#and i was disheartened to find they were too small a number

[blumenherzen]

I can't pick one there's just so many, mostly I think of:

Who cooked the last Supper by Rosalind Miles

Scum Manifesto by Valerie Solanas

La Storia (History) by Elsa Morante

Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar

Il Cardillo Addolorato by Anna Maria Ortese

La Lunga Vita di Marianna Ucria by Dacia Maraini

Valley of The Dolls by Jacqueline Susann

House of Incest by Anaïs Nin

The Lesbian Body by Monique Wittig

Transformations by Anne Sexton

A Woman appeared to me by Renée Vivien

Ariel by Sylvia Plath

The Hocus Pocus of the Universe by Laura Gilpin

There's probably many more and even more that I still have to read but these are the books that played a big part in shaping me as a person. The first on the list is the only one I still have to finish (I'm almost done) but it deserves to be on the list.

I read "A Woman Appeared to Me" as a teenager and it was the first book in which I found, expressed in poetry, the love a woman felt for another woman. Reshaped my brain.

then there are Morante, Yourcenar, Ortese and Maraini. The ones I listed are all historical novels; there is probably something to be said about a history narrated by women, maybe I just find them some of the most human stories ever written.

What's a book written by a woman that changed your life or that you consider a classic? Any genre, any language.

[storiesfromafan]

Insecurities - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: I feel it was time I gave writing for a plus size reader a go. And Benny gives me the feeling he'd love a plus size girl 😅

Can say this was a small challenge. As when I write for a reader i usually lean for them to be smaller/thin. And i can honestly say I am a fat girly, who wishes I was how I described the plus size reader in this haha.

Hopefully this isn't too bad. I'm already working on a follow up, which will be steamy/smuty 😂😅

Also forgive if this feels like my other one-shots were the reader meets Benny 😅

Warning/s: reader is plus size, reader is down on themselves, low self-esteem(?), spelling/grammer mistakes

You’d always been treated differently due to your thicker build. As a teenager your frame was always different to the girls around you that were petite and slender, while you were curvier and stockier. Coming into womanhood you found you were thick, and not fat. With dresses you could blend in better, but jeans and slacks always showcased your wide hips, thick thighs but accentuated your smaller waist.

During your school days the boys, which is what they were, didn’t bat an eyelash at you. Opting for the smaller girls. With age, you found a fair number of men interested in you. But it never panned out. Either it was your own insecurities that held you back, or their insecurities arose, usually from their male friends making fun of you, or the guy for dating you.

Having moved to Chicago, you were lucky to find a place to live, becoming roommates with an interesting woman named Kathy. At first, you were unsure of her. As she seemed like a lot, but after weeding through her way of talking and her no beating around the bush approach, she grew on you. A week after moving in was when Vandals, men from a motorcycle club and their old ladies, started to hang out at her house.

Work had been stressful and disheartening, from the helping treat the sick and injured, to the few losses of life in the hospital. And knowing this, Kathy was persistent on taking you out tonight to Grand and Division. Not your typical haunt, but it was nice of her to include you. So with a little twist of your arm, you agreed to go with her. You looked forward to a few beers and being a wallflower, because rarely any man wanted you.

Arriving at the bar, you were greeted to the smell and sight of smoke floating around the bar. The space filled with bodies, but mostly men. Who seemed to notice Kathy and you, as you crossed the room to the tables at the back, you were surprised to have your behind slapped and grabbed. Of course Kathy said that was normal for these animals. She said to just ignore it as best you could. That was the worst they’d do, otherwise Johnny would have words with them. You figured this Johnny had to be high up or the head of the club.

Soon you both were joined by other Vandal women, which even brought you both beers. They were Betty, Gale and Debbie. They were warm in welcoming you, and had a blunt kindness to them. Just like how it had been with Kathy, you found them refreshing. A comfortable conversation surrounded the five of you. Each woman telling you an outrageous, yet true story. You were laughing and having a fun in no time with them.

You sat back, taking a moment to look around the bar as you took a sip from the bottle. The pool table caught your attention, and the group of men huddled around it in conversation and a game. You saw Benny for the first time standing with Cal, deep in conversation and taking a drag of his cigarette. His messy blonde locks catching every so often in the low light. He was pretty but rugged, like James Dean but with more facial hair. His muscular arms on display as the sleeves of his t-shirt were rolled up. He oozed sex appeal without trying.

It was stupid to stare at Mr Good-looking, but how couldn’t you? That was when you noticed the other women near him, doing exactly what you were doing, ogling at him. You didn’t stand a chance against most of them. They were thin and pretty. You couldn’t compete against them.

“Um, bathroom?” You asked, feeling the need to escape. Even for a few minutes.

Kathy gave you a look, which you just smiled at her, before she pointed towards the back. “Just past the bar, down the hall".

Nodding your head you got up and made your way to the women’s restroom. Once away from the people and majority of the noise, you took a few deep breathes. Settling your fast beating heart. Sometimes taking a moment is all you need to quiet your head. Looking over yourself, taking in the casual beehive do Kathy did for you. Paired with your light make up, you fixed your lipstick before straightening out the sleeveless button up shirt you were wearing. Along with dark jeans and flats, Kathy’s suggestion so that you’d fit in better. Though you wished you’d wore a dress, which would hide your body better.

But when Kathy said you looked perfect, you believed her. That woman always said the honest truth, even if it hurt. Exiting the restroom you straightened up before heading back to your table. You put on a smile as you took your seat. Questioning what you’d missed. Like those insecurities of yours never arose.

What you had missed was the moment Benny had seen you, walking back to your table. He was lining up his shot when you came into view. At first, he had seen your (colour) hair and beautiful face, before he noticed your body. Your curves were all he could look at. Your waist smaller which lead to your shapely hips and thick thighs. You had a womanly body that most men craved. And Benny was no different. When you smiled, he almost accidentally took his shot, but was able to stop himself. Fixing himself, Benny took the shot, sinking a ball and then moved to his next shot. All the while taking glances at you, the one he now had his sights on.

Benny had to play the game out. But he made sure to keep an eye on you. He watched how you drank your beer, how you laughed and smiled. You looked so sweet. But he chalked that up to this being your first time at Grand and Division. Kathy had told him about her roommate, that you were a nurse. How considerate and kind you were to her. As well as the ideal roommate. But not once did Kathy mention your heavenly body. The moment the game was over, Benny was off to introduce himself to you.

Kathy and Betty saw him before any of the other women. When he dropped into a backwards seat next to you, his arms crossing over the back of the seat, his stormy blue eyes were on you, and only you. And you were surprised to see Benny beside you. The way he smiled at you could have had you a gooey mess on the floor. But you kept it together, as best you could.

“Hey" came his gruff, deep voice. “I'm Benny".

You blinked a few times, trying to wrap your head around this gorgeous man sitting next to you and staring at you. “H-hi...”

The women around you all shared an amused look. Accompanied by a small laugh. “This is (Y/N), my roommate" Kathy informed for you.

Your face flushed as you turned to look at Kathy, who wore a smirk on her lips. She found your lack of words funny. As you generally never have an issue talking. But I guess put a good-looking man in front of you, and you are like the rest of the women who get tongue tied. Benny then noticed the other women, giving them a greeting. Yet his eyes landed back on you. He knew that the women around you knew why he was here. When he saw something, he liked, Benny would always come around.

Yet, you seemed nervous. And opting to look at the other women or your beer. Benny chalked it up to being shy. But really it was your self-doubt. Such as, why would Benny be interested in you? No man openly wants someone like you. Despite your attempts to not look at him, you kept taking little glances. Which Benny noticed, and would smile at. He even began to strike up a conversation with you, with the help of Kathy.

She had seen it coming. Kathy had seen the way Benny looked at you when he approached the table. And she was all for this pairing, so long as he didn’t hurt you. Kathy didn’t want to lose the best roommate she’s had, nor a dear friend who was like a sister. Plus she knew you needed someone. Benny could be that someone. He might look rough, but he had a good heart and cared about those close to him. You would be in safe hands.

“Wait" you piped up during Kathy telling you about Benny's recent run in with the law. “You’re the Benjamin Cross that caused the police chase through town!?” You were so surprised.

Benny smirked, “yeah".

You sat back in your chair, eyes locked with his. “Do you know how crazy that was? It was all the nurses were talking about for days!”

He chuckled. “Yeah”.

“Don’t be fooled by his bad boy nature" commented Kathy with a laugh. “Benny’s one of the good ones. He just can’t think right sometimes".

The other women laughed, but agreed he was a decent guy. Soon both Betty and Gale excused themselves, their partners were beckoning them over. And then Debbie left to see a few other girls nearby. Leaving just the three of you. With less people you felt more self-conscious. But you pushed through it. When you and Kathy had finished your beers, Benny offered to get the next round. Reluctantly leaving you to do so. As soon as he was gone you turned to Kathy with a worried face.

“What is he doing?” You quietly asked her.

She smiled. “What do ya think? He’s flirtin’ with you!”

You shook your head. “No, that can’t be. Men as good-looking as Benny, don’t go for women like me!”

Your roommate blinked, not believing the words that came out of your mouth. “Like you? (Y/N), you are gorgeous. Any man would be a lucky bustard to get you! And Benny, he knows what he likes. He will always go for it".

You didn’t believe her. How could you? Your track record said otherwise. You sighed. “Kathy, men might want me...but they don’t always want to be seen with me”.

Reaching over, Kathy squeezed your hand. “Trust me. Benny ain’t like the idiots you’ve dated. In fact, the Vandal men aren’t like those idiots. A man will always want to be seen with his woman, trust me".

With one final squeeze, Kathy withdrew her hand. While you were left with some hope, choosing to believe her. Even just a little bit. To be fair, when you entered the bar, you were groped and slapped on the behind, as well as the many looks you got. Maybe there was some truth to her words. These men were rough but they were just that; men. Sure many looked like they needed a good scrub, or had belly’s, they were a stark contrast to the squares and pretty boys you’ve dated.

Benny returned with beers, which he handed to both you and Kathy. You both thanked him, which he waved off. He sat next to you still, those blues of his still on you, while a thousand-watt smile crossed his full lips. The three of you continued to talk, many stories being told by Kathy of Benny and the Vandals. You were amused and laughed at some of the funnier and outrageous things that had happened. Benny defending parts of her stories. You could see their friendship in this moment, and it was nice. Being included felt good.

The night wore on, and the spark between you and Benny seemed to grow. He was so fixed on you, that you couldn’t believe how he ignored the other women around you both. Kathy’s words stuck with you, and you started to really believe in them. Benny moved his arm to rest on the back of your chair as he looked back to both Johnny and Brucie. It looked like they were silently communicating to each other, before he turned back to you with a smile.

“Looks like it’s time" he said with a bright smile.

“Time for what?” You questioned in confusion.

Benny didn’t say a word, just got up and went over to the two men. Leaving you even more confused, you looked to Kathy. She shrugged, not sure herself it seemed. Soon Vandals started to make their way out of the bar, women following with laughter and giddiness. That was when Kathy understood, she got up with her bag before telling you to follow.

“What’s going on Kathy?” You asked crossing the room.

She smiled. “They’re goin' on a ride".

You didn’t fully grasp her answer, but remained quiet and just followed. Exiting the bar you watched as the men took to their bikes, women getting on behind them. You saw Brucie and Gale get on his bike, they looked so comfortable and at ease. Then Johnny and Betty exited the bar, Benny along with them. Johnny looked to you and Kathy, saying something to Benny before leading Betty over to his bike. Benny then found you, watching you as he walked over.

He stopped before you, a small smile on his lips. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go for a ride".

Your heart skipped a beat at the nickname. Before reality sat in, and your insecurities came forth. You on the back of Benny's bike. You with him. You weren’t built to be on a bike. You stepped back from Benny, an awkward laugh leaving your lips while shaking your head.

“O-oh, that’s alright. I’m good” you managed to get out. “You should take Kathy. I’ll just get a cab home".

The smile dropped from his face, Benny's eyes drawing in on you. That was the first time he saw a flash of your self-doubt. And he didn’t like it. You had just as much right to be on the back of his bike, just like any woman. You were perfect in every way. Stepping forward, Benny grabbed your hand and began to pull you towards his bike, but you dug your feet down. Which stopped him. Kathy was doing everything to tell you to go, you’d be fine. But you weren’t sure of it.

Benny moved to stand before you again, never letting go of your hand. “What is it sweetheart? What’s stoppin' ya from riding with me?”

The way he looked at you, eyes honest and pleading. It almost had you tripping over your words, but you managed to quietly say, “wouldn’t I be too heavy for the bike? Wouldn’t I effect the ride?”

Benny couldn’t believe his ears. He figured you were self-conscious but this was more then he thought. Whoever did this to you deserved a serious beating, and he’d gladly put his hand up to do it. Squeezing your hand, Benny leant closer to you, never breaking eye contact.

“Sweetheart, hear me when I say this" he paused, making sure you were indeed listening. “You are perfect the way you are. Leave the bike to me, I want you and your arousing body on my bike. Up against me”. His tone was low and raspy, like Benny was holding himself back.

You blushed, your cheeks feeling warm at his blunt admission. Which no man had ever done before, not like Benny anyways. When you remained silent, he once more began to pull you towards his bike. And this time you let him lead you. Looking back you noticed Kathy wasn’t there, no doubt slipped away while you were caught up with Benny. You did eventually see her on the back of another Vandals bike, and she gave you a bright smile.

Upon reaching his bike, Benny let go of your hand before swinging his leg over the bike. He made quick work of starting it up, the roar of it coming to life made you jump, not expecting such a loud noise. Once ready, Benny looked to you, offering his hand. You hesitated a moment, before throwing caution and those damn insecurities to the wind. As soon as your hand touched his did Benny grasp it firmly, his way of saying he’s got you. You swung your leg over before resting behind him. There were cheers and hollering coming from around you. Other Vandals had been watching you both, enthusiastic about Benny's girl.

“Better wrap your arms around me, baby" Benny said with a gentle tone. “Don’t want nothin' happening to you".

Slowly you moved your hands to his waist, before sliding them around to rest against his toned stomach. Benny had to hold back the groan that rose in his throat. Just the feel of your hands against his clothed body was driving him crazy. He moved one of his hands back and grabbed your thigh firmly, he needed a moment to ground himself but he’s been wanting to do that all night. His touch seemed to relax you, and you moved closer. Front pressed against Benny's back. Which didn’t help him any more than before.

“You’ll be the death of me" he muttered to himself.

Pulling away from the curb, Benny followed Jonny with Brucie beside him. Gale shot you an enthusiastic smile and a chuckle. You only blushed more, even moving to press your face into Benny’s back. The denim of his colours rough against your face. But you still found yourself smiling. Picking up speed the group of bikes made their way through town, before hitting the expressway.

You pulled back when you entered the expressway. Looking around and behind you, you were amazed by all the Vandals and their bikes. The awe and amazement hit you in such a great way. The wind in your hair, and Benny's body, felt so good, so freeing. Riding around felt freeing. For it was something you never thought you’d do, and wouldn’t have done if Benny hadn’t been so determined.

The ride felt like forever. And you wouldn’t mind if it never ended. Enjoying the moments with the Vandals and Benny. How he took care of you. His gloved hand reaching back to grab your thigh from time to time, which only made your stomach flip. But it had to come to an end though. Separating from the group, Benny began the journey back to your house. The streets were quiet, the noise of his bike filling it nicely.

Pulling up out the front of your shared house, he cut the engine before putting down the kickstand. Of course he helped you off first, before following suit. Silently you looked at the other. You looked at him in curiosity, while Benny looked like he wanted pull you in close. But he was behaving himself, for now.

“W-well...thanks for that" you said breaking the silence. “And thanks for bringing me home...”

Looking down and then back up, a small smile on Benny’s face he said, “no problem sweetheart. With me, I’d always take care of you".

Your cheeks heated at the double meaning to those words. And the smirk to take over Benny’s face told you he knew it too. He stepped closer, moving some stray hairs from your face. His hand slipping to hold your chin gently. Then Benny leant in, his lips coming in contact with your own. His kiss was soft, closed lipped, just to get a taste. You of course were shocked and surprised, unsure what to do. Pulling back, Benny looked you into the eyes, silently hoping he could do that again.

You didn’t pull away or say a word, your eyes told him all he needed. Leaning back in, Benny’s lips collided with yours again. This time he pressed harder, hand moving to hold your neck. You closed your eyes, taking in this moment, the start of something. Benny’s free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer. His tongue moving along your bottom lip. Without a thought in your brain, you opened your mouth. His tongue darting in, mapping out its new territory. Your tongues met, caressing the other, all the while Benny held onto you.

Finally he pulled back, you both breathing heavy while taking in oxygen. Slowly your eyes opened, brain trying to process what just happened, and why did it feel so good. Benny watched you, gaging your response to the kiss. His thumb caressing the skin of your neck, hoping to keep this soothed side of you. When you met his gaze, he could see this blank yet content look in your eyes. Which was better than panic or anger. One step closer to the bigger picture, you being his girl. And you would be his, he knew it. Even if he had to fight those insecurities of yours.

[mysteria157]

hello hello mystie 🩷 bon has decided to visit you once again.

i am recently going through quite some turbulence with my writing. i have been working on a aot reiner piece for quite some time but it's been feeling rather... unfulfilling? i guess i just want to open up a bit.

as a black woman, i've seen a number of posts on here of other woc having takes about how we should 'embrace our blackness' and write our fics in a way that reflects that. i always understood that this is a valid opinion, as we are often pushed by society to 'calm' ourselves down and water down our personalities and our way of speaking (often not to fall subject to a number of disheartening stereotypes.)

but i've come to a more different, personal conclusion over the past few months. i am a black south african girl who grew up watching british cartoons in order to learn english. my mother took me to a catholic school where english was the language of instruction and we had a similar education system as most british schools (colonisation has a role in this system but that's a discussion for another day.)

i've always been called 'whitewashed' as i am fluent in the language. there's still heavy racial tension where i'm from, so ever since i was little i was compared to speaking as a white person. a 'coconut' if we want to go that far, lol.

besides this, we've become more westernised and my peers around me began to see the struggle of african americans as our own (since we're all experiencing the same biases and discrimination as poc.) now for some reason, seeing the takes of other woc made me feel as if the way i write and speak was incorrect. i felt like a phony, like someone who was dodging away from racism by writing like a 'white person' to stay unattacked.

to cut this short (as this has already been quite long), your writing put things into perspective for me. it might not be 'that deep' but seeing another black woman write and speak similar to myself has healed a small part of me. not only is your writing excellent, but it makes me feel as if that i don't have to pretend to be the stereotypical black writer all the time.

that my way of writing does not make me any less 'black'. i now know exactly how i want to create stories and write them down, as i always could've done.

thank you for being the talented individual that you are. love you lots.

-Bonnie 🩷

Hello my beautiful, Bonnie 💕

I apologize for the delay, I’ve been traveling for work so my activity on Tumblr has been low recently.

It’s a weird sensation of fate to read your post, because I resonate with your thoughts deeply. Growing up as a military child, I moved frequently, so I never really had a “home” like others. The friends that I had were all military children too and made up a melting pot of race, diversity, and background. I did not have a primarily black friend group and because of this, others often made fun of me for not being “black” enough. The way I spoke, wrote, dressed, and my mannerisms were all representative of a “whitewashed” version of a black woman. The concept of whitewashed is a topic for another day 😒

I’ve dealt with being called an “inside out Oreo”and constantly heard the annoying micro-aggression of “talking really well for someone like myself.” And for years it bothered me more that I wanted to feel and act like others, instead of embracing myself. Thankfully, I got over that.

Joining Tumblr and finding a community of black writers has been a great experience, and I definitely agree that we should ‘embrace our blackness’, but embrace it in a way that represents YOU. Not everyone else.

For myself, I embrace with what I write about, not necessarily how I write. Because I write how I think and talk, but I try to share plot and experiences that normally resonate with who I am as a black woman. Cookouts, extended family mannerisms and traditions, how I do my hair and take care of my skin, etc.

You are not a phony and you are not ‘whitewashed’. You’re Bonnie, and Bonnie writes how Bonnie speaks, acts, and feels. Period.

In my opinion, trying to write a certain way to appeal to someone else only takes away from your own authenticity. This isn’t to invalidate someone else’s experience, but you shouldn’t have to pretend to embrace your ‘blackness’. Being able to overcome this feeling is such a strength that you should continue to hold close 💕

Girl, look at me rambling LMFAO. THE POINT IS, I’m so happy that I was able to help you embrace more of who you are. I’m happy that you enjoy my words. I’m happy that you have the strength to create how you want. And I’m just…really happy for meeting you 🥹

Create your stories however you want. As long as Bonnie is happy and Bonnie is enjoying it and Bonnie is not intentionally hurting others, that’s all that should matter.

Love you lots as well. Thank you for being the beautiful mootie that you are 💕😘

[metallicshimmerclaws]

put that down , you don't know what it does. [ from viktor! ]

↪ Making demands .

The bear frowned, a scowl of disgust formed on her lips as she shoved nose plugs into her nostrils. The water pollution and recent chemical spills had made each “clean up” of the River Pilt more disheartening. Along with many others, the woman had a fine woven net to dredge a small area of the river nearest the factory and market square. The majority of debris pulled to the surface was a scrap bits of screws, metal savings, solidified lumps of Shimmer, broken beer bottles, needles, discarded knifes and small dead water creatures. Despite having thickened paw pads on her palms, she pulled on some thick heavy duty gloves to sift through the mess to see if anything was salvageable.

Scrap metal, unless in pristine condition, was not worth pennies and or the effort the recycle process due to the inflation after the winter months had culled a number of ill individuals. The Chem Barons had since declared there was a labour shortage – even when young orphans were employed. With the spring melts and the snow dumped itself into the river and obliterated any defences installed the year previous. The Sump had become clogged with raw sewage and a number of homes. Built from timber and sheet metal had been washed away into the Sump then disintegrated when the materials came into contact with the various chemicals - which contributed to the water contamination.

Contents dumped into a small lead bucket, and started the process of picking through each item and sorted them into salvageable, or waste for incineration. Each object plucked through was unfortunate but not unexpected, this continued as the hum of chatter had become a rush that matched the current of the river.

The woman’s eyes narrowed as her gloved fingers brushed over a small rough blue stone in a somewhat spherical shape. It seemed to fizzle in her fingers and rolled into the palm of her hand. ‘Hmm.’ Her eyes squinted, there seemed to be runic carved into the surface of the stone. Brows furrowed as she removed a glove and held it between her claws in a pincer-like grip. The net balanced on top of the bucket, she pulled out the plugs, whatever this was – it had a scent. Perhaps this could be an item that could be sold? It was different than the usual debris but also different from everyday items. ‘Huh.’ The scent was familiar, but how, where from?

The stone seemed to be almost hypnotic. She exhaled, a slow realisation drawn that this object was of arcane. However it wasn’t natural, as though it was – manufactured. The bear placed it between her teeth, replacing the glove before rolling it back into her gloved hands.

Manufactured arcane. Should this safely exist? The thought skittered through her mind. A fist closed around the runic stone. Where do I put this, do I report this; who to? Do I keep it? The thoughts swirled around as a stern voice cut through her thoughts.

The bear’s ears twitched, her head and body turned to face the stranger. She eyes looked the thin, wiry man stood in front of her, leant on a walking cane – dressed in a white, gold and burgundy uniform –– Piltover Academy. The woman scowled for a brief moment. Like the runic on the stone, this man with golden eyes seemed familiar. His accent, a Zaunite twang.

She closed the gap between herself and the man. ‘I can guess what it does. Manufactured arcane – Hextech. This stone is unrefined, does the Academy have a habit of dumping prototypes into the river, or just arcane related projects?’

The woman sighed, she knew her curiosity and questioning could land her in Stillwater if she pushed too far. If he was from the Academy it was very likely he was in a higher caste than she was. Even if he was of Hyploid caste, he would automatically be of higher rank within the caste.

Reluctant, she opened the fist and handed the man the rough Hextech rune stone. ‘If I find any more sir, I’ll bring them to you.’ The woman glanced over her shoulder to ensure no-one had stolen her net and bucket, which often happened if the items were left unattended.

‘I’ll be at the end of the bridge, given most of us aren’t allowed to enter Piltover without the relevant paperwork.’ A rhetorical statement about Zaunites that the pair both knew.

[venusskissed]

࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜୨୧࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛୨୧࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜୨୧࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛୨୧࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜

Spiritual Things I Adore Wholeheartedly

𝒜ᱹ ֢ 🦢̼ࣳ this is just a list of spiritual things I adore or find interesting and yet to see people talk about. Not to say no one talks about this, I just don’t see it as often! I am sure many of these things are very well known.~ 🫶🏻

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . the people you name a child after will heavily influence how they turn out later in life. for example if you were to name your daughter after princess diana they could most possibly grow up to be a very big hearted person, however it could also mean they will have hardships in their life which influence that.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . aside from angel numbers it's also important to note what animals you see around yourself most often. (in real life, tv, social media, cinematic pieces ect) most if not all animals have spiritual meanings associated with them. this isn’t that mindblowing, but I do find it interesting.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . ghosts are literally just chill. like yeah, I am willing to bet there are rude ones out there, but most of them are very chill. I had a ghost come up to me before just so she can show me her earring (that I assume she died with) because it looked almost identical to one I was looking at. so most of them are really just people who are just hanging around.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . also! demons cannot enter your body unless you allow them to or had become scum on earth. (as in actively take enjoyment in harming those unable to stand up to the injustice) you cannot be possessed, things cannot just enter your body. I see a lot of people be scared of this when spiritually experimenting and it makes me so disheartened to see them anxious about it.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . I am pretty sure a lot of people know this because of cultural reasons but as long as you aren’t scared of ghosts/demons they cannot harm you. as in cannot attack your body, drain your energy etc. this most likely isn’t true with many other entities but I do think it’s an useful piece of information.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . people usually freak out if a dead loved one communicates with them through dreams but like.. you can do that while you are awake too! you can go into their dream, dream the same thing as them or even write them dream letters. the possibilities are endless. it’s quite fun, especially if you love freaking people out for laughs.

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . it’s also important to note that you can still be soulmates with someone even if you currently aren’t. think about a person you know is your soulmate.. wether or not you believe in reincarnation you have had lives without each other before, it’s the dedication to the bond you two share that made you two soulmates. I think it’s beautiful!

꒰ ৎ୭ ꒱ . . . most major religions (not saying all) share the same beliefs and values told in different ways, with small tiny twists to them. it would be fascinating to see what’s the things they all share in common aside from respect, kindness and morals.

for now, that’s all. thank you for your precious time, sweet little lamb. 🫶🏻

࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜୨୧࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛୨୧࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜୨୧࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛୨୧࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜࿚⃛࿙⃛͜

[andrastesflamingknickers]

Reminisence

Obligatory AO3 Link

The tent grew darker as the candles burned out, one by one, their small and flickering flames dying in a puddle of melted wax. The night was quiet, except for the rush of winter wind and the cawing of ravens not yet asleep. Leliana set her quill down and pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes as if it would cure the ache from reading and writing an endless number of reports.

It did nothing to alleviate the pain.

She took a deep breath and lifted the quill again, returning to her report only to find that the inked words on the parchment had become a blurred, unreadable mess to her swirling vision.

There was still much work to do—there would always be work for her to do—but even she knew there was nothing she could do in her current state. Trying and forcing herself to keep going now would only bring mistakes, and even the smallest of errors could have catastrophic consequences for the Inquisition, as new, small, and fragile as it currently was. She could allow herself a few moments of rest, a few minutes to close her eyes and give them a break before she returned to her work.

She set the quill back down and, with a groan, rose from her seat and felt her spine and neck pop and crack as she stretched.

Her ravens cooed and cawed as Leliana pulled back the flap of her tent to step out. With another stretch, another wince, she raised her head to look above. The cloudless sky above Haven glittered with countless stars, their beauty marred by the pulsating, green hole torn into the heavens. It was a disheartening sight, but one that also fueled her desire to work, to do everything she could to make sure that the Inquisition succeeded—that the Herald succeeded.

There were very few still awake at the late hour. Most only being guards patrolling the village and stragglers in the tavern. However, she could hear the faint sound of metal on metal further out, a sign that at least a few soldiers were training, even now, too restless and anxious to sleep and thus throwing that nervous energy into something productive. It was hard to say if Cullen would be proud of it or if he would chastise them for it.

She took another deep breath, feeling the frigid air stinging her throat as it filled her lungs, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

Haven. To say that Leliana had mixed feelings about the village was an understatement. She was grateful that they had found refuge here, that the Inquisition had a place to call home for the time being, but she could still remember the first time she had been to this little hamlet.

They had been fighting the end of the world, then, too.

“It is so unnecessarily cold. Why does it need to be so bloody cold?” Elio had complained, sneezing loudly as he pulled his fur cloak tighter around his narrow shoulder. It was old, smelled, likely had fleas, and was bought from a very shady merchant, but considering their group was—to put it kindly—broke, no one dared complain at what little warmth they could get from the harsh winter wind and deep snow. “Let’s just get Genitivi, get the ashes, and get someplace warmer.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him; I’ve so many questions I want to ask about his work,” Leliana breathed as she fiddled with the strap to her quiver. So excited had she been to meet someone as renowned as Brother Genitivi.

Their group hadn’t even entered the village before they were stopped by a man at the entrance, hostile and reluctant to allow them in, outsiders not being welcomed. When they mentioned a Chantry brother, he had stiffed and scoffed, denying ever seeing one in their little hamlet. A lie that Leliana had recognized immediately.

The village had been dead. Not a soul to be seen, all supposedly at the Chantry further in, listening to a sermon from a Father Eirik.

“A Father and not a Mother, huh?” Elio murmured as they slowly made their way to the building, looking for anyone and seeing no one. “If it weren’t for this ‘Disciples of Andraste’ talk, I’d suspect the Imperial Chantry is taking root here. Though I still have a bad feeling about this, stay on your guard.”

When they had reached the Chantry doors, there was still no one. But they could hear the screaming and cries from within clearly. It wasn’t the screams of pain or fear but of jubilation and worship. Fervent, passionate, and unsettling.

Elio took point, standing before them as if to be their shield as he pushed the doors open.

The Chantry was empty. It didn’t look the same when she first stepped foot inside all those years ago. Candles burned to provide dim lighting, and books on the Chantry and of the Chant filled several shelves. Some cobwebs had yet to be cleaned out, and several pews empty save for forgotten papers and books.

Most of the furniture from her first visit was gone. The wooden platform at the front where speeches and sermons were made was done away with, as were most of the shelves and desks covered in scrolls and books, burned—if Leliana remembered correctly—for their heretical, blasphemous contents. The Chantry looked barren now compared to when the Disciples of Andraste had made it their home.

Not for the first time, Leliana wondered if she looked hard enough, if she would be able to see the bloodstains from that night. She could still remember, vividly, where each person had been felled. How could she not? It hadn’t been soldiers or monsters that they had killed that night, but normal men and women, farmers and bakers and crafters.

Her eyes flickered to front of the space. A podium now stood over where Elio had cut Eirik down, his sword had cut through the man’s neck so deeply he had nearly lopped his whole head off. Not for the first time, but it was always a grisly sight. Even now it chilled her knowing just how easily he could decapitate someone in a fight—a feat that needed the executioner to be either incredibly precise in how they land that final blow, or incredibly strong to not worry about the resistance of muscle and bone.

And yet despite the nervous fear there was always a rush of admiration, of awe. Her Warden had always been a stalwart leader to their party, and when he fought, no matter how soaked in blood he became from the carnage he carved, he always incited a flutter in her chest, left Leliana wanting to reach out to him and—

She never did. Theirs was a friendship, close as it may have been at the time, but nothing more.

Leliana walked onwards, towards the end where the door to their makeshift war room was. She didn’t go inside, instead stopping at the statues that stood on either side, and knelt at the foot of one, her head bowed as a silent prayer was made. Faith could only get them so far, she knew that now, but that wouldn’t stop her from asking the Maker to aid them on their quest.

The shadows flickered and she realized she was not alone.

Raising her head and turning, she spotted the Herald sitting in the corner on an empty barrel, fiddling with a trinket in his hands. He was staring owlishly at her, as if he hadn’t expected someone else to come here, or for someone else to catch him here. She must have been more tired—more distracted—than she had realized to have not noticed him when she entered the Chantry.

For a moment, she considered leaving. The Herald, for all the good he had done for them so far, was still an unknown with dangerous powers, potentially blessed by and brought to them by Andraste herself. A part of her wanted to back away, unworthy to be in the presence of someone like that. But—no. Blessings or no blessings, she had just as much right to be in the Chantry as him. So she rose from her knees and discreetly pulled her hand away from the concealed knife at her belt.

The Herald blinked, wide eyes not leaving her as his fingers tightened around his trinket. “Leliana,” he greeted with a nervous bite to the name. She didn’t need to be observant to know that he was still just as nervous around them as most were around him.

“Herald,” Leliana greeted.

His attention stayed on her as the silence settled back in between them. Like most of his kind, his eyes were large, colored a deep, vivid green, like a vibrant forest, that mixed perfectly with the brilliant red locks of hair that fell just past his ears in tussled—fluffy—curls. He looked older than the Hero of Ferelden had been, yet somehow his gaze felt younger, full of the wonder and fear of a child. He was in his early twenties, this much Leliana knew, while Elio had barely been twenty when they met, old enough to be married off, old enough to go to war, and still a child.

She shook her head at the thoughts. “I apologize if I disturbed you, I hadn’t expected anyone else to be here so late at night.”

“No,” the Herald coughed, looking away from her and at the candles, the books, at anything but her. “It’s fine, anyone’s allowed to come and go in here.” He was taller than the Hero had been, she noted. Elio had been the shortest in their group until Oghren joined. The Herald was taller—more at an average height for their race, she supposed—and just as slender as any other Dalish Hunter she’d seen—toned arms and legs, slender features, lithe.

How ironic, Leliana thought, the last time the world was in danger, it was an elf from the slums who rose above all to save them, fighting on even as the rest of them fell in the final battle, striking the Archdemon down and ending the Blight. Now, as the sky is left wounded, torn open into the Fade, their fate and salvation rests upon the shoulders of an elf yet again.

She settled into a seat of her own, not too far from the Herald, but not beside him either. “What brings you out here so late, anyway?” she found herself asking, and then knitted her brows together. “You’re supposed to be leaving for Val Royeaux at dawn, are you not? You should be resting.” It was going to take several weeks, even with horses and if they travelled along the Imperial Highway, to get there. Cassandra would have his head if he was exhausted when they began their journey.

The Herald looked at the trinket in his hands again—a Dalish necklace, Leliana finally saw, an amulet for one of their Gods. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured quietly, “Everything’s just been so….” Pausing, he shook his head. “Sleep just kept eluding me.”

She understood that feeling more than she cared to admit.

Humming, the Herald reached down with his free hand, and she took note of the mabari that had been sleeping beside him, the young one he’d rescued from the Hinterlands—Buddy, if she remembered correctly. The Herald absentmindedly ran his fingers through the dogs short fur and wrinkled skin, looking the part of someone being crushed under the weight of the world, and Leliana was once again struck with memory by the resemblance to her old friend.

Gently running his fingers up and down Garahel’s back, Elio stared at the fire in contemplative silence. The rest of their camp had long since gone to sleep, only he and Leliana remained awake to guard them for the first few hours of the night.

There were bags under his eyes, she had noticed. They were worsening each night, his face aging rapidly from the stress of all that they had faced—and all that they still had to fight. In the quiet of night, he no longer looked the same friendly, cheerful Warden she knew, this was instead a man who was carrying the world on his shoulders, a man whose knees were finally buckling under the weight.

No words were said as Leliana sat beside him. His attention remained fixed, and she looked to the fire as if she might see whatever he did in the crackling flames, and then she turned her gaze away, afraid of what she might see.

Hand still on his war hound, gaze still fixed to the crackling flames, Elio spoke after an eternity of silence. “Do you think we can win this?”

She had been taken aback by the question, not that it had been asked but that it had been the elf who had asked it.

Elio was always the one to assuage their worries of fate and defeat, the one who told them that they were going to win, no matter how terrible the odds were against them. He never doubted, never shied, and treated the future as if their victory over Loghain and the Archdemon was already carved into stone by the Maker.

She couldn’t answer him, and they returned to silence.

Looking back on it, it had been a humanizing moment. Up until then, Leliana had seen her friend as an undefeatable hero, blessed by the Maker himself to be their shield and their sword, a soldier who would never be defeated. To have him express his doubts to her, it meant that he was still mortal, like all of them, that he was human—generally speaking, of course.

She saw that same look of doubt and exhaustion on the Herald’s face, now.

At the time, Leliana hadn’t been able to help Elio, she didn’t have the words, she didn’t have the confidence, and to this day she still wondered how much things would have changed if she had been able to soothe his own fears the same as he did for all of theirs. She hadn’t been able to help Elio, but she could at least help the Herald of—she could help Cian.

“We are going to win this,” Leliana said, her voice firm in the quiet, dim space. She watched as green eyes lifted to meet hers, and she continued. “You’re not doing this alone, Cian. You have me and the others here to support you whenever you ask, you have the Inquisition forces ready to spring to action the moment they are needed—and more still join every day.”

She straightened her back as she spoke, her gaze not leaving his, locked on his wide, wonder filled eyes, “Us winning isn’t a question of ‘if’, it’s a matter of ‘when’. We’ll prove ourselves and gain the Chantry’s support, absolving you of the crimes they claimed, we’ll seal the Breach, and we will find who is responsible. You don’t have to feel like you’re doing this alone, you can share some of your burdens with us.”

Slowly, Cian lowered his head, “I—thank you,” he whispered, his shoulders sagging as he let out a deep breath. “I needed that, I didn’t realize how badly I needed that.”

Of course he hadn’t. Leliana smiled, nevertheless, as she watched the tension fade away from his face.

Cracking a smile, struck by an idea, Leliana leaned forward, “You know…? I was with the Hero of Ferelden when we rediscovered the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” she whispered, feeling her smile widen as she saw curiosity and awe dance across the elf’s face. “At the time, Haven belonged to a cult who believed Andraste was a dragon and worshipped it—we had to fight through so many drakes, dragonlings, and cultists to reach the temple, and the Warden even struck down a high dragon.”

Cian leaned forward in his seat; his mouth opened slightly. “Seriously?” he asked, tapping his fingers to his legs with anxious energy. “I thought it was some Chantry guy who found it, but you helped rediscover the temple?”

“We did, we needed the urn to save the Arl of Redcliffe,” Leliana agreed, her heart feeling feather-light in her chest at the memory of the adventure. “Would you like me to tell you the whole story? It was quite the experience.”

At Cian’s eager ‘yes’, she launched into retelling how Eamon had grown sick from Loghain’s poison, and the journey they took to locate Brother Genitivi and the Urn. It had been a while since had had been a storyteller, but she found that she fell back into the role naturally as she recounted each fight and twist that took them to the Frostback Mountains.

[sondersil]

had another dream.

(in which there's a music festival outside my house that turns unsettling).

there was a lenghty dream before this one in which i saw an advertisement in the papers for a free concert/music festival taking place in the city where i live, it was supposed to be quite close by. it was advertised as featuring many different, smaller artists, the main attraction being a small ensemble playing skyrim music on the larger stage.

.

i was going down to the store across the park from where i live because i needed something for dinner. i'd stuffed a 10€ bill in my pocket. as i was heading down the stairs, the appartment building began to look different. there was a window with a sill that a coursemate (who lives in the same building as i do) was sitting in. she says hi. i greet back. we exchange a few words. i leave.

as i'm making my way across the park, suddenly there's an influx of familiar faces from university- way too many to be a coincidence. none of them have business up here, i live quite far north, it's a quiet area for families, not students. i overhear one of them mention something about the concert. it makes sense.

sure enough, once i reach the store, the entire area in front of it is packed with stages. i didn't realize it'd be happening right outside my door. i walk along, there's tents, there's food stalls, there's so many people. it's still daylight.

i walk by a small group of people and this super cute goth looking girl suddenly turns to me and asks if i want a cigarette. i turn her down (because i don't smoke), but thank her. i ask her why she'd offer me one? she says because i look like someone she'd expect at a death metal concert (lol what) and that i looked like kindred spirit.

i keep wanting to talk to her more, but being the shy idiot that i am, i hope that she talks to me. we keep bumping into each other and exchange a few words and smiles here and there. i end up walking to a stall serving food, she walks with me. it's way overpriced, but i decide why not? i order a bowl of vegan chili. it's only 3 bites for 6€. ridiculous.

suddenly the sun is gone and i end up at mainstage, where a man with a chello and a man with a keyboard are doing introductions, playing some Skyrim ambience. it's nice.

once they stop, other stages (it was literally just.. booths? where there would be what looked like animatronic puppets performing, or it'd look like someone was sticking their face through a piece of cloth, each booth had a number) begin to perform. the crowd dissolves, all trying to find performances to listen to.

they gather at the first one, where 3 creepy looking, halloween-esque animatronics (or at least i thought they were) started performing. it wasn't bad, per se, but not my thing. the crowd quickly dissolves. feeling guilty and being the only person left, i stay until they finish. once they do, i give a small clap and hurry off. the leftmost "animatronic" turns his head around the corner and calls after me, "how disheartening, a half hearted clap and barely a smile, that's all we get" or something similar. it was very creepy. i felt even worse. it was three men in costume, after all.

as i hurry along, it's hard to find the other performances. there's some happening simultaneously, but once you find one it's usually almost over. they don't happen in chronological order.

i only rarely see people. the place expands in size, rows upon rows upon rows of booths and stalls. it's dark by now and the open sky has transformed into a large hall, the walls are far away to either side and the ceiling is tall. it's got more of a creepy-arcade/indoor-amusement-park vibe.

i eventually find a booth that is playing a song i know, so i stay. i listen, sway along. (it was an ambient song, no singing). i'm the only one there. when he finishes, i thank him and say that i've been enjoying their music recently. they take it kindly. i say something more. it was the wrong thing to say. the mood shifts.

i hurry off, back to the front of the area. it looks like a ballroom. it's incredibly dark and gloomy. there's people gathered there, tired out, filling out slips to vote on their favorite performance or just waiting to finally be let out.

there's no way out.

[simlicious]

I'm so grateful for all your feedback and suggestions, thank you! I've had some things to deal with IRL and also needed time to think and brainstorm a bit more about all that has been said, my feelings, my personal reasons why I create, and why I share CC, but now it's time to acknowledge your replies properly!

This time, I will put your comments inside the post because tumblr likes to remove comments after some time has passed and I feel this is the easiest way to bundle all the feedback and my responses! Note: I edited the quotes to merge multiple comments by the same person together.

@frank-e-sleep-n-tea wrote:

"Maybe you can do an initial shot to show off the pattern, followed by what the pattern looks like in game"

Definitely, showing how the patterns look in-game is important to me, as well as giving everyone an overview of what patterns are included. I partly show a lot of WIP images so you can get a feel for the pattern in the game 😊 My WIPs are mostly done, the colors might change and I sometimes fix some quirks or tweak small aspects like the placement, but in general, they are finished enough to give a good first impression.

@medleymisty wrote:

"Look at the reblog chains of the posts with notes you want and see if you can find an “influencer” to hype you up maybe."

I've never consciously thought about that, but you are right, getting bigger blogs to reblog something will broaden the reach. I'm just not sure I have the guts to blatantly ask for that (and I do not want to seem like I use people for clout). But I think bigger blogs could use their influence by featuring other creators, regularly like @ice-creamforbreakfast does on fridays in her new feature showcase posts. I think it's a brilliant idea and we should definitely make that a trend! Even smaller blogs can post about their favorite creators, tutorial writers, modders, storytellers etc. If lots of simmers post about someone once a week, we can cover a lot of ground and that is a great way to show appreciation to all kinds of simblrs in our community. It is also a great way to showcase older, forgotten creations and give them a second chance to shine! How about #simblr feature friday 🤔

@simtanico wrote:

"I like showing them in game and just have an icon to represent the ones shown. I think it helps visually to have people imagine what it’ll look like both in menu and in game! (Also I feel you on the notes thing. I try not to think about it too much but it’s wild how some posts flop and others don’t.)"

It's a good point to mention the menu, I also want people to recognize the patterns and be able to find them in the menu (which is still a bit difficult sometimes since the menu thumbnails are so tiny). That is actually also a reason why I try to mix up my color schemes so that the patterns are easier to distinguish (though that might not be relevant for someone who has hundreds of my patterns anyway).

@gardenof-sims wrote:

"When I was playing TS3, you were the one-stop shop for patterns. Yes, there were the odd ones from other creators, but your quality is consistent throughout, and for me that's what counted. So in game shot on furniture and thumbnails is what I'd go for."

I appreciate the compliment! I definitely like showing off my patterns on furniture, you can often see the pattern repeat too, and see that they are truly seamless.

@aisquaredchoco wrote:

"You know, I really feel you on the notes part. It's kinda disheartening when someone else who makes things pretty much similar to what you make get more engagement. I've already given up questioning tumblr's algorithm and why it hates me, so I already settled with the fact that numbers are well, just numbers. It also feels satisfying when I see my stuff in someone's game screenshots (pretty rare moments, but still rewarding nevertheless). With regards to previews, I'd say do away with photoshopping and show the patterns the way they are in game, and sample usage on furniture and CAS stuff is very welcome too. You're already the GOAT in making ts3 patterns, I'd just like to remind you that, and just do what you always do best..💚"

@kevinvoncrastenburg wrote:

"I personally love the way you present your CC and I don't see the need to change anything if I'm honest. I also have to say that I never ever noticed any differences in the way your patterns look in game vs in previews. Maybe that's on me but I'm always satisfied with the quality of your patterns. Without exception. What I love the most is the transparency in everything you provide. I know what I will get and I can even, if necessary, pick and choose since you provide thumbnail files with each download. I certainly see variety, creativity and development in your download posts and really think you are too hard on yourself. I know it's not a matter of choice, and easier said than done to discard, but I'd just wish you could see what I and probably many others see. I see the hard work and appreciate it, a lot. About the notifications: I noticed that tumblr is swallowing posts. Everytime I log into tumblr I try to go as far back as I can until I recognize the "area" if that makes sense. On the way I see a lot of beautiful things, like them, comment etc. Later I also like to check my favorite tags and notice that my dashboard is not even remotely showing me everything the people I follow are posting. Maybe that's the answer but it's certainly not your way of presenting"

@wavingwheat wrote:

"I'm a cc hoarder and am going through an edit phase of which content and creators I REALLY want in game. Your work is so high quality and I really appreciate it. I echo what @kevinvoncrastenburg said about being too hard on yourself."

@nectar-cellar wrote:

"how about trendier patterns, color palettes, and models/furniture? if the presentation feels modern and on trend with current fashions/designs it can be more eye catching. maxis match or vanilla ts3 can sometimes look too much like it's stuck in the early 2010s for good or bad. also more, steady releases can help build consistency and momentum."

It's true that those original game meshes are just not exciting to look at for the most part! The sad thing is that they are still the best way to show off patterns because they are consistently well-meshed to display patterns in a clear and non-distorted way. About 90% of Conversions and new CC I try have inconsistent UVs that distort, stretch, blur, dissect, or otherwise maim applied patterns. A lot of them also have baked-in textures which may look like they are part of the pattern itself when they are not. It's a bit frustrating, I would love to use more contemporary stuff! Even most converted furniture has those problems. I'm open to any pointers to trendy CC that is well-mapped, I'd love to go on a good download spree 💜

Having a consistent color palette throughout a collection vs different swatches both has pro's and con's. Of course, that looks fantastic in the previews and is great eye candy, but it makes the selection process in the pattern menus a bit more difficult too (though most people probably click through a lot of patterns until settling on one anyway). I often edit patterns and add color channels that have not even been there in the original just to make them extra versatile. I then want to make the channels different enough for people to recognize that they can recolor them. I could also make those extra channels just one color but then people would just not know! And that in general make my patterns seem very colorful, and not exactly minimalist. Some people may prefer the minimalist design. But of course, that is where in-game pics can come into play. I could also show patterns recolored in two-color style even though they could have 4, just to demonstrate the versatility a bit more.

I'm afraid I am not good at sniffing out trends or knowing how to match furniture and clothing to be particularly stylish. I've always thought of myself as a bit quirky in that sense and have pretty much given up on creating sims because they just looked horrific and distorted and I am inept at using custom sliders and make them work properly. Someone told me that you should never ever hit the randomize button when making sims but instead select a premade. I admit that hitting the randomize button is that is what I have done in the past and back then there weren't as many sliders, but now I realize why I have so many problems...and I only recently got the meaning of "base sim" and what they are used for and why they are so important. Of course I cannot get better without practice, but I would need to really start over with getting CC for that and everything and it just feels very overwhelming. Does anyone know a good source for a tutorial or CC shopping list like "basics to get for making decent sims"? Like skins, makeup, and how to layer that stuff so that it looks good. Are people even sharing their sims anymore? It's been ages since I saw a sim for download (maybe it's just my dash). I feel like I'm not a skilled simmer in the sense that I never even play the game anymore and just have limited CC in my game since I want it to load faster for testing CC. I forgot how to do all the cool shit you people do! 😭 But maybe I should ask other simmers to make some previews for me in their gorgeous games 🤔

@sweetdevil-sims wrote:

"Without exaggeration, your patterns are the best I've ever used in this game. Re: notes, it's possible that the posts aren't reaching too many people because you don't post downloads too often. If you have many patterns, dividing them into 2-3 posts could help with that. As for previews, it's fine IMO to do a "cover" image with patterns in w/e colors you want, then 2-3 images with the exact thumbnails of the patterns in-game (which really helps to see how they'll look in the catalog)."

Thank you 🥹

I honestly do not know how tumblr's algorithm even works. Some people get a viral post after months of not posting anything. But if I would post on a schedule then people would know when to look, which would make things easier. The problem is that I am not a structured person at all and I am terrible at planning and judging how much time I need for something. Life gets in between everything too, so consistency is very hard for me, unfortunately. I do dream about pulling off monthly releases though! And I want to find a way to work toward that goal.

@windermeresimblr wrote:

"I think your download posts are wonderful and don't think you need to change anything about them. Maybe splitting your posts like SweetDevil said may help the engagement (and/or showcase some more of your showstopping work)?"

Thank you 💜I think creating smaller sets could work in that regard. In my head, this is a huge deal though as I regularly have to hype myself up to publish anything. It feels like a big deal every time and a lot of effort. The way I create preview pics takes a lot of time , and also uploading the files, posting across social media, patreon, my website, tumblr etc. isn't exactly my favorite thing about sharing CC. And to do that much more often kinda scares me 😶‍🌫️ but it would probably also mean that I would establish a routine and things wouldn't take as long as they do now.

@baufive wrote:

"Your work is TOP SHELF! I understand the frustration - all of your hard work and you look at another's post and see four digit numbers for likes and they seemingly came out of the blue. One suggestion I might offer is to show the patterns in various color palettes. I have seen those real estate shows where people say 'I hate the color of this room' and buy another house. There are times where people can't see what is in front of them. Give CASt a workout! The other suggestion I would offer is 'brand reinforcement' in that - show a room with all your catalogue of patterns - transform a space the way you want to see it with just your offerings. Your work is consistent and it will play well with your other wares. Make people think about how to mix and match your patterns across your catalogue. I struggle with this problem - so many of us do. Your fans love you and are excited when you release something new."

🥰 thank you, you've got some excellent ideas! Showing off different color palettes would indeed be valuable, as it also shows the versatility of the patterns. I also love your "brand reinforcement" ideas, as this would also give my older collections some love. My followers could help me with that too by showing off their favorite patterns! I remember I did that many years ago, but that idea was not well-received back then. Maybe I can offer some kind of reward for the engagement🤔

@batsheba wrote:

"I think your patterns look great the way you present them! Just do you <3 Oh I forgot…. maybe tag some cc simblrs, so they can reblog your posts as well?!"

Thank you for believing in me! 💜 You mean tagging CC finds blogs? I might do that, even though it feels a bit weird to do (I fear that I may annoy those blogs, what if they do not want to feature me). But maybe the blogs appreciate it to be notified? I could check who featured me in the past though and only notify those!

@sims3thingsbymd3434 wrote:

"I love your Patterns. I go to look for yours before I download anywhere else. My suggestion would be to release a few at a time that you can display. My things I look for are what is recolorable in the pattern if it is at all."

Thanks for the love, I appreciate it! Smaller collections will mean that a single pattern matters more and gets more attention - I could do that with patterns that are very special to me or stand out from a crowd 🤔 I definitely want to show off the recolorability, as this is not a given with pattern downloads. I try to make it obvious which parts can be recolored by choosing different colors for the channels, but I do have patterns that are more complicated when it comes to recoloring. I could maybe explain or show how to recolor those!

@ice-creamforbreakfast wrote:

"Your patterns have never done me dirty and I appreciate your unedited previews. You're doing great imo 💜"

Thank you, that means a lot 🥰 I strive for a clean look that shows off the natural colors of my patterns.

@simdreams wrote:

"you ARE the GOAT in sims 3 patterns, and for me, your work speaks for itself - so detailed and high quality. but I get your frustration! sure you put a lot of work in them! I enjoy your preview style - straight to the point and realistic - and maybe baufive's idea can help? do some type of showcase of your patterns, like a lookbook of sorts?"

Wow, I'm flattered! Thank you! I think lookbooks are a great idea and tie in with what baufive suggested. I can also feature older patterns! I once did a lookbook with my patterns, which was a lot of work, but I put a read more section in there because it was a long post with all the thumbnails and everything. I got only a few notes back then though and no comments, it probably just was not obvious enough... but maybe it is time to try again!

Conclusion

All in all, I get spooked easily by little things because I do not have the best self-esteem. I'm not the best when it comes to consistency or completing goals in a specific timeframe. That sucks sometimes, but I have to remind myself to get back up and try again, and sometimes just do the thing that makes me happy regardless of the notes. Because I know that you are my fans and support me and love what I do. And I'm grateful for people who engage in conversations and genuinely want to help! And in the end, those comments mean much more than hundreds of likes.

Thank you for believing in me and supporting me like you do!

I need your input

I feel like I am always working my ass off with my patterns but still, other pattern creators tend to have more notes. The algorithm and aesthetics have always been my nemesis. I know it is probably because I try to make my patterns look good in-game instead of looking good for previews. Brightness and saturation look vastly different in-game vs in the previews, and sometimes patterns are way too bright and too contrasting in-game if they look good in previews. I really want my default colors to work as-is so they can be used without recoloring them, but then also can be recolored, of course. I've done some patterns that are a bit too bright and too contrasting in the past, but it tends to bug me in-game after a while. What are your thoughts on this? I guess I have to figure out a good way to make them look good in previews while also making them look good in-game but it's so hard, especially because the trend favors very light and bright colors. What do you think, should I just make a preview that does not show them off at all, or maybe just a couple of them on a sim or furniture and provide only the thumbnail pngs that I always include in the download as a preview? Should I photoshop the previews so the patterns look bright and pleasant but then they will not look how they really look in-game? I just wonder what the heck the secret sauce is and how I can get some...

Maybe how my patterns look in-game is my strength and showing that off is better than just an overview... Do you have thoughts or suggestions?

[heart-ur-art]

hello, out there ~

pls excuse my lack of pfp, header or anything of the like, i promise this is a blog by a human and not a bot account.

i don't remember when i made this blog, but i had originally created it with the intentions of not only trying to help other artists slow down and appreciate all the hard work they put into their creations since the surge of 'hustle culture' is forever prominent on social media platforms these days in order to have any hope of presence and consequently, i feel causing artists to feel less value in the work they accomplish, sadly, but to also help myself be more aware of and actually celebrate the advancement of my own skill and hard work that i put towards my art and hobbies.

unfortunately, as is quite apparent by this empty blog that's been floating around in my list of blogs for some time now, i think i've hit more of a wall in my creativity than was previously known.

i've always struggled a lot over the many years (probably close to around 15 now) that i actually have tried to actively improve my art skills to work towards specific goals in that i struggle in knowing exactly HOW to practice art, as far as good fundamental/foundational knowledge is concerned, but i also... pretty much only have WIPs and next to no finished pieces of art (and this is also true for many other hobbies i do; hardly anything ever gets finished).

it's incredibly demotivating and disheartening, especially with the new modern day expectation of artists (or creators of any kind, really) to churn out art as if they were machines and seeing people's quick improvements and new discoveries of skills. i constantly feel behind in the art world. and yes, i'm aware that it's not a requirement to put out art in this manner for hobbyist artists; slow artists are valid and can be very successful and fulfilled, too. but i think we've all felt the pressure to create more and more, faster and faster than before even if it's just for validation purposes.

and it's almost become a requirement if you wish to have any hope of obtaining any monetary compensation for your work (which, i have hoped to obtain even small scale as extra funds for years when i was abled enough to work, but even more so now that i find myself at a higher needs disabled status and unable to work + mostly home-bound and would like to sell my art skills for even a little bit of financial independence after being forced to move back in with my parents for unforeseen personal reasons). i think this is why i tend to find myself crawling back to sites where things WERE slower years ago when i first started to get into the art world.

as is also the motivation for wanting to create this blog. to encourage us all to remember, it's okay to take our time and experiment and learn at a pace that's enjoyable again and just share our achievements in pure enjoyment for creation and less for the sake of getting stuff out there as quick as possible or the first to jump on new trends/popular content for the numbers.

so i guess we start here. in a position of where i find myself unable to create despite.. wanting to on an almost daily basis.

im often wondering how so many people ARE able to create daily, how do they stay motivated and focused? what keeps them inspired to always have ideas to put down on canvas?

this is especially the case for anyone who is of any neurodivergencies that affect energy, focus and motivation and are able to create consistently because this is seeming to be a very significant struggle with myself (i'm assuming has always been but have only more recently discovered that i'm VERY much ND) as of late.

i'm certain i'm not the only person out there feeling this exact same way or very similarly. so, please, i invite anyone interested in taking a breather away from social platform expectations and growing more peacefully in skill to join me in trying to discover how to achieve this.. together.

i can't say for sure what exactly i have planned for this blog and how we can all come together to bring more genuine joy back to creating, as i often have many ideas, but i tend to be quite lost as to how to follow through with them. maybe we'll figure it out along the way.

anyone of any skill level and any medium of art is welcome to join. (i will say up front, i do not consider any ai made anything to be a self-made art-form as it is imitating works of real human artists, so that is not an acceptable 'medium' here. you're welcome to pick up a pencil, stylus, brush, sculpting material, whatever if you'd like to actually participate and learn a skill from this space)

i suppose what i'm asking of this first post is.. how is it that YOU create? how or what do you do for practicing or warm-ups? what do you do on days where there's less focus or motivation for drawing or creating? what inspires your work?

very interested in others' creative process, and please those who deal with road blocks from neurodivergent disorders, lemme know how you work around them in order to do what you do ~

feel free to reblog this with commentary or tags explaining, drop a comment on this post or i'll even open the ask box if preferred to respond that way (no anons for now; i've not had great experiences with anon asks in the past)

please remember to always be kind, to others and to yourself. wishing you happy creating ~

[willowser]

you feel like home (you're like a dream come true)—

bakugou x reader

wc: 3k+

tags: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 359+, explicit language, angst, this is trash garbage but it's how i'm coping

Dynamight wins the For-All Selfless Service Award.

A wet, cement-like dread fills your belly at the sound of his name echoing across the atrium, thunderous and so powerful that, for a split-second, you fear it will shatter the glass ceiling.

It's like the awakening of an old God, one that wanted to be left well enough alone; summoning him is a swarm of night-black clouds, filled with ample rain to drown all those that dared disturb his slumber. Not a breath is spared as you all wait for the downfall.

Beside you, Masaru shifts, turning in his chair to peer out over the sea of well-dressed tables and shining Heroes, as if he's lost his own. It's not until Red Riot shuffles sheepishly across the lit stage, waving shyly as he accepts the golden FA Best Jeanist is cradling gently in his hands.

There's a hint of hesitation before the retired Pro relinquishes it, a small exchange that's lost to the low blooming chatter across the ballroom. Kirishima beams a signature smile as he takes it and has to lean down into the mic, like the gentle giant he is.

Almost in unison, the room heaves a collective sigh; disaster avoided.

"I know Dynamight is so honored to receive this…honor,"

It's been a long time since you've seen him.

"So on his behalf, I want to thank everyone that has supported him all these years—"

Been a long time since anyone has.

Bakugou's been out-stationed for a half-decade, maybe more, but you can still remember the tension lining his face in the flat light of the train station. In public, with his parents and friends and their ready goodbyes.

All he'd given you was an insincere glare, half a hug, and a gritted demand to call him later, once he'd arrived at his new agency. It seemed a silly request; he's always been terrible about voicing how he feels, maybe a little smoother on the phone and out of sight, but just as stilted and unsure as ever.

On the high definition screens above the stage, photos of him shuffle, too reminiscent of a memorial to settle your upset. Stills from recorded footage of his takedowns and captures, of his rescues. The same ID picture on his Hero profile, from when he was 22, and his graduation photo. A smile haunts your face; he's never been one for cameras.

Masaru settles back into his seat, straightens his tie and shrugs at the team, who are all watching him with crest-fallen faces. You try to stay neutral, avoiding all their gazes as you fiddle with an eloquently folded napkin on the table.

Like a child, some giddy part of you hoped to see him take the stage, accept the award in all his glory. Unashamed and confident as ever, not so disheartened by his loss, because that's always been Bakugou.

But a small part of you is relieved; he's not a stage monkey and it wouldn't be Bakugou either, to give a rehearsed speech of false thanks. Blowing it off, a fuck you to what remains of the Comission—that's more like it. You want to believe it means some things haven't changed.

The show plays on without another hitch, something that bothers you, and when your coworker leans in to whisper a harmless "I wonder where he's at", you are up and abandoning the table, set on a mission of unknown expectation. The wants in your body are all coalescing into one another—to find him, to never see him again, to come clean about how you feel, whatever that may be—becoming a resounding overlap of voices that set you to autopilot.

You heard his voice last nearly six months ago, when Masaru called his number on speakerphone so the team could sing him a happy birthday. It was met with ill-tempered complaint, irritated at his father blowin' up my phone for nothin', but Masaru was smiley as ever, unaffected.

How jealous you were; if only the tone of his voice could mean so little to you.

It's something you remembered often in the middle of the night, when you would turn to the empty space of your bed and recall how pliable he was, whenever he worked up the courage to stay with you. Bakugou would let you kiss his cheeks or poke at his stomach or hold his hand—little affections he was too resistant to in the daytime. He would always claim to be half-asleep and unaware, but you'll never forget the red gleam of his eyes as he watched you through his long, dark lashes.

When you come into the open lobby of the hotel, you find it astonishing to see his solid figure at the bar-top, suit jacket haphazardly draped over the chair he's in; it's rare that he drinks, only on few occasions with Masaru and the requisite glass of champagne at events such as these—though he doesn't attend many. After everything that's happened, all that's been said in his wake, to see him now is—

Not Godly. Just a man.

You sit to his left, without a word. Maybe if you were a better person, you could say that it was for his benefit, that you're offering the space for him to reveal himself at his own choice—and while those things aren't untrue, the matter of the fact is that you don't think you're ready to see it just yet.

There's only a half-empty glass of water in front of him, and he's drawing lazy, mindless doodles into the frost with his left hand. His right arm is still entirely bandaged, wrapped up in a sling he's keeping close to his chest.

If he recognizes you at all when you sit down, he acknowledges nothing, minutely raising a shoulder as if to curl further into himself. The bartender takes your request for a glass of water, too, and at the sound of your timid voice, Bakugou stills completely.

For a long time, you've thought about this moment. What you would say upon seeing him again. There's a script somewhere in the ridges of your mind that's been perfected, one you've poured over and over again on sleepless nights, when you felt alone and angry and hated him.

The last full conversation the two of you had was set up similarly; chock-full of tension, trying to hide from the obvious as it made space between you. How unfair it felt, to be mad over something that hadn't gotten the chance to blossom just yet.

No point in tryin'. Gonna be gone for, shit, I don't know. Should just find someone else.

You felt ashamed for loving him so badly. For wanting him more than anything and being unwilling to voice it.

All you care to say now is, "It's so good to see you again."

It directs him to you immediately, though when you dare to look up, he turns, ducking his chin on his right side. The very notion of it makes you sick; not the wreckage itself, but what it's done to him, how it must make him feel if he can't even look at you.

To be so afraid of it initially wells a guilt the size of his tight fist in your chest. How selfish. How vain.

Bakugou tries to speak, but has to clear his throat once. "You—got some weird thing with my dad, or what?"

You let out a sudden spark of laughter, bewildered at the question. You make a face, considering, and take a sip of water. "I mean, he is pretty handsome."

"You're disgusting."

A balloon of relief airs in your lungs as you laugh again; some things never change. From the corner of his eye, the sound draws his attention again, gaze jumping from your face to your dress and back to the safety of his glass.

"No," you tell him, "I'm on his team designing costumes, and stuff."

A wave of embarrassment washes over you that he didn't even know about your career. With as much time as your work squad spends with the Bakugou family, you would think that you would have been mentioned, at least once.

In fact, you're certain it must have been brought up; Masaru cares too much. Buys you special edition mugs on your birthday and brings coffee for everyone on those early mornings, is the last to leave some days. On the news that morning, when they'd broadcasted the battle—Dynamight's Downfall?—you were the first person he'd looked at before rushing off to find his wife.

Either Bakugou never wanted to hear about it, you, or he's just scrounging for conversation.

Silence settles as you ponder. When you come back to the here and now, you take in what you can of him; the smooth plane that he allows you of his face, the few faint scars that have appeared in the time since you last were together; his hair is a little shorter now, albeit just as ashen and wild, not tamed in the slightest; the top two open buttons of his shirt, and the tie that barely hangs around his neck. You're surprised he even put it on.

It dawns on you how much he must have changed over the years, even before all this. How much you've missed. Traitorous tears sting the backs of your eyes and you have to sniff to keep a handle on your composure, and not a second of it goes unnoticed by Bakugou; you become aware of the anxious jerk of his leg as he bounces it, how he shifts and curls and clears his throat.

Begrudgingly, he murmurs, "'m not takin' that damn award."

You hum with assent, leaning forward to cross your arms on the bar, prop your chin in your palm. "I don't blame you, it's like," you shake your head, thinking, "'Thank you for your service. Sorry you almost died.'"

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he takes a drink of water. "For fucking real."

You'd said it carelessly as a joke to ease the tension, settle the nerves bubbling in your stomach, but now that the words are out, the mention has you feeling ill again.

It's all anyone has been talking about for days: Bakugou’s damage, how much he must have suffered, how he'll never be the same again. To hear it, and then to speak of the calamity to the man himself—it adds weight, that slow-drying cement.

Selfishly, you think of him before, when you were both young and standing at the precipice of something neither of you knew how to handle. If you'd known what you know now, you wouldn't have let him walk away. You wouldn't have agreed quietly, broke your own heart because you were afraid.

Another wave of emotions swallows you, and no matter how fast you blink or how far back you tilt your head, the tears rise and fall.

If you speak any louder than a whisper, you'll crack. "I was with your dad that day, we all were, because he always leaves the news on, you know? Keeps it—keeps it muted in the workshop, and when he—when the volume went up and we all looked and—" you frown, hard and dissolving, and hate how it must make you look. "And all I could think about was all the things I never said to you that I—"

In a flash, Bakugou shoves away from the bar, grabbing his jacket as he rounds the chair and mutters, "I can't listen to this right now."

You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hold back the sob that threatens to ruin you, but the fissures run deep, echo down to your bones.

Some things never change; he's always had one foot out the door with you, ready to run at the first sign of that all-encompassing feeling he didn't know how to escape. On the rare nights he allowed himself to spend with you—even then he wore a deep frown, tucked his face into the crook of your neck as if he wanted to stay buried there. Held you tightly, enough to leave little reminders long after he was gone.

The first time he'd kissed you, he shouldn't have and you both knew that. After graduation, waning in the shadow of his looming departure. The shitty studio apartment you rented, that cost more than it was worth; Kirishima and Bakugou agreed to help move what few things you had at the dorms, what was left over at your parent's house. It wasn't much, but the process went much smoother with the two of them.

You'd spent most of the summer together, by chance, and all of your efforts went into diverting the feelings that threatened to grow under your surface. Most everyone that you knew was quick to issue a warning: Bakugou wasn't interested. In all the time they'd known him in school, very little of his attention went to girls and dating, and setting your sights on him was a doomed task.

At that point, you'd refused to acknowledge that's what you'd done; Bakugou made sure everyone got home safely and not just you; he got lunch with Kiri and Mina just as often as you two did; he didn't look at you in the dark any special way, so close on the couch as a movie danced on the TV screen.

It must have been an accident—that's what you tried to tell yourself for a long time.

After the boxes were moved in and Kirishima was gone, he stood in your tiny kitchen and claimed to hate it. Opened the cabinets and poked at your oven and tested the temperature of your freezer, looked through the narrow window that offered a view of—nothing: the back of a small pharmacy.

You asked him what was wrong and his face twisted up, like he was going to be sick or cry and then he grabbed you. Hands trembling against your face and tangling in your hair, lips clumsy and harsh, furious like always. Like it was his last chance.

Half a decade later, more than, and you still swell at the thought of him.

You wipe a hand under your eyes gingerly, wary of your airbrushed makeup, before sliding off the chair. The rest of the team has probably conjured up all manner of conspiracies as to where you are, and perhaps you should tell Masaru of his son's state.

When you turn to retreat, however, Bakugou is standing there. Not ten feet from you, like he meant to run before thinking better of it. Fully open. Bare.

Human.

The right half of his face is still tender, shiny and raw, and his eye is ringed in red. It's jarring; Bakugou has always been a pretty boy, despite his animosity towards the label, and the tabloids stay littered with mentions of him and his dangerously good looks.

There's been nothing but speculation about how he's come out and you'd been admittedly nervous, because you were afraid to find that you were more vain than you'd ever known, unable to look upon what remains of the boy you knew.

But to see it so blatant; the untouched side of his face in comparison to what's been war-torn.

All you can think is—

"I'm so glad you're still here."

You don't miss the shine that waters his left eye or how hard he swallows, averting his gaze even further. When you step up to him, he doesn't resist you, only lets out a breath you feel as you run your hands across the marble of his chest.

Despite everything, you waver with a watery laugh that captures him again, because you mean it. All the years and anger and hope and terror and silence and waiting—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking at you as he did in your kitchen that day.

Carefully as you can, you wind yourself up in him, around his sling and neck and pressed as close as you can be, and it's not until you nose against his throat that he wraps his arm around you. Tight, like it might be his last chance.

"You," he murmurs, and you can feel how hard he's clenching his jaw from the way it digs into your cheek. "And the shit you didn't say?" Bakugou breathes in sharply, unaware of how deep his fingers dig into the skin your dress exposes. "All I could think about is what I did say, how fuckin' stupid—"

I'm leavin', so don't—I can't—just, don't expect anything from me.

All the long nights and dropped calls and heartbreak and distance—it holds no candle to him, here and alive and looking down at you through his dark, wet lashes.

You slip up onto your toes and kiss him as you've wanted to for years, as you were too afraid to; fingers gentle against his cheek, thumbing the edge of his jaw, passing all that you've kept from him through slow and purposeful lips.

It takes him off guard, which you expected, but only a moment passes before he's gripping you with intent, melding into you as his trembling hand goes to your neck. You can't help the smile you curl into, one he feels, and Bakugou huffs, annoyed, before slanting his head, parting your lips with his own as he dissolves.

It's foreign now, to what it was years ago. Unhurried, no longer afraid, giving instead of taking all that he could hold in both hands. Half a decade later, maybe more, and you swell at the promise of him, the thud of his still-beating heart as it echoes in your chest.

And then there's a loud roar of applause from down in the award show room and you freeze, suddenly put back into place as the sound of glasses clinking and heels on the tile and murmured conversation surrounds you.

"Sorry," you gasp, trying—and failing—to pull away as his hold tightens. Insistent, like it will never slacken again. "We're in public."

"Don't care," Bakugou rasps, gently butting his forehead against your own as he sighs, great and lax and slow. Just before he goes to kiss you again, he says, "'m just glad I'm still here."

[moririki]

⤷ CLUELESS

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI X READER -> 1.5K despite your best efforts to confess your feelings to the infamous stone wall, he never quite seems to understand

REQUEST -> n/a CONTAINS -> ushijima being fucking clueless lmaooo, reader stumbling around being awkward, tendo being a jackass in the best way, obvious pining MORI'S THOUGHTS -> this imagine is based off of monthly girls' nozaki-kun, which is a pretty good (and short!) anime i watched on netflix hehe. the dynamic just reminded me of ushi for some reason so this became a thing

WHEN YOU FOUND YOURSELF FALLING HEAD OVER HEELS FOR THE CAPTAIN OF A VOLLEYBALL TEAM, YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. the two of you had nothing in common. the most you saw of him in a day was the brief glimpse of him before he headed into class. despite the fact that you could count the number of interactions that you've had with him on one hand, you were quick to develop feelings for the guy.

maybe you just had a type. he was tall, handsome, and quiet, but you were surprised that not many of the girls in your class gossiped about him. from what you knew about him, he mostly kept to himself or the volleyball team, with a very focused mindset accompanying him on and off of the court. the more that you knew about him only deepened your crush, to the point where it was getting unbearable to just admire him from afar.

while you felt like you knew the outcome before it started, you still decided to try your luck. today was the day of your confession.

"um, ushijima?" you tapped him on the shoulder hesitantly, stood next to his desk. he turned to you, face stoic as always. now or never. don't give away the fact that you're sweating bullets, you reminded yourself. your hands were balled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms as you felt your mouth open and close a few times with no sound coming out. fuck.

ushijima's face was blank, offering neither support nor disdain. well, the lack of outright disgust was always a good sign.

"i just wanted to say that i, uh.." you trailed off, resolve crumbling underneath the powerful gaze of ushijima. what were you thinking? you couldn't tell him how you felt, but you couldn't just slowly destroy yourself keeping it from him. might as well get it over and done with. "i want to be around you!" you ended up blurting out. and once the dam broke, more and more words started to spill past your lips.

"i've always admired you and how dedicated you are to volleyball, and i want to be around you more- and it's because i-" you finally hesitared at that, feeling your face flame up when confronted with the three little words which would change everything. but ushijima must have assumed that you had finished talking because your chance to confess had disappeared.

"i'm glad that you feel that way, y/n." ushijima's facial expression was still stern, but you perked up at his words nonetheless.

"you do?" you sounded breathless, eyes wide after you had just exposed exactly how you felt to your long-standing crush. ushijima nodded encouragingly, and you could feel a ringing in your ears as you begaj to think that you were dreaming. this was simply too good to be true, and you felt so lightheaded that you could float away with the lightest gust of wind.

"to confirm your position as manager you're going to have to fill out a form, but you can join practice tomorrow." you blinked, feeling yourself crash back down to earth when ushijima continued to speak.

"wait, what?" ushijima then looked at you in confusion.

"did you not just ask me to be a manager?" you hesitated, struggling internaly as to whether you should confess, again. but your cowardice won, and you sighed, nodding.

"i'll see you tomorrow."

the plasticky squeak of trainers hitting gymnasium floor welcomed you, and you steeled your nerves before stepping through the doors and being welcomed by the bright lights. you squinted as the glare hit you, hands holding onto your arms in an attempt to pull yourself together.

the sound of a volleyball being spiked into the floor harshly grasped your attention, and you watched in awe as the shiratorizawa volleyball team began to warm up. ushijima had just delivered that terrifyingly fast spike, and you felt a blush rise to your face as you saw how concentrated he was. cute.

"oh, hello!" a singsong voice and accompanying face invaded your senses, and you squeaked in surprise, taking an involuntary step back. the red-headed boy grinned at you, his frame towering over yours. "are you the new manager?" you nodded once, eyes darting past him to look at ushijima again. the ace still had his attention trained onto the court, despite the racket his teammate was causing. you sighed when you realised that your crush hadn't noticed you come in, and your action caused the redhead in front of you to narrow his eyes shrewdly.

"tendo, get back to practice!" a second voice called from the court. another guy with grey hair was stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at the male in front of you expectantly.

"coming, semi-semi!" tendo sang, offering you a cheery wave before running back. you were glad that there was at least one friendly face in the gym, though you had to fend for yourself now.

considering the fact that you had minimal support and nobody else to show you the ropes, you had actually picked up rather quickly on how to be a semi-decent manager. you fell into a rhythm over the next few weeks, filling up water bottles and preparing towels for the sweaty players. at least your failed confession had led to you taking part in a club that would look very good on your college applications.

another positive from this whole experience was the fact that you had gained two new friends, who went by the names tendo and semi. it was almost embarrassing at how quickly they figured out your crush for their team captain- semi tried to flirt with you, and tendo cackled as you stuttered out a rejection for his advances. next thing you know, one instinctive glance in ushijima's direction had tendo unraveling the entire mystery as to why you had signed up for a position as manager.

of course, the two assholes found the whole situation hilarious at your expense. however, you couldn't find yourself holding a grudge against the boys when they offered to act as your official wingmen. as for the very reason why you had joined the team, things were going about as well as you could expect. while he made no indication of going out of his way to talk to you, ushijima would gladly return any conversation that you struck up when handing him his water bottle or towel. he'd then return to practice promptly, help to lock up the gym, and then leave with not much in terms of a second glance. it was unsurprising behaviour, but still disheartening to say the least.

that's how you found yourself ranting to tendo during the team's five-minute break, with the boy watching your frustrated face in amusement.

“i just- i can’t believe that i talked myself into being a manager! all because of a crush! a crush that doesn’t even realise that i like him!” you placed down the towel that you just folded in frustration, and tendo couldn’t stop a giggle escaping his lips.

“look, that’s just how he is.” the redhead attempted to console you, giving you a pat on the arm. “he’s difficult to read, and he never talks about his emotions. besides, i don’t think he’s ever had a crush before.”

you sighed, nodding in defeat.

“yeah, yeah. i get it.” tendo’s focus drifted from your face to behind you, and he was quick to sling an arm around your shoulder.

“speaking of the guy...” he muttered to you under his breath. you turned to see the captain approaching, his brow slightly knitted. you smiled as best as you could, offering him a water bottle.

“bye, sweetie,” tendo cooed at you, shooting you a painfully obvious wink that had you blushing and looking down at your shoes. now it was just you and ushijima, the latter being as silent as ever. you coughed once, peeking up at his face.

“you spiked well today.” ushijima nodded once, a small smile spreading across his face. the motion had your heart swelling.

“thank you. you’re a very good manager.” you laughed, mostly to hide your blush and just at how ironic this entire situation was.

“thank you.” you smiled up at the man, and that was the end of your interaction. you watched his back as he returned back to the court, going so much further away from you. tendo shot you two thumbs up and received a slap on the back of the head from semi, and that made you giggle.

hell, even if you got here under circumstances that weren’t in your favour, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. something about getting to watch ushijima perform in his element every day was enough to keep your crush going, reciprocated or not. besides, who knew how the guy really felt after all?

your daydreaming had you staring off into space as the coach blew a whistle to mark the return to practice, and a pair of olive eyes tore themselves away from you to focus back on the court.

you had been paying attention to his spikes, after all.

back to the counter - ,, 💐 ·˚ ༘ ꒱

[sky-ivylight]

This.

IMO, the main problem with shipping culture as it relates to aspec (and specifically arospec) people is that romantic and/or sexual love is hailed as the highest echelon of consciousness, of human experience, and not only is it the best it's the only option. the way it works now (through no one's immediate fault other than amatonormativity, or i guess allonormativity. comp-allo?) is that any character who doesn't have a partner or partners is either irrelevant to the fandom, or presumed to be lonely. Rather than their singleness being something they could want or be satisfied with, it's framed as a sad, upsetting thing that has to be changed. A character flaw. The option for someone to be single and happy is never presented in fandom spaces outside of one-note villains, or characters everyone universally hates.

amatonormativity, comp-allo, and aphobia are so prevalent in our culture (online and irl) that the aspec community literally cannot claim a character in the same way a lot of other communities (especially the queer community) can. The queer community at large can find solidarity in other people having the same orientation headcanon for a given character, it doesn't matter as much if someone HCs them as cishet, bisexual, lesbian, or gay; It's a mostly equal playing field, because the basis for the game is... well, shipping. Which is inherently a problem for aspec (and especially arospec) communities.

Arospec people don't want romance, but literally every other community online, and in real life, does. Because aphobia and especially arophobia are everywhere, to most fandoms even suggesting a character is arospec or aspec is, metaphorically, akin to taking away their toys and saying they're not allowed to have fun. That's not what people are doing, obviously, but a lot of allo (and even some aspec) people just don't get that an aro headcanon is a good thing, actually.

Most people in the aspec communities can't find the level of solidarity most other queer people can outside of their own section of the internet, and even then it's mostly relegated to explaining that yes, we exist, and no, aphobia is not okay, and yes, we're alive and people too, etc. and that leaves very little room for fandom, especially since the online community is so small, and when you dare mention something like an aplatonic headcanon, people will immediately hop into the replies with fresh, hot, steaming aphobia.

half the reason fandom is the way it is today is because a lot of queer people (gay people, bi people, lesbians, trans people, etc.) couldn't find the representation they wanted, so they found each other and made representation for themselves out of media they already loved. But aspec people just haven't been given that same opportunity, because the environment we entered into was so hostile to us for so long, that we legitimately could not get our footing in the founding years of fandom culture.

i scroll through the arospec / aspec / acespec / aplspec / etc. tags a lot, and 99.9% of the posts in there [non-scientific number] are exclusively about aphobia (internal or external), they're about how we wish people would listen to us, they're about how absolutely crushing it is to exist as an aspec person, how we feel excluded from fandom or real-life spaces, our experiences with aphobia, etc., etc., etc.... it's so disheartening to see so much of our existence relegated to defending our existence, to self-hatred because we were raised in a culture that thinks we're broken or monstrous. it just sucks that we don't have the same level of influence as other parts of the queer community.

speaking personally, a large part of the reason I avoid most fandoms is entirely because of shipping culture. I'm not invested in it, or at least not as much as I used to be (comp-allo and comp-het joined forces for that one) but there is no other space for me. There is no arospec fandom space, at least not one prominent enough to be noticeable. Most aspec headcanons are from aspec people, and almost all of them are one-off posts that get completely ignored. The most traction I ever saw for an arospec post was from a couple polls about aro characters, and those were small.

fandom likes shipping, and aspec (and again especially arospec) people... don't fit that.

(also, to be clear, i'm not blaming other queer folk for this; counteracting hate with aggressively being yourself is how we got here and that's a good thing and fine, but also please remember we exist too. the real enemy here is our deeply homophobic society and also capitalism by making very specific queer people ""marketable"" and...... y'know...... amatonormativity...... like, our problems reach beyond fandom, it's systemic and that's why it's in fandom in the first place, but I'm tired and brainfogged, and this is already long enough, so I don't feel like dissecting that right now.)

Anoying autonormativity stuff is when there's this ONE CHARACTER in a story that is not in a relationship. ONE COMPLETELY HAPPY AND SATIFIED CHARACTER in a story. and then people automatically start wanting relationships for them. Like NO leave them alone ):<<<.

also people can ship whatever characters they want as long as it not illegal or harmful. I just want more characters like this without, and it can be frustrating when the few characters whom i can actually relate to aren't safe from relationships. Doesn't mean it's wrong to headcannon characters who aren't in relationships, though. This would be solved if these types of love were not seen as the most important things, and there was more representation for diverse ideas and aspects of different relationships.

If other aspec people want to talk about thier personal gripes about media here please do. I talked mainly about romance, but this is much broader than that.

[raineydays411]

Trauma really does bond

The umbrella academy x teen!reader

Summary: It’s time for you to meet your siblings. But what happen when your introductions don’t exactly go as planned?

You were trembling as you walked behind Pogo and Grace. Its ironic, you’ve waited your whole life for this moment. To finally meet your siblings and expand your family. A childish hope of your siblings one day returning to the mansion and accepting you with open arms. 

But now that you actually have a chance to meet them, you’re terrified. You realized that you have no idea how to talk to people. It’s different than when you talk to Pogo or your mother. These are complete strangers. No matter how many stories you’ve been told, how many times you read Vanyas book, you truly didn’t know these people. How were you meant to be a family? How are you supposed to-

“Y/n? Dear?” 

You’re snapped from your thoughts by your mother calling you.

“Yes, momma?”

“Momma? Pogo, who’s that?”

You turn, again surprised by an unfamiliar voice. There she was. Alison Hargreeves. She’s beautiful. 

Her hair is curly and blonde, with beautiful high cheekbones and glowing brown skin. Her as were kind even as she squinted at you skeptically in confusion.

“Alison, this is Y/n Hargreeves, or Number Eight. She’s your sister.”

Grace again gives you a light nudge, and you move in front of her. It was then that you realized that you are shorter than Alison, having to glance up to meet her eyes. 

“My sister?” She looks at you in disbelief, “How come we didn’t know? This wasn’t mentioned by the press or anything...” 

“Your father decided to keep our dear Y/n a secret.” Grace said wrapping her arm around you, “ She’s been our little secret for 17 years and 4 months.” 

“A secret? But why? I mean, what was the reason?”

“Your father, believed that the world wasn’t ready for a new superhero. Nor was Y/n ready to face the world.” Pogo said with a grim face, “ He had hoped though, that one day he would be able to take her out...but it seems that for now, Y/n shall remain inside.”

You frowned, holding back tears at the thought. You didn’t know that your father had wanted to let you out, nor that he wanted to be there when you were. But, what truly upset you, was that you had to stay in the mansion. Freedom was at the tip of your fingers and you didn’t even know it.

“Stay inside? You mean she’s never been outside?” Alison said horrified.

“Well she has been out in the courtyard and such, but Mr. Hargreeves prohibited her to leave the premises. Nor was she allowed to be in contact with the citizens”

“She’s been here all alone?” Alison asks sadly, “ With no one to talk to? No one her age?” 

“I’m afraid not” Pogo says sadly, looking at you.

You didn’t understand the big deal. Of course you were lonely, and wanted to explore the world, but you knew why you had to stay. You can just hear your fathers words.

“You have a duty Number Eight. A duty to your people and to me. It may not be ideal but sacrifices are hardly ideal.”

And everytime you thought about leaving, you’d remember his words and stay put. Besides you wouldn’t dare disobey your father.

Not after the last time.

“Well,” Alison says gently, leaning down to your eye level, “ Hello Y/n, I’m Alison Hargreeves, your big sister.”

Your eyes widened at her words as your heart filled with joy. For so many years  you imagined those words. You wondered how this whole thing would play out, how meeting your siblings might be. And to hear Alison so readily accept you, it brought tears to your eyes.

“Hello, Alison” You say beaming as you carefully step forward, “ I’ve been waiting a long time to meet you, Momma says you live in California, what is it like?” 

Alison smiles at your question, your demeanor like a small child. It reminded her of Claire...

“It’s very nice, maybe when we have time I’ll be able to tell you all about it.” 

Your smile widens as you turn to your mother excitedly, she smiles back and says, “ That sounds wonderful dear, but you should go and change. You know the rules. You don’t want your father finding you in your night clothes, now would you?”

You furrow your brows,” Momma...”

“No buts now march” She says with a grin. You smile at Alison but see the worried look on her face. 

“So she did notice how weird momma acting” You think to yourself. You stay in a daze as you walk towards your room. Worrying about your mother, grieving your father, and thinking about how you’re finally meeting all your siblings. Then as you turn a corner into the hallway that leads to your room, you’re knocked to the ground as you bump into a wall of a body.

“Ow!” you squeal as you hit the ground, rubbing the back of your head and peering up at the person you bumped into.

“Uh..sorry Y/n” 

“Luther!” You shout, your pain overridden by the happiness you felt at seeing your brother, one that actually knows you exist.

He helps you up, which to him is like picking up a feather, and  before he knew it, your arms are wrapped around his midsection. Luther awkwardly pats your back, not really expecting to be hugged.

“It's great to see you Luther! I read all your mission reports, or rather the ones that Father let me read. I always wished you good night though! Pogo always caught me looking at the moon with that telescope, I hope you don’t mind that I used it. It's just that I missed you so-” Your happy ramblings cut off by a Luther clearing his throat.

“Ahem...right, um hey Y/n, I gotta go...check on something.” He says gently pushing you away, “It was nice seeing you though.”

And with that he walks away, leaving you in the hallway as you stare at his retreating form.

“oh...okay then! I’ll see...see you later.” You say, disheartened by his brief acknowledgement. You sigh, walking into your room. 

“I don’t know why I try...” You mumble to yourself. “ It’s not like he was ever happy to see me before.”

You go into your closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Usually, Grace picked out your outfits, ordered by your father, but she didn’t leave anything out for you today. So, you settled for a black turtleneck sweater, a black and white plaid skirt, black knee high socks with some mary janes. It wasn’t really your go to look, but you felt like it was appropriate given the circumstance. You let your hair loose, curls falling into your face as you let it out of the bun you quickly put it in. 

You go to walk out of the room when you’re stopped by a gleam. You see the necklace your father gave to you after the incident. You stare at it, debating on whether you should put it on or not. You sigh, deciding to wear it, it was his funeral after all. You put it on, the cold metal never truly seem to heat up, the pendant heavy on your chest. You never grew attached to it. It just served as a reminder that you’re stuck in the mansion. You can never leave. Not until he let you and now...

You shake your head. Trying not to get into your thoughts, that's when you heard it. Little scratching at your window. You turn to see Despereaux, the little mouse  you saved when you were younger. Ever since that day it was like you and him formed a bond.

You open the window excited to see your little friend.

“Hello Despereaux, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.” You whisper as you let him climb on to your shoulder. “ you’ve missed quite a bit since I’ve last seen you. How about some cheese?”

You walk out of your room, Despereaux nestled on your shoulder. As you walk through the long hallways, you bump into another body.

“Ouch, again?” You whisper to yourself, rubbing your forehead.

“Hey watch it...teenage girl?” A male voice said in a perplexed tone. 

You look up to see a man in some rather tight clothes and kohl ringed eyes.

“Hello” You quietly mutter with a soft smile. “I’m Y/n”

“You are adorable.” The man says, “ Where has the old man been hiding you?” 

You blush looking down at your feet, you were never really complimented. Only by Grace.

“ Aww” The man squeals, squishing you to his body. He smelled like booze and sweat but the hug was nice, “ I have no idea who you are but I’m your uncle Klaus from now on.”

“You’re Klaus?” You say excitedly, “ I’m so glad to meet you!” 

You wrap your arms around him, feeling the outline of something hard and metal in the back of his pants. You ignored it though, happy to meet another one of your siblings.

“Ugh it’s so nice to be around someone who isn’t a total stick in the mud.” Klaus says letting go of you, “ Like Luther, all that rage in that big body” 

You giggle at his words and eccentric behavior. It was a stark contrast to the ridgid stoic behavior that you’re used to. Klaus’ grand gestures and silly nature was new to you.

“I’ve heard alot about you.” You say happily, “ Mama always tells me stories about how you used to steal  her shoes and skirts and Father said--”

“Father?” Klaus asked, “ You mean ol’ Reggie bought you too? Or are you like..his offspring? Eww! I don’t want to think about that, shut up Ben.”

Ben?

“Father adopted me, I was born with powers like you.” You clarify for him. 

“Huh, so he managed to create another trauma case before he croaked.” Klaus said in a light voice, “Well. I always wanted a little sister.”

You smile, glad that at least two of your siblings liked you. But what did he mean by trauma case.

“Anywho, I have some... inheritance I need to collect. I, will see you at the funeral, das Kind” 

And with a wiggle of his fingers he was off, gone as quick as when you met him. Leaving you yet again, alone. You shrug off his odd behavior when you heard two voices speaking. 

“ah no, not to my knowledge.”

“But..the spine is broken and there's notes in the margins.”

“ Yes, that would be the work of.. ah Y/n, there you are.”

You jump in surprise, although you should’ve know. You can never eavesdrop with Pogo around.

You walk down the stairs, slowly towards Pogo and.. Vanya!

Out of all the siblings, she’s the one you wanted to meet the most. She, like you was isolated in this mansion. You felt a connection to her as soon as you were able to pick up that book. Your heart raced as you made it to the final step, reaching the first flower and into the living room where Vanya and Pogo were talking. You can see that she is shocked, as all your other siblings were.

“Pogo, who is this?” 

“Go ahead dear, introduce yourself. Just like you practiced.”

You smile widely, “Hi I’m Y/n Hargreeves, I love your book. I’ve read it almost five times now.  You’re Vanya! I’ve been waiting to meet you! You look exactly like the picture on the back of the book! It really is a good book, I-”

“Y/n, take a breath. Let her get a word in.” Pogo chuckled, glad to see that you’re comfortable around Vanya. 

“Oh, right. I’m sorry, father did always say I..tend to talk to much” You say looking down at your shoes. You didn’t notice the frown on both Pogo and Vanyas face.

“You...you read my book?” Vanya asked, still trying to figure out who you are.

“Yes, multiple times. It...well, besides the stories Mama and Pogo told me, this was the only way I got to know all of you.”

“Why didn’t you just come find us?” 

“Oh well..I wasn’t really allowed outside”, you say glancing at Pogo, “ Father said the world and I weren’t ready for each other.”

“You mean, you’ve been alone...all these year?”

“No, not totally alone! I had Pogo, and Mama, and and father too. Plus there were the robots he built, although I did destroy them...and the books and and..”

“Y/n...that’s..that’s not..” Vanya stopped herself. She knew that this must be a sensitive subject for you. The way you listed everyone in your life was practiced. Like you’ve said it to yourself over and over again. And by the grim look on Pogos face, she can tell it wasn’t only you who was sensitive about this subject.

“Well, Y/n..perhaps you should go on in the kitchen and help your mother. Your siblings will be meeting here shortly, it would be nice if they had some snacks, don’t you agree?” Pogo says, forcing a smile at you.

“Oh! Okay” You beam, “ It was nice meeting you Vanya!” 

And with that you scurry off into the kitchen, leaving Vanya and Pogo behind in silence.

“She’s been alone for...” 

“For seventeen years. Yes”

“Pogo...”

“You know your father...once he made up his mind...there was little I can do.”

Vanya sighs and pats Pogo on the shoulder, “It’s good to see you Pogo.”

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

You skip into the kitchen, seeing your mother humming at the sink. You walk up to her and notice that she’s cleaning the same plate over and over again.

“Hi momma!” you say suddenly

“Oh, hello dear. What are you doing in here?” Grace asks putting the plate in the drying rack.

Pogo said it would be nice to make snacks for my siblings” You ask, then feeling movement around your neck, “Oh and some cheese please.”

You forgot Despereaux was on your shoulder, its a wonder that no one has seen him yet.

“hmm snacks we can do.” Grace says with a smile. She goes to the fridge and pulls out some cheese.

“How about some cheese and crackers? Its simple.” she says, “ ans Despereaux here can have his fill as well”

You freeze, caught again by your mother, “ Thanks momma.” 

You both giggle, and side by side you work on cutting the cheese and presenting the crackers. You feel a sense of calm wash over you. You usually do when you’re around your mother. She makes you feel safe. 

“Ahem.” 

You both turn to see Diego in the kitchen doorway.

“Diego dear, you startled us.” Grace said with a smile, “ Come help, we’re making you kids some snacks.”

He barely spares a glance at you.

“Pogo wanted me to come tell you that the meetings starting.”

“Oh, well go on darling, run along and I’ll bring out the snacks later.”

And with that she kisses your forehead and waves you away. She turns back to the  sink and starts humming again. 

You glance back at Diego. He’s glaring at the wall and to be honest you’re surprised he even waited for you. You pick up Despereaux and put him on your shoulder again, and grab some grapes and cheese then stuff it in your skirt pocket. Then you walk up to Diego with a small smile. 

He glances at you and scoffs, then walks away. You have to jog to catch up to him.

“You uh, you walk pretty fast” You say huffing a bit. 

He doesn’t answer you, he just keeps walking in the same pace. You stay silent as well, the trip to the living room longer than you remember.

You finally make it, and you see all your siblings in the room, spread out. You take a seat next to Vanya. You smile at her and take a glance around the room. Luther is sat at the couch across from you and Vanya. Allison and Diego are sat on some chairs, and Klaus is at the bar. 

The six of you sit in an awkward silence until Luther clears his throat.

“ So I guess we should get this started.” He says standing up, “ So I figured we can have sort of a memorial service. At the courtyard at sundown, say a few words. At dad’s favorite spot.”

You nod along and hear Alison speak up, “ Dad had a favorite spot?”

“Yeh at the oak tree, we used to sit out there all the time. None of you did that?” Luther asks.

“Oh yeah, after training” you chime in, causing the adults to look at you. You heard Diego scoff again and saw Luther quickly furrow his brow then smooth out his face again.

“Will there be refreshments?” Klaus asks walking out from behind the bar, “ Tea? Scones? Cucumber sandwiches are always a winner.” 

He goes to take a seat next to you when Luther speaks up

“What? No, and put that out. You know dad didn’t allow smoking in here.”

You roll your eyes. If you had to choose one thing to hate about Luther, you’d choose his insistent need to always be on your Father's good side. He can be such a downer sometimes.

“Is that my skirt?”

You hadn’t even noticed Klaus in the skirt. If you had to be honest, it did really suit him. You let out a small laugh, hearing Klaus mention his “bits”.

“Listen up.”

Oh boy, you’ve heard this tone before. You really forgot how stern Luther could be.

“There’s still some important things that we need to discuss alright ?”

“Um Luther” you squeak out, “ what more is there to talk about? Its not like Father had many friends we can invite. And his only family is us...”

“Yeah. The kids right, what else is there to discuss?” Diego asks.

You turn to him in surprise, this is basically the first time he acknowledged you unprompted. You send him a smile that, as expected, he ignores.

Oh well, small steps.

“ The way he died.”

“ And here we go”

You scrunch your eyebrows, “the way he died?”

Klaus sits next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulder as Vanya speaks up,

“I don’t understand, I thought they said it was a heart attack...”

“A heart attack?” You ask, realizing that no one’s really did tell you how your father died..

You’re question gained a suspicious look from Luther and confusion from the rest.

“ Y/n...you didn’t know?” Alison asked gently.

“ no one told me...” You say quietly, feeling nervous from the sudden attention.

“Well, According or to the coroner it was.” Luther continues.

“Well wouldn’t they know?”

“Theoretically..”

“Theoretically??”

You don’t understand. You don’t understand why nobody told you how your father died. You don’t understand why everyone was acting weird. And you don’t understand why Luther was bringing this up.

You feel a hand on your forearm, breaking you from your thoughts. You turn your head to see Klaus.

“ you lost in space?” He whispers playfully, “ I would be too, having to listen to Detective Daddy issues over here.”

You let out a small chuckle and whisper back, “ well technically we all have daddy issues.”

This earned you a quiet laugh and a pat on the arm. Then Klaus went to drink whatever was in his cup. And you tuned in again.

“ i’m just saying at the very least something happened. ” Luther says looking around the room, “ The last time I talk to dad he sounded strange.”

“Oh quelle surprise!” Klaus gurgles through his drink.

The rest of the adult ignored him, only sparing him a quick glance.

“Strange how?” Alison asked, continuing the conversation.

“ he sounded on edge”, Luther said, “ told me to be careful who to trust.”

He then gave you pointed look. You looked back at him perplexed, not knowing why he looked at you that way.

“Luther,” Diego chimed in, “ he was a paranoid, bitter old man who was starting to lose what was left of his marbles. ”

You frown at that statement. Sure your father was old and sort of eccentric, but his mind was sharp.

But come to think of it he was acting really weird the week before he died. He started telling you more about your siblings, about your place in the world and how you were meant to help it. He spent more time with you more than he ever has your whole life. He was, in his own way, nicer to you. Nicer in training, nicer on your free time, nicer in general. He took you out to the old oak tree more often, and just sat there with you, no lectures, no tirades, he just sat in silence.

It was almost like... like he knew he was going to die. 



“I can’t just call dad in the afterlife and be like, “ hey dad can you stop playing tennis with Hitler really quick and take a quick call?’” Klaus says exasperatedly.

Oh right you forgot, he can talk to ghosts.

“ since when? that’s your thing.” Luther asks

“ i’m not in the right... Frame of mind!!” 

“ You’re high?” Alison asks

“Yeah!” Klaus laughs, “ Who wouldn’t be listening to this nonsense. Right kiddo?”

He nudged you gently look at you for confirmation.

Your eyes widen and before you can even answer Diego cut you off,

“ Don’t bring her in this, she probably isn’t even know what being high is.”

You most certainly do. You’re not a child.

“ Look, just sober up this is important!” Luther demands , then continues on, “ and then there’s the missing monocle.”

“Who gives a shit about the missing monocle?” Diego mutters.

“ Father is missing his monocle?” You ask, getting ignored again.

“Exactly, it’s worthless.” Luther states, “ so whoever took it it must’ve been personal.”

The group starts to actually pay attention to him

“ Someone close to him, someone with a grudge.” He determines.

Wait...he’s not implying..

“Where are you going with this?” Klaus asks

“Oh, isn’t obvious Klaus?” Diego taunts, “ He thinks one of us killed dad.”

Luther grunts, but doesn’t deny his accusation.

The room goes silent as everyone tries to come to terms with what was revealed.

“ Luther...” you start sadly, feeling hurt and betrayed.

“You do?” Klaus asks in disbelief

“How could you think that?” Vanya chimes in

“ is it really that far-fetched?” Luther defends himself, “ I mean, it’s not secret how much you all hate him.”

“Luther.” Alison says sternly

“ That’s not fair accusation, there’s no evidence or anything...” you say defending your siblings, “ Besides, no one came home until today. Trust me, I’d know.”

But that just turned him on you 

“ And where were you when he died?”

Your breath hitched, “ what?”

“ You’re the one who can heal people right? So where were you? Why didn’t you heal him?” He demands, “ Or did you let him die?”

“ Luther!” Alison shouts at him

You stay silent as you can’t think of anything to say. You already felt horrible about not being able to save your father. But yo hear it from Luther...

“I..” you start to say but get choked up. You feel the walls close up around you and the heavy gaze of these adults. You quickly stand up and run out of the room sniffing.

It was then that Luther realized what he just accused you of.

“Y/n wait..” he starts but you’re already gone by the time he spoke up. He turns to the rest of his siblings, facing their glares and betrayed looks.

“ Great job Luther.” Diego says sarcastically, “ Way to lead.”

And with that he walks out the room.

“That’s..that’s not what I’m saying”

“You’re crazy man. You’re crazy.” Klaus said getting up from his spot and grabbing his things. “Crazy”

“I..I wasn’t finished”

“ Okay, sorry I’m just gonna go get Y/n and have her help me murder mom.” Klaus sneers, “ You know, after I get her to stop crying, be right back.”

“That’s not what I was saying!” Luther says, “ I didn’t—“ he cuts himself off, seeing as everyone but Alison left.

Then she gets up to leave, but says this

“ That little girl has had it rough enough growing up here, she doesn’t need anymore from you.”

Then she walks out ignoring what Luther tries to say.

Leaving him all alone.

“That went well.”



[nifolution]

Love and Lies 2

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Steve is a lonely idiot

A/N: This is a revised copy of my oc fic. It is still written in 3rd person. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

Chapter 1 Series Masterlist Main Masterlist

Chapter 2

"Steven Grant" had a life to build. He rented an apartment in a small city off the Hudson. He forged a new driver's license and bank account. He bought a car, a phone and new clothing. He was ready.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, he decided against going back to bars or online dating. He wanted to find someone fast. A google search provided him a list of singles events and alternative places to meet kindred spirits.

He tried doing volunteer work for a few days. There were some lovely people but he never had time to speak with them in depth. Having to pretend to be only as strong as he looked proved difficult and time consuming. He went to a few local sporting events. Only to be overlooked or quickly brushed off. Prowling the grocery stores and libraries was fruitless. All the women were too old, too young or married. Looking for people at the park made him feel like a creep. A few of which he caught and beat the hell out of. Their looks of surprise at being bested by someone so small was something Steve would treasure.

Speed dating was horrible. All the women were visibly disappointed when it was his turn to sit at their table. A few were nice enough to speak with him at least. He was disheartened to be leaving without any numbers. Thanks but no thanks. Another failure on the books. As he approached the exit, one of the organizers gave him a sympathetic smile and without a word, handed him a flyer for a dating mixer happening tomorrow. Why not, Steve thought. What have I got to lose?!

---------------

Steve wasn't doing so well. The mixer was at 8pm in the ballroom of a local hotel. Entry cost $25 and included 2 free drinks. The room was already packed with bodies when he arrived. He tried chatting with a few women, and had a few people approach him as well. They all quickly moved on from him though. It was nearing the 3rd hour and he hadn't found anyone. Looking around the room, most seemed to be paired off already. Some on the dance floor, others gathered at tables. Steve stared at the two drink stamps on his hand, his third paid drink now sitting empty on the bar. He contemplated getting another. It wouldn’t get him drunk, but maybe the burn would help ease his regret and embarrassment of once again striking out.

Sighing, he scans the room once more and sees a solitary figure at the farthest table. She was wearing a simple shoulder-baring black dress that flared just above her knees. She was looking down at her phone, seeming a bit dejected. Before he realized what he was doing, Steve was already halfway to her table. He slowed his gate and approached slowly. Wiping his suddenly sweating hands on his pants, he closed the distance.

“Ha...ha...hi.” Steve wanted to slap himself for his awkwardness.

The woman looked at Steve and her eyes lit up when they met his. “Hi,” she replied, with a smile.

She was beautiful up close. Her dazzling smile and intelligent eyes beaming at him. Stop staring and say something, he reprimanded himself. “Um, would you mind if I join you? Looks like you've found the only quiet spot.”

“Oh, of course.” Her smile faded. “There's plenty of room.”

Steve realized she must think he isn't there for her. Just looking for a place to sit. He reached his hand out, “I’m Steven Grant. My friends call me Steve.”

She shook his hand “Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to meet you, Steve.”

He sat down next to her. “I assume you're hiding from all the attention you must be getting.”

“Yes and no. Any hits have been from people looking for a third. I must have a ‘works well with couples’ tattoo on my forehead cause that’s all I've been getting lately. Not just here.” Shrugs, “I’m flattered, it's just not for me.” She turned her body toward him. “So how’s your luck going tonight?”

Steve shook his head, “Not so good. I’ve had no interest from the ladies. A few men have approached me though. What's a twink?”

Y/N choked on her drink, laughing. She used a napkin to carefully dab the wetness off her face. “Well I think our luck is changing.”

“Is that so?” Steve smiled at her.

“Yes. A cute guy just came up to me with the most gorgeous pair of blue eyes and if he's interested I'd like to buy him a drink.”

“Shouldn't I be buying you the drink?”

“Sure, after I buy a drink for the cute guy.”

Steve flounders for a second. She laughs and gently elbows him and asks what he's having.

---------------

They continued talking for the remaining hour. They spoke of their jobs, Steve fibbing a lot, and their interests. Conversation never lulling. Both were disappointed when it was time for the night to end. Like the gentleman he is, Steve walked her out to her car.

“So,” Y/N starts, “do you think your girlfriend will like me?” She can’t believe such a cute guy was still single. She felt a connection and wanted this to be real. It saddened her to think she may never see him again.

“If I had one I think she’d love you. But if it's any consolation, I like you a lot. It would be an honor to do this again with you." Steve ran his hands through his hair, nervously awaiting her reply.

Y/N smiled, “So if I give you my number, you'd call? You won’t lose it or forget me?”

“How could anyone forget you?”

She tells him her number. Steve immediately texts her ‘unforgettable.’ He watches her look at her phone and smirk. “Now you have my number too. So you can’t forget me either.”

“Well I must save this immediately. Contact name? ‘blue eyed hottie.’ Occupation? ‘Making me melt.’”

Steve blushed. When she unlocked her vehicle, he was quick to open the door for her.

Y/N hesitated before getting in. “It was really wonderful to meet you, Steve. I do hope you call.”

“You can count on it.” Steve watched as she got into her car and drove away. His heart was beating out of his chest. This was something, he could feel it. He couldn’t screw this up.

Chapter 3 Coming Soon

[beels-burger-babe]

Of Jealousy and Friendship - Epilogue

*** Back due to popular demand, here is a little epilogue for what happened at school the next day after pt. 2 Enjoy! - B***

Summary: MC makes a lower demon friend who may secretly be hoping for something more than friendship. The Demon Bros are not about to let this happen.

TW: Discussions about scenting and non-consensual physical contact. PART ONE, PART TWO

The next day of school was...interesting to say the least. For starters, the brothers refused to leave your side. There was one of them lingering near you at all times. Some of them had the decency to try and be subtle. Satan would just happen to be studying in the same room as you, or Belphie was napping and was wondering if you could keep an eye on his things while he did. But then there were the others who were more than obvious. Mammon and Asmodeus both had to pried off of your arms by Lucifer to get them to actually go to their own classes. Leviathan, despite usually doing his classes at home in his room, actually attended school that day and insisted that he needed your help finding a few rooms here and there. The normally sweet and friendly Beel was glaring at any lower demon that so much as looked in your direction. And boy did they look. The moment you took a step into a classroom, you could see a number of lower demons flinch back at the combined strong sent of seven of the most powerful demons in the Devildom. Everywhere you went, whispers seemed to follow you. There were undoubtedly rumours about what you might have done in order to trick the brothers into favouring you; though you never heard any of them since no one dared to come within a ten-foot radius of you.

This bothered you a little at first. Being the center of attention, especially this kind of attention, was never fun to anybody. But by the end of the day, rather than being disheartened by it, you were just exhausted. Finally, the last class of the day had arrived; the one you had been dreading since the moment your alarm went off that morning - Magical Potions.

Beel shifted from foot to foot as the two of you lingered in the entrance. "Do you really have to go to this class? You could just skip and come get some snacks with me instead." You smiled sympathetically at Beel and patted his shoulder. "Sorry, Beel. Diavolo expects good things from his exchange students. I need to keep my grades high, or who knows what Lucifer will do as punishment." The redhead pouted. "Lucifer would understand, I think. All things considered." You snorted and began to walk into the classroom. "Go to your own class, Beel. You can come to get me afterwards, and walk me home with Mammon if you really want."

Beelzebub mumbled to himself, before turning and finally walking off. You entered the class, ignoring the few gasps and gaping stares that you got as you walked through the room, and took your seat. You had been setting up for another class of note-taking when the door opened once more. Standing in the doorway, staring at you with wide eyes, was Cane. The moment your eyes met, the shocked expression on his face instantly dissipated and he flashed you a charming smile. You could feel a bubble of annoyance and anger begin to rise within you. The cocky demon swaggered over and plopped down into his seat beside you. "Hey, there Dare Devil. You didn't get in too much trouble last night with the big bad Avatars did you?" as he spoke he draped an arm on the back of your chair.

You eyed his exposed wrist and pushed his arm off of your chair. It seemed not even the obvious scenting that was supposed to tell him to back off would get him to take a hint. "No, I didn't. Though they did tell me a few interesting things last night." Cane chuckled and leaned into his palm as he smirked at you. "I'm assuming it has something to do with the reason why you smell like hell-incarnate?"

You scoffed and narrowed your eyes at him. "I'm sure you'd rather I smell like you. Considering you apparently did your best to make that happen yesterday." Cane tensed for a moment, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Eventually, his expression fell into one of confusion as he frowned at you. "Are you talking about how I scented you? MC, do you really think I would do something like that without a good reason?" The frustration in you began to grow and grow inside you; somewhere across the school grounds, Satan sneezed. You weren't in the mood to have this talk now, and very much wished that your professor would hurry up and start the god damn class already. "I don't know you Cane. How am I supposed to know whether or not that's something you would do?" That stupid smug look on his face returned once more and you had to resist the urge to slap it off of him. "You seemed to know me well enough to go out with me yesterday. You didn't seem worried about whether or not I was too much of a stranger when we were dancing at the club and walking downtown late at night, where anything could've happened to a small little human like you," he chuckled as your face scrunched up in annoyance and leaned back into his chair. "I didn't scent you for any perverted reasons. I did it to keep you safe while we were out. I knew if you had my scent on you, you'd be less likely to get attacked, and I was right," he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. "Admittedly, I should've asked first, and that's on me. But I really just wanted to make sure that my new friend didn't get hurt." He was lying. He had to be. If that asshole seriously thought you were stupid enough to buy that lame excuse, he was extremely wrong. You opened your mouth to tell him as much but were interrupted by a familiar deep voice clearing their throat behind you. "That is the worse excuse I've ever heard, and I live with Mammon." Cane stiffened in front of you before he looked up to meet the glaring eyes of Lucifer, and smiled. "Lord Lucifer, I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. I would never lie, especially not to a friend like MC." The classroom seemed to be on the edge of their seats as everyone quickly picked up on the showdown that was happening right in front of them. One lower demon of gluttony even pulled out a bag of popcorn. Lucifer tsked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Do not insult mine and MC's intelligence like that. Sure scenting can be helpful to ward off other demons, but only if the scent is associated with a more powerful demon. Nobody would blink an eye at anything coated in your weak, disgusting scent." Cane scoffed and tilted his head. "Evidently you did last night. Don't think I didn't notice you and your brother's reactions." This gained a few gasps from your classmates. No one could believe that someone, that wasn't his brothers, was actually trying to stand up against Lucifer. The idea itself was insane. Even seeing it in front of their own eyes, most could hardly believe it, yourself included. Lucifer maintained his indifferent expression and raised an eyebrow at Cane. "You mistook our irritation and disbelief that someone would be so stupid as to even attempt scenting our charge for being even the slightest bit phased by you," he took a step closer to Cane, bending down to be eye level with him. "You should consider yourself lucky it was Asmodeus and myself that got to the two of you first. Should it have been one of my more reckless brothers, you would've been nothing but a pile of ribbons in our driveway," Lucifer's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as Cane gulped and took a step back. The Morningstar grinned dangerously. "MC is our charge. They are our family and our responsibility. Unlike you, we actually got their permission to be scented and bonded to them last night; meaning my brothers are more protective than ever. I would never stoop so low as to waste my energy on a pitiful excuse for a demon-like yourself. But I know for a fact, that Beelzebub eats demons like you as a snack on

days when he is particularly famished. Satan occasionally brings one home for his latest experiments. Belphegor has torn through an entire percentage of them when he hasn't gotten enough sleep. Asmodeus is surprisingly prone to temper tantrums and fits of jealousy. Leviathan drowns anyone that disrespects the things that he loves. And Mammon doesn't take too kindly to people touching things that he considers his." Cane's hands balled into fists, but even then, the tremble in them was still glaringly obvious. Lucifer remained unphased and unmoved by the reactions he was pulling from his victim; though anyone could sense the air of utter glee that was exuding off of him. "If I were you, Cane, I would sleep with one eye open." The teacher finally walked in and raised an eyebrow at the scene in front of them. "Lord Lucifer, is there a reason you are harassing my student?" Cane whimpered as Lucifer smirked at him before standing straight and turning to the teacher. "Not at all, professor. I am actually here to inform you that MC will no longer be enrolled in this class." You whipped your head up to look at him as he placed a hand on your shoulder. "The student council has realized it would be a much better decision to have the exchange students more knowledgable to the ways and customs of demons during their visit here, so MC will be enrolled in Devildom Culture Studies instead. We wouldn't want someone to take advantage of them just because they were taught our ways, now would we?" The last line was spoken coldly and pointedly as though to drive in his threats to Cane. The teacher sighed but seemed to know that there was no point arguing and instructed you to gather your things. You did so happily and quickly. As you left the classroom and walked through your halls with Lucifer, you bumped him gently with your hip. "Thanks, Lucifer. You really are the best." His chest puffed up the slightest bit in pride as he continued walking forward with his hand still on your shoulder. "There is nothing to thank me for MC. I was just doing my duty as Vice-President of the student council to ensure that the exchange students are happy and safe." But even as he said the words, you knew that wasn't the case. You were MC. The human that wormed their way into the hearts of the seven strongest demons in the Devildom. For that reason alone, you were untouchable to all others, and Lucifer and his brothers would ensure that for as long as they breathed. And whoever disagreed would have to be ready to face the consequences.

TAGLIST: @henry-and-the-seven-lords

@hopefulann

@vampwiire

@bunna-does-stuff

@obey-mes-treasure

@obeythebutler

[naturiisms]

the depth of sage's knowledge on different topics was intriguing for them, head tilted just a bit as she focused. "i can't lie and say that i don't have easy access to the art world these days, because i do, my mom is a curator back in detroit, but it is disheartening to see the arts being defunded especially when art is an escape, especially for underprivileged people." while they wouldn't consider themselves book smart, ayanna did like to think they were well versed on most things. it should've came as no surprise that sage would have them beat on that, considering the whole librarian gig and being from appalachia itself. "what's your favorite bit of folklore? you're gonna turn me into a book nerd one of these days, i'm starting to think. you know so much about so much," she laughed, knowing it wasn't her most articulate moment. ayanna pondered on sage's question for a moment, palms flattening in the grass and she tilted her head back to enjoy the sun on her skin. the times they'd spent together had been fun, and they seemed to bounce off of each other well. not to mention, he hadn't batted an eye at a single offhand thing they'd said. with a small grin they nodded again, "yeah. i won't even lie, i do think he's cool. but that's exactly why i should just keep the whole cute bit to myself. we have fun and it is what it is!" they threw their head back with an exasperated sigh, looking over at sage with confusion written on their face. "yes. i stayed after he curved me because i was so surprised i got curved. do you know that's never happened to me before?"

laughter fell from her at sage's repetition of their words, thinking fondly of the various renditions of the phrase their dad had said to them over the years. "chicks dig a lot of things. chicks dig blondes, you know." she chuckles, reaching a hand out to nudge their friend. "i think the next time you pick someone up i should be there. i hear i'm a pretty great wingman, and if all else fails i can sit at the library behind you for recon if this owen fella shows up again." it would be inconspicuous of course, not that it was ever her strong suit. still, she could find a way to casually ask about a date that sage has coming up and see if he got jealous. it was a sure fire way to see if they should make a move! thinking about it, she put it in her mental planner to visit sage at the library more frequently this week. "i'm sorry i totally missed what you said," she had been stuck in her own daydreams, plotting their set up. there was too many for them to count, surely and she relayed the thought to sage. "there's gotta be at least a hundred of them here. how wild would it be though if it ended up being the same one? i need you to invite both of us to one of your classes on the same night so i can confirm and get my plan in action. hearing how you're talking about him though i might not even need a plan. have you gotten his number yet? i definitely think you should. i mean, if he comes in enough for you to have a friendship, then that should mean he comes enough to ask for his number, right?"

“Honestly! I remember even when I was kid, being able to see really nice art in most places, but as we’ve gotten older, that hasn’t been the case. It just gets more and more elite and classist, while profiting off cultures of labor.” It was meant to be a side thought but came out fully fledged. Sage still shook it from their head as fast as it came, though. “Oh god, comparing real Appalachia to stereotypes is always a blast. I’d do that all day every single day if there were money in it. Folklorist and App studies positions don’t fare too well unless you get an academic career or something in a museum.” Had there been any money in it, though, Sage probably would have chanced it – but she also knew she wanted out of Appalachia so badly that being stuck would have been a curse to their existence. For now, she was pleased with how life was going. Hearing the additional excuse about the cat, Sage bit the inside of their lip to keep from going on about it – almost nervous to say the wrong thing or have some harsh statement find its way out. Instead, they bolstered on with the conversation, “I need to see drunk Ayanna. Can we just get together and drink one night? Do stupid shit like prank calls and post stupid pictures? I haven’t had a night like that in so long.” Shooting up at the dismissal, they crossed their legs, and let their hands move into the grass, giggling quietly, “Do you think they’re cool?” Watching Ayanna, Sage’s giggles hit full laughter at the reference, their face lighting up a little, “Push it somewhere else,” even mocking the movement as they said this. “Regardless, though,” they managed as they tried to control their laughter, “Your mess is really cute and shouldn’t be ignored.” With wide eyes, Sage caught the conversation and gasped, “Almost kissed?! Wh—oh my god.” Their brows furrowed and they shook their head, “So you stayed? But didn’t kiss?”

A smirk hit her face, “I honestly think so too. People who don’t see it absolutely blow my mind. What’s there not to like about being gay? Okay, you’re so right, though. Chicks do dig vampires – I think I’m gonna incorporate this bit of information in my conversation the next time I pick up someone.” They were sure it wouldn’t be anytime soon, but nonetheless; they’d stick it in their portfolio of fun facts. Watching Ayanna’s expression shift caused a cackle from Sage, then they leaned in, elbows against their kneecaps as they listened. “We’d be arguing with the professor! I think that’d be a blast. I love being that fucker that occasionally holds up the conversation too long, so a new topic has to be pushed until the next class – you know what I mean?” Having been skilled at this in high school, it was a special talent they pulled out when needed in college. That, without question, would have been the best time. However, Sage fully understood the sentiment about not meshing with school – it wasn’t for everyone. At the mention of meeting an Owen in town, Sage raised her brows, “You never know, but surely not. How many Owens could be in Denver?” Chewing on their lip as Ayanna carried on, she giggled and sighed roughly, “You got me there, dammit.” With a small sigh, they nodded along. “If the friendship is strong enough. That’s the thing. It’s not like we really hang out outside of the library – it’s really only been there. I… ugh. He’s a patron that comes in on occasion, we hit it off one day and just started talking. Now I’m teaching ASL classes at the library because I’m in so deep. Not that it’s an issue because I love it, but just to really round out the picture. So… I don’t think it’s fleeting in the slightest. I think I might really, really like him.” Letting out a deep breath, they moved their hands to their face and rubbed softly, stressed out at the concept of having a crush and not knowing what to do with it.