I really wasn’t attracted to my now husband at all when we met. I remember also really disliking his smell (not BO, just regular pheromones or whatever).

11 years later we are extremely happily married and he’s sexy as fuck. His appearance hasn’t changed (except that he’s actually a little overweight now and looks a decade older) but every day he’s just hotter and hotter. Not like a “I just love him so much on the inside.” Like I genuinely perceive him to be extremely physically attractive (and equally good to smell) and look back on early days with complete confusion.

n=1 so grain of salt and whatnot, but I’d say if you’re vibing enough to make this a question worth asking then it’s probably worth giving it a shot to see if attraction develops

Edit: Please don’t actually tell them you’re not attracted to them though. That’s weird and unnecessary. You don’t need to lie either, just don’t comment on their appearance until/unless you start to notice those little things that have grown on you.

I’m 4/5 typically but I will get flashes of level 1 gore. Not randomly or frequently (thankfully), but like if I am reminded of a particular kind of injury I find very distressing I will see it very vividly for just a moment. Not fun.

My dreams are also really vivid.

The ascend power from Tears of the Kingdom. Not so much in my literal real life, but any time someone in a show/movie is being chased or is trapped somewhere or even just stuck in an awkward situation I expect them to just fly through the ceiling and leave all their pursuers with question marks over their heads.

I read The Fountainhead in a high school English class and then got super into Ayn Rand and read Atlas Shrugged and some of her other stuff on my own. What actually happened was that I was a child in the Florida Public School System and so 1) didn’t understand what capitalism was, 2) couldn’t recognize terrible writing, and 3) was enjoying how proud my dad was for once.

Now I’m in my 30s and I can’t bring myself to throw away books at all, but also refuse to give them away and put them back out into the world for other dumbasses and/or impressionable children to find. They live on a bookshelf in my back room strategically positioned so that even if someone did go into that room they’d have to dig through a bunch of French textbooks and ancient American Girl books to find them.

If anyone would like some garbage propaganda advocating for a society of psychopaths written in the style of your drunk uncle’s auto-transcribed voice memos, hit me up.