#something something loneliness and imagination

[pandapetals]

New Year's Eve

You and Logan broke up. Now you are alone at a New Year's Eve party with Jean and Scott until Logan shows up.

logan howlett x fem!reader - exes, past relationship but you broke up, confessions, angst, kissing, inspired by when harry met sally because i live, breath and sleep that movie, jean and scott are married

a/n: sorry i haven't posted in like a week. wanted to take a little break. here's a cute, short one for new years. been working on stuff for professor logan but also some smutty ones...so happy new year!

divider credit: @enchanthings

Jean and Scott had insisted—practically dragged you out the door—that the New Year’s Eve party would be just what you needed. They’d promised laughter, music, and a fresh start, but now, standing in the corner of the crowded loft, you wondered if you’d ever believe them again. The room buzzed with chatter and bursts of laughter, but all you could hear was the soft clink of champagne glasses and the distant tick of the clock, marking time painfully cruelly.

You tugged at the hem of your dress, suddenly self-conscious. It had taken an hour to pick it out, another to do your makeup, and for what? To feel invisible in a room full of people paired off like they’d been scripted in some perfect rom-com? You sipped your champagne, warm now from sitting untouched in your hand too long, and scanned the crowd. Couples danced, heads close together, their smiles private and unshakable. Others huddled in cozy corners, sharing secrets you couldn’t hear over the music.

And then there was you. Alone.

It was suffocating, the kind of loneliness that didn’t just ache—it hollowed you out. You pushed through the sea of glitter and laughter, muttering apologies as you brushed against sequined shoulders until you reached the doorway. The air outside had to be better than this.

But before you could make your escape, Jean caught sight of you. Her hand wrapped around your arm, her brows pulling together in concern. “Hey, where are you going? It’s almost midnight.”

You hesitated, your shoulders sinking as the weight of it all threatened to crush you. “This is too much,” you admitted, your voice barely audible over the noise behind you. “Everyone’s here with someone, and I’m… alone. On New Year’s. Again.” You tried to laugh it off, but the crack in your voice betrayed you. “It’s pathetic.”

Scott appeared behind Jean, his usual serious scowl replaced with something softer. “Come on, it’s not that bad,” he said. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll kiss you at midnight. Jean won’t mind.”

Jean rolled her eyes, smacking his arm lightly. “What Scott means is, you don’t need to kiss anyone. It’s just a silly tradition.”

“Says the happily married couple,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone light but failing miserably. The words felt sharp, even as they left your lips. You looked away, blinking back the sting in your eyes. You didn’t want them to see you like this—not here, not tonight.

You turned toward the door again, ready to leave the whole glittering mess of a party behind. But then, over the sound of the countdown starting from somewhere deep in the room—Ten! Nine! Eight!—you heard it. Your name.

You froze, heart pounding, sure you must have imagined it. But then it became louder this time, cutting through the crowd like a lifeline.

“Hey! Wait—wait, stop! I need to—”

You turned, and there he was. Logan. Standing in the middle of the room, slightly out of breath, his dark hair sticking up in every possible direction, like he’d run all the way here. He wasn’t dressed for the occasion—far from it. His sweatpants were rumpled, his hoodie looked like it had seen better days, and his sneakers were splattered with mud. A sharp contrast to the sharp suits and sequins around him. But none of it mattered. Not when his eyes locked onto yours like you were the only person in the room.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, you thought your heart might stop.

“Logan, what are you—?” The words stumbled out, but he was already walking toward you, weaving through the crowd like nothing else existed but you.

“I just… I had to see you,” Logan said as he came closer, his voice rough.

The countdown blared louder now—Three! Two!—but Logan’s eyes never left yours. He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as if trying to steady himself, but his voice was unwavering. “I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But when I thought about starting a new year, all I could think was… I don’t want to start it without you. I don’t want to spend any year without you.”

One! The crowd erupted into cheers and noisemakers, the room exploding with confetti and champagne, but everything else blurred. Logan took a step closer, his voice soft, but urgent.

“You’re it for me. And I’ll spend every day proving it if you’ll let me.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling in uneven waves as his words settled over you. For a moment, you could only stare at him, a thousand emotions colliding in your chest—anger, hurt, longing, and something softer, warmer, breaking through the cracks. You shook your head slowly, your lips parting as you struggled to find the right words.

“That’s just like you, Logan,” you said finally, your voice unsteady, laced with equal parts frustration and disbelief. “To say things like that… and make it impossible for me to hate you.”

His lips curved upward just slightly, a flicker of hope in the storm of his expression. “You don’t hate me—”

“No,” you cut in, your voice trembling. “I don’t. But I tried to. God, Logan, I tried. Do you have any idea how hard I tried to move on?” Your eyes burned as the tears you’d held back all night finally broke free, streaking hot down your cheeks. “But I couldn’t. Because no matter how hard I tried to tell myself it was over, no matter how many times I told myself I deserved better, all I could think about was you.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He stepped closer, his movements careful, as if afraid you might shatter if he came too close too quickly. His eyes searched yours, wide and unguarded, every ounce of his usual bravado stripped away.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “Please. I came here tonight because—” He hesitated, running a hand through his already wild hair, the words catching in his throat. But then he looked at you again, and his expression shifted—steady now, sure, like a man who had decided to bare his heart no matter the cost.

“When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone,” he said, each word landing like a weight between you, “you want the rest of your life to start now.”

The room seemed to tilt, the noise of the party fading into nothing but a distant hum. You could still hear the laughter, the music, the faint clinking of glasses, but it all felt so far away. All you could focus on was Logan—his face open and earnest, his hands balled into fists at his sides like he was holding himself together by sheer willpower.

“You broke my heart,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Do you know how hard it is to put yourself back together after something like that?”

Logan nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I know,” he said softly. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me. I swear to God, I’ll never hurt you like that again. I’ll never give you a reason to doubt me again.”

Your chest ached the weight of everything unsaid pressing against your ribs. You wanted to believe him. You did believe him. But the fear was still there, clinging to you like a shadow. “How do I know this isn’t just another promise you can’t keep?”

Logan took another step closer, close enough now that you could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for yours. He didn’t take them, not yet, but he held them just inches from yours, his fingers hovering like he was waiting for permission.

“Because this isn’t a promise,” he said, his voice steady now, resolute. “This is me telling you the truth. You’re it for me. You’ve always been it for me. And I’m not going to let you go again, not without a fight. I’ll fight for you every damn day if I have to.”

The tears spilled faster now, your shoulders shaking as the last of your resolve crumbled. You didn’t want to fight him anymore—not when every part of you ached to close the distance between you, to let yourself believe in the possibility of something new, something real. Slowly, tentatively, you reached for his hands, your fingers brushing his.

“I don’t know if I can just forget everything that happened,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan shook his head, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not asking you to forget,” he said. “I’m asking you to let me try to make it right. I want to show you that I can be the man you deserve. And if it takes me the rest of my life to prove that to you, then so be it.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your lips trembling as you looked up at him. “You’re such an idiot,” you said, the words soft, fond, and full of emotion.

He grinned then, his first real smile of the night, and it lit up his entire face. “Yeah, well, I’m your idiot.”

You took the last step, closing the space between you as you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

Logan let out a breath, his arms coming around you like he never wanted to let go. “Does this mean we’re starting the year together?” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your tears mixing with a soft, tremulous smile. “Yeah,” you said, your voice breaking but full of certainty. “It does.”

Gently you pulled him down for a kiss as the sound of the countdown faded into the background, and the cheers of the crowd blurred into nothing. “Happy New Year, sweetheart,” Logan whispered against your lips. 

[mercymaker]

There were rumours of some beast roaming these woods. A creature showing no mercy, leaving nothing but butchered corpses behind. It wasn’t for food or for money, as the killer would not take anything besides an odd trinket or two, a memento or something shiny. No one survived this monster’s wrath, so with the passing years more and more details were added to the legend. Parents warned their children not to stray too far into the forest, hunters started avoiding certain areas, and those who didn’t heed such warnings… well, they didn’t live to tell the tale.

Yet no one knew that this huntress was no beast, no monster or aberration, but a child abandoned in the harsh wilderness with nothing but a will to survive.

Maleane had lost her father when she was ten, gone to the Underdark to save more of their kin. The same kin that had found her mother two years later and left nothing but a tortured cadaver behind.

From then on, the little girl was alone in the woods, in pure survival mode, relying on everything her ranger father and her spy mother had taught her to fend for herself. But the child was also lonely, bored, so hunting turned from something that was essential to feed herself to a fun activity, a way to pass time. To hone her skills, become better and better.

She would talk to herself as she skinned deer, imagining what her parents would say in response to how she had executed the kill. Was her aim off? No.. it was perfect. Clean, precise. Mal felt like it would make even her mother proud, and that made her feel... happy, satisfied. Enough to drown out the loneliness. The very solitude that poked at her mind, twisted her brain.

Mal would talk to people that were not there and avoided real ones like ghosts. But hunting was comforting. Hunting was rewarding. So she turned to that instead.

Yet killing deer soon got boring, repetitive. She widened her territory as animals started to avoid the area. She moved to killing elk, wolves, bears. But with years even that satisfaction dulled. Animals were predictable, instinct-driven. No, Maleane needed something else. Something more challenging. She grew up scared of all the outsiders, of people, but back then she had been just a child: weak, helpless, scared. Not any more. Now she was a hunter and they were in her territory. They ought to be afraid, not her. And what a delicious challenge hunting someone who was more than just an animal presented...

[velvetvexations]

Idk if it's hard to see the size of the forest from within it or nt but like. Is this TRF crap waxing or waning? Kinda waiting for it to be over

I've said this before at least once but I really have started seeing different trans women speaking up about transandrophobia and calling out radfem shit like, every day for awhile now. This is supported by the fact that I've also started seeing TRFs themselves start commenting on there being an honest to God contingent of transfems who are apparently not "transfeminist" where they used to literally make jokes about me being the only one, which was never actually true, but it did feel lonelier for sure because it seemed like we may have really been the minority at times.

This December I've felt so much better about being a trans woman than I have...maybe all year, to be honest. It was hard looking around and seeing radfem rhetoric, radfem rhetoric, "it's okay to call other minority groups slurs," radfem rhetoric.

But in the past month or so it feels like the trans women I'm personally aware of who reject and go against that bullshit have exploded! It really feels like it has to have been something that caused it and not just me being unperceptive, because all the TRFs started complaining about it at the exact same time when it used to be impossible to get them to admit it was possible for trans women to disagree with them without being a TERF psyop. That means there's so many of us now they can't keep hiding it and pretending otherwise.

It would be so funny if the Dropout stuff pushed TMA/TME discourse into way more people's feeds.

But whatever the reason, oh, glory day, it makes me so happy.

*I stand by taking that one post personally though because they were still unambiguously defining "every very popular transfem" as their imagined version of me as a super popular transfem blogger who fills my blog with nothing but TME pandering lol

[qdrex]

Not gonna lie, im still crying over this. Like.

WHAT THE FUCK VICTIM.

I wanna kill that bitch (victim)

Poor little Cho doesn't deserve that. Imagine your best friend and the only person you've ever had - you tried to stop from doing something bad, knowing that he's now the best friend, but enough for you. And he dies. And some bitch puts the memory on loop. And your see it again. You see what traumatized you the most again. What brought back your trauma - loneliness.

present.

[kateswallofweird]

EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON . . .

dick grayson x reader who drinks coffee (though the coffee doesn't rlly add to or take from the plot so !); cw angst ish, highs and lows of a relationship

💭 a reminder that love isn't supposed to hurt. it might sting and it might be rough, but it isn't supposed to ache. take care of yourself and protect your heart xo

PART 2 HERE

being in love with dick grayson was like hot chocolate on a cold winter night and the first fall of snow upon season's change. he was warmth and light laughter. he was diving into the deep end of a pool and coming up for air when you thought you'd gone too far. he was brightness—your single star against the cerulean backdrop of the vast night sky.

but loving dick grayson was also silence after a long night. it was watchful eyes and rising tension despite your confusion. it was changing topics and a dismissive laugh, empty and unsettling. it was the cold creeping up and blanketing you in a chill you couldn't escape. it was midnight blue—a darkness that didn't seem all encompassing until you were stranded in the middle.

loneliness is a gut punch when you're surrounded by love but kept from it by distance. it's the hurt you feel at night, the ache that grows in your heart. it's knowing that things are over before it is, and the final act of desperation before joy evades you and light slips through your fingers. it's drowning without water and suffocating in your own desolation.

"i'm sorry."

your relationship had ended with a simple apology and unsaid words. there were no tears shed, no screaming match, no final attempt to stay together. there was only bitterness (of a love so great lost) and the sad realization of the end upon you (one long time coming).

but that was two years ago. things were changed. you were changed, and you had healed (though his initials were still etched into you). dick grayson was a thing of the past, or so you were convinced.

"it's . . . it's been a while, hasn't it?"

crackly like his connection was weak, his voice filtered through the speaker of your phone from your inbox of messages left from missed calls. he'd changed his number.

"i got a new phone and changed my number this morning. some wayne stalker situation. and bruce, he said to call him first, but i—" he laughed lightly like he couldn't believe himself, "i found myself dialing you instead. apparently, i still have your number memorized."

and you stilled in your kitchen, nursing your mug of scalding coffee, because what if you moved and you realized all of this wasn't real?

"i've been thinking a lot these days . . . about you, about us." he took a deep breath. "i messed up. i see it now. i'm sorry."

memories of your fights fought to the front of your mind, the scars his sharp words brandished on you and the fresh wounds your insults left on him. loving dick grayson was worth it, but it certainly wasn't easy.

"and i miss you. i hope that isn't too selfish of me." he cleared his throat, and you set your mug down to pick up your phone. "oh, it's dick by the way . . . in case you happen to have any other ex-boyfriends hitting your line. not that i'm wondering." he mumbled something under his breath that the phone didn't quite pick up, but a smile betrayed you. you could practically imagine his sheepish expression.

"so goodbye i guess," he said, his voice a lot closer to the microphone now as hesitance rang thick. "and um now you have my number, which i realize now you may not want, but if you ever feel some urge to, uh, call me—you can, and i'll answer. no matter what."

the line clicked and the message ended, leaving only the ghost of dick grayson and a whisper of your ex-boyfriend in your kitchen.

💭 how are we feeling dick grayson nation? attacked? comforted? good? bad? well there's going to be a part 2 (it's on the way!) so hang on tight ig!

[muffinrecord]

tbqf I think about neither Sayaka nor Madoka wishing to bring Mami back in the last pre-wraith timeline a lot. they didn't know her all that well; and Madoka did get properly shaken up by her death, so much that she's hesitant to wish for Sayaka's sake either. and Sayaka already had a wish in mind, hadn't she? and Homura's wish included both Mitakihara and Mami, but was more about her first ever friend. Mami's truly the most lonely of them all.

I swear I won't talk about shipping too much, but I think that's one reason I like Kyomami so much. Kyoko feels like the only person who really got Mami. Madoka got close to her in episode three (but look at how that turned out). At the same time, there's a lot of pain present between Kyoko and Mami so you don't lose that appealing loneliness either. As for Kyoko... there's something really sad but understandable about knowing someone could use your help but being unable to help them.

But like... you can't really blame anyone in the cast for not stepping up for Mami either, you know? I think that's why I like Mami's loneliness so much. It doesn't feel contrived, there's no easy bad guys to blame for it besides Kyubey. People don't know what they don't know.

And would Mami want to be wished back to life?

On one hand, Sayaka wishing Kyosuke to have his arm healed is shown to be a mistake on her part as she's making a wish on someone else's behalf and not the wish she actually wants. But would wishing Mami back really be that much better of a choice? Mami was the one who told Sayaka not to make wishes for other people's sakes. Can you imagine how Mami would feel if Sayaka did make a wish to bring Mami back to life? Mami, who knows what it's like to be so lonely and separated from the world, who knows what it's like to fight for your life and never get credit for it.

Like, we know that Mami was so lonely that she was willing to push Madoka into contracting (wishing for a cake!) just to have a friend. On the other end, there's something much worse about someone using their wish just to bring you back when you already feel like you have nothing going for you. I don't have the screenshots handy but at one point in the Different Story, Mami says to just let her die because if she can't help people, there's no use in keeping her around.

Not to mention the whole thing where Mami had to use her own wish to keep herself alive, not realizing she could have saved her parents, or that making a wish at all would have kept her safe. Imagine wasting your wish like that and then someone else using their own wish to keep you alive again.

I feel like the pressure of having someone wish you back to life would get to her. Mami would totally turn into a witch. And it's not just that she has to deal with the internal regret of knowing your new friends became magical girls because of you, because of a mistake you made in a fight, but imagine the resentment too. Mami, wished back to life, just to fight monsters some more. Even if the girls teamed up with her, Mami still feeling alone and isolated.

Oh man, imagine a different scenario. Imagine she found out that magical girls turn into witches while either Madoka or Sayaka wished to bring Mami back from the dead. Imagine that.

It's probably a good thing that Madoka and Sayaka didn't use their wishes to bring her back to life. How tragic is that? I like it.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ⿻ ･ NOSTOS

in all the futures i am capable of prayer for , you are not alone -- you are alive.

ଓ.° ・ diluc ragnvindr. genshin impact. quote cr : emily jungmin yoon. repost!

you once asked diluc about the darkness: a seemingly vast void, empty yet overflowing with dreadful beings both seen and unseen. it was years ago, he recalls, when that conversation took place. the tavern quiet during closed hours, just you and him basking in a silence known as comfort.

he lied to you that night, told you that he wasn't afraid of the dark. i don't think much of it, came the simple answer, an apathetic facade perfected, so long as the dark exists, i will continue to rid of it.

he remembers how you swirled the glass, watching your reflection idly. you were too sharp; he was sure that you knew of his other persona. he remembers how your eyes met and how the silence twisted into one of discomfort -- how he wanted to turn away, swallow his guilt for lying to an acquaintance that meant too much to him.

you must have known back then, seen through all the lies, and somehow understood him.

( you must have. after all, why would you still be here, holding his heart so carefully in your worn hands? )

the years have passed and the dynamics have changed, though the tavern remains all the same. it has been a long while since you have deemed yourselves more than companions, shifting from awkward meetings to the yearning of each other's presence. you both sit at the bar together, worry clear in your eyes. his jaw clenches as you clean his wounds, reluctance in your movement when you notice the tension in his body.

"i can stop." you softly remind him. there's concern all over your visage and there is the familiar feeling of guilt washing over him in waves. "we can take a break."

"it's okay. please, continue."

you hardly tend to his injuries, so such an occurrence is rare, but it still happens more often than either of you would like. he doesn't like to show the pain, doesn't want to worry you any more than he already does. you've known that he's been the vigilante all along, but there is something in the confirmation of it that makes you fret even more.

he cannot imagine it-- knowing that the person you love is out there, fighting alone, trying to right the wrongs in the world. that they are not by your side and that you don't know when they'll come home, or if they'll come home at all.

"i don't like the darkness." diluc tells you. you pause, think about the conversation that took place once before. "it frightens me." ( re: i try not to think about it. i don't. but the nights run long, and my mind cannot help but wander until i can no longer control it. )

the wounds sting. you remain silent, put aside the gauze as his calloused fingers brush against your cheek.

"you don't have to face it alone, love."

it's not the unknown that scares him the most, the oblivion of what lurks in the dark. it's the isolation, the loneliness that fills the heavy air. the fear still remains to this day, though it has dwindled to a faint uneasiness. ( and he thinks it'll always be there, and that's okay. it is a part of the journey to restore the light ). but there is something about you that makes it easier to venture into-- because diluc has so many things to fight for, and you have become one of them.

"i know." he says, and there's that delicate curl of the lips that eases your heart. "i don't face it alone. i carry you with me."

you laugh softly, the trepidation in your bones fleeting from his touch and words. there are too many wounds that diluc holds, but slowly, they are healing.

"thank you." he murmurs. softly, he tugs you towards him until you are safely in his arms, and he realizes that the pain abates when you are nearby. you return the affectionate gesture, intimacy in your touch as you wrap your arms around him, fingers grazing the cuts and bruises with utmost caution.

"thank you for coming home." you whisper, and you almost laugh again at the lump that has formed in your throat.

there is something so wonderfully beautiful about the way your fingers run through red locks-- and maybe it is the way you look at him that makes him fall in love all over again. he feels that familiar heat rise in his cheeks, that urge to whisper those three little words, but his timidness has always gotten the best of him, despite how charming he may be.

you notice the rose that adorns his cheeks, know exactly what he's thinking, so you'll say it first.

"i love you."

the colors deepen, but he smiles when your lips press against his. & somewhere in the quiet air of the tavern, he whispers back a gentle i love you.

[phantasmalnightmare]

The way they bantered with such ease already was something he hadn't imagined possible just the previous day, when he'd left for Hope's Peak with vengeance on his mind. Yet, here he was, teasing a mafia heiress as if she were one of his own men. He had a feeling that her easy smile and relaxed nature was something that she was unaccustomed to be able to express, and he was happy that she felt like she could be herself around him, no matter the circumstances that led them here.

"Huh, traveling helps with loneliness? First I've heard of that. Guess I'll have to go someday then... and dancing. Maybe you'll have to teach me how to dance, princess." He grinned easily and looked away. Surely, the art of dance couldn't be that complicated. He was quick on his feat and could kick better than the rest of them already. Some dances required kicks. He was quite confident that he could at least learn how to break dance, although he was sure that wasn't the type of dancing that would stave off loneliness, a feeling he felt immensely when his hectic life slowed down just a little bit.

Mikey had decided at a young age that he didn't need to be comforted ever. He was a strong leader, and he'd had enough of that after Shinichiro's death. He was still glad, as they were finally free of the clowns, although the poor, heartbroken ghost that next appeared before them didn't improve his mood much. "Marrying her for power and control.. what kind of shit reason is that?" He supposed that people did that all the time, but he was young enough that he hadn't encountered such cases. "People should marry for love, not personal gain." Sure enough, he would have kicked that ghost's ass if he had been present, so maybe it was good he was absent. Otherwise, they would have likely gotten kicked off of the ride for ghost assault.

"It would be nice.. If Satori and Baji are partying like this. Scaring children and shit. Not.. in limbo or whatever. Even reincarnation.. it's hard to think of them ending up as a new person. Maybe someday they'll even scare me." His chest constricted, and yet, he could imagine the two of them causing all kinds of mischief on the other side. The thought made him feel just a little more at ease as they slowly disembarked off of the ride. The Toman leader thought to offer his hand to Sonia's, but she was off before he knew it.

"Yeah it'll be nice to cool off." He agreed, smiling softly as she prattled on about the historical facts concerning splash mountain. While he wasn't that into history himself, he found the way she got so animated when she talked about something that excited her, cute. He'd sweated a bit more than he wanted to admit when they went through that clown room, and the cool water was exactly what he needed.

"Oh I see." He knew her family was well connected, but to feel that she couldn't even take a personal photograph for herself while in disguise... He couldn't help but notice the wistful way that she glanced towards the oversized mouse. "Well... At least go say hi." He gave her a small push towards him, before sighing.

"I guess... I'll go with you." Before she could protest, he led the way to the large mouse, that was, unfortunately, but unsurprisingly, taller than him. "Hi, Mr. Mouse, sir..." He started awkwardly, clearing his throat. "My friend really wanted to say hi. Even if she doesn't want to admit it." He gestured towards Sonia, presumably next to him.

"Why hello there kids. Aha!" Mickey did his signature giggle and waved to the both of them. Mikey grimaced at being called a kid, but he wouldn't ruin this moment for her. Mickey mouse took both of their hands in a firm handshake. "Thank you for coming to greet me. It's always great to meet new people. You're welcome to hug me if you want too! I love hugs. Aha!"

Manjiro took an extra step away. "No hugs from me, thanks." Once Sonia was done greeting the mouse, he would nod. "Splash Mountain it is."

They were friends, or so their mutual teasing indicated. She wouldn't have pressed her luck with a nickname he despised if she didn't trust him not to turn his gang on her family, and he wouldn't have reciprocated in kind if he still found her to be a danger to his own. Formalities didn't suit him, of that much Sonia was sure: but how would he fare in the yakuza otherwise? There were only three paths out of street gangs, or so she'd observed: joining the rest of society and obtaining a real job or education, joining the yakuza, or the third option she didn't want to think about. The option that had led him to Hope's Peak and her company in the first place, his friend's demise. Unless he sought employment and set his gang aside, she felt he'd have to face formalities one day. And Mikey, Sonia thought, did not make for a suitable foot soldier in any family: he'd have to lead or, she felt, he'd be discontent. She'd known the boy for only hours and yet that was enough to discern that leadership was natural to him and anything else would leave him unsettled.

More unsettled than a haunted ride, to be sure. Though Sonia preferred the haunts. "A few of them, yes," She confirmed with a smile, far more dreamy and content than most would be when meeting ghosts. She was hardly ever allowed to be so whimsical, or even so cheerful in public. Soft and knowing smiles were allowed under the right circumstances, but showing her passions and therefore her weaknesses...her mother worked so hard to shut them away. It made the entire Borghese Family vulnerable, her passions. And yet she clenched her fists around them and refused to let them go, like a child with a favored blanket. Comfortable yes, but also what she needed to keep a hold of her sanity most of the time. "They possess fascinating stories paired with the ability to make you so very aware of your limited mortality. But that is a benefit of traveling, I think: finding more places that give you inspiration, and people who understand you when you feel alone. Though when you are dancing, you are never alone."

Something Mikey hadn't appreciated, at least where her comfort where the clowns were concerned. Sonia frowned: she'd only been trying to help. If his gang likely didn't fear his feet knocking out several of their permanent teeth, she assumed a bit of teasing around his fear would be warranted. "I imagine a spiteful, vengeful ghost abandoned her," She suggested, half-listening to the story in order to carry on their conversation. Strangely enough, it was more interesting than the ride's lore and she could always ride it again. She likely would, if the clowns wouldn't faze him a second time. "Maybe it is simply too romantic to fathom, if the ghost in question never loved her in the first place and only wanted her for power and control. I see enough of that in real life, who is to say it would not carry into the undead? Nevertheless, it still looks like fun, heartbreak aside. Spending my years haunting somewhere or someone sounds far more preferable than crossing over into the afterlife!"

If only because the afterlife, as she knew it in her family's Catholicism, seemed rather dull in comparison to Limbo, or even Hell itself. She'd read The Divine Comedy as soon as she was able to get her hands on it as a child, alongside plenty of other reading material inappropriate for children.

She followed Mikey off the ride: she'd been first to get on and therefore last to disembark. The walk back out into the sunlight was jarring, both in brightness and heat. "Sure, let us try the...what is it," Sonia paused to glance at the map. "Splash Mountain! A depiction of 19th Century Rural America apparently, based on a 20th Century film. Well, it shall cool us off at least." That, and the drop looked fun. The American West area of the park wasn't too far away and she could see the tan-colored mountain in the distance, and the riders who cried out as their logs began their descent.

But Sonia's smile faded at his suggestion, noticing the costumed character before shaking her head. "I really should not," She sighed, turning towards the mountain instead. "If I am caught here in a photograph by anyone, I imagine my family's security will converge quickly and our day out will end earlier than I think either of us intended. It is probably for the best that I refrain from photography whilst here."

Still, she gave the Mouse a wistful look. She would not have minded meeting him, personally: it was better than meeting princesses, with their overly cheery expressions and espousing of true love. Mostly, Sonia felt sure Mikey would never let her live it down if she posed next to a heavily made up woman in a ballgown and tiara. "So, the Splash Mountain, then?"

[pali-and-proud]

Every character in Cb is actually experiencing such profound levels of loneliness and isolation but for completely different reasons. It might be all your friends preparing for college and excitedly planning out trips and discussing majors, and it might be struggling with befriending kids your age, and it might be with feeling ignored and unseen with your own parents, and it might be with your wife's passing, and it might be being isolated from your siblings and unsure how to reconnect, and it might be being hospital-bound and away from your son, and it might be whatever tf is happening with the goth one. punko oh punko you and your ability to make me want to hug every person you draw

[crocodilenjoyer]

what if you 🫵 wanted to take a nap 💤 but god said ☝️ asl dunmeshi au 💥

[my-fancy-hat]

... goosebumps

[daisyachain]

Saw a post that argues that there are some words that just shouldn’t be translated. Think suffixes in Japanese-language texts. They convey plenty of information and English doesn’t have anything close to peer-honourifics. I understand this impulse. In fact it’s a good middle option to convey information quickly: if it’s a frequently used, story-critical untranslatable word, sure, stick in a glossary.

My personal belief is that you can translate everything effectively. There’s always going to be some combination of words that creates the desired effect. Even if the word is linked into a cultural norm that doesn’t transfer, there’s going to be some kind of equivalency you can draw based on the fundamentals of human emotion. Ultimately I think it’s better to translate based on flow and naturalism while including footnotes—if it’s something like a translated novel or a dubbed show. Subbed shows are trickier since the subtitles ought to line up with the spoken words, but you still have a lot of flexibility. There’s always going to be something you can do. Take the suffixes. There are no words in English to quickly convey a relationship, but you can get around that by deploying tone and register. It doesn’t have the guaranteed result of a -chan* *denotes affection of the user or cuteness of the bearer, sometimes used ironically between friends, default for close female friends. It can still accomplish a lot.

[lunarharp]

wip thing...

of my bg3 avatar hellebore. i also did some casual nude studies of my 3 characters which i'll put under a cut... rather unlike me after all. (so WARNING for abrupt non-sexual full Artistic nudity lol...,,,,) (< won't be making a habit of this)

they mean the world to me

[altschmerzes]

I’m legally obligated to ask about loneliness into loneliness if you post any time of ask aka FACE SMUSHED AGAINST GLASS.

OF COUUUUUURSE

here's a clip from loneliness into loneliness, the ted lasso fic about dani and jamie both being out injured at the same time, staying together at dani's house, and starting a queerplatonic relationship - figuring out what that means, what they want it to mean, how to navigate something neither of them have a roadmap for.

this is from the night where dani is, to put it succinctly, the big spoon for the first time, bc they started sleeping in the same bed so that jamie could help keep him from rolling onto his bad shoulder. now that he's healed enough to have his shoulder brace off, and has noticed jamie is having troubled sleep the last few nights, dani has offered to hold him tonight and see if that helps him sleep. it's also the first time we get into the thing with one of them putting a hand beneath the other's shirt, direct skin contact, etc, which ends up being. A Thing. this scene could be subtitled 'two people try to have a conversation where nobody says a full sentence the entire time and they both want the same thing that they don't have any language for or idea how to talk about'. it's a bit long, so, under the cut it goes:

When Dani’s hand slips under Jamie’s shirt, pressing against his side just above his hip, the feeling of skin against bare skin is electrifying. He twitches, the muscles under the point of contact giving a small, instinctive spasm. It’s something like a flinch and he feels Dani go still.

“Sorry,” Dani murmurs. He starts to pull away, lifting his hand from Jamie’s side while the rest of his body tenses like he’s getting ready to move. “I should have asked before I-”

“No,” Jamie says. He barely breathes it, really, lower than a whisper. Just as quickly as he’d interrupted Dani’s self-rebuke, he reaches down to grab the retreating hand and keep it there, gripping Dani’s wrist gently but firmly. “No, it’s…” He swallows hard. There’s something strange and uncertain fluttering in his chest, something anxious but hopeful at the same time. “It’s okay. I… It’s fine. I mean, are you… What do you…” What do you want? seems accusatory, What are you looking for with this? just sounds weird. Jamie can’t figure out how to ask, what he’s even trying to ask.

“Nothing. Just this. Just…” Dani’s fingers flex a little where their hands are hovering in an awkward tangle, still caught under the fabric of Jamie’s shirt. “I’m not trying to… Just to… When you helped with my shoulder, it was- was nice. That’s all.” He doesn’t seem to have the words for what he’s trying to say and there’s more hesitation now. His voice sounds embarrassed and it has a nervous edge, and there’s a tension at the grip Jamie has on his wrist like he’s going to pull back again.

“That’s okay,” is what Jamie settles on saying. “I don’t mind. That’s…” He swallows hard, thinking about the press of skin against skin, the warmth of being touched so directly and unflinchingly. The thought of being touched like that, just for the sake of it, the way he had touched Dani when he’d massaged his shoulder after physical therapy, just touch without the expectation of it leading to anything, something more following, is… Well, Dani had been right about that. “That’s nice, actually. I think. That’s- yeah. That’s okay.”

Even after he says it, Jamie waits for a long, still moment before releasing his grip on Dani’s wrist. He hopes he didn’t fuck things up somehow, that his reaction hadn’t made it so that Dani didn’t want to touch him anymore. The more he thinks about it, the more Jamie wants him to do it. His side aches, feeling oddly cold and prickly.

There’s a hovering pause where Dani’s hand stays in place, not quite resting against Jamie but not pulling away either, still there tucked beneath his shirt. There’s barely a centimetre between them and it feels like forever that it stays that way. The longer it goes on for, the more Jamie feels cold and exposed and small, and then everything changes.

Then Dani’s hand moves, settling on Jamie’s side. He leaves it there, his thumb moving in slow strokes over the ridge of bone at the bottom of Jamie’s ribcage. There are callouses on his palm that Jamie can feel, slightly rough against his skin. It’s beyond frightening but he doesn’t want it to stop. The chill is gone, and he feels grounded, anchored to this place and this time, here in this bed. It’s like he’s pinned there, but without the threat that word seems to imply - not pinned. Held. And honestly, Jamie thinks that he might die if it stopped, if that gentle touch was gone and he was left to lay here, cold enough to shiver without it. It doesn’t leave. It stays, pressing a little harder after a while, like the way that Jamie has relaxed and leaned back into Dani’s chest, not flinching again since that first time, has given him permission to settle in too.

[maddisandy]

i hear people on the "scar killed his (boatem) crew by letting them sink" theory but i'm inclined to angst and so i much prefer the prospect that scar couldn't save them. i'm sure he did everything he could but if you go by popular fanon ideas of everyone, Pearl and Grian both have wings (and imagine trying to swim with waterlogged wings), Impulse is a demon (fire and water don't mix? idk), and Mumbo is. Well.. The living embodiment of a wet cat. Scar may have been the only one who could have even had a chance at surviving and rationalized his grief by telling himself he let them sink. Because it was the only way he could get by without accepting he couldn't have prevented their deaths.

[chromotps]

Emmyyy that winged Ace art😭 it made me think of an icarus/apollo au, cause there’s a reimagining of the myth with icarus and apollo as lovers and icarus built wings to reach apollo, and i’m just imagining a sorta tragic au where luffy becomes nika, losing his humanity and becoming the sun, and Ace builds wings to fly up to him😭 anyways, i upset myself and wanted to share haha

Merry.... how could you do this to me, personally,,,, (lmao)

whatever you do don't imagine luffy watching what's happening, knowing that there's no way he can help as he is now, anymore... he sees ace falling into the water, right in the middle of a reflection of the sun--and ace says "it's okay, luffy" because, at least like this, he can "touch" luffy one last time as he breaks the surface

gosh i'm having to restrain every instinct in my body to let the AU stay tragic... you have to understand i have Trained myself to make things fluffy. this is me working against years of stubborn fix-it headcanons and happy, everyone-lives AUs 😂 but I'll do it for the symbolism... the poetry...