#unsolicited--but very much wanted--parenting advice
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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x9 Save Henry
Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.
Word Count: 843
Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)
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Note: It had been my plan to keep at least 3a thoroughly CS focused in these drabbles, with the POV changing from episode to episode between Killian and Emma (this episode was meant to be a Killian episode), but after watching this episode, the big sister/aunt/godmother in me, who has been around and helped care for babies all my life, absolutely had to step in and have someone give first-time mom Regina a little advice about how to handle a crying newborn. (disclaimer: I’m not a mother, so I’m well aware I can’t possibly know the full extent of what it means to be a parent, and I’m not in any way trying to lecture or Monday morning quarterback anyone about parenting, but I am affectionately known as “the baby whisperer” among my family, so I’ve got to be doing something right, right?)
Regina was at her wits end. Everyone said parenting a newborn was hard. Everyone said the lack of sleep would be difficult.
No one told her it would be like this. She was so tired she felt like she was perpetually walking around in a fog. She did everything she could for Henry–fed him, changed him, held him, rocked him, even tried singing lullabies to him, but nothing worked. Nothing stopped the relentless crying.
Finally, desperately clawing for something, anything, that could help her, she’d brought her baby to Dr. Whale, sure that there had to be a physical reason for it all.
But he told her Henry was perfectly healthy (before scaring her to death by mentioning the possibility of genetic issues that she had no (legal) way of determining.)
Clutching at that last straw, she’d decided to call Sidney and have him dig into Henry’s sealed adoption records, and to get a moment of peace to do so, she’d handed her baby off to Mary Margaret.
The last thing she’d expected when she turned back around was to find her baby quiet and peacefully cooing up at the school teacher.
Regina’s heart dropped even lower. What if it wasn’t a physical or genetic problem? What if it was…
”How did you do that?” she asked, walking over to her erstwhile nemesis.
”Do what?” Mary Margaret asked absently as she smiled and cooed down at Henry.
“Make him stop crying.”
Mary Margaret shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. He’s so sweet.”
Now was not the time to analyze the ins and outs of why this miracle had occurred. Now was simply the time to enjoy it. Regina took Henry from Mary Margaret.
And he immediately started wailing again.
“Oh no! No, no, NO!”
Mary Margaret fluttered her hands looking distressed. “I’m so sorry! Did I do something?”
A cold, stinging sensation settled deep inside Regina. It wasn’t anything Snow White did. It was her. All her. ”No. No, you didn’t. It’s me.”
“Well, that’s just nonsense,” came the no-nonsense voice of Granny Lucas as she breezed onto the scene. “Here, hand him over. I’ll show you a thing of two.”
While Regina’s first inclination was to stand to her full height and tell the woman she was fully capable of caring for her own son, she realized she really had nothing more to lose. She deflated and passed Henry over to Granny.
The older woman took him, smiled down at him, and then placed him up against her chest, her hand gently but firmly holding his head to her with her other hand under his little bottom. She began to bounce and sway, making little shushing noises.
Henry’s wails faded, and then came to a stop.
“But…how?” Regina asked.
“You don’t raise a daughter and then a granddaughter without picking up a few tricks along the way,” Granny said. “First off, you’ve gotta relax. You’re wound as tight as Leroy when I run out of bacon. Babies…they can feel your tension, so you feel yourself tensing up? Take a couple deep breaths. Let ‘em out. Set him in his crib where he’s safe and step away for a few seconds if you need to. I’m telling you, it’s the key. You relax; he’ll relax.”
“So…just breathe? That’s your solution?” Regina asked, with a sardonic raise of the brow.
“Of course not. That’s just step one,” Granny said. “Next, look at how I’m holding him. Ruby refers to it as the ‘Granny choke hold.’ Don’t look at me like that; I’m not choking your baby! I’m just holding him tight. Babies like to feel secure, and they like to nestle on your chest where they can hear your heart.”
“Breathe and hold securely. Got it,” Regina said, “anything else?”
“Last step,” Granny said, “I like to affectionately call the ‘baby jig’. Just kind of bounce and sway. It’s soothing. Gets tiring after a while, but then usually once you get ‘em calmed down you can generally move to a rocking chair. You wanna try it?”
Did she? Well, she quite literally had nothing left to lose. Regina nodded.
“Good,” Granny said with a nod, “now take that deep breath. That’s it. Now let it out. Feeling relaxed?”
Regina nodded. Granny nodded again and handed Henry over. He began to fuss, annoyed at being moved from his comfortable position, but remembering the steps Granny gave her, Regina carefully maneuvered him up onto her chest.
And then a miracle happened.
Henry not only stopped crying; he actually burrowed into her, sighing contentedly. A warm rush of maternal love washed over her, and she knew she would do anything for this little boy.
Parenting may be the hardest thing she’d ever done, but they would be okay. They were a family.
Note: I learned how to hold babies from watching my own grandmother who liked to walk around holding babies exactly as Granny does here. We always used to jokingly call it the “grandma choke hold”, but never fear. Like Granny said, there is no choking involved.
NEXT CHAPTER->
#season 3 rewatch drabbles#cs fanfiction#ouat fanfiction#my fanfiction#3x9 save henry#regina mills#mary margaret blanchard#granny lucas#unsolicited--but very much wanted--parenting advice
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what we used to be | l
Pairing: Eli Moskowitz x Fem!Reader
Summary: You meet a new kid and your feelings for your best friend are said aloud.
Warnings: mentions of bullying, mentions of slut shaming, implications of violence, implications of strict parents
Word Count: 3k
A/N: Starting my first ever series for Eli! I always wanted to do a series following his story line in the show along with a female character so I did! I'm aware of other series being done like this by other writers on here, but this will be my own unique twist. There are similarities because it does follow the show's storyline but different because of my own interpretations!
I don't consent to this work being copied, translated or reposted.
“If the limit never approaches anything, then the limit does not exist,” you listened to Eli as he helped you with your math homework. “But in this case, it does, so what is it?” he pointed at the problem on the sheet.
“Two?” you furrowed your brows, trying your best not to sound like you were guessing.
“C’mon, Y/N, you’re in Calculus for a reason,” he encouraged.
“Only because I passed Trig with an 89, they only let me in because of pity,” you frowned.
Calculus has been your enemy since the beginning of the semester. You really didn’t want to take the class in the first place but your parents had been adamant about you taking higher-level classes. You would’ve been fine filling up your schedule with more creative art classes like ceramics and photography, but that wasn’t the agreement.
Math and science classes were part of the agreement.
Thankfully, you had two smart best friends who helped you whenever you had trouble.
“My advice?” Demetri spoke up.
You and Eli glanced at him, a knowing look on both your faces.
To be honest, while you had two best friends, only one was good at helping you out.
Demetri on the other hand? He had a habit of giving unsolicited advice. But because you loved him, you tolerated and actually encouraged him to hear what he had to say.
“Rewatch Mean Girls,” he deadpanned.
You let out a chuckle. “What I’m hearing is, that you guys are agreeing to watch it for our next movie night,” you grinned.
Both boys groaned.
“I’m fine watching your sci-fi, superhero films, but a girl needs her rom coms and chick flicks,” you mused.
Being the only girl and having vastly different interests compared to the guys, there were moments where you felt outnumbered. Sometimes you have to plead for one movie night to be your pick.
“I’d be down for Mean Girls this Friday,” Eli shrugged.
You silently clapped your hands, face creeping up with heat when you and Eli made eye contact.
“Demitiri?” you turned your attention to your other best friend.
After a minute, he rolled his eyes, agreeing.
“This Friday, my place,” you grinned. “Both my parents will be having a date night, so we’ll have the place to ourselves,”.
“Are you sure your dad will allow that?” Demetri cocked a brow. “That man is scary and I don’t want to know what will happen when he sees his daughter home alone with two boys,” he shuddered.
“He won’t mind, he likes you guys,” you attempted to reassure. “Besides, we’re just watching a movie,”.
“We know that, but will he?” Demetri asked in a mix of sarcasm and sincerity.
“C’mon, my dad isn’t that scary,” you trailed.
“I-I don’t think he likes me very much,” Eli said quietly.
“He does,” you straightened up. “Don’t worry about my dad guys, you’ve known him for ten years,” you stated.
You watched as the boys avoided your gaze, the sound of the cafeteria surrounded you when they both fell silent. Leaning back in your seat, you wondered why they were bringing this up now.
Like he read your mind, Demetri spoke up, “I’m just pointing out an observation I’ve noticed for the last few years. The older we get, the more of a threat your dad thinks we are,” he explained. “Guess it’s the raging teenage hormones!” he gestured with his hands, joking at the end.
Eli’s lips spread out into a smirk.
Relaxing, you shook your head at the way your best friend acted, even though you found the joke to be funny.
For the next few minutes, Eli went on to explain limits to you. You were about to ask a question when a new presence stopped you.
“Hey, can I sit here?”
You all turned your attention to a kid with dark hair and brown eyes, a tray in his hand as he gestured at the empty seat next to Eli.
You were about to welcome him until Demitri beat you to it.
“Check back next semester as you can see we’re entirely booked,” he said sarcastically but the new kid didn’t catch it.
With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he was about to walk away.
“He’s kidding, you can sit,” you gestured to the empty seat. “I’m Y/N, that’s Demitri and Eli,” you introduced.
“Miguel,” he nodded.
Just then, Yasmine and her entourage walked passed, causing Miguel to go into a trance.
You frowned at his reaction. You hated that just cause they were pretty, it forgave all the terrible things they’ve done to your friends and you.
“You’re just torturing yourself,” Demetri warned. “They’re the rich girls”.
“Do you talk to them or…?” Miguel asked.
“Yeah, all the time,” Demetri feigned a smirk. “We hang out after school, make out,” he shrugged. “Eli is homecoming king, and gets laid more than anyone”.
You rolled your lips together, glancing at your lap.
“You pretty much signed away all hopes of losing your virginity before college the moment you sat at this table,” he frowned.
Comments like that reminded you that boys will be boys. In the sense that virginity is still frowned upon. The societal pressure to lose it before a certain age disgusted you.
What happened to not conforming to society's rules?
“Oh, great, Yasmine is looking at us,” Eli narrowed in on himself, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. “Probably making fun of me”.
“I wouldn’t assume that,” you reassured. “She’s always going to have that nasty look on her face,” you grimaced.
Then you made eye contact with her.
She whispered something to Moon, causing both of them to burst out laughing.
You figured she was making fun of you again, calling you a slut or whatever. Dropping your gaze to your food, you checked your phone for the time.
“I gotta go, it was nice meeting you,” you smiled towards Miguel as you got up.
“What about your homework?” Eli asked.
“I got limits now,” you attempted to reassure but your composure fell when you accidentally looked Yasmine’s way. “Besides I have to get my sketch done before class,” you hoisted your bag over your shoulder.
Art was your passion. Since you could talk, you could draw. Your best friends might’ve been computer nerds, but you? You were an artistic geek.
Still, as talented as you were, Yasmine and Moon used that area of your life to make fun of you. Whether it was a silly doodle you drew during class or an actual piece you worked your ass off for class.
They tried to diminish your spirit with your art, but thankfully you haven’t lost it yet.
Shaking your head to brush the thoughts away, you gulped down the lump in your throat and managed to make your way down the hall to your art class twenty minutes early.
While you were gone from the lunchroom, the conversation at the table shifted, focusing on you.
“Do you like her or something?” Miguel asked Eli.
The awkward boy stilled at the newcomer’s question, opting to fidget with his fingers while staring at his tray. He didn’t think he was being obvious, the only other person who knew of his infatuation with you was Demetri.
“He’s been in love with her since they met in kindergarten, her too but they’re too scared to admit it,” Demetri answered for him. “I think they’ll get married before either of them admit they do like each other,”.
It was true.
You liked Eli and Eli liked you.
The moment you laid eyes on him on the playground, that was it for the two of you. But both of you are socially awkward, insecure people…neither of you had the guts to tell each other how you truly feel.
Leaving Demetri to stand and watch at the mutual pining unwind for the last ten years.
“I’m not in love with her,” Eli defended. “Besides, she wouldn’t ever like someone like me,” he folded in on himself.
“You won’t know if you never strike first,” Miguel tried to reason.
“Good luck with getting Eli to do that,” Demerit said.
Eli sighed, keeping his gaze down. As much as he wanted to argue, he knew deep down that his friend was right.
~
“Keep this door open,” your dad barked quickly followed by your mother scolding him.
The door had been half-way opened, or half-way closed, when he walked past. He decided it wasn’t to his standards so he made sure the door was wide, banging it against the adjacent wall.
“Sorry,” you said, not looking up from your notebook.
You were sitting in your room, Eli helping you study for your Clac quiz tomorrow. It was a routine for the two of you, hanging out after school and doing homework. Quality time well spent and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sometimes Demetri would join but he decided to play Dungeon Lord after school today. Part of you was happy to hear he wouldn’t be joining.
Especially when that meant you spent more time with Eli. Meaning there would be more brief moments where your shoulders or knees would brush. Which would send butterflies straight to your tummy.
“Miguel seems nice,” Eli shrugged, placing his pen down. “He mentioned something about karate, he wants all of us to join,” he smiled lightly.
“Really?” you smirked. “What did Demetri say to that?” you laughed, knowing he had some highlighted opinions about it.
“Wasn’t on board, but I don’t know,” he glanced down. “Maybe it could be fun,” he said.
“If you want to,” you passed him a smile. “It’d be nice to see you kick Kyler’s ass for once,” you sighed, glancing at the problem in your book.
You missed the way he frowned but he continued, “You should join too,”.
“Me?” your eyes widened and you glanced up to meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” he cracked a grin. One that was big and genuine, something that only happened in front of you or Demetri. “You’d be great at kicking ass too,” he reasoned.
“In my dreams,” you huffed out a laugh. “I can barely do a push-up,” you shook your head.
“Maybe just think about it,” he suggested.
“Okay, I will,” you nodded. “So, how am I doing?” you licked your lips.
You pushed your notebook between the two of you.
Both of you leaned in, your shoulders brushing against each other. Anytime you inhaled, you smelled him.
He smelled nice.
“You’re doing good, you just need to remember that an open circle means the limit exists but not in the function,” he pointed at the problem you got wrong.
“Stupid circles,” you huffed out a breath, running a hand over your hair. “Thanks again, Eli,” you pressed your lips into a soft smile.
“You’re going to do great, okay?” he nudged his elbow with yours.
“Okay,” you nodded, allowing yourself to believe.
You went over the material for a few minutes, your mind getting lost in all things limits and functions.
Unbestowent to you though, Eli was watching you.
He watched the way your nose would scrunch when you didn’t understand what you read the first time around. The way your lashes fluttered as you scanned the page. The way you would lick your lips in concentration. The way you would crack your knuckles when they got too stiff.
He was utterly in love with you.
Being friends for ten years, you’d reach that point without even dating. Even if it was just puppy love, he knew one thing for sure—he likes you, a lot.
He doubted himself when he thought about what Demetri said. And when he thought about the comment Kyler made earlier of him being a loser. He had come home crying, knowing he was never going to get a girlfriend because of the way he looked. But then his mind thought to Miguel.
Maybe he could be wrong, maybe he could get a girlfriend. Maybe it could be you.
Without second-guessing any further, he opened his mouth.
“Hey, Y/N?” he cleared his throat.
“Yeah?” you reached your gaze to his, your head resting in your palm.
“I like you,” he confessed, face going pale at the fact that he actually said that to you.
Your eyes went wide, face blank as you took in his words. You didn’t say anything for a few moments, just staring at your best friend.
“I-you know, never mind, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he felt embarrassed, shaking his head as he went back to his homework.
“Wait!” you reached out and touched his arm. “I like you too,” you gulped, a smile creeping up on your face.
“Really?” he seemed taken aback.
You nodded enthusiastically.
The two of you gazed at each other for what felt like a few minutes until you bent over in giggles, still in disbelief.
“I’m glad you told me,” you reached for his hand on your desk, squeezing it.
“Me too,” he squeezed it back.
You felt your cheeks heat up before you turned back to your work.
The rest of the night was spent with the two of you doing work, holding hands.
~
The next day at school, Eli was sitting with Demetri and Miguel.
Having just told the news about you and him, he was feeling a little proud of himself that he actually did it.
And more relieved that you actually reciprocate his feelings.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Demetri raised a brow.
Eli smiled, his cheeks turning pink while Miguel laughed.
“I’m glad someone took my advice, now you see my Sensei is legit,” Miguel pointed out.
Eli nodded, a small smile on his face.
“I’m gonna need more evidence to back it up,” Demerit crossed his arms over his chest. “This,” he gestured to Eli, “has been a work in progress for ten years, your words of encouragement just gave him enough push,” he scoffed.
About to respond, Eli was stopped by the smell of your perfume. He turned his head to the left just in time to greet you as you approached the table.
“Hi, guys,” you greeted, taking your seat next to Eli. “Hi, Eli,” your cheeks warmed up.
“Hi, Y/N,” his eyes beamed with admiration. “You look nice,” he blushed, glancing over the pretty green sundress you wore today, but his gaze circled back to your face.
“Thanks,” you glanced down, running a hand over the skirt. “It’s been in my closet for a while, I figured it’d be happy to see the light of day,” you shrugged, unaware he wasn’t talking about the dress.
“You should wear it more often,” Eli commented.
Demetri and Miguel sent each other a knowing look before Miguel decided to cut the awkward lovey-dovey talk.
“So, Y/N, did Eli tell you about joining my karate dojo?”
You focused your gaze on him, the warmth of your cheeks dissolving when your mind was pushed away from Eli. “Uh, yeah,” you smiled. “I thought about it, but I don’t know if I want to do something like that. I need my hands for my art, I don’t want them beaten and bruised,” you stifled a laugh.
Miguel nodded in understanding. “Thanks for thinking about it, Y/N,” he pressed his lips in a smile.
“No problem. Anyway, do you want to join us for movie night this Friday?” you extended your invitation to him. “You can pick the movie,” you offered.
“Sure, I’d like that,” he grinned.
“Awesome”.
~
Friday came around and you were all seated on your couch in the living room watching Spider-Man.
You actually enjoyed the pick, especially watching the nerdy boy become the hero. One who reminded you a lot of the boy sitting right next to you.
Miguel was on the recliner, Demetri on the other end of the couch, and Eli in the middle with you on the other side. Except, Eli was scooted closer to you, only a bowl of popcorn separating the two of you.
Your hands happened to brush a lot when you’d reach for the popcorn. Though, you didn’t mind.
You had gotten to the part where Peter Parker discovered his powers, a glass in your hand as you had come back from refilling your drink.
“That’s a cool painting,” Miguel noticed the piece of art framed by the TV.
It was an oceanscape of the beach.
“Y/N painted it,” Eli stated.
“No kidding,” Miguel said in amazement, standing up to study it. “You’re really talented, Y/N,” he smiled over to you.
“Thanks, that was my first one so my parents framed it,” you shyly said.
“You should see her sketchbook, it’s filled with the most awesome things,” Eli smiled.
You glanced at him, sending him a thankful look.
“Can I see?” Miguel’s eyes beamed. “My yaya loves paintings, I’d love to show her your work,” he said.
“Yeah, I’ll grab some that you could take pictures of,” you stood up, cheeks on fire.
It wasn’t often that you got praised for your art, mainly from your parents or your friends. So this was new. But you took the pleasure from it nonetheless.
Heading to your room, you grabbed a few of your favorite paintings before you went to your bag in search of your sketchbook, only you couldn’t find it.
As panic erupted, you thought back to the last time you saw it. You had it in art class and then you went to P.E. You could’ve sworn you had it then, but you guessed you were wrong.
“I can’t find my sketchbook,” you gulped, walking back to the living room.
“Maybe you left it in your locker or someone found it and took it to the lost and found,” Miguel offered, gesturing with his hands.
“Yeah, it’ll turn up,” Demetri reassured. “I don’t think anyone would have wanted to steal it,” he shrugged.
“We’ll help you find it on Monday,” Eli said, reaching for your hand.
“Thanks, guys,” you blew out your breath.
You were glad you had them and you really hoped your sketchbook turned up.
Part of you didn’t want to think about it, but you were worried about who had it if they did. And it only traced back to two girls.
~
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🗗 MORE THAN ROOMMATES | k. ayato
precis. you plan to move out of your apartment and ayato sees his whole life flash before his eyes.
wc. 10.3k please please please read this do not ignore because of the word count. please read it for ayato in silk robes
genre. humour, roommates ! au, modern ! au, suggestive, roommate to lovers ( ? )
warnings. profanities, this gets sort of sensual pls, suggestive, mentions of sex, disclaimer : there's no style & only writing, very bad jokes i'm unhinged with this one, more or less an inner monologue, unsolicited crack, kys and kms jokes ( ? ), drinking, mentions of dying, open ending ? it's pretty obvious if you'd ask me, thoma and sara are absolutely shit at giving advices, both the reader and ayato are absolute simps oh god please forget i ever wrote this ( actually don't. come talk to me about this )
note. repost :( my brother deleted my account sighh anyway please read this ig this is my fav work ever rip. inspired by this fic by my dearest mai go read it
ayato has no business living in an overly expensive apartment with a broken heater and cracked ceilings. in fact, he can instead move out any second. one call and his chauffeur would pick him up, another call and the kamisatos will have another villa signed under their names— well, ayato’s name, to be specific. for someone with overflowing wealth and a father who’s an excellent architect, ayato is surely down to earth.
his sister, ayaka, drops by every few weeks to check up on her brother. well, honestly, she only arrives to check up on the apartment and try another shot at persuading her brother to move out, only to return back home with nothing but failure in her palms. much to your surprise, she even offered the landlady a contract to buy the apartment. ‘we can buy, renovate and decorate this— then you and ayato can live happily!’ her exact words, but you declined. after all, you can not keep leeching off the kamisatos and living lavishly with a million dollars debt threatening to decapitate you in your sleep. ayato has done enough by handling your expenses when you were fired from your previous job.
talking about you, your life in the apartment isn’t any better. if you ignore the benefits of being roommates with ayato— which solely includes free boba and the opportunity to watch him in a silk robe every time he takes a shower— you don’t have any reasons to not move out of the apartment either. surprisingly enough, you’re sure that if you continue to living there and keep using the dark and narrow alleyway as your shortest way home from the university campus, you’ll be murdered luxuriously.
that was four months ago, though, when you were a new resident who paid an offensively high rent for a shitty apartment and saw yourself on the streets in the near future. the you from four months ago is probably cursing the hell out of you; not even probably, it’s certain. every night, you entertain your two lovely, semi-functional brain cells telling you to gather your stuff and move out the day you get your pay cheque.
you’re reminded to move in with your parents again after you had the nastiest argument with them and moved out impulsively, saying you’ll ‘slay’ out there, in the world, all alone. well, surprise, you’re not. instead, the world is slaying you by having you juggle between three part time jobs while managing your hair-greying college schedule and an apartment who’s faucet goes out every other day. that’s when the landlady gave you the happiest news you’d heard in months : a roommate.
now, you see, for most people, having a roommate would be troublesome. no one wants to share the kitchen or their favourite spot on the couch or something, but the day you were informed about your roommate moving in, you were on cloud nine. you had a drink, blanked out completely in the middle of the living room for absolutely no reason, even cleaned the apartment extra carefully the next day for dear roommate. you’re crazy for that, you had your reasons.
first, the rent. thankfully, it is still around how it was before with a bare fifteen percent increase; but hey, you no longer have to carry the financial burden yourself and have your conscience call you an imbecile every night before you drift into sleep. moreover, you’d finally have someone to fix the faucet, change the bulbs, and most importantly, hear you venting about how shit the apartment is. you were also excited about your roommate being the ‘nice, college student in his early twenties’ guy, as informed by your landlord, but that’s for another day.
and that is how you had ayato as your roommate. his first look was intimidating. you remember wondering if he’s actually a college student and not some undercover assassin. but again, he looks too, if anything, decent, to be an assassin. ayato likes his boba extra sweetened and his closet consists of anything but hoodies and sweatpants. he watches bunny videos in free time and feeds stray cats whenever they come around. he also cooks two meals a day and ends up ordering the third one so you don’t have to overwork yourself after all the part time jobs and stressful classes, helps you with assignment, puts you to bed if you fall asleep in living room— yeah, no. he’s way too decent to be an assassin.
ayato thinks he’s doing a wonderful job at being a roommate who you can depend upon. from the first hour of the day to the last one at night, he helps you, greets you, stays by your side; he’s an amazing roommate, and it’s a fact. thoma confirmed, and sara thinks he’s being a little too generous but hey, it’s about you; and when it comes to you, nothing is ‘too much’ for aayto.
so when you tell him on one fine sunday morning that you’ll be moving out next month, ayato sees his life flash before his eyes. it’s been two days since you’ve informed him and he’s still too stunned to speak.
“hey,” ayato greets you in the kitchen, fetching a glass from a shelf higher than usual. there’s something off about the atmosphere, and it’s definitely not you. so, your eyes travel to ayato as he pours himself a glass of ice-cold water at the ass crack of dawn. “so you’re really moving out?”
what the fuck.
no because, you’re still half asleep. it’s half past five, you’re getting water and ayato waltz into the kitchen with his robe half draping off one of his shoulders and a raspy morning voice that has you weak in knees. perhaps, you expect a sweet little ‘good morning’ with his trademark smile that has the landlord’s daughter wrapped around his finger— and you too, honestly. instead, you’re met with a frown hanging on his face and a question about the topic that was last brought up about two days ago.
“yeah. surprise?” you let out the fakest laugh before letting it die just as quickly the moment the sound of your cracked voice hits your ears. actually, you don’t even care about how you look and sound. what’s more important is that ayato isn't acting like himself. well, he’s the one to react quickly and not resurrect a dead conversation two days after, especially when you’re in the process of mourning and grieving about the lack of ayato you’ll have in your life from the next month onward.
see, you have a disease, and it’s terminal. you could’ve moved out the day you moved in, or the day ayato moved in, or on any day in the past four months, but your condition didn’t allow you. first, it was the lack of green money in your hands to get a better apartment and after ayato moved in, he became the problem.
you’re down bad. outsold. you have one look at a fine man and you wobble on your knees; one sight of toned muscles and you’re a goner. flatline. dead. there’s no going back. the first time you saw ayato was after you came back from your classes with a cake in your hands to celebrate the welcoming of your roommate. you opened the door and before you stood ayato with his drenched hair and silk robe, smelling like primroses and everything that the man of your dreams could have ever.
he shot you a smile, and you were sold.
forget the cake, you had a whole five-star exquisite cuisine standing in front of you. rent was no longer a problem, you didn’t mind living under leaking roofs and honestly, even if someone murdered you, you wouldn’t mind. you have been planning to move out for a long time but if that was going to be the scene you came home to everyday, you didn’t mind any of the problems offered by the apartment.
that is what ayato did to you the day he moved in.
so, making a decision about moving out and telling that to him was a torture. not only were you losing your man— how funny— but also your daily free boba supplier. it was a life changing, heart wrenching, decision; but it had to be done.
you shoot him a smile, patting his shoulders as you walk towards your room. “hey, i’m not leaving until next month so don’t think you’re getting rid of me anytime soon.” you hear ayato let out an exaggerated sigh, one that could blow away the wig of your mathematics professor. you don’t know what occurred to him at five-thirty in the morning when he showed up with the saddest frown ever, but thinking he’s upset about you moving out would be getting ahead of yourself and making a clown of yourself once again, in the circus that your life is.
.
.
.
“dude, what the hell—” that’s thoma, and the saccharine words of compliments leaving his mouth are for none other than ayato. “what’s with your face?”
no no, not only his face; in fact, ayato, as a whole, is fucked up. he didn’t get a single ounce of sleep last night and you can blame some netflix shitshow for that. and just when he was about to fall asleep, his hydration requirements led him into the kitchen and the rest is history.
“why is she moving out?” ayato mumbles in the most disappointed and sorrow ridden voice. he didn’t even sound this heart broken when his last girlfriend dumped him in the middle of victoria’s secret because he didn’t help her choose, you know, her lingerie; as insane as it sounds. thoma hasn’t seen ayato this dejected in over a year and the blond head is convinced his one and only close friend, his bro, is losing his mind.
a second passes, thoma repeats ayato’s question in his head. “she, as in yn?” and the next second, he gets his answer. thoma sits straight, back tightened, eyes fixed on ayato who’s very, uh, desolate right now. he has a class in ten minutes but bros before everything, and especially before an hour-long lesson about shit newton did as a scientist. his priority at the moment is to beat some sense into his friend in the politest way possible.
“why shouldn’t she move out— i mean, have you looked at the apartment? it sucks ass, i’m surprised she made it till four months, i would’ve killed myself on the spot if i had to live there.” ayato shoots him a desperate look, a whine rolling off his pout as thoma’s face scrunches up into disgust because the fuck kind of behaviour is ayato exhibiting in middle of the cafe. “you know, you should move out too. i can clearly see the damage that place has done to you.”
oh no, the damage is yet to be done. it’s happening slowly, gradually, slower than the tortoise in that tortoise and the hare race, slower than a sloth, drop by drop, sucking the life out of him. ayato doesn’t have any interest in that sorry excuse of an apartment. instead, he’s interested in you. the day he moved in, you appeared in front of him as an angel. an angel with a cake, strawberry flavoured cake that he absolutely despises but you, on the other hand, looked edible— he means, you looked beautiful. you always do, even when you’re wasted after four bottles and a plattering mess.
god, ayato thinks it’s a blessing to be able to wake up in the same apartment as you. you may say you’re a potato but for ayato, you’re the longest and spiciest chilli in the bunch, he said what he said. and now you’re moving out, he can already spot the differences in the apartment. your stuff is no longer lying here and there since you’ve started arranging your things.
ayato can sense his descent into madness for several reasons. first, you’re just a roommate so why the fuck does he care if you live with him or move to mars; and second, you lived with him for two months without complaints so, why do you want to move out now. he wants to rip his hair out, drink bleach and sleep, hoping to wake up with a better thinking process and stability.
ayato feels like he has been stripped of humanity, all because you’re moving out in less than thirty days.
“hi— shit— you need to start sleeping, ayato!” this is sara, and once again, the elite words of compliments are thrown at none other than the boba man. kujou takes a seat next to thoma, observing ayato as he whines and sighs into his hand, looking like a sleep deprived, homeless man who probably has post traumatic stress disorder, but it’s literally just him crying over you, much to sara’s unawareness. “is he okay?”
thoma shakes his head, taking a sip from his drink, shooting her a ‘does-he-look-like-he’s-okay’ look before sighing at his friend’s state once again. “yn’s moving out and he’s not coping well.”
sara leans back on her chair, rolling eyes at ayato’s diseased situation. it’s surprising that someone hasn’t reported him to the infirmary or some asylum; but she knows the cure. unlike ayato, sara isn’t stupid. she knows; studying criminology gives her an advantage of knowing how to read between the lines, or in this case, ayato’s whines.
“it’s about time you accept your feelings.” what. she states and it feels like ayato’s heart skipped several beats. he looks at her wide eyed, flabber-gasted, with jaw dropped to the floor. “what? i know you like her. you’re fooling no one with that stupid face of yours.”
no, what sara’s saying is stupid. you’re a roommate. his roommate. ayato’s roommate. mate of the room. nothing less and certainly, nothing more. you don’t share a single class. his mornings start with your face and then ayato doesn’t see you for the whole day, unless you bump into each other on the campus, which is rarer than him getting hit by a meteoroid and dying. ain’t no way, he likes you. sure, you’re pretty. god, you’re gorgeous. human embodiment of goddesses but it’s just the beauty. apart from being extremely gorgeous and someone who ayato probably values more than his life, you’re basically a no one.
kamisato ayato trusts his instincts, and his instincts tell him that he doesn’t like you. he likes you, just not in that way, not the like-like. not the i-want-to-surrender-my-life-to-you kind of like, not the i-want-to-make-out-with-you kind of like. okay, maybe the last part is a lie— but he still stands by his words.
“you’re gaslighting m—”
“you’re gaslighting yourself.” thoma cuts him mid-sentence. “i still have the screenshots from the day you spammed me after yn posted that pic. don’t even try to deny.”
wait, that happened?
the, going crazy and spamming after seeing your post? ayato likes to think he was drunk.
“you we’re sober, by the way. never been more, honestly.” and oh god, he’s done for. but that’s okay, right? you’re his roommate, and it’s normal for a roommate to aggressively talk about how pretty their roommate is, isn’t it? ayato believes it is normal. it’s as normal as drinking coffee to sleep better. a human appreciating another human’s beauty, what’s so wrong with that? one should support their kind, mutualism is the way through the ecosystem. rhizobium doesn’t live symbiotically for nothing, after all. it’s just give and take—
“are you going to say something or…?” sara interjects ayato’s trail of useless thoughts. he still doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t know what to say. he doesn’t like you, right, right— it’s clear in his head, he just needs to put it in words. he’s unable to carry out the last part. “okay, if you don’t like yn, then why do you have a problem with her moving out?”
ah, yes. now we’re talking. the life in ayato’s eyes revisits. “look, look— she’s a great cook,” hah, what a liar. you’re a cook, not a great one. you don’t even cook in the apartment to begin with. the kitchen belongs to mister kamisato ayato and you sit by the counter to watch him cook and add another ten to fifteen years in your life. “and she can clean,” that’s something you’ve always been good at. truthfully, you don’t mind cleaning or doing any of the chores for ayato. you’re ready to get on your fours and bark for him. “and, she's pretty…”
“there,” thoma interrupts, slamming his hand on the table, having ayato look at him with a curious gaze; which looks horrifying because of his lack of sleep, by the way. “i don’t see how being pretty is anywhere close to why you need her to stay.”
sara nods in agreement, but ayato knows he makes sense. who wants to live with an ugly roommate? okay, maybe, all roommates are pretty, but thoma, if ayato had to live with him, he’d flee the country. so, being pretty does co-relate with living peacefully, because if you’re not pretty, your roommate will flee countries and that’ll cause unnecessary expenses. henceforth, point proven. ayato still thinks he makes absolute, completely, hundred percent sense.
“whatever, just ask her to stay if it’s that important,” thoma snickers, rolling his eyes. but what he’s saying is not possible. ayato may be good at flirting, he does have a pretty good record with dating, but he becomes a nervous wreck around you.
he’s nervous right now.
you make him nervous. just the thought of you makes him nervous.
and believe it or not, ayato can’t just walk up to you and ask you to not move away because you’re a great cook, you can clean and you’re pretty— no. he doesn’t have the confidence. the whole process sounds like a secret military operation where flexible deterrent options are a must if he wants to survive.
talking to you feels like writing finals for a subject he has never touched in his whole life. it’s like skydiving without a parachute, going into space without oxygen, and whatnot. despite spending two months with you in the same apartment, under the same roof, ayato’s communication skills haven’t improved past the ‘hi / hello’ stage.
it’s like stepping on his sister in front of his mother and then breaking her favourite vase before throwing his father’s golf clubs into the sewer. and even though ayato says he likes you, hypothetically, he wouldn’t stroll up to you and ask you to not move out. that's utterly selfish. you’re just a roommate, a chapter in his life, someone who he stumbled across on his way and took a liking to— platonically— that’s it. that’s all you are. ayato thinks it’s insultingly selfish of him to ask you to stay. so he wouldn’t ask you, but he wants to, he wishes for you to stay, no matter how selfish it sounds.
“i can’t ask her that.” it’s a stern reply, ayato is way too confident with his words while thoma raises his eyebrows as an interrogative response. “what, you expect me to go ‘hey yn, please don’t move out’ one fine day?”
“no, but you can definitely go, ‘hey yn, you have a sexy and hot roommate who will do you right so don’t move out,’ at her.” ayato believes that the stupidest and most brain-degrading sentence that has ever come out of kujou sara’s mouth. “i mean, you don’t have to tell her to stay, show her.”
“this isn’t literature, sara.”
“i know, but show her the benefits of not moving out,” she repeats, her eyes enunciating a bigger plan behind those few insensible words. “seduce her with your skills, ayato.”
yeah no, there’s no bigger plan.
the only plan is to fuck up kamisato ayato’s already fucked up life with her illogical, useless fucked up plan. for someone studying criminology and nailing those charts, sara surely thinks less before speaking. no, she doesn’t think at all. her brain is probably in the suitcase she trashed last week.
“sara, shut up before i—”
ayato wants to continue his statement, but thoma beats him to it. “no no, wait. she, she makes sense.”
no, she does not.
she doesn’t make any sense.
no dots are connected, the dots aren’t here to begin with. head in hands, ayato sighs again. this sounds like something that would ruin his life beyond repair. to damage his reputation so much, he’d have to flee the country and change his identity. perhaps, the kaedehara family would take him in.
“dude, think about it,” ah, no. ayato very well knows that thoma doesn’t get to talk about ‘thinking’ and anything related to it after saying sara’s plan makes sense. her words are incredibly thoughtless. “you show her the benefits. drop her to campus and drive her back, cook for her, clean for her, arrange her bed for her, earn for her, spend on her, just anything— show her, ayato.”
no.
ayato doesn’t like the direction this conversation is heading in.
or perhaps, he’s just overthinking. well, he has been doing almost everything on that list, honestly. everything as in, cooking. that’s it. that’s important, cooking is necessary, one must survive to eat— he means, eat to survive. he has spent quite a generous sum when you lost your very first job.
this whole conversation is eating his brains out. you’re just a friend, not even a friend, a roommate. a fucking roommate he got attached to and how his abandonment issues are surfacing and god knows what will follow. he repeats thoma’s words in his head over and over again— now way, it makes sense. if anything, it’s going to give you the wrong idea that your roommate became a sugar daddy overnight and you’re going to be his first sugar baby, as sweet and horrific as it sounds.
talk to us when you’re in a state to accept your feelings. that’s what sara said before excusing herself out of the cafe with thoma following her shortly behind. yeah no, ayato is regretting every decision that led him to this conversation, this unsolicited therapy session that fucked his brain inside-out. he’s about to leave the cafe as well, planning to skip all his classes and probably go visit a temple or something, until you come around with your friends.
there’s a smile on your face, the one he wakes up to. he loves your smile. ayato thinks your smile is really pretty; you are pretty— platonically. a smile creeps up to his face as well, dissipating as soon as thoma’s words re-visited his mind.
show her. ayato bites the insides of his cheeks. he’s probably going to take that advice. after all, you can make anything make sense if you really tried.
.
.
.
ayato is on his way to the apartment.
he clearly disposed of all his responsibilities as an ideal student and sprinted out of the campus like a criminal on the run. well, he’s on his way to become a criminal. he’s about to seduce you using his skills and then you’ll report him to the police. doesn’t matter that he can get bailed out in minutes thanks to his mad rich family, he’ll still flee the country, get a new identity, dye his hair. kaedehara ayato doesn’t sound bad, not bad at all. it sounds delicious, healing, sounds like something that would save his life.
now, he’s on the elevator to the floor. he’s afraid the elevator would stop moving if another pack of stress stacks up on his shoulders. actually, that wouldn’t be half bad.
the elevator stops, security comes, you will come running, the management will open the door and he’ll die in your arms out of collapsing lungs? stress? anxiety? heart attack? you’ll cup his face and he’ll tell you about his last wish— please don’t move out. though, it would lack the necessary fucks to give since he’s dead but in case, he’s alive, in case, then you’d live with him. sounds like a plan. godbless to whatever sara and thoma have done, ayato is incapable of carrying out the general thinking procedure.
now he’s walking towards the door, fiddling with the key between his fingers. show don’t tell, show don’t tell, show don’t tell— fuck, if ayato ever paid attention to all the lessons about creative writing in highschool, he would’ve been the best selling author; which he is not. there’s a reason why he’s majoring in history, out of all the available options.
for some reason, ayato expected you to be home. if he remembers correctly, you only have half your lessons and he knows you wouldn’t attend half of those scheduled lessons to read webtoons in the library.
but you’re not home, and he’s going crazy. did you run away? oh god— what if you already moved out? surprise, with the haha, happy living alone note? he doesn’t wait another second before opening the door, coming across a living room that’s seemingly… normal.
he spots your plushie on the couch, your gaming console lying around like trash or whatever, and uh, a poster of some levi ackerman from that apocalypse au of the anime you watch after sacrificing sleep to you sleep paralysis demon. he remembers you ordering it a week ago, turns out it arrived this morning and you unpacked it, leaving it in the living room because you were getting late for classes.
you’re still living here, definitely. there’s no way you’re moving out without that silly poster of yours.
ayato picks it up, judging the man from head to his chest since that’s where the poster ends. he looks like a bergamot. that’s all, and ayato dumps the poster on the floor and leaves to take a shower.
.
.
.
it’s six in the evening.
you got drunk at two for absolutely no reason and passed out at your friend’s place. good for you, your hangover is evaporating. though, your head throbs like something else when you watch ayato in his silk robe after shower when he smells like the man you’d get on your knees for.
you don’t have high expectations this evening. it’s tuesday and ayato never returns on time when it’s tuesday. no he doesn’t drink and judging from how he’s always up at six on wednesdays, he doesn’t get laid either; which is actually good for you because you would never, ever, want any girl to sleep with your man, even though he isn’t yours.
you’re met with a pleasant surprise when you stand in front of your door with the keys in your hands, noticing that it’s already unlocked. perhaps, you can at least end your day with ayato in his finest attire. you smile, opening the door, your smile grows wider as you notice ayato’s shoes, it grows even wider when you smell freshly prepared creme pasta lingering in the air. you’re in for a ride. you step in further, eyes settling on your roommate who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a wine glass in his hand— wait.
wait a damn minute.
wait a fucking second, that’s— ayato for sure— okay, you decide to take it from the bottom. that’s ayato wearing a silk pyjama, okay that’s new. new for you, maybe not for him, but you’re used to seeing him in silk robes with nothing beneath, you know, bare calves and feet. his toenails probably look prettier than yours. your eyes travel up further, completely leaving out the part you shouldn’t be thinking about especially when you’re still partly hungover, you see his abs— pause.
hold the fuck up, his abs? you blink, and look again, you stare at him for a better look. abs. fucking abs, you’re— but why abs?! no, you don’t complain. all you’ve ever seen is a part of his chest from the godsent chest window offered by his robes. nothing more, nothing below, not abs. never.
you— okay— you take a deep breath and process the situation. ayato is wearing the same silk robe, except it’s with pyjamas, however he didn’t tie it. he didn’t tie it, oh god— you’re watching kamisato ayato from the first seat, full access to his toned abs, you’re frothing at the mouth.
“welcome home, yn” silence. what. what. what the fuck did he say? no, ayato greets you everything but not like this. not in the seductive tone that makes your name sound a hundred times breathtaking and make you feel like you’re an empress to some crazy rich nation, not in a way where you can look at his abs, and he runs his fingers through his wet hairs before taking a sip from the wine. not in the sexy, knee weakening, voice that fills your brain with the visual depiction of ‘pregnant emoji’ over and over again.
you’re done. sold. dead. gone. mother of his kids, probably? you don’t mind because just when you thought you’re over your silly little crush on your roommate and ready to move out, he stands in front of you, looking like aphrodite’s son or just, aphrodite herself— except, this one’s male.
“yn, you okay there?” no no no, you’re not, you’re not. you’re not okay. you’re oscillating between having the time of your life and lying on your deathbed. it’s like you’re playing a quiz with your own mind where the first option is to die and the second option is to die as well. you’re— you’re failing to compose yourself and you’re sure if someone doesn’t drag you out of this, you will embarrass yourself horribly enough for you to dig a hole and decompose.
ayato chuckles. he chuckles. he has the audacity to chuckle at you after looking at that. does he even know about the effect he has on you? no, of course he doesn’t. he probably thinks it’s completely normal for him to stand in front of you, half naked, looking criminally hot; yeah no— someone needs to stop him.
“your face is red,” oh, i wonder why. “are you sick?” it’s such a rhetorical question, you’re not sure if he’s actually that innocent or whether he’s having fun teasing you like this. you nod, avoiding all sorts of eye contact and verbal conversation. you’ve figured out enough that if you open your mouth, it’ll get you in trouble. you’re bound to say something stupid, perhaps about how you want him to blow your back like a glowstick or something, or maybe you’d tell him to dress up and put on some clothes, despite the fact that you very much adore the scene in front of you right now, and make everything terribly awkward for the rest of your lives.
ayato smiles, putting his hand on your shoulder, and you feel several volts of electric current travelling down your spine. you’re getting butterflies, or perhaps the whole damn zoo with monkeys swinging off your ribs and vertebrates. you want to pass out. you want to faint right fucking now before something goes wrong because he’s standing right in front of you, and his hand is on your shoulder, and you’re getting a much much closer and clearer look at this toned muscles— you’re about to start barking.
“uh, i’ll go—” yes. leaving is the only option, the only correct option. exactly what you should do right now. gather your useless thoughts, run away, go to your room, take a cold shower, and don’t come out until ayato leaves for his classes the next day.
he smiles, taking his hand off your shoulder and you take a sign of relief. probably the best you’ve felt in months, really. “okay, i’ll set dinner.”
“i’m not hungry.”
“huh?”
“i’m not hungry, i feel sick. it’s uh— dysentery.” great. fucking marvelous. out of everything, it had to be dysentery.
“oh. do you need med—”
“no, i have benadryl.” you want to bang your head into the closest wall, want the ceiling to finally collapse, the tiles to break and take you inside. you just want to disappear because benadryl is a fucking cough syrup. you simply excuse yourself before he could ask anymore questions, hearing him suppress his laughter as you walk away. he probably knows you’re lying, doesn’t take a doctor to tell what a benadryl is; and you couldn’t thank him enough for pretending you’re absolutely right with the medications and letting you be.
you get inside your room, you shut the door, you lean against it and contemplate every decision you ever took in your life.
where did it go wrong?
was it the part when you moved in? damn, sure you should’ve moved out earlier. you should’ve ran away the day you saw a fine man like ayato standing in front of you, tagged as your roommate. you know you’d sell your soul or something for him, you are aware of the things you’d do for him, for ayato, because a man like him deserves the world. you should’ve moved out before your inner simp had started channelling herself.
you grab your clothes and decide to sit in the shower until you prune up and die. that’s probably the only right decision. you’re about to get inside the bathroom when you hear the doorbell, halting your steps as you hear footsteps approaching inside.
“hi,” that. that’s a woman. a lady, a female human, you didn’t think ayato would be capable of being friends with any other woman beside you and kujou sara.
now judging from the low, scarred intensity of the voice that’s reaching your ears, you can tell she’s a pretty woman. pretty like those campus crushes but in your head, she’s pretty like those main antagonists of some melodramatic television show that make you want to strangle her to death with every breath she takes. you don’t even know her but the way your fist clenches, it’s definitely jealousy piping out of you like candies from pez dispensers.
“i’m sorry for last night,” last— last what? “we can continue.”
continue what.
no. no fuck, you can’t.
if this is about what your rotten brain is thinking about then there’s no way they can continue. you’re here, in your room, the walls around aren’t soundproof and you aren’t ready for whatever obscene act they’re going to pull in his room, or perhaps in the living room because the woman seems to have zero patience.
“my roommate is here,” that’s ayato. yes. you nod in approval. tell her ayato. tell her to gather up her fantasies and desires and get he fuck out of your apartment. “hope you don’t mind.”
what.
what.
of course, you mind. you didn’t sign up for some real life porn show when signing the papers for this apartment. moreover, you’re not stable and mentally, physically or emotionally strong enough to stand all the moans and groans that’ll fill up the room when he’ll do everything that you want him to do with you, and you’re thinking this with all your soberness.
“oh, she can join us! the more, the merrier.” no, never. you don’t want to join them in their silly little adventure. you’re not in for some monstrous threesome, as amazing as it sounds. you still have to live with ayato for around twenty-eight days and you can’t just join the two of them tonight and wake up the next day as if nothing ever happened.
you’re insane, but the sane part is still functional. your last two lovely, worn out brain cells are working day and night to keep you alive, successfully having you avoid all the pits of embarrassment and shame, you can not let them down.
you don’t hear ayato’s response, or perhaps, you want to pretend you didn’t. because you definitely heard something along the lines of ‘bend over,’ and then he cues some music.
it’s sway by michael buble. out of all the testosterone stimulating sex songs out there, ayato had to choose this. well, it doesn't change the fact that she’s living the life you’ve been dreaming for, ever since ayato moved in. you’re fucking glad the song is loud enough to block any R-rated sounds or else you would’ve suffered a trauma and piss your pants everytimes someone brings up sex the next time in your life.
you’re on your bed, covering your ears with your pillows, trying to sleep, while she’s in his arms, doing the deed. funny, very funny. is there a chance you would have completely misinterpreted the entire situation? maybe. but no woman randomly shows up at a man’s house after seven in the evening and the first thing she asks is to continue their last night activities.
you wish your ears would fall off and you’d forget everything you heard tonight. the sound of music isn’t helping you sleep and you can waltz to ayato and ask him to turn down the volume in middle of whatever the fuck they’re doing and infect your eyes and lose your virginity along with the last bits of your sanity, but you don’t have the balls to do so.
you don’t have the balls to do anything. maybe if you did, you would’ve told ayato about your feelings and maybe, tonight, it would’ve been you instead of that woman. so you just do what you can : bury yourself inside the covers and try to sleep.
maybe if you ignore it, it will go away.
.
.
.
waking up, you realise you haven’t had any sleep in the past twenty-four hours or so. maybe you did, thirty minutes, or so. that doesn’t count when all you’ve heard last night are some horribly weird sex songs and phrases like, ‘that feels so good,’ and other things along the same lines whenever the music stopped.
you looked at yourself in the mirror and almost passed out at the sight. horrible, literally. failing valak from the conjuring universe. actually, you can be the new valak except you’ll have real, actual, trauma and reason to haunt people.
what surprises you more is that you haven’t come out of your room since last evening and ayato didn’t even check up on you. not like he’s obliged to, but he must. despite the fact that he was probably having the best night of his life, he should have morals as a human who cares about another human; or, as a roommate, because what if you fell from bed and broke your back? what if you got stuck in a chair and died of poor circulation? he probably doesn’t care. you’re pretty sure he’ll call the woman from last night the moment he finds your body and they’ll dance and sing on your grave; maybe, even fuck around it too.
you want to get out of your room and go to the kitchen. you want to eat. but you’re scared the pair from last night would be passed out naked on the floor— nah, you’re not ready for that scene at seven in the morning. and this wouldn’t have been another issue to worry about if only ayato showed a little more patience and compassion and took her to his room.
well, you have to survive. there’s a harsher world out there.
you open the door and creep out of your room as if you’ve been meaning to steal something. you’re acting like this isn’t your apartment but the apartment of someone you’ve stolen a couple million dollars from. oh, and your eyes are closed. yeah. you’re not ready, not ready at all. you’d rather bump and fall and hit your head, die on spot; that'd be way better—
“oh, you’re up,” that’s a familiar voice. you’re sure, you look crazy standing in front of your room with your eyes closed, but that’s for another day. the main question is whether you should open your eyes or not. “you didn’t come out for dinner, i was waiting.”
your eyes shoot open.
okay. okay…
so, he’s not naked. thankfully, he’s dressed. fully dressed, in a white shirt with a top few buttons undone, black jeans or trousers, whatever they are. you miss the chest window, but you’re glad he’s dressed because you don’t certainly want to look at the scratches and marks from last night and add more trauma to your life.
“i told you, i had dysentery,” as if he believes you. the look on his face tells he doesn’t. no one would, you ruin things for yourself.
as expected, ayato is a goddamn liar. the ‘i was waiting,’ part sounds so fake now that you’re aware of what happened last night. because waiting while fucking someone doesn’t sound like waiting to you. more or less, it sounds like he was devouring his dinner while you were starving in your room.
“did you not sleep last night?” oh, yeah, of course not. he’s getting there, slowly, but he is getting to the point. you wonder who’s to be blamed for your lack of sleep and the reason why you woke up with only one living and semi-functional brain cell. “ah, is it because of me? was it too loud last night? i was busy.”
busy? yeah, he was busy working really hard blowing someone’s back or whatever. sounds like a tough job, but that’s none of your business. ( actually, it is ) you don’t want to have this conversation. you don’t know how to look him in the eyes. ayato, your roommate, your crush, he rocked someone else’s world while he knew you were in the apartment, probably hearing everything. for someone who’s rich enough to be featured in crazy rich asians, ayato surely does work a lot, and hard enough, at that.
you want to murder him. chop off his limbs and also the part he’s probably very proud of. you want to shave his head so that no girl approaches him in the future.
“oh, you probably don’t know about my work, do you?” no. you don’t want to. you don’t want to hear about the details, you’re not ready for this conversation. “i help my mom with physiotherapy,”
yes. yes therapy, sounds lovely. everyone needs it, especially him. wait, therapy? what kind of therapy is sex? well, it is some sort of therapy by the way, it makes you feel at ease— no, you’re swerving away from the topic ! okay, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly. he clearly said psychotherapy and he needs to get his licence revoked for the kind of therapy he is giving. it’s giving rise to more mental patients; you, for example.
“therapy?” you mutter, you didn’t mean to. you need to learn how to keep your thoughts to yourself, you lack severely in that department of life.
“yes, therapy for joints and bones? my mother is a physiotherapist and she taught me a thing or two,” oh. oh. physiotherapy. is that why he asked her to bend over? what was the need to put on music, though? you don’t understand ayato. actually, you don’t understand anyone in the kamisato family even though you’ve only met his sister so far.
now, you feel guilty for thinking about him in that light. apart from the potential visual representations of ayato from last night in your head, you have a very high respect for this man. you feel like you should get on your knees and apologise, offer a hand-written apology letter for thinking of him in such a non-PG-13 manner.
though, you don’t know how to apologise. you can’t possibly go ‘sorry, ayato, i thought you were busy having the best sex of your life when you were actually providing her therapy.’ that doesn’t even sound right. it makes you look like you need therapy, urgently. but you need to apologise for your sake. maybe, this is just the consequences of your actions or in this case, your imagination.
“i’m—” you open your mouth to speak, but ayato beats you to it.
“do you want to go out with me today?”
wait, what?
do what now?
go out with who?
it’s a question that catches you off guard, pushes off off the cliff, stops your heart. the monkeys in your stomach are alive again even though they suffer from utter embarrassment and guilt for assuming all sorts of things about ayato, and the perfect man he is.
you want to say yes. of course, no one in their right mind would reject such a golden opportunity to ride in his Bugatti La Voiture Noire that’s worth 18.7 million dollars as of when he purchased it. you remember you have a terminal disease where you spot one toned muscle and sell your conscience to whatever demon is out there. even though you don’t see any toned muscles, you see ayato’s collar bones thanks to those few undone buttons, you see the nerves of his arms thanks to the rolled up sleeves, you see him wearing an apron because he was making breakfast, what a malewife.
you’re sold, almost.
almost.
the offer is tempting, but your new apartment is more. you’re an adult and it's a fact even if you don’t want to believe it and want to become a cat who solely lives for aesthetic purposes. you need to earn for yourself and move out of this apartment instead of living in a hell just to fill a void called ayato in your heart.
“i have to go take a look at how the work at my new apartment is going,” you’re surprised at how sane and normal your response sounds. it’s truly concerning after everything that has happened since last evening and the trash that’s residing in your head.
you try your best to sound apologetic. you are, you really are, you’re missing out on ayato and his Bugatti La Voiture Noire of $18.7 millions, the one that people ( aka, you ) drool over every time they pass by. it’s an expensive sacrifice, literally and metaphorically, worth more than your life.
“well, that sucks,” ayato sighs, removing the apron in the most seducing way possible, proceeding to run his fingers through his hairs, looking like a mouth-watering, melt in the mouth, sizzling pork at seven-thirty in the morning. “i had plans for us,”
and you’re floored.
us. you like the sound of that. you and ayato, ayato and you, hot. very hot, very sexy, sounds like an eargasm, honestly. for a second, you think it’s a dream. it has to be. if not, then maybe he wants to take you to a shrine or something and have you cleansed from top to bottom for all the r-rated thoughts you’ve been having. but, that’s only possible if ayato has an idea of what’s going on inside your head. there’s no way he knows that, or maybe he does. you look at him like he’s the happy meal and you haven’t eaten in a good five-hundred years or so.
you’re too lost in your thoughts to focus on ayato until he leans in a bit closer, alerting every single neuron in your body as he shoots you a smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “have fun, pretty.”
and here lies yn, twenty something, majoring in one of the available majors offered by her university. cause of death: kamisato ayato.
.
.
.
ayato lets out a desperate cry of help, sliding down the walls of thoma’s living room as soon as he enters thoma’s apartment, scaring the living shit out of his friends.
“go die somewhere else.” that’s sara again. you can’t blame her, she follows thoma like a pest because he’s a good cook, that’s it. food above everything else.
thoma walks to the entrance, sighing at the sight of his friend lying on the floor, dejected and lifeless, looking pale, running the beauty of thoma’s luxurious apartment tiled with granite floors. if it weren’t for his morals, he would’ve trashed ayato.
“i feel like a whore,” sara’s face scrunches up in disgust. maybe, judging from the way ayato talks about you, he is a whore. if not a whore, then something equivalent to it. “never knew i’d have to do this.”
sara leans against the wall that ayato just slid down out of pure despair. “do what?”
“seduce yn.” thoma practically pukes out all the water from his mouth at his friend’s words. “what, you both told me to do so!”
sara doesn’t believe his words. they say love is blind, but in this case it’s also ignorant and incapable of following the wise and helpful instructions provided. “how the fuck have you been seducing her?”
“um, with my skills?”
“don’t tell me.” the disappointment, in thoma’s voice, is astronomical. who would’ve thought that kamisato ayato, the heir to kamisato estate, excels in the art of idiocy. god really said he can either have looks or brains, and completely missed out on the latter. “ayato, i talked about cooking and cleaning and your homekeeping skills and not about your talents in bed.”
oh.
that’s right.
even though all ayato did was fluster you a little this morning— see, he’s disregarding what happened last evening. ayato assumes you’re used to seeing him half naked in his silk robe, with his drenched hair while he smells like primroses and sandalwood and everything else that’s featured in Dior’s men perfume collection. he thinks it’s normal. it’s his apartment, he gets to wear whatever he wants and make himself comfortable.
he doesn’t know what bed skills tho— wait, bed? skills? talent in bed? what? what? he’s not even marginally close to what thoma is thinking; and ayato is sure that he needs to get new friends before it’s too late.
“what ‘talents in bed’ are you even talking about?” ayato asks, finally standing up from the floor like the kamisato he is and slumping on the couch.
thoma deadpans. “do you seriously want me to elaborate?” no, probably not. never. thoma has experience in this field, you see, and ayato, as someone who has never even thought about this, doesn’t want him to explain and give details about every single move and curve— no.
ayato chooses his sanity over human reproductive knowledge.
“i— nothing happened, nothing! all i did was ask if she wanted to go out with me and,” he pauses, eyes travelling between thoma and sara simultaneously. the latter raises her eyebrows, gesturing to him to continue his precautionary tale about how to not treat your roommate. “and, and i might’ve flirted with her, a little, yeah.”
the embarrassment is evident in his voice.
ayato wants to liquify and evaporate. he wants thoma’s house to break down and kill everyone and him too. he wants the microwave to blast, just anything, anything that could save him from this conversation. now, flirting isn’t that bad in itself. it’s good, it’s fun, ayaka flirts with yoimiya when her inner lesbian unleashes itself. sara flirts with shogun for some goddamn reason and everyone thinks they have a thing or two going on because no one dares to talk to ei. itto flirts with himself in the mirror— it’s normal, completely, absolutely, certainly, normal-er than normal. normal-est.
ayato, however, doesn’t flirt. he doesn’t know how to flirt. the leisure art of flirting is beyond the luxuries this specific kamisato can afford. the last time he hit on someone was a cat, not even his ex-girlfriend, a cat. a feline. it scratched him. ayato refrains from flirting to avoid all sorts of innuendos—
a pause. the innuendos, the fucking innuendos, oh god. what if, what if you get the wrong idea? well, thoma and sara assumed that he has been trying to get laid with you so it only makes sense for you to assume the same after all that half-naked, bare-chested, sexy-wine-sipping, jazz last evening.
no no no—
he’s done. he’s done.
over.
if there’s someone who should move out, it’s him.
this life ruining emotionally stressing psychologically mortifying realisation makes him want to jump down the nearest window and pass out, then never wake up. he wants to trip on air and die of mesothelioma, wants to overdose on sparkling water and die of negativity in his life.
if he doesn’t die, he wishes for the earth to explode or something so that everyone else dies and humanity comes to an end. his day has been ruined, his disappointment and shame is immeasurable. kazuha better be ready to have an adopted brother because ayato is damn sure the kamisatos are kicking him out after this.
ayato doesn’t wait for his friends to say something. he simply walks out of thoma’s apartment, dejected in shame, hoping lighting will strike him in broad daylight on a day with clear skies. you’re not home, that’s great. you won’t be back anytime before evening because you’re out with your friends. no, actually, you’re out with miko and the new transfer students beidou and venti, who you are bound to get drunk and pass out with.
that’s good, it’s great. a godsent opportunity. there are two possibilities: first, either you come home remembering everything and move out the very next day or second, you forget everything thanks to alcohol. he hopes it’s the second one. alcohol does wonders water could never. those two molecules of hydrogen and one molecule of oxygen don’t do shit when it comes to forgetting memories. alcohol, on the other hand, is capable of doing miracles.
like the time he got home downright wasted and almost kissed you senseless while you were helping him clean up. he can swear, he saw the blush on your cheeks. but maybe, that was just fatigue since you had to wake up at two to deal with him.
yeah, alcohol, a godly drink.
he reaches home, grabs a beer can from the refrigerator and makes himself comfortable on the couch. ayato wants to forget everything, hoping you’d forget it all too.
.
.
.
“ayato,” you whisper his name, shaking his shoulders gently in an attempt to wake him up. not like you want to, the sight of him sleeping soundly is healing you and washing off your sins. one does not see the kamisato ayato sleeping on the couch with flushed cheeks because of drinks and a shirt that’s almost half-a-way undone everyday.
it’s a godly sight. a scenery. mother nature could never. you genuinely want to thank his parents for the masterpiece they have created.
you shouldn’t sit next to the couch and gawk at him while he’s sleeping. that’s creepy. what if he wakes up? imagine waking up to your roommate staring at you with the utmost attention. creepy, and moreover, you wouldn’t be able to face him.
but again, he looks like the man you’d like to have as your boyfriend. scratch that, your husband, if not more. as if, anything more remains, but whatever. you smile, it’s a chuckle. you chuckle. you chuckle out loud, hand flying to your mouth immediately, hoping he doesn’t wake up.
you reach out for his face, tracing his nose as superficially as possible, a faint gasp escaping your lips as he shifts a little. great. you have woken him up. his eyes flutter open and you quickly compose yourself, leaning away from him as you realise about the close proximity between him and you.
ayato groans as he turns to his right, eyes landing on you sitting on the floor right next to him, eyes wide open like a deer caught in the headlights. a second passes, you’re okay. the next second, you’re not.
you’re panicking.
you’re experiencing all sorts of emotions at once because ayato just woke up and he probably knows you’ve been sitting here, watching him sleep for god knows how long. time is a social construct either way, who the fuck cares— okay, you’re swaying from the topic once again. and not to mention he looks extremely hot with messed up hair and those flushed cheeks. you’re barely composing yourself.
did you mention that ayato has excellent facial features? he looks even more stunning up close. you know you should get up and walk away. hide yourself inside your room, live in solitary confinement for the rest of your life, or at least till ayato is around. but you don’t, because you’re staring at ayato, and he’s staring back at you. it’s like you’ve frozen in your place, you’re pretty sure you’d forgotten to breathe, if that even makes sense?
“hi,” he mutters, whispers, in his godly, eargasmic voice, and you feel like you’re hearing melodies of careless whisper ringing in your ears.
no, you’re not sitting on the floor anymore. you stand up, pretending nothing ever happened, as if you didn’t stare at him sleeping and continued to stare for five solid minutes even after he had woken up. a very reliable solution, playing pretend always proves to be useful.
“you can wash up, i’ll prepare the hangover soup,” you mutter, making your way to the kitchen, hearing him shuffle on the couch as he sits straight. ayato doesn’t remember a lot from the events that happened prior to your arrival, yet, which is fantastic. marvels of alcohol, everyone.
“don’t go,” he mumbles, and you stop on your way. “don’t move out,” ayato doesn’t think before speaking, he never does. he doesn’t trust himself. he said you’re just a roommate, nothing less, nothing more, but he has been devastated ever since you told him you’ll be moving out. maybe, that was all a lie. maybe, this isn’t just platonical. maybe, you have always been a little more than just a roommate to ayato.
it’s like the fireworks are going off all around you. you’re still processing his words, wondering if he really means them because in the end, he’s drunk. partially, completely, he is drunk. and you can never trust alcohol and its consequences.
so, you simply decide to play along, hoping he won't remember this conversation the next day. “is there a reason for me to stay?”
“i am,” another quick reply, and you’re losing your mind. it’s like the ground beneath you is shaking. your heart is accelerating so fast, you’re scared it’ll come out of your chest. it’s not your first time witnessing a drunk ayato who has gone batshit crazy, but it is your first time having him look at you with an expression you’ve never seen on his face before. at least not with regards to you.
he sighs, getting up from the couch before making his way towards you with every step increasing your already racing heartbeat. and before you know it, he’s already standing in front of you, barely a few inches apart as he cups your face, eyes settling on your lips. “please remind me if i forget any of this tomorrow,”
rest all feels like a dream because ayato, your roommate, the guy you’ve had a crush on ever since he moved in, the man you’d bark for— not literally, maybe, is kissing you. he’s not just kissing you, he’s kissing you, as in literally slotting his lips against yours, pulling you closer with every second that passes. he’s kissing you like the world will end tomorrow and even if it does, you don’t mind. you don’t fucking mind if the house burns to ashes and a truck runs you over the very next day because this is everything you’ve wished for in past two months ( you know, besides having a place with better living conditions to call house )
“ayato—” no he doesn’t let you speak. instead, he nibbles on your lips, soft gasps for air twirling in between as he frames you against the kitchen counter. no, this isn’t your first kiss. you’ve had relationships, but nothing compares to this moment. no other kiss compares to how he’s kissing you and how it feels like you’re on an amusement park ride where the adrenaline gets the best of you and suddenly, you’re drowning between pleasure and thrill.
that is what kissing ayato is like.
it’s like going to heaven and back in just the way his hands ghost up your cheeks and slot them against your waist, your hands wrapping around his neck as his tongue slightly brushes against your bottom lips, and without a second thought, you let it in. kissing ayato is like gravitating towards a black hole, it’s like lying at the rock bottom and falling even deeper. you’re not sure if you should be doing this right now, especially when he’s drunk, but the taste of alcohol against your tongue inhibits your thought process, allowing your feelings to get the best of you.
he pulls away, lips brushing against yours as you lean in to capture them in another kiss, only for him to retract. needless to say, it leaves you a little embarrassed. ayato cups your cheeks once again, making you look into his eyes with his warm breath fanning on your face. “i love you,” that’s all he says before navigating his lips to yours once again.
you’re not sure if you heard him right. of course, you did. you have a good sense of hearing and there’s no way you’re missing such an important detail, but— love, you don’t know how sober that is. you don’t know how much of this kiss, and every sensation that you’re sharing with each other, is genuine. you don’t know how sober ayato is, you don’t know whether this is because of the alcohol or if he actually loves you. so, you put his hands on his chest, pushing him away as he stares at you with an expression ranging between confusion and heartbreak.
you kiss the inside of his palms, shooting him a sweet smile, before walking into your room. “say that again when you’re sober.”
note two. hello if you made it this far im in love you and sending you all the, uh, things that you like ?? probably ?? yeah. trust me, i never knew i'd end up writing a 10,310 words long fic about ayato and reader simping over each other, in around five hours, two days before my english exam. but this had to be done. i had the rough draft in my keep ever since i made my genshin acc ( hi hi to people who remember my nezlys era ) i had to elaborate. i hope you liked this ?? not the kind of writing you want to see or even write, when this is your first post for a fandom but c'mon. it's about ayato. i had to do this for ayato in silk robe when he's freshly out of shower smelling like primroses and sandalwood and everything else from Dior's men perfume collection
send an ask to join my genshin taglist !
#prod. — caelin.#album. — genshin.#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin impact headcanons#genshin x reader#genshin impact scenarios#kamisato ayato#kamisato ayato x reader#ayato x reader#ayato imagines#ayato scenarios#genshin x you#ayato x you#from. — mtr !
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Konoha 12 with Children Going Through the Same Trauma They Did
Tags/Warnings: Body Image Issues, Grief, Mental Health Topics, Reader Insert, No Reader Pronouns, Mild Physical Abuse (Sorry Sasuke would punt you)
Notes: Boruto who? BORUTO DOESN’T EXIST FOR THESE HEADCANONS.
𓆃 Choji - Body Image
Easily the best at knowing what to say. He’s been struggling with his body image his entire life and has a wonderful grasp on what health specific to his clan looks like.
Choji strives to make topics surrounding weight and body shape normal and neutral in the household, so if you're asking about weight, it’s because some other stupid kid said something.
You are always reminded of your spirit, skills, and capacity for kindness rather than your looks.
Choji ensures that your home is a positive and safe place to talk about anything.
𓆃 Hinata - Finding a Voice
Hinata has always been a very patient person and knows how hard it is to break out of one’s shell. As a parent, she provides a space for you to be heard and to feel safe.
Hinata believes that you can’t force things when it comes to your growth and tries to nurture you until you have the strength to do it on your own.
Not to say that she doesn’t give a little push now and then. Hinata herself always regretted the amount of time it took for her to take chances and be vulnerable with friends, so she gives gentle nudges and reassurance when she can.
𓆃 Ino - Normalcy and Loss
A part of Ino always wanted to be a normal girl. There was a balance between civilian life and shinobi life that she couldn’t quite strike, especially when responsibility was thrust onto her so young.
She’ll want to go out with you often, whether it’s getting sweet drinks, getting your nails painted, asking for the friend-group gossip, or other fun activities.
A part of her craves getting more of those experiences in her youth, but she very much wants you to have those experiences for yourself and to have a consistent parent who “gets you.”
She definitely tries too hard at times— it’s embarrassing sometimes— but she means well.
𓆃 Kiba - Bein’ a Guy
Kiba always had a loud bark, but when it came down to it, he didn’t meet all the goals he intended to meet.
Being the energetic guy he is, he will be rooting for you from day one. Sometimes, you feel he gets more excited about projects and accomplishments than you.
Kiba is always celebrating you and always bragging about you. He’s proud of you that you have goals— big or small— but more than anything, he wants you to live your life in a way that makes you happy.
If you’re happy, Kiba is dragging you out for celebratory ice cream.
𓆃 Lee - Bullying and Inadequacy
Ehm. I mean, he means well?
You see, Gai took a very tough love approach with Lee meaning that Lee thinks if you push hard enough, you’ll find fulfillment... and that’s not for everyone.
He’s also not great with his words. Every so often, he’ll say something encouraging, but sometimes he’s just emotionally clueless.
If anything, you’ll always be celebrated for your uniqueness and what makes you you.
Lee genuinely wants only what’s best for you; his pure intentions are always clear.
𓆃 Naruto - Isolation
Poor Naruto, seeing you isolated would probably make him so sad. And angry, for that matter! Naruto isn’t above punting some jerk kid who made you mad (which probably isn’t great for the Hokage).
He’s a little goofy in the sense that he’ll probably take an over-interest in the things you enjoy. He’ll insist that you do things that interest you together.
He’s also really into pep talks and giving unsolicited advice (that probably isn’t really that great).
Naruto would totally give you pocket money to enjoy a meal if he’s busy.
𓆃 Neji - Unfair Family Dynamic
Well, first of all, Neji isn’t letting this happen.
I’m struggling to write a headcanon because Neji wouldn’t allow this. He wouldn’t allow the secondary-branch stuff to happen.
He’d be a fierce advocate for you, even before birth. But Neji is such a grumpy dad. The affection is there; it’s just through action.
He’s also not very good with words, so the affirmation is straightforward, but he would go to war for you.
𓆃 Sakura - Inadequacy
Your two best friends are also gods, huh? Sakura knows how that is, and she’s probably picked up on it before you tell her.
She’s reticent about things and always seems to tell you exactly what you need at that moment. Sakura is very encouraging, helping you problem-solve to figure out what your strengths and passions are.
She suggests that you pursue those, admiring your accomplishments, whether big or small.
𓆃 Sasuke - Having your family murdered in front of your very own eyes Going Down a Troubled Path
Yikes. Don’t go down a Troubled Path ™ while Sasuke is around.
I’m sorry. If you tried to leave the village, Sasuke wouldn’t be above punting you. I’m just the messenger.
Sasuke would be there for you, or at least try to, but as another shinobi who’s not great with words, he’d usually end up looming.
Maybe there are times when he can see your anger, and you can achieve a nice, quiet moment with him, but Sasuke will drag you out of darkness no matter what it takes.
𓆃 Shikamaru - Losing a Sensei
Shikaku knew best, and that’s what Shikamaru does with you. He’s straight to the point, not very into hugs or anything like that, but he does have an eye on you emotionally.
Shikamaru already knows, and he drives straight to the point, unarming you so that you have a space to feel your grief.
𓆃 Shino - Losing a Sibling-like Person
Another quiet Dad. He just wants what’s best for you too.
It’s all about the memories and the momentos. Shino would encourage you to cope and heal at your own rate but not forget the person important to you.
Shino would be there with you in your grief but ensure the focus remained on you. You would have space, and Shino would show his love and support through small gestures.
𓆃 Tenten - Bein’ a Gal
Tenten stuck a nice balance in her life, and she wants to pass that on to you too! Maybe you’re not the flashiest ninja in your grade, but Tenten is already working with you on a strategy on how to improve that thing you like!
Never for a second has Tenten treated you like something to be overlooked. Anything you want to do, you do!
Zero hesitation. Mention one idea to her; she’s already helping you put it in motion. To her, there’s nothing worth overlooking in the first place.
Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.
#Naruto headcanons#naruto#naruto headcanon#naruto fanfic#naruto parents#naruto x reader#naruto scenario#naruto scenarios#naruto imagines#naruto imagine#headcanons#headcanon#choji x reader#ino x reader#hinata x reader#kiba x reader#lee x reader#rock lee x reader#neji x reader#sakura x reader#sasuke x reader#shikamaru x reader#Shino x reader#tenten x reader#platonic headcanons#parental headcanons
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some of my FACE family headcanons because i love them
- arthur and alfred are lowkey both the same person and also could not be more opposite. i can only elaborate so much.
- mattie and fran got all of the emotional intelligence in the family. not to say arthur and al aren’t, but communication and emotions are not their strong suit.
- arthur and alfred got all of the stubbornness. you cannot tell them not to do something or else it’ll make them want to do it more.
- fran chooses patience but can verbally rip you apart like his life depends on it and all of it is true or honest in his opinion. mattie has learned it honestly. don’t mistake his quietness for meekness because it’s not the case.
- alfred is more patient than arthur in the sense it takes a lot more to get under his skin whereas arthur can pop like a top very quickly, but they both display their anger very similarly. it’s like watching steam rise to their ears and then they’ll do or say anything to get under your skin or win the argument.
- al and arthur both arch/twitch one of their eyebrows when they’re starting to get annoyed or angry. they make the same damn face of 🤨?!
- fran is the open conversation, “my boys will always be boys to me but i recognize they’re adults now” parent, and arthur is the prudish parent who refuses to acknowledge either brother is an adult now because they’ll always be kids to him. thus fran usually knows more about the boys’ personal lives whereas arthur kinda buries his head in the sand, but never has any problems giving unsolicited advice. he means well though and will ALWAYS come running if they need him.
- fran and matt both have an eye for aesthetics and matt picked up his love for cooking and baking from fran, as well as some other niche and crafty talents like sewing or poetry. al and arthur have an ear for music and arthur is the one who introduced alfred to his first instrument. it’s still a bonding point to them even if arthur tries to pretend to the boys his punk phase didn’t happen (it did, they saw).
- fran and matt are supposed to be the allegory for growing up, changing, and healing, whereas arthur and alfred are intended to be the allegory for holding onto generational trauma and unintentionally repeating ancestral patterns. not to say arthur and alfred don’t ever change or heal but alfred seems to stumble through arthur’s footsteps no matter how hard he tries and learns the lessons himself. i think it kind of ties in to the fact that arthur, even though he had his siblings growing up, also did not have a lot of guidance that wasn’t just straight manipulation from authoritative powers.
#face family#hetalia headcanon#mysty headcanons#Alfred f jones#aph america#hws america#aph england#Arthur Kirkland#hws england#Matthew Williams#again I spell it Matthieu but yk tags#aph canada#hws Canada#aph france#hws France#francis bonnefoy#hetalia#hetalia world stars
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So I just had a silly crack!idea for the Kalijami Sultan AU
What if the equivalent of the royal council is pressuring Jamil for what seems like the 100th time that he needs to convince Kalim to have an heir. Jamil in all his utterly DONE glory proceeds to jinx himself and the council in the most ridiculous fashion.
Jamil*with all the rage of the sun*: Do you think I haven't been trying?!!! At this rate, I'd have better luck giving him a child MYSELF!!!!
Council of Elders*sarcastically*: Well in that case, you two better get started then.
Timeskip to a few days later. Kalim and Jamil need to go on a long business trip. It lasts for 1 year 🤭🤭🤭
Everything goes smoothly until an incident happens on the way back. Kalim helps out a genie or some other entity in disguise. Entity sees the pining!Kalim and decides to reward him with a baby without needing to bother with the other stuff. Entity hands him a beautiful flower that Kalim gladly accepts. While back at the hotel they're staying, Jamil and Kalim get pricked while investigating the plant. Luckily there doesn't seem to be any side effects so they decide to deal with the mystery flower in the morning and sleep for now. When they wake up the next morning there is a lovely baby girl in place of the flower that suspiciously looks like them. They bring the child with them.
Tests are made and the results confirm that she is without a doubt their lovechild. Kalim is ecstatic while Jamil is having an existential crisis beside him. Conveniently the Council of Elders were present at the time so they're getting flashbacks to the conversation above and side-eyeing Jamil in shock and disbelief.
Council of Elders *internally*: Man really went ahead and did it himself 🤯
I'd like to know if you have any headcanons for this. Seemed like an amusing idea and it would be fun if you elaborate on the it or to know what you think would happen next. Like how would everyone react, what baby girl is like, and Kalijami as parents.
Lol, the only way Kalim is going to have children is if there is some kind of magic involved, honestly, this is probably true. And of course Jamil would end up being involved one way or another, since the heart wants what the heart wants….😭 You’re a mother now, Jamil, better get used to it (he’s been parenting Kalim for his entire life, so it’s nothing new)
First of all, we are very happy that you enjoy our AU, Anon! It’s always great to hear from people who get invested in them and want to hear more from us. But unfortunately, we can’t really elaborate much on the idea, since writing about characters having children and parenting isn’t really our thing: we rarely have any ideas or interest in this topic. I can only imagine that they’d get tons of unsolicited advice from every single character: NRC is full of opinionated people who are certain they know better. Also, Lilia. Just Lilia.
Once again, thank you for sharing with us and thank you for liking the AU!
Sorry for a disappointing reply, and have a great day.
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Thinking about elves and babies again (thanks @tolkien-feels ) and thinking about how different Finwion child-rearing would have been in Beleriand vs Aman.
I generally think of elves as being Very Into babies and children and parenting, in a less... complicated way than humans, because it accounts for a much smaller portion of their adult lives. Like, Nerdanel can have seven kids without forfeiting her career, because she’ll have millennia to do things once her kids are adults. In any elvish culture where everyone is pretty materially secure, extended parental leave makes sense if only as a byproduct of immortality. Even a childhood that lasts twice or four times as long as a human’s is going to be an infinitesimally small part of an elf’s expected lifespan. If a human takes 18 years to raise a child, and lives until 85, that’s about 20% of their entire life. If an elf takes 100 years to raise a child and is killed at 3000 years old, that’s only about 3% of their total life.
Now add to this the way that Finwe and his descendants seem to be particularly baby-mad. There are just a lot of kids/cousins running around, and relatedly a lot of adults to help out. There’s a significant support network there to help with parenting advice, and babysitting, and peers to set up playdates etc. That first generation of Finwion cousins have a built-in peer network, and an assortment of trusted adults, all clustered in Tirion and Alqualonde.
And then that social landscape is so completely different in Beleriand. For one thing there are so many only children. Idril*, Celebrimbor*, Maeglin, depending on your choice of parentage Finduilas and Gil-Galad as well. And their parents are all living in different fortresses/cities on a war-torn landmass. There’s no way to casually ask a cousin or sibling or aunt/uncle or grandparent to babysit. There are no spontaneous playdates. Aredhel has no option to ask her brothers or father for parenting advice. Orodreth can’t just pass a colicky baby to Finrod so he can get a nap.
And the thing is, the cousins *wanted* space. They wanted to not be jostling shoulders with each other, they didn’t want relatives peering over their shoulders offering unsolicited advice. And for the most part, I suspect that the space was good and healthy for everyone! But even setting aside the constant risk of attack, parenting in Beleriand would have been so much harder.
#tolkien#*Idril and celebrimbor open to age interpretation#I know there are additional possible 3rd/4th gen kids in beleriand#but if I can't reliably recall their names I'm not incorporating them#Anyway#There's a reason my brother and SIL moved to the same city as both sets of grandparents when their first kid was born#but that's not an option when your parents are high king/dead/absent and also you have a fortress of your own to run#All of this brought to you because I headcanon that babies in Aman are slow to learn to walk#because they spend SO much time being held#and then I realized that that is... probably not so true in Beleriand#San shoots the breeze
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*kicks down door*
ANY HEADCANONS AND/OR THOUGHTS ABOUT OUR LADY AND SAVIOR MEI DRAGON!? 👀 👀 👀
so
i had a whole fucking list. i was on fire. AND THEN MY PAGE REFRESHED AND NOW ITS GONE T^T
let’s do this one more time:
Mei has a complicated relationship with her family
not that she hates them. no she loves them. truly
but sometimes she wishes she did hate them because maybe she’d be able to stomach their disappointment and disapproval better than she currently does
because while her love for them feels unconditional and on instinct, her parents’ feel like an indefinite list of conditions that Mei will never complete perfectly at the expense of their acceptance of how she lives her life
and it’s not like she’s dependent on their approval, but living in a house that acts more like a museum does a lot on a kid’s psyche when all they want to do is roughhouse and stick their hands in the dirt and paint on the walls
so she learned very quick that her definition of herself did not coincide with her parents. though the unsolicited advice and backhanded comments did enough to cement that
and she did her best to tell herself that her worth does not need to rely on her parents’ approval but the self talk didn’t really improve until she moved out
(personal hc that she moved out of the house after high school because of her feeling stifled at home. she lives in a studio apartment probably. somewhere close where she can work on her bike. mostly bc idk the vibes i got from 1x03 was that she only ever visited home when her parents ask her to house sit now. like they’re all avoiding the huge issue and the parents maybe realize that Mei needs her space, so think that asking her to house sit helps keep that distance and gives Mei her agency. idk that’s what i personally gathered)
also her social media fame can be pointed to her posting updates and trio videos of her working on her bike and implementing ways to incorporate her own magic into it
(there are so many trial videos of her trying to find a way to make her magic compatible with the bike. every new trial is Mei being like “ok so THIS time we won’t mess with the engine but what about the wheels :3”
eventually, the trial videos are just her live streaming and you can see a scrawl of comments of unsolicited advice, people being like “Mei’s at it again”, or just bets on the trial’s success)
with her claim to fame, Mei used to to help give her some interest in being selected for races (which she excels at)
she also branches out from just showing her workshopping on her bike. she does gameplays, react videos, and fashion videos
she meets MK at a Monkey Mech tournament
they play against each other in the semi-finals and Mei ends up winning the tournament but the two clicked so well that MK invited her over to Pigsy’s Noodles to celebrate and they have been inseparable since
also, last one:
Mei had admirable the dragon sword king before it ever chose her
it held so much history for her clan. it was held by heroic ancestors that Mei has looked up to since she was little. and she had longed to hold it since the first day her parents showed it to her
and then it chose her. it found her worthy to be the next wielder. it thought she was deserving enough to be someone the clan could depend on to protect them. that her distaste in the sterile walls and floors was not a dealbreaker, or her passion for things on the opposite side of what her parents wanted from her was okay enough
and that all i have rn off the top of my head. i love her <3333
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Inspired by this gif set of baby Dacre ~
Harringrove Dads
• • •
Steve has a sixth sense for when his boys are fighting. While he unconsciously counts dollars from his wallet for the ice cream vendor, he peeks over at Billy standing toe to toe with their son, Indie.
The theme park around them splashes the situation with ironically cheerful music, adrenaline screaming, and mechanical white noise. Steve finishes paying for the three sorbet pops and pockets his wallet before coming to stand in between his husband and the much younger, spinning image of Billy.
“Gentlemen? What’s going on?”
Indie sighed like a puppy: full chested and very much like his daddy as matching dark lashes blinked over striking blue eyes. “I don’t want to go on Haunted Mansion.”
Billy countered, “The line for Splash Mountain is too long and Haunted Mansion is inside. Plus they added water works to the waiting area. You’re overheating and need to cool off.”
Steve knelt beside their boy and unwrapped one of the sorbet pops. “I’ve gotta agree with daddy on this one. We can do Splash Mountain during the parade. The line will be shorter since half the park will be watching the parade.”
“But I wanna see the parade!”
“The Splash Mountain line is outside. We will be able to see it,” Steve navigated, telling himself it wasn’t a lie since technically the parade did pass by the waiting area. Sort of.
Steve’s finger tips raked through his son’s dark tresses. The tips faded to blond like his daddy’s, but the bulk of it was brown like his own. He slotted a hair clip over his fringe with practiced ease. Indie didn’t even notice.
He had the naturally rouged cheeks of his daddy, but this was something else. Summer heat and humidity had infused their son’s face within an hour of arriving at the park. Steve handed the other two pops to Billy while he poured their water bottle over a towel designed to stay cold for days like this. Steve tied it like an ascot around Indie’s neck while the latter grumpily tasted his sorbet.
Steve considered their options and realized that another ride very similar to Haunted Mansion existed. “We could do the Little Mermaid ride instead. It’s on the other side of the park, so the line will be short.”
Indie gasped, dark cloud completely gone from his face despite his tone warning otherwise. “Okay...”
Without further ado, Billy scooped him up, clutching him tight against his body so the kid wouldn’t spike his body temperature just by walking. Steve poured the rest of the water bottle over his head and shook like a dog, eliciting annoyed giggles from his boys and solidly dispelling the tension.
Steve’s hand slid over his husband’s shoulder blade, silently thanking him for his patience. Indie was a lot for both of them, but things were a little harder for Billy. Neither of them could’ve guessed that the surrogacy process would reap the results of a kid that grew into the spitting image of Billy, but here they were.
Billy was careful. So, so careful from the moment he realized that their baby’s eyes weren’t changing colors. They would stay blue, and not just any blue. His blue.
Steve knows Billy would love the kid regardless of what they looked like, but having a walking, talking mirror of himself was a challenge Billy hadn’t been ready to face. So many parents, with their unsolicited advice, had said that there was always one kid in the bunch who was sent by whatever god to be the personal challenge for a parent.
Steve hated advice. As far as he was concerned, it took a village, and Billy wasn’t going to deal with his demons alone, much less inflict them on a fresh soul.
So they walked through the shaded grotto that was the waiting area, and then hopped into the pearly pink clam shell that cruised through the animatronic retelling of The Little Mermaid. Indie made them ride it three times, until the crowded park finally discovered the other side of the map and made the line a nuisance.
Then they got Lunch, and Steve hoisted Indie onto his shoulders to watch the parade - at least the section with his favorite characters. Then they went on Splash Mountain, where Billy took off the cooling ascot so it wouldn’t get doused in swamp water. “We don’t want you smelling like Shrek for the rest of the day.”
They missed the fireworks. And they didn’t go on Haunted Mansion. Indie slept with his cheek dislodged on Billy’s shoulder while his daddy held a protective towel over his son’s head as they walked to the car.
“Do you think he’s afraid of the Mansion?” Steve asked, extracting the car keys from his backpack.
Billy smirked. “Probably. It’s the stretch room right at the beginning that messed him up last time. That and the creepy bride that tells us to bring our death certificate next time.”
“I don’t like the stretch room either,” Steve admitted.
Billy moved the towel just enough to kiss his son’s hair. Brown, floppy tresses like his poppy. “My claustrophobic boys. Maybe when he’s older, you can both get over that.”
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Do you have any modern obito and madara headcanons
Yes I do, however, I intend to incorporate the Japanese culture into their modern HCs. Here we go:
-The basis of their relationship is "tough love", more on the tough, and less on the love xD. Madara raised Obito as a child when his parents died in a car accident.
-Madara is a traditional man. He definitely raised Obito to be persistent and hardworking, and to prioritize work and goals, and everything else comes second. While Madara is more aloof, Obito has a loud nature, opposing Madara's ideals, which completely irritates the older man - but the disciplines he instilled in Obito are completely there.
-Nothing pissed off Madara more than seeing Obito getting low grades in school; and when Kakashi moved into the same school and got high grades, Madara tutored Obito for hours while holding a metal ruler over his head. No Uchiha under Madara's wing is allowed to get low grades and drag the Uchiha name.
-Obito is the CEO of Madara's company. Madara retired to practice falconry and Tachi art (Japanese swordsmanship), and passed the role to Obito. Izuna owns a different company in case anyone wonders why Obito gets to be CEO.
-Madara put Obito in tachi classes when he was in elementary school, and when Obito became an adult, Madara practically forces him into a duel.
-As a teenager, Obito tended to challenge Madara's views and ideals and this led to a lot of explosive arguments between the two that required Madara to threaten Obito with his wooden tachi sword when the little shit crossed his limits with his smart mouth.
-Obito's development as a man grew a soft spot in Madara; given that when Obito became an adult, he became more aloof and mellow, and more focused on the success of the company and he developed an authority and charisma that was very similar to Madara - and this made the older man proud because he saw himself in Obito.
-Madara tends to tease Obito about his crush and love for his childhood best friend, Rin. When Obito starts to act like a little shit, Madara aggravates him by saying that Rin is too good for him and "can see why she fell for that Hatake boy."
-Madara also owns the Naka Shrine - a famous landmark in modern Konoha, and made Itachi and Shisui in charge of running festivals and events in that shrine. Obito also marries Rin there, in which they had a traditional Japanese wedding, which pleased Madara because "it is the sacred sanctuary passed down to them from their Uchiha ancestors, and marrying in that shrine results in abundant blessings from the gods (the god is Susanoo).
-Obito initially wanted to be a cop, but found that running a company suited him more since he always wanted to be acknowledged, and tended to shadow Madara when he worked.
-They shit on each other only in front of other Uchiha members, but when anyone outside of the family insults the other, the two of them turn into their worst nightmare and defend one another.
-Madara tends to be overly critical over little things. "Stand up straight. Don't slouch. You're really going to wear that? You could've added more salt to this. You added too much water into the pot, the rice is all wet. Who told you to add roe to this?"
-Madara lives in a traditional Japanese mansion after he retired, and owns two shiba inu dogs, whom he named Taru and Tatsu. He also tends to travel a lot. Madara seems to be a dog person, since he finds joy in their loyalty and obedience, while Obito is a cat person and owns a one-eyed black cat that he called "Tobi". Madara makes fun of him for naming his cat "something stupid when he could've called it something better like Yami or Kuro." Yes, they fight over pet names.
-Madara always lectures Obito and gives him unsolicited advice, which is something Obito totally hates. Madara is the type that would make fun of you and say that he is only "joking", but would actually kill you if you did the same to him. Obito however, tends to seek Madara's advice sometimes when it comes to the business and company matters.
-When Obito and Rin started dating, Madara consistently asked Obito when they're getting married and when they did get married, when are they having babies to "carry the Uchiha name", and tended to use terms like "plant your seed into her" and "coitus" or "sexual intercourse", and scolds Obito when the younger man uses more vulgar terms (even the word "sex" to Madara is vulgar and unclassy). "Such insolence! Have some class in your speech, boy!"
--
That's all for now! Feel free to add in your thoughts!
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Look! You hit me in two of my weak spots with baby-verse: first because I l-o-v-e hybrid (I got to know your fics because of that one back in 2020?? 2019?? idk) and because I also love babyfics (which is a fact I'm not particularly proud of, but yours is the only real good one I've read in a while). My question is actually about the dynamic Rosalie-Olie, because Rose is a character who has a difficult story with babies, and I think the way you write her is so cute and honest with her character. In the story, is this whole thing a healing experience for her or would you say it's more painful? And how her relationship with Alice changes (if it changes) with that? (Also I have to add that I'm loving FicMas so far, it's like the ultimate Jalice event on this fandom in my opinion)
Anon! Thank you so much for enjoying Hybrid. That is the most self-indulgent fic to date and for a while, it felt like everyone was politely ignoring that so it always makes me SO happy that Hybrid has a fanbase? It's unhinged, it's meant to be a bunch of fun, I love that people want to read it.
And thank you for the incredible comment about baby-verse. I am indifferent to kidfics, honestly, and most of them are terrible. Baby-verse spawned mostly out of frustration and spite about the state of baby fics and how deeply unequipped Alice and Jasper are to be parents in any universe. It would never be a choice they made for themselves, and I think if you want to stay true to them as characters, you need to recognize that. But that's a rant for another day.
SO, about Hybrid!Rose. It's really both? I think that it reopens a very raw wound for Rose, but in a way that allows it to heal stronger. She'll never have babies, but she gets to watch her favourite brother's son grow up and be a part of that? It's very bittersweet and complicated for her, definitely.
This is a version of Rosalie that thinks Alice is erratic and childish and has a bad temper, and she has no idea why Jasper is so in love with her. Rose is not a fan at all; she just tolerates Alice better than Bella because Alice isn't human and giving up a Normal Life to be with Jasper, and because Jasper isn't making his relationship with Alice a family priority - Jasper would actually prefer less family involvement.
And then Alice walks in holding this beautiful baby boy that looks so much like Jasper, Rosalie knows instantly that this is her nephew. In that first moment, it's love at first sight. Rose will die for Oliver without a second thought.
The pain comes later, and Emmett does a lot of heavy lifting there, letting Rose hurt and emote over the fact that life isn't fair and reminding her that she needs to find the good in the situation. She can grieve her own dreams and celebrate Oliver at the same time. No one in their family is going to begrudge her for hurting, but she cannot place her suffering or her healing solely on Oliver's shoulders. (And Rose does support Emmett through a similar thing - that it fucking hurts that the one family member who has expressed his lack of interest in children suddenly has a healthy son.)
It takes time - Rose desperately wants a distinctive place in Oliver's life, and she knows that having a friendship with Alice is necessary to that, so Rose tries. She's polite and friendly, and tries not to offer unsolicited advice or abscond with Oliver when Alice is at the Cullens. She's intensely aware that Jasper needs to bond with his son before she gets to bond with her nephew, and that Alice makes all the decisions whilst Jasper is still coming to terms with being a father.
Most of the time, Rose is successful, but sometimes she gets a little pushy - especially when it comes to things that would keep Oliver closer to the Cullens. Rose is a big advocate for Alice and Jasper to immediately get married, and a lot of that is seizing the opportunity to have Oliver in the house full-time. Alice is not interested in marriage - she's only eighteen and she has her own family, and she and Jasper are still working through their issues - and honestly, Emmett's relieved because he doesn't think Rose is ready to have the baby around 24/7.
But Alice and Rose do slowly form a friendship. It's a basis of mutual respect - Rose respects the fact that Alice is now apart of the family, that she's a capable mom and a good partner for Jasper. Alice respects the fact that this is really hard for Rose, and change doesn't come easy for vampires. And they both adore Ollie and want him to have a happy, normal childhood. Alice does trust Rose with Ollie in a way that she doesn't trust anyone else at the beginning - a mutual understanding of the maternal instinct, perhaps? And as Oliver grows up, Alice and Rose end up being friends on their own merits - they both like fashion, they both like fast cars, and they both have loud and clear opinions.
Oliver is also very, very close to Auntie Ro and Uncle Em - he grows up with both of them dropping any task to play with him, with special sleepovers, with having Rose and Emmett spoil him and love on him so much. So as much as Rosalie will always mourn not being a mother, being able to be there for Ollie's childhood is healing.
(And thank you. Ficmas started as a bit of a silly thing, I am so glad that everyone enjoys it. Definitely thinking of mixing it up for 2024 with an actual request form so I can see What The People Want.)
#asks#my fic: hybrid baby-verse#rose has to heal on the fly in Official Babyverse#in the OG edition she has to watch alice be pregnant and gets more time to come to terms with things
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“Why don’t you answer my text/message?”
Um, well, I want to but to answer takes time and thinking and dealing with emotions. I have to phrase things very, very carefully**. It struggle to me sure I can’t confuse you or offend you or be misunderstood or provoke a chain of conversation I don’t want to get into or…
I want to answer “how are things going” but I don’t want to find myself overwhelmed in a tidal wave enthusiastic, energetic, unrealistic, and utterly unsolicited advice. And I don’t want pity either.
I also don’t want to face a barrage of follow up questions and the expectation that I will explain in great detail and with full back story.
I don’t have the energy!!!!
I’m TIRED. I’m so damn tired, but trying figure out how to talk to you actually makes me more tired.
I know I need to answer.
I’m busy all day, so there is no time. Rush, rush, pushing myself as hard as I can. I don’t even carry my phone or have a way check my messages most of that time.
I tell myself I’ll do it after supper, but then it’s 9pm and if I am going to let myself sculpt and watch a movie (my only “me” time of the day) I better get cracking.
If I do answer first I am being pulled into a vortex of stress and time, with the expectation on your end that it becomes like a typed phone conversation. You think I will answer in real time, chat away with fingers flying, while I’m thinking of how I need to light the hot water heater and do the dishes and put things away and what about the laundry and how much time will I have left to watch a movie now and should I just skip it because damn I’m tired and OMG how did they get that from what I wrote…
You want rehashing, dishing dirt, dwelling on troubles I’d rather escape for a bit, and so much else I don’t really feel like or do easily.
I can do chit chat with strangers with great ease, but they aren’t expecting anything. They forget what I say by the end of the day. You expect a lot more. You often literally ask a lot more.
It was so much easier with my parents. They got me. Well, close enough. We could ramble all over the place without getting lost, because we were working from the same map. It felt more like a conversation of ideas than gossip. Talking to them was comfortable and relaxing, even fun.
I miss not having to weigh ever single damn word. They get very heavy very fast.
It feels like an act of translation. Maybe not like expressing yourself in a second language, but much more like a third you only learned in a class your took in your second language. You can do it
I tell myself I’ll answer tomorrow, after I’ve slept, when my brain is back functioning and I have the energy for a conversation. I am so, so, so TIRED!
But then the next day starts and I’m busy, busy, busy, busy…
And now you are offended. It’s been hours, why haven’t answered. I know you take it personally. I have to answer the second I get time.
It’s 11PM. I only stopped being busy. If I write now I’ll be heading to bed past midnight, AGAIN. I’m so tired.
I don’t want to bother you if you are still up, because I know your nature is to reply in minutes.
I tell myself I’m thinking of you by not answering tonight. Letting you not have to respond or deal with listening to my troubles before bed.
But it’s me. I’m tired.
I want to talk to someone so much, to vent and ramble, peppering it with things that have caught my interest … as is my nature.
But that isn’t the kind of conversation you want.
And so I wait, wait for the time I never have and the energy that always drains away, wait for my brain to have the strength to pull replicating your wiring for a bit…
And then, when I can wait no more I send something, fumbly and awkward. And you misunderstand or get attached to a tangent or get intrusive in your eagerness to help or…
Or, honestly, I get so embarrassed by how long it is taking me to reply I end up just hoping for one of my tech problems so I can have an excuse to apologize, and the apology will be a nice space filler for the conversation I’m not up to having.
I want to answer “How are things going?” with “Exhausting”. If I do, do you promise to let me stop there and go sleep?
No, that would seem terse and rude, so completely out of character from my verbose style that it would cause trouble.
I dunno. I think I will sleep on it. Again.
** NOT an issue on Tumblr. It isn’t that I trust you will understand any better, or even that you are more like hypothetical people that might possibly read my posts, but that the real world implications of misunderstanding are just so much lower. Accidentally get on someone’s wrong side here, and what, get unfollowed or some nasty anonymous messages? Get misunderstood by a person you know in the real world and you could end up severing a crucial connection, like “who is gonna give me a lift when my car breaks down now?!?”
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So I have this friend, whom I met through work and we've known each other for a few years, and I've attended the christening of two of his kids and served as godmother for one. We talk and still see each other in person from time to time. But almost every time we talk, he asks me if I'm dating, asks if I like any guys in my workplace, suggests that I use dating apps, tells me I should get married, tells me that he would love to see me have kids and that he wants me to give him little godchildren, and I have to say over and over again that I'm not seeing anybody right now and it's not a priority. Even when we end up having a nice conversation overall, I always end up feeling annoyed by the discussion of romance and relationships. He could be bringing this up all the time to tease me, but the fact that it's so persistent makes me believe it's genuine. Reflecting on it, I realized a couple of things that were really bothering me about it, and they basically come down to:
I think it's a bit presumptuous to just assume that someone who's just your friend - not your best friend since first grade who's practically family at this point, not your sibling or other close relative, but just a friend plain and simple - would make you the godparent of their child(ren). Again, it could be a joke, but if it's not, it makes me uncomfortable because it's like oh geez do we have to have the "i don't know if i feel for you what you feel for me"/the "you're my friend but not my best friend" kind of conversation? Like, yes, sure, I do consider this person a friend. When we hang out, it's fun. But I don't love this friend so much that he would potentially take priority over my actual blood relation as a godparent to my child.
I find this level of scrutiny of my life and intrusiveness into my personal decision-making inappropriate for someone who is, again, just a friend. Not my parent, not my therapist, not my priest, not someone I've asked to mentor me and fix my life - a friend. A peer. A social equal. Quite frankly, I've never had another friend or acquaintance or anyone else in my life talk to me this way. I'm not sure I'd think it was a great idea for anyone to tell me that bluntly how to live my life, but it definitely rubs me the wrong way coming from a friend. Even my own grandmother doesn't harp on the need to see me get married before she dies every time we talk. My mother doesn't badger me to give her grandchildren. My sister doesn't constantly ask me when I'm going to make her my maid of honor and give her nieces and nephews. My godmother doesn't ask me to give her great-godchildren lol... I could go on but I think I've made the point? This whole line of conversation just strikes me as very abnormal when it's initiated by a friend.
I've said this before, but I ultimately find it insulting when I'm over here living a decent life and people start lecturing about how everyone who's single needs to get married because that's obviously the answer for everybody! and clearly none of us who are single are capable of figuring out how to live our lives! and we need all this unsolicited advice or else we'll be miserable loners forever! That's annoying and offensive and honestly makes me want to say "no" just for the hell of it because I'm annoyed.
Now that I find myself able to articulate why this type of conversation is really wearing me out, at least I'll be able to put a stop to it if and when it comes up again.
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dug this out from the deep deep depths of my drafts. it made me laugh so have at it: cindphenon LIs as dads + bonus mom lucette
Rod: surprisingly sensible and steady. is nervous and antsy in the beginning but admires both his fathers A Ton so tries his best to bring their best qualities to the forefront: ever present and very loving. quiet but very supportive parent, encourages his child’s pursuits of any interest (be it a hobby or a person). will fucking snide anyone who talks smack about his kid being a fine arts major. may be a little overbearing and critical at times but only because he wants the best for his child.
Karma: pta mum. throws hands every weekend with karen and her disgusting brownies. will let you know how his kid is better than yours in a very smug and ‘oh did you hear’ kind of way. lets his kid know all the time that they deserve the whole fucking world. maybe spoils them a bit too much. meddles in the kid’s love life all the time. the weaker parent to the puppy eyes. doesnt like to play bad cop, tends to give in to the kid a lot lmao.
Rumpel: super straight laced parent in the streets, absolute mess in the sheets. gives kid unsolicited advice 24/7. workaholic dad but always makes it in home for dinner and keeps his weekends free. slides a cake into their room when theyre sad bc he doesnt want to force them to talk but Also doesnt want them to be sad alone. definitely disappointed when kids dont want to follow in his footsteps but very enthusiastic in seeing what they want to forge for themselves.
Fritz: must call if staying past curfew or he’ll call the cops and make them put out an amber alert. overprotective and can be smothering but very, very loving and never gives his children a reason to doubt that love. 100% behind his kid and is proud of them no matter what - from acing a test to egging a house. will say ‘i love you’ and tuck them in every night, even when they’re grown, and will fucking Cry when they move out/leave his side. definitely punched another dad once.
Waltz: actually the best dad. a natural with handling people, a safe figure to confide in, knows when to pry, and when to leave his kid alone. showers kids with lots of love, never lets them go without. the type to read bedtimes stories at night and puts peeled oranges into their lunch boxes. last day of school its an unpeeled orange and a note that says “its time to learn how to peel your own oranges :”(”. can be too nice/soft, but stern when it comes to necessary discipline.
bonus:
Lucette: stern but fair mother, always encouraging and kind but will scold her child if needed. talks to her children like theyre adults, but always expects them to behave like kids. plays bad cop as often as she tells them ‘i love you’. an unsure parents and lots of self-doubt in the beginning, but never fails to put her child first. shows her love through actions more than words. trying her best to be better every day.
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I know Reagan would not want her kids near Tamiko, but since she is the closest they have to a decent grandparent, I wander if they have some contact?
Okay so,
Reagan does talk to her mom, but not that much. It was actually a very tough pregnancy just in general for her, and her mother did not make it better.
When Reagan was, about 22 weeks along, she start showing a lot. She wore a lot of hoodies and sweats, plus Brett's clothes. They had decided to have dinner over at Tamiko's, and well...Tamiko kept mentioning how she was never as big as Reagan when she was pregnant, she kept trying to give unsolicited advice and kept bombarding them about how they even planned to raise the baby. It was not a good dinner. It actually ended with Brett being the one to get fed up and was the one who made them leave early.
On the drive home, Reagan cried. She sobbed her eyes out, maybe it was hormones, maybe she was so vulnerable and self-conscious already, maybe she was scared shitless of having a kid, fearing she was going to fuck them up like how her parents fucked her up.
When they got home, Brett just held her, while he ran his fingers through her hair, letting her cry it out. He whispered sweet things to her until she fell asleep in his arms.
When Reagan was giving birth, oh man that was a day. Her water broke during a day she was visiting the office on her maternity leave, wanting to "see" what the team was up to (she was still trying to work lmao). Gigi was the one who had to drive her to the hospital, and Brett and the others were hauling ass back from their mission.
Tamiko was there too...she was not helpful. Reagan is in labor and in pain, and Tamkio is being Tamkio, let's just say, Gigi ended up kicking her out of the room.
After Ethan was born (Brett made it in time), Reagan, even though Brett wasn't too sure about it, let Tamiko hold him. Tamiko stared down at Ethan for a long time. The room was dead silent. Reagan tensed up fearing this was a mistake.
"Well, at least I'm still hot despite being a grandma." Tamiko laughed at her own joke, "He's precious sweetie, though I do wish you had a girl so I could dress her up, I'll make do!"
Reagan cracked a small smile and relaxed, "Thanks mom"
Honestly, Tamiko is not...that hands-on, there's a mutual understanding that she really does not actually do all the taking care parts, like feedings and diaper changes, having to be on top of a kid. Which is fine to Reagan and Brett, it's just understood, don't leave Ethan with her, like she'll watch him for a minute, but that's about it.
It is really more, "Yes I acknowledge him as my grandson" She does still get him gifts on Christmas and his birthday though. Still, the grandma that slips their grandkids $20 bucks.
It's not a good or a bad relationship honestly, it's tolerable for everyone involved.
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What a lot of young folk don’t understand, in a very beautiful attempt at inclusion and love, is that obesity isn’t really about food or weight. It’s never about “oh my parents were fat and thus so am I” or “being poor in America/England/insert nation made me this way.” Obesity has a root cause, and it’s not something out of your control, however it’s also not because you’re lazy or bad or a failure. Often it’s depression or anxiety, which is not an invitation to get on pills, it’s an invitation to seek out what part of your life sucks so hard that a symptom of your dissatisfaction in life is weight gain. It could be something temporary like grief for a lost loved one or it could be a lifetime of unloving family and isolation from community….
There is absolutely no reason to shame anyone for their weight or treat them with any lack of respect. But we do a great disservice pretending it’s natural, normal, or healthy. One simply cannot be healthy at just any weight, period. Even more bizarre is the embracing of people who purposely gain weight (imagine how many starving kids in any country could eat from those extra 4000 calories a day taken for “gainers.”)
Obese people owe it to nobody to lose weight, but we owe it to coming generations to embrace and love fitness and health, not just for the idea of being hot, but for the endless benefits of fitness and health.
The way to help people struggling with obesity is to love them unconditionally for their true self, and never ever make comments, jokes, snide remarks, helpful suggestions, or even the friendliest of help… unless they ask for it! Only when a person comes to you for advice or even just loving support while they try to make a change in their life should you offer your help. Nobody wants unsolicited advice, least of which your friends who just want your love and support.
I would wager a guess the true cause of obesity for a lot of our gay brothers is isolation, loneliness, lack of community, and a feeling of pointlessness in life. Being lifelong medicated by the pharmaceutical industry isn’t a proper fix, and it won’t make things better.
Choosing to treat your body and soul better is not a light choice to make, and it’s even harder to tell your best friends that you’re trying.
Right now we’re about to hit that point when New Year’s resolutions flop, and the old patterns return. If a change in lifestyle just won’t stick, the last thing I want you to do is feel like you’re just not made for this, or like you’re permanently stuck. Perhaps it has nothing to do with your ability to stick to a plan, or to have self control or determination. Maybe there’s something blocking that healthier self, a great barrier that only self-introspection and love can move.
Your body is a reflection of your inner self and your outer health, and if your head needs a bit of proper healing, no amount of boot camp fitness or low carb diets will do it. The change *must* be internal first for the external to reflect such a change.
But remember, it’s not enough to figure out what caused you to be this way, bad parents, trauma, etc, nobody cares, we’ve all got it. Yes, you have to discover it, but I’m willing to bet you already know what went wrong in your life cos you’ve probably played it over a million times in your head, thinking about how much better things would be if only things had been different.
It’s not enough to find out what traumatized you, you have to next forgive, forget, and move on. And if you haven’t forgotten then you haven’t forgiven.
You don’t need to hire anyone or pay someone to listen to you. You don’t need to talk to your friends or family, you need to talk to yourself. Our entire lives are nonstop interaction with the outside world but for most of human history we spent a lot of time on the inside, with our inner self.
A person who is healthy on the inside will wear it on the outside. If you are ready emotionally to lose weight, check out my video below which has great tips from someone who has been through it more than once.
And if you’re spiritually not ready and you know it but you just don’t know where to start, I’ve got great book recommendations for people of any faith or no faith and my DMs and anon is always open.
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