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sarahisslytherin · 7 months

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rose garden filled with thorns

peeta mellark x reader

summary: peeta and katniss are just playing their parts, aren't they? sometimes you're not so sure.

contains: angst, jealousy.

a/n: ngl i'm proud of this one. shoutout to @oweninadaydream for being my cheerleader for this fic. gif by @bookcentral.

word count: 840

Just this morning you had woken up in Peeta’s arms; now you watch him glide across the dance floor with Katniss in your place. The Capitol party is in full swing now, pastry-shaped bursts of color flashing past you and music blaring. Snow’s garden is overflowing with people, yet you find yourself with no one to turn to. It seems you’re left with nothing else to do other than seethe in the distance as you sip on what feels like your hundredth drink and your eyes follow the capitol’s “star-crossed lovers”.

You had always been fond of Peeta. You would go as far as to say you might had been harboring a bit of a crush on him all these years. You wished you could’ve told him what to expect at his own games before he was reaped, but you had never found the right moment. There was never a right time to tell him of the horrors he would witness, and learn to live with if he somehow managed to survive. You were thankful for his love for Katniss back then, it is what saved them in the end. But now, after that romance had fizzled out upon their return to District 12, and yours had only begun, you feel the pang of jealousy reverberate in your stomach like the fire of a cannon.

You can only watch for so long before you feel the need to run off, to escape the scene one way or another. The more you look at them, the more they seem to belong together. Did you really think you would be able to get in the way of their famous love? Peeta swears it’s all an act, that they’re only indulging the public to keep Snow content and the dangers at bay. Part of you wants to believe him, but with the way his hand rests on Katniss’ waist as they dance, the way he seems to gravitate towards her no matter where she is tells you otherwise.

You wander the grounds, your heels sinking into the grass-covered soil with every step. The music from the party fades out the farther away you get, relief washing over you as you realize it. You take refuge in an isolated greenhouse which you find to be brimming with Snow’s signature ivory roses. You try not to pay them mind, beautiful as they may be, because you know just thinking about the man who put you all in this game will make you sick.

Your head is spinning from the heat of the night, from the tight confines of your capitol-friendly attire. You’re in such a daze, you almost don’t notice Peeta’s voice echoing your name until his face is mere inches from yours.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he scolds you, as if he has any right to. “How could you just run off like that?”

“I’m surprised you even noticed.” you retort, your words slurring a bit. Peeta’s brows knitted as if wanting further explanation. “What with all your attention on your darling fiancé.”

"You can't be serious." he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know it's not like that."

"How do you think it makes me feel, Peeta? Watching you with her. ever since your games it's been painfully obvious. You loved her then and you love her now."

"Y/n." you hear him groan, but you ramble on.

"I don't know why I lie to myself. I tell myself you moved on, that you love me now. It was stupid. I don't hold a candle to 'the girl on fire'." You barely even notice the tear that dribbles down your cheek until Peeta’s thumb swipes it away. When your gaze meets his it’s like being in the eye of the hurricane, in your own personal haven.

“It’s all for show, baby. You gotta believe me, it’s all for the Capitol.” he pleads with you, crouching down to meet your eyeline. “Whatever feelings I had for Katniss are gone, I swear.”

You sniffle, helping peeta to dry your tears. “How can you be so sure?”

“How can I be sure?” he repeats, laughing incredulously. “Because every moment I’m with her I spend wishing I was with you.” His hands come up to cradle your face, delicate in his grasp. You know your feelings of inadequacy won’t disappear with a few pretty words, but for now it is enough. Your breathing has steadied, your tears have dried. This isn’t just anyone, it’s Peeta; and he’s your Peeta now.

“C’mon.” he smirks in that way that looks like he's got everything under control. He stands, offering his hand for you to take, and you do. You pull him in by his suit and plant a passionate kiss on his lips. “Let’s get back to the party. You still owe me a dance.”

You giggle at that, hand in hand as you leave the solitude of the greenhouse. “Alright, Mellark. As long as you don’t step on my toes.” He snickers. “I won’t make any promises.”

#peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark oneshot #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark x y/n #the hunger games

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a-very-good-girl · 7 months

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His Kitten

My hands tremble slightly when I pull the brand new dark grey tail from its box. I stroke the soft fur gently and admire the quality of my new toy. Our new toy I correct myself as I weigh the metal plug in my hand. It’s heavier than I expected. Sir asked me to really think it through before I made my choice. Like he didn’t know I would pick the large one. With a smile I reach for my brush. I’m determined to make the tail look as pretty as possible for our premiere. I can’t wait to see the look on my owner's face when he sees it.

I look at the time again. He should be home soon and my heart flutters at the thought of his intoxicating scent, his warm body, and his irresistible voice. That dark rumble of his, sometimes soft as a summer breeze against my naked skin, and sometimes just as hard as the stone floor I so often kneel on. He holds the key to my arousal in his voice, and he knows it all too well.

When the tail has the desired fluffy shape I put a small amount of lube on the tip of the plug and walk over to the end of my bed. If Sir was here he would have me suck the plug until it was dripping and then use it as my only lube. But without his direct orders I do as I want and I moan silently when I bend over the bed. The large mirror is right behind me and when I look over my shoulder I can see my naked body presented in an inviting pose. I spread my legs even further and catch a glimpse of my bare pussy—newly shaved in the shower—just for him. Then I hold the plug to my tight hole and add pressure. It starts its heavenly penetration but all I see is the grey tail. The plug is indeed large and I gasp as it makes it way deeper inside me. I’m always too eager and Sir’s calming words echo in my ears as I try to control the urge to just take a deep breath and bury it deep. Sir likes when I’m in pain but he doesn’t want me injured. The stretch when my little hole welcomes the plug feels amazing, and I moan loudly as the flare spreads me open. With a final push the plug sinks into place and I can for the first time see how cute I look wearing my new long tail. I arch my back and grab both my cheeks. Sir will be very pleased with me, I know he will. He always reminds me of how well he knows me, but he often seems to forget that I know him equally well. The sound from my phone pulls me from my thoughts and the display announces a text from the one I’m impatiently awaiting. Home in just a few min.

I can barely breathe normally, my excitement is making my heart race and with a stomach full of butterflies I kneel obediently in the middle of our living room. My dark hair spills over my shoulders and I run my hands up and down my thighs. I’m unable to stop my fingers from tracing the soft skin on my inner thighs all the way to the center of my body. I run the tip of my fingers over my most sensitive parts and a stream of heat travels from my core as I circle my clit. I allow my fingers to press on my little button and I wish for the thousandth time today that Sir would walk through the door. Beside me lies the tail, and when I tug it I’m instantly reminded of the large plug that keeps the tail in place.

Suddenly I finally hear him opening the door and I instantly place my hands on my thighs again. I feel so playful—yet obedient—and I’m even more excited to see his reaction than I could imagine. From the humming sounds he lets out as he puts his jacket on the hanger I can tell he’s in a good mood. Hard footsteps are soon replaced with softer footsteps as he takes off his shoes. I hold my breath as he enters the living room and he stops the second he sees me on the floor. I meet his gaze and my heart takes a leap in my chest. They say that your eyes are the mirror to your soul, yet I have never before met a man with such expressive eyes. Proudness and love shines in Sir’s dark eyes as he looks back at me. I can see how he takes in my naked body, and when his gaze falls on my new tail a grin spreads on his face. For a second I recognize the desire raging in him but then he regains control of himself and slowly walks up to me. His strong hand lands on my head and he caresses my hair. With just a small stroke he’s letting me know that my initiativ is highly appreciated. Then he walks over to the couch and I crawl behind him on all fours. My tail follows me and I feel it with every move I make. Sir sits down on his favorite spot and I take my place at his feet. With a smile he leans forward and catches my chin between his thumb and index finger. When he locks his gaze with mine I melt in his warm stare.

”Who is my favorite pet?”

”I am, Sir” I smile back at him.

He strokes my chin with the back of his hand and the loving gesture makes my heart flutter again.

”How did I get so lucky, kitten? You are all I ever dreamed of.”

A small blush spreads over my cheeks and I rest my head against his palm. I love his praise but sometimes he makes me speechless. Sir pats on the couch—a clear invitation for me that I’m allowed to sit next to him and I quickly advance. I struggle to control my need to touch him, to kiss him deeply and let my hunger for his touch consume me. The desire to pathetically beg for his touch must be tamed, yet I know how much he enjoys seeing me lose the battle against my needs. With no small amount of effort I manage to sit still beside him even if my whole body is screaming for attention. My pussy is so wet I’m afraid I will leave marks on the fabric under me. For a second I see a shadow of cruelty in my owner’s eyes, but then he reaches for my arm.

”Come here, kitten,” he then says as he pulls me up in his lap. ”I crave your kisses.”

Without blinking I straddle him, sink down on his noticeable bulge, and the satisfaction I feel when he lets out a quiet moan is enormous. I know I’m his greatest weakness but I admire his self control. The plug in my ass and the long tail makes me both needy and playful. I lean in as if I was going to kiss him but instead I let our noses touch. Very gently I rub the tip of my nose against his and when he places his hands on my waist I continue. With my nose I greet him; I rub my nose along the bridge of his nose, over his bearded cheeks, and around his lips. I stroke his face with mine, as a real cat would do, and breathe in the scent I love. His masculine scent mixed with the fresh scent of his cologne. It always makes me think of how he kissed me under the lemon tree in the botanical garden, and he smells so good I want to lick him.

”You really are my playful kitten today,” Sir murmurs approvingly. Then he tugs hard on my tail and I moan loudly as the plug presses at the opening. I reward him with licking his lips and he tugs again. A soft purr escapes me and I playfully bite his lower lip. I can feel his hard cock through his jeans and the thought of being filled in both holes makes me dizzy with need. I grind impatiently on his lap, silently telling him what I want. What I need.

”I was planning to ask you about your day but I think you have other plans, don’t you kitten?” Sir growls as he digs his fingers into the soft skin of my hips. I nod and he tugs again. My moans fill the room. ”Is this what makes my cute little pet behave like she’s in heat?” He can’t hide the grin on his face as I eagerly nod again. His fingers find their way to my clit and when he feels how swollen I already am he lets a finger glide over my wetness. I can’t stop myself from grinding hard at his hand and finally he lets one of his fingers slip inside me. I know how tight I must be with the large plug pressing in my ass, and when Sir withdraws his finger it’s coated in my needs. Without a word he puts his finger in my mouth and I suck it clean. The taste of my arousal is something he always wants to share and this time is no exception. His lips crash against mine and his tongue demands access to my mouth. Soon I have my arms around his neck and we get lost in the feeling of each other. When I finally gasp for air all I can think of is his cock buried in me.

”Tell me what you want, kitten. Use your words.” As if he can read my mind he reaches between my thighs again. My neediness hits an almost unbearable level as he teasingly strokes my clit and I whimper ”I want your cock, Sir,” before he pushes his fingers inside me again.

”I can feel that. Fuck! You’re so wet, kitten.” Sir continues to plunge his fingers deep into my pussy and I greedily clench around them. Then he suddenly lets out a raw growl and lifts me up on my knees so he can reach the zipper in his jeans. With a few quick moves he pulls his pants halfway down his thighs and his hard cock springs free from its denim prison. Then he grabs my face with both hands. ”Let me see your eyes when you take my cock. Show me exactly how good it feels.” His voice is hoarse and the storm raging in his eyes tells me he needs me just as much as I need him. Without using my hands I position myself over the top of his cock. The plug makes me very tight and when I sit down on him I instinctively hold my breath. Sir’s feral growl reveals he feels it too. His girth stretches me more than ever and I whimper against his lips. Then I feel his hands on my hips and with his superior strength he pushes me down, forcing his full length inside me, and I cry out as his cock fills me completely.

A hard bite on my lip pulls my focus to his eyes again. I stare into his almost black eyes and sense more than feel how he wraps the tail around his hand. Then he caresses my hips again and the plug follows his moves. Without his command I start moving my body and soon I find a pace that makes me see stars. He knows exactly when to tug at my tail and the change in pressure makes me dig my nails into his shoulders, and it draws dark curses from his throat. Deep in my core builds the fire I long to release. I have waited all day to unleash my desire together with my owner, and now we are finally burning together. Only our joined bodies and the sounds we make exist in this world.

I know he craves my pleasure just as much as he craves my pain, but today I don’t even have to beg for my climax. With a tight grip around my waist he demands an orgasm from me, and when I finally feel it exploding in my core, I hear the unmistakable growl of his approaching climax. He spills himself deep in me and I milk every drop from him as I clench around his cock over and over again. Then I collapse in his embrace, dizzy from my intense relief. Sir wraps his arms around my back, as he so often does, and holds me tight to his chest. I bury my nose at the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of him. He alone has the power to push me far beyond what I thought was possible, but at the same time he is all I need to find peace in my soul. When my breathing slows down he kisses me gently. Then he looks me deep in the eyes and gives my cheek a tender caress.

”Now, will you tell me all about your day, kitten?”

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

#avgg #avgg writes #sub/dom #sub/slave #bd/sm kink #bd/sm lifestyle #bdsmlife #bdsmrelationship #bdsmplay #bdsmkink

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virgo-dream · 1 year

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One of Their Own 🏳️‍🌈✨

dreamling / queer joy / fluff / first kiss / 3,6k words

summary: Hob Gadling invites Dream to a meeting of the uni's queer clubs at the New Inn. Dream learns more about his own gender identity, and that he's very much in love with his best friend.

author’s note: this fic, this pairing and this fandom all mean the world to me, so I thought it was fitting to bring it back for pride month!

I’m incredibly thankful for finding Sandman when I did. Since joining this fandom, I’ve made wonderful friends and became part of a community of bright, kind, loving and loyal queer people that I would not trade for anything. I’ve learned more about my community and about myself, and I wave my ace/agender flag proudly now. This fic was written in a moment in my life where I felt hopeless and alone. Now, things couldn’t be more different. Happy pride sandfam! 🏳️‍🌈✨

read here or on ao3

Dream doesn’t get it at first. He never really did get it, but only attributed it to the need humanity had for labels, for packing things into boxes and saying this goes here and that goes there. Sometimes, it leads to this goes to heaven and you go to hell. It seemed to be a very common one, too. He was beyond that; his name said it all, Dream was endless. Not he nor she, not man nor creature, he was all there was to be and the nothingness beyond it. Gender and sexuality need not apply.

Still, it meant so much to Hob, that he’d have dreams about it. Nightmares too, for nights on end, and even if Dream begged Hob to allow him to take them away, Hob always declined, always braving through them. “If you take them, I’ll forget how much it all means. I’ll forget why I’m still fighting.”

They sat at the New Inn one afternoon, while Hob graded papers and Dream had a cup of chamomile tea, but his eyes couldn’t help but focus on a shiny pin on Hob’s jumper shaped like a flag, the shades of pink, purple and blue a spot of proud colour in Hob’s otherwise earthy colour palette.

“It’s the bisexual pride flag.”

“Hm?” Dream’s eyes darted up to meet Hob’s, tilting his head slightly. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bad for being caught, because he wasn’t sure what he was looking at in the first place.

“The pin. I wear it for my students, but also for myself. The kids feel safer I guess, knowing they have at least one of their own in the faculty. Can’t say it doesn’t make me feel good too.”

Hob has a particular tone to his voice that makes Dream’s heart sing in tune to its melody. It’s a fuller sense of self, maybe more than Dream ever had in regards to his own identity. “…one of their own?”

“Oh, I– Sorry, those are pretty recent.” Hob straightened himself up (ha) on the chair, his lecturing posture taking over. Dream liked when he did that. He liked to hear Hob speak of things he had deep knowledge of and passion for. “This one was created in 1988 by a queer activist called Michael Page. Had the pleasure of being there when it was first unveiled, but clearly it took a long time until I was able to wear something like this out in public and not be decked by some bloody homophobe.”

It was starting to sink in.

“…I’m afraid I was not present for these developments.” Dream saw the look on Hob’s face, like he was ready to apologise. He raised a hand to stop him, waving his concern away. “As far as I can remember, queer was not a form of self identification, but only a way to shun out those outside the established norm.”

“Ah, yes. We reclaimed it, though. Or are reclaiming it. The 80s were crazy. All of them were, for me.” Hob smiled at Dream, at their shared secret and at their years of now reestablished friendship.

“I think you’re lonely.”

Could it have been….? Could he have meant…?

“What does it mean for you, then?” Dream asks in a way he hopes sounds inconspicuous, pointing at the pin. He was hesitant to ask, afraid to be getting it all wrong.

“For me? It means I love whoever I love. Man, woman, either or neither.”

The pride coming from Hob’s words filled Dream with hope, something he had not felt in a long, long time. The look in his face then shifted onto something else, something he didn’t quite understand. “…what about you? That is, if you’re okay with talking about that. I don’t want to overstep. Last thing I want is for you to walk out–”

“I won’t, Hob.” Dream knew Hob had reason for feeling that way. “I don’t believe the terminology you have could define my experience. I have laid with mortals and gods alike, and have worn many faces and names. It is beyond human comprehension.”

Hob seems to take a moment to think about what he’d just heard. Dream feels like he might have thrown too much at his human friend. “…I think I get it. But, and tell me to bugger off I’m wrong, do you prefer to be a particular way? To be with a particular sort of being?”

Dream. Didn’t have an answer.

He never thought of what he preferred. He’d never felt in need of any sort of outside validation, but. That was a lie. He needed it. He just never cared to look for it.

Hob’s smile was what broke him out of the spell of his own self doubt. “It’s okay if you don’t have an answer. It takes people a long time to get it, it took me nearly 600 years! Ah! You know what? I’ve got an idea–” He reached inside his brown messenger bag, pulling out a colourful piece of paper, handing it over to Dream. A pamphlet for a meeting. “We’re having a meeting for the uni’s LGBT clubs here at the Inn. I want this to be a safe space for the kids, and to get them to connect with other folks in the community, share their experiences. It’s tomorrow, and I’d love it if you could make it. I’m sure they would too.”

Dream took the pamphlet in hands, looking at the bright colours and bold fonts, taking in every bit of information Hob was giving him and trying to fill in the gaps of the questions he wouldn’t dare ask. After a moment, he looked up at Hob, allowing himself a small smile. “I shall be in attendance, then.”

—————

Dream stood outside the New Inn, hands tucked safely inside the pockets of his coat jacket. He watched as groups of young adults arrived, greeting each other cheerfully. The hair colours and outfits reminded him of his sister, Delirium, but they all seemed to be more in line with her previous self; delighted to be there, happy to meet their friends. A flag danced in the light summer breeze on a pole next to the window, the stripes of colours brightening up the already lively scene. A rainbow, Hob had told him the day before, was the most recognizable symbol of the queer community. It now was accompanied by stripes of light pink and blue, white, black and brown. Dream enjoyed good symbolism, and he could feel the meaning of those colours to all who were present from their daydreams alone.

He, however, still felt like an outsider. Like he wasn't really meant to be there, save for Hob's generous invite. Dream was not defined by the same standards humanity aligned itself with; in fact, he wasn't defined by anything at all. He was not an individual, but the safe arms in which those dreamers rested every night, the common thread in their hopes, in their restful slumber. It would be silly to think that he'd need to identify as one thing or another, really. He was there for Hob . Because Hob invited him. Because he wanted to know more about the everyday life of his dearest friend. Because he wanted to hear him talk, see him inspire others with his tales, wanted to hear the sound of his voice, the gentle way in which he made people feel welcome, cared for, loved, he wanted–

Dream thought it best to wait it out, at least until most people had already arrived, until he had an idea of just how many young, hopeful minds would be in the vicinity. After escaping the Burgess Manor, Dream was faced with a considerable raise in the amount of dreamers under his care. He would not admit it to anyone but himself, but at times, it became too much even for him to bear. The idea of willingly walking into a space with so many people was daunting, to say the least. So he waited, watched as the New Inn became packed with dreamers, feeling his palms dampen inside the pockets of his coat.

Taking the first step towards the door was difficult. Pushing it open was even harder. Dream stepped in, careful not to bump into anyone or to even get too close. The sound of the little bell that was supposed to announce his arrival had no effect, as it was overtaken by the sound of chatter inside the Inn. It was better that way, Dream thought. Not having Hob rush to greet him. That way he could take a moment to adjust to his surroundings, maybe even blend in, become invisible. In hindsight, his usual choice of attire did anything but blend in there. He was a dark little cloud in a sky full of bright colours, like a multi-coloured sunset on a tropical beach. And of course, every sunset had its monarch, shining brightly, commanding the attention. That, of course, was Hob.

"Hello there, kids! Glad to see most of you could make it!" The cheerful, gentle register of Hob's voice filled the room, filtered by the small but potent speaker he'd rented just for the occasion. Dream could hear his voice clearly, and it helped him tune out everything else that wasn't his beloved friend. "This is the first of hopefully many meetings of our beloved Queer Clubs here at my beloved New Inn. I want you all to know this is a safe space for you all no matter what part of the gender and sexuality spectrums you fall on. The only things I won't accept here are discrimination of any kind, and anyone that thinks Lawrence Cheney shouldn't have won season 2 of Drag Race UK. Are we clear on that one?"

Laughter filled the room, and Dream couldn't help but allow his lips a small smile. Hob truly was a marvel. How anyone could shine so brightly was beyond even the dream lord's knowledge, but he was glad to be able to bask in that glow from time to time. He wished he could do it more often.

Hob was saying other things, Dream thought. Instructions on seating arrangements, subjects to be discussed, discounts on food and drinks. All Dream could do was watch as Hob did more than just make everyone feel welcome, but inspired them with hope and joy, a gentle breeze of acceptance, the embrace of a parent, the empathy of an equal. There was much to work with here, much to inspire new dreams. Dreams of comfort and love, of community and pride.

"Dream? You in there, love?"

Hob's voice broke the spell he himself had cast over Dream, who could now see his friend's palm waving in front of his eyes. He'd become lost in thought, it seemed. Dream's nose scrunched up at the interruption, looking at Hob with his usual look of curiosity. There was still much he needed to catch up on when it came to non verbal communication. "Aye. I'm here. Have I not fully manifested my presence?"

Hob chuckled, and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. "Oh, yes. Physically, at least." Dream's brows furrowed in worry, and he was glad Hob was quick enough to notice when something had gone over his head. "Just a joke– hey, I'm glad you could make it. The kids will love meeting you."

"Meeting me? There are far too many people here for you to make introductions. Besides, I know them all, and they all know me. They just do not remember it during waking hours."

This felt like a plausible enough explanation to keep Hob from actually introducing him to everyone in attendance. But Hob was far too optimistic to be dissuaded so easily. "I'm not talking about introducing them to Morpheus. I'd like them to meet my friend, Dream."

"I do not see the difference." He shouldn't say why he couldn't bear the idea of being introduced to so many people. Shouldn't burden Hob with his problems, that wouldn't exist had he just not been captured in the first place. Dream had been good at hiding his discomfort so far, and he'd continue to do so.

…well, maybe he was not so good at it. Not when Hob's eyes so clearly conveyed the worry that had just settled in his heart. It was difficult to deny Hob the truth when his warm, calloused hands took Dream's into his own so carefully, squeezing gently, as if saying you can trust me. I've got you. "It's okay if you'd rather not. I know it can be overwhelming sometimes."

"...thank you." Dream replied with a murmur. Hob gifted him with a smile. It seemed a lot could be said with just the eyes.

————

Even if Dream didn't intend on actually joining in on the conversations being held, he was glad to follow Hob along and listen to the discussions. It was amazing seeing just how bright the kids really were: they spoke of justice and equality, of inclusivity, of respect and love, of family and religion and sex and responsibility. It was a wider range of topics than he'd expected, an awareness of self he didn't think humans would ever possess, and now, he was glad to be proven wrong. He listened to their shared experiences, to the kindness in their eyes as they lifted each other up, the melody of their laughter and the bravery in their voices as they spoke of injustices they'd lived. It was fascinating, really.

What Dream was truly surprised to find was that people had, after all, an understanding of self that went beyond just physical. Hob brought him closer to a group of kids who were in a long discussion on gender identity. Some of them felt comfortable with the gender they'd been "assigned with at birth", others did not feel any affinity for it. Some of them had changed their bodies to fit with how they felt on the inside, and Dream couldn't help but feel enormous empathy for them, for the way they had to fight to exist in a body that didn't feel like a trap. It was something Dream always took for granted, until he himself felt the horror of having no agency over himself. The pain they went through to guarantee they'd have the right to live authentically. Dream's body had never been limited to an exclusive physical manifestation; he was as he felt like. Fluid , as one of the bright colour haired people had pointed out while explaining their own experience. They reminded Dream of his own sibling, Desire. Someone else brought up how they didn't particularly feel like they had a gender, and that the language surrounding it didn't particularly bother them. Agender, the girl said proudly. Dream wondered if there was any right or wrong way to declare oneself fluid or agender. Then he realised the tightness in his chest when the thought occurred to him.

"Are you alright?" Once again, Hob's voice brought him back to the Waking. Dream could now feel Hob's hand on his own again, but he wasn't sure what exactly had warranted it.

"Your hands were shaking."

Once again, Dream's physical form betrayed him. It was also clear how the conversation surrounding them had gone quiet, and more eyes than he would have liked had landed on their linked hands. He didn't like being watched. Like that.

"Oh, Mr. G, is this your boyfriend?" one of them asked, teasingly. "Would have never guessed you had a thing for goths!"

"Marissa, stop!" someone else said, poking the girl on the shoulder apprehensively. The next thing they said was soft as a whisper. "They are clearly not feeling well."

They.

Dream had never considered himself as they. But this person, whoever they were, preferred "not to assume" his gender. And the empathy displayed for his discomfort was something he wasn't expecting either. Hob seemed to be about to say something, but Dream was quicker.

"There is no need to worry for my well-being, but I thank you for your kindness." Dream allowed himself to smile once again. These children were going places, he knew it. "You may address me as he , if necessary. I would not oppose her or them either." It felt liberating to say it, and Dream didn't really know why. He did know, however, that he suddenly felt brave. "I am not Professor Gadlen's boyfriend , but I am honoured to call him my dearest, most cherished friend."

Dream looked at Hob, who seemed to be awestruck by his words. It was amusing to see him like that, and it lit something else inside him. This meeting was making Dream experience a range of feelings he'd forgotten about. He showed Hob a smile, and Hob smiled back at him, warm and gentle as ever. Their hands were still linked together. Dream had no intention of letting go. "Ah, yes. This little prick here is indeed my dearest, oldest friend. I did want them to meet you guys. I'm glad I was right about it."

When Hob said it, it made Dream's heart sing.

"...so you're fuckbuddies?"

" Marissa! "

————

After a few hours and many, many rounds of different conversations, Hob gathered the group once again, thanking them for coming and congratulating everyone on the success of their first meeting. Dream couldn't help but notice how Hob seemed unable to stop smiling. He could feel the pride and relief radiating off of his tanned skin and kind eyes. Dream wished he could have it all directed at himself, that gentleness.

Hob's boyfriend. Now that would be something.

Dream sat on the booth table behind the bar where he and Hob usually held their meetings and waited for everyone to leave. He wanted some time alone with Hob, even if just to hear what his beloved friend had to say about what he thought of the meeting, just to hear Hob's voice, the only music suited for Dream's ears.

He also had so many new feelings inside himself to explore. Those he could tend to later.

"Hey there, handsome stranger." Hob said as he sat across from Dream on the table, taking Dream's hand in his as if it was just the way they always did things. Maybe it could be. It wouldn't hurt (too much) to hope, would it? "Come here often?"

"Only when I'm in search of an epiphany." Dream couldn't bother to hide the fondness in his own voice, nor the relief he felt to have Hob's hand cradling his own again. "I am impressed, Professor Gadlen. You have gathered a group of exceptionally bright minds. It gives me hope for a better future for humanity."

"Wow Dream, that is… that is really high praise, especially coming from you." Hob seemed flushed, and Dream wondered what else he could do to cause that reaction, to see Hob shy and pretty like that again and again. "I learned a long time ago that I have to build the future I want to live in. But in all honesty… I'm more interested in the present right now."

"Oh, is that so?" Hob's optimism was infectious, it seemed. Dream too could only focus on the present moment. "I am glad to be able to share it with you."

There was a short silence shared between them after that. It was as if neither of them were ready to say whatever it was they clearly needed. Dream tried to take comfort in the feeling of Hob's hand in his, rubbing the back of Hob's hand with his thumb.

His mistake was looking up to meet Hob's eyes.

"There is much I have learned today." Dream decided he'd be the one to break the silence. He'd be the one to take the leap, because he knew Hob had made sure he'd make a safe landing. He knew that no matter what happened, no matter how much he could get hurt, he was safe. He could trust Hob with his heart, even if there was a chance that he would break it. "I often make the mistake of thinking there is nothing more to my existence than what I have already discovered. I contain all conscious minds throughout the universe, their lives, hopes and dreams. Yet, I forget that the tales of others cannot substitute one's own experience, only enlighten it."

Hob listened to Dream's words attentively. He looked anxious, but would not interrupt. Dream knew he wouldn't. He knew how much Hob cherished the moments where Dream felt ready to share something new. "Today, you have once more shown me there is much I have to learn. For that, I am grateful, Hob Gadling.”

How could Dream not fall in love with someone that treated him like he was the moon? How could the moon not love the sun?

"I'm grateful for you too, you know. The kids loved you. I'm sure I'll be getting asked about you for the rest of the semester. Maybe even longer." Hob's eyes were so fond it made Dream want to cry.

"And how would you like to answer their inquiries?"

"What do you mean?"

"Would you like to tell them of your dearest, oldest friend…" Dream leaned in, bringing Hob's hand to his own cheek. He pressed a soft kiss to Hob's palm, and watched as Hob's eyes followed his every move. There was no turning back from this. "...or would you prefer to tell them about your lover, Hob?"

For a moment, time stopped. Their eyes met, and before Dream could get anxious or regret his words, Hob was already standing and leaning over the table, locking their lips together.

Dream thought he'd heard the sound of people cheering outside one of the windows of the New Inn. Hob would certainly be getting many questions from his students come next monday.

#virgo dream writes #dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #dream x Hob #Morpheus x Hob #pride fic #dreamling fic #the sandman fic #remember when I used to write?

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sessakag · 1 month

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Since guest reviews aren’t allowed at the moment I hope you don’t mind me commandeering your ask box for fic commenting purposes-🍥☀️🍥☀️ (Butterfly chapter 10)

[Her puffy eyes shifted to that part of her Naruto had touched, peering hard at her flesh as though her eyes could detect a spectrum of light that would reveal the shape and color of the warmth his hand had left on hers.] I’m not articulate enough to express why certain lines hit for me beyond saying “wow I really liked that!” so, wow I really liked that!

Hinata cataloging her physiological responses to Naruto made me smile a lot ❤️. Someone help our girl out and explain what a crush is.

Also!!! “Naruto-flutters” is THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER HEARD!!!!!!! 🥺🥺🥺. When I saw that phrase I had to walk it off as if I was experiencing them myself.

But the part of the chapter that really got me was Hinata experiencing the feeling of safety for the first time. Goddddddd I have so many emotions about that. Honestly as I type this out, I’m tearing up again. [As though there was a shield between her and the things that hurt.] Like????????? This is too much for me 😭.

I have a pretty huge trust kink and the feeling of safety is such a large part of that so you really hit all the right buttons for me. It’s devastating that the reason Hinata isn’t aware of what safety feels like comes from the people who should most have wanted to keep her safe ☹️. But it’s also beautiful seeing her get to experience it with Naruto. I’m so happy for her 💕💕💕💕. Hinata’s panicked response at almost losing that feeling was heartbreaking, but at the same time I’m delighted at how that speaks to her growing affection and need for Naruto.

Sai mention!!! Sai is soooo underrated in my opinion. I have such a soft spot for him. Him interacting with Hinata will either be a huge disaster or a shocking success, with no in between. I love that for him 💕. His bluntness is really reassuring in some ways, and if nothing else, Hinata can’t possibly feel like a social disaster when compared to him 😭. Sai and Hinata being art buddies would be cute! Hopefully they get to interact soon and well.

[Smiling wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t remember doing, laughing was another. Naruto was a well of new experiences for her, and the urge to laugh was one of those newfound, slowly developing experiences he was slowly coaxing from her.] 💔💔💔💕💕💕. Here’s to hoping for many more new experiences together 🙏.

Shikamaru!!!! Another favorite of mine 🥰. I love how cool he was about Hinata’s stutter, to the point of not even mentioning it even though he was aware of it. That’s so very him.

[“How the hell do you know about that?!” Naruto finally burst, piercing the stunned silence, scaring her in the process, though he was too caught up in giving his friend the third degree to notice.] Hmmmmmmn Naruto does get aggressively loud sometimes and I can imagine how scary that must be for Hinata. I wonder if we’ll be seeing more of this situation 👀👀👀.

Hinata hesitating to join in on the conversation was painful and relatable, but I’m so proud she did 💕. She is just as much an inspiration here as Naruto was for her in canon. I hope next time she’ll be able to ask Kurenai for what she wants. Small steps but she’ll get there 💪💪💪.

I’m so curious about Naruto’s pov on the whole court appointed guardian thing. Does he get the full implications of what that means for Hinata and her home life? I feel like at that age hearing something like that, I wouldn’t have wanted to think too deeply into it. But also I’m pretty far removed from high school now so who knows 😂.

The Kurenai-Minato relationship is an interesting one! I wonder if it’ll lead to some fun interactions.

Excellent chapter as usual, thanks for writing.

Of course, as soon as you drop a review, AO3 turned comments back on, lol. But thanks so much for dropping it here! You're one of the ones I was so upset about possibly missing out on! 😭But the crisis is over for now it seems, so you are free to comment again! 💕which I am sooooo happy about! I like getting messages here, but I prefer them on the story that way I can go back and reread them again and again 🙈 when I need a boost to keep going 💪🏾Writing is tough work 😤

Funny thing about this line: [Her puffy eyes shifted to that part of her Naruto had touched, peering hard at her flesh as though her eyes could detect a spectrum of light that would reveal the shape and color of the warmth his hand had left on hers.] It's a Byakugan reference🤭

Right! Poor Hina is clueless, lol. I've been wanting Hinata to switch place with Naruto in a story for a while, having her unable to recognize her own feelings like canon Naruto struggled. I think it's really cute 🙈💕Probably not the reason for her lack of emotional acuity but the concept of it.

Naruto-flutters are so adorable to me too, and it's like ahhhh, omg Hinata do you know what those little flutters mean???🙈she doesn't of course and somehow that makes it even cuter!! 💕💕

Riiiiiiggggghhhtttt, like I love Naruto making her feel all safe, and it hits so much harder because he has no idea what he's truly giving this girl! Like how much he's shining down on this poor wilting water lily🥹💞

Lmao, that is so true! Either Hinata is gonna get a new friend or Naruto's gonna upper cut him through the school roof🙈let's hope Sai makes a wise decision🤭Art buddies would be so adorable! Though Sai would definitely be brutally honest and who knows how Hinata will take that🙈

Here's to more new experiences! 💕💕

Shikamaru's so chill and go with the flow, he was the perfect first initiation into socializing outside Naruto🥰

I cannot express how hype and excited I get when readers catch those little details I put in there🤩Naruto is indeed a very loud, pretty liberally aggressive guy. Perhaps that will factor in again later🫢Naruto's learning gentleness and patience, but maybe there's a few more tricks Hinata can teach him 🤭

Right! And that's what I wanted to get across with Butterfly! Strength is subjective, it's not a one size fits all, and every obstacle a person overcomes is just as important than any other obstacle whether its physical, mental, emotional, psychological, whatever! Hinata struggles with things others take for granted, but she keeps trying, and that's not weakness, that's strength, bravery, determination and just as you said, just as inspiring as Naruto! 😤

He'll revisit the convo about it at some point, don't worry! Its very reminiscent of his past self though, when he was a boy in the woods and didn't really understand the significance of his meeting with Hinata🥹

Kurenai-Minato may or may not have more significance later on, we shall see 🤭

Lovely comment!! Thank you sooo much for coming through!! You are really one of the people I cannot wait to hear from! 🙈you truly make my day!!💕always so thorough and detailed, I love seeing your reactions and being privy to your thoughts on the chapter, and you're consistent support and you don't know how much that means to me 😭Thank you sooooo much!!🦋💕

#Butterfly 🦋#review #naruhina #I love you anon!! 😍#ask #answer

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clever-fox-studios · 6 months

Text

I RETURN SUCCESSFUL FROM MY DISSECT—I MEAN STUDY OF CAT—I MEAN @8um8le s ART STYLE!

That’s right. Art study.

Absolutely not my excuse to shamelessly draw Cat.

ANYWAY, red and blue is lifted directly from refs, pink (some blue) is freehand stuff

Enjoy my unhinged notes—

First I did some line tracing, I wanted to see what was going on with how the form came together without worrying about color; the pose language is divine. There’s so much personality and they’re well balanced in shape and gravity. My own poses tend to come off stiff at times, so if anything, I need to learn to loosen up and exaggerate a bit more

Then I went and looked at the use of color and came away with some confirmation about my own problems with color—I use too many high sat/high value colors too often and don’t trust myself to use contrast of warm-cool and complimentary colors to do the heavy lifting 😅

Did a few design reviews; this is freehanded unless noted otherwise. The design work of the machine parts is so nice; I get too caught in “believable movement” that sometimes I forget robot parts can and should look badass and detailed enough to read as such. My first attempts freehand were still a bit stiff and not reading correctly so I tried a different pose altogether and really pushed the exaggeration and then really went ham at free handing Cat. I think he turned out pretty damn good

Then I decided to compare my own art from months ago and this week to the design choices of Cat and came away with realizing that, even if there’s a theme to my design, visually Ylixir (the Oc) is really muddy when turned monochrome and that’s not great. I love her design still since too much clutter would be eye killing, but it’s a reminder to me at least to strive for more contrast and visual interest to help a design.

When I trusted the contrast (without realizing it) and remembered my value variations since I was working in monochrome oranges it came away as a very interesting and something I’m very proud of. It’s a reminder to do more work in monochrome to make me more comfortable with colors that might seem boring alone but come together to be incredibly pleasing

3: —saving strain CAUSED* by relying on TOO MANY* high saturation/same value colors

I’m literate, I swear.

Anyway, thank you, 8um8le! This was fun and I learned a lot I think. Excuse me while I eat these notes and put Firewall back in containment before she realizes no one’s around to stop her—

#art study #beloved mutuals #art style #8um8le art #stellar city #cat #catastrophe #learning to draw #self taught

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ensnapemysenses · 2 years

Text

He's Your Son, Through and Through!

Genre: Fluff

Warning: None

Pairing: Severus Snape x Wife with a son

Summary: Snape and his wife receive an owl at their home concerning their son's OWL grades.

Word Count: 809

Masterlists

A light tapping sound on the window of the living room adjacent to Snape’s home office causes him to pause, his knife hovering over the dittany he’s meticulously chopping for a potion he’s preparing to sell in his little potion shop. Both he and his wife have been anxiously awaiting to hear from their son about his OWL grades. Perhaps he has finally had the chance to send an owl with the news.

At that thought, his mind begins to wander to his son. He was a very nervous first-time father and having a son who looks a lot like him didn’t help to ease his nerves at all. When his son arrived with his same big, hooked nose, pale complexion, and dreadfully greasy and limp onyx hair, he panicked. The thought of cursing an innocent child with his horrid looks was too much to bear. For a split second, he wished he had never agreed to have a child for surely he had passed on his worse genes to him and he was doomed to forever be an outcast just as he was.

But, when his son had opened his eyes and looked at Severus to reveal that his eyes were the same beautiful shade as his wife, and when he had smiled with lips the same shape and color as hers as well, Severus’s insecurities had melted. Their son was a perfect mix of both of them, in both looks and brains, however, he still had a hard time sometimes seeing the beauty in his own features that his son had acquired.

His thoughts are soon interrupted as his wife enters the room, a letter in hand, and a troubled look on her face. She solemnly hands the note to him and whispers, “It’s from him. I couldn’t bring myself to look at it yet, you do it.”

“I’m sure he did positively well. After all, he is your son!” Snape chuckles trying to lessen the mood as he takes the letter from her and slowly opens it.

“That’s exactly why I’m worried, dear!” she exclaims. “If he’s anything like me and my OWLs, he barely passed!”

“You are an exceptionally smart witch in your own way, darling. Passing in any capacity is wonderful and if he did not pass some subjects that is okay as well. We will both still be very proud of his accomplishments.”

She nods in agreement as he unfolds the letter, his eyes skimming the page. “Let’s see”, he mumbles. “E in Charms, E in Care of Magical Creatures, A in Transfiguration, E in Herbology, P in Astronomy, O in Defense Against the Dark Arts, D in History of Magic, and O in Potions.”

“Oh, honey! Those grades are much better than I thought! He passed all of his classes but two! I guess he’s your son, through and through and it seems that he acquired your brains, not mine!” she laughs. “His only two outstandings are in your areas of expertise! He takes after you with his schooling!”

Snape smiles widely and blushes a bit at her comment. He is proud of his son no matter what but a certain special pride swells in his chest at the thought of him doing outstanding in the classes that he himself fell in love with while in school.

The next day as they pull into King’s Cross station to pick up their son, they are both excited to see him and congratulate him on his grades. They hurry through the barrier just as the train is pulling back into the station. They rush closer to the train, arm-in-arm, waving and smiling as they spot their son exiting. He has a huge smile on his face as he runs over to them, dropping his trunk to embrace them both in a hug.

“Did you get my letter?” he asks.

“We got it, son! We are both so proud of you!” Snape says placing an arm over the shoulder of his wife and drawing her in closer.

“Dad! I’m just like you! I got an Outstanding in both potions and defense against the dark arts! I guess I really did learn from helping you around your shop as a kid after all!” he says happily, smiling wide.

Snape walks over to him and embraces him, playfully ruffling his hair as he pulls away. “I’m so proud of you, kiddo. Great job! Why don’t we go out to eat and get some ice cream for dessert as a treat?”

“That sounds great dad! I’ve got a lot more to tell you about the school year!”

And so, they listen to their son go on and on about his year at Hogwarts while they exit the station and head back to their car. All the while smiling proudly and excited to spend the summer all together again.

#severus snape #snape #snape lives au #dad snape #snape has a son #married snape #snape fic #snape fanfiction #pro snape #snapedom #snape fandom #pro severus snape #professor snape #professor severus snape #snape love #severus snape fic #ensnapemysenses

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quinntessentially-queer · 1 year

Text

Five years ago, one of my best friends invited me to come on a summer holiday with her family, in a little beach town a few hours drive from where went to high school together. Freshly 17, with just enough newfound confidence and independence to go on a holiday by myself, I agreed.

Her older sister drives us there, and we quickly get lost somewhere around the halfway point trying to look for an elephant shaped hill. “It really does look like an elephant,” I comment, after an hour’s detour. I remember my friend lamenting about the long drive and apologising to me profusely. I didn’t mind it. Being a child of divorced parents that live in different countries, I was used to long travel times. “This is about how much time it takes me to get home from the airport in Malaysia. And that’s after an 8 hour plane ride.”

I realise that line makes me sound a bit pretentious, but that’s probably an accurate representation of my personality at that age.

When we get to the campsite, her parents are sitting outside the caravan. They’re on their way out, leaving the caravan to my friend’s older sister and the tent set up on other half of the campground to the two of us. I’m nervous at the thought of looking after ourselves, mostly because I’m a shit cook. But my friend, newly vegetarian, has become fairly self sufficient in cooking separate meals for herself. I’m happy to be vegetarian for a week, and she’s happy to have someone to share her meals with, so it wasn’t the disaster I thought it was going to be. I soon come to find that the worst part of not having parents around is not having someone to drive you everywhere.

“The shops are only down the road. It doesn’t take long, we’ll be fine to walk there.” I didn’t mind the long drive up. I hate walking. But I put up with it, (minus some minor grumbling) because she’s my friend, who took me on this lovely holiday, who wears pretty sundresses and holds my hand as we walk down the street.

She takes me to the bakery that make her favourite apple strudels. We buy one each for breakfast because no one’s around to tell us not to, and then quickly discover why the sickeningly sweet dessert is not considered a breakfast food. She takes me to the ice cream place when it gets hot later in the day. We share a cup with two scoops because it’s cheaper than getting two cups with one scoop. She takes me to the op shop, where we try on the only clothes in this town two seventeen-year-olds could possibly afford.

Then she leads me around the corner of the main street, down a residential road to a bookshop with a rainbow flag flying out the front of it. She tells me that she used to come here all the time as a kid, but less so in recent years. “It’s a secondhand bookshop,” she says.

We step inside and I quickly realise it is so much more than that. Stepping into Blarney is magical. The first section of the building is an art gallery. Works inspired by Australian literature are set out in a gorgeous display for their annual Biblio Art Exhibition. If you can make it through the gallery without being trapped in awe, you walk through to a hall with bright orange walls, multicoloured bookshelves lined with new and used books, and rainbows everywhere you turn. In the corner sits a small stage, used in the daytime as a kids corner, draped in rainbow curtains and fairy lights. Plastered around the shop, on the sides of bookcases and on glass cabinets filled with more art, were various ‘Vote Yes!’ signs, all with some form or pride flag on them.

‘Vote Yes’ was a reference to Australia’s national referendum held the previous year on the legalisation of same-sex marriage. My friend and I, having recently come out to each other, had gone to two rallies together in support of the bill. The (public) afterparty in the park was some of the most fun I’d ever had, and we both came home with bits of rainbow glitter stuck to us.

At 22, out and proud, the occasional pride flag in a shop window makes me smile, but sometimes I remember how excited I used to be at seeing a tiny pride flag, and I get a little embarrassed. I’ve grown cynical in my grand old age. You have to remember that at 17, still closeted (aside from a few close friends), those small reminders that you were accepted, loved, and even celebrated, meant the world to you.

So you can imagine my delight as I walked through a bookshop that had borrowed leftover decorations from a pride parade. We walked through in silent awe, occasionally giving each other a nudge and nod in the direction of another poster. “You belong here.” “You are loved.” “Everyone is welcome here.” “Love is love.”

Eventually we pick out a children’s story book about a transgender teddy bear and shyly bring it up to the counter. My friend compliments the bookshop owner on her gorgeous store with all its rainbows and the owner goes on a tangent about how much she supports LGBTQ+ rights and how important it is to show that support. My friend bursts into tears and has to step aside to take a minute to get herself together. We go back to the counter and thank the owner for the book and the kind words.

That night, I had found a new show on Netflix with a queer character in it that I wanted to show my friend, so we pushed out mattresses together so we could lie closer to each other. To see the screen on my phone, of course. We found that the mattress kept shifting and we kept sliding down the middle of them onto the cold hard campsite ground. So we decided to lie sideways across the two mattresses instead. To watch the show, of course. I’m fairly sure we fell asleep in that position holding hands.

We stayed four nights in that tent, by ourselves. We went to the beach, went to the shops, cooked ourselves cheap pasta and read books. Her older sister occasionally checked that we were alive. But we were mostly wrapped up in each others company. And at the end of the trip, I still hadn’t gotten the courage to tell her how I felt.

Maybe I myself wasn’t sure how I felt. I think I liked her. She was one of my best friends. And I sure stared at her a lot wondering whether I liked her. The age old question: Do I think she’s pretty, or is she just the only other queer girl I know? The answer to both those questions was yes.

Five years on, my girlfriend and I still go back every year to visit that same little beach town. We go back to the same bakery, and share and Apple strudel between us now. We go back to the ice cream place, where we don’t mind paying anymore to get separate cups. We go back to the op shop; isn’t thrifting more environmentally conscious anyway?

We go back to Blarney Books and Art. We explore the new pieces in the art gallery. We browse the ‘Rainbow Reads’ section of the books. We chat for hours on end to our dear friend, the owner, invite her and the family out to brunch, and buy more books than we can fit on the bookcase in our soon to be home library. We go to the beach, spend ages putting sunscreen on only to get burnt anyway, wuss out of going in the freezing cold water. We sit on the sand and talk about our future. She’s going to be a teacher next year. I’m so proud of her. Tomorrow we will go home to our little ginger cat, wash the sand out of our clothes and curl up on the couch together to watch another show with LGBTQ+ representation. That at least hasn’t changed much.

#queer stories #wlw pride #wlw thoughts #wlw yearning #lgbtqia #lgbtq positivity #lgbtq rights #queer thoughts #sapphic #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #creative writing #female writers

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peace-coast-island · 7 months

Text

Diary of a Junebug

Quilts, knits, and the art of letting go of those who only see an idealized version of you

The dangerous thing about fiber arts is that when you get into one thing, it’s almost inevitable that you’ll want to try another, then another, and another. Some things you really like, others, you’ve tried it and thought maybe this isn’t your thing. Depending on how much you plan to get out of a certain craft, it can end up being sort of costly, not in terms of $$, but in terms of materials. I’ve seen people with a huge yarn stash that there’s even a saying about how they’ll never get through all their yarn in their lifetime!

This event involves two crafts, knitting and quilting. It’s also a collaboration between Daisy Jane and Jamila for a special fall/winter collection. Almost exactly one year ago, Jamila opened up her shop, Patchwork Knits, which for now mostly sells knit and quilting patterns. In the near future though, Jamila hopes to expand with things like hand-dyed yarn, fabric, and various notions for sewing and knitting.

So far, Jamila really been killing it with her knitting patterns. I fell in love with her Cozy Cardi as soon as I saw the pics she posted on her socials and just had to make it. It’s one of those patterns where I want to make a lot of them in different colors because the style is so classic and can go with a lot of different outfits.

Never have I been so proud of a project like this one. The construction’s the kind where you start with the neckband and then pick up for the body. Since the button band’s worked on as you go in smaller needles than the body, it can get a little fiddly to work with, especially in the beginning. It took me some time to get used to, but in the end. It wasn’t so bad. And I think it kept things a bit interesting when I got to the body.

And instead of stockinette, it’s in half-Fisherman’s rib, a stitch that I’ve grown to like. Sure, it can be slow growing since your rows are basically in half. And it’s ribbing, which can get tedious sometimes. But, at least for me, half-Fisherman’s engaging enough that it doesn’t feel like a drag. Plus, I really like how the fabric turns out. I definitely don’t mind doing more projects with half-Fisherman’s rib.

As for full Fisherman’s rib or brioche, I don’t know if I’m ready to tackle those yet. I’ve heard that they’re real yarn eaters, which means they’re even slower growing. Yeah, I don’t know how I feel about that yet. I do want to tackle them in the future, but maybe not for something like a sweater or cardigan, at least not anytime soon. I have seen some patterns with brioche that caught my eye, but with the fact that they use fingering yarn - meaning tiny stitches that’ll take even longer to make progress on - I think I need to slowly build my courage. The last thing I want is to become discouraged in the middle of a project, especially one that I put so much time and effort into.

Right now, I’m working on a Cozy Cardi for my mom, as well as another one of Jamila’s patterns, the Warm Spring Days cardigan for myself. Since my mom’s birthday is coming up in two months, this project will take priority. Plus, Warm Spring Days is meant for the warmer season, so it’ll be a while before I get to wear it. So far, both are going well. I just separated the sleeves and body for my mom’s cardigan, and am slowly making my way shaping the back of Warm Spring Days.

The thing about Jamila’s knitting patterns is that they look simple and classic, the kinds of things that most people would consider staples in their wardrobe. What makes her stand out is the construction of her patterns and the techniques she uses to shape her garments. It’s also a plus that she’s size inclusive and seriously takes the time to make sure that her patterns work for all different kinds of body types. Although she’s a new designer, she’s already seriously making waves in the community!

Based on my personal experiences with Jamila’s patterns, her designs are engaging enough that it sort of challenges you to step out of your comfort zone while being straightforward enough that once you get the hang of what’s going out, it’s easy to turn into a mindless, meditative knit. Though most of her garments look simple, it’s the little details that make her designs stand out and makes the process of making them more fun. Simple, timeless, and basic can be good.

Edie’s mainly working as sort of an assistant with things like tech editing, proofreading, and doing occasional admin stuff. She says she doesn’t mind being an official one when the business really takes off as it would be nice to have something consistent on the side. While she can support herself on music and writing alone, it’s nice to have something else to fall back on if she can’t do either for whatever reason.

Although I’ve been mostly talking about knitting, Jamila’s quilt designs aren’t meant to be slept on. It’s just that I don’t know too much about quilting as the hobby seems kinda intimidating to me. I’ve always liked the idea of using leftover material to make something like a patchwork quit, which is really probably the only reason I would get into quilting.

It’s just that there’s a lot of bits and pieces and steps when it comes to quilting, so I’m afraid of my project looking wonky or off. With sewing in general, there’s a lot more stuff and equipment you have to handle, as well as measurements not behind as forgiving. Especially when it comes to garments, sewing them takes more work than knitting.

So far, quilting isn’t as intimidating as I thought. Though, I’m sticking to small and simple projects where if I make mistakes, it won’t ruin the whole thing. I don’t think it’s something I’ll pick up often, but it is fun and satisfying to put these fabric scraps to good use.

However, I am working on making a patchwork quilt. It’s just that I want it to be strictly fabric scraps rather than going out and getting material specifically for that. It’s gonna be a long term project, just like my granny square blanket. With all the fabric I’ve accumulated over the years, I’m hoping it’ll be kinda like a scrapbook but in quilt form. I think my fabric scraps will be able to make something cohesive looking. I mean, I had all kinds of yarn for my granny square blanket and it ended up looking nice and colorful. So it’ll be something that I’ll work on occasionally whenever I feel like it and I’m excited to see how it turns out.

The event kinda also serves as a test run for some future patterns Jamila’s working on, as well as give her an idea on what to include when she starts putting together kits. We also did some experimenting with dying fibers - nothing much, but just to get an idea of it. She hasn’t gotten the materials yet, which makes sense because dyeing seems expensive and takes quite a bit of work, so it’s a good opportunity to do some tests to see if that’s something she wants to do in the future.

So far, I’d say it’s been going well. Jamila’s not entirely sold on the yarn she used as a sample, though the results came out good. She has other samples to test out and we have plenty of time. At least she knows now that hand dyed yarn is definitely something she wants to dive deeper into. Nothing set in stone yet, but it’s something to look forward to when the time comes.

Edie’s been in better spirits now that a weight has been lifted off her family’s shoulders. Although her father hasn’t been really a part of her adult life, he was always hanging over her and her siblings. The way she put it, he’s not a bad guy, just someone who’s expects too much and only sees you as potential instead of who you actually are. Those kinds of people can be conflicting.

A couple months ago he died unexpectedly and left a will to his kids. Basically, the will he left behind says a lot about how he sees his family. At least, how he thinks they should be. It’s no wonder that Edie and her siblings can’t rely on him. Truth is, they’re actually relieved that he’s gone.

According to Edie, her mother says that her father struggled with dissatisfaction. He was an intelligent, hard working person who was forced to grow up quickly, so he kinda became resentful that his siblings were given opportunities he was never able to get for himself. That was part of the reason why he placed such high expectations on his kids.

Sure, a lot of parents are like that. Well, maybe most of them aren’t as resentful as he was, but it’s understandable that they only want what’s best for their kids. But the issue is, how do they really know what’s best for their kids? Is it based on the kids themselves, or is it self projection? Even with parents who mean well, the line between what they want and what their kids want can be blurred.

At least most parents try to communicate with their kids and know how to admit when they’re wrong. Mistakes happen and we get blinded by our own wishes and aspirations. Sometimes we just have to take a step back and admit that we don’t always know what’s best - for ourselves and for others. We may not see eye to eye on some things - and maybe we never will - but at least we could try to make an effort to communicate and understand each other.

Unfortunately, some people refuse to be understanding. They see you struggling and find something to blame it on instead of addressing the real problem, which is usually more complicated than “X is bad, and it’s you’re fault, and that’s why you’re having this problem.” They shut you down whenever they feel like it, and then complain that you don’t know how to stand up for yourself. You do something that you’re proud of and they respond with indifference, even outright dismissing or insulting you because they’re just not interested.

Being the third born, Edie knew that she was gonna disappoint her father no matter what. He insisted that no one was interested in her music and her writing, dismissing everything just like he did to her older sisters. He made her second guess all her decisions and question whether she deserved to have good things happen to her. At least with her younger siblings, he was kinda like fuck it, like he expected them to disappoint him too.

The biggest thing about him though is that he just blatantly lies about his kids. Like with Edie’s second oldest sister, he told people that she wasn’t married because she has a wife instead of a husband. He told people that Edie’s music wasn’t worth checking out due to her lack of talent, sort of implying that Edie bought her views to make herself look good, which obviously isn’t true. And him sort of implying that Clanwing had ulterior motives to have Rolly and Easton become friends, which is completely baseless and pretty insulting.

I mean, it’s fine if you don’t approve of how your kids are living their lives, but don’t go around spreading misinformation and then shut others down when they call you out on your bullshit. That’s just on a whole different level of low.

No wonder Clanwing doesn’t like the guy. Edie said her father had very high expectations for Easton since he was the only son. But when it turned out that Easton was born missing a limb, he seemed ashamed. Well, that’s shitty of him. At least by the time Easton came around he had distanced himself as a parent to the point that Easton honestly sees him as more of a distant relative who you kinda stay out of their way rather than a father. I’d say it’s a good thing.

Then Easton befriended Rolly, and suddenly his father was a bit more interested in him. By that, he was really only interested in Kent Clanwing. The Clanwing head might have his own glaring issues on the high expectations he sets for his family and the pressure he puts on them for not being like him, but at least he’s not as two faced and dismissive as Edie and Easton’s father.

As for him being two faced, the way he treated Anissa after her stroke is a good example of that. Anissa was one of the few friends who he approved of, though he didn’t like it when she talked back. Meaning, whenever he said something rude about one of his kids in front of her and Jamila, Anissa will respond by saying something nice about them. She was one of the few who didn’t hesitate to call him out on his bullshit, and maybe he kinda respected that as he still would compare her favorably against his own kids. But then she had the stroke and he didn’t hesitate to make fun of her behind her back. So that pretty much says a lot about him.

As for the will he left behind, the terms he set are pretty ridiculous. He didn’t have much to leave behind, but it is pretty significant - as in the amount of money, not so much the real value of it. He really told one of his daughters that she can only get her share of his inheritance if she break up with her wife and marry a respectable gentleman. Uh, not gonna happen. For Edie and a couple of her sisters, he basically told them to give up the lives they have now and follow his instructions or else they won’t get anything. And for the younger ones, it’s pretty much the same - give up what makes you you, and be the person I wanted you to be, even if it contradicts everything about you. Yikes.

Obviously, they’re not following these terms. It’s not like they need the money, so that’s not the issue. Yeah, it’s…I don’t know how to put it…disrespectful? This guy really thought he could control his kids from the dead because he’s their father and they have to do what he says. Except most of them are grown now and are living their own lives with no input from him whatsoever. He was never involved to begin with, so why did he think he could take control now?

Edie wrote about the whole thing on her blog as it was unfolding, mainly just to look back on how ridiculous the whole thing was. Again, she wasn’t mindlessly hating on her father, more like trying to figure out what kind of a person he was. Maybe he had good intentions but he was too blinded by the idea of potential that he failed to see what was in front of him. Either way, she’s long accepted that she can’t change who he is, the same way he couldn’t change who she is.

The way people are is often a mystery. But I guess in most cases, we’ll never really know or understand. I think it makes sense, seeing that we don’t always understand ourselves.

Read on AO3

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #headcanon ramble #diary of a junebug

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kraiyne · 2 years

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Ikemen Prince -Chevalier Michel x MC

Romantic Ending After Chapter 23 FANFIC

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

SPOILER AHEAD

After choosing Chevalier to be the king of Rhodolite, I’ve returned to my slightly boring life. Rio on the other hand, quitted his job at the palace and returned to work at the bookstore.

To make myself busy, I plan to do something that I really wanted. Rio gave his support to help me and I discussed a lot of things with the owner of the shop.

No matter how painful it is to be separated from Chevalier, the man I love, I won’t let myself live in sorrow. I chose this decision and I’m proud of it.

I spend weeks preparing for the business venture I've planned. Everything was going fine until something happened.

“Here you go MC, the famous rose-shaped pastries of Rhodolite!” Rio announced and put a plate on the table.

It was still morning and he’s lively as ever. Rio sometimes visits me every morning to have breakfast with me. Now, he came with sweet pastries and told me that I have to have it.

“Good morning too Rio..” I said while trying to cover my yawn with a hand.

I was about to get the rose-shaped cookies when I felt my stomach turn-upside down. I covered my mouth unconsciously and rushed to the bathroom.

“MC, what happened?!” Rio rushed to my side.

Tears formed in the corner of my eyes as I was puking. It felt horrible. It was like I was puking my guts out. Rio held my hair to keep it from falling.

“Didn’t you like rose-shaped cookies? Are you okay now? “ there was a hint of guilt in his voice.

“No, I think it's probably what I ate last night," I said trying to reassure him.

Rio insisted that I take a break from work.

"It's because you're working too hard! Take a break first, MC. "

"I'm fine, Rio. "

But Rio, my friend is persistent. In the end, I agreed with him. I don't really have strength anyway.

"If it worsens, I will accompany you to the doctor later." He said.

I nodded. He excused himself to go to the bookstore and inform the owner.

I drank the tea while I'm reading. It was one of the books King Chevalier gave me.

The memories of us together in the castle rushed through my head. I felt a tug in my heart and I can't help but to shed a tear.

"It hurts.. I miss you so much." I said in tears.

In an instant, I felt something again. I immediately rush to bathroom and puke again.

What is wrong with me?

I tried to remember what happened to me these past few weeks. I have constant headaches. I always felt tired and now I'm puking.

I kept telling myself it's probably just stress but a memory played in my head. The night before I left the castle. King Chevalier and I …when.. we did…

"Impossible.." but it's just one night.

"Could I possibly be?" I said to myself. Instinctively, I held my stomach.

I need to confirm this.

—

In a village away from the town, I rode by a horse to look for a doctore. I canot risk anything especially I'm not sure yet about my situation. I left a note for Rio that I went for a walk.

I made a few knocks on the door of a small clinic. The villagers led me here when I asked a while ago.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" A woman who looks nearly in her forties stood infront of the door.

"Hi, uhmm. Can you examine me?" I said in a polite manner.

She opened the door and said. "Oh, well then come inside."

I took a deep breath and nodded.

–

"MC! Where did you go?! I was worried that something might happened to you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Rio bombarded me with a lot of questions once I went back home.

"Rio.."

His face looks so worried as he examined me. He was waiting for me to continue.

His eyes darted to my hand, carressing my stomach..where my child rest..

The child of King Chevalier and I. Our proof of love.

"I'm pregnant. What should I do?"

—--

So I'm trying to finish what I've been trying to write after finishing Chevalier's Romantic Route. I have many what ifs after the Chapter 23 hahaha.

#ikemen prince #ikepri fanfic #ikemen prince chevalier #Romantic route Spoiler #fanfic #chevalier michel

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its-lysandra · 11 months

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I feel like I gave you so little and yet you gave me so much. Maybe I will always feel like I owe you more of the selves I never gave. I will always hold faith in you that you will be a good mother and true. I see it in your eyes. Your smile. Your care for the people in your life. I’m sorry I’m so messed up and a wreck it all happened long before we met. I’m sorry for being with you when I shouldn’t have been. I’m so sorry for getting with your sister. Somehow I feel that was even more wrong of me. I know it wasn’t all my fault but damn if it doesn’t feel like that sometimes. You are thoughtful. Not shallow like her or your mother. You needed a friend and I crossed a line. When I look into your eyes I still see this beautiful, beautiful woman who could just -- you could cut through mountains with eyes like those. You could shape the whims and wills of men and women alike. Your eyes could invite a hundred fantasies, a hundred and one possibilities for joy and for sorrow and for so much more. I can’t ever really talk to you about it anymore. But I am thankful I was with you. If I could feel good feelings anymore I’d be so proud of you for staying true to yourself. I do wish things could have been different. I do. But I lost my way. And all the tools I have are just... not what it takes to be that good person I really hope you fell in love with. You took graceful steps. And you danced with the most wild of fires. You contemplate a lot like me I feel. If I could offer you a seedling of thought, it would be that you are enough for yourself -- for people in your life. It’s a tragedy that your family never gave you that love. You were deprived. So was I. But you’re doing things right. I trust you. And if you ever lose your way. If you ever need to borrow a sliver of self belief... I would gladly offer you a hand if you needed it. You used to leave me breathless. It’s not hard to see the way you entrance people. To see how people would be there for you. You gave me a gift having me sing for you. All of your hugs and time and kisses grew a garden inside of me I didn’t know I really had. And you really saw me as someone to protect you. That was another thing you did for me. You saw that good and me and compared me to something noble. Something more than the sum of those horrible parts of me. You’re fucking hilarious and I hope you never lose your sense of humor. How lost must those people be in your life not to see you like that. I guess I’m just grieving. I have trouble expressing myself. I get avoidant and I wish I wasn’t this stupid way. I’m glad you’re building a life for yourself even if I’m not there like I once was; it does hurt, but there is a cost to everything in this life. I just hope you don’t get hurt again. I have a hard time with physical expression. But holding your hand felt so right. My tears for you are not a waste. I would be wasting them on other people for certain. I miss you and I hope that’s okay. I think maybe it’s okay for me to still feel feelings. I miss you and I don’t really want to apologize for feeling that way. Because yeah you were so close to me I could feel the vibrations of your person. Maybe we wouldn’t have gotten together if I had been a healthy functional adult. But I damn sure know I owed it to you to have my shit together when we were together. I miss you and I regret cutting myself either to hurt myself or to hurt you or both. I hope that even if I’m far away you’ll still find all the happiness I knew you deserved. I wish I could take all of your pain away but I understand that’s not my place anymore. I hope the people in your life don’t take you for granted like I feel guilty of. That they appreciate the effort you put in. That they take in your smile and your sorrow and your sillyness and your seriousness too. One thousand thought blossoms would not be enough to express all the ways you made me feel so I will do myself a favor and simplify it to just two. Thank you!

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camgoloud · 1 year

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🌿💝💥💌

🌿 how does creating make you feel?

oh god. well honestly i feel like it depends very strongly on what exactly it IS that i’m creating… sometimes when i’m writing a character study or an intimate moment i feel intensely vulnerable and open, which is of course both terrifying and extremely cathartic… and then sometimes when i am writing humorous scenes or Cursed Concepts i feel so evil and wicked and pleased with myself the whole time. so which emotions i'm experiencing while i’m actually in the moment of creation can really be all over the map… but of course i can say that once i’ve actually finished creating something i always feel proud of myself! even at times when the piece didn’t come together as well as i was hoping it would in the end, there’s definitely something to be said just for that pure “oh i made a WHOLE NEW THING” sense of satisfaction :)

💝 what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

i’ll be honest, i really thought that Do my friends think I’m dying? (or do I just need to go to sleep?) would get about 20 hits total… i mean, it’s a recursive fanfic (inspired by the excellent good old fashioned lover boy) about an extremely minor ted lasso character with an unintelligible summary and the tags “yes I’ve written a reddit thread as a fic” “sorry except i’m not”; i was really just writing it to have a good time (and oh my god, did i have the BEST time…). but the response to it was actually quite warm, and MUCH larger than i was expecting! and not to brag lmao but i got Many compliments in the comments section about how convincing my various insufferable reddit personalities were… i guess i’ve found my calling! i’ve been meaning to write another reddit fic ever since, actually—it really was a blast

💥 find your least kudos'd fic - say something wonderful about it.

least kudos’d by raw numbers would be my most recent one, Philosophical Shifts in Teixcalaanli Xenocontact! (although i wouldn’t necessarily call it my least warmly received—the kudos-to-hits ratio on that one is actually fairly good, it’s just a very new fic for a very small fandom! but i didn’t go through and calculate K:H ratios on everything, so i’ll just talk about this one.) i think that with this fic i really nailed the voice of the narrator, three seagrass—from her speech patterns to the way she thinks about the world; her love for poetry to her partially-worked-through tendency to exoticize the foreign and the new to the detriment of everyone involved. she was a lot of fun to write and i’d love to try my hand at her again soon!

💌 share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

agh okay i’m always the WORST person in the world to talk to about wips because i will happily spin you elaborate tales about all the Concepts i’m currently working on and then you will just never hear about them again… but here’s a snippet from something for stranger things that I’ve been tinkering with off and on for AGES and really do hope to get finished… sometime in the next few years… i’m calling it “things that we were working on,” and em, this one goes right out to you: you know exactly what you did. <3

“Hold the phone,” Eddie interrupts, earning himself a glare and yet another eyebrow twitch, but he doesn’t even care to savor the rise he’s getting out of Higgins this time, because he is actually, genuinely desperate for an answer to the question he’s about to ask. “You’re telling me Steve Harrington is gonna be here? In detention?” This day really is just shaping up to be something else, isn’t it. Steve Harrington in detention? Hell had better not have frozen over yet; Eddie hates the fucking cold. “What’d he do?”

Or, probably more accurately: what’d he do that they didn’t let him just get away with this time?

[fic writing asks here!]

#thanks so much for asking!#writing #ask game

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zenki-soukokq · 1 year

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Hi! I'd like to request a romantic match-up for genshin if that's ok with you

I’m non-binary and I use all pronouns, but most times i like to lean towards they/them. I'd like to be referred to as Mika.

I’m pansexual but I’d like to be matched up with a male since most of my favs are male

I'm afab and I'm 171 cm tall. I have pale skin and green eyes, and long eyelashes that I'm very proud of. I have really light brown and curly hair, and i had it cut short in a pixie cut, but its started to grow a bit at the back. I have an athletic body shape, and I prefer to wear a binder to appear more androgynous even though I have a small chest size. I'm considering getting top surgery though. My style is dark Akademiya and alt depending on how i feel.

My personality type is INTJ 5w6, I’m similar to Diluc and Scaramouche the most. I come off as cold and unwelcoming to most people at first and I'm very closed off, but I’m very warm and chaotic once you get to know me. I have a hard time talking to others because I’m very shy, but I’m loud, chaotic and teasing to people I’m comfortable with, more like Heizou and Childe. I value loyalty and comfort above all else, and I try my best to make sure the people I care about know this even though I have a hard time at expressing how I feel. I speak through actions rather than words. I also have some autistic traits.

I don’t really have a main aesthetic, but recently my style has been more dark Akademiya. I like to appear well-dressed in button-ups, turtlenecks, slacks and trench coats. I also really like flannel, my favourite colour is red although i own several in many colours.

I tend to have a saviour complex, I want to be a detective when I’m older and use my brain to help others.

As for hobbies, I’m an artist and musician. I’m very picky with my tools and prefer to work digitally with the best programs and brushes I can get my hands on. My work has no meaning, I just draw what I like and what appeals to me. I draw for my friends on their birthdays. I use art to show that I care, putting lots of work to draw a character my friends care about is how I show that I care, I want to take time and effort to show them that I care. I can play the guitar and sing and dance too. Sometimes i compose and write songs. I also love reading in my spare time, I’m a maladaptive daydreamer, and spend a lot of time immersing myself in fictional worlds.

For a romantic partner, I see the personality above all else. I have no preference for gender, as long as they’re someone gentle and loyal. I also love a good sense of humour

My love languages are quality time and physical touch (giving and receiving), since I’m very touch-starved, I like to be physically close to my loved ones. But i overthink a lot, so I also like to be reassured that my partner cares. I don’t have much experience in relationships, but I’m a hopeless romantic.

You have been matched up with...Gorou!

"The great general of Watatsumi Island's forces. He has gained respect and prestige, but always shows himself to be a humble leader. He is deeply trusted by his subordinates and is someone with whom you can share your feelings without shame."

How you two met:

At one point in time, on Watatsumi, they noticed that they had a staggering lack of detectives. By that, I mean that they had none. So, they opened up applications for newly created positions, and you applied.

Gorou had been assigned to review the applications, and to interview the selected applicants

Your application had piqued his interest quite a bit, as he had heard of your artistic hobbies from some of the islanders, and he wouldn't have expected you to put in an application

At the interview, he was captured by your capabilities, and your personality

Despite the initially cold impression he got of you, he saw slivers of a more outgoing and chaotic personality underneath

This, paired with the seemingly quite intelligent nature that he picked up from you, only further heightened his interest in you

Once he learned that you were hoping to become a detective, he almost gave you the position right then and there

A couple of applicants had been hired for the jobs of Watatsumi's detectives, you amongst them. Some training for the position was in line, and Gorou, still captivated, took the opportunity to learn more about you.

At first, he went through some basic procedures of fake investigations, basic analyzation, etc.

Each time you cleared through each one with ease, he was stunned

To him, it seemed like you had already been a detective for ages, and it almost reminded him of Heizou's level of intellectual prestige

As the training sessions went on, he made them more personalized, and more difficult

He noticed that with each session he designed, he felt closer and closer to you

Every time you two met up, you would become more relaxed and comfortable with him, yet still not losing your apt nature

As the days went by, and as the end of your training approached, he was still in a bit of an oblivious state, only thinking his feelings to be that of a close friend's

That is, until he was thinking one day, about what the last training session should be like

Eventually, his mind wandered, away from your training, and just to you in general

Realizing that after a long time, he hadn't been able to plan anything, he decided to ask Kokomi for a little bit of assistance

Through this assistance, Kokomi pried a little at how he felt about you, and helped him come to his overall realization that he had fallen in love with you

"So, today marks the last day of your training until you can officially become a detective amongst Watatsumi's forces. Because of this, I have prepared a special gift to commemorate the occaision. Mika, I have- or, no, I've fallen- not literally, but- well- ah! I want to say that I've fallen in love with you!"

Why you two are compatible:

A loyal and brave general of Watatsumi island. Born with a beast-like fighting intuition and tenacious will, he can find a way to victory even in the most critical moments. He leads the Watatsumi troops, who have far fewer military resources compared to the Shogunate. Gorou strives to ensure that the inhabitants of this island will live in safety and peace.

Gorou is a virtuous person, seeking to ensure the safety and peace of Watatsumi, which fits well with your want to save/help people

In the case that Watatsumi receives you as a detective, he would likely already be naturally curious about who's in the position

Gorou is also a naturally loyal person, so if he were to fall in love, it would be incredibly likely that he would become highly dedicated to that person

We can also see with Gorou, that despite his job and position, he remains kind and gentle with everyone

Both of the aforementioned points pair well with your personal preferences for someone in a relationship

I feel like Gorou would also be very reassuring in a relationship, due to the previously-mentioned loyalty

He would likely attempt to reassure you in any manner he deems necessary, whether it be physical, emotional, or mental

For me, I can also imagine Gorou to usually have physical touch as his love language

I don't envision him as someone who's very dependent on verbally giving and receiving love, nor do I envision him as someone who has gift-giving as his primary love language

I think quality time and physical touch with him would be his primary love language, possibly because of how your time might be incredibly meaningful to him

Generally, I think he just enjoys physical touch, so he'd be very positively receptive to that

Relationship Headcanons:

Out of curiosity, I checked Gorou's height, and you happen to be a bit taller than him

Because of this, I think he probably gets just slightly embarrassed, because someone like Yae would likely tease him over it

I think that sometimes, when he sees some of the things you wear, he gets a little confused on whether or not your a visitor from Fontaine

He probably tries on your clothes sometimes, out of curiosity

Personally, I see him as the type of person to really like the arts, but he previously didn't have much time to learn about it, or interact with it

Because of that, I think he has a lot of interest in the things you make, and he would often spend a while just appreciating what you've made

He'd love listening to whatever songs you make, without a doubt

I think Gorou would be a bit interested in your daydreams

He would wonder what worlds you think of, what places you go to, what people you see (if any at all), and all of that

Generally, in a relationship, I think Gorou would be very affectionate

He'd probably want to spend a lot of time talking to you, doing things with you, and just being around you in general

A part of him likely enjoys the fact that you work with/near him, so he could always pop in and spend time with you

New Years Headcanons:

He probably prepared a little bit about a week before New Years

He scouted out the different areas of Watatsumi, and tried to find the ideal viewing spot for the fireworks he ordered

That said, he custom ordered fireworks for you

Eventually, he decided on the beach near the backside of Watatsumi, since it was rather secluded, and there was plenty of space for fireworks to be shot without any safety concerns

He prepared a ton of things in advance, everything from drinks, to snacks, to small activities, and more

When New Years Eve rolled by, he spent the day exactly how he planned it, so that by the end, he would have the perfect amount of time left to lead you through all of his surprises

As the hours flew by, and as you opened gifts, played games, and snacked away, it got closer and closer to twelve

Gorou, of course, was fully aware, and was ready to let off his final surprises

Right as the clock struck twelve, the fireworks had been let loose into the sky, and illuminated the starry blankets behind it with vibrant colors

As you had stared up into the skies splashed with new colors, he hugged you, and pulled you closer

"Happy New Years, Mika! I hope you liked this- because I want to do it again with you next year, the year after, and...well, until I can't anymore!"

Afterword:

Thank you for requesting! I had fun writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading this!

#gorou #genshin matchups #gorou x reader #genshin x you #zenki's matchups #matchups #gorou x you #genshin #genshin impact

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thevulturesys · 2 years

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An introduction to Alexithymia (Part 1):

TW: Slight mentions of childhood abuse in the second paragraph!!

Alexithymia is one of the results of C-PTSD or PTSD, it’s an understudied term used to describe people who have trouble with identifying emotions. Alexithymia goes hand in hand with other mental illnesses and could be associated with neurodivergency. But in my case, its C-PTSD.

I grew up in a toxic household, I was never allowed to feel any sort of negative emotions. My dad always told (and is still telling) me feeling negative emotions makes me a weak person, that he wants his daughter to be “perfect” or “strong,” that I was raised to be that way and shouldn’t be otherwise because that’s not something he could be proud of. I was exposed to this at a very young age and still am being exposed to it. I don’t wish to go into detail about it but I will say it has left such a negative remark on me, it has made me constantly bottle up my emotions, either consciously or subconsciously, gaslight myself into thinking I’m not feeling them, or just not feeling them at all.

And if I were ever put in a situation where I know those negative attributes of myself/emotions are arising, I will close off or “shut down” and turn into this completely different person to the point where I cannot even begin recognise myself, it makes me feel and go insane. This has always been way of dealing with things. It’s not healthy at all and I wish I could stop but in the moment, that seems to be impossible.

To further add to that, I have trouble expressing emotions to the point where I’d ask my close friends or others how I should feel or think about a certain situation I am put in and experiencing. I personally associate feelings with physical reactions; for example, stress is when my stomach aches, fear is when I feel pale, my stomach is aching and my heart is beating rapidly. This, however, gets confusing because a lot of emotions overlap, for example, anxiety makes my body shiver but so does love or happiness. During those times, it gets hard to differentiate. And yes, I know I can use context but context doesn’t always work. I, as well as other head mates, describe how we feel by saying we think those emotions rather than feel them. The way I’d describe it saying is saying I’m using my head rather than my heart. I make such inferences based on how other people feel or express them too. I don’t think there was ever a time where I’ve ever pinpointed how I properly or accurately felt, even with the color wheel. I tell people I don’t care how I feel because I was taught that that was correct way to go about things but sometimes, I want to know how I feel... I want to know what it feels like to feel in a “normal” way. To me, I feel like I’m a robot trying to replicate human emotions. I feel alienated and different but not a good kind of different. However, what’s helped me feel better about this is that society has different perceptions of normality; what could be normal to me could be weird to another, and so on and so forth. I am normal, trauma has just shaped me to be different and that is okay, I should and am learning to accept and embrace my flaws which’s why I’ve created this post as well as many others, to educate and to spread awareness. I am here to remind you all that there is nothing wrong with being different. I say this every time but I will say it again, not everyone works a certain way and that is totally fine, your experiences are just as valid. To be continued...

#alexithymia #trauma #childhood trauma #cptsd #cptsd recovery #cptsd thoughts #cptsd coping #did #actuallydid #actuallyalexithymia #cptsdwarrior #childhood abuse #child abuse

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sinnabee · 2 years

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As an artist, what are things you can and can't draw? You look like you could draw anything!

i’m fuckin??? bLUSHING????? omgggg anon 😳☺️☺️☺️ y r u so obsessed with me so sweet!!!! /lh

mmmm as per the LAST ask i answered, i REALLY struggle with clothes lol! especially like, designing outfits myself? and the wrinkles…. so like obviously i draw them, all my ocs and blorbos are acceptable to be seen in public, but oof. it’s hard.

i can’t really draw animals lol!!! which is a CRYING SHAME because if i could just doodle some fat little cats all the time that would be fuckin 👌👌👌 ideal. and i don’t class myself as a furry but i do love the way artists draw their digitigrade (is that it???) legs, like omgggg holy fuuuuuck it’s so cool;;;; also snouts and things are hard

i am working on drawing animals;;; a little bit;;;; helps a LOT when i am a respectable bean who actually uses refs :P

i guess i also struggle with uhhh more serious looking art? like drawing someone looking intense with dramatic lighting and an angry expression?

and BACKGROUNDS. like listen. listen listen listen i know i just drew a hella background (i’m SO proud of it /sobs) but that was. an exception not the norm lol

but yeah!!! other things i struggle to draw:

- anything in a non cartoony style

- men OR very muscled/athletic characters. muscles and different torso shape and other stuff ahsjskdk

- fr fr i struggle a LOT with men oh my god

- people kissing (/sobs)

- p e r s p e c t i v e

- feet (FINALLY FIGURED OUT HAND P CONSISTENTLY THO LETS GOOOOO)

- lips (it always looks weeeeeird but i draw them anyway sometimes)

thank you sO fucking much anon 🥺🥺🥺 you are so sweet and have me blushing fr fr;;;; i hope to improve on all these areas i struggle with, but i’m glad u have that confidence in me already abshsjakdk <3

#ask #anon #drawing ask #what can you not draw?#sinna babbles #fr fr i was like BRO????#THATS GAY #TO THINK SO HIGHLY OF ME????#AUUOOUOUGH #i’ve been given a genuine compliment somebody call an ambulance

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home-at-nine · 1 month

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Chapter Two — Sarah

"From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a bright future beckoned and winked." - The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

I am watching my ceiling. It is a very funny thing, this ceiling watching. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to be a fruit, slowly rotting, no one aware of your consciousness. I wonder what it would feel like to slowly disintegrate and let your skin peel off. Closing my eyes, there’s almost a smell coming from my rotting form.

The door breaks open. My mother stands there, immaculate, holding the doorknob as if it is diseased.

“Sarah, your father’s done making dinner,” she says, then without pausing, “please brush your hair before you come down.”

I get up without brushing my hair. Fucking fascist.

“Sweetheart, don’t stomp so much—you’ll damage the carpet,” she says, so I stomp more quietly.

“I am trying,” I bark back. “You’re not giving me any room to breathe.”

She got to the bottom of the staircase before me and waits there now, body taut as if she is hanging from the ceiling. Her eyes pierce mine, doll-like lifelessness. Once I have reached the bottom of the staircase, she waits for me to walk ahead of her so she can place her hands on my shoulders and pull them back, steering me towards the dining room simultaneously. In my head I call her the puppet master. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

My father has already set plates out on the table once we get inside. It’s gritty, and covered in thick brown liquid, and I think it is supposed to be dumplings. There’s broccoli on the side. It is limp, and almost grey. It’s difficult to be touched by something this disgusting, even if I know it has been the only thing he has been able to do today. I should be proud of him, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I can’t look him in the eyes. There’s nothing there except empty glass. This man is a hollow creature. If my mother is the puppet master, this man is the husk she has been carving into shape since she first began her craft, and his soul has finally fallen through the cracks.

We begin to eat in silence. I know how hard he has been trying to build this illusion of being a homemaker ever since he lost his job, so I chew lumps like I’m chewing cud. Daydreaming that I am cattle makes it a little easier. There’s grass by my feet and the air is fresh. There’s a herd behind my back. Every day is the same and I don’t know any differently.

There was another paper released speculating about the origins of Queen Nefertiti’s remains recently, this one as unfruitful as the last twenty. Not that I often let myself care about the ancients anymore—it is just that sometimes the pull is too strong. I miss the dusty smell of the postgrad libraries. The damp there felt almost romantic.

“Sarah is going to get a haircut soon,” slashes my mother’s knife through the silence. “Don’t you think it will brighten her little face right up?”

“I suppose that’ll be nice, Sar,” echoes my father, looking me in the eyes meekly. Some men struggle to find the courage to speak their minds, but in my father’s case, he struggles to have one in the first place. “What’ll you get done, do you think?”

“I was thinking she could get it dyed, too,” mother continues. “I’ve always thought she’d look lovely as a blonde.”

I hold back a laugh and my mother looks up sharply. I don’t meet her gaze. I won’t let her. She huffs out of her nose. She’s won and she knows it.

I am filled with irrepressible physical revulsion. “I’m going to get a boob job,” I announce, and push away my chair from the table dramatically. I’ve turned around and gone back up the stairs before I have a chance to look at my mother's face, but I know she won’t have reacted with more than a flinch. Every day we play through this charade. Every day I burst out. And by the next morning, she has boxed me back in like nothing has happened.

On this night, I don’t even have a shift to get ready for, so I lie down to turn my body into rot again. I have no plan to get a boob job. In fact, I have no plans at all. My future stares back at me like a blank wall. Nothing grows through concrete, and no light can get through. I press my forehead against the bricks, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t hear it breathe. I’m willing it to, begging it to listen to me, but I can’t make it breathe. It is slowly sucking the warmth from my head. It aches like knives through silence. I can’t breathe.

I wake in the middle of the night with a migraine. I think about the customer from the other night to distract myself. He had a big mouth and tousled dark hair, or at least it looked so through the dark hum of the distant disco lighting from the club. He asked me for a rum and coke, and I liked the way he looked into my eyes without breaking contact. I handed him his drink and almost brushed his fingers. I couldn’t make myself, in the end.

I think I would like to touch myself to the image of this man. But almost immediately I think he must have seen me through my mother’s eyes. And she’s right, and I don’t brush my hair enough, and she’s right, and I need a boob job. And I’m so tired again. I close my eyes and sleep does not come.

#fiction #found family #hero's journey #lgbtq #literature #mental health #philosophy #wip

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