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aethelwyneleigh27 · 10 months

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Ghostface! Ellie Williams and Ghostface! Abby Anderson with a chubby fem s/o

+ featuring some slight yandere and explicit themes (these are dating headcanons to specify)

A/n: Hi again lovelies! I didn't expect the last one to blow up so quickly so I'm back to writing, honestly every note, like and reblog encourages me to do more and do better so thank you for that. I honestly didn't expect to write something a bit gory after writing mostly fluff so this'll be interesting. Reminder English is not my first language and I'm trying my best, I hope you enjoy:)

I'll possibly add more in the future if I have ideas :3

Meet my cousin y'all: @rabblebite

Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight yandere like behavior???, violence, gore, knife kink, gun kink, stalking, suggestive themes and language. Characters may be a bit OOC (but you already know this, it's ghostface)(the chubby part is just a little add on so there's actually not that many headcanons regarding that)

If you wish to be tagged, please comment that you want to be or follow so that you'll be updated also: Rules for requests

If you don't want to send requests through Tumblr, my Instagram is always an option.

Ellie Williams dating inspired playlist made by me

Ellie Williams

The first time you met Ellie was a bit of a blur. Let me elaborate...

You were new at the school, first day and all that cliche shit. Bell rings, you run to class. You found yourself in a seat next to a girl, auburn hair and freckles. A few times throughout the class you made eye contact and smiled a few times.

What you didn't know was that Ellie was already freaking out, can you really blame her? A pretty girl sits next to her and smiles at her, not only that but you even offered her a mechanical pencil because hers was flimsy and the led kept breaking on her. She thought you completely forgot about the pencil but did you really?

This was the start of her obsession over you.

After that day she stalked you non-stop, she knew everything. She even kept a small journal, writing down what you did and how she felt about it after.

Her sketchbooks were filled with you, aside from a few other things it was mostly you. There's at least 2-3 doodles on each page of either you or your name on her sketchbook.

May or may not have carved your initials on her guitar before you even started dating.

That mechanical pencil you gave her, she kept it, barely even used it after that so she can keep something of yours.

When she managed to get enough courage to talk to you again, she tried giving you the pencil back in guilt but you refused. You told her to keep it and did that woman worship that pencil.

You got invited to her friend group, which are Dina and Jesse and out of all of them, she hang out with you the most.

After a while, Ellie felt confident enough to ask you out and a sigh of relief for her when you said yes.

She has polaroid of you lying around everywhere in her room, you even stuck some on the edge of your mirror and locker so she'd see it.

Your pet names including: princess, bunny, sweet thing and pretty girl.

The night you found out Ellie was Ghostface was the time you were walking at the street just minding your business when you were pulled in an alleyway but some creepy 50 something year old hobo.

You kicked him off of you and tried to run and the man tried to chase after you. Only to have his mouth covered by a white cloth and stabbed in the back. Hastily running, you got pulled back by the black cloaked stranger and before you could scream, she took off her mask.

"Ellie?" You whisper in fear, you saw her drop her knife and hug you.

You were still in shock, after all you just found out your girlfriend killed someone, rather a lot of people.

"[Name]? Are you alright? He didn't touch you anywhere did he?" She asked, seemingly forgetting she was still wearing her ghostface get up. Lucky for you that you kicked him off before anything else happened.

You two talked it out and you understand her motive behind all of the killings however that doesn't take away from the fact that you're terrified of what consequences await her if she was ever to get caught.

Ellie is aware of what might happen when she gets caught so she does everything she can to make sure you are not in any way, shape or form involved if she was caught.

Even if it means for her to forever rot in prison, she'd rather keep you away than endanger you for being a witness or even a suspect.

She heard about you being flirted with and inappropriately touched by some Chad. After a few days he was spotted, gutted open at the school tree hanging by his clothes.

She'd definitely think it's adorable to see you with the ghostface get up, it's specifically tailored to her size so seeing it on you with the trim dragging on the ground makes her thing of like the ghost costumes with just a white blanket and she just thinks you're such an angel, too pure even.

I just can't stop imagining her with a knife kink, though she doesn't actually cut you with it. She loves the way you whimper and squirm when she presses the cold blade on your plush skin.

She gets off on blood, that being said once she's with you and you already know about the killings, she can't just let it slide.

Someone else's blood on your skin makes her feel all sorts of things. (You may or may have engaged in sexual things after her gutting people up)

Clean up after that is a bit of work so there's that.

Seeing you in lingerie and blood would make her lose all self control.

If you were to accidentally kill someone, she would not only help you clean up but she'll also take responsibility for the kill. She made it look like ghostface did it.

If you were to decide to join in the killings, she'd let you but with moderation.

For example she'll let you make the decision on who to kill or strategize the killings. Before you could even suggest someone who wronged you, they're already 6ft under believe me. Ellie easily picks up on how you feel about someone and it's not like you don't tell her.

She'd also let you watch the killings, either hidden or disguised but that's just how far she'll go. She doesn't want you to actually be the one to do the killing cause she's too paranoid you'll do something that'll cause you to get caught.

Abby Anderson

You met at the basketball court while you were sitting at the bleachers because let's be real here, Abby is a total jock and athlete, she seems like she'd be a gym rat too. (Without the red flags of one though)

You were sitting with your friends Dina and Jesse while you guys just catched up since the past week has been hectic, you even went so far as to gossip and think of conspiracies on who has been responsible for the reported killings by the killer they named ghostface. You looked at your phone, looking at the messages when you flinched, almost getting hit by a ball.

You open your eyes shortly to see Abby Anderson, the school's lesbian jock, who by the way is holding the ball that almost hit you. Anderson muttered an apology on behalf of her teammate who mistakenly threw the ball at your direction.

You told her it was fine and that it was and honest mistake when you know damn well you would've been far more upset if that ball actually hit you.

Abby just couldn't stop staring at you, I mean could you blame her? She felt like a knight and shinning armour when she just saved a pretty girl from a potential head injury.

She snapped back to reality when she heard her teammate say "Hey Anderson! Stop flirting with pretty girls and pass that ball back will you" Abby was a bit flustered by that comment because all and all she agreed to it.

On Abby's desk is carved your name and initials, she has gotten detention over it though I don't think the school is aware of how many desks have your name carved on them.

It took a while but Abby finally did ask you out, she approached you while you were taking a few things out of your locker. "So uhh, do you want to go out with me? On a date I mean..." She asked with her hand rubbing her neck, Abby was bracing herself for rejection.

You had to do a bit of a double take because the Abby Anderson is asking you out? You said yes obviously.

May or may not have stalked you before asking you out to find out everything you like to set up the perfect date.

Abby definitely has a polaroid of you both is her locker and gym locker. (There's one in her wallet too 🥺)

Your nicknames are: my cheerleader (because she knows damn well you've been to all her games and was there to cheer her on), baby, babe and pretty girl

You only found out that she's ghostface because she couldn't take it anymore and told you after seeing that you're scared of ghostface potentially threatening your life.

Poor baby was so worried you'd think insane if her after, let's just say she ended up loving you more for accepting the fact and understanding the reason behind the killings. (let's be real here any normal person would but not you)

When you first asked to play a part in the killings, Abby disagreed, no way in hell was she letting her girl be in danger both of the police and whatever else is out there.

She hates the idea of you going to jail more than she hates the idea of getting caught and facing the consequences.

But if you really want to then like Ellie she'd let you but with limitations. You're only ever allowed to watch when you are disguised and she'll let you stab a few every now and then.

Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink. Watch her get turn on when you flinch from the clicks whenever she pulls the trigger.

Despite Abby hating horror movies, she sure made a hell of a good killer.

#ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #fluff #x reader #x you #ellie williams headcanons #abby anderson headcanons #tlou abby #tlou ellie #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams x chubby reader #abby anderson x plus size reader #lesbian #wlw #ellie williams x plus size reader #ghostface #ghostface au #Aethelwyne Lia writes

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probablyhuntersmom · 4 months

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Masterpost of My Hunter Metas

Here's the list, up and running right before the year ends!

Hunter Takes A Big Risk in "Labyrinth Runners" (and It Pays Off)

The significance of Hunter expressing a clear, resounding "No"

A Look at Hunter’s Complex PTSD (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Big "T" and Small "t" Trauma

Colour Theory Ramblings #1

Colour Theory Ramblings #2

Therapist Analysis of Hunter’s Mental Health in "For the Future"

Who the Kids Are at Their Core, Beyond Their Good Deeds

A Bit of Mental Health 101

Memories and Traumatic Grief

Palismen, Connection and Integrating Grief into A New Life

The Onscreen "I Wish You Were Here" vs. The Offscreen "I Hurt You"

Hunter’s Possession Scenes and the Theme of Enmeshment

Retraumatization vs. Self-Soothing (Part 1) (Part 2)

Hunter's Body Language

An Uncommonly Discussed Trauma Symptom

Outfit and Hairstyle Changes in Hunter's Character Design

Bonus Rambling About His Hairstyles

Hunter's Experiences After Belos's Death

(Addition re: Grimwalker Graveyard)

(Addition re: A Fear of Touching Palismen and Interacting with Palismen After Flapjack's Death)

(Addition re: Early Days of Palisman-Carving)

Separate Meta About Luz's Behaviour in "Reaching Out": A Parallel to the Start of Hunter's Recovery After Belos's Death

Luz and Hunter's Shared Trauma After Placing Trust in Belos

Watching and Dreaming: Luz, King and Hunter Experiencing the Loss of Their Father Figures

The Confusion of Looking Back on the 'Love' Shown by Belos

The Hand Motif in Hunter's Character Arc

Hunter's Character Arc: A Hopeful Narrative a.k.a. my infodump about cinematography

Hunter Emotionally Shutting Down in "Labyrinth Runners" and "For the Future"

Left Alone (with Palismen)

(Added on 4/22/24) Parallels with Trauma Recovery in Legend of Korra

Any further edits or updates shall be added to this original post instead of via reblogs. I'll make sure to show which dates the edits were made on. It's likely I'll put a few up over time as I read more mental health books/publications which could lead to more light bulb moments!

Oh, this son of mine...

What a beautiful story his life tells us.

After the upcoming new year celebration, I'll put them on Ao3 as well as per a mutual's suggestion (thanks for suggesting! <3).

Stay weird! I wish y'all a good 2024 and beyond! 🦉🏠🐦🧙🏻‍♀️🔮🧹

#loz's metas #toh analysis #toh hunter #the owl house

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scoonsalicious · 2 days

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Unwanted: Chapter 25, Unprotected - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of: death, violence, torture, drug use, promiscuity, more spiraling, self-loathing.

Word Count: 240

Previously On...: Sam had to leave town, and now you're on this mission all alone.

A/N: OK! Ya'll are lucky I just wrote something that made me WEEP, so I need a pick-me-up! Here's Part 1 of Chapter 25!

HAVING SAID THAT! CHAPTER 25 HAS SOME HEAVY THEMES THAT I AM *NOT* INCLUDING IN THE WARNING TO AVOID SPOILERS. IF YOU NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT IS FOR YOUR OWN SANITY/MENTAL HEALTH, DM ME!!!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

It was three days later when the news reported that Chloe’s body had been found in the sand dunes a few miles south of the city limits. She’d been sexually assaulted, tortured. The police were not disclosing cause of death at this time.

She had lied to you. According to the news, she was only fifteen years old, not eighteen, like she’d said. A child.

In the days that followed, you blamed yourself. How could you not? You’d been there, you’d been right there when they took her, and you’d been too high out of your mind to notice, to do a damned thing about it, and now she was dead. In a weird way you couldn’t fully understand, you felt like you had been responsible for murdering your younger self.

And so, you spiraled. Without Sam around to keep you grounded, it was surprisingly easy. You took drugs you bought at the club (though always at the apartment, never while you were undercover–never again). You drank. You fucked. Anything you could do to numb the gnawing guilt you felt in your chest, even for just a little while. But it was never enough. Chloe’s face was always there, in the back of your mind, begging to know why you failed her, what she had done to make her not worthy of saving her life. But how could you tell a ghost that you were the one who wasn’t worthy?

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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changes · 1 year

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Tuesday, May 2nd, 2023

🌟 New

On web, you can now switch between Blue and Rainbow Important Internet Checkmarks, and purchase them separately, in your Blog's settings. Could this be the sign of something more to come? 🤔

🛠 Fixed

Fixed a bug that was preventing new activity items from being created when someone was interacting with a reblog that you reblogged from yourself.

On web, you'll no longer lose your position on the queue and drafts page when editing or creating a new draft/queue/scheduled post.

On web, when writing or editing a post, the tag background now uses your theme's color.

Rate limits are now more effectively enforced on our search API.

List styling in the post options has been fixed in Safari.

Gift buying has been streamlined with a few small tweaks. Thank your favorite bloggers with Ad-Free Browsing or inflict them with Crabs!

🚧 Ongoing

The war against spam bots continues. We're working to clean up the recent wave of spam bots, and again prevent them from recurring. As usual, please report any blogs as spam that you find, and we'll take care of the rest.

Staff are hard at work updating our docs. If you see anything confusing or out-of-date, please send some feedback!

🌱 Upcoming

For all of you keyboard fans, hotkey improvements are on the way!

For all of you iOS and Android app fans, badge management is on the way!

Experiencing an issue? File a Support Request and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with the community.

#tumblr update

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beyondthesefourwalls · 1 year

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Remember You Even When I Don't (8)

Summary: A training accident, the doctor had told him. A nasty one that led him here, laying in a hospital bed with a splitting headache and an inability to remember the woman sitting beside him. What he did know, though, was that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you felt important to him. That, as it turns out, would become an understatement.

Words: 5.5K

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw/Reader (no use of y/n, so can be read as unnamed oc)

Warnings: angst, hospitals, memory loss, language, suggestive themes, smut

Notes: Please note the updated warnings. These next few chapters are a new stage of Bradley and Pumpkin growing back together, and while I'm very excited about it, I know it may not be for everyone. For everyone who sticks around, please continue to comment and reblog, and my inbox is always open! I love to talk about these two :)

This was inspired by a one shot by the lovely @roosterforme and would not exist without her assistance. If you haven't read any of her stuff, please check out her masterlist - you won't be disappointed! All of the thanks to her and @mak-32 for being the best cheerleaders and friends I could ask for!

-------

You’re working today. You hadn’t wanted to, but a local congresswoman you had requested an interview with months ago finally agreed to a conversation in her office, and Bradley wouldn’t let you pass it up. It was only for a few hours, but he finds himself missing you while you’re gone.

This is the first time he had really been alone in the house for a long period of time since he got back from the hospital a month ago, and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He had tried to read a book, or get lost in a movie, but nothing had really kept his attention. He was laying on the couch, the news on the tv in the background, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t fully dove into all that it contained, and he figured now was the time to do it, even if you weren’t here to answer any questions that he might have.

It’s interesting, seeing himself this way. Groupchats where he was an active participant, talking about parties or plans he has no recollection of, or discussing flight schedules for the week. He swaps Star Wars and Harry Potter trivia with Fanboy and gym regimes with Hangman and sends music back and forth with Coyote.

When he opens the text thread he has with you, the only one pinned to the top of his messages, his breath catches at the last message received.

I love you so much. Please don’t leave me.

It was sent the day of his accident, and he knew by the time stamp that it was sent after the crash. You must have texted that to him while you were waiting for news on his condition, and not for the first time, he feels both guilt and gratitude go through him; he’s so sorry that he’s hurt you like this, but he’s so glad he’s here now.

He scrolls for a while, reading you rambling to him about your work day and bouncing ideas for articles off of him, jumping from one topic to the next while you know he’s in the air or teaching a class so he doesn’t have his phone on him. Based on his responses that come later on, he knows he never minded the almost nonsensical messages. Even now, he finds it adorable and enjoys reading through them. There are conversations about dinner and what true crime documentary the two of you were going to watch that weekend.

There’s a little bit of everything in these messages between the two of you, but his brow furrows when he gets to a point about a week before his accident.

I’m on my way home, he had texted you, You better be ready for me, Pumpkin.

He scrolls further up, trying to find the beginning of the conversation that led to that, and he almost wishes he wouldn’t have.

You had texted him earlier that morning, when he barely must have left the house to go to base, a picture of you. There was a playful smirk on your lips, and you had what looked to be the cap from his formal dress whites perched crooked on your head. That in and of itself wasn’t what made his breath hitch, though. It was the fact that you were still in bed, your arm draped over your chest where he could see everything but everything, you hanging onto only a single shred of decency.

Fly well today, Lieutenant Commander.

It had descended into a day full of teasing from there, each message dirtier than the one before. Descriptions of what you wanted him to do to you and him warning you of what he would do when he got his hands on you. He feels flushed all over, but he keeps scrolling up. He bypasses recipes you wanted his opinion on and a reminder of what the Hulu password was, and eventually finds more pictures. Some are more risque than others, but all of them make him feel like the temperature in the room rose by multiple degrees.

There’s a tickle in his brain again, and he finds himself closing the messaging app and going to his photo albums. There’s a locked album there, and he knows, he just knows what it’s going to contain.

He shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t. It feels like a strange invasion of privacy. But he’s wracking his mind to try and remember what the code would be to get into it anyway, and he curses when he gets it wrong first once, then a second time. He enters your birthday on the third attempt and groans out loud when he’s immediately met with the filthiest images he’s ever seen.

It’s a whole gallery of you, or the two of you together, and Bradley can’t stop himself from looking. He bites his lip as he takes in the photos, his mind so overrun with thoughts of how fucking stunning you are that he can barely think straight at all.

He stops at one in particular, clicking to enlarge it, and loses all thoughts entirely. Neither of your faces are in it, but he doesn’t need to guess that it’s the two of you. You’re sitting back against his chest, his ankles hooked over your legs, forcing them wide for him. He can see your nails biting into his thighs, but it’s his own hand that draws his attention. With the hand that’s not taking the selfie style photo, his fingers are gliding through the wetness gathered between your legs. You shine against the dark wedding band on his left land, one that’s noticeably absent from his finger now. He’s practically panting as he stares.

He’s so hypnotized by the way the two of you look together that he doesn’t hear the garage door open or the sound of you walking into the house.

“Baby?”

Your voice makes him jump so high that his phone goes flying out of his hand, a curse leaving his lips. He scrambles to pick it up when he sees you reaching for it as well, and your eyebrows are raised high as you look at him in surprise.

“Hey,” his voice cracks, higher pitched than normal, and he blushes. Your eyebrows raise a little bit higher. “Hi, sorry. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yup,” he nods, faking a cough so he could try to clear his throat, his face flushed. “Totally fine.”

It’s not difficult to see how skeptical you are, and it’s hard for him to maintain eye contact with you and not let his eyes flicker down your body now that he has an idea of what rests underneath the smart dress you wore.

You eye him suspiciously, “Are you sure?”

He contemplates for a moment, trying to figure out a way to get himself out of this conversation, because the longer you looked at him like that the hotter he became under the collar. He took a deep breath, nodding again.

“I was looking at messages and pictures,” he says all in one breath, not liking the idea of completely lying to you. He rationalized that a different version of the truth was okay, even as the pictures flashed in his mind again. “Trying to see if anything jogged my memory.”

You search his eyes, and he tries his best to appear innocent, willing the hardening in his jeans to go down before you took notice. He suspected you already might have from the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Did it?”

If he thought hard enough he swore he could almost feel you. Your back against his chest, how soft your inner thighs left. How warm your wetness felt against his fingers as he took you to the edge.

“No,” he stutters out after a moment, shaking his head, his face burning, “nothing yet.”

________

He finds himself rubbing his thumb against the fading tan line on his left ring finger, something he had seen you do time and time again. He hadn’t really wondered up until this point where his ring was, but ever since he saw the picture with it so clearly against your skin, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

He’s helping you in the kitchen a few days later, mesmerized as always by how efficient and easy you made everything look. You roll your eyes when he comments on it.

“It’s cookies, Bradley. Nothing fancy.”

“But they’re from scratch. The dough isn’t pre-made. That’s fancy!”

You laugh at him in response, shaking your head. You take the rings on your left hand off, sitting them beside the sink as you wash your hands before the two of you get started. It raises the subject back to the forefront of his mind. He had been desperate to ask you for the last few days, but hadn’t built up the courage to do it. But he can almost feel it on his finger now, can feel a ghost of your fingers as you slide it into place, and it’s suddenly more of a need to know.

“Can I uh…can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What happened to my wedding ring?”

You pause from where you’re cracking an egg into the mixing bowl, your eyebrows raised high. You set it down gently, turning to face him.

“Does it bother you…that I wear mine, still?”

“No!” he insists, hating even the idea of you taking it off. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I promise. We just have never acknowledged mine? I know that I wear one - I remember wearing one, and I’ve seen it in pictures, too.”

“You love your ring,” you tell him softly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you give him a small smile, though he can see the pain in your eyes, and shake your head.

“You don’t fly with it on,” you explain, “you tried, at first, but you had been flying so long without anything on your hands that you couldn’t get used to it being there when you were operating the controls.”

He thinks for a moment and the words come to him slowly. “You were the one who told me to start taking it off when I fly.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

Your lips quirk and you shrug. “I’m more worried about you flying safely than wearing your ring at all times. You keep it in one of the pockets of your flight suit when you go up in the air now.”

Of course you were more worried for him. He should have expected nothing less from you and the way you effortlessly care for him. He can also picture that, he thinks. It’s easy to imagine not wanting to be separated from the physical reminder that he belongs to you, so even if he couldn’t wear it, he’d at least have it on him, in the inner chest pocket right above his heart.

“So..” He doesn’t quite know how to ask his question, but you must read it on his face.

You twist your own ring on your finger in the way you always seemed to do to center yourself. Pain flashed across your face and Bradley knew you were remembering, too. “They uh..they had to cut your flight suit off, before you went into surgery. You weren’t breathing and were bleeding…” you cut yourself off, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking the visual from your head. “But it was still in your pocket. So. I have it.”

He sets down the bag of chocolate chips he had been holding and walks the few steps to where you’re standing at the counter. When he holds his arms open, you don’t hesitate to step into them. He presses a kiss to the top of your head as he breathes in your scent.

“I’m so sorry I put you through that,” he whispers into the strands of your hair, and he feels the way you squeeze him in response.

“You’re okay now,” you speak into his chest, and he thinks he might feel you press a kiss there, directly over the spot where that inner pocket of his flight suit would be, where he kept you when he had no other choice.

The two of you stand there wrapped up together for a long moment. When you lift your head, your eyes are glassy, but you give him a smile and a small kiss to his lips.

Later, after the cookies have been made and devoured, you join him on the back porch. You had taken to sitting on the swing together and when you sit beside him tonight, he sees you rolling something between your fingers. His breath catches when he sees exactly what it is. You’re staring at it too, your gaze intense and pondering. He doesn’t speak, not quite knowing what to say. Eventually, you break out of your haze and meet his eyes.

“You don’t have to put it back on,” you tell him, holding your hand out to him. His wedding band sits on your palm, shining against your skin. For a moment he sees you in white standing right in front of him, wildflowers in your hair.

His fingertips brush yours when he takes it from you, admiring the piece of jewelry he wasn’t aware that he missed until it was back in his possession.

“But it’s yours. I want - I want you to have it.”

He rolls it between his fingers, contemplating for a moment. He swallows, suddenly overcome with emotion he hadn’t seen coming and that tingling that’s starting to become familiar to him. You had picked it out yourself and he knows when he looks, he’ll see an engraving of your initials beside his. He was always so proud to be able to wear this, knowing that it symbolized being with you, a small way of telling anyone who saw it that he was lucky enough to be your husband.

But he wasn’t him - not yet, not completely. Everyday brought him closer to thinking that he could be, though.

“Pumpkin, I…” he trailed off, not sure what to say.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping his cheek and turning his head to meet your eyes. You didn’t look mad, or upset, and you’re giving him the gentlest, kindest look anyone ever had. But your eyes didn’t hold pity or sympathy either - just a trust and love that he’s still not sure what he could have ever done to deserve. “Whenever you’re ready. And if you never are-”

“I will be,” he cut you off; he wanted nothing more than to be ready. “I just…I still have something to prove to myself.”

You nod, and Bradley leans forward to kiss you softly. He leaves his forehead pressed against yours when he pulls away, relishing in the calm you brought him.

“I’ll get there,” he says, “I promise.”

—------

He’s spent time alone, but he hasn’t spent time away from you with other people. He’s hesitant to accept the invite from Mav to visit the hanger he had here. But planes and his godfather had been a staple of Bradley’s childhood, an influence on his whole life, really. He had been cleared to drive earlier in the week, so that Saturday, he leaves early. He’s anxious at the thought of being away from you but he knows that the him from before wouldn’t have said no to the invitation and he was so determined to get back to who that was. And he knows that you have a life outside of taking care of him, too. You’re getting brunch with Nat and Coyote’s wife later and he knows you’re excited, even if you hung onto him a little bit longer than a normal hug when he said goodbye. You had made him promise that he would call you if he needed anything and the whole way to the desert, his fingers twitched, wanting to call you just to hear your voice.

Mav greets him with a large smile and a tight hug, “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” Bradley says. He means it, even if he does miss you already. He looks around the hanger, taking note of the few planes and motorcycles throughout the long stretch. It was a lot more than the collection he had when Bradley was 17. “What are we working on today?”

Mav gives him his signature grin. “I want to show you something.”

He follows him to the end of the hanger, where a large blue tarp is covering what can’t be anything but a plane. His godfather gestures to it. Bradley raises an eyebrow but walks up to it, grabbing hold of the tarp and yanking it back. Like he suspected, he’s greeted by a Cessna. It’s a classic 172 by the looks of it, a smaller four seater. It’s a sleek white in color with subtle burnt orange line work. Bradley whistles. It was beautiful in a way that only planes like this could be.

“When’d you get this one?”

Mav smirks, shaking his head. “I didn’t.”

“What?”

“Take a look at the other side.” He nods his head, urging Bradley forward. Confused and intrigued, he follows the instructions, walking around to the other side of the small plane. He gets what Mav was saying, then, and sucks in a breath. Right there emblazoned on the side, in an elegant script, was Pumpkin.

This wasn’t Mav’s plane; it was his.

“You got her about six months ago,” he says softly when he joins him at his side.

Bradley reaches up and runs his fingers over the name. It’s foggy, but he thinks he can remember now. He had always wanted to own his own plane since the first time his godfather took him up in one at 6 years old. It was always a pipedream, though. He was never in one place for long enough, and while he was generally good with saving money, it was a bigger purchase than he had ever made. But then the two of you got married and a permanent station here in California. Between both of your savings and what he still had of his parents life insurance, the funds were there. It was you who had made the suggestion of finally pulling the trigger, and it was him who had suggested a four seater instead of a two seater so that if the two of you ever had children, you could all fly together. You cried when he showed you the name he had painted on it.

“Still needs some work done before she’s flyable. I thought maybe you’d want to work on it today.”

An eager smile appears on his face and he nods, already peeling his jacket off and heading toward the toolbox. If Mav noticed that he didn’t need to instruct him on where it was, he didn’t comment on it.

The two work in tandem for hours. It had only been six weeks since his accident, but he couldn’t recall a time since flight school that he had gone this long without being near a plane and it felt good doing so again. It’s easy, getting into the rhythm of twisting bolts and tinkering with the engine wires. He thinks it won’t be long until he can get this cleared to go in the air and he knows without a doubt that you’re going to be the first passenger.

His phone buzzes in the early afternoon and he doesn’t hesitate to put down the wrench he was working with and dig it out of his jeans pocket. You had sent him a selfie earlier when you had gotten to brunch, sunglasses on and a bright smile on your face with a mimosa in your hand, and he hoped it was another picture. His eyebrows furrow when he sees it’s Phoenix calling him, instead. He picks up, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Nat?”

“Your wife got stung by a bee. We’re on our way to the hospital.”

He can feel the dread as it settles over him. His heart beats faster in his chest. “What?”

She sighs on the other line, and he can hear commotion in the background. “She’s severely allergic, Rooster. We sat outside at brunch and we didn’t even realize it happened at first. She didn’t have her epipen on her so we had to call an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, but you should get here anyway, okay?”

He feels like he can barely breathe, like the room is closing in on him a little bit. Mav must notice the panic written all over him because he’s quick to come over and take the phone out of his hand, taking over the conversation. He can barely hear him over the roaring in his head. You were hurt. He knew you were extremely allergic to bees. That was something he had remembered. You were supposed to carry an epipen on you at all times. He can’t remember if you’d ever gotten stung when he was there. He can’t remember how bad it got if you ever were. But now you were in the back of an ambulance and on your way to a hospital and he could feel his fear all the way down to his bones.

“Bradley, hey. Look at me.”

Mav is in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders. He meets his eyes and tries to breathe, but all he can see is you, struggling to catch a breath and being loaded into the back of an ambulance.

“I’ll drive, okay? Let’s go.”

He follows him to the car, not really calculating anything other than the fact that he was almost an hour away from you and what if there was traffic and why didn’t you have your epipen on you?

“She’s going to be okay.”

“But-”

“Phoenix said the paramedics administered epi as soon as they arrived, and it didn’t take them long to get to her. She was awake and was already breathing easier when they left for the hospital. Didn’t even need to use the sirens.”

That doesn’t make him feel better. Not really. Knowing that trained professionals weren’t panicking must have meant that you were okay, but he knows how serious anaphylaxis is, too.

He can’t reconcile everything that he’s feeling right now. He has never, ever felt like this before. The thought of something happening to you is scarier than any mission he had ever been on, any enemy he had encountered in the air.

“Mav I can’t - I can’t lose her. I just got her.”

“You aren’t going to.”

Bradley doesn’t say anything, can’t think of a single thing to say, and instead buries his head in his hands from his spot in the passenger seat. You were going to be okay. You had to be okay. Because he may not remember everything about the two of you, but he did know for certain that if something ever happened to you, he would never, ever recover from it.

He doesn’t wait for Mav once they get to the hospital, the older man opting to drop him off at the front before going to find parking. He’s practically sprinting as he goes through the emergency room doors and vaguely, he remembers you telling him about the time this happened before, when you took yourself to the hospital and ended up needing surgery. He can almost feel that panic now, and it makes what he’s already feeling worse.

“Can I help-“

“I’m looking for my wife. She was brought in because of a bee sting-“

“Sir-“

“She’s really allergic and-“

“Sir!” The nurse behind the counter snaps, raising her voice over his to get through to him. “I need your wife’s name if I’m going to find her for you.”

Oh. Yes, he thinks, your name. They need your name.

It’s the first time he’s said your full name, and your first and his last name feel so right coming off his tongue. But he can’t focus on that right now, giving all of his attention to the nurse who is typing so slowly.

Before she can even hit enter, though, he hears his callsign echo behind him. He spins, heart racing with anxiety, and spots Nat making her way over to him. She gives the annoyed nurse a kind, charming smile as she grabs Bradley by the arm

“Sorry about him, ma’am. I got him from here.”

She pulls him away without another word, heading toward the hallway off the packed waiting room.

“Is she okay? Nat, is-“

“She’s fine, Rooster. Coming down from the adrenaline rush that the epinephrine gave her, but she’ll be okay.”

“What about-“

Nat stops in front of a closed door, lowering her voice. “Bradley. She’s okay.”

He’s pushing past her before she even finishes, spotting you on the bed through the glass and half drawn curtain. You look so small amongst the crinkly white sheets, still in the clothes you wore to brunch. Your makeup is a bit smudged and your eyes are red and he hates to think that you were scared enough to start crying. You’re holding an oxygen mask in your hand at your side.

“Hi baby.” Even your voice sounds more pitched. He’s quick to make it to your side.

Your breathing is slightly elevated, and the heart monitor is beating a little bit faster than he thinks is normal. He grabs the hand holding the mask, placing it over your mouth to start providing you with the supplemental air again. You make a small sound of surprise, but take in a deep breath of it anyway before pushing his hand away.

“I’m okay.”

But your hands are shaking and your eyes are wider than normal. The skin that he can see is splotchy with hives.

He looks back at Nat, who is still hovering in the doorway, an eyebrow arched and a small smirk on her face. He ignores the look. “Can you grab a doctor?”

You protest from the bed, but Bradley doesn’t waiver. With a fond roll of her eyes, Nat disappears from view.

“Bradley. Sweetheart.” You grip his wrist, trying to get him to focus on you. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You’re in the emergency room because you went into anaphylactic shock. You are not fine.”

“But I am,” you insist, smiling softly at him, even as your body trembles as it works to burn through the adrenaline that was injected into it, “medicine worked just fine.”

The door slides open before he can respond, an attending doctor who looks like he’s been up for longer than is healthy and in wrinkled green scrubs introducing himself as he walks in.

“Is she okay?” Bradley demands immediately, and the tired man looks startled for a moment at how abrupt the question was. Bradley stares at him, his eyes wide and unblinking as he waits for the answer. His heart is still pounding in his chest. He feels you tangle one of your hands with one of his and he squeezes back when he feels the pressure from you. He knows you’re trying to reassure him.

“And you are…?”

“I’m her husband,” he answers easily, the words falling off his tongue like he had said them a thousand times before. You suck in a small breath and tighten your grip on his hand again.

“Ah,” the doctor hums, flipping through the chart he’s holding. Bradley wonders if all non-military hospitals move this slowly or if it was just because of how anxious he is at this moment, but he really, really needs him to answer his question.

“Is she okay?” he repeats.

“Bradley,” you murmur, but he keeps his eyes trained on the man in the scrubs and white coat.

“She responded well to the epinephrine that was administered by the paramedics who brought her in,” he finally says, looking up from the chart and taking a step toward your side. He stops when he sees that Bradley doesn’t move an inch. He sighs, switching direction to go to your other side instead. “How are you feeling Mrs. Bradshaw?”

You answer his questions as they come, Bradley paying rapt attention the whole time. Your throat doesn’t feel tight anymore. You aren’t lightheaded, but you do feel a little shortness of breath. You feel jittery - wired, almost. You’re both assured that it’s completely normal as the drug works its way out of your system. They can give you something to try and calm you down, and they want you to stay for a few hours to make sure you don’t go back into the allergic reaction once the epinephrine has worn off. The thought makes his blood run cold.

“Should she stay overnight?” he asks, but the doctor shakes his head no.

“The standard observation timeslot should be just fine, Mr. Bradshaw. But we’ll make sure you both know what to look out for when you leave.”

He walks out without saying much else. Bradley feels you tug on his hand, his name leaving your lips in a whisper. He meets your gaze and he watches as your eyes soften even more.

“Sit down, honey.”

He listens to you, dragging the chair beside your bed as close as possible. He rests his elbows on the mattress beside you, holding your hand tightly between both of his.

“I’m okay,” you repeat again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your fingers and taking a deep breath. “I…this really scared me.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” you say softly, running your thumb over one of the hands holding yours, soothing the skin and helping his racing heart. Your touch is like magic to him, providing an almost instant calm that he desperately needed. Guilt curled in his stomach, knowing that even now, you’re the one helping him.

“I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around.”

“We comfort each other, baby. That’s how this works.”

“Why didn’t you have your epipen on you, Pumpkin? Don’t you normally carry it?” he asks quietly, a touch of urgency still in his tone. He couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you were alone and this happened, with no one around to call 911. He could have lost you, all over a silly little bee sting, and he can’t wrap his mind around that. He just got you. He had had you, he knew. But he was just getting you back.

“I switched bags this morning and forgot to take it out of the pocket of the old one, I guess. I haven’t had to use one since college. I forget about it, sometimes.”

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to rid himself of the worst case scenarios. He’s the one that normally reminds you to always have it on you, he thinks. He vaguely recalls having a spare in the glove compartment of the Bronco, and in the drawer in the kitchen and maybe one in the bedroom, too.

Not for the first time, he curses his memory and the accident that took it from him.

When he opens his eyes, his look is intense, “Never again, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, but Bradley shakes his head.

“No. Promise me. Please?”

Your lips part and you stare at him for a long moment. His gaze never waivers from yours. He needs you to listen to him. To hear him.

“I promise,” you finally whisper.

He rises from the chair, pressing a kiss to your lips. He keeps his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“Will you lay with me?” You ask quietly, shy in a way reminiscent of when you asked him to say I love you on the porch all those weeks ago. He hates that you felt you even needed to ask.

With no hesitation, he maneuvered himself into the small bed beside you. He kisses your forehead once, twice, three times, holding you as tightly as he could. Your body still gave the occasional tremble but they had lessened now, your breaths coming a little bit easier, and he felt the tightness in his chest ease.

“Sorry for being a mess,” he whispers into your hair.

“Don’t,” you whisper back, and he feels you shake your head from where it’s tucked into his chest. “It means you care.”

The words are there, right on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them, not yet or here. You deserve more than a frantic hospital room confession.

-------

Part Nine :: Series Masterlist :: Main Masterlist

Notes: I hope you liked this one! We're nearing the end, but I think everyone is really going to like the next chapter. Would love to hear any thoughts you may have :)

Tag List: @roosterforme - @mak-32 - @hoyaharper - @wildxwidow - @gretagerwigsmuse - @bradshawburner - @iamaslytherin0 - @lilyevanswhore - @too-fangirl-to-fuction - @fav-fanficssss - @benhardysdrumstick - @fandomxpreferences - @acatwriteshere - @1234-angelika - @double-j - @cocoskween - @sunflowersteves - @teacupsandtopgun - @littlezee80 - @sometimesanalice - @je-suis-prest-rachel - @khaylin27 - @infamous-reindeer - @hotch-meeeeeuppppp - @sarahjoestewy-blog - @sunnysidesidra - @notroosterbradshaw - @yanna-banana - @inthestars-underthesun -@avengersfan25 - @wkndwlff - @zbeez-outlet - @lt-spork - @indynerdgirl - @loveforaugust - @mssleepy876b

@kassieesworld - @luckylexie - @lovemesomevesey - @mizzzpink - @books-for-summer - @a-serene-place-to-be - @deviltsunoda - @tv-fanatic18 - @memoriesat30 - @melody-death - @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog - @dabisblackprincess - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @realdirectionx - @waywardhunter95 - @myownworstenemyyy - @sexualparkour - @sadpetalsstuff - @almostgenerallyalways -@alilstressyandlotdepressy - @14readwritedraw96 - @ccbb2222 - @taytaylala12 - @alittlechaotics-blog - @starkleila

@shelbycillian - @mavrellover91 - @vici111 - @merishfit - @plaper1 - @lunamooncole - @eclecticfashionbookszipper - @pariahsparadise - @bunny-nonnie - @blackwidownat2814 - @huang-the-geek - @jpgliv - @topaz125 - @bluelicious - @loveyhoneydovey - @pisupsala - @nuvoleincielo - @littlemiss-n - @olivezeppelin - @jynxmirage - @shanimallina87 - @ouralcohol - @lumpypoll - @discowitchyy - @bellaireland1981- @princessmiaelicia - @eighthwvnder - @floydflys - @smile-child-13 - @rashelruby10 - @aj-weekend - @wolfiealina - @csoutsider - @cowboybarbie - @haydensith - @itsizzythebell - @caitlin222 - @vabeachazn - @phantomxoxo - @letsgomamas - @myhealthymarvelobsession - @slippinginto-theairwaves - @winterrebel04

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shadowfoxsilver · 2 days

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Some quick tips to spotting accounts that are pretending to be a Palestinian needing mutual aid. Please keep in mind that not all of them are scam accounts, and that some may legitimate blogs who just aren’t too knowledgeable on how tumblr works. This guide is based around what I go by when checking certain blogs and usually it’s a quick giveaway the blog is a scam.

1. You was sent the ask as someone who regularly shares Palestine related content such as regular news updates of posts by other Palestinians who are regularly giving updates. You may also get these asks from sharing a popular post that is from the Palestine tag. If you post often about Palestine, you will always start getting these asks. These askers don’t care if you state don’t send the asks. They will anyway. Unfortunately minors also get sent asks.

2. The ask has odd formatting such as having odd quotation marks in it or unusual formatting that may indicate it’s been edited and copied from somewhere else. Often the ask is the same thing as the post itself minus a link to a donation site. These asks rarely change so searching it should pull up if it’s been sent to other bloggers.

3. The account is almost always a few days old or a week old or long depending on how often they have sent asks.

4. The blog has a few Palestine related posts or posts from random tags reblogged to pad out length and then no more. They will have no original posts besides the pinned post while occasionally answering asks that they may have received but otherwise nothing else and no further updates given either.

5. They may have a Linktree link that is called “GoFundMe” as if indicating they have a GoFundMe there. However, they don’t. When clicked on, the Linktree actually goes to a PayPal account whose name may not even match the one their supposed name is. They’ll say it’s a friend, but it’s just the same person not someone else. You’ll see this same name across multiple accounts after a while usually giving away it’s not legitimate even under a different theme.

6. The text used by the blogs are often real stories stolen from legitimate fundraisers and searching parts of it in your preferred search engine should pull up the sources. These sources make no mention of a tumblr account either or don’t have the PayPal account associated with them in the info. Scammers often impersonate a real person in need and will ignore you if you show them the source they copied from.

6. Legitimate Palestinians often link to their own GoFundMe posts that their friends have set up or post links to other social platforms they are found on. They will regularly post updates when possible, post sources to support them when necessary, and also generally have some method of verifying their legitimacy. They may often share links to support others as well or give links to charities that have been shown as reliable. They will have more original posts than just a single pinned one and regularly speak to other tumblr accounts beyond just an ask. Please don’t bother them with asks about possible scam accounts. There are many guides out there that can do that for you if you search.

7. Scammers don’t know anything about Palestine and will often have trouble once you ask them anything beyond the mutual aid post. They don’t know the languages decently and you can tell it pretty easily if you’re one who uses it regularly. Whatever the scammers use is often just copied off the site they got the post from.

8. These scammers can and will use names stolen off real Palestinians to look more legitimate and trustworthy. They change names constantly once one of their PayPal accounts is shut down.

Please don’t let these scams deter you from sending support where it needs to go. Even if you can’t donate personally, there are other ways to help. If you are sending money, please make sure that it’s going to where it’s needed and the place it’s sent has been verified accordingly. If you find a blog is a scammer, and have been able to prove it, please make sure to alert anyone sharing the post and report the account.

#how to spot a scam blog #scam #Palestine #psa #important info #long post is long

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vividaway · 10 months

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NEW TWITTER REFUGEE’S!! HELLO!! HERE IS SOME INFORMATION!!!!!

this will (hopefully) help you find EVERYTHING you need to help you transition, or to use tumblr and twitter simultaneously. how to use tumblr

how to post effectively

how to set up your main blog

how to set up side blogs

how to turn on asks

settings to turn off (highly recommended!)

tumblr etiquette/unspoken rules

how the algorithm works, and a few tips

how NOT to tag posts

how to properly tag on tumblr (it DOESNT work like tiktok or twitter! pls read!)

how to not be mistaken for a bot

“why do people talk in the tags/why aren’t people using tags properly?”

how to make tumblr function a tiny bit like twitter

how to add themes (advanced, not recommended for beginners!) “what is xkit and why do people use it?”

“how do I install xkit and how do i personally use it?”

“what does it mean to ‘blaze’ a tumblr post?”

how to blaze other peoples posts

“how do people share updates on news and current events on tumblr?”

some of the inside jokes

watch this video that vaguely touches on some of the scandals of tumblr (doesn’t teach you anything other than the past scandals of tumblr 😋)

some advice: if you want to get into a fandom, start following people’s blogs and like and reblog their content! eventually you’ll get a couple people following you, and you’ll build your own little community and experience here on tumblr.

lastly: the website and mobile version are VERY different! they have completely different interfaces. your experience truly will be different depending on which you choose to use.

have fun, be safe, and remember to reblog things and decide on whether or not you want to turn your asks on!

#twitter #twitter refugee #new to tumblr #tumblr help #how to set up tumblr #reddit #instagram #tumblr guide #tumblr walkthrough #walkthrough #guide #alyssa speaks

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wasongo · 10 months

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I think I got a lot of new followers recently because twitter keeps going to shit. However, as you probably know I can't and don't post nsfw art here.

You can find my NSFW socials on my pinned post. I think a lot of people are hesitant to join platforms which aren't fully available to the public yet but if you'd like to keep up with my nsfw art I'd like to:

Urge you to visit my website and subscribe to my RSS feed for gallery updates!

Suggest you follow me on either Pillowfort or Cohost (18+).

In the last year I have started using PF and Cohost more than Mastodon, as they've implemented new features and their posting system is more in line with what I enjoy: robust tagging and filtering, ability to post MANY images, and readmores for long posts.

If you've been hesitant to join either of those platforms since you don't know what to expect here's a small-ish review of both purely from my experience as someone who: a) enjoys profile customization b) likes to have an organized art gallery that is filterable by tags.

This review is aimed at artists looking for NSFW spaces to post! UI screenshots might have suggestive terms and images. Proceed with caution.

Edit: Good grief tunglr, if you open this on the web dash the images aren't shown in the neat galleries I put them in to make the post shorter. Head on over to the permalink if you'd like a better looking post!

Let me just say that if you're looking for a review on more technical aspects of these platforms, like security and moderation policies. I'm not your guy. You'll have to look elsewhere for that. I'm focusing on QoL UI and community aspects.

Though both these platforms allow nsfw, please make sure to read their ToS/Community Guidelines for rules on what is and isn't allowed. Though as far as I'm aware they have pretty similar rules.

Pillowfort

Overview::

Pillowfort has more years under its belt being available to users than Cohost does, as such I THINK the artist/fandom userbase atm is larger, which means you might see more activity there. UI as of right now is very comfortable and the site runs pretty smoothly. Loading times are very decent. Posting is easy, though the image uploader is a little wonky (they are working on fixing this). You are able to create and manage communities based on interests or themes, which people can follow or join and all post in the same space. You can personalize your profile by adding images, links, and formatted text to your sidebar, as well as customize your own profile colors. Tag searches in my experience yield results of both art and aesthetic irl porn and gifs. If that's something you miss from ye olden tumblr days it might be worth a look.

Pros:

Posts have privacy options (everyone, logged in, followers, mutuals, only me)

Has a DM system

Posts have Commentable, Rebloggable, NSFW toggle

Can post MANY images on a single post

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging system

Robust filtering system: hide or click-through warning (by installing Tassel userscript only)

Customizable profile colors, Light/Dark mode for whole website

Communities you can follow/join for shared interests

You can filter posts on profile by tag

You can filter posts on profile by "original poster" or "reblog"

Cons:

wonky image uploader, cannot upload multiple images at once

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Search for terms with periods in them is currently broken (ex. "D.Gray-man" will not yield any search results)

Communities have few moderation features atm

Without Tassel installed the filtering system is pretty garbage atm (you can either show or hide nsfw or filtered tags completely, with no click-through warnings)

No multiple account/side blog feature yet

Some inline image formatting options are broken atm

Default endless scrolling

No progressive web app for mobile atm

For a more in depth explanation of PF's UI and features you can check out this official post.

Here are some images of the UI.

---

Cohost

Overview::

Cohost feels like it has a small artist/fandom userbase at the moment. However, to make up for that it has a pretty slick UI, it works great as a progressive web app on mobile, and it recently implemented an ASK system similar to tumblr's! Everything loads pretty quickly, and you can switch between your "latest posts" feed and your "bookmarked tags" feed. You can access your likes as a bookmark system, but as a whole "notes" and engagement numbers except for comments are not visible anywhere (this is wonderful for my personal mental health). It has a simple post editor and though the image uploader only allows 4 images that will load with lightbox, there's a workaround to upload MANY inline images if you want. The catch is you'll need to use a bit of markdown or html to do that. (more on that below) Though you can't personalize your profile colors, you can add personality to your page by making very cool pinned posts and adding images to your sidebar.

Pros:

Animated avatars! (listen i like having my animated komui icon)

You can make multiple "pages" (blogs) which function independently for comments/asks. switching between pages is effortless

Ask system, with anon toggle (you cannot reply privately atm tho)

2 Factor Authentication

Progressive web app for mobile works like a charm

You can preview your post before you post it

Posts have a NSFW toggle and you can save drafts

Can post MANY images in a single post (bit of a workaround as you'll need to upload your images to a draft first and then add them to a new post with some markdown or html code)

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging AND filtering system (show, click-through, hide completely), plus CW system to give your posts additional click through warnings you deem necessary

You can do incredibly cool things with HTML and inline CSS on your posts

You can filter posts on profile by tag, and you can have pinned tags

Toggles for hiding reblogs, replies, and asks on profiles

Paginated browsing instead of endless scrolling (things load faster)

No engagement numbers visible ANYWHERE

Cons:

Image uploader does not let you upload multiple images at once. Limit to 4 images (can upload more as inline images with code)

Advanced post formatting (ex. bold, italics, bullet list, inline images etc.) has to be done through markdown or html + css which is not the friendliest for those who don't know any code (there's a button for a markdown cheatsheet when you post tho!)

No dark mode, or customizing profile colors atm (however there are workarounds to changing site colors with Stylus extension)

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Cool things you can do with CSS on your posts might look very bad on mobile

Since you can do some crazy things with CSS on posts, you might come across eye straining visuals and movement on some posts. There are settings to tone this down, and people are pretty good about tagging things, so with some good filtering you should be able to avoid this however.

A little quieter on the artist/fandom front (but we can change that)

Here are some images of the UI.

If you made it to the end of this review thanks for giving it a look! If there's something vital you might want to know that I missed in regards to UI and posting features let me know and I will try to answer. But again, this is not a technical/security issues/bugs review so don't ask me about that.

Lastly, I've been seeing a handful of NSFW artists I follow on twitter hopping on bluesky. I REALLY suggest you do a little research on the owners and platform to see if you think joining is worthwhile, since I have a feeling many artists might not want their alternative to be a site owned by crypto advocates (and also a billionaire). Some basic research will get you there. Just take heed and use your best judgement. On that note Cohost is strictly against crypto (I'm guessing PF might be too but I don't have a link that I can point you to confirming this atm).

I believe community driven and supported platforms are the way to go. If you end up thinking either of these two places are worth your time, do consider getting your friends and favorite artists on board or supporting them! You'll get added perks on both platforms if you become a supporter. PF recently added the ability to have MULTIPLE AVATARS (PFPs I think they're called nowadays) which I think is super cool (i really miss that from LJ days).

Again, thanks for reading and I hope to see some of you there!

#pillowfort #cohost

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sunflowersandsapphires · 8 months

Text

The Sun Will Rise

Wake Up, Chapter 8

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: sexual assault themes and descriptions, if non-con themes trigger you please do not read. other warnings: swearing, misogynistic language, violence

This chapter is very intense. I tried to keep the S/A stuff as not graphic as possible to avoid triggering people but it is very much there and the violence is more present than any other chapter.

a/n: Today has been a fucking DAY yall. My new cat got sick (he’s ok he just ate too fast and then got sick on me and my bed which was gross), I am having issues with pay equity at work, and trying to deal with utility issues in my house. I am very sorry for the late update. PLEASE let me know how you feel about this chapter, your comments and reblogs literally make my day every week.

w/c: ~4.5k

Four years ago, you’d been desperate for a change. Despite spending thousands on a fancy degree, you had gotten nowhere in the legal field and your job waiting tables at a diner in Queens barely paid the bills, though you were grateful for the work.

Pouring coffee and taking orders wasn’t the worst job you’d ever had and the majority of customers during your shifts were sweet. You played the role of “cute, friendly waitress” well, making even the grouchiest patrons appreciate your soft smile and quick response time. Maybe this persona you’d adopted in your efforts to avoid your crippling anxiety was the reason he started looking your way. Perhaps it was your obvious desperation to be liked. Whatever it was that drew his attention, it was your eventual disinterest that kept it.

The first day you met James Lannister was a shitty one. You’d worked a double shift, meaning you had been less than perky towards the end of it, leading to stupid mistakes and screaming customers. Emotions were running high when he took a seat in your section, so his calm demeanor and attentive smile drew you in.

He’d only made pleasant conversation with you the first few visits. Asking about your day, your week, your hobbies, your interests, your family, your aspirations. Anyone would’ve been eager to spill their guts to him, he was quite charming. The way that his green eyes pooled with fascination as you spoke was almost reverent. No man in your life had ever made you feel that way, like nothing else in the room mattered.

Which is why the red flags zipped right by you without triggering your internal security system. Day after day, he’d visit your place of work after his own shift at the Pro Bono Association. He’d ask his questions and encourage you to ask your own, which led to a standing invitation to sit with him when there was a lull in traffic at the restaurant. Your shared interest in the legal system and his willingness to share a slice of that life with you compelled you to take him up on the offer.

Next came the gifts. Little things, at first. Large tips, suggestions for weekend entertainment complete with a gift card or fully funded ticket, books to further your legal studies after work. It was strange, but the attention was divine. He wasn’t an ugly man, and you’d never felt noticed like this before.

Eventually, he’d goaded you into joining him and his wife for dinner at their house. Mrs. Lannister was beautiful and cunning. On the surface, she was always polite, reassuring, more than willing to host you or have you join them in public, but there was an ominous undercurrent that you never could place. The way she looked at you when her husband turned his back was almost murderous, but you were so caught up in the idea of being wanted that you glossed over the tension between the two of you.

You were lonely, sure, but you never wanted romance or…other things…from Lannister. To you, he was a mentor, an idol. Someone to live vicariously through while in a transition period in life. But after accepting all of his kindnesses, you’d unknowingly crossed a line.

Before it all fell apart, it almost seemed like universal intervention. During a seemingly mundane conversation, Lannister clasped his hands over yours with a giddy expression. It seemed that there was an entry level position opening up at the PBA office in Queens and he thought you’d be perfect for it. Not only would it be a substantial pay raise from your current position, but there were opportunities for growth and he would be your boss.

At the time, it felt like a miracle. Your ticket to the next stage of your life. And it was, but letting your guard down for that shark ended up being the biggest regret of your life.

Transitioning into your new role wasn’t seamless, but you took it in stride. Your eagerness to take on complex projects and expand the mission of the organization impressed the more seasoned employees. Lannister began taking you to lunches, galas, drinks, anywhere that he could introduce you to his network of attorneys. It was thrilling to be thrown into the world you’d always dreamed of and received with such open arms.

For a few months, it was pure bliss. Until the night you placed your first case.

Placing the case itself was unproblematic, you were happy that you fit into the role so well—and you expressed such sentiments to Lannister who invited you over to his house to celebrate. Arriving with a bottle of your favorite wine, it was immediately clear that something had changed. The once cozy house was in absolute disarray, riddled with empty liquor bottles and boxes of feminine clothes. And, although Lannister had implied there would be others there, you found him alone.

Lannister noticed your wandering eyes and explained that his wife had left him. He told you not to worry about that and to focus on your personal success. The two of you enjoyed some good food and cheap wine, the older man drifting closer by the glass. Eventually, you felt your eyes growing heavy and he insisted that you stay over given the late hour.

That night, you dreamt of a large shadow, looking over you while you slept, warm touch dancing over your clothes. You tried to protect yourself, but your arms wouldn’t respond to the commands your brain sent. When you woke up, you found your skirt unzipped.

It got blurry after that. Lannister’s very public divorce led to inopportune inebriation, massive hangovers in the office, lewd comments, and wandering hands. While you still accompanied him to events, he began claiming you in public in increasingly repulsive ways. Holding you by the waist, kissing your cheeks, stroking his fingers over your neck, using that disgusting pet name. My little Princess.

You only tried expressing your discomfort once before it escalated. You’d approached him in his office after lunch, when he was likely to be more sober, and hesitantly asked if he would consider pulling back. You’d been met with the most terrifying display of anger you’d ever seen. You hazily recall books being thrown, hits landing along your arms and torso, insults being hurled at you.

He had made you. You would be nothing without him. You were ungrateful and whoreish and conniving just like his wife. While the memories faded, the scars from your skin splitting over the hinges of his office door still shone in certain lights.

After that his actions were deliberate. His lingering touches scalded you. Being alone with him meant sentencing yourself to torture. When he was angry, he’d call you into his office to “talk it through.” To your absolute horror, these talks often involved a locked door and drunk hands groping your trembling form.

For weeks you endured his abrupt switches between calculated insults, physical abuse, emotional manipulation, and inappropriate contact. You were barely alive, going through the motions and slowly convincing yourself that you deserved it. You’d fallen out of contact with your friends, were so emotionally fragile that a stern look from a stranger could send you into a panic attack, and you found yourself so nauseous that the first few hours of each day were spent hugging a toilet.

It was clear you needed help, but Lannister was your boss and his threats terrified you. He’d made it clear that if anyone found out about his behavior, it would cost you your livelihood. As an incredibly well-known attorney with an impeccable record, there was no way you’d win in court, he had too many friends on the force or the bench. Not to mention how new you were to the organization. Despite his growing alcoholism, your coworkers were as enamored with Lannister as you used to be, the chances of them believing you were minimal.

So, you stayed, trapped in a nightmare of your own unintentional creation. Until a position opened up in Manhattan.

Applying on a whim, you’d kept your application a secret, not expecting to even get an interview. But, apparently the managing attorney across the East River had heard your name through the grapevine because she reached out within the week to schedule a lunch with you.

The heavy weight that hung over your shoulders like a shadow has lessened considerably in the days leading up to the lunch. The possibility of escaping the hell you were living in quickly appeared like the light at the end of the tunnel.

Manhattan was beautiful and the employees of the PBA office in Midtown were ecstatic to meet you. It was the best day you’d had in months, until you got back to your own office.

Realizing you’d forgotten an important file you needed for a clinic the next day, you walked briskly through the quiet building, hoping to get in and out without running into your supervisor. Unfortunately, the world was not that gracious.

As you rummaged through your desk, the overhead lights turned on making you flinch. Your hands stilled over the file cabinet, your breath catching on your throat.

“You little bitch.” Lannister was furious if the rage dripping from his tone was any indication. “Tell me, Princess, why did I receive a call from Midtown about how happy they were to have finally met my assistant?”

You couldn’t speak, your throat constricting as if wrapped with fabric. Frozen in place, you heard him approaching and you cowered.

“Thought you could go behind my back? Leave me high and dry without a warning? You owe me, little princess. After all I’ve done for you…”

Whether from fear or something else entirely, your brain blocked out the rest of his actions that night. You came to shaking on the floor, bloody and partially undressed, but you weren’t alone. Lannister had disappeared, thankfully, but your coworker stepped into your office with a shaky inhale.

Erica was a young attorney who’d started a few weeks before you. Your emotional state had made it difficult to grow close to anyone in the office, but she’d always seemed sweet. And, fortunately for you in the end, she’d heard the commotion your boss had caused before storming home.

As your wonderful coworker helped you clean yourself up, you tearily confessed the secrets you’d worked so hard to hide. Disgusted, Erica had encouraged you to speak to HR and you’d submitted a complaint later that day with her assistance.

You owed Erica a great debt. Over the period of the investigation, she’d become a fixture in your office, making sure to keep you at a distance from your abuser. Without your prompting, she’d offered the committee looking into the allegations her full testimony. You were quite certain that her statement is the reason Lannister was fired.

In the weeks following his termination, you felt like a new woman. You’d moved to a cute little place in Hell’s Kitchen and begun your new work as a volunteer coordinator. While you still struggled with crowds of lawyers and the taste of alcohol, a good therapist and a decent amount of time had helped you heal a considerable amount.

Enough to open yourself up for the possibility of a relationship, which you weren’t sure you’d ever want after everything you’d been through. Meeting Matt had changed that though, turning ‘never’ into a ‘not right now’.

Sweet, considerate, adorable Matt who had brought you more comfort than you ever thought you deserved. Who was probably still furious with you for falling for him, but you couldn’t help but plead with the universe to send him anyway. Please, Matty, please come for me.

As the muggy van rumbled over potholes and uneven roads, you pictured his beautiful face. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. How his brow furrowed with concern over the most minor harm that had befallen you. The beautiful way his lips melded with yours as a single kiss made you feel weightless. You regretted not kissing him one last time before ruining what you had.

I’m sorry, darling. Please don’t let them take me from you. I’m not ready to let you go just yet.

As Matt neared the 4th floor, a knawing pit of dread grew in his stomach. He could smell your tears, newer than those that had fallen after he’d left, but your heartbeat was nowhere to be found. Frantically pacing the hallway, he quickly noticed your suitcase abandoned a few feet from the door to your shared room. Crouching down, he tilted his head, evaluating the scene. The scent of your fear coated the floor, walls, and fabric of your bag. You must have been terrified for it to penetrate your surroundings to that degree. Underneath your pheromones, Matt shuddered with rage as the sickly saccharine fragrance of Beatrice Snyder’s reached his sensitive nose. Mingling with her perfume was a different smell, smoky and dark.

You’d been cornered by Snyder and an unidentified man, he was sure of it. Fumbling to find the right end of his key card, he threw open the door and stripped out of his suit. Given that he’d intended to share the night with you, he’d intentionally left his body armor at home. A black long sleeve tee and scarf around his face would have to do tonight.

Stepping back into the empty hallway, he fled to the stairs. While the scent of your fear only fueled his dark anger, it was strong enough to leave a trail down the stairs and out the back door into the cool night air. As inconspicuously as possible, Matt navigated through the building, dodging employees and guests successfully until he reached the loading dock behind the kitchen. Your scent stopped here, replaced by the smell of gasoline.

No, no, no. Where are you, angel? What happened to you?

Matt growled in frustration, spinning around desperately searching for any sign of you, he ripped his phone out of his pocket and pressed your speed dial, hoping that you could still reach your phone.

Receiving nothing but your voicemail message in return, he felt his fists clench. “It’s going to be ok, my beautiful girl. I’m coming.”

Replacing the phone in his pocket, he took off in the direction of the strong scent of auto fuel, praying to God that the most recent vehicle would lead him to you.

The van jolted to an abrupt stop and you slid along the dirty carpet into a seat in front of you. Your back ached from the jostling you’d gotten on the ride to whatever destination you’d apparently arrived at, and you could feel the imprint of thousands of plastic carpet strands that had melded with the flesh on your cheek during the drive. The sound of car doors slamming and the heavy footfalls following made you strain against your binds one final time.

A large, rough hand snatched your ankle, yanking you towards the night air at the tail end of the vehicle. Kicking your legs wildly, you flopped like a dying fish along the carpet as you were slowly pulled outside. The fingers at your ankle moved to wrap around your throat, forcing the airway to constrict. Struggling fiercely against your captor, you heard a familiar, rasping voice from behind you snarl, “Shut her up, you idiot!”

Lannister’s goon pressed a sharp implement against the soft flesh of your stomach. “Keep movin’ and you’ll lose a lot more than your man, bitch.”

As your squirming died down, reality set in and tears began flooding down your face. It was over. He’d won. All of the efforts that went into putting distance between the two of you were meaningless. He’d found you, and Snyder was going to take Matt from you because of it.

You were roughly stood on your feet and forced to move in the trail of Lannister and his other goon. Eventually, you were forced into a cold metal chair, binds attached to the stiff bars of the furniture. Your blindfold was ripped off, though your gag remained. James Lannister’s ferocious grin appeared in your line of vision, making you flinch. “So glad we’ve been reunited, Princess. We’re gonna have some fun.”

The group had taken you to what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were broken wooden palettes and scraps of steel scattered around the floor. Holes in the sheet metal walls allowed cold, winter air to blow crisp waves of wind through the space, raising the hairs on your neck. A gaping hole in the roof above you showers you in moonlight, illuminating a small s circle around you and Lannister.

A knife glinted in your peripheral vision and you whimpered, squirming involuntarily. Lannister grabbed a fistful of your shirt, yanking you forward with a growl. “The more you squirm, the more damage I do, little princess. I’d hold still if I were you.”

With that warning, he slashed a jagged cut in your top, nicking the skin along your collarbone. A hand ran over your hair, grasping the strands and tugging so that your face was turned towards your captor’s once again. “There’s my obedient little pet. Was wondering where she’d gone.”

Bile rose in your throat as Lannister stroked his massive hands along your face, planting heated, bourbon-soaked kisses along your neck and down your chest. Prying away your torn clothes, he turned to face the goons. “Is it ready?”

“Yes, sir.” One deep voice responded from the shadows of the warehouse beyond your visible surroundings. “Before I have my fun,” Lannister stepped aside, revealing a tall dark shape topped with a blinking red light. “I’d like to record a confession, dear. For my sanity, and for the board to know the truth.”

Raising his barely slurred voice, he turned to the camera.

“State your name, for the record.”

“Please don’t do this. I don’t—“ Your pleading morphed into a screech of pain as the point of the blade ripped a gash in the exposed skin of your shoulder.

“Wrong answer, pet.” Lannister took a swig from a practically empty bottle of liquor that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. A trail of blood wormed its way to the cement floor, pooling at your feet. You stared at the river of red liquid for a moment before stammering out your name.

“That’s a good pet. What’s your relation to me, my dear?” Chucking the now empty bottle aside, it shattered at your feet, spraying you with cheap alcohol and pieces of glass.

“I worked with you. In Queens.” A smaller knife plunged into the meat of your thigh and you screamed in agony. The larger of the two goons shuffled into your wavering vision, smiling as he wiped your blood from his hands.

“More specific, Princess.” Lannister spat at you.

“You were my boss.”

“That’s right. Now tell us, how did you get me fired?”

You sobbed, “I didn’t, I wasn’t—“ Grasping the knife still planted in your leg, Lannister twisted it, grabbing your throat.

“Yes you did, you miserable bitch. You ruined my fucking life. I lost my divorce settlement, my job, my house, my reputation. All because I took an ungrateful slut under my wing.” Ripping the blade from your body, he hurled you to the ground.

“TELL THE TRUTH!” Lannister roared, sending a brutal kick into your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. “Tell them that you seduced me for months and then used me to land a promotion. TELL THEM THAT YOU TOOK MY ENTIRE LIFE FROM ME AFTER I’D GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING!”

Stomping over your body again, he stumbled backwards allowing you to cough out a response. “I—I took everything f-from you. I was un-ungrateful.”

Lannister cackled, pulling you from the ground by your uninjured arm. “Turn the camera off. They won’t want to see this next part.”

The goons stepped forward to follow your former boss’s orders, but a piercing sound from outside halted them in their tracks. A horrific shriek, the sound of metal grinding on metal, echoed through the warehouse. All three men froze, looking to each other as if expecting to find the cause of the noise at the hands of their fellow assholes. Dropping you hard onto your shoulder, Lannister turned towards the source of the creaking and your head lolled after him.

As the door to the warehouse slammed open, you cried in relief as your weak gaze made out the black clad figure against the night sky. Daredevil. Your devil. He came for you. Tears poured down your cheeks and your limbs tensed, Matt’s presence drawing you in like a magnet.

Lannister huffs out a laugh. “The fuck do you want, shadow man? Don’t you have robberies to stop?” At his sides, the other men shuffled nervously, knives gripped firmly as they awaited their next command.

Matt stalked forward into the warehouse, his body stiff as it held his rage back, visible tension like that of water building against a dam. Fists clenched, he prowled an arc around your three kidnappers. “Step the fuck away from her.” His deep timbre was pitched exceedingly low with pure fury and it sent ripples of goosebumps across your bare skin.

Drawing the handgun from the back pocket of his slacks, Lannister stepped towards you once more. “Do your worst, Devil. She’s not leaving here alive.” The world slowed, as if the air around you was suddenly thick as molasses. Your eyes were processing as much as they could as dread settled in your stomach. The barrel of the gun moved across Lannister’s body and pointed at you as his meaty thumb cocked the weapon.

Simultaneously, Matt’s athletic form rocketed forward, skillfully dodging the swings from both of your unnamed assailants and leaping at Lannister. A gunshot rang and you traced the bullet as it soared towards you. Suddenly, your vision went white as pain seared through your body following the pointed metal cylinder as it tore through your abdomen. Screaming in anguish, your ears rang with a high pitched tone, the flash of white across your sight fading to black. The only thing you could focus on was the burning agony as the puddle of your blood seeped into your torn clothes. Forcefully shutting your eyes, your inhales turned shallow, and you prayed to your beloved Matthew that he would get you out of here before you took your last breath.

Matt’s skin was alight with rage as he maniacally tore through the three brutes to reach your collapsed form. The head captor’s words barely registered in his ears over the deafening sound of a gun being pulled. No. Do not let it be her, take me. The safety was undone as Matt ripped one man’s shoulder from its socket, using the falter in his steps to knock him unconscious. He needed to be faster. He had to reach you. Planting a hefty kick into the next guy’s stomach, he brought his billy club up to meet the force of the man’s own body weight bringing him down. A hollow thud of a body on cement meant there was one attacker left. And then came the gunshot.

As the bullet escaped the barrel it was encased in, Matt roared, the devil inside him fully consuming his consciousness as tackled the shooter. Knuckles connected with a jawbone, then the softer cartilage of a nose, then the lumpy space of a rib cage. Matt poured every emotion he had into this criminal, each punch holding seeds of guilt and regret and desperation.

The smell of your blood cascading over the dirty floor broke him from his trance. Dropping the battered body of your captor to the floor, he dove beside you, hands hovering over your body as he assessed the damage.

Sobbing in relief, he cupped your face as gently as he could. “It’s ok, angel. You’re gonna be ok. They’re not gonna hurt you anymore. Just breathe with me, please sweetness, breathe.”

Your shallow pants stuttered as your hand weakly grasped his shirt. “Ma-Matty?”

“Yah sweetness, it’s me. I’m right here. Gonna get you out of here, ok? Just hold on.” Ripped a strip of fabric from his shirt, he pressed it over your largest wound, biting back a pained sound of his own when you hissed. “I know, I know, angel. I have to stop the bleeding.”

The soft smell of salt melded with the metallic odor of your blood. You were crying, holding on to the fistful of his shirt like it was a lifeline. “Y-you came for me? I’m—I’m so-sorry”

Stroking your face lightly before he dialed 911, he cooed. “Of course I came, lovely. I’ll always come for you. Always. Now you just focus on breathing. In and out, sweetness. Good girl, just like that.”

At the operator’s greeting, he spit out a rough command for police and an ambulance, giving a brief description of the events that had happened. Next, he pleaded for their help. There was no way he alone could get you to a hospital in time.

“They were holding her hostage. She’s been shot, stabbed too. Lost a lot of blood. She’s still alive but she needs medical attention, please hurry.” He spit out the approximate location, scrubbing tears from his face as he pocketed his phone.

Pressing his forehead to yours delicately, he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my sweet girl. It’s going to be ok. I’m so sorry.” Your hand raised shakily to cradle his nape.

“Matty,” Your voice was weak, but determined. “I—I need you to know—“

“Hey, this isn’t one of those moments, sweet girl. You can tell me later, when you’re healing. You focus on—“

“No, please.” You begged, he fought back a choked cry so that you could say your piece.

“I love you. S-so much.” You heaved a breath. “I’m sorry that I ruined—“

“Shh, you didn’t ruin anything.” Matt chided gently, tears slipping faster after you'd confirmed his previous mistake. “I love you too, my wonderful, sweet girl. I won’t let them take you from me. I won’t.”

“I’m sorry.” You choked out, and then you fell out of consciousness.

Matt collapsed against your chest, clinging to the sound of your weak pulse as his body trembled with sobs. He planted soft kisses to your hair and cheeks, stroking lightly over your skin as he willed God to save you.

The distant sound of sirens forced Matt to pry his face from your pummeled body. As the sound of vehicles approached, he made sure to alert the paramedics to your presence before taking back to the shadows. Hearing the clamor of attendants around you, he made a promise. “I’ll be there when you wake, angel. I’m sorry.”

Taglist: @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @scoliobean @harperdoodle @mattkinsella @leikelle @sweetbee0108 @dark-night-sky-99 @fallen-angels2213 @will-delete-this-later-probably @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @vernon-dursley

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