#I’m pretty sure you’re the same anon that sends me a lot of my asks

[turtledork02]

yay! ratchet ref sheet!

and who is the most likely to get injured in a mission? who is the most likely to be doing the saving?

where is the autobots' base located? do they still have communication with the autobots on cybertron? and what were the jobs of the autobots before joining team prime? optimus was obviously the prime and ratchet and first aid medics, and bumblebee a scout. but what divisions were the others a part of?

Arcee is both the one who is most likely to get injured on missions, and also be the one doing the saving. She’s the team’s heavy hitter, and one of the only non-scientific members of Team Prime. (Even Bumblebee is learning from Wheeljack in his pastime, which is a lot since there isn’t much to do for 15 years.) She’s a weapons and attack specialist, and is the second biggest Autobots on the team. But over the years, especially towards the end of the war, her methods became a little more tactless and a lot more brash. Because of that, she ends up getting hurt the most. But she is SO STUBBORN about it. She’s is Ratchet’s problem patient every time and takes forever to convince to come to the medical bay.

Cybertron has been dark for a while, so the Autobots and Decepticons are scattered to the stars currently. They DO have contact with other refugee planets the Autobots prepared ahead of time, and supplies are sent to them every so often. Wheeljack is currently in contact with Bulkhead too, and the two talk a lot when they aren’t busy. I haven’t quite decided where the base is LOCATED yet, but I imagine it’s in a forest somewhere and is hidden by a giant waterfall.

Both Wheeljack and Arcee were part of the Wreckers for a while during the war. That’s where the two of them became best friends, and even after Arcee left the Wreckers, she kept in contact with Wheeljack. Wheeljack remained part of the Wreckers for most of the war, but was also a renowned scientist (and still is). Arcee left the Wreckers to join the Elite Guard, where she later became an instructor for young members. She ended up leaving the Elite Guard towards the end of the war for personal (and traumatic) reasons.

Bumblebee was only a scout for a short while during the war. He got promoted to warrior, and specializing in sharpshooting and sniping. He’s still pretty good at close combat though!

[yan-randomfandom]

hi!!! omg i just discovered your blog and i’m in LOVE! could i request yandere stanford pines (platonic or romantic or some other type is up to you) with a reader who is a reincarnated euclidean/flatworlder/dream demon? (i don’t know if you’re familiar with same coin theory, but that’s my inspiration!) preferably with no/limited memories of their past life? i imagine ford would be pretty suspicious at first because of his experiences with bill, maybe even try to kill them… but who knows if those feelings will change… that, or maybe he would get obsessed with them as a replacement muse… lots of possibilities! feel free to change/add anything to the concept, or if it doesn’t interest you, i’d appreciate any yandere ford in general! thank you!!!

Yandere!Stanford Pines x Godling!Reader

this took me a while, but i finally got around to writing it! thank you for your kind words, anon! this one contains continuous stories— because this is so long, feel free to point out any mistakes

🌑

You have been summoned.

Even from your deep slumber, the presence of other ghastly beings roaming around the dimension was painfully obvious to you. How curious; they don't seem to belong here.

"You. You grant wishes right? No deals?"

The one who summoned you flinched when you made eye contact. With their chin lifted, they tried to seem intimidating, yet the tremble of their lips and the quaking of their legs gave them away.

"Indeed, but," you replied, smiling to the best of your ability. You hovered around them, critically observing their physical body, and, by extension, their soul.

They are nothing short of terrified. But intriguingly, their fear does not mainly stem from your presence.

"Pray tell," you mused, twirling their hair with your fingers, "what happened here, dear human? I've been asleep for some time, so I request a small favor: answer my question."

Because if you had to be honest, you have no fucking idea what's happening right now. The longer you stay awake, the more you realize that you have no memory of your past.

"Bill Cipher happened. This is the Weirdmaggedon," they answered, their body shaking more intensely. You paused. "I don't know what he wants. Please, all I ask is for you to transfer me and my family somewhere safe. The ones I care about have turned to stone. We just want to be happy. Please."

A giggle escaped you. "A noble wish. Very well, I shall send you and your family to the nearest safe place."

You placed your hand on the top of their head, and they vanished out of thin air.

Humming a tune, you made your way out of the cave where you had been trapped and finally saw the world outside.

...

Swirling colors and chaotic phenomena surrounded you. What a monstrosity. Someone else has taken over this area—Bill Cipher, was it?

Turning your head, you saw an enormous bubble wrapped in chains. A grin-like expression stretched across your face.

So that’s where you sent your summoner.

🌒

Weirdmaggedon is officially over.

Stanford knew that. Bill is gone. His brother is slowly but surely regaining his memories back. Everything is going to be... normal again.

As normal as it can be anyway. A sigh left Ford when he rolled over to his side, staring at practically nothing. The room is pitch black.

He closed his eyes.

...

It's bright. With a gasp, his eyes snapped open.

A familiar field. The gentle breeze doesn't calm him down in the slightest. He's back here. Again. Why? Did Bill somehow escape? Is he out for revenge? That stupid dream demon—!!

"Gree—"

Ford shouted, immediately swinging his fist at you. You dodged swiftly in time.

"—tings! Woah!" you huffed, taking extra care to ensure he didn’t land a finger on you. "Is this how you usually greet a higher being, Stanford Pines?"

The human’s heart raced uncontrollably. This can’t be happening. "Bill, what twisted form have you taken now? Didn’t we destroy you already?!"

You blinked, then laughed. "I'm not Bill, silly! He's long gone, I'm pretty sure. How should I know?"

Not Bill? What kind of nonsense are you spewing out? Stanford's expression darkened. This might be a dream, but he really didn’t want to deal with you—especially not after everything that had just happened.

His demeanor didn't go unnoticed.

"...Oh. I'm sorry," you muttered, getting close enough to meet his eyes. They widened at your words. "I didn't mean to laugh at your misery. I've just been so confused lately."

"What?" was all Ford could manage to say.

"I heard all about you," you said carefully, making gestures with your hands. "Human with six fingers. The man who freed Bill Cipher. Who has traveled across dimensions."

"Who told you...?"

You smiled. "I asked many—don't worry about that part. I was wondering if you could tell me anything about myself. You seem to know a lot, Pines."

Ford woke up.

...

Was that just a dream? Were you even real?

Bill is long gone, dead. Isn't he? He won't find the answers to his questions until he falls asleep again.

🌓

Ford doesn't do anything about you until he's sure of himself. You were definitely just a figment of his imagination, right? A dream.

That’s exactly why he couldn’t believe it when you showed up again. A stupid, curious expression on your face.

And this time, Ford took it upon himself to try and kill you.

"Urk! Don’t do this! I understand you're traumatized, but I really am just trying to find my home!" you stammered, flying and dodging every attack he threw your way.

This is weird. You’re saying things Bill would never say. Is he really trying the opposite approach just to manipulate Ford again?

A massive blast from a cannon struck you.

To both of your surprise, the attack did absolutely nothing to damage you.

"I'm alive!" you exclaimed with glee, up in the air, comically rotating from the impact. "Done yet, Pines? I simply want to talk, you know!"

... Of course. Both of you are untouchable in the dreamscape. While you can imagine anything within both the mind and the dream, a being like Bill isn't stupid enough to enter with his actual body. Guess it worked the same way for you, too. It was still worth a shot.

Ford woke up.

🌔

"Finally ready?"

You tittered at him up from above. Ford narrowed his eyes at you.

"What do you want?" he deadpanned. "You're not here to make a deal, are you?"

"Deals are not my forte," you said, showing him a negative gesture. "I do wishes. But if I have to admit, I wouldn't wish something from me either."

"So you trick people," he replied, gritting his teeth. "Why do you feel the need to do that? What benefits do you gain?"

You glanced at the side before looking back at him, shrugging. "I don't remember."

"Is that so? How many wishes?"

"One."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Bill—"

"I am not Bill," for the first time since you've met him, your voice finally sounded firm. "As far as we both know, he is gone."

"... What is your name, then?"

"... I don't remember."

🌕

A frustrated huff left Ford as he rubbed between his eyebrows. You giggled, pushing your hand through his hair. It's soft.

"You're not being helpful at all," he said.

"Apologies," you replied, looking sheepish. "It's hard to answer your questions if I know nothing."

"There must be something you know," the man insisted, stepping away from your touch. He doesn't like how gentle it was.

You hummed, crossing your arms as you floated away. "Do you know how Bill looks like? Am I of similar physique, perhaps?"

Ford paused as his eyes glanced up and down at your form. You can't help but feel uneasy under his tenseful gaze.

"You don't know what Bill looks like?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

This man sure is suspicious of you. Not that you blame him. "No. I believe I never met him."

"You believe?" he scoffed. "I hope you know it's hard to trust you."

"Well," you drawled, "would it convince you if I said you can wish for my memory to come back?"

His eyes widened.

You chuckled. Maybe this was too shocking for him. Take it slow, you thought.

"Before anything else, though, how about we enjoy a nice cup of dream tea?"

🌔

You stared at the chess board in between you and Ford, confusion filling your face. "Wait, how does the knight move again?"

"Think of this shape," Ford explained, forming a black marker with his thoughts and drawing the letter 'L' in mid-air. "The knight moves to the end of this point. Just try to visualize it on the board."

"Oh, I think I understand," you muttered, choosing to move your knight in the corner of the board.

Ford grinned. He placed his queen right next to your king. "Checkmate."

"What?!" you gasped, your eyes rambling around the whole chest board. "I mistook my king for the queen! I say rematch!"

A hearty laugh escaped Ford's lips. If this was in the physical world, he's sure that his cheeks would start hurting from smiling so much.

He still wasn’t sure if you were dangerous or not. Really, of all people, Ford should know better than to mess with otherworldly beings.

But maybe this time, you're different. Because, as far as he knows, you're powerless.

🌓

"Pines," you said as Ford roamed his hands across your body. He said this was his way of observing how different you were from Bill. "Aren’t you going to use your wish to help me regain my memory? Or do you want to use it for something else?"

He rubbed his thumb over the side of your body shape. Interesting. You're just as two-dimensional as Bill is. "I only have one chance of using my wish, don't I?"

"Indeed," you murmured, shifting slightly under his touch. "I won't stop you if you use it for yourself, but I'll have to find someone else who might use the wish for me."

Ford halted all his movements.

"What?"

You drifted away from his fingers. He stared at you, wide-eyed.

"I said I'll find another to grant my wish for me," you explained. "Anyway, how was your assessment? Am I anything like Bill?"

Ford continued to stare at you, looking as if he were lost in thought.

...

"Pines?"

"Sorry," he coughed, "but, yes, you're quite similar to Bill."

You beamed, floating over to him and ruffling his hair. "Another step closer to figuring out who I am! Thank you, Pines!"

Ford woke up.

He stared at the dark ceiling. The sun has barely risen.

You had no memories. If he helped you get them back, would you be indebted to him? Or would you turn out like Bill, who wanted to rule the world?

Ford can't let you meet up with another human.

There's only one way out of this.

🌒

"You're ready to use your wish?" you gasped, placing your hands on his shoulders. "That's excellent news—!"

"Question. Do you have limits in your wishes?" Ford asked deliberately, careful with his every word.

You hesitated before replying. "I suppose not."

His large hands held yours over his shoulders. You glanced at his six fingers before meeting his gaze again.

"Then I wish to be your master."

You felt your soul fall to the deepest depths of the dreamscape.

"You'll do anything I ask for. Be under my will. There is no turning back, dream demon."

🌑

[lcriedlastnight]

Can you write something with Oscar based on this post

https://www.tumblr.com/girlonabreak/744982039484366848/may-i-offer-you-something-water-food-my

i’ll try my best anon! thank you very much for your request, i hope you like it!

tw: fem!reader, swears, lmk if you want anything added.

w/c: 2.3k

oscar was a little nervous to have you over. the relationship was fairly fresh and this would be the first time you would be at his place. he’d spent the week prior cleaning every single nook and cranny he could find, then going on tiktok and finding out how to clean the ones he didn’t even know existed. not that you would be inspecting the space behind his fridge for it’s cleanliness.

three days before, when he’d gone shopping, he texted you asking if you liked this specific brand of chocolate and if you would like some for when you stayed over at the weekend.

oscar had gotten more blankets, pillows and even got you a new teddy bear, scared that you would forget the one you couldn’t sleep without. he was determined that you were having a good nights sleep with him. you had slept together before, but not properly. those had only been you falling asleep during a film after a date or oscar coming over to yours the day after the race weekend and feeling so jet lagged he fell asleep on your couch two minutes after you started carding your fingers through his hair.

you had always made him feel so welcome at yours so he was desperate to make you feel the same. even though this was a bit different than those times he was at yours.

oscar pottered around fixing things that didn’t really need fixing at all. he triple checked the fridge incase all the food inside had gone missing. then he checked his bank account to make sure he still had his money and he hadn’t been hacked, just incase you wanted to order in or even go to the shops.

a soft knock at his door shoves oscar out of his thoughts, he runs to the door to answer. you were on the other side, weekend bag in hand. you had little to no makeup on and your hair was thrown up not too messily. oscar then thought about if you would want to shower and how he only had manly products. how could he forget to buy you shower stuff?

“osc?” you ask as you stand in the doorway. oscar blinks once, twice, then is scrambling to take your bag off you.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry. i don’t know where i was there. you look gorgeous. come in.” he says as he spins around and stands to the side to let you walk inside first.

you slowly walk inside and the first thing you notice is the amount of candles he has lit. it give the living room the most homely feel.

“your place is lovely, osc. it’s so cozy.” you tell him turning around from looking at the kitchen to face him. oscar grins at your words.

“thank you, pretty. you want me to put your bag in the room?” oscar asks, feeling a lot less high strung now that you were actually here in front of him. that usually did help calm him down.

you nod. oscar tries his best not to leave you standing all by yourself in the living room for too long. he basically sprints to his room and back. a blink and you didn’t even know he was gone, type of situation.

you’re not standing in the living room when he comes back thought. you’re sitting on the couch. you look like you belong there. it sends a wave of affection to oscar’s heart.

“you want to watch a film?” you ask him from the couch. you already had the remote in your hands.

“‘course, what kind are you feeling?” oscar asks, heading to the cupboard in the hallway to get the massive blanket he’d bought at the shops a few days earlier.

“dunno.” is your reply. oscar can tell you have a film in mind but you may be a little embarrassed to ask to watch it. as he comes to sit down beside you, he throws the blanket over the top of you and it almost suffocates you. instead of commenting on it you just get comfy. oscar rakes his brain for previous conversations about films to find the one you could watch everyday and not get tired of. as he remembers he snatches the remote off of you to bring it up. you don’t say anything but you watch on skeptically.

“this one seem okay? i’ve never seen it before but i heard you like it.” oscar says, a cocky smirk on his face as he sees the look on yours after you realise the film. you grin.

“yeah i supposed we could stick this one on and give it a go.” you pretend like you couldn’t quote the dialogue in your sleep. oscar pressed play on the film and instantly feels the need to be touching you. you had chosen to sit in the corner of oscar’s L shaped couch, an incredibly you thing to do, oscar thought. but because of where you decided to sit oscar was unsure how to go about touching you. he gives up trying to think of ways to get you in his lap.

“come sit in my lap.”

you turn your head from the tv, the opening credits rolling in the screen. “okay.” you reply, shuffling to follow his request.

it ended up that oscar was laying in the corner of the couch and faced the tv. you were sitting to his side with your legs slung over his, shoulders brushing against each other with every breathe. oscar holds one of your hands underneath the massive blanket, the other traces his name on your ankle - just above your socks.

a quarter of the way through, you shuffled around to get comfortable again, your head ended up resting on his bicep as you had moved down a little more. oscar had to hold back the coo that threatened to escape him as he felt your check squash up against his skin. oscar throws his focus back on the tv, as hard as it is he wants to know the film you love so much.

at the end of the first act, oscar moves his attention back to you, he wonders if you’re hungry but are just too scared to ask. or if you were waiting on him to offer you something. were you tired and just wanted to move to bed right now? it wasn’t that late surely. what if you actually did want to go for that shower right now? would he have enough time to go buy some flowery shampoo and body wash so you wouldn’t end up smelling like him?

“can i get you anything to eat?” oscar asks, thumb rubbing over your ankle bone. he wonders if this is the ankle you broke when you were five, or if it was the other one.

“are you hungry?” you ask oscar, head turning to look up at him. the aussie almost melts at your expression. “i am if you are.” you say to him.

this confuses oscar but he decides that eating wouldn’t hurt. he doesn’t care if you don’t eat it all.

“you want to order in or just make something here?” he asks again. it makes him feel bad making you choose but he wants to make sure you’re completely comfortable with him tonight. the time when he can just know what you want and do it for you was right around the corner and he couldn’t wait for it.

“order in.” you say after a few moments of silence. “don’t want to move from here until bed.” you explain. although oscar didn’t think you needed to explain, he thought it was cute. he thought the same thing anyway, not having felt this content in months.

“fine by me. i’ll order it and it should be here soon.”

your film finishes and you and oscar finish the food. you talk a little at the end of the film, asking him about how lando and zak were doing and how strong the car was. don’t get oscar wrong, as much as he loved his job and the fact that you took so much interest in what he did, he just wanted a day where he could sit with you and hypothesise whether or not spider-man was too young to be spidering across the city. instead of telling you this he changed the topic, comfortably so you don’t notice.

“it’s getting late. are you getting tired, pretty?” he asks. he can see the way your shoulders are a little more slumped as you sit in front of him, the film behind you having ended and instead playing a trailer for some unrelated tv series. you nod to answer his question. “a little, yeah.”

“c’mon then. bedtime for us.” oscar says picking you up by your waist and flinging you over his shoulder. he carries you to the bathroom where he sits you on the counter. you are laughing all the way there. oscar’s already thinking about which ring would suit you more. he goes in the cabinet underneath the sink and grabs a pack of two toothbrushes. one pink, one blue. it’s so domestic, oscar nearly burst when he seen them in the shops and thought of giving the pink one to you.

“i know you brought a bag full of stuff and you probably have a toothbrush with you but i thought you could keep this one here and i could maybe clear out a drawer for you in my bedroom for you to keep things here so you don’t have to go back and forth for clothes.” oscar rambles as he puts toothpaste on both brushes and hands yours to you. it’s like oscar keeps forgetting that this is the first time you’re sleeping over, mind already thinking about the next time, and the next and the next.

oscar shoves his brush in his mouth to stop his mouth. you laugh at him. “i would like that. thank you osc.” you say before copying him and brushing your teeth. oscar watches like you were doing something really interesting, his eyes darting over your face. tonight he learns another new thing about you, you’re a really messy brusher. toothpaste slipping down your chin as you brush. he has to hold back the laugh that longs to escape him, not wanting to cover you in more toothpaste than you already have all over you.

oscar spits into the sink then quickly rinses his mouth with mouthwash, then spitting that out too. you follow his actions, hopping down from the counter to spit into the sink, standing in front of oscar. before you can rinse your mouth out with mouthwash though, oscar turns your face to his with a gentle hand.

“you got a little something..” you smile at his words. oscar belonged in a romcom for sure. the boy’s thumb coming out to brush away the leftover toothpaste on your chin. you smile at him in thanks but your smile falls as he wipes it on the shoulder of your t-shirt.

“oscar! why would you do that! what’s wrong with you!?” you squeal. oscar laughs hard, his head thrown back in joy. you’re not really mad, the smile on your face hard to miss. it’s hard to be angry at the boy in front of you who literally looks like the human version of the sun.

once you’ve finished in the bathroom - oscar yapping away as you take your makeup off and done your skincare at the sink - he pulls you to his bed.

“you want to change in here or do you want me to go to the bathroom?” oscar asks, throwing you the t-shirt he’s just washed (and maybe sprayed with his cologne before you came over). you catch it before hesitating with your answer. oscar answers for you.

“why don’t you get changed in the bathroom and i can get a big reveal, seeing you with my t-shirt on?” oscar asks, giddy at his own idea. you nod, if only just to please him, although you do like his idea, thinking it’s cute he wants that.

you’re quick to get changed, your hair taken out of the ponytail to hand down, it will probably get in your face tonight. you hurry out the bathroom to find oscar sitting on top of the bed in his own pyjamas. oscar’s eyes light up at the sight of you.

“jesus christ, pretty girl. you’re going to kill me.” he says standing up, arms outstretched like he would die if he didn’t touch you in the next ten seconds. you happily fall into his embrace. face against his chest. oscar’s nose in your hair.

“you smell like you and me.” oscar smiles as he pull away from the hug and pulls you into bed instead. you laugh at his discovery. “as long as i smell good.” you tell him.

after a quick okay fight over who was getting what side of the bed, you are both cuddled up to each other. it most definitely won’t stay like this all night because what oscar doesn’t know yet is you move a lot in your sleep. he’ll find that out in the morning, but for now he’s happy to have you right where he wants you. oscar is big spoon as his arms are wrapped around you, big hands under your top and on your warm, soft skin. leg over your hip, keeping you trapped under him, not that you would ever complain about that.

the teddy bear oscar had gotten you incase you forgot yours was laying at the bottom of the bed, while you clutch yours to your chest. one of your hands ghosting over oscar’s on your stomach.

the tv is on, playing some sitcom you’d asked for. oscar never usually sleeps with the tv on but for you? he would sleep on a bed of nails if it made you comfortable.

“g’night, pretty baby.” oscar mumbles into your hair, not bothering that it was in his face. you mumble something of the sort back, he knew you were basically asleep. ‘this is my future.’ oscar thought to himself before he fell asleep.

[holdinbacksecrets]

svt finds out you were married before you met them

anon… this request is golden. thank you so much for sending it! i had the best time writing these 🤍

seventeen find out you were married before being with them

seungcheol: he’s at the bodega around the corner because you’re out of… he forgot the excuse. luckily, it was mumbled and difficult to make out, so he’ll bring back coffee. his palms are sweating and he looks up at the ceiling as if the answer’s in between the popcorn. now, you’re his. he’s yours. you’re one. but you were someone else’s, and that idea isn’t new to him, but knowing that someone was your husband makes it feel different. he looks up again. “please give me something here.” a light flickers. he leaves without the coffee

jeonghan: he stops to watch you spoon strawberry jam onto slices of toast. they’re golden brown triangles beside scrambled eggs, and you’re making sure the bright red covers the golden brown surface perfectly, just like you always do. the only red he can think about is the blood his heart is pumping, and the fact that his heart stopped pumping for a moment or two

joshua: “now everything makes sense.” “what do you mean?” “sometimes you’re just too good at being my partner.” “that has nothing to do with being married before. i’m literally just in love and obsessed with you. actually, being married did make me strict about the dishes. i’ll never go to bed with a pile in the sink.” “baby, you won’t go to bed if there’s a spoon in the sink or a crumb on the countertop.” “and how good does it feel to wake up and see a clean kitchen, hmm?”

jun: he’s confused. he’s wearing it, swallowing it, holding it in his gaze, and suddenly wondering how well he knows you— why it took you so long to tell him

soonyoung: “i knew it was a mistake by the next morning. i woke up craving my mom’s pancakes.” “have her send us the recipe.” you squeeze his hand and bow your head so your lips can brush its palm. “don’t worry, history won’t repeat itself.”

wonwoo: the photo album’s on his lap. it feels like a fever dream to look at you. you watch the sky through the window, craving color after too much black and white. “i’m mad at myself.” “why?” “i should’ve waited for you.”

jihoon: the ring came rolling out of its hiding spot and stopped in the middle of your bedroom floor. the sunlight caught it. he blinked a million times, felt his lips part too. you let it be. you exhaled, feeling relieved to part with the secret. finally

seokmin: “look at me. do i look upset?” “no… you eyes are all shiny” like he might cry. “it means a lot that you told me.” “i shouldn’t have waited so long.” “you really didn’t wait that long.” “are you sure you’re ok? do you… am i…” “yes.”

mingyu: the words come out on a sunday morning in the park near your place. your head’s on his shoulder. his hand’s on your thigh; it’s warm and the slightest bit rough—different from the cool, soft breeze on your cheek, on the back of your neck. he asks about your happiness and when it left the space you created with your ex. he wants to know what he can do to make sure that never happens again. he wants to make sure he’s not missing anything

minghao: he’s watching you. there’s gentle love in his eyes. he’s hoping you’ll look up and away from the sudsy dishes for just a moment long enough to realize he’s not mad. to realize it doesn’t change anything

seungkwan: he wonders about your wedding dress and if you still have it. he wonders about pictures and videos and the expression on your face at the altar. moments he’s dreamed about are already existing in memories, have already been seen by your loved ones, might be sour in your head. would you do it all again? do you even want to?

vernon: “i can’t help but wonder how many people make the same mistake as me… think something’s love when it’s not.” “do you really think of it as a mistake?” “pretty sure that’s just a fact.” “i’m not so sure… aren’t you the same person who’s told me for years that everything happens for a reason?” “maybe i just tell myself that to lessen the blow.” “possibly, but maybe it’s true. maybe that step that you think was in the wrong direction was crucial. i wouldn’t have found you any other way.”

chan: “i feel like i shouldn’t be looking at this… it’s like i’m seeing your dress before i’m supposed to. i shouldn’t know what you’ll look like walking down the aisle.” “this isn’t who i am anymore. think of how much time has passed. i have brand new skin now.” “…i thought you were going to say something romantic.”

[graciegoeskrazy]

she's begging you to stay stay

Matty Healy + preteen!lost!daughter!OFC!r

warnings (buckle up): angst, little fluff, language, absent father, dead mom, cancer, children's home, R IS TWELVE, foster care, insomnia, a lot of these things are mentioned but aren't in graphic detail at all. R HAS A NAME IM TRYING SOEMTHING

a/n: I got this request and was lowk kinds unsure but I just started and couldn't stop typing. im nil a lot of that I post is super short but this like literally like 7 thousand words which Ig is pretty standard but whatevs for me its crazy. I might actually hate this I genuinely haven't decided yet. anon depending on what you think im ether sorry or you're welcome lol <3

You sit on the edge of your bed, staring at the peeling wallpaper, a million thoughts racing through your mind. You feel a mix of grief and numbness, a strange emptiness you can’t quite shake. The scent of mold and old candles is an odd comfort to the starkness and uncomfort of the room around you. You hear the faint sound of Nora’s voice drifting through the thin walls. You don’t move, just keep staring at your hands in your lap, the same position you’ve held for 3 days now, pretending not to hear the voice on the other side of the wall.

“Is this Matthew Healy?” she says, her voice steady.

“Depends. Who’s this?” The voice on the other end is wary, guarded.

“This is Nora from Wess Hill Children’s Home in London. How are you today?”

She could hear shuffling on the other side. “Fine. What’s this about?”

Nora takes a deep breath, glancing at your continuing. “Mr. Healy, on Tuesday we got a call asking for an emergency placement for a girl. Her mother passed away. She’s 12 years old, name is Matilda Moss - does that ring a bell?”

If you were right next to Nora you would have felt the unamusement in his voice. “‘Fraid not, ma’am.”

Nora’s expression tightens slightly. “Interesting. What I find really interesting is that on her birth certificate, it lists you, Mr. Healy, as her biological father.”

There’s a long pause. “I’m sorry, what?”

Nora sighs, her eyes softening as she looks back at your door again. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way, truly. But I have a home that only fits 24 and a long waitlist of children, so I need to know if I need to send this child into foster care or tell her that her father will be coming to see her.”

“W-Wait a minute. How are we even sure it’s my child? There could be thousands of other white blokes in London with the same name. How can I even believe you? How do I know you’re not a scammer or some idiot trying a prank?”

Nora’s voice remains calm, but there’s still an edge. “Does the name Florence Moss mean anything to you, sir? Ring any bells?”

The line went silent.

“I need to know what it’s gonna be, sir. I’m not trying to inconvenience you either way; I just need an answer.”

You hear a long sigh on the other end. “I-I don’t…I don’t know—”

“She was sick, Matthew. Cancer.”

There’s a heavy silence. Then, Nora speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. “Her will clearly states that in the unforeseen circumstance of death, She wanted her daughter to be placed with her father, you.”

Another pause. “What’s her name again?”

“Matilda George Moss-Healy.”

“And she’s 12?”

“12 and 2 months.”

A soft exclamation, almost a whisper. “Wow. I’ll be there at 3.”

It didn’t matter what Nora could do or say or give you to make you feel better, There was nothing that could be done in order to make the past 3 days not feel like a living hell. There was nothing you, yourself, could physically do to make the permanent ache in your heart disappear. The only thing, you thought, that could make this all go away, that could make this nightmare end, was your mother. But she was gone, and there was nothing that could be done. Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that in just a few hours, you’ll meet the man you’ve wondered about your entire life.

—-------

If there was one thought that was evidently clear in Matty’s mind, it was that he needed to call George.

His hands trembled slightly as he fumbled for his phone, the sleek device feeling unusually heavy in his grasp. He pressed it to his ear, each ring seeming slower and slower as it rung. He paced the small, cluttered room, his mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Finally, George’s voice crackled through the line, casual and unbothered. “Sup, dipshit.”

“I just got the strangest call,” Matty said, his voice strong, skipping over the usual pleasantries.

“‘Kay?” George’s tone was wary.

“From a woman working in a children’s home?” Matty continued, his mind still reeling from the conversation.

“What charity they want you to perform now?” George asked, his voice light but curious.

“No, it’s not that.” Matty paused, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s about Flo? Florence Moss?” Matty’s voice wavered slightly, the name stirring up a flood of memories.

There was a noticeable pause, the air thick with anticipation. “Woah! That’s a name I never thought I’d hear again!” George finally replied, his tone shifting to something lighter, a huge comparison to Matty’s frantic state.

“So that’s a yes?” Matty pressed.

“You kidding? I LOVED Flo. She was like a sister to me! Shame though, innit?” He said, refurrging to the breakup Matty and Florence went through. “Anyways, what about her?” His voice softened.

“She died, George. Couple days ago. Cancer.” Matty’s words were blunt, but they carried a heavy weight.

Another long pause followed, the silence almost deafening. “You doin’ a bit? ‘Cause it’s not funny, mate-”

“It’s not a bit. And she had a child.” Matty’s voice broke slightly, the reality of the situation hitting him.

“What?” George’s shock was palpable, even through the phone.

“Who has my name on the birth certificate?” Matty continued, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“Not shittin’ you.”

George was in pure disbelief. “How can you be sure?”

Matty ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. “Um, ‘cause Flo and I were together for like two fucking years and we broke up like 12 years ago and the girl’s age is 12?”

“It’s a GIRL? Oh mate, you’re fucked.” His bluntness would usually make him light, but this time it made him nearly question his entire life.

“Not the sentiment I need right now.” Matty snapped, his patience wearing thin.

“What are you gonna do?” George’s voice was calmer now, but still tinged with concern.

“I-I feel like I have to go get her? Right? Otherwise, she’s off to foster care? I mean, she’s my child. Right? I don’t know. Maybe not.” Matty’s words tumbled out in a rush, his uncertainty evident.

George sighed, a long, weary sound. “I think you’re fucked either way.”

“Oh, thanks sooooo much, Uncle George,”

“No. I mean, if you bring this girl with you, raise her, be a dad, do whatever the fuck, your life is gonna change, right? If you call that woman back, tell her to send her into foster care, although that woman might legally have to tell you ‘Okay. Thank you,’ we both know you would never forget her and maybe even end up regretting that choice.”

Matty stood in silence. He knew his friend was right. No matter what he chose, his life was about to be irrevocably changed. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of responsibility settling heavily on his shoulders, pressing down with a relentless force.

—-------

“Hi, um, I’m looking for Nora?” His voice echoed slightly in the wide, institutional hallway.

“Ah, you must be Matthew. Nice to meet you.” Nora’s voice, though warm, had an undertone of weariness, like someone who had spent years navigating the complicated emotions of others. She shifted uneasily. “I informed Matilda of your…arrival today…and she’s not the happiest about it.”

“Meaning?”

“She won’t come out of her room.”

“Oh. Great.” Matty ran a hand through his hair, worry clear on his face.

“Just…keep in mind she’s still mourning.” Nora’s sing-song voice couldn’t hide the gravity of the situation. She led him down a narrow hallway, the walls adorned with children’s drawings and faded motivational posters. The scent of old wood, cleaning supplies, and the faintest hint of sadness hung in the air.

“Tilly! Someone’s here to see you.” Nora’s voice called out cheerfully, a futile attempt to coax you out.

“Matilda! Come on out, darling, it's alright.” She paused, listening for any sound of movement. “You know I have the key right here; I can just open it if I wanted to.” Nora said, voice comedic for the times. “Tilly, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

After a silent few seconds, she took her ring of keys and picked one to unlock your door.

Inside your room, you sat curled up on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest. The peeling wallpaper, once probably a cheerful pattern, now seemed to close in around you, a suffocating reminder of the world outside your door. The scent of mildew and the faint smell of your mother’s perfume clung to your clothes, creating a strange, bittersweet comfort. Nora’s voice penetrated the cocoon of silence you’d wrapped yourself in.

“Tilly, this is Matthew.” Nora’s voice softened, a hint of sympathy in her words. “He’s here to take you home, my love.”

You visibly winced at the word ‘home.’ Home was a concept that had shattered the day your mother died.

Nora took a step towards your bed, slowly rubbing your back in order to coax you to come out. “Why don’t you sit up, my love?” Nora said gently. You didn’t move.

She sighed. “C’mon, Tills.”

With a heavy sigh, you slowly uncurled yourself and sat up.

Matty felt out of place, a stranger in a place that was the closest thing you had to refuge.

“I’ll just leave you two alone for a moment. I’ll be right outside.” Nora closed the door softly, leaving you and Matty in an awkward silence.

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes filled with a mix of sorrow and uncertainty. The room seemed to shrink around him as he struggled to find the right words. “I know you’ve gone through a lot in the past 48 hours,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his own emotions was evident, and he hesitated, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

You looked up at him, your eyes red from crying. The raw pain and vulnerability in your gaze made his heart ache. “You don’t have to take me with you out of…guilt,” you said, your voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here now just because you didn’t want to be here before.” The accusation hung in the air, a heavy reminder of his absence in your life.

He winced, the truth of your words cutting deep. “It’s not guilt, Matilda,” he replied, taking another step closer. “I genuinely didn’t know. If I had, things would have been different. I would have been there for you and your mother.” His voice broke slightly, the regret palpable. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m here now because I want to be. Because you deserve better than what you’ve been given.”

You studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. His eyes were earnest, the sorrow in them mirroring your own grief. “Why didn’t she tell you?” you asked, the question that had been gnawing at you since you learned the truth.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the unknown. “Maybe she thought it was for the best. Maybe she was scared. I wish I had the answers, but all I can do now is be here for you.”

The silence stretched between you, filled with unspoken questions and the ghosts of what might have been. “I’ve spent my whole life wondering about you,” you finally said, your voice barely audible. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know what to think.”

He nodded, understanding the turmoil within you. “I can’t change the past, Matilda. But I can promise you this: I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe and cared for. I’ve got a house, with a nice room, food, and I think staying there would be better than the rotting twin mattress you’re sitting on in the smallest room I have ever seen that’s probably infested with black mold.”

“Everywhere in London has black mold,” you muttered, a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Mine might have less?” He offered a tentative smile. “Come home, Matilda.”

“I don’t have a home. Not anymore.” Your voice was barely a whisper, the pain of loss weighing heavily on your words.

“I’m not saying this has to be forever. If you want to leave and go live with someone else, then that’s fine by me, but if you don’t come with me tonight, they’re gonna put you in foster care with a family who more than likely won’t give a shit about you.” He paused, gauging your reaction. “She didn’t tell you that, did she?”

You shook your head, the reality of the situation sinking in. “I don’t want you to go somewhere without knowing that you’ll be safe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He looked surprised, almost disbelieving.

You paused once more, “...Okay.”

—-------

Matty let you be for a moment as he told Nora about the news. She was overjoyed and surprised as well. They let you know that Matty would be taking you home. As they talked, your mind wandered, a turbulent mix of emotions swirling within you. You glanced around the room, noticing every detail—the worn carpet, the sagging ceiling, the chipped paint on the window sill. Everything felt surreal, as if you were trapped in a dream you couldn't wake up from.

You tried to grab his attention, your thoughts racing. You almost called out saying ‘Dad’ but stopped yourself just in time, the word feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue. The idea of calling him that seemed too intimate, too close for someone who had been a stranger just hours ago. Your mother had always been careful with her words when you asked about your father. She painted vague pictures of him, always avoiding specifics. Now that he was here, standing just a few feet away, the reality of his presence was overwhelming.

Would ‘Matty’ be awkward? He was indeed your father, but calling him that didn’t feel right either. You had no shared history, no foundation of familiarity. The name felt too casual, too friendly for someone who had suddenly appeared in your life amid the chaos and grief. You felt a pang of frustration, unsure of how to bridge the gap between you.

As you struggled with your thoughts, you offered a simple “Hey,” to get his attention instead. Your voice was soft, almost tentative, as if testing the waters of this new, uncertain relationship. He turned to you, his expression a mixture of relief and anxiety, mirroring the storm of emotions within you.

He responded with a gentle smile, his eyes searching yours for a connection. "Hey," he replied, his voice warm but cautious. In that moment, you both stood on the precipice of an unknown future, bound together by circumstance and the fragile hope that perhaps, in time, you could find your way to each other.

“I’m all ready to go, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll get your things in the car.” He moved to gather your suitcases, his movements quick and efficient.

Nora hugged you tightly, her smile warm and genuine. “I’m happy for you, Matilda. You’ve been through a lot these past few days, and you’re doing so good.”

“Thank you for your help, Nora.” Your voice was soft, but there was a hint of gratitude in your words.

Her smile deepened as she led you from the desk to the front door. “I hope you know it comes from a good place when I say, I hope I never see you again.” The words made you laugh for the first time in three days, just a little, but it was a victory Nora cherished.

Matty muttered a few words when joining you in the car after bidding farewell to Nora. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look at him.

“You allergic to dogs? I’ve got one. His name is Mayhem. Weird name for a dog, I know, but it suits him—not that he’ll be a problem or anything. He’s a good boy.” He tried to fill the silence, his voice almost nervous.

“Do you usually not talk this much?” You shrugged, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery.

“Only when my mom dies.” Your words were blunt, a stark reminder of the grief still fresh in your heart.

Oh, so she definitely has my humor. Matty thought to himself, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. The drive was filled with awkward silences and hesitant attempts at conversation, but beneath it all was a shared sense of loss and a fragile hope for something better.

—-------

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow over the cluttered room. You continue to scroll on your phone as you pull the worn, thin blanket back over your shoulders. A yawn crosses your features. It wasn't your plan to be up at 3 a.m., but insomnia has become a close friend since your mother passed away. It's been three weeks and four days since you moved in with Matty. He made it very clear from the beginning: if you didn’t want to live with him, that was fine. He was in full support of whatever you wanted, as long as you were safe. He was ready and willing to have the conversation with you as soon as possible. Having your mother die of cancer, meeting your father for the first time, burying your mother, adjusting to a new life you had no clue you would be living just a month ago, and so on and so forth took its toll. You started to worry that the waiting game of seeing how long this quiet could last was starting to run out.

The footsteps walking down the steps and into the kitchen pulled you out of your drowset state. It was matty, dress in blue lounge pants and shit, complete with a random flannel that you would bet he just picked up off the floor and threw on before he come downstairs,

"Good morning," he says with a yawn, his voice low but still awake, a stark comparison to your drowsiness.

"It's 3 a.m.," you reply, your voice tinged with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.

"Yeah, it's the morning," he says, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. He holds out a steaming mug, the rich aroma of coffee wafting towards you. "Want some?"

"Sure," you say, accepting the mug and wrapping your hands around it, savoring the warmth that seeps into your skin.

You take a sip, the bitter taste jolting you awake. You look anywhere except his direction."You a musician?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," he nods, taking a seat across from you. "You?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head. You watch him, trying to piece together the fragments of your mother’s stories with the reality in front of you.

“Do you know why my mom used to tell me I was named after my father and an ‘old friend.’"

"‘Old friend’?" he echoes, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, my middle name. Matilda came from ‘Matty’,you knew that, but where did my middle name come from?” you continue, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability.

"What's that again?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. Also trying to not secretly swell with love as he was reminded of your similarities.

"George. Matilda George."

"George. Your middle name is George?" He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read.

"Jeez, I know it’s a guy's name but you don’t have to be a dick about it—" you snap, feeling defensive.

"No! No! It’s not that I just…" he trails off, shaking his head. He grabs his phone out of his pocket and walks towards you. "This is George." He shows you a photo, and judging by the state of Matty’s facial hair, it’s a semi recent one. The pair are on what looks like a stage, together. Drum sticks in George’s hand, and a Guitar in your father’s.

"You know him?" you ask, your confusion deepening.

He smirked. "We’ve been best friends since we were 13. Him and your mother were friends since practically birth. He introduced us to each other." He pauses, seeing the confusion etched on your face. "She never mentioned him?"

"She never mentioned you, so," you retort, the bitterness in your voice surprising even you.

You stare into your coffee, the steam rising and swirling in the dim light. You decide to speak up, trying to change the mood hanging in the air. "She also said my father traveled the world a lot, loved his friends, and loved me, but couldn’t take care of me," you say softly, repeating the words your mother had told you countless times. "You travel a lot?"

"Something like that," he replies, his eyes distant as if he's seeing a different time and place.

—-------

Matty didn’t like leaving you for too long, so he kept to working from home as much as possible.​​ Today, he said he needed to help George with something and then he would be back with dinner from your favorite restaurant. He’s done this a few times before and each time, again and again, the urge to play the stunning grand piano situated in the corner of his office grew more. 

You kept away from it. There were even spots or rooms in the house that you kept away from. Even though you and Matty were so much more comfortable, it still felt like there were boundaries, unspoken lines you weren’t sure you could cross. His office was one of those places, a domain you didn’t feel entirely comfortable invading. The grand piano, with its polished ebony surface and ivory keys, seemed like an artifact from another world, a world that you weren’t quite a part of yet.

Today, though, was different. The house was unusually quiet, the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway amplifying the stillness. You wandered through the rooms, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors. You paused by the door to Matty’s office, your hand resting on the doorknob. You glanced around, as if expecting someone to stop you, but the house remained silent.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was bathed in the warm glow of the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the room. The grand piano sat in the corner, almost beckoning you. You walked over to it, your fingers grazing the smooth surface. You hesitated for a moment, then gently lifted the lid.

Taking a deep breath, you sat down on the bench. The familiar scent of polished wood filled your senses, bringing back memories of when you used to play. Your fingers hovered above the keys, and then, almost instinctively, they began to move. The first notes were tentative, but as you continued, they grew more confident, filling the room with music.

You closed your eyes, letting the music take over. The melody was a blend of old memories and new emotions, a testament to the changes in your life. The piano seemed to respond to your touch, the sound resonating deep within you. You lost track of time, immersed in the music, the outside world fading away.

You didn’t notice the front door opening or the soft footsteps approaching the office. Matty stood in the doorway, watching you with a mixture of surprise and admiration. He had come home earlier than expected, and the sight of you playing the piano was both unexpected and heartwarming. He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to interrupt this rare moment.

Once the last notes sounded, he spoke, startling you as you took your hands off the keys. “Sounds beautiful,” he said softly.

You jumped slightly, your fingers slipping off the keys. You turned to see him standing there, a gentle smile on his face.

“When did you get home?” you asked, a bit flustered.

“Just now,” he replied casually, stepping into the room.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity.

“Long enough to realize you lied to me,” he said, his smile turning into a teasing grin.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“You’re a musician! You play piano.”

You paused, thinking, then continued. “Well, you lied to me too.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“You never mentioned you were in a band. A really famous one!”

His expression changed. “I didn’t lie to you, I just didn’t tell you.”

“Why?”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “Well, what do you say when you're meeting your 12-year-old daughter for the first time? I don’t know, but I do know it’s definitely not ‘Nice to meet you, I’m famous,’ I’ll tell you that.” You couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “How’d you find out?” He asked.

You adjusted your posture and spoke. “I finally told my friends, and we did an internet deep dive in English class.”

He chuckled. “And I wonder why that’s the only class with a B.” He said, leaving the room as he did so.

You followed behind him, the both of you now making your way to the kitchen. “Is that why she said you traveled a lot? Because you were on those tours?” you asked, the pieces starting to fit together.

“I can only guess,” he replied, shrugging. You sat on one of the bar stools, across from where he was unpacking the groceries and starting to prepare dinner.

“Have you ever met Beyoncé?” you asked, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Only in passing,” he said nonchalantly, keeping his focus down.

You sat up in shock. “Really?!” You asked, mouth agape.

“I mean, yeah. It’s hard not to go to the Grammys and not walk past her and Jay-Z’s table.”

“You’ve been to the Grammys?” you asked, amazed.

“Yeah, we were nominated.”

You honestly couldn;t believe it. While spending that time on the internet earlier, a lot of the pieces were starting to come together. It’s just that you didn’t expect your own father - I guess I should start calling him that now - to be this huge ‘star’. “Shut up! Did you win?”

He laughed and looked you in the eyes. “Do you see a shiny gold trophy in our home? Should’ve though.” You shook your head in amazement. “How long have you been playing?” he asked, after a moment.

You became a bit quiet again, not impressed by the fact the conversation was heading this direction. “I don’t know,”

“What was it that Miss Julia said? About being open and honest with each other or something like that-”

“Ten years,” you interrupted, shooting him an unimmpressed look. He just smiled.

“Wow. How the hell did your mother get a two-year-old to stand still?” He asked.

“Well, I was an angel,” you said, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Really? What happened then?”

You rolled your eyes and let out a slightly dramatic sigh. “Those dad jokes kicked in real fast, didn’t they?”

The room seemed to grow warmer as the two of you shared this moment. The room grew quieter, but it felt different than before. It felt, comfortable. The kind of comfortable silence you only felt with your mother. Even if it wasn’t exact - even knowing you might not ever feel that exact comfortable silence ever again - this one felt nice. It felt…right.

“You know, you’re really good,” He said.

Your eyes followed back to him after his voice took you out of your own thoughts.

“Thanks,” you replied, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks after deciding to not turn the compliment into something cheeky.

“I mean it,” he continued. “You have a natural talent.”

You just hummed. And he was glad to see you smile a true smile for the first time.

The lines that once seemed so rigid began to blur. The house, with its many rooms and hidden corners, started to feel less like a maze and more like a place where you could both find and create new memories together. Life started to feel hopeful. And even if it was for just that moment, it would be nice while it lasted.

—-------

Matty paced back and forth in his living room, phone clutched tightly in his hand. The sun had barely risen, casting long shadows across the room, but the day had already brought an unsettling sense of dread.

“She’s gone,” Matty said into the phone, his voice trembling with panic.

George’s voice crackled on the other end. “Who’s gone?”

“Matilda.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s left,” Matty said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I got an alert from her school that she didn’t show up today. I looked in her room, her duffle bag was gone and some clothes were off their hangers in her closet. I think she ran away.”

“What? Okay, don’t panic. Are you sure?” George’s tone was urgent but tried to stay calm.

“Yes!” Matty’s voice rose, frustration and fear mingling. “I don’t know where she could’ve gone!”

“Okay- it’s okay. Calm down. We’ll find her.” His voice was firm, trying to ground Matty’s spiraling thoughts.

Your father heard Adam’s voice from the back. “How are we supposed to know what we’re looking for? We’ve never met the kid.”

“It’s my face, with my hair but longer, on the face of a pre-teen girl,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he tried to scramble to find his keys. Just then, his phone rang. “I’m getting another call, hold on.”

He hung up George’s line and answered, hopeful it was an answer to getting you back on the other end.

“Hi, I’m calling from the London Police Department. I’m calling for a Matthew Healy?” a calm voice said.

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hello, sir. We’ve got a report for a runaway juvenile by the name of Matilda Moss-Healy,” the officer said, his tone professional and steady.

Matty’s stomach dropped, a cold fear gripping him. “Yes, that’s my daughter. Is she okay?”

The officer’s voice remained calm. “She’s safe. A concerned citizen noticed her alone. She’s here at the station.”

Relief flooded through Matty, making his knees weak. He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you, thank you so much. I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, immediately calling George back. “She’s at the police station. She’s safe.”

“Thank God,” George muttered. Not that Matty could see it but his face showing visible relief.

“Let’s go get her,” Ross said, already heading for the door, determination in his stride.

Adam leaned into the phone for Matty to hear him. “We’re with you, mate. We’ll come pick you up and then we can head there.”

—-------

There was a group of officers in uniform huddled near the front desk. Matty ran straight for them, his friends not far behind. His heart pounded in his chest, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Hi, I'm looking for my daughter, Matilda. I got a call saying she was here,” he said, the urgency in his tone barely masking the anxiety coursing through him.

One of the sergeants, a tall man with a stern but kind face, nodded and spoke. “Right this way.” His voice was steady, a professional calm that contrasted sharply with the turmoil inside Matty.

As they walked, the sergeant began to explain. “A biker a few miles away noticed a young girl using an ATM and riding the metro alone. Thought it was suspicious for a 12-year-old.” The sergeant's words were clear, but they blurred together in Matty’s mind, his focus elsewhere. He kept nodding, mumbling a simple ‘mhm’ at intervals. His mind raced with thoughts of you—how you must be feeling, what you must be thinking. All he could do was silently hope you were okay. However, he wouldn’t hesitate to punish anyone who would even try to lay a finger on you.

He unconsciously quickened his pace, causing the officer to lengthen his strides to keep up. The hallway seemed endless, the sterile scent of the station mingling with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins. Finally, the sergeant’s voice broke through his thoughts. “She’s right in there. Take all the time you need, or no time at all.”

Matty nodded, his throat tight, and the sergeant walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts for a moment. Ross, Adam, and George appeared from behind, having finally caught up with their friend. They all stood before a large glass screen, its dark tint revealing it to be a one-way mirror. You couldn’t see them, but they could see you.

“That’s your face alright,” Adam said softly, causing Matty’s lips to twitch into a short, bittersweet smile. His eyes never left the glass, never left you.

He turned around to face his friends, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. “Just give us a minute, yeah?” The three nodded in understanding, sharing a look of solidarity and concern, and walked back to the front reception desk.

Matty took a deep breath, steeling himself before he entered the room. His heart ached with a mixture of hope and fear. He pushed the door open slowly, his eyes landing on you immediately. You sat there, looking small and lost in the large, sterile room, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

You didn’t notice the metal door creak open. Too lost in your own anxious state of mind. “Matilda,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. As your eyes met his, he felt a wave of emotion crash over him, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

You bolted toward him, your shaky legs propelling you forward as fast as they could. The moment you collided with him, it rocked him back on impact. You clung to him, your small frame trembling as you buried your face in his chest, sobs wracking your body. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your dirt-streaked hair.

He took in your state, his heart breaking at the sight. Your hair was matted slightly with grime, and you smelled of cigarettes and the harsh streets of London. But despite your disheveled appearance, you were safe. Not a scratch or mark on you. Relief washed over him, mingling with the overwhelming urge to protect you from ever feeling this kind of fear again.

“Tilly-” he began, his voice choking with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, your voice muffled against his chest.

“It’s okay-” he started to say, but you cut him off again.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Your sobs intensified, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush.

“Tilly, it’s okay, just calm down-” His voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

“I was just so scared.” Your voice was small, filled with a vulnerability that shattered his heart.

“It’s okay, baby. Breathe,” he murmured, his hand gently rubbing your back in a comforting rhythm.

“I won’t do it again! I swear! I just—”

“Matilda. Look at me.” His voice was firm yet gentle, his hands cupping your face as he tilted your head up to meet his gaze. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face but your breathing began to steady under his calming influence.

“Let’s go home, yeah? We’ll talk about it later, just let me take you home.” His voice was soft, filled with a promise of safety and comfort.

You nodded again, a small, broken “okay” escaping your lips. He hugged you tightly once more, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He guided you to the front where the boys were waiting anxiously. Your head remained bowed, avoiding their concerned gazes. He gently sat you on the opposite end of the row of chairs, his touch soft and reassuring. “I’m gonna talk to my friends real quick, alright? They came with me, they wanted to help find you.” Your gaze drifted to the three men on the other side of the room. More specifically, to George, remembering the things Matty had told you about him and your mom and remembering his photo. “I also need to thank the policeman before we leave. I need you to stay here for a minute, can you do that for me?” You nodded silently. He gave you a short smile, and kissed your cheek before standing to find his friends.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, he turned to his friends. You were well prepared to space out again, but not before your eyes drifted to George one more time. His eyes met yours and gave them a smile. You smiled back.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Matty said, his voice low but filled with gratitude. “I’ll get us home, we can catch the tube or grab an Uber or something.”

Ross, ever the practical one, nodded. “No problem, mate. We’re here for you. Just glad she’s okay.”

Adam’s eyes were filled with empathy as he glanced at you, then back to Matty. “Yeah, anything you need. Don’t hesitate to call.”

George, however, wasn’t ready to leave so easily. “Matty, let us at least make sure you guys get home safe. You shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”

Matty shook his head, though he appreciated the sentiment. “I know, George, but It’s fine. I swear.”

George sighed, his concern evident. “Alright, but if you need anything, call us. Anytime.”

Matty nodded. “I will.”

With that, the three men exchanged solemn glances, their concern for Matty and you clear in their eyes. They began to walk out of the police station, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet space.

As they left, Matty turned back to you, his heart aching at the sight of your small frame hunched over, your head still hung low, anxious of what was to happen next. He walked over and sat down beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Let’s get you home, okay?”

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A couple of short replies, about Mama Leech, about Lilinor and about kinks/fetishes…

Anonymous asked:

MAMA LEECH HAS BEEN REVEALED 🗣🗣🗣

Anonymous asked:

Mother Leech is MOTHERING HOLY SHIT

Have you seen Jade and Floyd's mom yet????? LIKE??? WOMAN?!?!!?!?!??!?

My jaw is on the fucking floor AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH

Those are the genes? Damn

Goddamn

Neither Floyd or Jade can ever be the pretty twin because pretty doesn't even EXIST next to their mom

Anonymous asked:

Have you seen Mama Leech yet?

Anonymous asked:

Ryu! We got a glimpse of Mama Leech!

I'm so excited that I ran straight to your blog to ask for your opinion, BUT at the same time, I don't want to spoil things for you guys it's such a dilemma. 😔

LETSSSSSSSS FUCKINGGGGGGG GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SHE IS SO GORGEOUS IT’S UNFAAAAAIRRRR!!!!

MORE MOMS!!! I WANT EVERY TWST MOM TO APPEAR IN THE GAME!!!!! MOMS!!!!!!!!!!

Honestly, she is perfect. I love everything about her design, her dress, her hair, her hat, her attitude, the fact that she is taller than her boys, the fact that Jade is literally a little (hehe) copy of hers, but Floyd also has some of her mannerisms.

Also!! I really appreciate you not wanting to spoil stuff for me, last Anon <3 This is very kind of you. And yes, we don’t really know what’s going on in the event, and don’t really want to know yet, so I’m just sharing everything that I can say for now, witnessing only some glimpses of her beauty. I’m excited.

I am also extra excited because our Mama Leech design + personality hcs weren’t super off lol She really does have Jade’s face…

Anonymous asked:

Ngl i'm a little curious (and i'm not sure if you responded this question before), what are your thoughts on Lilinor? (Lilia and Meleanor). Pd: i love your art, i hope you two are having a great day! sending hellos from south america!

Hello hello, South American Anon! <3

We haven’t met Meleanor properly yet because we haven’t seen ch7, but we’re already on board with this ship. They seem to have complicated relationship, and she is just too gorgeous of a woman for me to ignore her. I’m weak and she is beautiful. And Lilia is also weak.

Anonymous asked:

Are there any fetishes or kinks that you WONT draw? No matter if it's commissioned or not?

Probably yeah, but I don’t really have anything specific in mind… Some extreme fetishes like inflation, diapers, some types of vore, stuff like that? Honestly, it really depends on a comm, so please don’t hesitate to ask me privately if you’re not sure. I won’t judge even if I’m not comfortable with it and won’t be able to draw it.

I am honestly okay with a lot of stuff for someone who is very annoyingly picky when it comes to drawing tops as bottoms and bottoms as tops lol I am very sorry for everyone whom I had to turn down because of that…

[wordsarelife]

DAY 3: WE WISH YOU A MERRY CHRISTMAS

pairing: theo nott x gn!hufflepuff!reader

summary: theo meets your family for the first time during christmas

notes: i’m sorry but this is super short again. idk i just couldn’t think of anything lmao, even though the request was pretty cool. but i do think i included everything you asked for anon! hope you like it nonetheless!!

you weren’t sure when his nervousness had reached its peak, if it was on the train ride, or on the drive to the house, oh no, you were sure it was now, standing in front of the door, while you rang the doorbell and theo turned to look at you with tears in his eyes

“are you alright?” you asked him gently. it was even that gentleness that had made him interested in you, while he watched you care for the animals and he slowly fell in love with you.

it offended him a bit that you were now giving him the same look you had given that hurt kitten a week ago.

“do i look nervous to you?”

“ehh, just a little bit” you tried to assure but he saw right through you

“you’re lying”

“there’s always a bit of truth in a lie”

“sure” theo mumbled and before either of you could say anything else, the door got opened by a house elf.

“hello” you said and the house elf smiled

“hello” he said “your parents are waiting for you, y/n”

“thank you” you took theo’s hand and pulled him into the foyer. after you had both taken of your jackets and left your stuff, you walked into the living room.

“mum! dad!” you called smiling

“good evening, honey” your mom said hugging you

“it’s good to have you back at home” your father shook theo’s hand “you must be theo”

“yes, sir”

“you know theo” your father gently walked theo to sit on one of the two couches “i was a slytherin myself. and it just happens to be that y/n’s mother was a hufflepuff just like them. so your relationship could be destiny”

“i like to think that, yeah” theo said, while he watched you talk to your mum on the other end of the room.

“n/n!!” the voice of a child called. theo and your dad looked up in a similar manner and you smiled.

“gwen!” you called back, matching your sisters excitement and opening your arms for her to hug you. you picked her up and set her on your hip.

“do you want to meet theo?” you asked, pointing towards your boyfriend. your sister nodded smiling.

you walked across the room and sat down next to your boyfriend. your father got up to join your mother.

“theo” you introduced “this is my little sister gwen”

“hi gwen” theo laughed. normally your sister was quite shy, but suddenly it was like a switch had been flipped. she outstretched her little arms, waiting for theo to pick her from your hold. he did just that, letting her settle on his lap.

you send him an impressed smile. “how old are you, gwen?” theo asked “can you show that?” he pointed at her fingers

“i’m this old” she giggled, raising her hand and showing four fingers.

“that’s so cool!” theo gushed excited “i’m this old” he showed her a lot of fingers and she giggled, cuddling closer to the boy.

“do you want to put the star on with me?” gwen asked and pointed to your christmas tree. she was right, the star was still missing.

theo looked at you questioning if it was okay.

you nodded “go ahead” you whispered.

theo got up from the couch, picking up gwen, followed by you closely. he took the star from the table and gave it to gwen. she smiled brightly.

theo held her up, high enough so she could reach the top and put the star on it.

“great job!” you smiled, softly applauding.

“thank you” theo smiled from next to you, gwen still in his hold. “we did a good job, gwen, didn’t we?”

gwen giggled once again, leaning her head on theo’s shoulder.

“wow” your mum said to your dad “he’s great with her”

“yeah” your dad nodded. they both watched how theo smiled at your sister, before he turned to you, fixing a strand of your hair and gently kissing you on your forehead. “and with them too”

taglist: @twistedhistory @bakingintheshire @mqstermindswift @ahead-fullofdreams

[formereldestdaughter]

ok wait i need to hear more of your thoughts on peeta owning a bakery....

This is one of those rare times where I’m pretty sure this anon isn’t someone I know personally bc I’ve subjected anyone who will listen to my rant about the Peeta Bakery Headcanon. Anyway, you’re gonna regret asking this anon bc there are fucking Layers here.

I know this is probably a controversial take based on the number of fics where I’ve seen it, but I simply do not think that Peeta would open a commercial bakery after Mockingjay!! Like on a metatextual level, I don’t think it really fits with the point of the ending of the series. It actually sort of fascinates me that it’s just such a common headcanon because the ending of Mockingjay is exceedingly vague. I think that vagueness invites us, as readers, to imagine a better world post-revolution. A world where Katniss would feel confident that her children would be safe from injustice, where she’d feel confident that her children would never know want the way she did as a child. A just world. A kinder world. Can a capitalist society ever be just? Is a capitalist society where a disabled teenager has no other means to subsist himself (or feels like there’s no other way he can be a contributing member of his community) really the post-revolution world we dream of? Is that really the best we can imagine?

(This got so insanely long I’m adding a read more lmao)

I get that showing a better world is not always the point of post-mockingjay headcanons/fics. Like there are plenty of really great post-mockingjay fics I’ve seen where, yeah, part of the fic is that society like ISN’T all that different or all that much better. I’ve seen that really well done! Hell, I’ve written them myself! It’s easy to imagine how a lot of aspects of society would not get an overhaul, a lot of the same structural inequalities would continue to exist. One headcanon that really stuck with me (I can’t remember which fic it was from) was that Peeta sells basically mail order baked goods to people on the Capitol, sending them iced cakes and pastries by train, because there are still people who were “fans” of theirs during the Games. And idk this doesn’t actually have much to do with my point lol but I liked it because it’s kind of fucked up and like! Yeah! It makes sense! If he needed money that would be a good way to make it! War often makes people rich, often for horrible reasons, and often it’s people who already have capital in the first place.

Anyway, more about the hypothetical bakery because alright. I bring up the fact that “yeah society not being all that different post-revolution and still being an unjust capitalist hellscape” could be a reason why Peeta re-opens a bakery because that’s actually never the types of fics where I see the bakery headcanon. Fics where Peeta opens a bakery are usually trying to make the exact opposite point. Like. Things are getting better, now he can open a bakery! Look at how much better the world is now, plus he’s got a bakery! Peeta is healing, that’s why he can open a bakery now! And I am so, so sorry to inform everyone who’s never had the grave misfortune of owning a family business, but there is truly nothing further from the truth lmao. Like just putting aside the immense amount of emotional baggage that Peeta has about his family, running a small business is an insane amount of work in any context and being a baker especially is physically grueling and involves early hours (and long hours) that aren’t really the best fit with the multiple ways that Peeta is disabled now. (I could go into this more because I have a lot of thoughts. But I will spare you.). I also think it’s seen throughout the books that Peeta is someone who needs time to pursue creative outlets to process his feelings and someone who values leisure and values quality time with his loved ones. And having grown up in his family’s bakery, I think he’d understand the reality that running a bakery wouldn’t leave much space of those pursuits and wouldn’t leave much space for him to have the things that keep him healthy and stable. I think he’d know that the way he is now— after two Games and the war and unspeakable torture at the hands of a dictator—isn’t compatible with the lifestyle necessary for running a commercial bakery.

And tbh with that in mind, I don’t think he’d push himself to re-open a business (one that would be a constant reminder of his dead family and his complicated relationships with them that got no closure) that would require him to sacrifice his physical and emotional well-being. Like I think he might look into the possibility, I think he might even start trying to open a bakery out of a sense of obligation/duty, maybe harboring some idea that this is who he was supposed to be, who he would've been without the Games, or that it’s this last piece of his family that can live on, or that it’s this last connection to his family so he can’t let it die too. But ultimately, I think any attempt to open a bakery wouldn’t get very far. Maybe he'd start wading into the logistical nightmare that is small business ownership and realize it's not for him (because it's probably also true that as much as him and his brothers were involved in the business, there's almost certainly parts they weren't involved with and didn't see, i.e., filing taxes). Or maybe looking into opening a bakery— how triggering it is, the stress of it— causes a downward spiral. Maybe he hates how much he's worrying everyone by unraveling. Maybe having a breakdown from the stress of just trying to open a bakery makes him realize, yeah, maybe in another life he would have ran his family’s bakery but the way he is now just doesn’t work with running a bakery, not without great sacrifices he's not willing to make. I just can’t see a bakery coming to fruition.

I know a lot of fics include Peeta deciding to reopen a bakery as a big step in his healing or include him rebuilding a bakery as part of his healing process but honestly, I think the opposite would be more true: I think Peeta either trying/failing to open a bakery or ultimately deciding not to open a bakery would be hugely healing for him. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way he is now as a person, his new limitations but also his strengths. I think it would be a huge part of him accepting the way his life his now and accepting that he likes his life the way it is, that he’s satisfied with his life without needing to own a bakery. I think it would be an important part of him coming to terms with the loss of his family. I think he knows he can never have things back as they were and I don’t think he would try to recreate them, especially because his family’s legacy isn’t a business. I think he’s emotionally intelligent enough and self reflective enough to realize that what mattered to him about the bakery— taking care of others by feeding them, being integrated into his community and being actively involved in it, brightening people’s days with delightful things whether that’s beautiful cakes or hearty food or delicious treats— and the things he learned from his family through the bakery, are things that he can carry on in other meaningful ways.

(Do you regret sending this ask yet, anon? Because if not, you will soon. I’m not done yet. There’s more.)

I wasn’t really sure where to put this next part in what is rapidly becoming an essay because it sort of combines the points about like “what do we imagine a post-mockingjay society to look like” with the practical difficulties of starting this bakery but here’s another thing: do people really think that the Mellarks owned the land the bakery was on?? Like, sure, the merchants are the petit bourgeois of Twelve but I still don’t imagine they really own anything. In a society where houses are assigned to people upon marriage, where property ownership and capital are so closely interconnected with citizenship (as shown by the Plinths who, by having immense capital, are able to leave their District and become citizens of the Capitol) do people really think the Mellarks would be allowed to own the land their bakery is on?? I always imagined it sort of like a tenant farming situation: the Capitol gives them the raw materials for the bakery and in return the bakery give them some absurdly high portion of their profits, or the Capitol sells them a year’s supply of raw materials at a premium on credit and at the end of the year the Mellarks have to use the money they made with those materials to pay it back, except it’s never enough to turn a profit so they always have to buy next year’s materials on credit and the cycle continues.

We (understandably) get a really skewed view of the merchant class through Katniss’s perspective so I can see why people come to the conclusion that his family owned the property and, as the last surviving member, he would’ve inherited it. I’ve seen the inheritance thing in fics a lot or a hand wavey “well Twelve was decimated to no one owns anything anymore so it can be his” or even like an almost sort of reparations type situation where he’s entitled to the land as a surviving refugee of Twelve. But I don’t know. I guess I don’t think it fits with everything else we know about Panem that the Mellarks would’ve owned that land and I think the question of whether the government would’ve let him take ownership of the land post-revolution brings up a lot of issues about the structure of society post-Mockingjay that I find more interesting to explore in other ways, especially when, from an emotional perspective, 1) I find the idea of Peeta not opening a bakery more compelling and 2) I don’t think it really fits his character arc by the end of Mockingjay to reopen a bakery, as I went on about at length above lol.

On the flip side: literally who cares!! Do whatever you want!! Headcanon whatever you want!! I get why people go for the bakery!! It’s fun, it’s wholesome, it’s a built in bakery AU that isn’t even an AU. It doesn’t matter if it’s practical or realistic!! It doesn’t need to be practical or realistic!! It’s fanfic of a dystopian YA series!! My unfortunate affliction is that I grew up in a family that owned a restaurant and that I have multiple degrees in the social sciences so I can’t see the bakery without being like “What about the overheard? What about the start up costs? Who’s spending long nights balancing the books? Is Peeta covering shifts when an employee calls in sick? Is Peeta the sole person working there until the bakery is open long enough (often a year or more) to start turning a profit? How does that sleep schedule work with his nightmares? How does that work with Katniss’s nightmares? What happens when he has an episode and suddenly needs to take the day off before he has any employees? Does the bakery just remain closed for the day? Can the profit margins withstand regular unexpected closures? Can the supplies withstand regular unexpected closures?” And if the answer is “Elliott none of those things matter he’s not doing the bakery because he needs the money but because he wants to”, then my question is why does he want to? Does he not get the same sort of satisfaction out of feeding his loved ones? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would rather give away baked goods than sell them?? Doesn’t Peeta seem like someone who would prefer to make cakes for people’s special occasions upon and then when they insist on paying him for it, he only lets them “pay for the ingredients” which actually cost significantly more than he says they did??

So yeah my point is that it’s a matter of personal taste! It doesn’t fit the way I see the series but that doesn’t mean it’s like wrong, I’m not an authority on Peeta lmao.

It’s also a matter of personal taste in the sense that I find the themes that most resonate with me at the end of Mockingjay (and the end of Peeta’s arc specifically) more interesting to explore in other ways. Grief, living with loss, relearning yourself, finding hope, figuring out your place in a dramatically different world when you don’t even know who you are anymore, healing, building a new life after such complete and total destruction of your old life— those are all things I find compelling about the end of Mockingjay but for me the bakery isn’t the most compelling way to explore them.

Not to say I find the concept of the bakery totally uninteresting. I have this fic about Johanna that I’ll probably never finish where the point sort of is that, yeah, her life really isn’t all that much better after the war. It’s been years at this point and she’s still miserable and she doesn’t know how to be a person but by the end she’s trying to figure it out. And towards the end, Peeta tells her that he’s spent years sort of passively, half-heartedly trying to figure out how to inherit the land his family’s bakery was on, only to find out it was never theirs in the first place. They’d been renting it the whole time and he’d never even known as a kid. So he sort of passively, half-heartedly went on another wild goose chase to find the owner and now, finally, after years of writing to various government agencies and being sent in circles and things being barely functional, he’s managed to track down the owner. Now it’s owned by the daughter of the man who owned it when he was a kid because the original owner (who was likely up to some sketchy war crime shit) died during the war and she inherited it (the irony…). He got in contact with her and asked how much it would take for her to sell it and she told him she’s not interested in selling but in light of the situation, in light of the fact that he’d have to build a new building in order to operate a bakery, that she’d cut him a deal— she’d only require 50% of the bakery’s profits as rent instead of the 80% his family used to pay. And of course Johanna is outraged, that’s not right, the owner shouldn’t be allowed to do that, they should do something about it, they should fight back. And Peeta is like. Not interested. He was actually sort of relieved that opening wasn’t very feasible. Getting the answer was a lightbulb moment where he saw that over the years of trying to look into this, he’s built a life that he likes— one where he’s stable, where his loved ones are stable, where he’s cared for and can care for others— and he doesn’t really want to change it drastically by opening a bakery anyway. He just needed an answer, one way or another, before he could get some closure and move on. (And the point of the conversation is Johanna is having her own lightbulb moment that it’s okay to move on, it’s okay to change, it’s not a betrayal of the people and things she’s lost but that’s not my point here!!).

But anyway. That’s obviously not about running the bakery— it’s about the choice to not run one.

Anyway!! Anyway… are you satisfied anon? Is this what you wanted?

Lastly, here is my most important qualm with the bakery headcanon: must Peeta be gainfully employed? Is it not enough for him to be Katniss’s boytoy? Can’t he just paint and garden and bake and hang out with his girlfriend all day? Is that really too much to ask?

[my-castles-crumbling]

Anon Advice Asks - April 8

tech bro anon (new), pg anon, dan anon (new), 6 anon, usaid anon

Tech bro anon

Heya Cas! I just want to say I LOVE your writing and you’re so generous with your advice

And I was wondering if you u had any advice on something I’m struggling with?

I used to use character ai since I was lonely, I couldn’t find any fanfics that I was into and I liked that character ai made me feel less lonely and I got to explore fake scenarios and stuff but then I learned how bad it is for fandoms and writers and artists so I haven’t used it in a long time

But now I feel really lonely, and there’s no specific fanfics that I want to read? I’ve been rereading, searching, etc., and I’ve been debating on writing my own since I’m not sure if other would like it, or if it would feel weird/not as good as character ai did

I don’t want to use it since it does more harm than good but what should I do when I’ve searched and can’t find anything I like?

I’m sorry if this sounds weird or soiled or like an “AI tech bro” or anything. I just want to know how to not hurt art/creativity, ya know?

Have a good one!

Hi!

I absolutely think you should write your own fanfic, it's so fun, and I guarantee whatever you write will be better than ai! Also, what about roleplay servers? it's like character ai with real people! I know a lot of people have fun with rp, and it's a fun way to socialize!

There are also fandom servers in general that are fun and a great way to socialize as well!

I'm sending you love <3

___

PG anon

Wow, I can't imagine doing all those classes on top of everything you're dealing with right now. I know you feel like you should do more but I think you're right to be gentle with yourself and not force yourself to over-revise. If your grades are good, you're understanding the material, and you don't want to push yourself to the point of a breakdown, you know?

Okay as far as your friends-- the seven friends and the others. PLEASE tell adults. PLEASE. You cannot have lives on your hands. That's not your job, and that's a great way to bring you down a dangerous path too. It's not up to you to save anyone, let alone multiple people. Not only that, but in the nicest way, you don't have as much power as adults do. You need to ask for help--you can't do it all. PLEASE ask for help.

I'm proud of you for those positives and for seeing the positives. You seem like an amazing person and an amazing friend. You need to treat yourself with the same love you give others <3

____

Dan anon

(Anon ask, from Dan in dms)

We messaged each other in dms but you said you prefer advice asks here, and yes, i do need advice.

Basically, there’s been really a mess within me and my friends’ lives, and the school we go to. I will try my best to explain.

I’m a trans guy, throughout this whole year, I have been trying to figure out my identity. Due to my situation at home and the previous school i went to, i believed it was safer for me to leave my trans identity behind. I sort of brainwashed myself into thinking that I could be happy like this as well, staying as my assigned gender. Spoiler alert: I was horribly wrong.

My parents don’t really understand trans people/identities, no matter what i tell them, i gave up on trying to explain myself a while ago. It feels pretty horrible that they will no longer give me support other than the financial one,, just for the fact that this school is private.

Now, this school we go to is alright, the subjects are good, teachers are mostly alright, some of them worse than others… The main problem is, i don’t really feel safe with being trans here. My friends really do support me and i support them as well but there have been some instances where we all didn’t really feel like we are welcome as lgbt+ students.

These things are also the reason I have struggled with keeping up with my studies. I still try my best…what makes me feel even more unmotivated is that if I fail to keep up, I don’t think my parents will want to invest in these funds my studies anymore. Like I understand that if I want to study here I also have to put in the effort, as I have promised…it’s just really not easy, some teachers gave me extended time to finish my assignments and some teachers really acted horrible about it when i tried to explain myself.

Returning to the lgbt+ discussion,, I am also bi. When I started transitioning earlier this new year and made a few guy friends, I noticed that, yeah, they also have friend groups with other gays, which made me feel really welcome. But i think i really started to have feelings for this one friend, i do think there’s potential…I’m just not really good at dealing with romantic feelings. I don’t know how to tell him. I’m also scared that if he does like me back and we end up together, that we will be even more unsafe as two guys in a relationship at school where it is not so safe for lgbt students. And then anothee thing is that even if he does like men, I’m scared he would not date a trans guy.

Something positive is that i have discussed some things about these romantic feelings with this one girl and she told me that she is sure he likes me as well, which would make sense. She also told me I should try to compliment him next time I see him, and well I mean i should have done that the day before yesterday because he had this really cool shirt i liked…oh well I’ll end this ask now or it will turn into a rant about someone i like hahah

Hi!

I'm so sorry, this seems like a lot to sift through and figure out.

Honestly, my advice is to do what makes you feel safe and comfortable. You seem to have some supportive people in your life (friends) and some not-so-supportive people. You have to think about and decide if being your authentic self (transitioning, dating, etc) is safe, and worth the potential backlash. And only you can decide that. For some people, it's SO worth it, and it makes life so much better. But for others, it might be better to go slow and form a support system first. That's a decision that you have to make on your own, I'm afraid. But the best thing to do is think about what YOU need and want and what's safe and healthy for YOU.

Sending love <3

____

6 anon

Honestly I am so glad you cut your dad off. I know you love him and that's natural- he's your dad! But he sounds so unsafe. You deserve people who love you unconditionally.

I'm proud of you for 25 days! that's amazing, especially with everything going on with you! <3

____

usaid anon

ts usaid anon and i dont have any one reason but i just need to say:

WHAT THE FUCK? WHO VOTED HIM IN? LITERALLY FUCKING WHO? WHO GENUINELY LOOKED AT THAT FUCKING BALLOT, THOUGHT OF THAT IDIOT ASSHOLE DICK OF A MAN AND THOUGHT "YES" THIS IS WHO I WANT TO REPRESENT AND RUN MY COUNTRY FOR THE NEXT 4 FUCKING YEARS THAT SOUNDS LIKE A DELIGHTFUL TIME. ANYBODY STILL DEFENDING HIM AT THIS POINT CANNOT BE SAVED. WDYM AFTER SEEING EVEYTHINGYOU THINK YEAH I STILL STAND BY IT. HOW???

Sorry i just had to get that out

Yeah. Yeah. I....I agree. It's terrifying. I also have been screaming more lately lol. I wish I had something comforting to say <3 I'm sending you hugs <3

[louisisalarrie]

Hello love. I like sending you asks because you’re always great at responding. This one is a bit sensitive. Don’t post if not appropriate.

Louis and alcohol. You’ve worked with him and seen him a little more closely than most. Is he a massive drinker (like, every day) or is his alcohol consumption a little exaggerated? I’ve seen other posts referring to him as having a problem, which seems a cruel assumption when people don’t know the guy.

It looks to me like there’s a ton of boozing on tour (lots of stories from other artists who’ve worked with him confirm they all drink a lot when they’re all together) but L never looks as though he goes on stage p*ssed. He tends to have beer on stage with him but never drinks the whole thing (I kind of feel like it’s a bit of a nervous habit, to have a drink there he can grab but not to be necessarily knocking it back show). I mean he definitely looks like he drinks a lot post show but we never hear of him turning up to meet fans drunk or smelling of booze (and there dont seem to be any major boozy stories about him doing something bad because he was drunk - oh apart from breaking his arm!) so I’m on the fence about whether or not he does have unhealthy drinking habits or not. He seems pretty controlled and put together with the occasional post show drunken/stoned selfie!

What are your thoughts?

I guess I just want a healthy Louis.

Hello anon! Apologies for the hold up on this, I wanted to do a good and thorough job at responding because it is a sensitive topic, for sure. I’m not sure how much you dabble in substances, your age, or your experiences with said substances, so what I say may feel like it’s still too much, but yeah, I hope I can provide you with some reassurance. So, lovely anon, welcome to the show!

TW for alcohol and drug use

Drinking and drug use is heavily glorified, over indulged in, and used as a crutch in the entertainment industry, but often times you only hear the worst of it. You’ve got the stories of overdoses, media analysing stars because they look drunk performing on stage, and artists having a bad/shocking image because they partake in alcohol/drugs depending on who their demographic is (zouis weed video, for example).

It’s often used as a coping mechanism, to just take a bit of the edge off. This doesn’t mean that all artists use it to an extreme extent to where they can’t perform/can’t live without it (like it’s portrayed in A Star is Born), and don’t get me wrong, some do, but from what I’ve seen and my pals and colleagues in the music industry have seen, Louis doesn’t overindulge.

I mean, they’d have a drink (or multiple) for the same reasons as we do, to just… chill out the nervous system, or carry on the energy. Dissipate some anxiety before going on stage and while on stage, calming down your body and mind from the adrenaline afterwards, partying and carrying on a bit more heavily if you’re celebrating. I’ve toured, not to the same extent as L or H, but it becomes quite normalised within people from the artist’s direct team, their direct touring crew, to the promoters, to the artist’s personal friends. It’s SO much work putting on these shows and travelling and when everything goes well, it’s a huge relief and time for a beverage or a joint. It’s just kinda… very normalised, which is also really bad, but Louis, from what I’ve seen and heard, is smart with it.

You’re correct in saying he isn’t drunk on stage, he doesn’t smell like substances (only cigarettes but that’s a whole other story), and only has 1 beer on stage.

His rider is pretty standard too. Artists over order so they don’t need runners to go get them stuff causing a delay. And then they take whatever they don’t finish to the hotel with them or whatever. If you were famous you’d wanna milk the free stuff 100%, so yeah, if that is a cause of concern for some fans seeing the leaked LATAM rider, I can assure you that it doesn’t go that far between the amount of people in his band and crew. It’s just… very normalised, but doesn’t happen every night.

Louis also just loves to dabble in the devils lettuce (im super annoyed that I have a story about this that I can’t share but he’s fucking hilarious) and loves a drink. Alcohol is also super normalised and encouraged in the UK, and here in Australia too. So I see a lot of it and it’s just kind of a thing you… do. It’s more so if you don’t drink, people are like ????? Hahaha.

So growing up in a country where it’s very normal to drink a beer or get pissed, it’s kind of engrained, and then being in an industry where it’s also normalised, it’s 100% natural to lean into it. When I drink on tour, it’s certainly less often than artists, but it’s just a social celebration thing and it’s kind of expected to a degree. In my opinion, and from what I’ve seen of him going on tour, he doesn’t have a problem nor loses any professionalism on or off the stage. He’s very serious about making these shows good and proving himself.

When I was backstage with him at one of these shows, he was in a green room that wasn’t too far from my office. He is so LOUD and hearing his giggle and talking shit was so wild hahaha. I could smell cigarettes, and heard him and his band/crew do a shot before the show, but apart from that I think maybe they had one or two beers in the late arvo together. I don’t clean/service green rooms so I can’t tell you 100% how much they drank, but it was pretty lowkey. I also don’t think he gets stoned before going on stage (I would’ve smelt it). I think it’s purely an after show fun time which also helps him sleep from jet lag/adrenaline etc. like I mentioned earlier.

He eats well, and while not as healthy as H, still filling food and has an appetite (im talking during the day, not the wild amount of munchies he orders post show), so he’s not letting alcohol/nicotine curb his appetite to that point. He did have bottle service at his hotel on a couple of those nights, too. But again, the bigger indulgence seems to be post show. He’s overall still healthy.

From what we’ve seen, it would be very easy to spot if he was going too far. He’s 100% in control and uses it as a small crutch like a lot of us do due to the intense stress of our jobs. Tbh he also just likes a drink and a joint or two and there’s no reason to worry. Hell, I like a drink or a joint or two and im good at my job, know when to stop, and uphold my professionalism to a high standard. There’s truly no reason to worry, he’s just louder about it than the other boys (I’ve heard that Niall gets on it just as much, but we don’t see it).

Now, it may seem like im making excuses for the industry or for Louis or whatever, but truly, it kinda is what it is. There has been a small but significant shift in the industry around drinking and drug use though, and how it affects mental health, which is great. In Australia, we have a resource called “Support Act” which is an organisation that now has a 24/7 wellbeing hotline for artists, industry folks, and crew, and while it has been around since 1997, it is obviously far bigger and more accessible now due to technology etc., and has great resources. The UK similarly has “Music Minds Matter”, and there are multiple around the US. So there is definitely a larger awareness on the toll touring and an industry career can take on you, and I have no doubt that Louis is aware of his limits and has supportive and wonderful people around him.

Wow okay this turned into a whole other thing. Sorry!!! Hahaha. Look, in short, he drinks nowhere near as much as other artists I’ve worked with (8 bottles of top shelf whiskey in one night thanks) and unless we see any cause for concern, im sure he’s okay, 100% in control, and just living his best life as a 32 yr old successful rockstar. Try not to worry!

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

－． 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 ！

𝒲ℛℐ𝒯ℐ𝒩𝒢 ℛ𝒰ℒℰ𝒮；

I will write : dark content (omegaverse, yandere, hybrids, dub/non-con, etc.) Nsfw/Smut, age gap, dilf & milf, bondage, more than one/two rounds, breeding kink, dominant & submissive characters, gay/lesbian sex, vanilla sex, pegging, pregnancy/sex during pregnancy, LBGTQ+ themes, pegging, dacryphilia, possessive or obsessive characters, strap, mommy/daddy kink, cheating and dead dove do not eat content.

I won’t write : Piss kink, Food play, Male pregnancy (unless its a joke. I fw that), Step/Incest, pedo stuff, feet fetish, reverse harem (even harem in general), toilet-play, gangbangs (hell no??), Character x oc, character x character (there has to be x reader if you want to do two characters), Period sex, scat play, Adults in diapers, whipping, shoe licking, Tsundere, ace/color specified reader, wound fucking, vore, fat fetish, physical/sexual abuse (even abuse in general) & won’t be writing nsfw of minors!

Big rule : if you are going to request add this heart [🤍] so I know that you read the rules (˶ ◜ᴗ◝ ˶) ♡︎ !

Note : Most of this is NSFW and really HEAVY. So please minors dni with any nsfw content.

𝒟𝒩ℐ/ℬ𝒴ℱ ；

Do not interact if you’re a : Israel supporter, Homophobic, transphobic, racist, N*zi, Elon Musk/Donald Trump supporters, Islamophobic, annoying asf, Mydei haters (this is a joke btw), people who don’t know the difference between fiction and reality.

Minors are not welcomed in this blog, therefore they are welcomed in my main blog @blueberrisdove , where I yap and kiss all my mutuals.

Also kink-shamers & pro MAGA SHOO SHOO! 👋🏼

Before you follow me, please make sure you're comfortable with the content I post. If you're not, feel free to block the tags. I'm not responsible for your experience, and I'm not here to babysit what you see.

If you have a problem with me PLEASE DM me and not post me, or either go on anon. If you go on anon i’ll immediately ignore you and delete your ask.

I used to post a lot, but now since I got an online job and pretty much busy with it I don’t.

I MAKE A LOT OF ERROR MISTAKES. Yes, obviously the reason is because English isn’t my first language, I have a problem with typing with my fingers and I move to different apps to write and not only on tumblr drafts.

Also yes you WILL be seeing repetitive words & sentences in my works because I’m bad at English.

This blog may occasionally post or interact with dark content. I always tag things properly (e.g., #cw : dacryphilia, #cw : gunplay, #cw : dubcon, cw : yandere) so you can filter them if needed, but nothing too extreme.

Do not steal any of my works neither translate them.

I TAKE TIME ANSWERING THIRSTS AND REQUESTS SO PLEASE BE PATIENT.

Also I am a yumeshipper but I love to ship my faves with other characters ! (Mydei x Phainon , Fyodor x Dazai , etc.)

Do not trauma-dump me for the love of god, please warn me first or ask if you want to vent. Not randomly venting to me.

DO NOT FORCE ME INTO WRITING OR PISS ME OFF IN MY ASKS WHEN SENDING A THIRST/REQUEST.

This blog explores mature and potentially sensitive fictional themes. If this content isn’t for you, I encourage you to move on rather than engage negatively. Please remember: finding something intriguing in fiction does not equate to supporting it in reality. Fiction and reality are separate, and it’s important to keep that distinction in mind.

I primarily write for fem!reader and gn!reader content. However, if you request a male!reader specifically, I’m happy to accommodate! If no reader gender is mentioned in a request, I’ll default to writing a female reader.

Please don't send the same ask/request/thirst to different blogs.

I mostly write abt male characters though I can also write female characters.

ALL OF THIS IS FICTIONAL I AM NOT INTO THESE STUFF IN REAL LIFE. (Dub/noncon, yandere, stalking, cannibalism, cheating, dacryphilia, breeding kink, bondage, etc.)

I just want to end this by saying, please USE PROTECTION!!! Fiction isn’t real life, so always wrap it up or just skip it. And remember, consent is EVERYTHING <3 kisses!!!

ℳ𝒰𝒯𝒰𝒜ℒ𝒮 ℛ𝒰ℒℰ𝒮 ：

Hiii want to be Mutuals just simply ask don’t be shy!

If you don’t like my work or have an issue with me, feel free to block me. But please don’t post about me. Let’s just handle things like adults and keep it private!

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ATTENTION : i will not be answering anon hate EVER. Unless if I’m bored or if it’s necessary to answer back.

[pixie-felix]

I totally meant to send this in before any other asks but I think I read your little health update in the morning time that day then forgot about it / got distracted by cuteness aggression I.N by the time I was able to write in and didn’t send this.

But I love you and I’m wishing the best for you! Charging up all the sparkles! ✨❤️ I don’t have any advice (and boy do I wish I did) but sending big hugs. I’m glad that you’re doing a little bit better it seems!

Funny thing when I read your update in that post it prompted me to think about imagery/extended metaphor that describes how I think MY brain functions and balanced its problems because it seemed a little different from yours and I started to type that out but was like “wait there’s NO way to make this as concise as it needs to be to keep it from derailing the whole point of this”. Conciseness is not my strength. But there’s a slight, small possibility you haven’t noticed that since I’m able to attempt self editing my sentences to make them make sense when writing. Whereas when I’m talking irl, I feel the need to over explain every detail and it takes forever for me to actually finish a sentence / get to the point. Overexplaining, and the tangents giving the history of everything. Unless it’s a day where I only have the energy / mental capacity to give one words answers anytime someone talks to me. UGH. Leaving this paragraph in because maybe you’ll find it funny that I totally derailed while talking about NOT doing that.

Another funny thing I realized is that one of the little stories on my list of “smut offerings for pixie” is a technically two-parter that involves mandatory movie nights and ice cream. Two things I’ve already used before.

But you have that to look forward to! Among others. Thank you for taking all the time to read and respond to my messages, you’re the best. Love you, big hugs, treat yourself! 😘

- 🥝

KIWI YOU ANON YOU DARLING 😭 I don't know what I did to deserve all your nice words, but I'm very grateful that you're in my life. I'm usually pretty anxious about messaging people, anon or not, so I'm extra grateful that you reached out with your first ask and started sharing your thoughts with me and letting me add in to them.

I solemnly swear that have never read anything you've sent and thought "well, this could've been more concise" or "I wish kiwi anon would use less words", (I will never want you to use less words, I want all of your words, your brain is one of my favourite places to hang out) so your self editing is definitely working.

Please know that you don't have to self edit here, I love a good ramble. And a tangent.

I don't know if it's the same, but in real life I "over explain" a lot. Lore and connections are my thing. Seriously, "Story Time with Pixie" is a genuine thing with my friends. It's kind of a running joke: seeing how long we hang out before ✨something✨ happens that reminds me of ✨this other thing✨. And then I'll have a whooooole tale to tell.

I used to (and occasionally sometimes still) get very self concious about it, how my brain interconnects everything and I end up using 100 words when 10 would do...

I'm really glad you left your explanitory paragraph in! See, to me it didn't feel like you derailed at all- though I'm sure you self edited it. It might be an autism thing, but my brain likes as much information and backstory as possible, so to me there is no such thing as over explaining.

I know I used the term a couple of paragraphs up, but the more I think about it the more I realise that yeah, to me there's no such thing as over explaining. Tell me all of the things. Give me all the little connective bits and random thoughts and facts.

That's how conversation is supposed to work, isn't it? I guess to the people who don't think that way, I just don't interact with much (probably because I'll find them a little boring and feel like I need to the entertainment for them).

....I feel like I've gone off on SEVERAL tangents here, but every time I try to read this back my brain thinks up more things to say and it's getting very loud in my head 😅.

TL,DR: (lmao the irony here) I don't want conciseness! I want you and all your thoughts! Please don't feel like you need to edit yourself here, this is our cosy safe space for our thoughts and rambles. Just be comfortable and write what you want, because I'll always read it with a big silly smile on my face.

YOU HAVE A LIST OF SMUT OFFERINGS FOR ME!? 😭🫣 I feel very blessed. And also kind of deity like, the idea of having offerings. I'll make sure not to let it go to my head. I am but the vessel and the smut gods work through me 🙏.

I WANT TO HEAR MORE ABOUT THIS TWO PARTER WITH MANDATORY MOVE NIGHTS AND ICE CREAM (pretty please). Also the rest of them.

The next thing of yours I'll reply to is probably going to be the vampire post, because it is glorious and I think I'm starting to have enough brain power to give it the attention it deserves. (Also, linking back to this post: THE LORE DROP. YES. THANK YOU. 🙏🙏🙏)

I hope you are keeping well kiwi anon 🫶 thank you for still sending me things and not getting mad when it takes me a while to reply. My brain might not love me hugely but it loves you! As does the rest of me 🫶

...that doesn't sound creepy at all.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

🎶And I say hello🎶

Hello! Tis I! 💛. Your favorite anon. Oddly enough, right before I was going to send in this request, you posted about missing me. First of all, that made my night (like, honestly, I was having a bad night and it made me smile so big). Second of all, your most recent Blurryface fic was amazing (you’re making me into a Blurryface Tyler fan slowly but surely). Also, and I know you have absolutely no reason to care, but I’m going to the Clancy tour this week! I may drown you in your related requests…just a heads up.

Anyways, my request. I am currently in a master’s program (forensic psychology master’s students for the win!) and so I was wondering if you could possibly write a one shot where Josh tries to help the reader study for a test (doesn’t have to be forensic psychology related. Could be any class. Though I’d like it to be a college class), but ends up being more so a distraction/hinderance than a help.

As always, you can change this request up and bit if you like or you don’t have to do it. It’s up to you! Like I said, I’m but a humble freeloader and you are the artist. 😊

Study - Josh Dun x reader

Relationship: Josh Dun × Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1632

A/N: Rahh I love this idea! I’ve been looking forward to going to college and am in study mode so it’s perfect! When you submitted the request I was having a bad day too so I'm glad we're able to cheer each other up :) Forensic psychology sounds cool, I have a friend who is interested in doing it but I have no idea what it’s about other than crime and psychology. I'm wanting to do a major in cinematic arts (basically film school) but I'm not sure what I want my minor to be. I'm interested in so much it's hard to choose but I'm looking at music production, classics, or journalism. Because I've been working on my media studies project at school I though I'd make the subject she's studying for related to that (I hope that's okay). ALSO I’m so excited that your Clancy Tour show is this week!! That’s so exciting 😁 I have to wait till November, my show is the first international show and I’m low key scared that they’re going to change the setlist. I’m bringing my non clique friend to the show and if they decide to add or take away songs from the setlist she’s going to think I’m having a mental breakdown (which I 100% will be lol. In a good way). Anyways, sorry for the long intro/rant thing, I don't have many friends at my school and I needed to rant 😭

The last place I expected to be with Josh was my college library, considering the fact that he didn’t go to college and never planned to. In fact, I was pretty sure the last time Josh had stepped foot in a library was all the way back in high school. I’d only found out a couple months after we’d started dating that we had gone to the same school. He had graduated two years before me so we didn’t know each other but as fate would show, we met at Guitar Centre after I’d decided to teach myself drums. Turns out teaching yourself drums is hard and you do in fact probably need a teacher, and that teacher will probably end up being that cute boy that sold you your first pair of sticks. Normally, Josh and I would hang out at home or with our friends but this week I was in full study mode with finals coming up. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to meet me later?” I asked, finding an empty table to sit down at. I placed my bag on the chair next to me while Josh sat down on the opposite side. He was wearing a black hoodie that he’d bought at the mall the other day and a beanie, perfect for the autumnal weather outside. It had been raining a lot recently, the light pitter patter of rain becoming a common occurrence as we fell asleep each night. 

“I’m sure,” he laughed, folding himself over the table and resting his head on his arms. 

“Okay,” I shrugged, pulling out my computer and opening it to my work. I had a couple pages of notes to read, and a practice essay to write. Yay. College. Josh pulled out his phone and started scrolling through social media, the speakers of his phone playing music–loud enough to hear but quiet enough to not bother anyone other than me. With each scroll of his finger the audio changed, progressively capturing my attention and pulling me away from my own screen. Josh clearly noticed I was getting distracted because he put his phone away and pointed to the blank notebook page in front of me. 

“What are you supposed to be learning about anyways?” he asked, tilting his head slightly and peering over my computer screen. I tilted it back so he could get a better look, the display showing two pages from my textbook for media studies. 

“Well, I’m reading this textbook section about the media and how people have different lenses that they view things. It’s kind of interesting,” I explained. Josh smiled, resting his head on his chin and listening attentively. “It’s like how you’ll view a musician character differently to how someone who doesn’t make music would.” Josh nodded as if he knew what I was talking about–he did in fact have no idea. 

“Let me help you, I’m sure it’s not that hard,” he suggested. He got up and moved around to the chair next to me, grabbing my bag and placing it on the ground so he could sit down. While I knew full well that Josh wasn’t going to be any help but I wanted nothing more than to spend time with him–he was always busy with band practice or work, making me cherish every moment we had together. He pulled my computer closer to him, reading the textbook page and taking notes with my pen. As he wrote each word on the page I could feel my body tingle with excited nerves. Josh had always been able to do that to me. If he was close, I had to fight off the butterflies to the point where I would lose focus on what I was supposed to be doing–which was exactly what was happening right now. “You get that?” 

“Huh?” I looked up at him as he let out a soft chuckle. 

“Do you understand the concept? The uh, natural bias of viewers impacts how they see the characters in movies, books, and tv,” he repeated. I listened, taking notes and bullet-pointing what he was saying. He sounded almost like he was in the class himself, which was surprising considering Josh was the least academic person I knew. 

“Mhm, yeah,” I nodded. As the lunch period ended more and more students piled into the library, filling up the tables and making the room louder. 

“It’s getting kinda hot in here,” Josh said, pulling off his hoodie to reveal one of his band’s merch shirts and his perfectly toned arms. Twenty one pilots was starting to get more and more popular with their latest music being played on college and city radio, meaning the likelihood of him being recognised was rising every day. Josh was looking around the room as more people poured in but I couldn’t look away from him. My boyfriend was hot and I couldn’t deny it–I was practically drooling and couldn’t wait for that night, when we’d be able to snuggle up in bed together. 

“What?” he questioned, snapping me out of my daydream. I could feel my face heat up slightly. 

“You’re distracting,” I smirked, causing him to laugh. 

“How am I distracting? I’m literally just sitting here,” he pointed out. I tapped my pen against his shoulder. A large smile crept onto his face along with a flush of warmth. 

“You like?” he teased, causing me to roll my eyes. 

“Yes. A lot,” I joked back. I leaned my chin against my hand and smiled widely at him. “Stop staring,” he laughed. I couldn't help it. What I really needed to be doing was studying but Josh was the most distracting boy on the planet and if we kept going the way we were, I wasn’t going to get any work done. 

“I was supposed to be studying,” I chuckled, rolling my eyes. He knew how important my finals were for my grade and he knew how much work I’d put into my courses, but somehow he couldn’t hold back his cheeky self, even when it mattered. 

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands in mock surrender, trying to appear apologetic. He leaned back in his chair and looked at me with a sly smile. I got back to my work, taking notes and trying to figure out what I was going to write my essay on. Once again, Josh pulled out his phone, this time texting Tyler about their next gig. As he typed, he occasionally glanced at me. Without warning, he suddenly reached out and tickled my side, trying to get a reaction out of me. I laughed loudly and covered my mouth, trying to muffle the noise. 

“Josh! Stop it!” I took a deep breath between laughs. Suddenly, a group of girls approached our table, their eyes wide with excitement as they clearly recognized Josh. One of them spoke up, a blonde woman wearing a white crop top and a bright pink skirt–clearly a sorority girl, my mortal enemies. 

“Excuse me, you're Josh Dun from Twenty One Pilots, right?” Josh looked up from his phone, clearly taken aback by her boldness. He flashed the celebrity smile he’d been working on in the mirror lately and nodded. I rolled my eyes, trying to hold my focus. Josh shot me a quick smirk when he saw my reaction, clearly amused by the situation. He then turned his attention back to the girls who were bombarding him with questions. I could tell they were starstruck, which was weird considering that it was just Josh. The Josh I’d met at Guitar Centre, drum teacher Josh, wearing a blonde wig and making stupid skits Josh–my boyfriend Josh. A short brunette clutched her phone tightly, moving in closer to him. 

“Oh my god, can I please get a picture with you?” she asked, her voice quivering with excitement. I moved closer to my computer, trying to regain my focus despite there clearly being no hope. Josh chuckled lightly at the girl's request and looked over at me, noticing how irritated I was. He could tell I was trying to focus on studying for my finals and the sudden intrusion by the girls was clearly not helping. As always, he tried to be polite. 

“Sure, but can we make it quick? My girlfriend really needs to focus on her studies,” he responded, emphasizing the word ‘focus’ when he looked at me. I couldn’t hide the smile on my face. The girls nodded and Josh took a couple of photos, moving into different poses so each girl could get enough photos on each of their phones. I wondered if this was going to become more common with time, whether Josh will get recognised more often. According to Jenna, Tyler was getting it a lot but she’d found a way to cope with the fuss. She was always better than me at the celebrity girlfriend thing. 

“Thank you so much!” the blonde flashed an award-winning smile at Josh.

“Good luck on your finals,” the brunette waved goodbye. I was surprised they cared enough to even address me. 

“Thanks,” I smiled. The girls walked away whispering to each other about the interaction, clearly excited. “They were nice,” I said, turning to Josh. 

“Most people who recognise us are. The people who like our music are different, they care. But… you need to get back to studying. It’s already 5,” he responded. I looked at the clock on my computer and sure enough it was 5pm, we’d been sitting there for an hour getting incredibly distracted with each and every interaction with each other. 

“Remind me to never allow you to ‘help’ me study ever again,” I chuckled, getting back to my work. 

Josh pressed his lips to my temple and ruffled my hair.

“Noted.”

//

REQUESTS ARE OPEN HUMANS! I've gotten a lot more followers recently so feel free to request anything! Can't wait to see what ideas you guys have!

[aranarumei]

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I'll take any info on the sasamiya ones but I must admit that since I'm subscribed to your profile getting notifications about final fantasy fics was a fun experience.

ask me to give “director’s commentary” on some part of a fic! or send a ⭐️ for me to talk about a bit of my choice?

ohhh…! that’s so many stars. and you’re subscribed to my ao3 profile….! how lovely! anon you’re wonderful. always nice to know I have a—if I dare be so bold—fan. now as that’s quite a lot of stars, so I… went overboard. consider it an expression of my affection for you, anon. going to put the rest of it under the cut:

about ff7: I’ve been playing ff7 veryyyy slowly for the past six months or so! it’s been exciting—I’ve managed to avoid a LOT of spoilers, and am still doing so, because I haven’t finished the game lol! but I had a reallly strong fic idea, centered around cloud & tifa, so I couldn’t resist. the dynamic between those two is so fascinating to me, because with the deaths of zack and aerith, I think they, as the ones “left behind,” have a really good opportunity to like… share in grief, and such. I wanted to write that fic in a way where any romance is kind of ambiguous, and secondary to the pure feeling of like, grief and love and living intertwined.

anyways. since you asked about sasamiya, I’m going to talk about various scattered sasamiya fics! I’ll gloss over the anomalous agate, because though I could talk about it for ages, I also wrote up a general commentary post. I’ll also skip over something there, since I just answered something in relation to that already. I’m really quite surprised (and flattered!) you said any of them, anon… there’s quite a few oddities in there.

I suppose I’ll start with a delinquent and a stargazer. that was a title I only ever came up with once porting a bunch of fics over ao3… and I was so embarrassed to find that backdated fics apparently show up as email notifications for subscribers. I’m sorry.

titling was so hard, but I’m pretty proud of this one, as in the fic it’s questionable who, between sasaki and hirano, the “delinquent” and the “stargazer” are. the section I wanted to talk about, though, is this:

Hirano keeps laughing for a while longer, eyes scrunched in small joy, and then he flops down, flat on his back. His knuckle grazes against Sasaki’s arm before he pulls it back. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.” “What?” “Just—” Hirano falls quiet. “I don’t know.”

so, when I was talking about something there, I briefly touched on the idea of sasaki being attentive when it comes to hirano, and that sense of Attention and Observation is something that’s really important to me in the sasahira dynamic. even when they’re not quite friends (first year), they’re deliberately conscious of each other in a way they’re not going to vocalize. so that’s what’s going on here, dialogue-wise—hirano makes a comment that’s indicative of him paying special attention towards sasaki, and specifically what makes him smile. in the description, sasaki’s remarkably attentive towards how hirano laughs, so he’s also cataloguing expressions of joy. they’re doing the same thing! also, sasaki focuses in on that graze of touch because it’s a very slight… crossing of boundary, here. like, you don’t usually casually touch people you’re not friends with. at the very least, sasaki is not going to do that (see: his issues with controlling his strength and stuff—I bet that spills over into being a bit over-conscious of touch)

next, let’s address this bit from help! my classmate’s asking for relationship advice, but I’m aromantic!?:

“Those are common descriptions, sure.” Hirano levels him with a flat look. “You sure lose all your worldly upperclassman charm when Miyano’s not around, huh?” Miyano was different. Miyano was the type of person to have stars in his eyes. Hirano was… also the type of person to have stars in his eyes, even if he went about it differently. It was, strangely enough, Hanzawa’s favorite thing about both of them. “It’s my secret,” Hanzawa says. Thankfully, Miyano hasn’t really asked him for advice of this kind yet.

my secret is that hanzawa’s “it’s my secret” is quoting. something that got stuck in my head. it's not famous or anything so I doubt anyone will recognize it. but it made me laugh, so I kept it in for the same reason I decided to use my wip title as the actual title… because it’s funny! also it killed the stress of having to title the thing.

I tend to headcanon hirano as some form of ace—it’s clear he responds to touch in a different way than kagiura, so it’s an angle i think is fun to explore—so having him connect with an aromantic hanzawa headcanon was neat, here. this bit shows hanzawa’s underlying pessimism regarding love & romance, as contrasted with hirano’s optimism, as he's looking to meet kagiura where he is. both asexuality & aromanticism, to me, have things to say about “unconventional love,” and this was an opportunity to explore that, in a way that tries to fit with canon. right now, hanzawa is feeling uncomfortable about the idea of dating, and romance—these feelings are going to have him blow up at his brother a little later. this conversation is also going to make him reformat his approach for miyano, later. on hirano’s end, he’s clearly trying to puzzle out his feelings, but both he & hanzawa are limited by conventional descriptors of what “love” has to look like. i think hanzawa envies hirano for his feelings, as much as he kind of disdains them—they’re not things that could every apply to him, after all. so that’s what motivates the fic, for me.

I know I write a lot of hanzashiro fic, so it might have been a surprise to see me write hanzawa as aromantic, but it’s like… man, no matter how I think of hanzashiro, it’s always in a way where hanzawa��s got some hang ups about the idea of romance in general. there’s a reason I’ve never written them actually dating—if that happens, it’s not going to be conventional, and I’m far more interested in exploring the tension of things being ambiguously romantic between the two. this is fun because i characterize hanzawa as romance avoidant as well as generally avoidant (see him self-describing himself as picking the path of inaction in this fic) and that interacts well with tashiro, who seems like a regular guy, but has never had a girlfriend, doesn’t seem to care about having one, and is sometimes curious about romance in a way that’s suggests he doesn’t quite “get” it. tashiro’s also got a surprisingly sharp intuition, while hanzawa is perceptive and knowing… hanzashiro, then, to me, is about the tension of seeing, of understanding.

speaking of hanzashiro. I’ve written quite a few fics centered around it, but I’ll settle with talking about the first thing I wrote, two-tone. how about… this long concluding passage:

“Some attention’s fine,” Hanzawa said carefully. “Fame is different. It’s like… being inspected, over and over. Like an object.”  The silence between them stretched a little too long. Hanzawa cleared his throat, planning to leave, but the sound that emerged from his throat wasn’t gentle but rough, long, and dry.  “Hey,” Tashiro said, before Hanzawa had the presence of mind to be embarrassed. “You look parched.” He held out his water bottle, fingers curled around the neck. It swung between them.   Hanzawa stared back at him. He’d been doing it a lot, nowadays, but right now he felt overwhelmed by it, just looking at everything and the hint of a smile on Tashiro’s face, the way the awkward, close feeling in his throat was loosening already, feeling like he was on the edge of many realizations that were all secretly the same one. There was a metaphor here, somewhere, to be pulled from the shape of Tashiro’s knuckles brushing up against his hand—something about hunger. A starving man who’s been drinking an ocean given his first sip of spring water. For now, Hanzawa was content to let that stray thought swirl along with the rest. Maybe years later he’d think about how to write it down. Tashiro grinned as Hanzawa accepted the bottle, took a long, slow gulp. “Feeling better?” he asked. Hanzawa stared up at his half-bleached hair and sunny smile. “Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “Something like that.”

two-tone is a fairly obvious title—tashiro’s got two-tone hair, and hanzawa’s two-toned in that he’s multifaceted. originally this was meant to be a 2-chapter fic, w/ a tashiro pov sequel, and this… kinda but not fully exists in two-faced.

but—okay. let’s break down this scene. hanzawa is someone who’s really aware of what is “normal” and doesn’t really want to be “abnormal.” this is why he doesn’t want to be famous—he’s already wearing some kind of mask, and that level of constant inspection is going to turn him into someone who’s like… fully dissociated from himself. he’s going to think of himself like an object or a puppet to maneuver, rather than a person. so being inspected scares him, because he’s not good with honesty, and feels like what’s underneath isn’t like… evil, or bad, it’s embarrassing. hanzawa reveals some of his discomfort with this, and immediately wants to escape. but his throat is dry, so any smooth escape is broken up by this harsh, ugly sound—like the ugliness of himself is being shown, here.

next, tashiro offers water. there’s a couple reasons for this. the primary and obvious one is because hanzawa is parched. the second reason is that I was heavily inspired by what I’ll call @dirtbra1n’s river series, which uses the river as a really fascinating metaphor for a lot of hanzawa’s character. I think you can do a lot with the shifting nature of water—how it adapts to take the shape of its container, for example, and I wanted to pay some kind of homage to that, so that’s why we’re using water bottles. I then proceeded to lose my mind when i read that anthology bit where tashiro slides a drink over to hanzawa when he’s accepting the possibility of being captain.

okay, but back to the offering—tashiro’s fingers are curled around the neck. this evokes a sense of—albeit gentle—strangulation. so that pairs well with what hanzawa’s fearing at this moment—honesty, awkwardness, etc. he doesn’t want to be caught. but the bottle’s also swinging… a motion that puts it in limbo, and I imagine it’s got a sort of, hypnotic pendulum vibe. it’s alluring. hanzawa accepts.

accepting doesn’t bring any kind of awful thing. instead tashiro’s nice, easy, in the way that honesty is when you feel safe. hanzawa’s throat loosens even before he drinks any water, because tashiro’s presence is one that makes talking comfortable. hanzawa’s staring at him, and tashiro’s looking back—some attention’s fine. he’s on the edge of many realizations, things about how he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable and the like, but the reason for all that stems from a simple I like him.

then we get to talk about hunger. of course it comes when tashiro’s touching him, just barely. like sasaki and hirano, it’s a mild crossing of boundaries. a starving man drinking an ocean is not just having problems, he’s having “solutions” that are ill-fitted and actively damaging. starving tends to mean you need food, not water… and ocean water tends to make you dehydrated on account of the salt. then, a sip of spring water is a path towards a solution for thirst, but it’s not solving the starvation problem, yet. that’s why this is the barest of touches. it’s like spring—like the green tashiro wears, which, by the way, I said his favorite color was spring green before I knew he wore it a bunch—it’s like hope.

finally, tashiro asks hanzawa if he’s feeling better, and hanzawa responds truthfully. his voice is smooth—because of the water, and because tashiro makes it easier to be honest.

well, that was a lot! the last thing I thought I’d talk about is a dating sim au fic, because… it’s a pretty crazy concept and thus I thought I’d touch on it last. to give a quick summary, @dirtbra1n conceptualized an au where just shirahama & miyano exist in modern day japan, and then get isekai’d into the sasaki to miyano universe (only now it's a dating sim!), where miyano is the player character, and shirahama is Just Some Guy. a lot of the major sasaki to miyano characters have become romance routes, and that's going to bring around a lot of shenanigans where miyano runs from love and then runs towards it, and shirahama is losing his mind for a lot of reasons. the biggest of them being that shirahama’s got an unrequited crush on miyano, a thing that is semi-confirmed by volume 10 but was pretty left field at the time of this concept’s inception. what can i say. @dirtbra1n is some kinda genius. now, they have... a lot of very cool ideas that I'm not quite sure I can explain or conceptualize, but what’s interesting to me is the setup of shirahama as an npc in someone else's game.

I think this pairs interestingly with how unrequited love can kind of… make a person a side character. it’s usually there to introduce love rivals, to fuel plot, or to reach a requital. but I think there’s meaning and value in unrequited love that’s never reciprocated, too…? so there’s this bit in the stranger in the hall:

Ichinose turns his gaze to the floor. “Well,” he says, “since I’m graduating this year and I really doubt we’ll run into each other after that… like recognizes like, or whatever.” Nice, Shirahama thinks, the game never had any love interests that are third years when you’re a first year. Then he feels mortified. “And it’s a…” he trails off. “Um. Yeah,” Ichinose says, picking the dirt out of his fingernails. “It’s not really a—even if he wasn’t… it’s kind of a hopeless effort, you know? But I still…” A tightness abruptly seizes Shirahama’s throat. “Yeah,” he manages to get out. “I know.”

first off: meet ichinose ao. he’s a side character in hirano to kagiura that I’m obsessed with. if only I had the energy to post extensively about why I am. but we know he gets easily anxious to the point of stomach cramps, he’s a high-achieving student, and he’s got what looks to be a pretty hopeless crush on the dorm manager. I think this is fun—it’s pretty futile as far as mutual romance goes, but there’s valuable exploration in pining, in crushes, in learning the ways in which you love. he pairs pretty perfectly with shirahama.

I use the phrase like recognizes like because it’s a common one to signal two people’s similarities, but also because it’s literally liking—their unrequited crushes—that makes them similar. you see them mirror each other with how they talk about ichinose as a third year—he’s like, well I’m outta here so I can be a bit honest, and shirahama also relaxes because he’s going to be out of here and is therefore irrelevant to the miyano romance routes. and in this case, ichinose’s irrelevance means that he’s someone shirahama can talk to without fear.

and through their vague dialogue, this moment of connection allows shirahama, for the first time, to really vocalize the enormity of his secret love. and it allows me to try to express how even love, unrequited, has its own special place. that as it remains hopeless it remains valuable.

…and if you, reader, got through all of this, you have my kudos!

[ofmermaidstories]

hi merms, i hope you’re doing great. i’m sorry if this is different from your usual asks but i wanted to ask you, since you are literally blog goals, but how can i be more like you and enjoy my own blog? i love how you’re so free in your own space and express yourself, and you’re just full of happiness and all the bright, good things. going to your blog always makes me smile. its like you spread joy and warmth so easily. is it weird i feel more at home with your blog 😭 i wish i could enjoy my blog too, but sometimes drama makes the experience un-fun, like mean anons, or worse, your own readers constantly putting you in weird competition with your own writer friends over things you and your friends never even noticed before. i know the easy answer is to just ignore the haters and enjoy writing, and i really love writing, but its hard sometimes. i wish i could make my blog feel as homey as yours. visiting your page is like comin home to fresh hot chocolate after a long day of work 💐 thats all luv, sending you lots of love always 🌸

oh anon. i’m sorry. 🥺 i am sitting with you and we will piece this out together though, okay? 🧩 it’s hard! i’ve actually been feeling kind of dejected, lately, like with tumblr in general and my usage of it—because i haven’t been using it like i used to! so i guess that’s the first thing: to figure out what you want out of it, and then figure out what it takes to make it happen. for me i enjoy this place most when i’m treating it like a scrapbook: quotes or pictures that inspire me, asks, things i doodle. the pros of that: you fill your space with stuff you love, or that means something to you! the cons: it can be a little isolating if the stuff you love, or the things that mean something to you, aren’t like… current writing or posting trends, lmao. but it all just depends on what you value! 🥺 i’m not a fast writer, and tend to favour long-term projects, so while it sometimes makes me sad when i fall out of the loop of things, ultimately i just accept (or try to) that that’s how i work in this space. 🥹 as mama cass said, sometimes you just gotta make your own kinda music.

drama makes everything boring! and tbh i think my biggest cheat with that is that i only follow a relatively small amount of x reader blogs. 🥹 that’s not intentional; i curate a pretty strict feed based on my other interests, though, so there ends up being a lot of competition for my attention. 🥺 the pros of this is that i tend to miss most discourse that happens (lmao). the con is that i tend to miss everything else, too, though. 🥹 you basically have to choose whichever bothers you less lmfaooo. and even then—drama or meanness or plain old weirdness will still find it’s way to you. 🥺 i think that’s just the unforch reality of being on social media. especially in a niche that’s so… driven by something as personal as literally self-inserting, and dependant on the validation of others. 🥺 i’m sorry people have made you feel like you’re in competition with your friends! it sucks, because i think we as writers like… live in our own heads, lmao. we know so much about the worlds and characters we’re trying to write. but people outside of our heads don’t—think the same way! 🥺 they will draw comparisons where maybe we don’t want them to. 🥺 i think that’s a natural response, tbh; especially if they love something, and see work with like, a similar theme or tropes, but despite it being a compliment it doesn’t always feel great. 🥹 i guess the only advice (and reminder, for myself) i can offer is that you and your friends aren’t in competition—but rather thrown into the same maze together. 🥺 the only way out is to hold hands to make sure none of you get lost, and walk through. 🥹

anon!!! 🥺 i hope you find a way to make your blog feel more homely. you’re always welcome here—the door’s always open for the sunlight and the bees—but i want you to feel like the important part of the neighbourhood you are! 🥺 and safe enough that you can leave your door open, too. 🪟🎐🌾

[specialagentlokitty]

John x reader - hold your hand if you need it

Could I have number 4 of the prompt and for John and Reader? - Anon💜

4: “The one who heals others has no one to heal them.” “Then I’ll heal you.”

Humming to yourself, you chewed the tip of your pen as you walked back towards your office, and you stopped, taking a few steps backwards.

You peaked into the examination room next to your office, and you pulled the door closed and made your way to receipt.

“Can you send all of Dr Watsons appointments to me?”

“Sure of course. Is everything okay?”

You nodded at the woman and made your way to an empty examination room.

The day flew by quickly and after you had finished your last consultation you made your way back to the other room and made your way inside.

You closed the door and he shot up, running his hand down his face as he looked around confused.

“Is everything okay?” John asked.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

He furrowed his brows a little bit and you pointed to the clock on the wall and he quickly stood up.

“I am so sorry, oh my god this is so unprofessional.”

“Relax, you’re not in trouble, come with me.”

John nodded and followed you to your office and you closed the door and the blinds and gestured to the sofa for him to sit down and he did.

You pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N), honestly I didn’t sleep well last night I had no idea I’d fallen asleep it won’t happy again I mean it.”

“John. John, look at me.”

He did.

“Breathe. Calm down.”

You waited for a few moments while he took deep, calming breaths.

“You’re not in trouble.”

“I’m not?”

You smiled softly.

“Of course not. Everybody has hard days and nights, it’s natural. Next time just call in sick, I don’t mind.”

“Right. Of course, thank you.”

“Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

He frowned a little and you looked at him, getting up, you sat next to him, tucking your leg under you as you faced him.

“Whatever you say in this room is confidential John. It’s my job to ensure that my employees are happy, and they’re healthy. If something is wrong I’d like to try help if I can.”

John shook his head a little bit.

“It’s.. it’s not something you can help with. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I don’t run this practice because I’m just a pretty face John Watson.”

He cracked a smile and looked at you, and you smiled back at him.

“What’s going on inside that head of yours John? What’s troubling you to the point that you cannot sleep?”

John sighed and he sat back, tilting his bed to look up at the ceiling.

“The one who heals others has no one to heal them.” He said.

You looked at him, and you copied what he was doing, just staring up at the ceiling to your office.

“Then I’ll heal you.” You whispered.

John turned his head so he could look at you.

“Why? I don’t mean that in a rude way, but don’t you already have a lot you need to worry about?”

“I do have a lot to do, yes. But not a lot if more important than helping you ease the burden you have hovering over your head right now.”

He sighed, and turned back to look at the ceiling and he began to explain everything to you.

From issues with Sherlock, the cases he had been doing, his nightmares had come back, sometimes he just couldn’t sleep, sometimes he could but he was too scared.

He explained everything to you.

About how the world just seemed so dark right now, like he was wondering around aimlessly and he didn’t know where he was going, he couldn’t find the way out of all of this.

He just talked.

And you just listened.

And eventually he went quietly.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“Stop apologising, you have nothing to apologise for.”

You sat up, and stood up, moving the chair you turned around to face him, and smiled softly at him.

“May I suggest something to you John? Feel free to say no.”

“Go ahead.”

You held out your hand to him and smiled softly, and he looked up at you in utter confusion.

“Give me your hand and I’ll hold it. Let me be the light you need to guide you. I can’t promise you this will get easier, but I can promise you if you ever, and I mean ever feel lost, or scared, or confused, just give me your hand John, I’ll hold it, I’ll be your guide.”

John slowly reached out and took your hand, standing himself up and you laced your fingers with his.

“You may feel alone, but you’re not alone. You have Sherlock, he may not understand or not seem to care, but you have him. And you have me, I know what it’s like ti be in a dark place, and how important it is to be able to trust someone to bring you out of that dark place.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I would. I promise I’ll always take your hand if you hold it out to me. If you need a hand to hold, a hug, somewhere for a quick sleep, someone to sit with you, someone to talk to you, someone to hold you so you can sleep, I’ll do that for you. Because you deserve that and more.”

John smiled at you and he walked over, keeping his hand in yours he reached up with his other arm arm and wrapped it around your shoulder, hugging you, and you wrapped your other arm around his waist, hugging him back.

“Thank you so much. For everything, for listening to me, and for everything you said..” he whispered.

You smiled and you both just stood there for a few minutes.

“Go home, get some sleep. If you can’t sleep give me call, okay? And take tomorrow off as well.”

He nodded and you let him go.

It was only a few days later when John was having the same struggles, he was reading through some patient records and he just couldn’t focus.

He was struggling, and he tried to force himself through it but he couldn’t.

So he set the files down and pinched the bridge of his nose and turned around, leaning against the desk to try and regather his thoughts.

He watched you walk past, file in hand as you read it, and he slowly reached out his hand.

He wasn’t expecting you to stop, honestly he thought that everything you had said was just something you said then to make him feel a bit better.

But he still held on to hope that it wasn’t.

And you stopped, walking over, eyes still scanning over the file, you stood with him and swapped the hand the file was in and reached down, lacing your fingers with his.

And he looked down, a smile on his face as he looked up to see you smiling as well.

“I told you John, if you need me to hold your hand I will.”

“Thank you (Y/N).”

He wished he had someone like you in his life all the time, someone to just hold his hand when he needed it everywhere, not just at work.

He wished you could support him all the time, but aside from work you never saw each other.

John wanted you by his side, so when he needed to someone to help him ground himself, someone to help him come back down to earth, escape the hell that was his mind.

He rested his head on your shoulder, and you rested your hand on his, holding his hand a little tighter.

“Breathe…” you whispered, “you’re okay. I’ve got you John, I promise.”