#emergency request

Hi please can I have his of the hashira comforting the reader after finding out she was raped on a mission? I am an SA victim 3 times now

Thank you , T, call me turtle anon

I haven't been in the best mindset these days and losing motivation to the point I don't even talk to my partner and drawing and talking and moving feels a lot more like a chore now. It's most likely seasonal depression since it's rainy days here but it still sucks

May I have either four or time or twilight taking care of the reader who can barely move due to seasonal depression ? Thank you

I hope everyone who is going through the same problems a good day

Omg of course! I'm so sorry you're feeling that way, so I really hope this helps.

I'm Still Here

Pairing: Four x Reader

Warning(s): none!

Notes: I couldn't decide between those three so you're getting all of them lol. Inspired by "I'm Still Here" from Treasure Planet.

Masterlist

The curtains were drawn. 

It was the first thing your bleary senses recognized, followed quickly by just how dark the room was, save for the on-and-off glimmers that shone beneath thick, light-repellent fabric. Something smelled warm, but you could hardly register it with your nose mashed so far in the contained fluff of your pillow, breathing in dust particles and something so familiar you dared call it home. 

My little lotus - Douma x Reader

A/N: dear Nonnie, I’m so sorry it took me a while to finish your request — life has been a bit hectic lately. I saw your earlier message, and I truly hope you’ll enjoy this little story Warnings: mentions of murder, blood & eating disorder

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The garden of the Eternal Paradise Temple was silent, save for the soft bubbling of water flowing beneath the curved wooden bridges that arched gracefully over the wide pond. Koi fish glided like living brushstrokes beneath the surface, disturbed only by the gentle wind that stirred the lotus flowers drifting upon the moonlit water.

You stood barefoot on the smooth wood of the bridge, the sleeves of your kimono fluttering like wings. The pale glow of the moon filtered through the sakura-draped arches above, painting your skin in shades of silver and soft blue. You felt like a ghost here — weightless and silent.

Behind you, footsteps.

“Ahh~” came the softest hum. “So this is where my precious little lotus went.”

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to. The air around always changed with his presence — slightly too cold, slightly too still, like the world itself paused to see what he might do next.

“Douma-sama,” you murmured.

He stepped closer, his geta clicking softly on the wood. You could see his reflection beside yours in the water below — his pastel, blonde hair glowing faintly in the moonlight, irises like stained glass catching the eternal starlight. In his arms, he carried a simple silk shawl, which he gently laid over your shoulders without asking.

“You should be resting. You’ve barely eaten today,” Douma chided, in a singsong voice too soft to be scolding.

You swallowed.

That familiar weight settled in your chest again — the same one that had grown heavier and heavier with each passing day in this place, surrounded by blissful followers, incense smoke, and too many eyes watching with blind adoration.

“I wasn’t hungry, my lord,” you whispered.

Douma leaned in, his cheek grazing your temple as his voice dipped into a singsong lilt. “Lies, lies, lies,” he cooed, each word sugar-dipped, “You always say that now, don’t you, my sweet little lotus? It wounds me, truly it does — when you’re in pain — and when you lie to me like that.”

A heavy silence settled between you, thrumming with unspoken memories.

That night.

The night when the veil had lifted, and you saw him for what he truly was.

It had been months ago. You’d gotten lost in the maze-like halls of the temple, chasing after the sound of quiet crying. You'd thought it might be one of the new initiates — scared and lonely. You never expected to find a woman cornered in the shadows, weeping, her back pressed to the wall.

And in front of her — Douma.

His mouth stained red, his eyes wide, truly mesmerizing, and cruel. Her limbs had hung limply from his arms as he cradled her like a child’s doll, biting down into her throat as though she was nothing more than a peach, ripe for the taking.

You hadn’t screamed but you had gasped.

And that was enough.

He had turned so fast. 

Your back hit the wooden pillar before you realized you'd moved. Your legs wouldn’t obey. 

His voice, still so calm, echoed from the dark, “You’re awake so late, darling. Did you lose your way?”

A lifeless body hit the wooden floor with a sickening thud, the sound echoing like a warning bell in the stillness. 

Before you could even gasp, Douma was on his feet, and in the blink of an eye, he stood before you.

You remembered the smell of blood. The surreal sweetness of his smile. Your heart pounded like a rabbit’s.

You’d thought, he’s going to kill me. He has to.

But he didn’t. No. He only tilted his head and cupped your face gently in his bloodstained, clawed hands. “I should erase you, you know,” he had said. “It’d be so easy. So quick. But…”

His eyes softened — glazed with something that almost looked like awe.

“…I don’t want to. Isn’t that odd? My instincts are screaming, and yet, here I am. Talking to you. Cherishing you. And I’m not even sure why.”

You remembered the tears burning your eyes and rolling down your flushed cheeks, and how he wiped them away with his thumbs.

“Don’t be scared,” Douma whispered. “You’re special to me. I felt it from the start. A flower blooming in winter. I don’t want to lose you. Ever. You, my sweet Y/N, you’re my soulmate.”

That was the first time he called you his. A word so gentle, it might’ve been a vow — if not for the blood that still stained his hands.

You could never forget it.

The night you realized the beloved leader of the Eternal Paradise Cult wasn’t human at all, but something far, far darker — a demon wrapped in the most delicate silk of charm and grace, a monster draped in silks and sweet sermons, smiling with teeth meant for tearing flesh.

And yet, the most terrifying night of your life had ended not in death, but in his arms. He held you as your panic cracked and crumbled into numbness, his voice a soft, reverent murmur against your ear, whispering calming words.

As if he hadn’t just slaughtered a human being in front of you.

Now, standing with him under the moonlight, you touched the lotus-print shawl around your shoulders, grounding yourself.

“Do you remember the night I found out?” you asked quietly.

Douma’s eyes blinked slowly, like a cat’s. “Of course, sweetheart. I remember every expression your face made. Every little tremble.” His voice dropped lower. “And I remember thinking, I cannot let her go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, finding his eyes. “You didn’t kill me.”

“Indeed not!” Douma replied cheerfully, clasping his hands behind his back. “Though it’s quite unlike me. Normally, I tie up loose ends. But you? You’re not a loose end. You’re the thread that holds everything together. And you’ve missed a lot of meals lately, my little lotus,” he murmured, voice carrying like mist over water. “That’s quite unlike you, and it makes me worried. Isn’t it amusing though? A demon fretting over something as fragile as a human soul.”

You didn’t answer.

He closed the last remnant of a distance between you, folding his robes gracefully as he sat on the edge of the wooden bridge. He always looked serene, even in concern. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I just… I couldn’t,” you took a seat beside him, tightening your kimono around yourself.

He tilted his head, rainbow eyes catching the moonlight. “Couldn’t?”

“I look at food and I want to want it. But something in my head tells me I don’t deserve to eat. That I’ll regret it. That it’ll ruin me. And I know it’s wrong. I know I need to. But the feeling doesn’t go away.”

He didn’t speak immediately.

You braced for judgment. Mockery. Even gentle dismissal. But all he did was breathe out a sound that might have been a thoughtful hum.

“Humans suffer in such intricate ways,” he claimed finally. “You hurt yourselves with invisible things. Words. Thoughts. Ghosts in your own mind.”

You stared at the lotus petals drifting across the pond. “I don’t want to be like this,” you whispered. “I just want it to stop.”

Douma leaned a little closer, fingertips brushing the sleeve of your robe. “Then let me help. I’ve lived for a very long time, little one. And I’ve never met another soul quite like yours.”

You looked at him, hesitant. “I saw you eat someone.”

A beat.

“I remember,” he nearly shrugged his shoulders, calm and unfazed. “You were so pale I thought you might faint.”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

The koi stirred below. A frog croaked somewhere in the reeds.

Douma looked toward the pond, his voice turning softer than moonlight. “Because I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Something in you stopped me.” He turned to face you fully. “I didn’t understand it at first. I thought it was madness. But I’ve come to believe that you and I are tied by something older than names. You saw me — truly saw me — and you didn’t run screaming to the others. You stayed.”

“I didn’t stay by choice,” you said quietly.

“No. But you didn’t try to escape again. You stayed. Even when I disgusted you.”

You swallowed.

His fingers ghosted across the back of your hand now, barely a touch. “I’ve eaten hundreds of people. Thousands, maybe. I never remembered a single name. Not a single face. But you are different, and so precious to me.”

You couldn’t find your voice. “I’m so tired… I don’t know what to do and how to fight for my own self anymore…”

“I won’t tell you that your pain is wrong,” he replied softly. “But I will tell you this — if you vanish, I’ll lose the only warmth I’ve ever felt.”

Douma leaned by the edge of the moonlit pond, the sleeves of his attire trailing like whispers over the smooth wooden slats of the bridge. 

Koi stirred beneath the surface, gliding past floating lotus blooms. 

Slowly, he reached down — pale fingers parting the water with ghostly calm — and plucked a single blossom from among the lilies. Droplets clung to its delicate petals as the demon turned to you with that unreadable smile. He took your hand and placed the lotus in your palm, his fingers cold against your flesh. “I don’t want a paradise without you in it.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t need your fear,” he added. “I want your trust. Your laughter. Your attention.” He smiled again, faint and strange and wistful. “I want to see you well, my little lotus. I want to feed you things you love until you glow again.”

“You speak as if you love me,” you whispered.

He tilted his head, that unreadable smile playing on his lips. “I might, indeed.”

The words felt heavy in the silence.

Then his smile widened, sweet and unsettling all at once. “Or whatever scraps of love a demon is capable of mimicking. I’ve never truly understood such things, but even the hollow echo of it can be beautiful, don’t you think?”

You were trembling again — but not from fear, not this time. It was something quieter, something stranger. A heat that coiled beneath your skin from the nearness of him, from the way his gaze held too much and yet nothing at all. He was terrifying. A predator wrapped in grace, in silk and honeyed words. But he had never lied to you. Not once. And somehow, in the presence of that terrible honesty, the part of you that had always clung to control — control carved through denial, through emptiness — began, at last, to loosen its grip. Just a little.

“Will you eat with me tomorrow?” he asked. “Just a bite. I’ll have the kitchen make those melon buns you like. The ones with the sugar crackle on top. “You need to eat to keep living, don’t you? To bloom again, like something wilted returning to spring. Just as we demons must feed on humans. It feels unnatural to you, monstrous, even. But to us? It’s survival. Nothing more than instinct written into our bones.”

You looked down at your knees. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask of you,” he stated. “Whatever it is that’s hollowing you out — that quiet thing stealing you away, bite by bite — I’ll fight it. Even if I don’t understand it. If it means watching you thrive again, I’ll face it, over and over again, my little lotus.”

The lotus blossoms floated past you in silence, brushing the underside of the bridge. Fireflies danced above the pond, drifting between reeds and wind chimes. The moon watched everything from above, kind and distant.

Douma leaned his head on your shoulder. You let out a small, hopeful breath, feeling the strange, fragile thread of peace weave between you. And beneath the watchful moonlight, surrounded by the gentle hum of night, you allowed yourself to believe — just for a little while — that maybe somehow, you could heal.

hi, I don't know if this is too specific or triggering but I'd love if you could write something where katsuki celebrates reader getting their period after a while of not having it due to an ed. (going through this right now and it feels like no one cares and I kind of want to be celebrated?) anyways thanks if you can or can't write something :)!

Worth celebrating - Bakugo x Reader

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

It happened on a Tuesday morning, when the clouds hung low and the city was draped in its usual post-rain haze.

Eight years since the end of the war, and still Katsuki Bakugo woke every day with the weight of it tucked somewhere between his shoulder blades, dull and familiar.

But today, the air in their apartment was off — not just because you’d left the window cracked, or because he’d made the coffee too strong again. Something was just different.

You didn’t say anything at first. Not when he leaned against the counter with his mug observing you like a predator, not when you shuffled into the kitchen with sleep still dragging at your limbs; not even when your boyfriend greeted you with a muttered, “Mornin’, dumbass,” softened only by the brush of his rough fingerpads over your hip as you passed him by.

It was when you returned from the bathroom that he noticed.

Your eyes were wide, glimmering. Your lip trembling. You stood there, in the doorframe, clutching the hem of your nightgown like a kid who didn’t know how to say the words caught in their throat.

“…What?” Katsuki asked, not unkindly.

Your gaze flicked down, and your voice came out in a whisper, “I got it back.”

Bakugo blinked. “Got what back?”

And then he realized.

He might’ve come off like a storm of muscle, barked orders, and a man too brash for softness — but that was all misdirection. The guy paid attention. Especially to you, his beloved girlfriend.

Your shoulders curled inward the moment it clicked in his head. You almost apologized for attempting to say it — he could see it forming in your mouth, the guilt for turning this small, biological thing into a confession, like it wasn’t that important anyway.

But Katsuki fucking Bakugo, survivor of wars and pride and all the broken pieces in between, moved. Instincts sharper than ever. He was across the room in a blink, setting down the mug so hard it nearly shattered on a nearby counter, before pulling you into his strong arms like you were the most precious gem. Because you were, in the end.

“You mean it?” he muttered against the top of your head, inhaling the warm scent of your hair deep in his lungs. “You really—?”

You nodded into his chest, clutching the back of his shirt like you were scared you’d imagined it. “I didn’t think it would come back,” you uttered, “I thought I’d ruined myself. After all that… After everything I did to my body, I just... I didn’t think it would come back to me. I can't believe I got my period after such a long, long time!"

His grip on you tightened, arms wrapping you up like a shield. Bakugo didn’t say I told you so, even though he could’ve. He’d told you you were getting better. He’d told you every small step mattered. But this wasn’t about being right.

This was about you.

“Fuck, baby…” he breathed, voice gone hoarse. “You’ve been working so hard.”

Your knees buckled a little, but he caught you, guiding you to the couch in the living room in that wordless way he always did — blunt, gruff, but gentle under it all. He sat beside you and held you, fingers stroking over your tensed back, his chin resting atop your head.

You didn’t talk for a while. Instrad, you cried a little, the kind of crying that comes from relief so deep it feels like mourning. He let you do so. It was a purifying act, and Katsuki understood its importance to the situation.

Eventually, you found your voice again. “It feels stupid, getting this emotional over it. Like it’s just a period, right?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled, though his thumb was still rubbing circles on your side. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. This ain’t just a period. It’s your body healing. It's proof you're taking care of yourself. Proof you're fighting. And I know how fucking hard that is for you.”

Your breath hitched, and you nodded again, lip caught between your teeth. “People talk about healing like it’s this linear thing,” you stated. “But it’s not. Some days I still feel like I’m failing. Like eating that extra bite is a war I lose. Like maybe if I had just had more willpower back then, none of this would’ve—”

“No,” he interrupted, voice low but firm. “You don’t get to say that shit either. None of what happened was your fault. You were hurting. And now you’re healing. And I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, I could blow a hole through the damn roof.”

That made you laugh. Just a little. But it was real.

“You mean it?”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. Serious. Steady. Full of the kind of warmth Katsuki Bakugo didn’t show many people — but for you, it burned quietly every day.

“I mean it,” he claimed. “And I wanna celebrate.”

Your eyes widened. “Celebrate?”

“Hell yeah,” he nodded his head. “This is huge. Big enough that we should fuckin’ do something. You want cake? Pizza? Both? A damn movie night tonight? Or maybe we could visit that onsen you like so much, hmmm?”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, cheeks flushed. “Katsuki, it’s literally just blood pouring out of my vagina. I don't think it would be a proper thing to celebrate...”

“It’s not just anything,” he snapped, then softened his tone again. “It’s you getting better, as I said. You think I care about the blood part? Shit, I’ve seen worse, babe. I care that your body feels safe again.”

You sighed, wiped at your eyes, still smiling. "Okay."

And he kissed your forehead, grumbling something about how proud and happy he was.

But when you looked at him, soft and vulnerable and strong in a way you hadn’t been in a long time, he tugged your body close again, heart beating heavy in his chest. “Let’s go out,” he offered suddenly. “You pick. I’ll take you anywhere. Don’t care how fancy. I’ll even wear the fucking formal shirt you like so much, if needed.”

You looked up at him with something close to awe. “…You mean the one with the little hearts on the buttons?”

He groaned. “Yes, dammit.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his warmth. “Okay,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion. “Yeah… you’re right. This is worth celebrating.”

Synopsis: after you skip Toga’s party, Dabi and Shigaraki start following you, noticing how lonely you really are. Confronting you at your favorite café, they make it clear - you’re not alone

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The café smelled like freshly ground coffee and warm vanilla, the kind of scent that usually wrapped around you like a comforting hug. But today, it did nothing to ease the weight pressing on your chest.

You curled your fingers around your cup, letting the warmth seep into your skin. Your favorite drink sat untouched in front of you, steam curling lazily into the air. The noise of the city outside hummed through the glass windows, the chatter of people blending into a steady backdrop, but none of it really reached you. It was just you, your thoughts, and the empty seat across from you.

You weren’t surprised by the feeling anymore - the familiar weight in your chest, the hollow ache of knowing that, at the end of the day, it was just you. No family to call. No childhood friends to reconnect with. No one to notice if you skipped a meal or spent the entire weekend inside without speaking a word to another person.

Which is why it wasn’t exactly surprising that no one questioned it when you’d declined Toga’s birthday gathering a few days ago.

You’d made some excuse about feeling sick, about needing to rest. It wasn’t entirely a lie, not when loneliness had a way of making you physically exhausted. The truth was, you hadn’t been in the mood for anything. 

Still, you hadn’t expected anyone to care beyond a passing “feel better” from Twice or maybe Toga pouting about missing your presence. And what you hadn’t expected surely was being followed. And you definitely hadn’t expected them to show up here.

The screech of a chair dragged against the floor cut through your thoughts.

"Alright, this is fucking depressing," Dabi stated, moving a chair. "So this is what you do when you’re too busy for Toga’s party?" The black-haired man drawled, slouching down into the seat like he owned the place. "Sitting in a café, looking like the poster child for depression?"

Your fingers twitched around your cup, your mind catching up to the fact that he was here. You barely had time to register that before another chair moved, this time with more hesitation.

Shigaraki.

Unlike Dabi, he didn’t sit right away. He hovered, almost like he wasn’t sure if this was a good idea but had already committed. His red eyes flickered to you before landing on your untouched drink. "That’s getting cold."

You blinked. "What—"

"You've been staring at it for fifteen minutes," Shigaraki muttered, finally sitting down beside Dabi, slouching like he was trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible by pulling his hood lower on his face. "Took us a while to figure out your routine," he muttered, sounding vaguely irritated. "You go to the same places. In the same order. It’s kind of pathetic."

Your mouth opened and closed. "Excuse me? You've been watching me?" you asked, suspicion lacing your voice.

Dabi smirked, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Yup."

"For how long?"

Shigaraki gave a noncommittal grunt. Dabi, on the other hand, leaned forward on his elbows, improving the face mask he wore. "Oh, you know. Just a couple of days."

Your stomach twisted. "Are you serious?"

"You didn’t even notice we were following you," Shigaraki continued, fingers twitching slightly against his sleeves. "That’s careless. If it were anyone else, you’d be dead."

You stared at them, brain short-circuiting. "Why?"

Shigaraki shifted, eyes darting toward the window before landing on you again. "You looked miserable."

"You didn't leave us much of a choice," Dabi added quickly, stretching his arms behind his head. "You think we wouldn’t notice you acting weird? Turning down a party? Avoiding everyone?"

Shigaraki tilted his head. "Toga was worried."

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "So that was why you followed me around?"

Dabi snorted. "We observed."

"Like creeps."

"Hey, if you didn’t want creeps watching you, maybe don’t look like you’re about to start narrating a sad movie monologue every time you sit alone in this café," Dabi shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, do you even talk to anyone outside the League?"

You hesitated.

And that was answer enough.

Shigaraki exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair. "That’s what I thought."

Your fingers tightened around your cup, the familiar ache in your chest pressing down again. It was one thing to know you were lonely - it was another to have someone point it out like a glaring neon sign.

"Why do you care?" you muttered, voice quieter now.

Shigaraki didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at you, fingers twitching slightly like he wanted to fidget with his sleeves but resisted the urge. Finally, he muttered, "Because it’s fucking annoying."

You frowned. "What?"

Dabi chuckled, shaking his head. "What he means is, it pisses us off that you think you have to do everything alone." His voice was lighter than Shigaraki’s, teasing even, but there was something underneath it - something genuine. "Like, come on, you’re part of us, ain’t ya?"

You swallowed hard. Part of us.

The thing was, you had never really considered the League of Villains your family. Sure, you worked with them once in a while, trusted them in the way soldiers trusted the people fighting beside them, but outside of missions? Outside of sitting in the hideout and tolerating their antics?

"I don’t really have anyone," you said finally, voice quieter than you intended. "No family, no old friends. It’s just me. And most of the time, I don’t mind, but sometimes, it gets lonely." You stared down at your cup, fingers tightening around the warm ceramic. "That’s all."

"That’s fucking stupid," Shigaraki uttered bluntly.

You blinked up at him. "Excuse me?"

The leader of the League of Villains scowled, shifting in his seat. "You do have people. What the hell are we, then?"

You opened your mouth, but Dabi cut in, his voice oddly serious. "You think we’re just watching you for fun? That we care if you go missing for days because we’re bored?" He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto yours. "Newsflash, sweetheart. You’re ours. You’ve been ours for a long time now."

Something in your chest tightened. "But—"

Shigaraki huffed. "You put up with us when no one else does. That counts for something." He glanced at his hands, fingers twitching again. "So stop acting like no one gives a shit about you. Because we do."

Dabi drummed his fingers against the table, tilting his head. "We’re not exactly model citizens, but we take care of our own. You’re one of us, whether you like it or not."

Your throat tightened, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. You swallowed, trying to force down the sudden wave of emotion creeping up. "You guys are really bad at this whole cheering someone up thing, you know."

Dabi snorted. "Yeah, well. If you wanted sunshine and rainbows, you picked the wrong friends."

Shigaraki crossed his arms. "Are you coming back or not?"

You hesitated, but before you could answer, Dabi suddenly reached over and stole your cup right out of your hands.

"Hey!"

He pushed his face mask down enough to take a sip, but then he immediately made a face. "What the hell is this?"

"My coffee, you asshole!" You tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of reach.

"This is gross," he complained, handing it to Shigaraki, who - surprisingly - did not drink it, just set it back in front of you like a normal person would.

Dabi grinned. "Guess I’m buying you a new one. Something that doesn’t taste like liquid disappointment."

You rolled your eyes. "I like it."

"And that’s the problem," he shot back, already waving down a barista.

Shigaraki stood up, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "You’re coming back to base after this," he said, not even asking, just deciding. "No more sitting in cafés alone like some kind of tragic novel protagonist."

You looked between them, exasperated. "So that’s it? You’re just forcing me to rejoin society?"

Dabi smirked, tossing an arm lazily over your shoulders. "Damn right we are. Whether you like it or not."

You shook your head, unable to stop the tiny, tired laugh that escaped your lips. It wasn’t much - not some grand, emotional declaration or a life-changing moment - but it was something.

And maybe that was enough.

Because when you looked up at them - Dabi, slouched with a cocky grin, and Shigaraki, pacing back and forth as he already wanted to leave the place - the ache in your chest didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

i have an emergency request of my own now. i have a chronic pain disorder and i always feel like i need to be hiding it from people. it feels like i'm such a burden just existing, and i feel so stupid when i can't do basic things for myself all because i have a body that apparently wasn't built to exist in this world. so i try not to admit to anyone when the pain gets bad, but god is it hard sometimes to keep up the facade. if it's okay, would you write some tanjirou comfort for a reader in a similar situation? 👉👈

Hiya lovely. ☺️ I'M ESSENTIALLY 5 MONTHS LATE 😭, but I hope you enjoy to be needed; to be loved nonetheless. 💗

I'm grateful you've kept up w/ me and my writing throughout the yrs — I can't believe I'm on my 4th yr here! (Ik there're many fellow Tumblrians who've been here much longer too 💞) Ty as well for trusting me to write something for you. 🥺

As always, I tend to infuse what I would say to you into my writing itself, so just know that you deserve to exist in this world. Perhaps you already know this. Or maybe knowing it isn't the issue; the issue is that knowing doesn't automatically equate to an easier or less painful existence. Either way, you are needed. You are intelligent and capable, and you are worthy of being loved. Just as you are strong and resilient for taking care of yourself, you are still strong and cherished for letting others take care of you.