graciegoeskrazy

[graciegoeskrazy]

how does matilda or clara feel about the twitter/azaliea/matty nonsence?

ooooooooooo good question anon

(I'm going for Clara here cuz I love writing for her)

Although she's technically 13 and Gabi says she's too young for Twitter (or X idk I still call it Twitter) She definitely has a secret account that her Mom or Matty don't know about and can see everythingggg going on.

She thinks it's sweet that he was defending her Mom. There isn't another boyfriend that she had that comes to mind when she thinks of who else would do the same thing. Only Matty.

She's really confused with why she starts coming for Charli and calling her ugly in the first place? She isn't one to pick fights or comment mean things on the internet at all, but she still agrees with most things being said in Charli's defense.

Matty and Gabby get into an argument about it after azealia made the tweet saying "They both look like they share needles" and she can hear it from upstairs. Gabi just wants him to stop posting on there altogether, even if it was to defend her, and he swears that it's no big deal and everything is gonna be fine. She's just scared that Azealia might end up saying something bad about Clara and that doesn't sit right with her. When Clara hears the fighting calm down she walks downstairs to the kitchen and can sense the tension in there and just kind of feels awkward about it.

"So are ya'll good now?" she said.

They both turn to face her and each other from their opposite sides of the kitchen. She kept her head down and continued preparing her food. They both went to her.

"What?" They both said.

"Or are y'all still in the being passive aggressive phase were y'all don't talk to each other but still sit impossibly close to each other and then you cuddling on the couch and pretend like nothing happened." She smiled up at them. Her goal was to make them laugh, break the tension. The smiles that spread on their face's was enough.

They knew she probably heard what was happening. She certainly was not a stupid girl. They also knew that she probably could see most of what Azealia was posting because people were reposting it on instagram. They still didn't know about her secret account.

The day went on as usual. She eventually said goodnight to the both of them and went upstairs and to bed, but never fell asleep. When it hit 2 am she got tired of reading the very long twitter threads and texted Matty.

C | Are u up M | Yep. U alright? C | Can you come to my room for a second M | Ofc. One sec

His heart sank when he walked in and saw the tears on her face, illuminated by the phone in the dark room.

"What's happened?" He asked sweetly, coming to her side.

"Can you please just stop?" She asked, through her hiccups.

"What?" He asked, voice full of care. She turned the phone to him. It was a tweet about her and her mom, but mainly her. mentioning how Gabi had her when she was really young and saying that Matty wouldn't be any better of a dad than her biological father. Not only that but she managed to find his name and decided to post it, along with some many other personal details and nasty things that shouldn't be said to any 14 year old. Especially online.

"Christ." He said, looking at the screen and slowly scrolling.

Her tears kept falling as he read, thinking about the words and the comments that come rolling in the moment it was posted. Most were in Clara's favor, asking Azealia how in the world she could post something like this about a 14 year old girl on the internet and telling her that she had nothing to do with Matty's crap. But there were a handful that were in support of Azealia.

"Please just stop. Make it stop."

He put his hand on the side of her face, wiping the tears off her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, my love."

"My friends didn't even know who he was, they didn't know anything, and now they're all texting me!"

He sat next to her and held her while she cried and he kept scrolling. eventually her tears subsided and her breathing came out in even little hiccups. He held her till she fell asleep.

That was the night he made the reddit post and deleted twitter, vowing to not get her caught in his bullshit or make her feel that way ever again.

[graciegoeskrazy]

travis haters we lost !! mother is to be wed !!!!

[graciegoeskrazy]

No but he lets her bejeweled

[graciegoeskrazy]

lonesome sometimes

(Matty Healy x OFC!Teen!Sister!r)

warnings: crying, mention of divorce and fighting, sibling issues??, absent family members, name, R white ask i guess? should I have done adoptive r or sum? Will rewrite if u wanna!!

a/n: i thought this was gonna be the best thing ive ever written but now idk

Matty was nineteen when he found out his parents were pregnant again. He wasn’t so excited at first. Not angry – just didn’t care. He was out of high school, playing random gigs around London while he waited for the other three to finish University. He was an adult, and practically on his own, having already moved out of the house. Everyone was excited – He just didn’t care.

He drove himself and Louis to meet you at the hospital the day your mother gave birth. Louis couldn’t contain his excitement. He had hoped it was a girl from the day he found out a new baby was arriving. Matty had to tell him to ‘be chill’ when walking inside.

When they walked into the room, you were sat on a warming table in the corner on the other side of the suite. He caught a glimpse. Tiny little thing wrapped up in pink. You had only been alive for a number of hours and they already got a bow on your head, he thought. Louis ran to you while Matty went to your Mum. “Wouldn’t shut up the whole car ride” He said.

When Louis kept jumping up and down shrinking “I wanna hold her! I wanna hold her!” You mum said, “Maybe Matty should hold her?”

He turned to her, pale almost. She did nothing but nod.

“Yeah, alright.” He said.

Louis made some sort of noise in disappointment and went and sat with your mother, your father joining too, and watched Matty near the bassinet.

He peered over the edge, fully laying eyes on you. His breath caught in his throat, just for a brief moment. He doesn;t remember Louis looking this tiny when he was born. Your eyes were closed and you were still. Like a literal baby doll, he thought.

“Go ahead, son.” Your father whispered.

He’s held a baby before. Being the first born and one of the oldest cousins meant being a built-in babysitter at one time or another. But why did it feel so different now?

He lifted you up and held you close. You squirmed slightly,

“What do you think, son?” Your dad said.

He thought for a moment. “Tiny.” Was all he could say.

“Matty, Meet Hazel.”

He tried his best to fight the tear peering from his eye. “Hi, Hazel.” He said, voice barely above a whisper

“Cute, right?”

He let out a quiet “Yeah,” In confirmation.

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”

…..

You sink deeper into the kitchen chair, arms folded so tight it feels like they’re welded in place. Your mum stands by the counter with her mug, giving you that look that’s equal parts stubborn and smug, like she already knows she’s going to win.

“He’s busy, Mum,” you snap, not even bothering to look at her. Your eyes stay fixed on the cracked tile beneath your foot. “It’s not like he’ll have all the free time in the world to ‘sort me out’ while performing on a fucking world tour.”

“You’re his sister – he’s always got time for you.”

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yes, because I’ve seen him so much over the course of my sixteen-year life time.”

Her voice drops into that warning tone you know too well. “Hazel.”

You straighten in your chair, chin tilted up like you’ve got armour on. “What? It’s true. He’s been busy with his band since forever. And now I’m supposed to go hang around like some backstage charity case—”

“You are getting on that plane to see your brother and that’s the end of it,” she cuts in, the mug landing on the counter with a sharp clink. “I don’t want to hear another word.”

You throw your head back with an exaggerated groan. “You can’t force me to enjoy it.”

“Just think of it as I’m paying for a holiday with your brother,” she says. “Where you don’t have to deal with me on your arse all day.”

That gets you. You try not to show it, but a smile almost tugs at your mouth. Instead you shrug like you’re bored. “Yeah, it might be worth it.”

She smirks, just a little, before picking up her phone. You watch her thumbs fly over the screen, probably texting him already—like you’re some parcel being shipped off.

Matty: What time she land again?

Denise: 11:30. I’ll send you the confirmation.

She’s being a bit cady, fair warning.

Matty: Wonder where she gets it from…

Denise: Oh please

…..

The car park is loud, even though the doors haven’t opened yet. Kids press against the barricades with signs and phones, screaming Matty’s name as he drags you behind him. You keep your hood up, eyes on the ground, chewing the sleeve of your jumper like maybe you can disappear.

“Nearly there,” he mutters, flashing a smile at security.

Inside, the noise dulls, replaced with the clatter of wheels and cases echoing down the concrete halls. You hate the way you feel here—small. Like the building itself swallows you whole. Matty glances back, clocking it, but you cross your arms tight and look away.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine, Matty.” You make sure your voice has just enough bite.

But you can tell he doesn’t buy it.

He pulls you through to a dressing room. It’s quiet—amp buzzing in the corner, half-eaten pizza sagging on the table. “See?” he says, throwing the door wide. “Sanctuary. Sit, hide, raid the snacks. No one’ll bother you.”

You collapse onto the couch, kicking off your trainers. You don’t reach for food. You don’t grab your phone. You just stare at the carpet until your eyes blur, nails scratching against each other until they sting.

Matty stares at you like that, eventually sighing and droppingh into a chair across from you, elbows on his knees. “Alright. Out with it. You’ve been acting like you swallowed a lemon since you landed. Wanna tell me why Mum flew you across the bloody globe to see me?”

You glance up, sharp. “She didn’t tell you about my one too many out-of-school outings?”

“Just some sparring details.” He smirks. “You on your period 24/7 or what?”

“Matty…”

“What? I’m just trying to understand.”

“You’re not helping.”

He sighs, holding his hands up. “Fine. No more jokes. Either way—I’m happy you’re here.”

You nod, quick, and rip into the sandwich he pushed at you earlier. Bite after bite, chewing like it

You nodded, quick and stiff, then sank back into the decaying couch you were sitting on.

Matty leaned back, watching. Something in his chest twisted. You weren’t just being difficult. You were sad. And he hadn’t been around enough to notice until now.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Hazel…”

You froze.

“Will you tell me what’s happening?.”

And just like that—the wall cracked.

You bit your tongue and looked away, as if it could hide the new fresh falling tears in your eyes.

“I miss you.”

Matty’s jaw clenched, his thumb pressing against the filter of his half-finished cigarette. He hadn’t lit it yet. Couldn’t, not with You looking at him like that—eyes wet, shoulders trembling. It was a look he remembered, suddenly and painfully, from when you were small. When you’d toddle behind him down the hallway, sticky fingers reaching for his hand, terrified of being left behind.

Only now you weren’t a toddler. You were sixteen and furious. Sixteen and broken.

He leaned forward in his seat, “I’m right here Haze–”

“I want you to come home.”

“Hazel… it doesn't work like that, my love.” he sighed. “Come here.”

You shook your head no, which shocked him. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

“Why did you leave?” You said, voice barely audible.

“I’m here, Hazel. I’m right here.”

“No you’re not! You’re halfway across the fucking globe everytime I try and call you! And then you can’t talk because you're working, or on stage, or in a completely different time zone from the one I'm in. You’re never there for me, Matty!”

“That’s not true. I’m always here for you, you’re my sister.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel that way?I know you have a wonderful life outside of me. I know you’re out here, with your best friends, living your dream. But why am I not a part of it?”

He was silent after that. “You’re close with Louis? Is it because I’m a girl?”

“What? No.”

“Is it because I’m younger?”

“No!”

“Then what is it Matty? Tell me what I did?”

“Haze—“

“What did I do? Why did you leave me there?”

He swallowed. “I didn’t leave you, Haze. I swear I didn’t.”

“You did.” Your voice cracked, softening. “You left me with Louis and Mum, and Dad, and when Louis left I had to deal with both of them by myself. The cheating, the divorce, all of it. And you—” You choked, pressing the heel of your palm to your eyes. “You were supposed to be mine. My brother. And you weren’t there.”

Matty felt the words sink into his chest like stones. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He’d thought you were young enough, sheltered enough, to not notice. He’d thought—maybe stupidly—that you had been spared the worst of it.

He reached forward, tentative, and took your wrist, lowering your hand from your eyes. “I’m sorry.” His voice came out rough. “I was a selfish prick. All I cared about was music, and getting out, and my own bloody head. I didn’t mean to leave you with their mess. I thought—Hazel, I thought you’d be alright.”

Your lip wobbled. “I wasn’t.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know now. And I hate myself for not seeing it.” He pulled you closer, and this time you didn’t resist. Your small, wiry frame pressed against his chest, shoulders shaking as you cried.

Matty rested his chin on the top of your head, holding you as tight as he dared. “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? It’s not because you’re a girl, or because you’re younger, or because of anything you did. It’s me. I should’ve been there, and I wasn’t. But I’m here now.” His voice cracked on the end.

“You’ll just leave again.” The words were muffled against his shirt.

“Not like before,” he promised. “I can’t quit the band, but—” he pulled back just enough to tip your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I can do better. I can answer the phone. I can fly home more. I can let you come with me more. Hell, you think I don’t want to show you off? My kid sister who terrifies teachers and tells Mum to piss off?” He tried for a smile.

It almost worked. You gave the tiniest snort through tears.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, brushing your hair back.

There was a silence, softer now. Just the two of you in the dim backstage lounge, the hum of equipment vibrating through the walls.

“Were you acting out because of me?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You shrugged against him. “Maybe. Probably. I wanted someone to notice.”

“You got my attention,” he said wryly, then his tone gentled. “But you don’t have to break yourself to get me to see you, Haze. I see you. Always have. And I love you.”

Your arms tightened suddenly around his middle, like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.

“I love you too, Matty,” you whispered, voice small.

Matty closed his eyes, holding you like he had all those years ago in the hospital, when you were tiny and pink and squirming in his arms. Back then, all he’d managed was “Tiny.” Now, with her pressed against him, older and hurting but still his, the word came back to him.

“Still tiny,” he murmured into your hair, and felt you laugh—shaky, but real—against his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like he’d left her at all.

…..

Bonus: The lads meeting baby sister

“Oi! Shut up, will you!”

Your brother’s voice snaps across the room in a whisper sharp enough to quiet all three of the towering men hovering around him. They fall into a hushed sort of awe, their tall frames leaning down like a forest of giants around you.

Adam’s the first to comment, “That’s the tiniest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“I don’t think I’ve even laid eyes on a proper baby before?” George says, which earns a wack on the back of his head from Ross.

Their voices are rough and clumsy, but curious. You shift in Matty’s arms at the sound, your little fingers curling.

“Guys,” Matty says, softer now, his chin brushing the top of your head. “Meet Hazel Healy.”

“Hi, Hazel,” they all say, too shy, too quiet, too in sync, as if practiced.

The name tugs at you. Your body squirms, and your eyelids crack open to a blurry world of unfamiliar faces. You blink, as if you recognize them. The boys collectively gasp.

“Oi—she moved!”

“She knows her name, that’s what it is!”

“Why her name Hazel if her eyes aren’t hazel?” George blurts, squinting.

Matty lets out a sigh that sounds like he’s already tired. “I don’t know. I didn’t name her. It’s just a pretty name. H and H.”

“Let me hold her.”

“Not you first, me!”

“Have you even held a baby before?”

From the other room, your mum’s voice carries like a bell: “Did you boys wash your hands?”

Silence. Then, muttered: “…No.”

“I better hear a long stream of water coming from the kitchen before you hold that little girl!” Denise calls.

The three boys scatter immediately, bumping into each other, elbows knocking. It’s chaos, lanky limbs scrambling toward the sink. The sound of running water echoes down the hall, followed by childish arguments—

“I was first!”

“No, I was already in front of the sink—”

“You didn’t even use soap, you animal—”

When they pile back into the room, Adam wins, drying his hands on his jeans like a trophy. Matty scowls but carefully passes you over.

“Hi, little Healy,” Adam whispers. His voice is the softest it’s ever been. You coo, your tiny fingers lifting toward his shirt. The other three make noises that sound suspiciously like melting.

“I’ll bet you’re a way cuter baby than your brother ever was, huh?” Adam grins.

“Rude,” Matty mutters, swooping you back with a glare.

“Me next, me next!” George is already crowding in, arms outstretched.

“Support her head—”

“I know how to hold a fucking baby, man,” George whisper-snaps, but his hands are careful as he cradles you. You stare up at him for a beat… then sneeze.

“Well, bless you, miss,” George murmurs, his whole face softening in a way the boys haven’t seen before. “What else does she do?” Ross asks from behind him, leaning in close.

“She’s not a fucking dog,” Matty groans. “She doesn’t perform tricks for your liking, she’s a human.”

“A cute human,” Adam adds, leaning over George’s shoulder.

“That’s right,” George says down at you. “Where’d you get your genes from, Hazel? ’Cause it’s certainly not your brother.”

“You’ve already said that,” Matty grumbles.

“My turn,” Ross says firmly, holding his arms out. “Give.”

George smirks but gently transfers you into Ross’s arms. Ross holds you like you’re spun from glass, shoulders hunched, breath shallow. He stares down with equal parts awe and terror.

You gurgle.

His jaw drops. “She—she made a noise.”

“Christ, Ross,” Matty sighs. “She’s a baby, she’s supposed to make noises.”

You settle after a moment, your tiny hand curling around the drawstring of his hoodie.

“She likes you,” George says, smirking.

“’Course she does,” Ross replies proudly.

Matty reaches out to take you back, shaking his head. “Alright, that’s enough. She’s not a prop, she’s my sister.”

But the four of them are still staring at you like you’re the most miraculous thing they’ve ever seen.

[graciegoeskrazy]

[graciegoeskrazy]

OMG!! the scream i let out when i saw that you had posted!! ✨✨

ur work brings me so much comfort keep up the amazing work!! 💘💘

Yall are seriously the sweetest. I hope to keep the good stuff coming. I'm so glad you liked it anon! 😭🥹🩷

[graciegoeskrazy]

ive never seen something so cute in my life—

ur story ‘just lying’ is such a comfort read for me, i love baby healy <3 and matty is just in peak worried protective dad mode in that it’s perfectttt

(i’d love to see more of them and matty having to deal with protecting her from the hard parts of fame, like paparazzi or her getting overwhelmed about touring!!)

omg I’m so sorry this is SO late dear god.

the downtown lights

matty healy x daughter!reader

summary: see request! poor baby scared by the paparazzi :-(

warnings/disclaimers: i feel like actually not that many: there are some mentions of anxiety tho. also for info this is obviously 2023 which needs a trigger warning in itself wow what a year. don’t really have many opinions on that relationship ie not a maylor but i do realize the negative impacts that it had in terms of intensified scrutiny and attention on matty and co. as for the title: it’s not coded LOLZ I just think it was fitting and I love that song and i know matty does too! ok bye rambling over happy reading xx

first grade was tough for you—a new part of the school, a new teacher, a new structure. longer days, no naps. matty remembered hating the change himself. but you took it like a champ after some adjustment; your third-quarter report card had just come back stellar. matty knew how hard you'd worked this year, always asking him to check your spelling homework or go over flash cards before bed. so when you came home beaming from ear to ear, holding up the sheet of paper marked with gold stars and all A's, he knew he had to do something to celebrate. that's how you two ended up in a long line at your favorite ice cream shop on the first nice day of spring.

you held your dad's hand, swinging it happily back and forth as you tiptoed to see the flavors better. "whatcha gettin'?" you asked, looking up to matty.

he feigned confusion for a second. "probably...vanilla? i could do vanilla. or...rum raisin? what do you think about rum raisin, y/n?" he pretended to stroke his chin, breaking character when he heard you giggle.

"ew, raisins."

"no, no, they're good for you. got loads of fiber and stuff," he smiled. "but we'll stick to vanilla today, huh?" The line moved forward. you tiptoed towards the counter, peering in at the colorful tubs of ice cream.

"i'll have one scoop of vanilla in a dish, please," your father told the teenaged cashier. "y/n, can you tell the nice girl what you want?" you guys were working on it—your shyness. it was an uphill battle to get you to talk to almost anyone but him and select few family members—he'd worried about your socialization—that was another reason why he was so proud of your successful year. you'd entered school clinging to his legs for dear life and left with an itinerary of new friends and playdates.

now matty beamed internally with pride when you nodded, enthusiastically telling the girl that you wanted "two scoops of strawberry swirl with extra sprinkles in a waffle cone."

after a few minutes he picked up your order, swiftly maneuvering your two desserts over to a little streetside table. he instructed you to grab some napkins on the way over, which he subsequently used to wipe the rapidly melting stuff off your hands as he transferred your cone to your waiting fingers. as matty listened intently to your recounting of the latest playground drama, though, he kept seeing something concerning flit in his peripheral vision. something intrusive.

a click. then, a flash. matty glanced over his shoulder and saw them there, around the corner of the alley between the ice cream shop and the pharmacy next door. a few paparazzi gathered, trying and clearly failing to be inconspicuous. he tried not to draw attention to it—always wanting to shield you from the raw edges of his job—looking straight into one of their searching eyes, he slipped a pair of sunglasses on. A raised eyebrow  underneath the tinted lenses of his Wayfarers challenged; as if to say, "Now what?"

The silent intimidation tactic seemed to have worked for a little while. You were happily oblivious to your dad's anxiety, contently chatting and licking all the sprinkles off your cone. all was fine until the two of you got up to leave, deciding to finish on the walk to the parking lot so that you could make it back in time to cook dinner. as soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, you two were bombarded with questions:

matty, have you heard the new album?

can we get a confirmation on the rumors?

y/n, sweetie, can we see a smile?

can we talk to your dad?

what's up with you and taylor?

"daddy?"

"shh, just stay close, love, i've got it," he whispered, pulling you closer into his side. he felt you press your head against his t-shirt, a clear attempt to cover your ears, and felt horrible. this situation had been messy enough. he'd tried his hardest to make sure you weren't dragged into it but now felt utterly powerless.

"please stop," you muttered, voice trembling.

tunnel vision took over matty: just keep moving forward, he thought to himself as though he were driving through a storm. unfortunately that meant that he didn't notice one of the amateur reporters move up as the street narrowed. in pursuit of a good shot, the man bumped into your outside arm, knocking the rest of your ice cream onto the floor. the last remainder of what was meant to be a happy day now lay soaking into the pavement. "oh, shit," the guy murmured half-heartedly.

matty whipped his head around. he was trying not to escalate the situation, give them what they wanted. "listen, i'm trying to have a nice day with my daughter and you've fucked it for us. just get on, please," he lectured, exasperated. Clearly taken aback, the man stepped to the side, whispering something to the rest of his crew that made them follow suit.

"uh, sorry, man."

"yeah, mate, you ought to be," matty spoke coolly. he turned his head to look down at you—still gripping at the side of his shirt hem. "c'mon, love, let's get home, alright?" he redirected his tone, returning to softness as he led you to the car, noticing the increasingly tight grip you'd established on his hand.

over the next two days matty noticed a change on your part, a seeming regression to square one; you started crying at school drop-off again, made matty order for you at dinner. you seemed to be hypervigilant, antsy, as though someone could jump out at you at any point. you'd begun to crawl out of your shell, but now you were shrinking back.

he wasn't the only one who noticed, either. on monday he received a call from your concerned teacher. "she's talking less again," elaborated ms. chin. "doesn't want to go outside for recess. is something happening at home?" she had asked.

matty tracked down the timeline of your phase, finally remembering just what the issue could be.

that night, before bed, he decided to confront you about it. closing the book you'd chosen for your nightly story (or, rather, the topical story about overcoming anxiety that he'd tactfully guided you towards), matty sat on the edge of your bed. "is it alright if i sit with you?" he asked.

you nodded, so he scooted up so that both of your backs were against the headboard. "i wanted to talk to you about something," he began. "your teacher told me a few things that have been happening at school."

"nothing bad. you're not in trouble," he quickly corrected as he caught your eyes widening.

"what'd she say?" you asked, voice small.

"well," matty adjusted so that he was facing you, "she mentioned that you weren't talking as much as before, that you didn't want to play outside with your friends. you've been a little nervous, yeah?"

"a little," you murmured.

"well, i was thinking...does it maybe have something to do with what happened the other day?"

you nodded slightly, still twiddling your thumbs.

"it was scary, huh?"

another nod.

"remember my friend taylor? remember how you sometimes see pictures of her on the TV?"

you nodded. you liked taylor—you got to go to one of her shows when your dad and phoebe were special guests, and had had a blast twirling to the music and playing with the confetti backstage. she was very nice, and even gifted you a stack of friendship bracelets that you didn't take off for a week after.

"it's like that," your father explained.

"but taylor's famous," you reasoned. "why do they want to put you on TV?" you asked, with an innocent bluntness. matty almost laughed—if it were anyone else he'd respond that he was doing pretty well for himself, thank you very much, but of course he didn't really feel the need to justify his career to his six year old.

"well, a lot of people like miss taylor's music, and they want to know about her life, and who her songs might be about. they wanted to know about me, too, because they know that we were hanging out together recently, so they think that I can tell them more about her. that means sometimes they want my picture, too."

"are her songs about you?"

"that...doesn't really matter. what matters is that it's not okay for them to go around behaving like that. no one is entitled to..." he fixed his words, trying to make the concept clearer to you, "everyone has a right to privacy. even the people we think we love. no one gets to treat you that way."

"but they were asking you stuff, about her, and i didn't know what to say because i didn't know, and at school you're supposed to answer if someone asks you a question, cos' it's polit—"

"it's miss taylor's choice what the public knows about her. just like it's my choice, and it's your choice. if anyone tries to take away that choice, like today, you tell me, okay?" matty placed a hand on your shoulder. "it's not rude. you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable," he spoke. "in any situation."

"but i don't want them to make me feel bad," you said. "how do i know they won't?"

"well, you just have to have people you can trust. most people are safe, like me, our family, your teachers, and your friends. most people don't want to make you feel that way," matty explained. "you don't have anything to worry about when you're at school or with people like that, okay?"

"okay," you yawned.

"sleepy, huh?" matty stood up, fixing the covers around you and fluffing your pillow a little, making you squirm and let out a giggle. matty smiled. "there's my silly girl.

get some rest, i want to see her tomorrow," he pressed a kiss to your forehead, dimming the lamp on your nightstand.

as he went to leave your bedroom, he heard a small call. "wait!"

matty turned around before the ajar door. "what is it?"

"can we get another ice cream tomorrow?"

matty smirked. "maybe."

[graciegoeskrazy]

just tell me what’s unladylike

(ross macdonald x maise macdonald)

ofc but can be read as r!

warnings: she drunk asf, mentions of smoking and drugs, bit of angst but not really just sass

a/n: i have no excuses anymore like— thx friend for requesting!!! and ty @writeslikeabitch for educating me for my lack of drinking knowledge!!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️I REALLY CANT TELL IF THIS IS GOOD OR NOT OR IF I LIKE IT OR NOT SO PLEASE BE GENTLE IM WORKING ON IT GUYS I SWEAR🗣️🗣️🗣️

Your nights don't normally end like this – sneaking back into your London home at almost four in the morning with a headache that made every step you took feel like an earthquake in your ears and your head. You weren’t the drunken type. In fact it takes a full week of your friends begging and pleading for you to even consider going out. You preferred a night in. Selfcare, a nonsense-netflix show, and some sort of sweet treat sounded way better than dressing up in the tightest outfit you have (which your father would definitely not approve of) and getting drunk with a group of teenage girls and boys who can’t hold their liquor or just want a shot of getting in your pants.

This weekend though, you decided to ‘get off your ass’ and actually go to a house party hosted by a boy in your class. His parents were out of town, so naturally a party was to be had. Full of alcohol that the one of the few juniors with a fake ID bought, and the faint smell of weed coming from one of the senior girls.

The night had dragged on longer than you had intended. Your father was always a laid back type. He was never one for a strict curfew or restrictions on your phone because he never needed to worry. He trusted you, and up until now you had made every right, smart decision.

Key words: up until now.

Ross had been looking at your location every 10 minutes for the past hour. He would see the little dot move ever so slightly every once in a while and the ‘active’ button glowing bright green so he knew you were still out and ok as far as he was concerned. But you had never stayed out this late. You had told him “No later than 1 AM for sure” and he let those words replay in his head over and over. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. Calm or Mad. But worried was a feeling he couldn’t shake and probably never will when it comes to you.

The living room was dark. The TV quietly played a show Ross was watching but was now long forgotten. The only thing making any real noise was the ceiling fan and his bouncing leg he didn’t realise was moving as he sat and contemplated in the big red chair in the corner.

The sound of keys shaking then hitting the ground followed by a quiet “Shit.” brought him out of his daze. He stood, moving closer to the front door and leaning against it.

You continued to struggle but eventually got the door open. You slammed it louder than you meant to which did nothing for your evergrowing headache-soon-to-be-hangover. You not so gracefully slipped off your kitten heels, groaning at the new feeling of blisters they left behind.

Your father continued watching from the door. Pissed. Slightly amused.

“Maise Eloise.” He said, finally, voice echoing through your small home.

Your head whipped towards him, alamermed. “Hey.” You said less than casually. Not moving.

He didn’t move but tried his best not to laugh as he got a better look at your state. “Big night?” He asked.

“Nah.” You stated. His eyebrows raised. You stilled in awkward silence, trying to find the best way out of this. Bluntly saying, “Goodnight” and trying to run up the stairs was the best you could come up with.

“Ah-ah. Not so fast.” He said, rounding to the stairs and grabbing your arm to gently bring you back down.

“Daaaaad.” You whined.

He sighed, “Maise-”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“You're drunk and reek of alcohol.”

“No I’m nottttt.” You said, pouting like you were five again. Your father wasn’t having it though.

“Maise. Living room. Now.”

You whined again, this time making it hard for your father not to smile.

He followed behind as you flopped onto the couch with a groan. He sat down leaving only a little space in between the two of you.

You stayed quiet, lips pouted and eyes staring wide and blankly at the ceiling as if it could talk. “Care to explain?” He said.

“Party. I told you.”

He hummed. “Doesn’t explain why you're drunk off your tail.”

“Why are you so loud?” You said, wincing.

“I’m not. I’m actually speaking very normally.” He said, You just groaned, flipping over on your side. “What’d you drink, Mase?”

You were quiet for a moment, contemplating. “‘Couple of shots…seltzers. A vodka diet coke or two.” He sighed, at your choice or drink or actions, you couldn’t tell.

“Smoking?” he asked.

“No.”

“Any drugs?”

“No.” You answered, too quickly for his liking.

“Maise-“

“I said no.” You glared at him.

He put his hands up in defence. “I’m just making sure.”

“Because you don’t believe me?”

“No, I just want to know what I’m dealing with.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, because you’re the expert.”

“Maise- No, I am not. I just-”

“Oh, of course. Because you were such an angel when you were my age.” You crossed your arms and turned into the couch, drawing your knees to your chest and attempting to hide your face.

Your dad knew you didn’t mean it – just the alcohol talking. Still, he knew you were right.

He moved closer to you and rested a hand on your leg. When he didn’t see you flinch away he began rubbing soothing circles on your knee.

“Are you mad?” You said, after about a minute.

“No.” He said. “Although I think I should be.”

You made a noise.

“I just want you to be safe.” He said, trying to coax you out of your cocoon. “I’m not mad, Maise.”

“I didn’t mean to stay out so late.” You finally said

“I know.”

“It got…messey. Not in a bad way, I swear. It’s just we all got carried away, and next thing I know it was three am and I panicked.”

He nodded.

“Madeline drove me home, and she was sober the whole time I swear. She’s Catholic or something and she doesn’t drink–” You said suddenly sitting up with urgency, trying to get your safety point across.

“Maise–”

“Nothing else happened. I just—”

“I believe you.” He said, gently but firmly putting his hands on your shoulders and bringing you closer to him, looking you in the eyes.

You paused for a beat. Then, “I’m sorry.”

He sighed then opened his arms. “I know, Bug.” You didn’t hesitate to lean into him, bringing your legs back to your chest and resting your head on his. “I can handle the drinking, I can handle you trying things. You’re right, heaven knows I was no angel either.” You smiled. So did he. “But I can’t handle not knowing if you’re alright.”

You didn’t move. He continued the coaxing circles on your back. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me— you scared me.” He brushed a stray hair out of your eye, prompting you to look at him. “It’ll be okay, just, next time call me. Text me. Let me be your dad.”

“Okay.” You nodded.

“Okay.” He said with a faded breath at the end.

It got quiet. Dead of night. He would bet the only thing awake for blocks was the two of you. Even the usual chirping outside was quieter and normal tonight. The only thing constant was your dads heartbeat in your ear. Steady. Strong.

Like he is and always has been.

He spoke. “Vodka diet coke, seriously?”

“I got tired of the Trulys?”

[graciegoeskrazy]

Hey girl how you doing? Can I request Maise coming home drunk or her first hangover please? With dad Ross trying to be serious and ground her but remembering how those were the best years of his life

ANYTHING FOR YOU!!! 🎁🎁🎁

[graciegoeskrazy]

[graciegoeskrazy]

say “i do”

(matty healy x stepdaughter!r)

warnings: mentions of daddy issues, fluff, weddings??, matty being the best dad yeah, request here!

a/n: i’m back! (so she says) wrote this while listening to “margaret” by lana + bleachers and “mine” obviously

It had been a very short two years of planning, and only nine short months before that they had started dating. To say everything was moving fast was an understatement, but time never stopped your mom and Matty from doing what they wanted. If your mom wanted a gorgeous summer wedding in the hills of California in the middle of June, then she was gonna find a way. No hesitation, no second-guessing. That was just who she was—full of fire and forward motion. And Matty matched her in a way no one else ever had. Not by controlling the fire, but by walking straight into it with her, hand-in-hand, like he’d always been there.

And somehow, you were here too. At this moment. On the eve of something huge, something that looked like joy from the outside, But felt like standing at the edge of a cliff and wondering if you'd be asked to jump on the inside.

You knew it was coming. You’d seen the dress fittings and the cake tastings and the invitation mockups spread across the kitchen table. You’d heard the ‘getting ready’ playlist being tested in the living room, w atched your mom’s hands shake the morning she went to pick up her wedding bands, laughed quietly when Matty got flustered about boutonnières and then pretended not to care at all.

You knew the wedding was coming. But nothing prepared you for what it would actually feel like.

Everything fell into place by the time the date neared. The floral arrangements were boxed and labeled, waiting in the event tent for tomorrow’s breeze to lift their scent into the air. The seating charts were perfectly written in looping calligraphy. Even the groomsmen, who you were sure would forget at least something, had every piece of their suits, cufflinks and all, miraculously intact.

And your dress—pale blue, ruffled hem —was hanging in the closet next to your mom’s vintage, white wedding dress. She let you try it on when it was finally shipped to your house, hand pressed and altered. barefoot in her bedroom, laughing nervously with you hands pressed to your chest. When she tried it on you remembered sitting on the floor and thinking how unfair it was that someone could look so happy and so sure all at once.

It all seemed too good. Too seamless. Like it had been made from glass—sparkling, beautiful, and just one wrong breath away from shattering. It all felt like something horrid would happen at any moment and change your life for the worse. Because that’s what always happened. You knew the pattern. The rhythm of disappointment that came right after you let your guard down. When things felt safe, that’s when they broke. That’s when people left. You had your mom. You had your house. You had your family. Had your Dad. Or some version of one.

Even now, just thinking the word made something turn in your stomach. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t gone in that way. But he was gone where it mattered. Left behind in a trail of broken promises, unreturned phone calls, and birthdays skipped without a word. And still, part of you kept a space for him. Still, part of you wondered if this new chapter with Matty meant closing the old one forever.

You had too much happiness, too much light, something always came along to take it. That was the rule. And if tomorrow was supposed to be the happiest day of your mom’s life, then you couldn’t help but brace for impact.

…

Matty recogonised the look on your face, the look of fear - the look of waiting. You swore up and down nearly every single day for the past 2 week that you were fine. When he would confess his worries to George he would tell Matty it was probably wedding jitters or nerves. And he wasn’t far off. Yet, it was something deeper.

The girls and boys were separated the night before - Matty and his friends into one side of the venue and your Mom and her bridesmaids into another. Your Momswore up and down she would go to bed at a reasonable hour and leave the real partying for tomorrow night. Yet when Charli brought out another bottle of wine, she just couldn’t say no.

He did however make sure to put you to bed when you pulled her aside and told her you were heading to sleep.

You noticed a recent message as you were plugging in your phone. From Matty:

Hi angel. You still up?

You let yourself smile just for a moment before clicking on it and typing.

yea. going to bed soon tho.

Three dots appeared then a new message.

No worries just wanted to tell you I love you before tomorrow

You replied.

i love you too

His next messages came in fast.

I love you most

Get some rest

I can’t wait for tomorrow❤️

…

You’re sitting in te second row, next to your grandparents, hands curled in your lap, knees bouncing ever so slightly under your dress. The sunlight filters in through the trees above, catching in your hair, in the folds of your skirt, in the lace of your mother’s veil as she walks slowly down the aisle. Every single person turns to look at her. Every head turns. Every breath is held. And beside you, someone sighs softly at how beautiful she looks.

But your eyes aren’t on her. Not really.

Matty stands at the altar in a black suit, tie slightly crooked—probably from fidgeting with it five seconds before she stepped out. He’s not crying, but his jaw is tight and his eyes are glossy, and it’s the most still you’ve ever seen him. Like if he moves, he might break the spell.

You should be happy. You are happy. At least, you think you are. But there’s this ache somewhere inside your chest that you can’t quite explain. A weight pressing down behind your ribs that only seems to grow heavier with each step your mom takes down the aisle.

You love Matty. He’s been in your life long enough to memorize your favorite cereal, your exact order at the coffee shop, the way you like your TV at the perfect low volume before bed. He learned how to French braid just to help on picture day once. He makes you laugh even when you’re furious. He treats your mom like she’s the sun and the sky and everything in between.

Though sometimes, especially on days like this, the thought of feeling like you don’t belong feels loud. Like a scratch in the record. Like a whisper you can’t shut out.

What if today changes everything? What if now that it’s official—now that they’re husband and wife—he stops trying as hard? What if he forgets how to love you the way he does? What if there isn’t room for you anymore?

You try not to think like that. You really do.

But it’s hard, when everyone keeps talking about them.

The perfect couple. The bride and groom. Mr. and Mrs.

You sit quietly, fingers twisting the hem of your dress as the ceremony unfolds like a slow, dreamy movie. The vows are coming. You know they are. You know your mom will cry. You know Matty will forget part of what he wrote and wing the rest, because that’s who he is—messy and raw and real.

Matty clears his throat. His eyes flicker down to the folded piece of paper in his hands, then back up to your mom. But before he even speaks, his gaze finds you—just for a second. Long enough that you forget to breathe.

He smiles.

And then he begins.

He talks about your mom, of course. About how she saved him in ways no one saw. About how she makes the air lighter just by walking into a room. About how loving her isn’t a choice—it’s just something his whole body does.

But then… he talks about you.

Not as an afterthought. Not as a passing mention.

He says your name. Clearly. Proudly. As if it belongs in this moment as much as hers does.

He says that falling in love with your mom gave him something extraordinary—but becoming your dad, even in the unofficial, clumsy, beautifully chaotic way he did, gave him everything else.

He says he didn’t know how much he needed a daughter until he met you.

You feel it before you realize you’re crying.

Something warm cracks open in your chest, and all at once that heaviness lifts. All those quiet fears, the ones that haunted the corners of your mind for weeks—they’re gone. Just like that. Like they never stood a chance against the weight of his words.

Because you believe him.

And not just because of what he said. But because of how he said it. Because of the way his voice caught on the word daughter. Because of how his hand trembled when he looked at your mom, then steadied when he looked at you. Because of the way the world seemed to pause when he spoke about loving you—not like it was something he had to do, but something he chose. Every day. Every single day.

You don’t remember the rest of the ceremony. It’s a blur of music and laughter and clapping and flowers. But what you do remember is how safe you felt in that moment. How sure. How, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like a side character in someone else’s story. You felt like you belonged.

…

“Psst.”

You turned sharply at the sound, your eyes landing on Matty. He was fresh from the Mother-Son dance, his tie slightly loosened, cheeks a little flushed from smiling. You tilted your head, puzzled.

“C’mere,” he stage-whispered, motioning you over with a quick wave of his hand.

You stepped away from the crowd, slipping your hand into his as he led you through the garden, weaving past tables and lanterns until you reached a quiet corner tucked beneath soft string lights.

“What are you doing?” you asked as he pulled out a chair from an empty table and gestured toward it.

“What do you mean?” he replied, like it was obvious. “Your mum got her dance. Don’t you want yours?”

Then he held out his arms.

The smile broke across your face before you could stop it.

He helped you step onto the chair so you were level with him. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders instinctively.

You held onto each other, swaying gently back and forth. The chari beneath you added height but didn’t do much to match up to Matty’s you tucked your head underneath his chin as you both watched your Mom’s dance continue. It was quiet. Special. Something only shared between the two of you even though you were among tons of people.

“Mama looks pretty,” you murmured.

“She does, doesn’t she?” he said, smiling. Then, gently, “She’s not the only gorgeous girl here tonight.”

You looked down for a second, then back up at him.

“Did you mean what you said in the vows?”

Matty didn’t hesitate.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

When you didn’t answer, just leaned your head against his shoulder and looked out at the dancing crowd, he added more softly, sensing the doubt.

“Y/n…” His tone held a slight warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “Just… making sure.”

“Y/n…” He placed a hand under your chin, gently coaxing your face back toward his. “There is no version of my life that doesn’t have you in it,” he said.

Your eyes locked with his—wide, uncertain, and full of something tender and searching. For a moment, he saw the little girl you used to be. The one he hadn’t known then, but wished he had. It hit him in that way only you and your Mom could. That full-body ache of love—tightening and expanding all at once.

“Okay,” you said quietly.

And he knew you believed him.

The music shifted then, swelling in the background as the last notes of your mother’s dance played out. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Laughter echoed through the garden. You both turned to watch, your eyes locked on the bride glowing in white.

You spoke, “I’m happy it was you, Matty.”

He squeezed your hand, voice soft but sure.

“Me too, kid.”

[graciegoeskrazy]

Streets are saying u should write gabrietty wedding

i write and make streets happy

[graciegoeskrazy]

saw thunderbolts/the new avengers again today (amc a list bbyyyy) and i had the thought — mainly because i wanna write the team with teen!reader or teen!barnes!reader or even with kobik (real ones know) — but if r went into the void to find yelena and bob with bucky and the ready of the team, one of those rooms would definitely be bucky leaving for war (💔💔💔) like imagine watching her tiny happy little self pre hydra pre serum pre everything, and watching her dad walk away from her and change their lives forever. like her trying to run to him and screaming and BEGGING him to not leave but like the void catches her and keeps her pinned down like it did yelena and making her watch

oh my fucking cow i need to me medicated

[graciegoeskrazy]

god i need to write

[graciegoeskrazy]

thunderbolts as a concept is hilarious to me lmfao like imagine your DAD is a part of your friend group

[graciegoeskrazy]

HELLOOOO HIIIIII BONJOURRRRR BONSOIIIII GOOOOOD MORNING GUYS. SHE SHOOTS AND SHE MOTHER FUCKING SCORESSSSS!!

someone to take my place

matty healy x daughter!r

summary: relationships are weird!! essentially a chronicle/peek into your feelings about matty and gabi. this was requested on my old account (specifically, the feeling that gabbriette would replace/overshadow y/n) but that has been lost to the tumblr void—please rb this to help the og requester find it ahaha!

disclaimers/warnings: lots of cursing, probably some inaccuracies re timeline oops. matty is kind of a dick in this one but it’s alright. this one’s very introspective and i’m not sure if it’s good or not; i experimented quite a bit w my writing style. dedicated once again 2 @graciegoeskrazy for the encouragement :-)) SORRY IT’S BEEN SO LONG EVERYONE life has been crazy. Hope u enjoyyyy

sure, there were things that annoyed you about every relationship your dad entered. but here there seemed to be a permanence, a weight to it all—it really did seem like it would last forever, unlike previous on-again-off-again sagas. at least you knew that the slurries of Instagram comments from hardcore swifties would die down, or that he and twigs’ (you never called her by her real name, that’s how little you were involved) was mostly an artistic relationship, fostered in the studio but never truly domestic. maybe the exception was gabriella, whose separation really had hurt you. you were so sure she was the one; but then again, you were young and everything felt like it would never change. you couldn’t blame her. matty was a mess, and that was painful enough. your frustration here came from the very real fear that your little family would never be the same, that, however selfish you felt thinking it, you wouldn’t be the only girl in your dad’s life anymore. after all, your insecurities told you, you couldn’t offer much: you weren’t a famous supermodel home chef hybrid, but a dependent teenage girl. if it came down to it, you were a burden: why shouldn’t he just toss you aside to go live a glamorous life in the US without you to drag him down? the problem for you wasn’t necessarily with gabbriette, but the risk she represented.

of course, you would never admit that openly. instead you decided to do what you did best: ignore it and close off, hoping that you’d just scare her away before ever having to confront the issue in earnest. it was with this mindset that you slunk around the house Friday night.

it was mid-evening, and gabbriette had come over and made dinner, some spanish dish that, you had to admit, was beautifully plated and surprisingly delicious. that was at least a positive of their relationship; that you weren’t living off a diet of takeout and grocery store meal kits or, god forbid, having to tolerate matty’s attempts at cooking. you sat across the table from the two of them, sneaking glances at your TikTok notifications under the table.

“y/n,” matty warned, a slight sternness to his voice. “no phones at dinner, please.”

you rolled your eyes, but placed it face down on the table with a slam. “whatever.” you shoved a perfectly-seasoned bite of potato into your mouth. perfect, perfect, perfect. god, you wished she could just fuck something up for once in her life.

“thank you,” your father sighed. he and gabi kept up their conversation, but you laser focused on her every move.

“i thought models didn’t eat,” you said under your breath, but just loud enough that both she and matty heard. unlike your father, though, who kicked you under the table, she wasn’t mad, just matched your sardonic tone.

“guess you heard wrong,” she smirked, and pushed her chair out, standing up and smoothing out her dress. “speaking of which, I’m getting seconds, do you want any, y/n?”

you just shook your head no, then turned to matty. “i’m going to my room,” you simply stated, turning on your heel and speeding down the hall faster than your father could get up to stop you.

“y/n, come back,” he called after you, but you’d already shut the door to your bedroom. “you need to say goodbye to-“

you could hear him apologising to gabi for your behavior, but you didn’t care. you just sank into the beanbag in the corner of the room, content to resume your favorite youtuber’s newest video. but your solitude didn’t last long.

“what the hell is up with you?” matty burst through your doorway, practically hissing.

you glanced up at him, flashing innocent eyes. “what do you mean?” you feigned dumb.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”He leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. “i mean, Christ, y/n, you act like she’s your evil stepmother or something!”

“oh, so now she’s my stepmum? you’re dense if you think this isn’t just going to end up like all the other girls you fuck!” your voice pierced now. “i’m not playing house with another one of your side pieces.” you stood up, throwing your phone behind you.

“we could be happy, you know, we could have a..a…picket fence and a puppy if you wanted! but you won’t let that happen because you’re so bent on fucking everything up for me for some reason!” matty matched your tone. “i’m marrying her, y/n.”

“woah,” you stepped back. “i see how it is.” you both just stood there, blinking. finally it was you who broke through the silence. “fuck you,” was all you muttered.

“y/n/n—“

“get out.”

“i just mean…i think we should talk about thi-“

you moved closer now, opening the door and pushing him further towards it until he stood just outside. he didn’t resist, just begging defeatedly, voice cracking as he tried to get you to listen. but you wouldn’t. not now, that you felt your worst fears had been vindicated. you shut the door on him, and sank down against it, collapsing onto yourself as tears began to flow.

•

you didn’t remember falling asleep, but the ache in your neck after you awoke exactly where you lay, not even having the energy to walk five meters over to your bed, and the dried tears on your face told you you had. gingerly, you picked yourself up, and headed to the bathroom. when you were done brushing your teeth you made your way, slowly, down the hallway, where, to your surprise, you saw your father’s now-fiancée in the kitchen.

“morning,” she smiled. “or, afternoon.”

you looked at the clock. eleven. thank god it was a Saturday.

“i’m just making lunch. your dad went to the studio. wanna join?”

something within you compelled you to say yes before even really thinking about it, and so you found yourself floating over to join her at the counter.

“i heard what you said, you know. last night,”she said, nonchalantly, as she ground up a handful of pine nuts with the pestle. you hated that, how chill and collected she was about everything—hated that you couldn’t sus her out, employ the same defenses of psychoanalysis and button-pushing you did to keep those before at a safe distance.

you flushed. “sorry.” you turned away, trying to gather something to say. “i don’t hate you, you know.”

“it’s fine if you do,” she smirked.

“no, i don’t,” you sighed. “i just….i can’t keep doing this with him,” you confessed, not making eye contact, instead focusing on a particularly odd-shaped sprig of parsley, twirling the stem between your thumb and middle finger. “i hate feeling like I’m not a part of my own life.” you took a moment to brush your hands onto one of the towels hung over the oven handle. “congratulations, by the way.”

“thanks,” she said, and then turned to you. your eyes met hers as she leaned against the surface. “listen, i know this is all weird. and i’m not trying to intrude or, like, fuck with your life. but i want you to know that i’m here, if you ever want to talk about it.” she rested her head on her elbows. “i know how Ma—how your dad can be sometimes.”

“stupid, rude, insensitive?”

she laughed. “yeah. but i also know how much love he has in his heart. for me, even more so for you. i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’ll always be his number one.”

“yeah, right.”

“it’s true. watch, he’s gonna come back from that session with about forty new drafts about how much he cares about you.” she poured the pesto from the mortar into a larger bowl. “hey, i know it’s early, but how would you feel about being my maid of honor?”

*

you sat there watching your father get ready, adjust his tie in the mirror for about the fifteenth time, and felt something in your stomach twist. the realization that after today nothing would really ever be the same again—that it’d never just be you two.

he pulled you in, resting his chin atop your head for a second. he took in the scent of your hair, and saueezed a little tighter. “i know it’s hard,” he said. “i’m proud of you.”

it was as if in that moment all of your fears about the moment seemed to fade away. for all you needed his love and attention, he needed you, too. this wouldn’t work without your support, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. it required growth of the both of you, but you’d gotten there. if he was happy, you were happy, and vice versa. you took a deep breath. “i’m proud of you too.”

[graciegoeskrazy]

matty lowkey be giving link lately