much. He kept the curtains open so you could look outside at the snow like you did every winter. You smelled him. He tried to comfort you on the couch (god, you felt him). He didn't want you to leave.

You blink, and the image of his eyes peering from behind the island sears into the darkness of your vision.

Please don't—

be scared.

You sink to the floor, thoughts a scrambled, incoherent mess, and busy yourself with putting the pictures back in the box. All your tears ran out last night. The numbness pulls you down, suffocates you, cloys and thickens in the space between your organs. It's better this way, you think. Easier to find an explanation without emotion clouding your judgement.

But you know better. You know better.

“I get it now. It's you, isn't it?” You take a seat on the edge of your bed and the bed dips on the opposite side, facing the window. Perhaps he doesn't wish to scare you again. “Leon, I—” your voice breaks, shatters like the glass inside your picture frame, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

Saying his name carves resignation into your chest, right where all the love resides. That chamber of your heart is bloated, fit to bursting, stretching apart each woven sinew. It hurts. Everything does.

Maybe that's why, despite every atom in your being yelling for you to flee this place and never look back, you stay. Something broke inside you a long time ago, and you lost the energy to piece yourself back together. Leon's still here, still with you just as he promised in your dream. You'd be crazy to leave now.

As an effect of your loyalty, he appears to you more often. The first few times startle you: you wake one morning to find him stood just outside the doorway of your bedroom, where light fails to reach; he rides home with you in the backseat after a long shift at work, face turned to gaze out the window; he paces back and forth around the island as you lay on the couch watching a movie, footsteps ever off-rhythm.

But he never allows the light to touch him, finds safety in the brooding maw of darkness. And you leave the lights off to encourage his presence, to catch glimpses of his eyes peering from closets, around corners. A mess of pretty hair in the mirror.

You open the living room curtains for the first time in months and see him standing over your shoulder in the reflection. The thing that stares back at you.

You talk to him daily. Fill him in on work, share the latest gossip around the office. Warn him of long shifts or nights out with friends. Ask him about what movie to watch, or what you should cook for dinner (one knock for yes, two for no).

It's crazy. You're self-aware enough to recognize this. Keeping one-sided conversations with a dead man is no doubt categorized as a blaring-red-flag symptom in the DSM. You just don't care.

The first time you touch him is when real transitions from metaphorical to earthly.

You wake from a nap to find nighttime in its infancy, fresh after sunset. Your ears buzz, alerting you to a nearby presence, and you glance around to find him (a new game of his that you fail to see the humor in). He stands before the window, facing away from you, following each car that passes by.

You greet him with a quiet, “Hey,” and his head tilts toward the sound of your voice.

He rarely speaks, but you don't mind. The familiarity of his presence comforts you enough. You would prefer the alive Leon, always, but you cling to him any way you can. Can't let him go when you just got him back.

“Is this what you do when I'm gone all day?” you ask, sitting up with a slow creak of the couch. “Maybe I should leave the TV on, or buy a radio. That's gotta be boring.”

He knocks twice on the window (”no”) and a laugh bubbles up in your throat. When your lips spread into a smile, the muscles almost ache from disuse. Can't remember the last time you truly experienced happiness, but this is as close as you're going to get.

You approach him from behind, the need to feel him, skin-to-skin, so overwhelming you almost choke on it. Fingers brush against the back of his hand, relaxed at his side, and you swallow down a gasp at the chill that consumes each point of contact. Frostbite, gangrene, the preservation of a fresh corpse buried beneath snow. So cold your nerves ache, threaten permanent damage, but his skin remains soft as you remember. Callouses scar his palms (you remember the way they held you, caressed you, the thickness of his fingers). But you'll never experience those things again.

The realization ruins your sunny mood like a grounding thunderclap.

“What happened to you?”

Still, he doesn't respond, and you slot your fingers between his. It's easy to pretend like this. He's just come back from an overseas trip, extremities still thawing out after all the cold he suffered through.

Easier still to pretend when your eyes are closed.

Over the next few days, you weigh your… options. The price of mortality. What living truly means to you. If chasing his ghost around would be worth it in the end.

“Are you staying behind for me?” you ask one night to the shadow sitting at the end of the bed. His weight dips the mattress, wrinkles the bedding, reminds you that he's no longer a figment of your imagination or a result of grief-triggered psychosis.

He remains silent.

“I mean… say I died for whatever reason. Would you come with me?”

He remains silent. The outline of his figure curls in on itself.

“Is there even anything after this? Somewhere else to go?”

He remains silent. You grow restless, agitated. Shoot up in bed at the sound of his sigh.

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

The silence burrows holes into your skull, gaping and deep. He turns his head, a pretty, piercing eye staring over his shoulder.

“Don't.” He hisses out the word like it burns acidic on his tongue. As if he knows the goal behind your questions, the contemplations that keep you awake far outside your normal schedule.

“I—” you swallow thick, throat clicking as a warning buzz charges the air, “I wasn't.”

“Don't.”

Don't—

even think about it.

“I wasn't, Leon. I swear.”

As if he would let you go through with it anyway.

[solasfenheral]

some bemused vg bitching below the cut

i am. very bemused by the way this game seems to pull its punches at certain moments. like its afraid to really step on your toes and get in your face thematically. which is a deeply strange experience considering i've never ever felt this way about a dragon age game before???

to be honest. I half wonder if it is a product of this game being a sequel that came out so long after it's previous title and right off the heels of two games that received cold to lukewarm reception critically and within the community. I know there would've been extreme pressure internally for this game to be a critical and commercial success and you see that in how polished it is, how there have been huge technological improvements in things like hair which bioware has always gotten some flack for. and I can't help but feel that history contributed to how. cautious of me this game feels at times.

but its just. strange. it feels so strange to get something like the push up scene at the end of taash's personal quest chain. like what are you doing, with this lukewarm defense of trans identity. have some BITE about it man, I know you care about this! it's like the game doesn't want to commit to locking you out of companion content because they wouldn't tolerate transphobia but also doesn't want to accept it, so you end up with this bizarre kind of. half ass defense of transness without really standing its ground about it.

and one hand I get it because I don't want taash's storyline to be about defending themselves from player transphobia when they're already struggling with coming to terms w their identity throughout the game, but this scene man. its so damn strange.

and like. the way this game handles religion is so damn bizarre to me! which is a critique I've again, never felt for a da game! it feels SO strange for bellara to be like. lol yeah the gods being evil actually makes it EASIER for me to let them go like ffdsjkfhjks what....? epler I am in your HOUSE, this is not how faith worksssss

in trying, it feels like, to avoid steeping on toes about what the revelation of the gods would MEAN to the elves, vg just. really fails to grapple with the importance of faith in people's lives and the pain of what losing that or it being challenged means.

i wouldn't even be as annoyed if like. at least ONE of our dalish companions had complicated feelings about their faith and it was something they could discuss between them! it would be really interesting to contrast davrin's pragmatism, his preoccupation MORE with the lived reality elves might suffer with this knowledge come to light under the current systems of oppression, his understanding of the dalish mythology as important to his culture and his sense of SELF w/o ever having really believed in them personally, with someone like bellara who DID believe and is working through an arc about grief and trying to find a new understanding of what dalish culture looks like now with such a key tenant being challenged!

how do you understand death and what comes beyond death when such a central pillar of your life has been challenged! oh my GOD the depth the funeral scene gains when u have this subtext.

there's not a single banter on how harding reconciles her understanding of the Titans to her belief in the maker!

its just. CRAZY to me that this game seems to be trying to dodge the religious and political bite of its own story fsdhfjkds aaaaaaaa

man this isn't even touching how bizarrely fast rook's regret prison does its switcheroo and goes from neve/bellara's blaming rook for losing them to rook going don't worry your death wasn't my fault to davrin/lace like my GOD lemme stew in the survivor's guilt man ur not even giving me an understanding of why rook can process this!! lace or davrin literally died like! 10 minutes ago to their understanding!!!

[chelleztjs18]

Love Language (W.M)

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!CivilianReader (Avengers AU)

Summary: After Thanos, Wanda retires, along with a long term effect from all the missions she had and then she met you.

Warning: None, just some fluff. Mentions of hearing loss and sign languages.

A/n: Hello! It's me! I have a fluff now after the angsts I have posted. Thanks to my Curious George anon for the inspiring talk and ideas. Y'all can thank her too for motivating me to write and post a fic here today. lol. Welp, happy reading peeps!

Main Masterlist

Years of being Avengers was quite a lot for Wanda, not to mention losing Vision after Pietro. Mission after mission, countless fighting off the enemies felt like she was in an endless war without any possibility to end.

Fortunately, Wanda was wrong. After defeating Thanos, The Avengers are finally able to retire. Wanda is grateful that everybody including her are still alive, though it was hard for her in the beginning to get out the grief from Vision’s death. During all of the fighting she has been through as an Avengers, Wanda can’t escape the explosions or other loud sounds that happened.

It cost her an invisible permanent damage. Wanda has a progressive hearing loss. Her hearing is slowly deteriorating by time causing her to have to learn to read people’s lips in the beginning. With Natasha’s support, Wanda finally accepts her condition and learns sign language to be prepared for the day when she totally loses her hearing.

Then you come into her life.

To Wanda, meeting you at the grocery store near her house was the best thing ever to happen to her life. You brought back the colors in her life that she thought she had lost. You and Wanda have been together for almost a year. She loves you with all her heart. You are the life that she never thought that she would have ever again. Losing people that she loves has made her very skeptical in finding her happiness again but you have saved her.

You, you fell in love with her very hard. Heads over heels. To you, Wanda is perfect. No matter how much she tells you that she is not. You can’t blame her. You understand why she always tells you that she is not perfect because of her condition. Although right now she can still hear certain sounds but most of the time, Wanda can’t hear very well.

Wanda tries to stall as long as she can to not wear hearing aids. She doesn’t feel confident

about how it looks when she puts them on even though some of them don’t look that obvious and are pretty discreet. At this point, Tony has given up in trying to convince her to wear the one that he created special for her. She prefers to read people's lips than wear hearing aids.

Since the first time you both met and then officially dating, the communications have been easy. You always try to talk clearly and slowly and she focuses on reading your lips. Wanda sees how patient you are no matter how many times she asks you to repeat your words or when she doesn’t hear your soft spoken voice.

Wanda knows how hard it is to learn sign language so she always tells you that you don’t have to learn about it. She loves you so much that she told you she would wear hearing aids once she loses all her hearing to save you and your time from learning sign language.

With mutual understanding and how much both of you love each other, life has been very beautiful and happy. Both of you do a lot of things together. Her favorite is movie night together with a lot of snacks and drinks. Either watching new movies at the theater and sometimes at home or watching another rerun of her or your favorite sitcoms.

Wanda always tries to hold herself back not to ask you whenever she probably can’t hear or miss some words because she doesn’t want to bother you. Being the sweetest girlfriend you are, you always quickly pause the movie whenever you see her face looking confused because you know what is actually happening and then help her explain or ask her which part she misses.

Tonight, you just bought an older movie that Wanda has been wanting to watch with you. All snacks are ready on the table and you are waiting for Wanda to bring the drinks.

You have been munching your favorite chips while waiting for her.

“Okay, here’s your drink, my sweet.” Wanda hands you the drink. You take the drink and try to finish the chips in your mouth before you answer. “Yay! Thank you, princess.” You take a sip then put the drink down.

You have some more chips and try to finish the chips. Wanda notices that you chew in a rush.

"Baby?" She calls.

"Hm?" You tap her hands as a sign of your hum while busy chewing and turning your head to her.

"You know if you keep chewing like that you'll finish the chip before the movie even starts, right?" Wanda teases you with a question followed by a giggle.

"Well yeah, that was the point, love." You smile. Wanda squints her eyebrows a little as she tries harder to read your lips while you are chewing and talk at the same time.

"What? Why?" Wanda looks perplexed from your answer.

"Oh, I'm trying to finish them all before the movie starts because I don't want to be noisy with all the crunchy noise during the movie, so you can hear the movie better." You explained as you take more chips.

Wanda feels her heart melt instantly after hearing your reason, bubbles of joy fill her heart. Her smile shows up right away on her face.

Her hand grabs yours to stop you grabbing the chips. "Detka, that's very sweet of you. You don't have to do that, I still can hear it. Thank you very much for thinking that way."

"Are you sure? I thought you don't like crunchy food when you are watching a movie?" Now it's your turn being confused as you look at her.

Wanda laughs a little. "Well it's okay. I can still hear it. It's harder for me to hear it if I was the one that chew the crunchy snacks but thank you, y/n." She smiles once more and leans to you to give you a quick kiss on your cheek.

She snuggles up closer to you, wrapping her arms around you and looks at you with her sparkling green eyes, full of joy and thinking how lucky she is to have the thoughtful you in her life.

“What did I do to deserve you? Gosh, you are so adorable.” she says in a very loving, grateful tone.

You look at her with your blushing cheeks as usual, you don’t know how to react to her compliment for you because all you can do is smile and ask her back “What? What did I do?”

“Just being you, sweet and thoughtful to me.” she replies, followed by her giggle that always makes you want to laugh with her.

“Of course. You deserve everything.” You kiss her forehead and you hear her giggle more.

“Oh, the movie starts. Shall we watch it now?” you ask as soon as you notice the TV screen.

She nods with a smile.

_____

The first thirty minutes of the movie, both of you enjoy it together. The longer the movie passes, the more often you shift your position and it becomes too obvious for Wanda to notice.

“Y/n, are you okay?”

You look at her with a nervous smile. “Yes, I am okay, love. Why?”

“Oh nothing. Your thoughts are pretty loud. I meant I don’t really know what you are thinking but I know for sure your mind is spinning right now. Like, you are nervous or worried about something.” Your Sokovian girlfriend explains her own conclusion from what she figures from your thoughts. Despite her power that can hear your thoughts, Wanda promises you that she will never invade the privacy of your mind. Being the overthinker you are, sometimes everything in your head can be pretty loud for her to at least feel them.

You are trying your best to not think too much so it won’t give Wanda a complete gift away on what you really have on plan.

You laugh, hoping that it will cover the truth. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” you asked apprehensively while you clear your throat. Bunch of thoughts bounce around in your head, memorizing things while preparing the right answer for any possible questions that Wanda might ask.

Seeing more obvious and a little unusual behaviors of yours, Wanda pauses the movie. Silence is all she wants right now so she can hear you just in case you are going to say something, but you don’t.

A concerned sigh went out of her lips. “Y/n, sweetheart. Look at me, please. Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

You turn your body facing her now with your face looking down a little. You mumble a little and your hand slightly moves in a certain way as if you are rehearsing something.

“Babe, I can’t hear you and I can’t read your lips either. What did you say?” A line of confusion appears between her eyebrows. Her eyes try to look at your lips to read them.

You take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. “Okay..” you mumble once more under your breath then get on one knee.

You hold her hands and look into her eyes. Comfortable silence fills the room. “Wanda, my love.” The beautiful brunette in front of you looks so surprised with what she sees, not from what she reads on your lips because you didn’t say anything but your hands movements say it all.

You continue doing sign language for everything that you are about to say to her.

“I’m so glad that a year ago you came for my help at work and asked me where the beddings aisle was, because you were the sweetest and cutest woman I’ve ever met. My heart skipped a bit and knew that you were the one for me right then right away. Having a life with you in this past year has been the best privilege I ever have. Loving you is so easy because you are perfect and flawless. I want to keep going, having life and loving you for the rest of my life. So, Wanda, will you marry me?” you slow down your hand movement when you reach the last sentence to show more emotions in it and right after that, you grab the opened little box with a ring in it.

Wanda looks at you in awe and can’t hold back her happy tears. Joy warms her heart. She is touched by your effort and surprise at learning sign language, let alone proposing to her with it.

“Of course! Yes! A thousand times yes!” Due to how speechless she is from the enormous amount of happiness, Wanda’s hand did the sign language for her answer. She then pulls you to hug you and kiss you.

Several quick gentle kisses land on your lips and cheeks. You pull yourself back a little to see her joyful beautiful face. Wanda’s hand gently rubs your cheek and goes to the top of your head, caressing your hair as soon as you two end up snuggling on the couch.. Both of you looked at each other with the look of so much love.

“When did you learn sign language?” She questioned you in a curious tone. “Uh, Tony and Natasha have been helping me with it at the compound, plus he created this app that can help me learn more by myself whenever I can.”

“Wait, so all these overtime at work the last few months? You actually went to the compound to learn your proposal lines?” Wanda giggles and her cheeks blush at the same time.

“Yes, I have been going to the compound and no, I didn’t learn only the proposal lines. I learned everything. I know sign language now, only for you but I’m not a pro yet, so please bear with me.” you answer after you give a few more soft kisses all over her that draws more giggles from her.

“Aww, that’s really sweet. Thank you, y/n. I’m so lucky to have you.” Wanda expresses her genuine feelings.

“I love you, Wanda.”

Those words are the most beautiful words she ever reads on your lips that will always swoon her off her feet, fall for you over and over again.

“I love you too, my sweet.

A/n: Welp, that's all for today from me. I hope you enjoyed this short fluff. Let me know what you think. Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated. Follow me for more and see you in next!

Cheerio!

Taglist: @madamevirgo @musicinourlips @unstable-sapphic-hoe @fanboy7794 @chloe7076 @b0mbdotc0m @trikruismybitch @ichala @californianwhiterabbit @honey-sweet-hiraeth @imfuckinggenius @sxfwap @chaekhan @daenerys713 @luvmcgrath @stupidsapphicsstuff @pattypavo @imdoingsortagay @marvelwoman-sugarbaby @savethefbees @frvny @franfineashell @heyyoweveryone @ygtft-chen @yaaskasey @sweeet-likeeee-cinnamonn @paumxmff @dopeyouth @beaniejennie @ineedafinghug @idkwhatimwriting @lucydiibi @mainly-rebloging-fics-i-like @gloriousfoxruins @grxvitye @mcubreakdown101 @aos22 @wandanatstan @paulawand @yeeterthekeeper @femalehomosexual666 @snowdrop1026 @modernmonalisa @nothingisrealanyway @idamaemann @sweeterlust @royalityofmultifandom @playboysaleen @peabrain112 @gwhaley127 @harleyswanda @bodhi-j @darth-rain @cristin-rjd

[pigeonp0st]

Wow, I just finished reading your most recent piece with Kara and it was really well done. You mentioned the idea of immortality in that and wondered how that could be used in a different piece perhaps. Kara (Plus Alex and the others) possibly finding out that reader is immortal and has been for a long time. (As a sort of headconnon or what not. I’d presume reader would be running a personally owned company, as big if not bigger than L-Corp. What with having a long time to amass wealth)

Kara Danvers X Reader

Summary:

Reader reveals she’s immortal to the super friends. Kara comforts her.

warnings:

Angst

Notes:

Thanks for the request! Sorry for taking so long. It being shorter is the sacrifice I’ve made to return to writing, but I hope you enjoy anyways!

——

It’s game night that the super friends find out about my immortality.

It comes out when Lena says she’s been looking into my company, wanting to buy it. She mentions curiously that it says I’m the founder, when it’s well known my company has been around for nearly a hundred years.

And, well…It comes out then, because you’ve stopped being secretive about it when it stopped being something you had to be secretive about…

They know now— of my immortality, and though I should feel relief at the being known, of the truth I’ve not done much to hide revealing itself, all I feel is discontent. Discontent and unsatisfied, unsatisfied because the agony and empathy in their eyes is lackluster. They know now, and even as they try to understand they’re incapable of it.

I am immortal, and yet I have lived a thousand lives in my one everlasting one. There’s so much devastation in every end when you’ve had countless of new beginnings. I do best in the in between where l don’t have to face either beginning or end. It’s in the start of something new that every fiber of my being screams for stop.

Getting used to something doesn’t mean it gets easier, in the same way grief often works. I am constantly grieving my lives, and it’s become a heavy burden they could never understand.

It hurts in a way I hadn’t accounted for. With the coming of Superman, the rise of aliens, the new acceptance of them—there’s a rise of difference, and in that alternative community. It makes you feel better, this new life. It’s given you more hope of being understood than ever before, but to be faced with your friend’s sympathetic eyes, it all feels lackluster.

Even more so when Winn makes a nerdy comment about wanting to know the truth about history. Everyone laughs, laughs and leaves me alone in the same instant.

I laugh along, searching for connection and finding none. Disappointment was the backside of the renewed hope this life has given me. I felt intensely that there was no point in explaining any of anything that had ever happened for me. To reject them that would allow me the dignity of being not understood on my own terms.

It is better to be alone by yourself, than to be alone surrounded by people after all.

Karas eyes meet mine. She’s sitting by Alex and Lena’s feet. Her and Lena the only ones not laughing, trying to lighten the mood. Lena gives me an apologetic smile, on behalf of the others. There’s connection there.

Kara…Kara just goes distant. Goes distant then, and then goes distant the rest of the game night. It’s when everyones leaving and she stops me, I understand, or accept really; it was because of me. What I said.

I’d been hoping I wouldn’t have to speak on it ever again, regret like acid still in my stomach.

“You…” Kara pauses, searches my eyes—for what, I don’t know. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She must sense the way this kills me from the way I wince, because she pulls me into a hug. A hug full of emotion. It shatters me in a way, because it feels like permission. Permission to fall apart.

I can’t, I’ve learned. Know now that if I start, I’ll never stop. All I can do is use logic as avoidance from my heart, and move forward with something resembling acceptance.

I pull away.

“Superman, you, all the aliens, the Meta-Humans, all of you have stretched the definition of what we call ‘humanity’, what we call ‘heart’, and yet still I feel like it escapes me.” It aches as I admit it—feels like a terrible, stupid thing.

Stupid because I have lived so long and yet still, here I am, so agonizingly affected. There are things I know, things I’ve learned, and they all mean nothing.

Kara shakes her head, eyebrows furrowed. She rejects it all. “That very thing inside of that feels different, alone in your experience, that is the very thing that actually connects you to humanity,” Kara says, her eyes soft and understanding.

Understanding in this, in this that she can understand. My heart quickens, I watch Kara, think of hope. Think of her.

Kara who has lost her whole world, her whole culture, who has taken her past and her aloneness and had become a hero, instead of something much darker. “Is there anyone like you, Kara?” I ask. It’s perhaps the question that has tormented her, the way it torments me— “is there anyone like me?”— but I say it like a gift. With reverence.

She is different, inexplicably so. It’s the best thing about her. Kara smiles shyly, looks down, fixes her glasses. “There’s you,” she whispers, “with an aloneness not anyone in this world could understand.”

There’s something about her saying it as it is that settles something inside of you.

“To feel so alone, and have it be the very thing that connects me, and in actuality makes me not alone,” l muse, somehow impressed. There’s not a life that has taught me more than the one with Kara.

There’s a gratitude inside me larger than all the life I’ve lived.

Kara grins, she pulls me in again. Hugs me tight. “I’m sorry about Alex asking to recruit you,” she whispers after a while. I let her words be the thing that has me pulling away, despite Kara’s pout at it.

I smile hesitantly, waving away Kara’s apology. “When Superman showed up it had me thinking about it, but my immortality has been taken advantage of before, and not being able to die isn’t as strong of a power as you might think,” I admit, “I’m not as strong as you’d think.”

Kara gives me a disbelieving look. My defensiveness looks like guilt to her, I know. It is. It’s guilt and fear. I’d want nothing more than to make this forever mean something, but I’m plagued by all of its consequences.

She lets me get away with the things left unsaid, thankfully. In my gratefulness I decide not to ask about her own prolonged life, despite my ongoing curiosity.

I know it’s a sensitive topic. There’s almost all of me that hurts for her, and then there’s a small part of me that thinks; I can live with her longer.

Supergirl, Kara Danvers, Kara Zor-el; my love.

I cough, adjust my bag over my shoulder, and step away. I know I have to before I kiss her in the dim lighting of her apartment, in the body that gets the honor to live alongside her. “See you tomorrow, Supergirl?”

Kara nods, eyes dark. She bites her lip, looks away with a flush. “Yep. One hundred percent. Lunch, right? Right. Yeah. I’ll be there,” Kara confirms, turning an even darker red at my responding eyebrow raise.

“Yeah,” I say, amused. “I’ll be there too. Wouldn’t miss it for my life.”

Kara laughs. Fills your heart for lifetimes with it. You leave with the hope of tomorrow, and the sound of her laugh.

[theseerasures]

i really hoped revisiting this Popular would give me a clue on what specifically happened here that makes it so special and give me so many Gelphie feelings but there aren't any individual things that made me go "they have now fallen in love" the first time i watched it

it's just what happened

Leah talked about it along the terms of invention and there's definitely an element of that, but what comes across most strongly here is discovery (discover...ation?)--just the sublime ecstasy of finding something you never even dreamed existed in each other. and this particular Gelphie being SO certain about their wrong judgments at the beginning makes the reversal much more powerful.

the previous scene at the Ozdust sets the stage: it's where Elphaba having real recognizable feelings--hurt feelings she's trying desperately to hide--hits home for Galinda for the first time. before this Galinda had justified her cruelty as simply how one should behave when one encounters something rude and shameless and utterly foreign. then Elphaba did her a kindness; then she wounded Elphaba grievously enough to discover Elphaba can be wounded. and so Galinda thinks, with the guilelessness that comes to her when something is truly important, i can help her. if Elphaba can be hurt, then Galinda can try to shield her. better yet, Galinda can help her self-improve so that others won't be as tempted to hurt her. people hardly ever hurt Galinda, after all, which means all Elphaba needs is to become more like Galinda.

only it doesn't work, no matter how hard they both try. all the techniques and products just end up highlighting the artifice, the pretense; Galinda can't transform Elphaba any more than she can transform her frock. and yet: why, Miss Elphaba, look at you. you are beautiful. it's Katie's favorite line in the show, and she says it with such helpless wonder here. there's nothing she can do. there's nothing she needs to do. Elphaba genuinely is, in a way Galinda cannot be and can't fully understand. isn't that amazing? isn't that the most marvelous thing in the world?

for Elphaba it goes like this: she dances with Galinda at the Ozdust. she tries to pretend to lead, to pretend she hadn't been floundering alone. she watches Galinda accept this with immaculate grace, she watches Galinda turn their little dance into a sensation, and she thinks: it's all so easy for her. it's impossible to resent. not when Galinda is being so genuine--genuinely contrite, genuinely thoughtful, genuinely enthusiastic--for her sake, of all causes. Galinda's face had shined with transparent delight when they'd danced together, and the whole world had brightened with it. it's impossible not to resent. at least when she'd thought Galinda was a desperate fake she could relish in knowing that she was the actual kind one, even if she sometimes lashed out. it's clear now, though, that goodness is simply another thing Galinda can be effortlessly.

look at how easily she keeps the conversation going between them even now that they're alone. look at how quickly she moves past Elphaba losing her temper. look at how certain she is, about their new friendship, about the...whatever is going on with Fiyero, about absolving Elphaba of the grief she'd visited on her own family. nothing has ever been that easy for Elphaba, save for perhaps the volatile magic she still can't control. Elphaba is difficult; everyone who has ever known her has said so. Galinda should already know--look at how hard Elphaba had made things for both of them before all this--but Galinda seems determined to overcome this. other people, like Nessa, have tried to accomplish such a thing, but they've always had to give up in the end. the same will happen here, but Elphaba sees nothing wrong with humoring Galinda (within reason). it's even a little fun, and the truth will become obvious eventually: Galinda might naturally excel at everything, but Elphaba is unnatural.

except Galinda doesn't seem to care.

it's not like she doesn't notice Elphaba's clear shortcomings--Elphaba would prefer if she noticed them less loudly and frequently, in fact--it's that they only seem to make Galinda try even harder. even Elphaba telling her in no uncertain terms this is never going to work doesn't get Galinda down. (metaphorically.) it makes Elphaba want to try harder, too, and offer to do her part: do you want me to try? anything, really, for this marvel of a girl who would want and do so much, for her. for that single-minded tenacity Elphaba never expected her to possess, but which seems to be Galinda's most natural talent of all.

don't give up on me, she thinks as Galinda stares at her while holding the mirror. not ever. not yet. a little longer--

why, Miss Elphaba, look at you, Galinda says, her voice hushed; marvelous and marveling. you are beautiful.

[squidwithamelon]

I think people like forget that Undertale is a game with complicated characters and dealing with complicated issues. Especially when it comes to the Dreemurr family. None of them are exactly bad people but none of them are exactly good people. Asgore and Toriel are still dealing with the grief of losing their kids. I do think Toriel was right in leaving, but I do get where Asgore was coming from.

Like in the game itself moral is low. Everyone kind of is putting on a happy face, but none of them are really happy being trapped. Imagine how low moral was when Asriel and Chara died??? Asgore had to do something and what he did, worked! Kind of. In the game everyone is of low moral but they always say something like 'but with one more human soul we'll be free!'

Of course Asgore hates himself for it. He doesn't want to kill children. Especially children that looked like his child. I feel like people don't explore the fact that Asgore and Toriel did lose a human child. It's probably why Toriel was so against the idea (besides killing them) bc they had a human kid. I remember seeing a comic from long ago, I forgot the artist, but it went like. Asgore was shocked to see Frisk because they saw Chara for a second. I feel like Asgore sees Chara in every human child that comes to him.

Toriel is very judgmental. She has a very set but strict standards of morality. She uses the human as a way to replace what she lost but she has to eventually come to terms that no, she'll never have Asriel or Chara again and that these humans are their own people. They want to return home, she realizes that at the end of the pacifist fight with her. In her mind she accepts that her children are gone, but in her actions she's trying to replace them, trying to become a mother again. But I don't think that's very. Healthy??

As for Chara!!! I'll never be a Chara hater. They weren't the best person, but they weren't a bad person. They were a child that obviously had some issues. Why else would they have climbed the Mountain, Asriel even says as much, they came up for not-so-good reasons. And to like people saying Chara laughed at poisoning Asgore. That was a nervous laugh, happens when you kill Toriel, she's not laughing because she finds you killing her funny.

Chara's laughing because they poisoned their adopted father (accidentally), and like damn?? I'd feel bad too. UHH.

Yeah, the plan was something. Chara wasn't the greatest friend to Asriel but again they were both children. Chara had so much pressure put on them to live up to the prophecy. And they wanted to. They wanted to free monster-kind, the monsters were so much kinder to them then the humans ever were on the surface. So I get it. Genocide route Chara is, again that's on you, the player. In any other route Chara doesn't delete the world, you taught them that. And I can see why, it's punishment for you, they're punishing you for doing a genocide route. Sure everyone is dead if they deleted the world, but that removes the satisfaction of you killing everyone.

Asriel! He's the purest of the bunch but even then. Flowey is Asriel as Asriel is Flowey, they're like Nightmare in that earlier post. They're only different in the fact that one was pre and one is post traumatic event. That's why they seem so different, trauma obviously will affect how someone lives, much less what happened to Asriel. He's different in the sense that he's a soulless flower that can't feel (I think he can feel but that's for another time.)

He's a different person, but he's not a different being. If he was a different entity he wouldn't be Asriel and we know that's not true. So Flowey and Asriel are the same being, just a different stage in their life. Flowey def mellows out after a post pacifist based on the winter dialogue.

[callmrmorrow]

ddba finale spoiler review

had no clue they’d take the revolutionary route for matt but i think it’s very fitting given america’s real-world situation and fisk’s actions in the show! solid set-up for season two. i’ve got high hopes for how they’ll handle the split cast; it’s kind of giving the boys s4 finale lol?

frank’s in a shitty spot but i don’t think it’ll last too long. i’m still not happy with how the writers handled foggy and karen, and i don’t think either of their stories should’ve gone that way even if it was to bring matt back to the mask. cannot BELIEVE fisk just red-rush’d gallo in front of his own subordinates AND decided to gun for matt after matt SAVED HIS LIFE — but i guess that’s kingpin for you…

still unhappy about the loss of foggy. genuinely such a detriment to the show. i appreciate that they handled his death with grace, giving matt a whopping half-season to grapple with whether or not he needs to take the mask back or respect foggy’s wishes for him.

also a disappointing lack of matt’s catholicism in this season! i’m not even religious, but it’s key to his character and i can’t believe it was lost especially when so much insane stuff happened to him in such a short period of time. no questioning his divine fate? is god punishing him? what for? where’s the catholic guilt for trying to kill dex? was he trying to make up for that by saving fisk, repenting for his sin? come on people!

fisk was a highlight. him and vanessa are doing great, and i think that’s so amazing. they’re just making each other worse and worse and worse. so good. we got kastle snippets as well which was okay, but felt like fanservice because she was gone the whole season :( i miss my girl!

i know the argument for her running to san francisco was she has a pattern of escaping grief by putting it entirely behind her, as she did with her brother, but things are different here and everyone knows that. i can only accept it if they had to take her out for work conflicts on the actress’s end, but idk if that’s the case…

overall, they did fine. a lot of the effort clearly went into the first episode with the staircase fight between dd and bullseye — that was awesome! in terms of action the finale felt underwhelming, mostly because the coolest fight happened in pitch black and was saturated with slow-mo shots that i didn’t need. i know there was pressure to match up with netflix’s level of gore and violence, and they got there, but without the finesse that the old show had and without half the character integrity. i understand change is necessary for the plot to advance but we got 2 scenes of a happy trio before everything went to shit.

i would’ve preferred it if they’d killed someone other than foggy or karen. they’re too crucial to the story to be lost in the first episode. and heather is KILLING me. i want to sympathize with her because i KNOW matt isn’t easy to have as a long-term partner (no hero is, really), and i’m hoping she’s either driven further into fisk’s camp or has a revelation that matt wasn’t lying about kingpin’s EVIL and tries to stop him, only for him to drop the vigilante bomb about her boyfriend (who, by the way, she doesn’t know fisk is TRYING TO KILL, which presents another situation in and of itself. where is MATT MURDOCK in all of this? from leaked photos of season 2, it looks like he’s in hiding as well. very interesting.)

overall, good show, but doesn’t match up to it’s predecessor in the ways that truly matter. hoping for things to change in s2, because the actors are great and the plot has so much potential! please give karen a bigger role in s2 and please let her undergo some development. also i’m expecting dex to roll up in all the right (WRONG) ways and i do need him to kill vanessa, as much as i love her machinations.

[prophecyhaunted]

So if i am not wrong these are the characters who aren't meeting the audience's eyes at all. All the other characters are making eye contact either halfway or entirely.

These characters here also happen to be a part of the endgame couples.

Given that they aren't making eye contact it tells us that they are hiding something. Season 4 is about truths and lies. In fact it even starts with a lie in episode 1 when Mike is reading El's letter filled with lies.

These characters are all hiding something from the audience and from their partners or family and even themselves. Mostly about their problems and their feelings. So we know that Max has been suffering and is trying to hide her pain from her mom, her friends and Lucus and is trying to cope with her brother's death. Joyce too has been struggling with her grief of losing Hopper however she is hiding it by focusing on her work and her children. She also lies to her family about going on a business trip. Jonathan has been struggling a lot too there are clear signs of it he is hesitating to make his decision and is contemplating every single one of his choices about his future including his relationship with Nancy.

And we have Mike— given the pattern we all know mike is also hiding his feelings from everyone even himself. He is confused he is feeling homesick even when he is at home. He is trying to hide his emotions by playing dnd to feel normal again. He is reaching out for everything that makes him feel like his old self he is desperately trying to stop feeling what he is feeling.

As the season ends most of these characters are able to come closer to fulfilling their character arcs— Max is able to come into acceptance with her feelings and is able to stop living in denial she even confesses to vecna about how she really felt about Billy in the end. Joyce is able to feel happy and stop hiding her pain as she tells hopper about what she was really dealing with when he was gone. Jonathan too is realising his arc and is protecting his family while also trying to respect himself and take time for himself and is conveying the truth to Nancy is the last episode.

But Mike—

Mike is also of course coming closer to his final character arc and is trying to fix his mistakes with Will trying to understand his relationship with el but he isn't there yet he hasn't achieved clarity unlike el who has most likely come into terms with the truth about their relationship. Mike is still confused. All of this is due to the fact that he hasn't accepted himself. Not entirely.

In a season filled with truths and lies. Mike's monologue ends up being a lie. I will say not everything is a lie. He is scared of losing El. However his feelings are just not in the right place. Once he accepts his true feelings once he accepts the truth he will be able to achieve his real character arc and fulfill it. And i believe that is going to happen in s5.

[chefkids]

Have you considered making a list of all the predictions/possibilities and then checking off which are right?

Some of these are serious and some of these are not so serious

Tina goes full Mom on Sydney

We see flashback of Tina being a mom and starting off at The Beef

Mikey trying to set shit on fire

Richie flashback to Tiff leaving him because he's spending so much time trying to take care of Mikey

Richie accepts that it's over with Tiff

The staff hates Carmy, loves Syd

Richie plans on quitting but is convinced not to

Sydney gets sick/burnout and is forced to take time off

Carmy is put on time out for being insane

Nat, Tina and Richie threaten Carmy about how he's acting and how Sydney will leave him

Carmy meets Emmanuel

Syd meets Donna

Carmy helps Syd move to her apartment

Sydney throws up on Carmy

Sydney avoids signing the partnership agreement

Syd gets him to write up a new partnership agreement in her terms at the end of the season

Sydney calls out the I'm sorry sign for being useless

Carmy draws something specifically for Sydney, not just using the menu planning as an excuse

Carmy makes an overtly romantic move on Sydney

Nat, Tina, and Richie makes comments about the nature of Syd and Carmy’s relationship

Nat asks Carmy why he’s actually doing all of this when he had said “Fuck stars” and why he’s doing all of this for Syd and he finally opens up about his feelings to her

Carmy cooks for Sydney

Syd and Carmy table scene part 2 things go bad and she turns Carmy down

Big sydcarmy fight happens about her leaving and he basically says "I can't do this without you" and she says "Well I can, I did do it without you"

Sydney is offered a job somewhere else, tells Carmy she’s going to take it, but doesn’t in the end

Carmy tries to shut down The Bear cause he doesn't want to do it without Syd

Sydney has a feelings realization moment like Carmy did with the panic attack

Carmy tells Syd "I love you" while apologizing

Sydcarmy kiss goddammit!!! It's time!!!

They receive bad reviews that send Syd and Carmy in a spiral

Marcus receives some sort of high praise or award

Carmy gets credited for Syd's dish, rivalry/jealousy conflicts for how he's getting recognition and she's not

Power outage at the restaurant again

Carmy/Syd starts a fire at The Bear, probably Carmy sleep cooking

Carmy hallucinations/sleepwalking nightmares while cooking

Carmy ingests hallucinogenic mushrooms, accidentally

Sydney stabs Carmy

Someone yells at Sydney and then something awful happens to them #sydkarma

Carmy has a dream about Syd

Carmy's old Chef actually comes to The Bear

The Bear Cookbook offer

Natalie is mad at Donna because she thinks she didn't show up to F&F night

Ebra's sandwich window is popping off

OG neighborhood locals hate on the restaurant and try to sabotage it

Marcus makes a new donut

Marcus handles grief pretty well actually, meanwhile Syd and Carmy respiral with their own mommy issues/death grief

Carmy becomes paranoid about every guy after he finds out Marcus ask Sydney out

Luca offers Marcus a job

Carmy avoids going into the walk in for a while

Richie/Fak try to secretly set Carmy and Claire up in a “chance encounter” so he’ll see her again

Claire tries to get back with Carmy because Fak tells her that he loves her

Carmy turns down Claire and tells her he was not in love with her

The extended Faks try to beat up Carmy

Claire connects the dots between Syd and Carmy

Fak realizes Carmy likes Syd and is completely shook

Pete tells them they have a very very small chance of meeting Jimmy's payment deadline

Donna apologizes to Nat and Carmy

Donna gives them the money to save The Bear. Sells her house?

Chris Storer is forced to respond to his crimes

[caratheewriter]

Hey darling! I'm the anon who submitted this (https://serenewrote.tumblr.com/post/745794658206105600/i-just-read-your-daemon-x-dornish-daughter-and-im) and I loved what you wrote, but I can get the version with princess Martell fem!reader… And… I had another idea, I hope you don't mind… So reader gets pregnant and despite it being a difficult pregnancy and birth she gives birth to her daughter ( lady Martell), and they are living happily until when the girl is 5 years old, reader gets pregnant again, but this time she can't go to term, she is losing a lot of blood and the baby won't come out (and Daemon won't allows them to open her), then reader and the baby die, not before she says goodbye to her precious girl and Dae and makes him promise to take care of their daughter and try to be happy, they make one last vow of love and she dies . In this part, if it's not too much to ask, could you focus on Dae's relationship with his daughter? like how they deal with grief and how he takes care of her (in my head this happens before he marries Laena, but it's up to you) About two or three years pass and although he still loves and mourns the reader, he marries Laena who is a sweetheart to little Lady Martell and doesn't try to replace reader, and is an excellent maternal figure. In this part, the flow continues normally, Laena has the twins, years pass and they are well and happy, but when Laena gets pregnant again and dies, Lady Martell finds herself in the same situation again (she really feels the death of Laena and the baby while remembering Reader and her other unborn brother) She tries to comfort the girls and Daemon tries to comfort the three. They go to Westeros, the funeral and all that confusion takes place, but in the meantime Daemon receives a letter from Dorne saying that it is time for Lady Martell to return home (Dorne) and be prepared to take over the throne that belonged to her mother. Lady Martell is scared at first and goes to Daemon, they have a frank conversation and he says he will support whatever decision she makes (whether to accept it or not) but he encourages her to take on what is rightfully hers. She goes to Dorne and learns her duties quickly and efficiently. A year later, her coronation takes place Dae (who is beyond proud of his eldest daughter) and the rest of the family is there to celebrate. She is a good ruler and Dorne prospers under her leadership, but when the dance breaks out Rhae asks her to support the blacks, but Lady, or rather Princess Martell, says she will not take sides on any side (Dorne will not fight in a war which is not theirs) Rhaenyra, despite being disappointed, respects her decision, something the greens didn't do… please? (Sorry if I got carried away, but the original idea is so interesting that I couldn't help myself…but feel free to ignore this idea and do what you think is best, but if you happen to follow this idea, it will be Can you detail Lady Martell's relationships with Reader, Daemon, Laena, the twins and the rest of the family and her years ruling Dorne, please?)

Ok. Yes, I can absolutely whip this up for you! I had a feeling that is what you were leaning towards but I just had the first idea in mind when you had sent that request. So, I'm sorry that it wasn't exactly to your liking, apologies. Also, I'm gonna have to give y/n from that other one shot a name now. Little disclaimer: moons = 12 months aka 1 year. And here you go:

"It was all part of the story, even the scary nights" - Daemon x Fem! Martell! Reader

Prequel to "And nothing hurts anymore, I feel kind of free"

Warning(s): death during childbirth, infantile death

Word Count: 2085

110 AC

The battle at the Stepsons ended swiftly. They crowned Daemon, King of the Narrow Sea. To celebrate his conquest, Daemon set out to indulge in the finest of wines and there was only one place where it could be found, Dorne.

As Caraxas landed on the sands of Dorne, Daemon is greeted by the future Lady Y/n Martell, and her sister, Nymera.

"I heard the battle for the Stepsons was a victory. Congratulations, my prince."

The Rogue Prince smirks at Y/n, "Thank you, Princess. I also thank you for sending your fleet. Dorne isn't too fond of Targaryens."

Caraxes cries out and you look to see your sister walking up to him.

"Nymera! Leave the dragon alone! Sorry, my sister's curiosity will get her killed one day."

Daemon chuckles, "We were all a bit curious at her age."

Y/n looks Daemon up and down, "My father speaks of you."

"It seems my reputation procedes me."

"It's mostly just of what not to do and be as heir, my Prince. Although, I'm sure you are of good character."

Daemon scoffs. The audacity.

"I hope that your father won't turn me away, so that you can see how good my character is."

"Why do you think my sister and I are greeting you instead of him?"

Y/n led Daemon into the great hall where a celebration was taking place. She brought him over to her father, Qoren Martell.

"Father, Prince Daemon has come for a visit. I hope you can welcome him peacefully."

Qoren looks Daemon up and down, "A dragon in our midst can only bring trouble. I have half a mind to send him away."

Y/n rolls her eyes at her father's behavior. Daemon bows his head, "I promise, Lord Martell, to keep a peaceful visit and not disturb you."

"I hope for your sake that you keep that promise, dragon."

"Alright, father. That's enough. Come, Daemon. Let's join the festivities."

Y/n leads Daemon onto the floor for a dance, "You do know how to dance, right?"

Daemon scoffs at that implication, "I wouldn't be a proper prince if I didn't."

"But you aren't a proper prince. A proper prince doesn't leave for another city instead of returning to his wife."

Daemon places his hands at your waist, "I assure you, Princess. My lady wife is more than joyous for my absence."

The dance starts out slow then speeds up. At the music's climax, Daemon lifts you up. You look deep into each other's eyes.

"How unfortunate for you. To be trapped in a loveless marriage.

Daemon's eyes drop to your mouth. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"Yes, how unfortunate."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

112 AC

In Lady Y/n Martell's chambers, she has begun her labors. Her handmaidens crowd around her.

“My lady, is there anything you need?”

The exhausted and straining Princess grits her teeth, “I would love it if the Maester wasn’t wasting his time doing gods know what and help me bring my child into the world.”

Two of the handmaidens run out to see what’s keeping the maester and Daemon walks in.

“Where’s the maester, my love?”

“If I knew, he would be here. It seems he has decided to spend his time elsewher-ahhh!”

Lady Y/n tenses up. She grabs Daemon with a fierce grip.

“My dragon, my maester is nowhere to be found and our little sand dragon has took it upon itself to push out.”

“Now? Like right now?”

Y/n took a deep breath, “Daemon?”

“My love?”

“You are going to help me, right now!"

"Y/n, I'm not a maester. I've never even seen a woman birth a baby. I don't know what I'm doing."

"Lucky for you, I have. Now, go and sit between my legs. It's nothing you haven't seen before-ahh!! Go now!"

Y/n's skin shines with sweat. She grips onto the chair. Daemon lifts his head from the sheet.

"Now, do I catch it when you push or....?"

Y/n looks at her lover. Surely he is not this stupid.

"Catch? catch?! If my child has even a second of air time before their first dragon ride, I'll cut your cock off and that is a promise. Now I'm going to start pushing so, focus!"

After copious amounts of pushing, Y/n and Daemon's daughter, named Aelyssa after Daemon's mother, decided to grace Westeros with her presence.

"Such powerful cries for a small little one."

"She's a dragon. Her cries are like roars."

"You, Aelyssa Targaryen, are going to be great."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

117 AC- Aelyssa is 5

Aelyssa is conflicted. Her mother is pregnant and she is to have a sibling. She is only 5 moons old, she doesn't know how to be a big sister. She isn't allowed in the birthing room but if her mother's cries are anything to go by it seems like it isn't the place to be right now.

In the birthing room, Lady Martell isn't doing so well. The maesters are concerned with something.

"My lady, it seems as if the baby is breached somehow."

"I just need to push a little more, please!"

Maester Osferth looks at the woman with a solemn look. Daemon notices.

"What is it? Can she not continue pushing?"

"Well, my prince. It would be ill-advised to do so. Perhaps we could try and cut-"

"No, absolutely not! You will not cut her like some animal!"

Y/n looks up at Daemon, "My prince."

"My love."

"I fear the babe and I will not make it."

"Don't say that."

Y/n grips Daemon's hand, hard.

"And Aelyssa will need you more than ever. The rest of the realm will not be kind to her. You need to hold her and love her as you do now.

"I swear it."

Lady Y/n's grip on her lover loosens and she takes her last breath

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

118 AC - Aelyssa is 6

It has been one moon since Lady Martell's death and the baby. Once Lady Martell had died, they cut out the baby for burial. It was a boy.

Aelyssa has not gotten over it. She mourns in her room and has her food delivered to her door.

Her father has dragged her out of her chambers to break their fast. She hasn't taken one bite.

"Zaldrītsos, can you please eat something?"

"I am not hungry."

Daemon sighs, "Aelyssaa. You are grieving, so am I, but I do not want you starving yourself. Your mother would not want you to starve yourself."

"I'm just not hungry, father. It has nothing to do with Muña."

Daemon walks over to her and grabs her hand, "Come with me."

They walk out of the dining hall and down to the crypts. Aelyssa marvels at her people's ancestral burial place. They stop in front of Y/n's coffin. Daemon gestures for her to kneel.

"Hello, my love. It has been one moon since you were taken by the Stranger. We are grieving, but it is hard without you here. Our little sand-dragon is having trouble adjusting, naturally. Maybe this can give her peace of mind."

Aelyssa places her hands on her mother's coffin, "Hello, Muña. I admit that I am not doing well with your passing. I am not eating, but I cannot find the strength to eat. Not when you're not sitting with us. I know that you wouldn't like it, and I would try to cope better. There are also talks of my ascension as Dorne's new lady. Aunt Nymeria rules in my stead until I am ready."

Tears roll down Aelyssa's face. She makes no move to wipe them.

"I have ignored father, which I know I should not do as he is the only parent I have, but it is hard. I hope that you are looking down at us from the heavens and shall be proud of the woman I become."

Aelyssa launches into Daemon's arms, unable to hold her sobs.

"Oh, my sand-dragon. It's ok. The hole of grief is never filled, but you learn to live with their memory. I am always here. Do not be scared to come to me with anything that dwells in your head. The ones who love us and the ones we love, never truly leave us."

Daemon and Aelyssa spent that night in the crypt, sleeping beside Y/n.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

125 AC - Aelyssa is 12

It has been 3 moons since Former Lady Martell's death. Aelyssa is still having some trouble adjusting.

She and Daemon are sparring in the training yard of Pentos. Instead of putting her all into it as usual, Aelyssa's been lagging and her father can tell.

"Stop."

Aelyssa looks up at her father, confused. "What? Why?"

Daemon takes her sword from her hand and kneels down, leveling with her.

"What troubles you, my little sunshine?"

"Nothing. Can we finish, Father?"

Daemon narrows his eyes, "No. We can talk about what's distracting you."

She sighs. Father always knows.

"You have married Lady Laena and she is with child, you will forget about me."

"Why would I ever push you aside? You are my firstborn. Nothing will change that."

"But your children will be legitimate in the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms- well six, Dorne doesn't count. The lords, ladies, and the king, I am naught but a bastard to them. And your children might rule Driftmark, a powerful ally to the King. What am I but a future Lady to a kingdom that will never ally with the rest."

Daemon caressed Aelyssa's face. His eyes softened. He remembers Y/n's last words: The rest of the realm will not be kind to her. You need to hold her and love her.

"You are my daughter. Not a political tool. Legitimate or not, I don't care. My brother can moan and groan about you all he wants. I fell in love with your mother and still hold so much love for her. Every time I look at you, I see her. And that fills me with so much happiness because our love created something so beautiful and precious."

"I am not yet sold on Lady Laena. It will take time."

"I do not intend to rush you. Just understand that I still love you and always will. Nothing will ever change that."

"Love you too."

Aelyssa hugs Daemon. Not too keen on his reassurance but she trusts his word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

137 AC- Aelyssa is 14 (Rhaenyra and Daemon have married and now this is following the last few episodes of S1)

Aelyssa is dressed in gold yellow with hints of red and black. She is pacing in front of closed throne room doors. Daemon is watching her, amused.

"Have you reached the sand yet?"

Aelyssa glares at her father.

"Not the time. I'm nervous and Mother is not here to advise me. I fear I will dishonor her and my ancestors."

Daemon grabs Aelyssa's shoulders to stop her pacing.

"You will be great. You have not dishonored me, therefore you have not and will not dishonor her. Your mother would want you to rule Dorne however you see fit. Now, are you ready?"

Daemon holds his arm out. Aelyssa latches onto him. The doors open. They walk. The room is quiet and all eyes are on their soon-to-be Lady. They reached the front and Ser Cyrbon led Aelyssa up the steps and she sat on her throne.

"I present to you all, Aelyssa Martell, daughter of Y/n Martell, and your Lady! Hail Lady Aelyssa!"

"Hail Lady Aelyssa!"

It's done. You are now Lady of Dorne. You should address the people.

"To my people of Dorne. I welcome you to the new dawn of our kingdom. I intend to rule as my mother did and more. But know this, Dorne will forever remain: Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken!"

The people cheered, the guards looked on in pride. Daemon smiles, and the sun- the sun shines a bit brighter on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

141 AC - Aelyssa is 18

No body was found. The search was in vain. We burn his clothes in place of his body.

Aelyssa is conflicted. She knows not how to comfort her cousins and her sisters. She walks up to Rhaenyra, careful.

"He will be avenged, I swear it."

They walk into the council room. Making battle plans. Rhaenyra and Aelyssa make eye contact throughout the meeting.

"Cousin, I ask you this because I need it. I could use your help."

"Dorne will not fight in a war which is not theirs."

"I am desperate."

"Lucerys did not die in vain. Justice will come but not from us, I'm afraid."

Aelyssa pulls Rhaenyra into a hug.

"I pray to the gods that you are successful. I can't wait to see you on the throne, Cousin. The Iron Throne.

fin.

And if Aelyssa sent Blood & Cheese instead of Daemon, no one will know.

[missmagooglie]

So I just reblogged a very thoughtful Hen and Karen character meta. And it got me thinking about Hen's arc this season. And the teasers have all kind of stressed Gerrard as being a central plot focus for Buck, stressing that Hen has bigger concerns at home and she has to toe the line with Gerrard so she doesn't lose Mara for good, but here's the thing. Here's the thing. I think THAT is the point of Gerrard. Hen has to find a way to serve under this odious man in a way that will prove she can handle the political pressures of leadership after failing to do so during her last stint as interim captain of the 118.

This got long, so under a cut it goes.

If you look at Hen across the past few seasons, and in particular if you look at last season, one of Hen's character traits that tends to cause her the most friction is that she does not compromise when she thinks (or knows) she's right. And this has historically been a huge source of strength for her. It's what allowed her to withstand Gerrard's captaincy the first time around. It's a huge part of what makes her an exemplary firefighter and paramedic.

It has also, in season 7 especially, been a huge hurdle for her when it comes to leadership. Hen is smart, she is driven, she is confident in herself and her decisions, and she absolutely does not know how to take "no" for an answer. And not once but TWICE in season 7, we saw Hen's conviction in her own assessment get her into trouble. The first was with Councilwoman Ortiz' son. As a paramedic, she absolutely made the right call. She correctly identified his inebriated state, and reallocated on site resources when he was belligerent toward Chimney and offered clear refusal of care. What Hen didn't do was think beyond the immediate facts of the scene and consider ways to limit liability if her assessment was wrong or there were facts she was unaware of (which, spoiler alert, there were. Of both the medical and political variety).

When Hen was being investigated, she did not respond the way an LAFD captain should have. She reacted personally, defensively. She correctly identified that the source of her trouble was political rather than personal, but she still defended herself on a personal basis rather than working with Chief Simpson to find a way to appease the grieving Councilwoman. She reacted as an individual facing a personal attack rather than a leader navigating a sticky political situation, and in the process made the investigation about her (lack of) wrongdoing. She thought that being vindicated would mark the end of her troubles, but instead she ended up making herself a target for a woman looking to blame someone for her grief. A savvy captain would have found a way to deflect attention and smooth things over with the Councilwoman to avoid long term repercussions with a powerful member of the city government, even if that meant accepting a carefully calculated token acknowledgement of blame (perhaps a vague and unspecified blame of the department overall rather than a specific individual, to reduce opportunities for reprisal) to appease the Councilwoman's pride.

Then, even after she was cleared of wrongdoing and reinstated within the span of a single shift, Hen was motivated BOTH by her love and loyalty to Bobby and Athena, but ALSO her own need to prove herself and her own instincts correct when she decides that instead of reporting back to the station to resume her post she was instead going to go against orders to comandeer a helicopter and fly into a hurricane well out of LAFD jurisdiction to try and rescue a cruise ship of unconfirmed status. And she did this with three of her direct reports in tow. Did she ask them to be there? Did she order them to follow her into that helicopter? No. But given that she was technically their commanding officer at the time, their actions were technically her responsibility.

Now again, Hen felt vindicated by the fact that she was RIGHT, the Uno was in dire distress, her blatant insubordination did save lives. But while her actions showed extraordinary individual heroism, they did NOT show the sort of steady, level-headed leadership Hen would need to earn a permanent promotion to Captain. She showed a willingness to do whatever needed to be done to solve the problem in front of her, but not an ability to think beyond the current problem and consider how to best serve the LAFD beyond the current emergency.

So how does all that relate to Gerrard? Well, first of all Hen made herself all but unpromotable in the eyes of Chief Simpson and undoubtedly the rest of the LADF brass, creating a leadership vacuum when Bobby retired unexpectedly. That gives the OPPORTUNITY for Gerrard to step in. But why Gerrard, specifically? Why not some new jackass to terrorize the 118?

Because everything Hen did to survive the first time she served under Gerrard leaned on her value as an individual. In order to grow into the leader the 118 needs, she'll have to survive Gerrard this go-round using completely different methods. And to make absolutely sure she experiences that growth, the show has conveniently given Hen PERSONAL STAKES that render her old methods of survival unusable. Everything Hen did to prove herself in the past involved bucking Gerrard's leadership, showing how capable she was even if it meant undermining him. Now, with Mara on the line, Hen has no choice but to toe the line and keep her nose clean. So how is she going to change tactics and work WITHIN the system? How is she going to show that she can follow regulations and orders she disagrees with, without sacrificing her dedication to doing her job to the utmost of her ability? How is Hen going to prove that she can make decisions that benefit the station and the department long-term while still giving the problem in front of her everything she's got? How can she balance the right thing to do RIGHT NOW with doing what's needed to serve the bigger picture?

If Hen meets Gerrard head-on with defiance and disdain, it will be proof that she has not grown in the intervening years any more than he has. Instead, Gerrard is going to be a test of Hen's ability to show genuine and meaningful leadership without recklessly flouting orders she may not agree with in favor of her own priorities.

Or at least, that's my hope.

[ennn]

Great meta about episode 8 and about Agatha’s feelings. I’m particularly curious about Rio and I agree with everything you said about her feelings and why she lashed out. She finally gave up on Agatha after centuries, she accepted she would always hate her no matter what even if she chose giving Billy up or herself but did that kiss change anything for her? She looked like she was truly grieving her and letting go

I don’t think she knew about ghost Agatha but will that change anything? Do you think she will follow the deal and leave Agatha alone? There is also the issue about Tommy but if you don’t count the twins do you think Death finally decided to move on? Will she be free or with those two, never 😂

Heh, I did leave out the part about the kiss in my meta post didn't I? My brain was so tired lol

The short answer? It's ambiguous.

And I think that's largely deliberate because The Powers That Be (TPTB) haven't committed to where and how they want to use Rio / Death in future Marvel projects.

I think there's definitely enough setup done and opportunity in the story for Rio to come back for an AAA sequel or spin-off — but also enough ambiguity if not.

Story-wise, the kiss is significant because I don't think Agatha's one to directly apologise or walk back what she says. It's a similar thing in episode 4 where Agatha embraces Rio with all that emotion.

I think the kiss is Agatha saying she still does have love for Rio, that she does want her despite all that she said earlier, that she's sorry but she can't let this boy die.

It's very heartbreaking if you consider Rio had resigned herself to Agatha just hating and rejecting her, and she is given this reminder of their love as a goodbye.

But ultimately I think with Agatha's progress – inching her way along her arc – this still marks the end of this chapter of their relationship: these two finally had something of an honest conversation, the baseline of their interactions has changed, and Rio needs to process brand new emotions like grief (which I sure hope doesn't have cosmic consequences ha ha).

That said, the kiss does seem to put Agatha and Rio in a relatively okay place at the end of this chapter. It's a bit of reconciliation. They've shown that they still love each other, but there's still a significant disconnect between them. But as a wise Lilia once said, sad is better than angry.

Now the ghost thing: it's a really interesting change to the dynamic of their relationship but I don't know if Agatha being a ghost encourages or dissuades Rio to go after her. Rio may feel motivated to help Agatha pass on and be with Nicky. Or Rio may take it as Agatha choosing to put distance between them, and from what we see in episode 5, Rio can't really do much about ghosts.

What the ghost thing does do is give Rio some grounds to ignore the first deal because if we look at the letter of the arrangement, Agatha asks for Rio "to stop making her life hell" and to not see Rio's face when she dies. These terms are no longer relevant for a ghost.

And if one argues that the deal has Agatha telling Rio to stop pursuing her, you could argue that Rio's following Billy and trying to deal with the Tommy situation. Agatha just happens to be around all the time while Rio's doing her job.

If we ignore the whole Maximoff twin situation like you say, I think it would actually be up to Agatha to decide whether a new chapter of them begins.

Because while being a ghost is a sacrifice in a lot of ways, it actually gives Agatha more control over the relationship in a way she didn't before, not even with the Darkhold. I don't think Rio can touch her, literally. It's possible Rio can't even sense her.

The good news is, this kind of ambiguity is perfect for fanfiction and fan interpretations. There is a lot of potential there.

[the-badger-mole]

How would you improve Aang's writing?

In a word...accountability.

Aang, despite his own personal losses, never seems to grasp the gravity of the war. Season 1 would be more or less the same, but season 2 would open with him grappling with his part in the siege of the North. He would acknowledge that he was part of the reason a lot of people died that day, and it would lead into him confronting somethings about his duty, and eventually make him take his powers as the Avatar more seriously.

Season 2 would be him coming to terms with the fact that he has blood on his hands, however indirectly. This would be where he addresses his refusal to kill Ozai and be confronted with the fact that people expect him to. He'd be faced with either not going to face Ozai and letting down a bunch of people, killing Ozai like he's expected to, or some secret third option that he will spend the rest of the series leading up to his confrontation with Ozai trying to figure out. His emotions over losing his people would get a LOT more attention. He'd end the season realizing that he hasn't allowed himself to feel the anger and grief over losing his people, and it's affecting his ability to do his duty as the Avatar. He'd have an episode towards the end where he lets it all out. I'm talking a real tear jerker of an episode where he finally comes to a place where he can empathize with the people around him suffering under the war.

Aang can still have his stupid lionturtle, but this time he has to actually work for it. Sometime between season 2 and 3, he finds out about their existence, and he tries to find one. I mean tried hard. Gets himself and maybe his friends into danger hard. He knows how important defeating Ozai is, and he is willing to kill him if he has to, but it's his last resort. And he gets really frustrated when it's the final days before he has to face Ozai and he still hasn't managed to find a lionturtle. I haven't decided if he still gets kidnapped by the lionturtle, but maybe. The short story is, he does manage to find the lionturtle. He still gets spiritbending, but it comes at a cost. Off the top of my head, I think maybe he loses his airbending in exchange, except when he's in the Avatar State, but I'm not married to the idea.

Speaking of the Avatar State, he still loses his connection to it. He still speaks to Guru Pathik who tells him he's too attached to Katara and needs to let her go. He still refuses to. But instead of not focusing on Katara's feelings, she gets to be a lot more vocal about what she thinks of Aang's crush on her. Maybe not to him directly, but everyone is aware that Aang has a crush and Katara does not reciprocate. The EIP kiss plays out much differently. Aang's feelings get hurt, but Katara gets to have her say and she calls him out for not considering her thoughts at all in his plans for them. They are still friends in the end, but Aang does come to understand that he has her on an impossible pedestal, and that just like Guru Pathik said, he has put all the love he had for his people on her. Instead of the Magic Rock of Ultimate Destiny being what brings back his connection to the Avatar State, it's his acceptance that he needs to let go of Katara so he can be the Avatar the world need.

That's pretty much it. I've answered this question before with a lot more detail, but thanks to Tumblr focusing on looking more like Twitter instead of making their archive more user friendly, I can't find it. But maybe it'll pop up in the recommended section of this post.