#2. if it's a medical thing that is once more something you agree to take on with ANY pet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lycandrophile · 1 year ago

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i’m getting my drains out tomorrow and i’m sure things will be different after they’re gone, so here’s my observations about top surgery recovery as of 6 days post-op!

(click here for my first post, from 3 days after)

something i forgot to mention in my last post is that if they tell you a medication has to be taken with food, do not fuck with that. absolutely do not. my antibiotic had to be taken with food and on day 2, i thought “well, i just had breakfast not too long ago, surely that’s close enough and i’ll be fine” and my parents agreed, but guess what? i spent the next hour in hell. the meds made me nauseous so i had to eat, but eating still hurt a lot because of the sore throat from being intubated, so trying to make it better just caused me more pain. and both the sore throat and the nausea (which i guess was as much a heartburn sort of situation as it was nausea) were both very chest-adjacent feelings, so that on top of the usual pain and discomfort from surgery was just a perfect storm of horrible things all centralized to one part of my body. it was awful, and i will never fuck around with something like that again. that being said, if you do find yourself in that situation or are just looking for something light that will still do the job because you’re not that hungry, 10/10 would recommend oatmeal and apple sauce. apple sauce is what finally got my body to stop rioting against me and my bad decisions, and after that i started always taking it halfway through a bowl of oatmeal and that worked perfectly.

on day 4, i was able to sit up and get out of bed by myself for the first time! i still can’t do it just by using my core muscles, but if i hold onto my legs and lower them, i can sort of roll myself up into a sitting position without using any of the affected muscles too much.

on day 5, the sore throat from hell that being intubated gave me finally went away! cheers to not gripping my pillow in pain every two seconds while i swallow my spit anymore. it lasted a while, but it honestly went away pretty fast — on day 4 it was a bit better than it had been, and then the next day it was just gone.

also on day 5, i really started to feel the bandages digging into my armpits. i’m not sure if it’s because the bandage has been slipping up over time, if my armpits have some extra swelling now, or if it’s just been wearing my body down over time, but it feels like it’s starting to cut off circulation at a certain point and it makes my arms ache sometimes. that’s probably not great, but the surgeon will be redoing everything at my post-op anyway so i’ve just been riding it out until then. in the meantime, i can tell it’s definitely worse when i’m sitting back and kind of slouched (because that position pushes it up more), so i try to sit up or walk around when i feel it. having pillows on either side of me to put my elbows up on definitely also helps a lot — that’s how i’ve been sleeping, but it would be good for just sitting too.

also also on day 5, i started getting this weird fluttery feeling in the spot where the left side of my chest and the meat of my left armpit connect. it feels like it’s probably some sort of muscle spasm. it’s not painful at all, but i honestly wish it was because it’s just super weird and uncomfortable instead and i hate it. it genuinely might be my least favorite out of any pains or sensations i’ve had so far. luckily, though, it seems like it’s already died down and only happened a couple times today.

my energy has been all over the place. i’m at the point now where mentally i’m much closer to my normal state so i’m once again having the adhd urge to constantly do stuff, but my body’s ability to keep up is far less consistent. sometimes i get restless and can just get up and pace around for a while, but other times i try to do that and get really quickly exhausted. i’m definitely more able to have conversations and feel more like myself now though, even when my body is tired out.

i’ve been thirsty as all hell the past few days. i feel like i’m constantly asking my boyfriend to refill my water for me because i drain it so fast. it’s a very specific kind of thirst, too — like it never quite goes away even when i’m definitely very thoroughly hydrated, and like anything but water can’t even touch it. it’s not a bad thing, getting lots of fluids after surgery is important and i wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly why my body is doing it, but it is a bit frustrating to just be incessantly thirsty for days at a time.

my walking posture is getting straighter every day. i still have to hold my chest to walk because of the bandage feeling like it drags things down, but if i’m walking with my mastectomy pillow, it mostly just looks like a typical slouch and not the deep hunch i started with.

at this point, my chest is super sensitive to any kind of movement, and that’s the other thing the pillow has been really good for at this stage. if the bandage shifts at all, if my body moves at all, basically anything — i feel it all in my chest really intensely. it’s not always painful, but it isn’t comfortable either. holding the pillow to my chest helps stabilize things so the movement doesn’t reach the sensitive parts as much, which is really great.

walking up stairs is easier than walking down stairs, which is the exact opposite of what i would’ve guessed. from what i can tell just from moving around, i think it’s because bending your legs up to a higher step pretty solidly relies on your legs and lower core muscles to make it happen, while reaching your legs down to a lower step requires stretching your body out (which is famously not your body’s favorite thing to do after top surgery). it often feels like i almost can’t reach the step below and have to just barely catch it with the balls of my feet. it’s also just generally been good to take the stairs super slow going up or down because you really can’t use the railing — putting enough weight on it to really rely on it at all requires using chest muscles, so the best i’ve been able to do is just rest my hand on it in case of emergency (because i’d rather hurt my chest than crack my head open if it comes to that).

one of the things that makes the stairs hard is that my center of balance is off from hunching, and that definitely affects my walking too. it’s less pronounced now that i’m in the habit of using the pillow to walk straighter, but i have to take shorter strides and sort of shuffle around because longer strides need better balance, and even with the shuffle i’m stumbling more than usual. i already have some balance problems so i’m pretty used to the feeling of it, but it has freaked my parents out a couple times to see me start listing to one side before i catch myself.

fuck reflexes. reflexes are the actual worst. something i didn’t anticipate is that no matter how careful you are to not reach your arms too far or move them too fast, you can never totally account for what you do if something starts falling. a few times now, i’ve definitely reached too far or fast before stopping myself because i saw something about to go down and my brain instinctively told my hands to catch it. i’m not sure if there’s anything you can really do about that, but it’s worth being aware of because it caught me by surprise the first time i did it.

one side of my chest has been consistently more swollen than the other. that side has also consistently drained less, and the fluid it does drain is darker and redder. we asked my surgeon if that was normal and she said there’s almost always one side that drains more than the other, but it’s still something we’ve been keeping an eye on. hopefully i’ll be able to get a more concrete answer at my post-op, once she can see the swelling up close and look at the drainage numbers from the past week.

as i’ve been getting some use of my body back, the pain in my chest has gotten a bit more obvious. it’s milder pain, and when i’m not doing anything it’s mostly painless to the point where i’m going a lot longer between tylenol doses, but when i’m using my body, i can definitely feel it. the fact that i’m not avoiding physical activity like the plague as much means i’m noticing more pain even though objectively my pain levels have gone down — the things that hurt now didn’t hurt less before, i just didn’t even attempt them before because i knew they would hurt so much. now that the pain is down, i can try more things, which means i’m more likely to try something that ends up hurting. of course, you should always try to follow the if-it-hurts-then-stop rule, but you can’t avoid the pain altogether as you learn your body’s boundaries, so i ended up getting to a point where getting better feels like getting worse.

on that note, i’ve also learned that there’s a pretty distinct difference between milder “i should proceed with caution” pain and intense “stop what you’re doing right now” pain. as much as avoiding things that hurt is ideal, it’s not always realistic, but my body has definitely been very clear in telling me what i can and can’t compromise on. in the beginning i was really paranoid about doing anything that caused any pain at all, but now i’m more familiar with where i can push a bit further if needed and where i really need to hold off.

i’ve been getting chills much more easily lately, and they’ve also been SUPER strong. i’ll be watching a show or listening to music and something will give me chills, and it’s a really intense feeling all across my ribs, and even thinking about the thing that caused it brings on a whole new wave. i’m super curious to see if it’s just a temporary result of my nerves doing their thing or if it’ll stick around long-term. it’s not unpleasant at all, i honestly really like it.

i got some food for myself for the first time today (day 6) and it just involved slicing some pretty soft cheese, but wow, it was a workout for my shoulder. i’m guessing it’s because i haven’t really used my muscles in that way for a week, and because not being able to use my chest muscles means i was relying on my shoulder a lot more to do all the work of moving my arm. by the time i was done, just holding the block of cheese to put it back in the fridge felt like lifting weights.

i didn’t change my shirt the first few days but i’ve changed a few times now, and we’ve perfected the art of getting a button up shirt on me without overreaching my arms at all. basically, you want to put both arms into the sleeves before you lift the shirt up onto your shoulders, because once the shirt is on one shoulder, you have to reach back a lot farther to get to the other sleeve. once you have both arms in, you can lift it onto your shoulders and button it. ideally, whoever’s helping you should do most of the work to pull the sleeves over your arms so you don’t have to stretch your arm out to get them on. i’m sure that’ll be overkill once i have a bit more mobility, but for now, it works great. it definitely would be tough if the shirt was fitted though, so i’m glad i went up a size.

i hope my posts like this have been helpful, or at least interesting to read! i’ll definitely keep updating as time goes on and things change, and i’m also going to work on a breakdown of my experience at the hospital pre- and post-op, as well as my post-op appointment experience once that happens tomorrow.

y’all are getting the good, the bad, and the ugly of my recovery experience. i know a lot of this has been very focused on the bad and the ugly so far because surgery is generally rough, but i’m going to see my chest again tomorrow so stay tuned for some good!

#bet you weren’t expecting an even longer post than my last one #i just have so much to say about this whole experience #i want to document EVERYTHING especially the stuff i haven’t seen other people mention #top surgery adventures #top surgery #trans man #transmasc

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thevampiremarie · 2 years ago

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Heartless, Chapter 2

🔞 Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience, SMUT

Your wedding night. Tags under read more.

Tags: degradation kink, praise kink, size kink, consent negotiation, they egg each other on, gaslight gatekeep girlboss reader, pet names (whore, love, doll, good girl, pretty girl, bitch (yes this is used as a pet name I promise))

You watch the military chaplain sort through the prepared marriage license while the world’s largest butterflies do artistic gymnastics in your stomach.

Soap is the religious one out of the two of you, the Catholic one. You would’ve preferred a judge and a courthouse wedding more than this. But there was no time, and the headache of getting an American recognized by the multi-national special forces whatever-the-fuck just wasn’t worth it.

So a chaplain it is.

Soap has told you little about the soldier you’re set to marry. In his defense, he argued that there was very little to tell. Lt. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley’s personnel file is too classified for a mere civilian, and there are only two single-sided sheets of paper’s worth of information in there anyways.

The bare bones - he’s British. (Of course, he is.) He wears a mask that he never takes off. He’s served many tours, in many places. And while Johnny was remarkably diplomatic about the wording, he did caution you that Ghost’s reputation precedes him and terrifies almost everyone who hears it. With good, justified cause.

Lovely.

But the cold, crawling fingers of desperation and the memory of the times when you couldn’t afford to go to the doctor reminded you of your priorities. And so you have agreed to bind yourself to some dude with a ridiculous, overwrought moniker.

After more than a few years of dealing with medical bureaucracy, military bureaucracy is hardly a match for you. You’ve come prepared with the family accommodations application filled out. You have copies of your identifying documents, birth certificates. The basic background check completed.

Once this is done and solemnized, Soap has volunteered to run it personally to his commanding officer like a good little messenger boy. An early wedding gift, he called it.

You’ve asked him for a Keurig just to be an asshole. And whether or not he got one, for real, Soap won’t say.

All that’s left is to… well. Say the vows and hope no one looks close enough to demand ‘proof.’ Like you’re in some awful fucking medieval romance novel. It’s 2023. You refuse to relinquish any bedsheets. Gross. And they’re expensive.

Lt. Riley still has fifteen minutes before the ceremony is supposed to start.

You’re only early out of an abundance of caution and anxiety. There was only so much sitting around in your old apartment and waiting for the clock hands to move you could take, not after you spent all night packing your life into your car and then climbed out onto your roof to watch the sunrise.

The next one you see, you will be a wife.

Even though Soap refused to show you a picture of Lt. Riley, you did your best to look somewhat presentable. For the pictures. And maybe a little bit for him.

The nicest dress you own, the jewelry you always wear.

Shit. Jewelry. Ring.

“Soap. Soap. I don’t have a ring.” Oh, that’s just your fucking luck, isn’t it? You have remembered literally everything. Your potato masher, your books, and the last of your immunosuppressants are packed into a cooler filled with ice.

Other than the one thing you absolutely need.

Your friend stares at you from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean, you don’t got a ring?”

The chaplain’s going to turn and ask what’s wrong any second.

Before he notices, you grab Soap’s bicep and drag him into a corner as the last of your forced calm flees. “I don’t have a ring,” You hiss as your polished nails dig into his dress uniform.

That’s something you should thank him for after this calamity passes. At least your maid of honor is appropriately attired as if this were a real wedding. Or maybe Johnny is a matron of honor because he hasn’t been a virgin in years? Whatever.

His exasperation is less than reassuring. “Alright. Calm down. Calm down, lass. We’ll sort that out later-“ The chapel doors open, cutting him off.

Wow. You thought that Soap was kidding about the mask. That’s a mask.

A balaclava. With a skull on it. Edgy.

Oh, but he’s tall. Taller than you, taller by a couple of inches than Soap. That must really piss your friend off. He is… very tall. And heftily built.

No dress uniform. Just a black sweatshirt showing ripples of defined, bulky muscles underneath and dark wash jeans. And eye black obscures the skin around his eyes, everything his mask doesn’t cover.

It seems impractical, though you can’t deny the shiver of awe that flicks through your nerves when Lt. Ghost meets your inquisitive gaze. His irises are so dark that you can’t distinguish his pupils, leaving you with the impression of looking into twin black holes.

Do you shake his hand? Do you…

You wait for him to make the first move, and he makes no move at all.

“Hi, Lt. Riley,” You say softly, almost timidly. First impressions tend to go better when you make yourself smaller.

For a moment there, you almost think he didn’t hear you. You watch him narrow his eyes as if you’re more than what he was expecting. “License?” He asks after a painfully long awkward silence.

You shove the other papers at Soap, so you have a spare hand to find it. And if you conveniently remain deaf to his protests at being used as a shelf? That’s what maids of honor are for - whatever the bride need.

“License? Oh- uh, yeah, here.” The half-completed form crumples slightly in his hand. It’s from those bulky gloves, and you die a little inside at the sight.

When he hands it back to you with a messy, scrawled signature at all the highlighted blanks, you turn your body away to ensure he overlooks your vain efforts to smooth it out. “Just call me Ghost.”

Damn, this one wrinkle won’t come out. The chaplain will think you’re unprofessional. “Okay, Ghost,” You respond absentmindedly. He hovers in the corner of your eye like his namesake, which is annoying. It’s not as if you’re hiding a fucking bomb over here-

And you stop thinking that immediately. You know, in case they can read minds in this heavily guarded, highly secret special forces base or utilize some tinfoil hat conspiracy theorist's secret weapon. That’s mostly an inside joke you have with yourself. You leave a little room for healthy paranoia to offset the healthy humor.

The chaplain and his small glasses interrupt now that the groom has arrived, and you hand him the still-messed-up license with an embarrassed flush on your cheeks. Thankfully, he takes it without complaint. Maybe a little judgment - and then you remember you have that issue with the rings. There will be more judgment to come.

“Are you ready to begin?” The middle-aged man asks.

Ghost nods almost at the same time you do.

“We are gathered here in the presence of this witness for the purpose of uniting in matrimony Lt. Simon Riley and…”

You tune out the entirety of the cookie-cutter wedding ceremony. The chaplain goes on and on, all sorts of shit about love and forever that you know he has to say but is remarkably humorous in light of your circumstances.

Lt. Riley’s eyelashes are blonde. You couldn’t see it before, but now that you’re inches from him, you can’t look away. They’re a pale platinum blonde that stands out against his dark eyes like threads of ice, and you count each one. Fascinating.

The chaplain clears his throat, then gestures for Ghost to take your hand.

The glove stays on. But he is gentle about it, gentler than what seems natural for his movements. “Do you take Lt. Riley to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?” That’s laying it on a bit thick, you think.”

“I do,” You say, voice low and confident.

“Do you, Lt. Riley, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish as long as you both shall live?”

Something shifts in his gaze. He tilts his head to the side and tracks the features of your face, your full mouth, and your cheekbones. “I do.” You wouldn’t even know where he was looking, had it not been for the stark whites of his eyes darting back and forth.

“The rings?” Your officiant asks.

You hear Johnny stifle a chuckle. Damn him for standing so far away; if he were closer, you’d step on his foot with your heel. “We- the rings are in the mail. They haven’t gotten here yet.” You smile winningly as you hold the chaplain’s bemused stare, practically daring him to call out your poorly-concealed lie.

Ghost hasn’t let go of your hand this whole time. Even he lets out a small huff after seeing your perfect poker face.

“I see. Then I pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

You won't kiss him in front of everyone if he doesn’t lower his mask. As he obviously won’t, you stand on your very tippy-toes and kiss his cheek like you’re at a middle school dance.

Then it’s done, and you’re married.

Ghost pulls his hand back as if you’ve burned him, then steps away before you can ask him any questions.

Just as you try to chase him- “Congratulations, lass,” Soap exclaims, sweeping you into a hug that lifts you off the ground.

It’s got a hell of a lot more than excitement in it; you can feel his relief, and he goes as far as to kiss your forehead like a brother before letting you down.

There’s nothing on earth you can do to repay him. “Thank you. Really. Thank you.” For a moment, you’re children again—two kids against the world.

Johnny takes the license and the rest of your paperwork. “Gotta run this to Chief Laswell. But- you’ll be fine. Don’t be too scared.” You can tell he’s fucking around, but there’s an edge to his voice that you don’t love.

No person can be scarier than a hospital bill. “Worry about yourself, Johnny,” You tell him.

It takes a second for the steel in your eyes to reassure him. Eventually, he nods. “Good luck.” Then he makes his way to Ghost.

They speak in murmurs too quiet for you to hear, and you can see Soap grip his forearm tight enough to bruise. Then they come to some sort of silent consensus. Ghost’s mask gives away absolutely nothing, but your friend seems satisfied enough.

“Uh- pardon me, I’m sure Lt. Riley and yourself are eager to… celebrate the evening.” The chaplain’s acting like you and Ghost are about to start going at each other right here, right now.

That is a known stereotype for hastily-married couples, and he’s probably seen some traumatizing things in this very chapel. Either way, you coordinate a retreat into the hallway to give the poor man a break.

Ghost holds the door open for you, and you wonder what torture Soap promised to get him to do that. He doesn’t seem pleased. You’d tell him that he doesn’t need to bother, but you’re not so invested in Ghost’s immediate happiness, and that’s a lot of work.

Someone’s waiting for you in the corridor. A poor uniformed soldier has been conscripted into acting as envoy on behalf of the Special Forces, and he asks you both to follow him to your temporary quarters.

Right. Yes.

Ghost doesn’t say a word. He matches your steps with uncanny accuracy, and you’re beginning to understand why people sincerely call him by his preferred moniker. It’s fucking freaky, how quickly and efficiently he moves without any sound at all. You might even forget he was there if not for the heavy, uncomfortable weight on your back that reminds you he’s still watching.

Then the soldier rounds a corner and presents you with an open door. The lights are on, and a bouquet of fresh flowers is on the table inside with a little white card.

Your guide hightails it out as soon as you’re through the doorway.

And then Ghost closes the door behind him.

You and him. Alone. There’s no one in the other room or close enough to hear if something goes wrong.

You watch him keep himself busy, circling perimeters and learning exits and entrances, and you think… you wouldn’t mind it if something went wrong.

Reading people is something that can’t be taught, not really. You’re lucky to have come out of the womb with that ephemeral quality clutched tightly in one hand. While the mask makes it difficult, you are… learning. You are noting shifts in posture, inflections of voice, where those dark eyes linger.

You need to collect more data.

“Do I have to call you Ghost? I can’t just call you Simon?” Your tongue darts out, wetting your lips, and the tension in the air tastes electric on your teeth. It will be a coin toss to see which way that tension goes, you think.

“Don’t say that name. ‘M not gonna repeat myself.”

You’ll do as he says because now he’s staring into your eyes without flinching. “Hm. Fine.” Which is what you wanted.

Ghost removes his gloves for a moment to fiddle with his phone, and you can’t help but stare.

He has beautiful hands. Long, thick fingers, knuckles marked with a lifetime’s worth of scar tissue, more scars wrapping themselves like cords across the backs of his hands. Beautiful.

There are tattoos blanketing his left forearm. You can’t see them from here, and you doubt you’ll get to examine them in detail sometime this century. Tattoos are so personal, and it would take words a lot tougher than a question to get through his shark skin persona.

Gloves go back on. And he’s caught you staring. You don’t give a fuck.

You relish the challenge.

Like a feral raccoon or a bored weasel, you’ll push and push and push until you’ve found something entertaining.

Does Ghost think that if he menaces you in silence long enough, you’ll scream when he says ‘boo’? How cute.

Out of nowhere, he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You’re lookin’ at me.” You could make a snide comment about noticing the obvious, but that’s not the fight you want to pick. Yet.

You’re far more intrigued by the issue of his ghastly, ghoulish, fearsome camouflage. “Do you really, like, wear the mask all the time? Even to sleep? What about eating? You don’t care about getting crumbs all over it?” Your voice would sound genuine if you put a little more effort into it.

Silence. He knows you’re trying to pry him out into the open, and he thinks he can ignore you until you give up.

Your eyes narrow. “Oh, come on. I’m your wife now. I’m allowed to ask questions.” Those fucking icy eyelashes. Your feet move before you realize it, bringing you closer to him so you can repeatedly run the contrast in your mind.

Ghost crosses his burly arms over his chest. “Not if they’re fuckin’ annoying ones,” He snaps back.

That’s one hell of a British accent. Not a posh one; working class, probably not from London.

Like his eyes, hands, and stature, his low, raspy voice is beautiful, too. “Isn’t that what wives are for?” You bait.

You catch his eye roll and match it with a dirty glare. “Do you ever shut up?” Ghost asks, advancing so quickly that you find yourself trapped against the wall, some primal flight instinct activated by his sinuous, menacing stride.

And you’ve been asked that very same question many, many times in your life. “Um… not really,” You toss out. Smugly, like you’re winning whatever fucked-up game is brewing between you. You totally are.

Like this, you must tilt your head to meet his furious eyes. “Fuck. That’s tedious.” Obviously, this is not nearly as tedious as he complains. He’s still here.

Your eyes flick between the door and Ghost’s mask, indicating he’s free to walk away. “Oh, I’m being tedious? Look at me. Look at me. Say that again.” Under your dress, your skin feels warm. As if he’s already touching you.

Ghost takes another step forward. “You… are… being… tedious.” Close enough that his combat boots touch your fancy low heels.

Kissing someone through a mask is very stupid, both in theory and practice. Just as you thought earlier.

Somehow, some way, Ghost makes it work.

Gentleness seems to be a foreign language to him; he wraps one large hand around your jaw, pushing you against the wall, so roughly that pain radiates across your scalp, and digs his index finger and thumb in until he’s holding your mouth open.

And that’s how he kisses you. Forcing you to be exactly as still as he wants and pressing his mask over your lips, and your eyes flutter shut as if this were a real kiss. If this were a real kiss, you’d have your teeth halfway through his bottom lip by now.

Great idea. Just as Ghost moves back, you nip his mask with your teeth. Nothing serious, no real damage. Enough to teach him something about you, more important than words can say.

For only a moment, it lifts from his face. Not in any type of direction where you can see more, but the fabric stretches, and it reminds him that that’s all his mask is. Fabric. Not metal or bone.

“Nah, don’t do that,” Ghost warns before leaning in again.

Fine. This time, you dig your nails into the tiniest revealed sliver of his pale neck as you kiss him until he’s forced to pin your wrist above your head with one gloved hand.

He seeks to chastise you again, but you put a stop to that by arching into his chest instead of away.

This sets the beautiful, pristine line of your neck on display as you tilt your head just the right way. You know your angles, and you bet he probably enjoys holding fragile things in his palms before crushing them the next second.

The unmarked skin above your pulsing carotid artery sure looks fragile.

And, of course, it invites Ghost to dip his burning gaze lower.

You look good. You know you do; you know that your cleavage pops in this dress, you layer perfume to be the most memorable woman in the room, and this confidence has been insulating you all day.

He’s not immune to it. His other hand runs along your exposed collarbones before dipping between your breasts. He takes the fabric of your dress between his fingers, testing the strength of the cloth and construction.

Wait, hold on, this shit was expensive. And unless he’s going to replace it-

Ghost has been too busy staring at your boobs to notice that he’s let go of your wrist, and you pounce on the opening. You’re out of his grasp immediately before peeling the dress off. Shame is for the weak.

His appreciative groan goes straight to your nerves, to your nipples hardening under your sheer bralette and your panties beginning to stick to your skin.

All that newly exposed skin and soft curves turn the desire in his dark eyes into a ruthless hunger.

You watch him walk towards you, circle you. He checks your ass out in the most blatant way possible, so you feel the compliment more than you hear it.

You turn to look at him through lashes all dolled up with mascara and make your eyes round, doe-like - as saccharine as artificially-flavored taffy.

Even through the balaclava, Ghost grins.

“Can I help you with that?” He asks, gesturing to the flimsy metal clasp in the center of your back that holds the bra in place.

His gloved fingers trail down your spine when you sweep your hair from your shoulders. “What a gentleman.” There are dozens of other more productive things he could be doing right now to get you naked.

He coaxes a slight, involuntary shiver from your spine when he digs his fingertips into the curve of your breast, and you dread what will happen when Ghost finds all the other weak spots.

Just as you’re about to end his fun and get this bra off yourself, he undoes the clasp. “Don’t want to ruin your pretty clothes.” A harsh, jagged leather glove edge clips your skin as he does so. While it won’t make you bleed, not even close, you feel he wouldn’t care if something did.

Fuck.

Instead of dropping both arms out obediently so he can slip you out of it all at once, you have the genius idea of sticking out one arm after another.

This forces Ghost to face you as you let the bralette drop.

A flush crawls up your chest, blooming pink and flustered between your breasts. “You think I look pretty?” You ask, barely suppressing the whine from your tone. It’s a real whine, one that speaks to how badly you want this to escalate.

Someone wolf-whistling at your tits usually makes you angry enough to hit them, but Ghost’s whistle makes the blush in your skin burn brighter. “Christ,” He mutters. The bone-white teeth on his mask distort, then stretch, like he’s licking his lips.

You spent a little extra time this morning hunting down a nice pair of lace-trimmed underwear, and now you’re thrilled you bothered. “Gonna make me wait forever?”

The answer is no. He’s on you in the next second, palm flat between your collarbones as he practically shoves you towards the bare regulation mattress, the kind of thing you’d see in a college dorm.

When you land, the slight impact takes your breath away.

But then he sees your thighs pressing together, your hips shifting, and your eyelids flutter. You’re fucking melting from that force alone. “You like it mean?” He wonders, half-mocking, half-genuine.

You push yourself up on your elbows, making your tits bounce more than necessary. Just to watch him lose his train of thought again.

You’re dripping through your panties, you can feel slick arousal on your skin, and he’ll know as soon as you spread your legs. “I like it mean.” Your smile is wide and beckoning. And filled with your own intentionally-grating menace.

After all, he’s asking the wrong question.

The right question is whether he can be mean enough, whether he can touch you with enough cruelty to make you come. Already, your pussy twitches at the thought.

Something glints in his sin-dark eyes. “Good. That’s a good girl.” No, he promised you something else.

“That’s not very mean.”

You get no further warning.

He braces one muscled forearm across your chest to force you down before shoving that hand under your jaw, so your face is entirely in his control. He keeps you looking at the ceiling, and you realize it’s so he can pull his mask down.

Dammit. You try to fight it, dip your jaw to see his face, but his grip is tougher than iron and so tight that it will leave bruises on your chin.

Then you feel his teeth bite into your throat, mark after mark along the length of your neck, and it hurts. It fucking hurts, and your eyes roll back into your head, skin on fucking fire. “God, real eager, ain’t you?” Ghost hisses as you cough and struggle for breath against his hand. “Haven’t known me for twenty-four hours, and you’re already spreading your legs like a whore.”

There are lingering kisses that are just shy of gentle, long lathes of his tongue along your sweaty skin, and then there are savage bites into the side of your breast, in between them, his fingers plucking at the hardened bud of your nipple.

Your mind is empty, completely empty, as your hips grind up towards his and the thick, heavy erection you can feel through his jeans. “You do that for every man who looks at you twice?” You can hardly hear him over your squeaks of pain mixing with pleasure. Now he’s slotted a knee between your thighs, giving you something to rock your covered pussy on.

“Only for the ones who deserve it,” You get out between clenched teeth, holding back your moans, so he doesn’t get that satisfaction.

He chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. “Fuckin’ hell.” When he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, licking, sending jolts of pleasure through your nerves but hovering on the edge of real damage…

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to put together a retort. “Jealous that you haven’t had a turn yet?”

“Naw, I ain’t jealous. Ain’t gotta be. I know you want me.” He punctuates his words by cruelly pressing his knee harder into your clit, wrenching a long, tortured sound from your throat.

If he keeps that up… already, something hot and vicious begins to simmer low in your stomach, a hollow ache.

Then he fucking lets up on covering you in marks to watch your face twist in rapture when he does it again. “Come on then, Lieutenant. Big, scary, mean Ghost,” You tell him breathlessly.

Again, his knee, your aching clit, you don’t wanna come all over his pants except you kind of do, and if he realizes that, he’ll make you.

His fingers pluck your nipple one last time. “Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ show you.” Then he shoves his mask on haphazardly, withdrawing his hands so he can pull his gloves off. “Take that shit off. Right now,” Ghost orders.

The fabric of your soaked panties rips a little in your enthusiasm to get them away from you, and you toss them in some corner without looking.

And as you hold his gaze, face flushed and dewy from his kisses, you part your legs.

Ghost is so taken by the sight of your glistening, aroused core that he has to sit back for a second and just… “Fuuuck,” He groans, eyes lidded with want.

You run a single teasing hand along the soft skin of your inner thigh. “Still pretty?” Your smile is all teeth, hunger, and a promise that you don’t need him to have a good time.

He shakes his head. “I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches,” Ghost warns. As if he isn’t literally rolling up his sleeves as he speaks. As if you can’t see his muscles strain and flex with the effort of not touching you.

His shoulders are so huge that he casts a shadow when he looks over you. “You will.” You pause to make a show out of sliding your wicked gaze down to his jeans. “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to your…” Then Ghost grabs your hips before you can finish your sentence and drags you to the edge of the mattress.

You hear him sigh through his teeth. “Prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen. Prettiest tits, prettiest ass… Where have you been hiding?” It seems that he does, in fact, like you self-absorbed. You’ll drag more compliments from his mouth before the night is over, you swear it.

When you try to slip a leg over his shoulder before he’s ready, Ghost traps your soft thighs open and in place with his hands. “The United States of America.” Fuck. Fuck.

He strokes through your folds with two fingers, not deep enough to do anything but tease. Still, you jump as soon as you feel him brush your clit with a feather-light touch.

Ghost takes those two slick fingers and lazily holds them out in front of your mouth. “Look at me, and this is over. You hear me? I don’t give a fuck how much you whine or complain.” You take them in your mouth in a show of obedience that surprises him, eagerly lapping up your musk and the salt of his skin.

But not entirely obedient - you nip his fingertips before you pull away, and a string of saliva stretches between you. “I hear you.” Whatever. Avoiding peeking at his face is, like, the easiest thing someone could do to get eaten out.

He waits until your head is properly thrown back, and you rest a hand over your eyes, so there’s no chance you will look down.

As if remembering your reaction to his earlier mercy, Ghost takes his sweet fucking time doing everything but eat your needy, dripping cunt. Your stupid, annoying, evil husband covers the soft, plush flesh of your thighs in kisses, he licks up the arousal that’s leaked onto your skin throughout this game, he leaves more love bites in the crease of your thigh.

Asshole.

And it feels good. Of course, it feels good, and you’re already a squirming, pleading mess, holding back your sighs because you’ll be damned if he thinks you’ll fold with no effort.

When he finally licks a hot stripe through your folds, carefully sucking at your clit, your resulting moan fucking bursts out of your chest, drawn out and desperate.

You can feel him laugh against your sensitive flesh before he just…

Your hips can’t get closer if you tried, you’re caught between grinding on his face and trying to flinch away as he fucks you with his mouth, Ghost’s tongue moving with unerring precision to pour pleasure like lightning through your veins.

Your cunt clenches around nothing as he goes back and forth, licking, sucking, making your thighs tremble around his face. “Shit, shit, keep doing that, fuck-“ You beg, mouth open because it feels like you can’t breathe. The air tastes hot, like sex, like smoke and bourbon.

Ghost’s groans are barely audible over the sloppy, explicit sounds of his mouth coaxing more slick out of your core, all over his face. “You taste-“ He presses two thick fingers inside. “So fucking-“ It stings, it’s a stretch, he has to lap at your swollen clit with a delicate touch to get you to loosen up. “Good-“ Your muscles twist and spasm around his fingers, fluttering in time with each thrust.

Then he picks up the pace. “Ghost, Jesus, what the fuck are you-“ You sob, gasping as you try to get control over your body. He’s got every reaction, your vocal cords, your nerves, your needy, desperate cunt, entirely in hand.

His free hand digs into your leg, nails aimed to hurt. And like the whore you absolutely are, every time he does that, your stomach tightens further. “No need to say my name twice, love,” Ghost tells you in a voice as smooth as velvet, like he’s endlessly amused at your expense.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” You bitch before getting that knee over his muscled shoulder and dragging his hot, wet mouth towards your pussy again.

Your shriek fills the air when he bites, like really bites your thigh in revenge. “‘M busy fucking you. Come on, lemme in. Lemme find it.” His fingers-

They’re thrusting into you deeper, he slides his other hand under your hips to angle your pelvis up.

And then you feel him brush something deep inside your pussy that makes you clench as tight as a vice around his hand. “Um, fuck, I-“ Your back arches off the mattress, and you’ve got your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, your free hand flailing around as you try to just- just get everything under control…

You can’t think, can’t speak, he touches that patch of sensitive flesh inside of you, and it just wipes your brain clean, replacing everything with Ghost. “There we go. That’s it,” He coos at your helplessness, smug with the knowledge that all your bravado and rationality fail when his fingers fuck you harder, rougher.

Ghost helps you chase the orgasm gathering on the horizon, so powerful that you can feel it humming like power lines in your teeth. “Hn-“ Your moans rise and echo off the bare walls, and he drags his fingers inside you at the same time he places his mouth on your aching, swollen clit.

“Got 60 seconds to come, or I’ll stop.” It’s right there, just out of reach, like your skin is on fire and your body is so, so, so desperate for everything he can give.

Tears gather in your eyes. “No, please, don’t stop,” You beg, words garbled up with whimpers and cries, tears tracking down your sweaty cheeks.

Whenever your leg tries to hold him in place to fight off the pleasure or your core clamps down so he can’t withdraw his fingers, he fucks you harder. “Pretty girl.” Holy shit. You just need to breathe, to try and focus, but you can’t. It’s so- “Good fucking girl.”

You need to come. You need to come, you’re trying, you don’t want him to leave you like this, so much arousal pours out of your flushed, oversensitive core that it covers his wrist, and your hips begin to buck and shake. “5, 4, 3, 2, 1-“

“I- I’m coming, oh my fucking God-“ Your orgasm drags you down in a fury, pulsing hot and violent. Every muscle trembles and your whimpers reach a fever pitch. And Ghost pries at each scrap of your pleasure he can get, sucking and sucking at your flesh, and you can’t do anything. You have to let him swallow you whole.

You forget how to fucking breathe, and you’re sobbing under the hand over your face, trying to escape the sensation, but you can’t stop coming, clenching, chasing the high.

He lets you ride out the last of it on his hand, helping you through the aftershocks and gentling the pace of his tongue until you’re spent.

When that ringing sound clears from your ears, you sit up with sore stomach muscles and reach for him; mask be damned. Ghost gets the balaclava down over his nose, exposing his mouth shiny with your cum.

Your first real kiss is messy and slick, lips slipping against his and saliva going everywhere. His sticky hands tangle in your hair, and you gasp into his mouth from the sudden, sharp pain. It’s his turn to sigh when you nip at his full bottom lip, a deep, raspy sound that you could become addicted to very easily.

Your fingers slip under the edge of the mask - just where it covers his neck, and Ghost pauses for a moment, lips suspended over yours.

It takes three thundering heartbeats for him to return to kissing the air out of your lungs.

His hair feels short under your fingertips, bluntly cut to a regulation length. You’ve done it before for Soap when he first enlisted. You take your nails over the back of his neck once, then again, hard enough to make it sting.

“Bitch,” Ghost hums, and it’s the softest thing he’s said all evening. Like your teeth and claws are more impressive, more beautiful than your obedience.

Clearly, no one taught him how to behave toward a wife. “Manners.” This time, you draw a little blood from his mouth, and Ghost almost melts into a puddle in your hands.

“Let me fuck you.” He has one hand on your throat, not a chokehold so much as a loose necklace. A wedding ring on your finger couldn’t be more possessive than Ghost’s lingering, eager touch.

And when you press your forehead to his through the mask, he permits it. “I thought you just did.”

Something about his eye roll makes him seem younger. Lighter, more playful. “Let me fuck you again,” He tries. Yeah, no. You’re not a cheap date. “Turn around. Come on.” He has to do better than that.

The look on your face makes him sigh. “Don’t make me beg.”

Next time, he shouldn’t try and give you ideas. Definitely not for free. “What happened to ‘I don’t fuck self-absorbed bitches’?” You ask coyly. You could ask him for anything right now, you think, and Ghost would give it to you.

Pained, aching frustration blooms in his dark brown eyes.

“Jesus, you’re never going to drop that, are you?” Ghost is so cute like this, squirming in his own vaguely-repressed way. He answers you quickly, far more quickly than someone who’s only tolerating this would. “You were right.” The hand on your throat moves delicately across your shoulders, massaging your neck, all luxury and indulgence, a slow seduction.

His words are like music to your ears. “I usually am.” You’re a sucker for that specific compliment. And with Ghost determined to caress every inch of your skin, your arms, the dip of your waist, well…

You bat his wanting hands away and flip yourself over. It takes a little care not to tweak anything, but being on your hands and knees is better for your spine in the long run, anyway.

His large palm runs up and down the length of your back, leaving warmth wherever he goes—softening your muscles, getting you used to his presence when you can’t see him, until you’re relaxed and pliant on the bed.

Fabric rustles behind you. It’s the balaclava; he’s pulled it off and tossed it to the side. You can just see it out of the corner of your eye. “Spoilin’ me with this view, love.” Then Ghost kisses the small of your back as he kneels on the bed, covering your skin with appreciation as he makes his way up.

You can’t help your small, genuinely breathless laugh when he kisses the side of your neck. “Make this good, and you’ll see it a second time,” You promise. Then he palms one of your tits, and you grind your ass against his hard-on, so he doesn’t get too lost in the sauce.

He nips your earlobe. “I’m the best you’re gonna have.” When he withdraws, he takes all his warmth with him, leaving you cold and bereft. “Might be a tight fit, doll,” Ghost tells you as he unbuckles his jeans.

Ooh, doll. That’s a new one. You haven’t been called that before. You like it.

His fingers dip between your thighs, nudging at your clit until you’re gasping and writhing. When he works two, then three digits into your cunt, he stretches you out with brisk efficiency.

The slick sound of skin on skin - Ghost pulls his fingers from you to spread your arousal over his dick, pumping himself a few times.

“I can take you.”

One of his palms rests on your back as he carefully, so so, so carefully slips the blunt head of his cock inside. “Ohhhhh, oh fuck.” You go completely slack, cheek dropping to the mattress. He’s big. He’s fucking massive.

Ghost is hardly moving at all, and still, your pussy is trembling, desperately trying to clamp down on him, but you’re too stretched out-

He’s gasping, exhaling hard through his nose while he tries to re-adjust. The feeling of you squeezing him is unbearable.“God. My fuckin’ God. You’re-“ Ghost cuts himself off, and you hear him curse. He pulls himself out slightly, then pushes back in. “Loosen- loosen up a little. Please.” You can’t even make sense of his pleading, not when his dick is so big inside your belly that you don’t have room for thoughts.

When he plays with your clit, rubbing tight circles with his thumb, you feel the pleasure grow and churn and make you shake. “I- you’re so big, I can’t,” You barely succeed at getting out.

But- he rolls his hips again, and your body opens for him bit by bit. “Please. That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl. Doll. Good girl,” He chants.

And what can you do but let out an answering moan, a strung-out, needy, desperate sound for words your brain doesn’t know?

Your nails are seconds away from tearing the plastic mattress cover. God, if only- if only your cunt wasn’t stuffed so full. “Ghost… fuck, you’re splitting me in two.” He bottoms out, and he’s so deep, like he’s molding you around him. After a moment, Ghost starts fucking you in earnest.

“Holy shit, yes, right there-“ You gasp when his hard cock presses against your g-spot, your core shivering around him.

Ghost keeps at it with both hands on your hips to hold you steady. “I know. I know. I have you. I have you, love.” Your body trusts him to guide you through this - he’s sturdy and strong, and you feel every inch moving inside of you with his thrusts. “You’re so fuckin’ tight, Christ.” Sweat gathers at your hairline before tracking down your face to join the little pool of saliva below your slack, open mouth.

When he grinds into your hypersensitive, tender pussy, you shriek, his cock fucking the sounds out of your strained vocal cords. “Feels so good,” He groans in a shaken, undone voice.

Despite your fucked-out head, despite getting the best dick of your life, you find another ounce of spite you haven’t tapped into yet. “B-best you’ve ever, hngh, had?” You’re dripping around him, so soaked that the wet sounds of your cunt echo almost drown out your nonsensical, cock-drunk noises.

Ghost laughs before fucking you harder, determined to make you scream. “Yeah, best fuckin’ pussy. Best girl. Fuck. Fuck.” And just as he does that, you hear him lick his fingers before pressing them to your swollen clit.

Oh no. Oh no. Your pussy begins to tighten and twitch, and you didn’t plan for this, the pleasure sneaks up on you as you fight it, trying to keep your head above water and your body from… “I’m not gonna last, shit, you’re too good to me,” Ghost growls, relentlessly pounding into you.

Your stomach aches and screams with your orgasm, but you’re not ready yet, you need a second. You- he’s manipulating your body so keenly, you’ve never felt anything like it.

His hips snap into your ass, aiming viciously for your g-spot. “You’ll come again. Like this,” Ghost orders, then presses down on your back, so you drop your chest and cant your hips up.

“Fuck, I don’t know if I can,” You confess, each sound chopped up and breathless as he fucks you harder and harder.

He keeps his fingers on your clit at the same pressure, same speed, and it feels so good that you’re going to start sobbing at any second. Your knees are about to give out, and Ghost’s thrusts get wilder, messier.

“Come. Come for me.”

You’re screeching, crying, wailing as you come. Cunt spasming on his dick, your lungs empty and howling for relief. Your hips keep pushing back towards him to chase the high. Each wave is more painful, more powerful than the next, leaving you a twitching, helpless mess.

You come so fucking hard around him that you think you were meant for this. It’s the sweetest relief, like hot fire licking through your veins. It’s all Ghost and the cock he’s breaking you open on. Your pleasure slices into your gut like a sharpened knife, and your slick covers his pants, your thighs, the bed below you.

He shoves himself into you one last, impossibly deep, painfully good time, and Ghost comes with a long, drawn-out moan as your muscles milk him. There’s a burst of warmth - except your spasming, still-orgasming pussy is packed to the brim with his cock, so you feel his come drip all over your trembling, weak legs.

When he pulls out, he slides an arm around your waist before gently lowering you to the bed. Then Ghost lays on his side so he can draw your bare, sweat-soaked back to his chest, tucking you into him. And while you’re insensible, he grabs the balaclava and shoves it over his face.

You come back to yourself in increments, your head hazy and filled with small snapshots of tenderness.

Ghost adjusts the open buckle of his belt, so it doesn’t hurt you or irritate your sensitive skin. Your hand seeks one of his blindly until he wraps his fingers around yours. He stops your shivering by unzipping his hoodie and draping it over your naked body.

Your heart rate slows to something more reasonable, and as your eyes open, you see his tattoos. He’s got your head cushioned on his shoulder, so your hair has draped itself all over his arm.

You can see monochrome shadows dancing on his muscled, scarred skin, skulls, bombs, and dog tags, all of it peeking out.

Beautiful. Edgy, scary, beautiful. “I like them,” You say as you outline a lovingly-detailed sniper’s scope with the tip of your finger.

He doesn’t laugh, he’s recovering too, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Not too shabby, eh?”

Barbed wire in that faded, blue-black color that tattoos turn with age, greyscale fire, and brimstone… “They suit you. And so does the mask.” Ghost exhales softly, air fanning out across your skin.

Then he shifts, tightens his arm around you, and brings you closer. “Thanks,” He murmurs after a long, substantial moment.

You try to banish the exhaustion creeping on you to the recesses of your mind. It makes your tongue slippery, makes the thoughts fall straight out of your head and into the world. “Yeah, no problem. Did you know that your eyelashes are blonde? I’ve been thinking about it since I first saw you.”

There are many other things you want to say, but you chew on the inside of your cheek and manage to stop them.

“Have you now?”

Aw, damn. So you did say that out loud, and he heard you. “Yeah. Yeah.” Each time you blink, you do it slower, like gravity is somehow increasing as time goes on, and you’re losing the power to resist it.

Where’d he go? “Gotta fuckin’… put some sheets on this bed. Don’t fall asleep on me just yet, love.” You poke your head up for a second and look around. No Ghost behind you, no arms cradling you.

Then you spot him by the door, shoving his keycard in his pocket. “Mmph.” You don’t lie down until he circles around and curls his palm around your cheek.

“I’ll be right back,” Ghost promises, and with his blessing, you roll over and close your eyes.

Tagging @abbiesxox @thedevillovesflowers @poohkie90 @averyyreads @lialacleaf @backupgal @kitty-satan1 @androgynoushellscape @555ilovecats @pinkwigonmytv @almightywdm @discowizard88 @castielsangelsx @jaymicrosoft @rengokulover96 @copiasratscheese @fluffysmiko @d3athtr4psworld @drugsaftersex @teenagegever2k22 @badame0224 @toilet-paper-headbands @itsrosebabe @bangirl134 @silverianni @nezukos-number1fan @deadpoetsandhoney

Idk how tag lists work so i guess just reply if u want to be added? and reply/shoot me a message if you want off!

Thank y'all so much for the support and love <3 <3 <3, the next chapter will be more smut, as well as the 141's reaction to your wedding!

One last thing - please do not ask a disabled author/person in general to disclose intimate details of their disability because you think their disability should limit them from doing something. that is very rude, and also very ableist. the only person entitled to my medical history is my doctor, and I've already had someone act entitled toward my medical history over this fic. i am super uncomfortable that i had to disclose anything at all, but i felt that if i didn't, they would pick a fight. my pinned post contains the comment i made on AO3 about this, including said details that I wish I didn't feel forced to tell people. I am not going to be responding to questions of that kind going forward. thank you.

(as always, dedicated to cuckoo <3)

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bridgetotheskyyy · 6 months ago

Text

chapter six.

masterlist

Chapter summary: Things have finally come to a head for you, but you might just have an opportunity to redeem yourself and save your family from certain doom. Somehow. Someway.

Chapter warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, nightmares, violence, lots of angst

Word count: 5.7k

A/N: sorry for the long wait! 1) I prefer to post on ao3, and the most recent chapters are up on there (so make sure you check!) and 2) lots of horrible personal stuff happened to me (my mom passed). But here it is! Chp 6!

Read on ao3 here:

“It’s beautiful,” Gaara says.

You have to agree; your village and his melt together in an alien harmony. The sandcastle buildings of the Oasis and the domed structures of the Sand marry to create something entirely new, the village now towering over the cliff side like a utopia.

You chuckle, tip your hat lower, courtesy of Gaara, to avoid the wind that tries to kiss sand onto your face. “It is.”

“We’ll build together,” Gaara says. His hand fans at your waist.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

You turn to see your child, arms overflowing with flowers.

“I picked some flowers for you!”

You kneel with a smile. “That’s so sweet of you!”

Your child giggles as they pick a flower out of the bunch — white with elongated petals. Your child fixes it in your hair and you return the favor with a kiss to their plushy cheek.

“My family …” Gaara admires the two of you as you bring your child into your arms and hold them there.

You blush. My family.

You turn back to your child, who is putting more flowers in your hair, and laugh. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No!” they say.

On and on, until your hair is overwhelmed with flowers.

You smile, take one out, and — and drop it.

The flower falls to the ground, overridden with poison.

“What …?” You turn back to your child.

“Mommy …?” they say. Their mouth falls open, and a river of black poison pours out.

“No!” You gasp. “Gaara —!”

The skies over the village are blood red, the buildings and structures reduced to blackened ruins. Gaara coughs and spits blood into your face.

“How could you?” he says. “How could you —!”

You flinched away. The cold floor lay under your palm. A few seconds and you sank into the tar of reality: it was a dream. A nightmare.

One of many — and each one you had upon falling into sleep had been more horrific than the last. You dreamed of Hideo, too; in one he shook you by your shoulders, shook sense into you, imploring you to live and fight to live, fight to stay alive, to love. In another he waited in the old gardens the two of you had once leisured in, telling you he couldn’t wait for you to join him. Give up. Succumb.

The Hideo in your mind was a two-faced demon, and you had long since lost confidence in which to listen to.

You propped yourself up. Your cot was by the side of you, yet you’d woken up on the floor. At some point during your sleep, you must’ve tumbled off of it, too cold and numb to notice and be thrown from sleep.

You didn’t know how long it had been; your only indication of time passing had been the food offered to you at regular intervals. Second only to the medical nin who had once come to collect your urine, ostensibly to confirm the legitimacy of your pregnancy — and had never returned. You were often sick, and as much as this strengthened your hope of pregnancy, you were frail, barely alive, but clinging to life.

You took note of your surroundings. It wasn’t horribly uncomfortable, the cell you had been sequestered in. But you knew any and all comforts you enjoyed here were simply because Gaara was nowhere heartless enough to risk you losing a child — if you had one. He would never have you killed despite how much you craved death.

The sun had blown out, and all the light in the world was gone.

You looked down at the broken necklace on the floor. Kankuro had broken it in half, and you had broken it further, desperate to find just a drop left. Dead in seconds. If true, you would be able to put an end to all of this. Just a drop … But there had been nothing.

The one time I want to use it and there’s nothing. Nothing for me. The irony.

And then there was the second piece of jewelry bestowed upon you: your mother’s ring, snug and secure around your finger. It seemed a mockery to you now. A fatuous representation of your childish dreams. What a fool I was — am.

Situating yourself on the bed against the wall, you caressed your stomach, mindlessly cooing to what you hoped was a filling womb.

“I’m sorry …” You whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough …”

You hugged your knees to your chest. What was happening now? Did Father know where you were? What was happening? Why had no one come?

The quiet blared loud in your ears. You rested your cheek on your knees, turned to face the wall. Your sleep had been short-lived, cut short by the poignancy of nightmares. You closed your eyes.

If you could just rest a bit longer, something would happen. You could sleep until the world ended. You could …

You could …

A great, metallic churn.

You awoke. You faced the door with furrowed brows. Another churn. Someone was opening it.

You sat up. It was probably your feeding time, but it would be something. Anything to disturb the monotony of this nightmare.

The door cracked open — flew open. A feminine groan. Someone crossed the threshold.

You looked up, leaned forward with a frown to discern.

“… Matsuri?”

Matsuri turned to you before letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank goodness, you’re okay! Come on, (Y/n).” She blinked. “Is it all right if I call you that?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was rasped from lack of use as Matsuri strode toward your bed. “What’s going on?”

Matsuri hastened you to your feet. “We have to move quickly; Lady Temari sent me. Come now —“

“Wait a minute!” You cried, taking Matsuri by the shoulders. “What’s happening?” A chill down your spine. Father. “Where’s Gaara?”

“Listen to me,” Matsuri said. “We don’t have much time.” She retrieved something from her pouch. A pill. “Take this. It’ll give you some strength.”

“But —“

“Take it. Please.”

You accepted it with a weak nod. You slipped it between your chapped lips and swallowed it.

“There’s been a battle and we’re losing,” Matsuri said as the pill worked down your throat. “We have to get you out of the village and leave immediately —“

“Where’s Gaara?”

Matsuri let out a stressed breath through her nose. “He’s been poisoned by your father.”

Horror froze you.

“Nothing at the Sunagakure greenhouse contains antibiotics strong enough to cure him.” Matsuri went on. “That Red Spine of yours really did a number on him. We can only keep it at bay, but he will die if we don’t hurry!”

Matsuri tugged you, and you went with her through the door to the dingy prison hall. The pill returned to you an iota of your previous strength, and while Matsuri did most of the heavy lifting, shouldering your weight, you were able to pick up the slack and scuttle along with her.

“What about Temari and Kankuro?” You asked hastily. “Are they okay?”

“Lord Kankuro’s stayed behind to fight off Boutoku’s forces, but we’re being overwhelmed,” Matsuri said, leading you down another hallway bereft of people. “Your father’s united some of the smaller villages into a full scale attack on us. He’s promised them all a part of the oasis if they can help him claim Suna.”

Your legs weren’t carrying you fast enough, dragging you behind Matsuri. “But, Temari,” You said desperately. “What about Temari?”

“You’ll see.”

Sand dragged past your feet as the two of you ran through the empty place. You flinched at the sound above — explosions.

“Come on!” Matsuri took your hand. “It’s okay.”

She led you to the entrance. She threw the doors open to lead you out of the prison.

And into hell.

Sunagakure burned. Fire blazed with the windstorm as people ran to and fro, blurring in your vision. Screams mingled with whistles in the air as Matsuri tugged you into the decrepit streets, buildings burned black and fed the fires fiercer.

The sounds of knives clanged as shinobi fought adjacent to the two of you. You recognized an oasis emblem atop one’s headband as they clashed with a Sand shinobi. Matsuri tugged you close to avoid flying debris. She led you past a bridge —

A giant crack. You looked up to see the bridge overhead collapsing —

“Look out!”

Matsuri pushed you out of the way, and you tumbled. Matsuri ducked and rolled out of the way as the bridge collapsed onto the street. Your ankle burned — you cried out as fire caught the hem of your pants. You poured and patted sand on it to put yourself out before turning back to Matsuri, just in time to see her coming toward you.

“C’mon.” Matsuri brought you to your feet, and the two of you kept moving.

The scenes overwhelmed you in their horror. You tried to block them out, running to keep up with Matsuri. She led you down an alley.

“Where are we going?” You sobbed.

“There’s a cavern we keep for emergencies to ensure the safety of the Kazekage.” Matsuri hastened you through the underground of the village.

The two of you were freed from the horrors of above, but the silence was both relieving and even worse than the screams ringing in your ears. Matsuri lead you down farther until a space opened up, and you saw:

Temari, holding an unconscious Gaara in her lap. Temari’s sobs mingled with yours.

“Oh, gods,” You said, coming forward.

The cavern was dark save for the cracks letting in light from above, the color of flames.

Temari looked up at you; her clothes were tattered, her ponytails ragged and messy. She glared up at you and you froze, choosing not to come any closer.

What have I done …

“Kankuro once told me …” Temari began, voice watery. “He once told me your so-called oasis can heal people.” Temari straightened. “Well, here’s your chance to prove yourself. If you really love my brother, take us there. Save him.”

The cavern gave way to secret tunnels, leading past the main gates of Sunagakure. You begged Temari to listen about how your father must have done something to you, but she said they would address it on the way.

Temari lugged Gaara over her shoulder all by herself, shirking your weak offers of help, before passing him to Matsuri. She gripped her fan strapped to her back and opened it three times bigger than it was when folded, and before you knew it, the four of you were in the air.

You flew over burning streets in the Sand, eerily resonant of one of your nightmares. Ninja the size of ants did battle as citizens were shuffled away to whatever safety was left for them.

Am I still dreaming? You wondered as a building collapsed under the weight of its fire.

“Wait — what about Kankuro?” You asked. “And Baki?”

“Baki trained us all. I have faith in him. As for …” Temari’s expression grew pained. “There’s nothing we can do; he’s going to hold down the fort until we come back.” She eyed Gaara. “I can’t lose two brothers …”

It was long before the smoke lessened and stopped burning through your nose and down your throat. It was long before the horrible silence was broken but only by Gaara’s wracked breathing. Temari turned to you, eyeing you with harsh appraisal, making you crumble.

“Come here.”

Temari examined you. She performed — what were they called? — hand signs, the speed of the motions blurring her fingers.

“Release!” she said.

You felt a tightness loosen around you, like a series of ropes had loosened around your middle. You let out a relieved breath.

“Whatever you were trying to say before,” Temari said. “Say it now.”

You nodded, your eyes flickering from her to Gaara. And … you told her everything. The poison and the plan, your father’s letters and Chuuyou’s betrayal, how you had gone back and forth in trying to tell them the truth, doing the best you could to wait it out until you understood your father’s intentions — until it was too late.

All the while, Matsuri continued administering some sort of pseudo antidote to Gaara, keeping him stable by dripping it into his mouth.

“We’re running out,” Matsuri said as Gaara rasped and twitched. “We need to find this oasis now.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Temari said. “Gaara’s strong; he’ll make it …”

“Let me do that,” You begged Matsuri. “Please.”

Matsuri smiled weakly and gave you the drip. You shifted Gaara’s head in your lap and searched his face. He was even paler than usual. Blots of purple etched his face. His eyes opened and closed, as though he were trying to achieve consciousness, only to be dragged under each time. Look what my father’s done to him …

“What I don’t understand,” Temari began, furrowed gaze straight ahead, “is how Gaara couldn’t have noticed …”

“I told him I was just nervous about things that have happened,” You said while administering the drip. “He told me about the anti-Kazekage groups causing him trouble and I made it seem like that was what was bothering me.”

“He trusted you, you mean?” Temari’s hands clenched into fists. “He didn’t think you would lie to him?”

You bowed your head in shame. You worried your soot-covered hands again and again. “Temari, how long was I gone? Just what in the hell happened?”

Temari glared out into the desert. The rolling sand dunes were contradictorily peaceful in comparison to the capital from which you had all come. The sun was dropping fast, leaving the heavens a deep plum. You knew there was a part of Temari still refusing to believe your story; she could not have been swindled for so long. You came beside her, yet she refused to look at you.

Just as you were about to beg her to speak, she did: “Right after they took you, Gaara said he wanted to speak with your father,” Temari released a frustrated sigh. “He wanted to try to end things as peacefully as possible. Neither of us cared about that, of course, but he insisted. So, a day later, we went to him together. With backup. Kankuro’s men and about a hundred of our own were there just in case Boutoku tried anything. Boutoku said he had no idea about any assassination plan and said he wanted to shake Gaara’s hand. Of course he didn’t. Boutoku blew a gasket. Called him a spoiled, disrespectful brat not worthy of the title of Kazekage. There was chaos after that, and when Gaara tried to calm everyone down, Boutoku struck Gaara with poison hidden under his sleeve. Things just derailed from there.”

“Gods, Father, you didn’t …” You placed your hand over Gaara’s forehead. Feverishly hot. Desert heat, you lied to yourself. “Gaara …” I’m so sorry.

“He killed Joseki and most of Suna’s council as well,” Temari added.

“What?” You said.

“I don’t know about Ikanago, though,” Temari said sardonically. “That fucking broken hip might’ve just saved her life.”

“How many days has it been?” You asked.

“Two.”

Your stomach dropped. Two days? Just two days? Your imprisonment had been an eternity — but, you realized, so much of it had been spent jostled between reality and dreams, miserable and expecting death.

“Give or take a few hours,” Temari continued. “But who’s counting?”

“Boutoku’s risen an opposition made up anti-Kazekage groups to take on the village along with villages he’d made pacts with,” Matsuri said.

You processed this: it took him longer coming to Suna than it had taken you. And those long stretches of time where he occupied the palace, where no one knew what he was doing, ostensibly taking breakfast in bed … He would have been watched though, surely? Unless Gaara wouldn’t allow it. A show of trust usurping strategy.

Oh, Gaara …

“Just how positive are you that this oasis even has powers?” Temari asked brusquely.

You wiped sweat from Gaara’s forehead. “Not totally.”

“For your sake, I hope it is.” Temari swept her hand and her fan served in a new direction. She swung back at you. “Was it all fake? All of it?”

You faced her. “None of it. I swear.” No matter what, you felt sure and true about this. “I fell in love with Gaara — with everyone. That’s why I couldn’t do it. I tried to tell him myself … I just couldn’t.”

“The jutsu placed on you kept you tongue tied,” Matsuri said soothingly. “He must’ve had it done before you came here, probably when you were asleep. You couldn’t have known.”

“I still could’ve said something,” You said. But what? You remembered trying to say your father had done something to you, but you had failed in that as well. Father had covered all of his bases should you fail him. “I was so afraid and overwhelmed with everything that had happened — I didn’t think you’d believe me if I couldn’t tell you everything.”

“Yeah?” Temari had not been thawed by your guilt. “And what about this so-called pregnancy of yours?”

You looked up. “What do you mean? You … We still don’t know?”

“We were never able to confirm it,” Temari said. “Coups have a tendency to be distracting, if you can believe that.”

The wind whistled in your ears. Gaara groaned, sinking his head deeper into your lap.

“I really do believe it, Temari,” You said. “I think I’m pregnant. And I want to fight for my family.”

Temari tensed.

“My real family.”

Temari swerved her fan again, the sand underneath picking up at the gust. She sighed. “Whatever. I don’t care how you chose to view things. Just … do your part.”

You nodded, recognizing that as good as you were going to get.

“I’m so sorry about Chuuyou,” You said to Matsuri. “He made a clone of you. This whole time, he was framing you.”

Matsuri smiled sardonically. “He must’ve disguised himself as me — a ninja trick,” she added as you tilted your head at her, confused. “To everyone else, he would’ve looked just like me.”

“Wouldn’t that incriminate you, too?” Temari said. “How was he so sure it would just be Gaara who would look bad?”

“I think he took the risk,” You said. “With him fainting at the party and all, that would just be another incident. And it would make Gaara appear incompetent as a leader.”

“And incendiate the anti-Kazekage leagues,” Matsuri said. She caressed your shoulder. “Oh, (Y/n), it’s okay.” She looked down at Gaara. “I … was sad to find out Gaara had to marry. I’ve … had feelings for him for a long time, but I was prepared to do whatever was good for him. I never would have betrayed the sand, especially not Gaara.”

You smiled at her.

“And now I’m willing to do whatever it takes to help his fiancée,” Matsuri continued. “This is your mission now.”

My mission. You covered her hand with yours. She’s right. Even if the oasis can’t heal him, I have to somehow. I can’t let it all come crashing down because of Father.

Gaara winced in his sleep before he was wracked with coughs. A blink and you were there parting his lips and administering the “antidote” to him.

“We have to hurry,” Matsuri said, determined.

“I know,” Temari hissed and whipped her hand for more speed.

The four of you flew on. It had taken you only a full day to go from the Oasis to the sand, but how quickly would you get there via Temari’s fan? Matsuri fed you another food pill so you could continue caring for the one who truly needed the attention. Gaara’s condition fluctuated: dangerously hot to alarmingly cold, and you didn’t know whether that was a good thing or not. You removed his trench coat to keep him cooler, but you had to watch the squeeze bottle deplete, warning you of the little time you had left.

“Lord Kazekage is strong,” Matsuri said. “This isn’t the first time his life has been threatened in such a way.”

And to pass the time she began to tell you about his run in one the organization called the Akatsuki, his kidnap, his technical death and Chiyo’s sacrifice. By the end of it, you felt nearly as sick as him. Oh, Gaara …

The sun sank into the horizon, leaving the sky bruise-blue. Night encroached, and the lack of sun agitated you. Matsuri supplied a light from her pocket so you could always monitor Gaara’s face.

“I see it!” Temari said.

You sprouted up. Unmistakable: the slight hint of buildings hazed by the billowing sand.

Sandcastles.

You were almost home.

A sand dune burst below you —

“Look out!” Matsuri cried.

Temari swerved in time. She aimed for another dune and landed behind it for shelter. You and Temari peaked over its uppermost curve.

Shinobi emerged from the sand, weapons at the ready and charging right for the four of you.

“Fuck!” Temari hissed.

“We’re being attacked.” Matsuri helped you in dragging Gaara from the fan.

“Hide! Both of you!” Temari said with gritted teeth, frantically hand-waving the two of you away. “I’ll take care of this!”

“What if you need help?” Matsuri asked.

“You kidding?” Temari turned back with a smirk. “I’ve been wanting an opportunity to smack the crap out of something.”

And it can’t be me, at least not anymore.

“Or kill. Whatever comes first. Just get both of them away from here!” Temari collected her fan and abandoned the safety of the dune’s hump. She stormed into the desert. You looked over the hill of it to see the shinobi closing in — Oasis shinobi, waiting for her.

“Who dares attempt to invade the Oasis village?” one of them roared.

“We have Lord Boutoku’s daughter with us, you idiots!” Temari barked. “Let us pass!”

“Lady (Y/n) is no longer welcome beyond our walls,” another shouted.

“Lady (Y/n) —?”

You gasped, spun around, clutching Gaara’s lifeless body closer to you.

Someone was poking out from another sand dune, and for a second you saw Chuuyou hiding there — with his face mask covering all but his eyes, his soft tones hiding his traitorous ambitions — only for you to realize this was someone new.

“Get behind me!” Matsuri charged in front of you to act as a shield and brandished a knife.

“Lady (Y/n)!” A man rose from the dune, sand slipping off of him. His garb was similar to Chuuyou’s, but this man was much younger. “Surely, my eyes deceive me!”

“You know this guy?” Matsuri shot a look over her shoulder at you.

“I don’t know …” You clung to Gaara. “No.”

“Listen to me, please, Lady (Y/n),” the man said. “You cannot make it that way; the village is completely forbidden to you now! I can get you through to the other side, but you must trust me!”

“But …” You looked past the dune behind you to Temari.

She engaged in combat with the other ninja, defending and dodging and dishing blows. A trio of kunai flew her way to impale her, but she jumped away in the nick of time and to allow herself space from her assailants.

“Don’t fuck with me!” Temari spread her fan open and swung —

A windstorm spilled from her fan, blowing sand away from nearby dunes. Men were blown back in the sudden cyclone, crying out, some grasping on to anything to avoid being propelled into the air.

“More will come, Lady (Y/n), once they know you are here!” the man said. “Please, there isn’t much time!”

“This could be a trick, (Y/n),” Matsuri advised.

You were caught between two worlds. But he’s not wrong; Temari can’t fight them all.

The man genuflected, knees bent, hand on his chest. “I swear on my soul and the spirit of the oasis. I am a friend.”

Gaara shook with another series of coughs at your side, reminding you of the empty drip in your pocket.

Doubt consumed you. If I’m wrong, Temari will probably struggle to be able to fight him at close range. But we can’t stay out in the open either.

“We don’t have a choice,” You murmured to Matsuri, who was still guarding you without moving an inch. You peaked over the dune. “Temari, c’mon!” You shouted over the wind.

She glanced over her shoulder at you before looking back at the ninja that’d been blown away. She jumped, phasing out, before landing right beside you. She glared at the man adjacent to you and Matsuri.

You readjusted Gaara on your shoulder. “We’re going with him.”

Temari eyed you crookedly.

“I’m sure,” You affirmed, and, realizing your place, added, “This isn’t a trick. He claims to be a friend and — and we can’t stay out here.”

Temari’s glare did not wane, but she seemed to be considering that fact as much as you were. She sighed before clipping her fan shut.

“I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I believed the desert to be playing tricks on me, with its many mirages … But you’re really here, aren’t you?”

The shinobi — who called himself Kota — stopped walking to marvel at you. He had led the four of you down a set of cavernous tunnels. You and Temari carried Gaara, one arm over either of your shoulders. And Temari’s superior, deceptive strength was such that Gaara’s feet barely ever touched the ground.

“Who are you?” You swung a question back at him.

Kota resumed walking while the four of you brought up the rear. “I am a part of a small resistance, working to take back the Oasis from the hands of your father,” he explained. “When he abandoned the village for the Sand, we knew it was our chance.”

“And you’re the leader of this group?” You asked, following.

“Oh no, not me.” Kota chuckled, as though that were a ridiculous notion. “We follow the Lady Hahaoya.”

You furrowed your brows. That name … Why did it seem familiar?

Kota led the four of you to a room crowded by other shinobi. Maps with red-inked scribbles littered the walls and a wide, round table was at the room’s center, spotlighted by a harsh white light shining down on it.

“Kota!” one of them welcomed with arms wide. “You’ve come back! And —“ He paused upon seeing you and an unconscious Gaara. And with a disbelieving laugh: “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me …”

“Is that the Kazekage?”

“That’s Lady (Y/n)!”

“Lady (Y/n)? Really?”

The crowd opened up so you could see who stood at its center.

It was a woman. An older woman with elegant lines denoting her age. Her hair piled on top of her head in a messy, hastily clipped bun. She turned to you.

Your eyes rounded. Shock dropped your stomach. It couldn’t be …

She smiled at you. “Hello, little one.”

You had forgotten her name, but how could you forget her voice? The same voice that had sung you to sleep so many nights …

“Hahaoya?” You gaped. “It’s — it’s you?”

“Yes.” She came toward. “It is, in fact, me.”

“You — you never told me you were a ninja!”

“What’s happening here?” Temari said, growing possessive of Gaara as Hahaoya came nearer. “Who is she?”

“She used to care for me,” You explained. “Before my father banished her.”

“This group is run by your ex-nanny?”

“I’m sure you’re all very confused, but this is not the time for discussion about my previous work. We must aid the Kazekage.” Hahaoya said, inching toward Temari. When she relaxed, Hahaoya helped Gaara to the table. She sat him down, where he groaned painfully and she swung her head. “I need help over here!”

The others came to examine him, crowding him. Some left and returned brandishing water and cold towels.

“He’s in bad shape,” Kota said overhead. “But he will not die here.”

“He’s been poisoned,” You told Hahaoya.

“By our desert plant, no doubt,” Hahaoya said with narrowed eyes. She patted Gaara with a cold, rolled towel, blotting away the clamminess accumulating over his skin. “Boutoku, you’ve become such a devil …”

“Hahaoya, I have to get him to the oasis so it can heal him,” You said imploringly. “Please, tell me there’s a way to get there.”

Hahaoya raised her head, her expression dire. “Boutoku’s locked it away from all of us. No one’s been able to access it.” She examined you. “But you are his flesh and blood; perhaps you can.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are Boutoku’s daughter,” Hahaoya said. “None of us are permitted through, but there is likely no such requirement for you. And I doubt your father instilled one.” There was a cold pause. “He likely did not think you would make it this far. But you have the blood of the first village head running through your veins. If anyone can get those gates to open, you can.”

Canyon gates rose high and wide around you. Water streamed from the gate to the ground and past your feet in narrow streams. A rarity.

Gaara was situated on a cot to keep him comfortable. The scowl previously permanent on his face was gone, and he lay peacefully there. You disliked the idea of him out here, victim to the elements, most of all the heat. But Temari and Matsuri flanked his sides, along with Hahaoya and Kota.

You stood ahead of them, at the front of the gates. You raised your head to them. They were engraved with the emblem of the village at their center. Father infiltrated your memory. In happier times, he told you about the legacy of the oasis, its importance to the family line and village. How far he had fallen.

Footsteps. You did not need to know Hahaoya now stood beside you. “This is as far as we can take you.” Even while delivering the most depressing news, there was a lull in her voice to remind you of the one that had carried you into dreams as a young girl. “I would be lying if I said I knew how it works.”

“Father wouldn’t ever share that information with anyone,” You murmured, eyes fixed on the gates embedded in the vast canyon. Except Hideo, maybe. Father’s precious son. His sun child. In another, perhaps better world, Hideo would be alive and would know full well what you didn’t. It was a strange, acidic irony that in no universe would Father ever tell you, dead son or no.

“The others aligned with Boutoku will wonder where you all went soon enough,” Kota said softly. “They may suspect us of being here — you must find a way to open these gates yourself and quickly.”

“But I don’t …” You looked over your shoulder at Gaara’s frail form. Frustration bit at you. “I — I don’t know!”

“Figure it out!” Temari hissed. “We don’t know how much time he has!”

“Feel for the truth inside of you, little one,” Hahaoya advised gently. She touched a ginger hand to your shoulder. “You can do it.”

You approached the gate. You placed your hands on the canyon walls. The jagged edges threatened to bite and scratch at your open palms as you moved your hands. And … A pull. An invisible rope wrapped around and tugging you at your gut. Physically, you jerked forward.

“I — I feel something …” You said.

“Good, little one. Very good!” Hahaoya urged.

You closed your eyes, and you ran hands over the rocky surface, searching for signs, fighting to align yourself with them.

Come on … Come on … Please —

Blood …!

You popped your eyes open with a gasp, flinching hands away.

“What is it?” Hahaoya asked.

“It — spoke to me,” You said. “It — it wants blood.” You overcame the shock and placed your hand on the rock again. You waited. Blood … The voice wasn’t unpleasant as it echoed throughout your mind. Blood … “It wants my blood,” You added.

“Proof of your lineage,” Hahaoya said. “Your bloodline. Do it, child!”

You turned, and she was there, handing you a knife.

“Use this kunai to cut yourself,” she said. “Don’t fear the pain, love. It is inconsequential when compared to the pain you may prevent.”

You took it gingerly; you had never purposely injured yourself before. You held the kunai’s tip over your palm with a trembling hand.

Your gaze flickered to Gaara, lifeless and poisoned. And needing you. What was one little cut to what he was enduring — had already endured?

You hardened yourself. Closing your eyes, you swept the kunai harshly over your palm. You winced. You opened your eyes, hoping the cut had dug deep enough, and saw red river into the numerous lines of your palm.

“Here.” You presented your hand. You bit into the edge of your tongue to fight against the horrible sting.

Silence. Nothing happened. Until the gates rumbled. A slot from the gate’s bottom slid aside, and from it crawled a scorpion.

“Oh, of course —“ Temari started.

“Hush!” Kota ordered.

It crawled toward you, poisonous tail held high in the air. It halted at your feet, armored head bobbing expectantly.

Instinct took over, and you knelt down to the creature, bestowing your hand. The scorpion bent its head to the blood pooling in your palm, inspecting, tasting —

And the world shook. You stumbled, nearly falling over your bent knees.

“An earthquake?” Matsuri said, clutching the side of Gaara’s cot.

The rope came again to tug at your center, as though secure around the nexus of your soul. You felt oddly supported, stable as the ground thrashed and rumbled around you.

You looked down — and saw through your hands. Through them. Your legs, too, were fading, your thighs next —

“(Y/n)!” Temari cried.

“What’s happening —?” Matsuri cried.

You thought of all you could do. You stood on feet growing increasingly more transparent and went to Gaara. You slotted an invisible hand past Matsuri to grasp at his hand.

Your torso faded, your chest. You felt light. You were light. Weightless and not at all of this world, with only Gaara’s hand to anchor you to it. And in a spiral of wind and clouds, both you and Gaara vanished from the group.

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara smut #naruto x reader #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #naruto smut #my work

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f1-05-writer · 10 months ago

Text

Blurb: Redbull racing welcomes a new doctor to the medical team but she the boss daughter and has caught the eye of max verstappen…

So this is the first part of my story hopefully you like it! It will be a bit of a slow burn!

Part 2 posted!

Length: 1145 words

I brace my knee braced on top of the hard plastic and give an almighty pull of the zipper and yet it still doesn’t budge. The sheer amount of clothes I’ve crammed in are refusing to be contained. “Come on you can do this!” I mutter, trying desperately to psych myself up. With a final burst of brute strength, the zipper eeks closed. “Fuck yes!!” I shout triumphantly settling down on top of the conquered suitcase. I survey my surrounding and settle further into my new position, realising that this is the last thing I have to do. My apartment is now fully packed up. However, the tranquillity of this moment is quickly interrupted by the sweat on my forehead making it's presence known, I grimace as the hem of my shirt comes up wet after swiping it across - Brisbane humidity is not something I will miss. After being here for five years for my medical degree, I'm ready to leave. To do something new. The first stop of that is heading to Bahrain –for the first Grand Prix of the year. Just as I'm about to stand and start wrangling this stupid suitcase out the door of my flat I hear the ear-piercing ring of my phone. Muttering out a curse at the stupid tone and swipe to answer not bothering to look at the name – I already know who it is based on the fucking ringtone.

“Hi Dad, what are you calling for” I query

“Y/N/N,” he starts with, using the shortened version of my name, “I can’t wait to see you again only a few more hours till you are in Bahrain with me! The start of many races together. I was just calling to check that you’re all sorted for the plane – it will be on the tarmac waiting for y-”

I do a double take at that comment and “Wait what! I've already booked my flight you didn’t need to send the plane down – I’ve told you it will make people look at me differently if they see me coming in on the company plane – they will think I only got the position because of you!” I screech, running my hand through my hair, this however, does nothing to sooth my frustration as my fingers get tangles in my mess of curls. Whilst my battle rages with my curls dad continues unperturbed, “Darling, you know that’s not true I had nothing to do with the selection process for Dr Trome.” I finally freed I continue exasperated “I know that dad, but other people don’t! it already hard enough people think I get handouts for being a girl and now people will say I only got it cause I'm RedBull’s Team principles daughter”

My father, Christian Horner sighs “I'm sorry darling, I just wanted to make your day easier – will you at least take the car from Bahrain airport to the track?”

I mull my options over – an Uber on Grand Prix week will cost me and arm and a leg, I know shit about Bahrain public transport and nor do I particularly want to wrangle my luggage around on it. Knowing my options are slim to none I agree to the car picking me up. Pleased with my answer my father finishes the call with a rushed I love you. `

I look down at my phone and my heart drops “FUCK” I scream. Frantically I grab everything do a curtesy sweep of my flat – it was really nothing to write home about – despite my very wealthy parents I am determined to make my own way – I want my successes to be mine, that everything I have earned in life is due to my own hard work not my last name, not my parents’ money but my skill. Jumping into a Taxi without a second to spare if I want to make my flight on time, I tell the driver to head to the terminal. An excruciating 25-minute drive later I arrive. With barely enough time to breath, I make it in time to check in. Finally, I have a chance to breath once seated on the plane – I'm always on edge in airports, the sheer mass if people, the lack of control it all sets me on edge. Checking my emails for the details of my position with Dr Trome.

Dear Y/N,

I hope you are traveling safe and once again congratulations on securing the position

Now that you are on your way, I just want to reaffirm what the expectation and the duties that this position involves – you are my one of back up team doctors you will be mainly responsible for the wellbeing of your assigned driver – this has yet to be determined but you will be informed once you have arrived in Bahrain.

This includes a whole multitude of aspects but as this is merely an internship with RedBull Racing’s Medical team you will NOT be responsible for making decision merely informing me of your proposed medical plan and talk through the rational with me, we will then decide the course of treatment – this experience is meant to challenge you showing you what life as a team doctor is like – the taxing pace of travel, athletes in their peak physical health and give your hands on training.

When you land at 4pm please come straight to conference room 140E for the run-down of operations.

Once again Congratulations and welcome to RedBull Racing

Kind Regards,

Dr Trome

MD, BSc

Unable to contain my excitement a wide, slow smile spreads across my face. This is it. The start of a dream. Heading into medical school I was unsure of where I wanted to end up hospital rotations left me feeling drained and unfulfilled – I yearned for travel and excitement. My view of hospitals was probably warped due to the pandemic, but I was desperate not to suffer through that now. When the medical faculty at university had posted about an internship at RedBull racing I just couldn’t pass up, I dared not speak a word to my family about this – I knew my father would inject himself into the situation despite my protests and the obvious ethical violations. So, I quietly applied, not telling anyone and then 3 months ago after the whole interview process was complete, I got the internship. And that’s why I now find myself seated on a plane headed for Bahrain. I look out the window imagine the exciting possibilities that await me when this plane lands

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the current time in Brisbane is 6pm the flight time to Bahrain is approximately 18hours and 45 minutes so settle back, get comfortable and enjoy your flight. We thank you for flying with us.

I settle into my seat and get ready for the start of my new life.

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #Christian Horner daughter! x max verstappen

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barbieaiden · 1 year ago

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1. Kell: Dude. You're no fun to play with, you're too good.

Aiden: Kell, I love you, but I think you just suck at the game.

Kell: Dude! I always won against my siblings!

Aiden: Aww. I always let my brother win too when we were little.

Kell: You're cheating.

Aiden: I would never. I take these things very seriously.

2. Kell: By the way, you know that guy I went on a date with before your coma?

Aiden: Yeah?

Kell: Yeah, we were supposed to go on another date literally the day you got into the coma, so obviously I was like "dude, I can't make it, my friend is having a literal medical emergency", and he was like "okay, I'll just break this off here then, bye".

Aiden: Oh nooo. Did I cockblock you with my coma?

Kell: You literally did!

3. Aiden: I'll make it up to you. I'll wingman you so hard. I'll introduce you to literally everyone I know.

Kell: Isn't that, like, the entirety of River Bay?

Aiden: Almost, yeah. So you're bound to find someone.

Kell: Dude, you did not win again.

Aiden: You practically let me.

Kell: Dude!

Peyton: Is now a bad time to say hi?

4. Aiden: Peyton! NO, of course not. I didn't even know you were here, it's been so long!

5. Peyton: Yeah, I seem to recall being ignored for a month?

Aiden: Sorry about that. I was sleeping.

Peyton: For a month?

Aiden: Doctor's orders.

Peyton: Ah, of course. Totally reasonable.

6. Aiden: But don't worry. I'm back in my element.

Peyton: Do I want to know what that means?

Aiden: It means I'm ready to annoy the fuck out of you and text you every millisecond 24/7.

Peyton: Okay, I can get behind that.

7. Peyton: how are you doing?

Aiden: Great.

Peyton: "Great"? Really?

Aiden: So great. How are you? Are you still working at the mall?

Peyton: I quit impulsively a few weeks ago. I should probably get a new job if I want to be able to pay rent, but, eh. Video games are more fun.

Kell: If you're evicted you can move into Sam and Aiden's closet, I hear it's pretty empty nowadays.

Aiden: Totally.

8. Kell: Peyton, you're good at connect 4, right?

Peyton: I'd say so.

Kell: Help me win. Please.

Aiden: Who's cheating now?

Kell: There's no rule that says you can't have someone help you.

Peyton: Don't put it there. One step right.

Kell: Here?

Peyton: Yeah.

9. Aiden: Peyton, I love you so much.

Kell: Dude. Did you just make me lose?

Peyton: [Shrug]

Kell: Fuck you. Both of you.

[New scene]

10.

Sam: You met Aiden right after the car crash.

Jordan: Yes.

Sam: How bad was it? He never told me.

Jordan: Considering the crash, his injuries were very mild.

Sam: But he could've died.

Jordan: He didn't. And I don't think you need to worry about something that happened six years ago.

Sam: No, I just...

Jordan: Just what?

Sam: I don't know.

11. Sam: I hated Aiden when we first met.

Jordan: According to Kell's accounts you were simultaneously in love with him?

Sam: Attracted to. There's a difference.

Jordan: Not to me.

Sam: And how many successful relationships have you had?

Jordan: Well... I've certainly had relationships, I can tell you that much.

12. Sam: Don't you get tired of talking to new people all the time? How do you even find so many people you're interested in? I did it once and now I'm marrying him so I never have to do it again.

Jordan: It's easy if you're drunk and have very, very low standards. It also helps if you're fresh off a 13 hour shift at a hospital.

Sam: That sounds awful.

Jordan: I don't necessarily recommend it.

13. Sam: But you keep doing it.

Jordan: I suppose I have nothing better to do after those 13 hour shifts.

Sam: I'm so glad I dropped out of med school.

Jordan: You should be.

14. Sam: I'm just going to get some water.

Jordan: Okay.

15. Lucas: No, I had to do it because Michael thought it was "rude".

Michael: It was.

Lucas: If I pay for something, I want what I paid for. That's not rude. If I fuck someone's tattoo up I'd fix it.

Michael: You can't compare a meal to something that's permanently on someone's body.

Lucas: You agree with me.

Peyton: Oh, yeah.

Lucas: Exactly!

16. Peyton: Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Sleeping better?

Sam: A little.

Peyton: So... while you're here... Aiden.

Sam: Yes?

17. Peyton: He's acting... suspiciously normal, isn't he?

Lucas: Right? I literally told Michael the same thing ten minutes ago. This is the way Aiden always acts after medical emergencies, he just pretends everything's fine.

18. Sam: It's been a month. Things have gone back to normal, he's not pretending.

Lucas: No, sorry, no offense, Sam, but I don't think you get it. You weren't there all the other times he had to go to the hospital because of drugs--and that shouldn't be plural, by the way--this happens every time.

19. Lucas: He says he's fine and that he's clean now and then he just waits until people stop asking him about it and we're back at square one.

Sam: This was different though.

Lucas: Just because it was worse and because he maybe went through a tiny little bit of withdrawal while unconscious doesn't mean he's magically better.

Michael: Lucas, please.

20. Michael: You yourself said that there's nothing we can do.

Lucas: Well, we can't exactly force him to do anything but there's a difference between overcaring and pushing him away, and being so passive it turns into enabling.

Michael: I agree, but I don't think that has anything to do with Sam.

Lucas: I didn't say it does.

21. Lucas: I just don't want him dead, that's all.

Peyton: I seriously doubt any of us want him dead.

Lucas: Exactly. So we can't just trust that he's better because he says he is.

Sam: That's not what--[Sigh] I don't think it's fair to talk about this behind his back.

22. Lucas: I'd love to discuss this with him directly but he makes it pretty difficult. There's a reason he didn't want to talk to us for a fucking month.

Sam: Maybe it wasn't deliberate. Maybe he was just recovering from a coma.

Lucas: But he was talking to literally everyone else during that time, wasn't he? It's not a coincidence he ignored me, Michael, and Peyton specifically.

23. Sam: I... I don't know his motivation. And either way I don't want to be involved in this.

Peyton: That's fair. I didn't really mean for this to be a whole discussion.

Lucas: Sorry. Look, my point is just... if he's clean, that's fucking great. But I kind of doubt it. Just... keep an eye on him.

Sam: I always am.

#if these images don't load idk what i'll do</3 #ts4 story #lost #lost: aiden #lost: sam #lost: kell #lost: lucas #lost: michael #lost: jordan #lost: peyton

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kitsumidori · 8 months ago

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An assortment of Borderlands headcanons that I have saved up and I'm on when I'm going to ramble about these, but I'm doing it now. LET'S GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tina would sometimes crochet whenever she fidgets, these would result in cute little yarn plushies that she would give to her friends.

Despite being one of the smarter vault hunters, Maya has shown to be a little dense at times (like one time she asked Lilith if she has extra closet space for her books, Lilith only responded with the most deadpanned face ever imagined while Maya was waiting for an answer) You can blame the monks for that.

Ironically despite being called “The Firehawk” Lilith has a mild phobia of birds (huge ones specifically) She’s ok with small ones like with Bloodwing and Little Talon, though she was taken off once she’d noticed Talon grew way bigger than Bloodwing did.

Hammerlock likes to collect novelty nick-nacks (tea/coffee cups, souvenirs from gift shops, those singing animatronic fish trophy's ECT) and has also dragged Wainwright down the rabbit hole into collecting little trinkets they’ll find while on holiday (One being a paperweight that looked like a eldritch squid god that he keeps on his desk)

Gaige having ADHD is something that everyone agrees with. But I like to add that while she can spend hours reading multi chapter fanfictions on the ECHOnet, she however can’t finish an actual book and would spend hours skimming the same two pages and getting a headache from it. However give her a comic book/graphic novel (something like The Bone series) literally anything with pictures and she can easily get though those in an afternoon.

During her recovery, Angel has taken to age regression to cope with what Jack did to her. Lilith and Gaige understand and would help with her coping.

Clay is definitely the type of guy that can’t be labeled (sexuality wise). But at the same time he’s not too picky on who or what he likes and is open to whatever.

Wainwright and Alistair would host the best house parties hands down, especially during the holiday seasons.

Example: On Bloody Harvest, The Jakobs Manor would become a haunted house attraction filled with all sorts of spooks and treats and during the summer season, the two would invite the Raiders for a big cookout/pool party.

Moze has Hirsutism (excess hair growth in unexpected areas of the body) though it is hardly noticeable because

1. It's usually around her chest and stomach which she would shave off (just because she's a soldier doesn't mean she has to give up personal care and it's really itchy)

And 2. She's been taking hormone medication so it does reduce it

However she'll have some days where she would forget to do either due to mental shutdowns.

Despite Outer Krieg's violent tendencies, he is no moron. He has a very strange patchwork of knowledge, it's anyone's guess what he knows about any given topic.

Tyreen has a deep fear of dating/romance, this mainly stems from the idea that it'll end up like with her mom and dad.

Maya has a very soft spot for children. She really hates the idea that adults would use and abuse one for their own personal gain (like what happened to her)

There have been some days when Maya would use her powers to do the most stupid and mundane things, like phaselocking and feeding herself a pizza because she's too lazy to use her hands.

Unknown to herself and everyone else, Maya has the ability to sense ghostly/supernatural presence. She gets a feeling like she's being watched at times.

Contrary to popular beliefs, the Handsome Jack and Typhon DeLeon vaultlander figures are nowhere near valuable. Ironically it's the Claptrap figure that's the most valuable and most rarest.

Typhons """"""fame"""""" has been dwindling ever since it's been reveled that he's nothing more than a gross deadbeat that took other people's credit, and newer generations of vault hunters see him as a poser

Maya has Astraphobia (fear of thunderstorms). This stems from when she was a kid back at Athenas, if a storm comes by the temple, she would hide and freeze up, praying for it to end. This trauma stems further with the fact that back then she didn't have anyone to go to for comfort.

While thunderstorms are very uncommon on Pandora (at least in the part's where the Raiders reside) when they do come, Krieg is right there to comfort her throughout the storm.

(more TBA later)

#borderlands #borderlands 2 #borderlands 3 #kitsu chatter #I've had this typed down awhile ago #and I've been saving it for when I think I have enough to post #half of these I've already mentioned before #mainly from ask games #the last one is the most recent #because typhon deserves hell 💀💀💀

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 1 year ago

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Your tf2 headcannons make me smile :), how about the mercs going into their favorite game for a day and they have ti survive

Would The TF2 Mercs Survive In Their Favorite Video Game World? (+ Their Favorite Video Games)

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Awe! I'm so glad I can make you smile 😭Honestly makes me so happy in general to be able to make stuff people enjoy! For the sake of this to make seance I'm going to pretend that all these games work on real human time and take 24hrs for a day to pass (If the game takes more than one day to beat) or the game to be finished. (If the days passing is unspecified)

Also! Mutual appreciation comment time! Thank you for being a mutual I love your asks and thank you for all the likes 💖

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Okay enough of that to the prompt!

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TW: BLOOD, GORE, AND MENTIONS OF DEATH!

SPOILERS TOO FOR, OUTLAST, UNDERTALE,

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Demo- Borderlands 2

Of course Demo would love a game with mayhem, destruction, and humor. He also loves the fact that (for him at least) the game never gets boring, or dull. He always has fun when ever he loads up the game, so waking up one day in the game was both super exciting, and terrifying. I think he would survive, but then die as soon as the day was almost over, like he's not dying the second he wakes up, he's pretty good at the game after all, but he'd get confident, and then two seconds before the day his over he's shot in the head or something 😭

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Engie- Minecraft

I know, I know. It's not a fresh, new, or even controversial take, it's just what everyone assumes, but I wholeheartedly agree Minecraft is his favorite game. He loves the freedom to build, he thinks it super cool he can use things that he would normally not be able to build with. He also loves being able to play with his friends (Pyro and Scout) specifically. He's beat the game at least ten times, and knows the game inside and out. Waking up in the game was suppressing, but to be honest, I think he's had weirder situations happen. He immediately knows what to do, and is on it. After only twenty minutes of being in the game, he's already working on a house, by time the night is actually here he's somehow found diamonds and is working on his nether portal, is so upset to wake up in his bed the next day. He's bitter he couldn't finish the game. Doesn't die, obviously, but did have strong words with a skeleton after receiving an arrow to the back of the head.

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Heavy- Animal Crossing New Horizons.

I'm going to say it, this man doesn't really like violent video games. I know, controversial. My thing is, I don't think some of the mercs want to spend all their time killing, and then come back and kill fictional characters. But I could be wrong, but that doesn't matter because Heavy like Animal Crossing. He loves the villagers, loves the mundane tasks, loves how just, relaxing playing the game is. If he woke up on his AC island he'd be so happy. Hugs all the villagers, fishes, catches bugs, talks to Blathers about literally everything he can. This man is just having a great time, and I for one, am happy for him. Doesn't die (Even if he could, he still wouldn't) But did get stung by wasps at least once trying to catch them.

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Medic- Outlast (For the sake of the game being finished in the way Outlast is played medic is forced into the same confines Miles is put in)

Are we shocked that this man loves one of the most iconic horror games ever made? Loves how many boundaries it destroyed, how gross some of the parts are, and how bloody other parts can be. Giggles at all the gory scenes. ALSO WHEN SEES THE DOCTOR??? When he wakes up in the world, he's very excited until he remembers how pretty much useless Miles is. He still, remains confident in his survival skills, still goes through the physical issues Miles goes through, and finds that to be rather inconvenient, (Regrets always complaining about how upset Miles seems to get, but he understands now that maybe, just maybe, when you aren't able to heal almost immediately, that losing a finger or two isn't super easy to cope with) but regardless, he does survive, he doesn't die because of a lack of skill or overconfidence, but dies do to the plot advancement, you know?

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Scout- Apex Legends

I think in the same vein as Engie, this probably isn't a fresh take, but it still fits. Scout is good at Apex, like really good. I think it's easy to make him a silly little guy, but he's ruthless when he wants or needs to be. This man is an Apex champion more than most people, has more kills than you'd ever think, and is honestly a better teammate in Apex than on the field with the other mercs 😭 He wakes up in Apex world and he's so thrilled, he's ready to put his real-world skills into his favorite game and does pretty well until he's knocked down by an enemy, he hides behind a box and waits for his teammates to come help him, they start moving father away, he moves over to them, they move again, he bleeds out as his two other teammates walk away from him. (Totally never happened to me) then they didn't pick up his banner, so eventually, he just woke up after dying and is so pissed. It did make him a bit kinder when it comes to helping out his teammates, in hopes that he'll never go through that again.

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Sniper- Superhot

Way too good at Superhot, it's almost troubling how many hours he's put into the game. You'd swear you could see the enemies shaking anytime they appear on camera. Sniper sometimes uses this as an opportunity to practice dodging, but also just has fun fighting against an enemy. Loves the slo-mo shots he can get. Loves splitting enemies in half with different weapons. Also love the mind control and weird story setup of it all. If he woke up suddenly pixilated, fighting other pixilated entities, he's either freaking out or shrugging it off. Probably the latter, knowing him. He survives well, with only a few close calls, it's a lot easier when your hitbox isn't an entire VR headset after all. Genuinely has fun being put in the Superhot world for a day.

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Spy- Hitman

Now, I thought I'd be so clever and come up with original ideas, but I was wrong. I think Spy plays Hitman plays for ideas, how weapons would look, how messy a kill would be, etc. Also loves being able to have very minimal risk when he's "killing" It stresses a guy out when you live life trying not to get caught every day, you know? As much as this man likes this game, he is so pissy when he wakes up in this game. He's basically just living a full 24 hours of his regular day job and is exhausted by the end of it. He does a good job, doesn't get caught, and manages to keep his suit clean. Has never been so received to wake up.

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Soldier- Call of Duty Modern Warfare

A man who loves war likes a game about war, who would have guessed? No, but in all honesty, the military aspect is one of his favorite parts of it, he also loves the range of weapons and all the different roles you can play in the game. I'm not going to lie though, if he woke up in the COD world, he'd probably have a breakdown. Like he'd freak thinking everything before this was a fever dream, but he'll eventually figure it out. He would kill at any task he was given, and survive, he'd wake up and immediately feel better because as much as he loves the game, he never wants to go back.

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Pyro- Undertale

Pyro loves Undertale so much that it's insane. Has played his game, at least 30 times. Has never, not even once, played the genocide route. They cannot bring themselves to kill a froggit, let alone Papyrus or anyone else. When Pyro wakes up in the Undertale world they are thrilled, jumping up and down, giggling, screaming, you know all that fun. Literally gives Toriel the biggest hug ever. They have the best time of their life. Manages to do a deathless run, somehow, probably because of the insane amount of times they've played through it, but is heartbroken that they wake up after only being able to get through the neutral route.

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I'm sorry this took so long! I loved this prompt but I hit a slump, and I've been fighting with myself to get it posted, I'm sorry if it's not great, I hope you like it though 💖

I'll try and be more consistent I promise 🫶🏻

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #team fortress headcanons #tf2 hcs #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro

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she-is-27-i-checked · 2 months ago

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Putting this here because I value the opinions of a bunch of depressed neurodiverse queers who care about me far more than any medical professional. This is heavy mental health stuff so don't feel obliged...

So as you may have gathered things have taken a turn for the worse recently with the old Brain Mould situation. I've been on this rodeo a LONG time so I know the signs. What I don't know this time is what to do about it.

Brief history is I was on sertraline for about 6 years when it started to get less effective and so asked the doctor to try something else. The stronger drugs were all initially effective at conquering the depression and anxiety but after a while all gave me the same debilitating side effects. It's what I believe is a result of dopamine imbalance which is caused directly by the effect of the ssri's and it materialises just like ADHD symptoms - inability to concentrate, lack of motivation, noise and touch sensitivity, irritability, and probably via the effect of all that going on behaviourally, leads to anxiety and depression. So I ended up back where I started but for different reasons. I tried maybe half a dozen different drugs and they all basically went the same way. With no more drugs left to try we agreed I'd just stop taking anything and see how I got on raw dogging life. I did not get on well. At the point I was going to lose my job and/or marriage, I went back on sertraline working up to a higher dose than before.

Then things were good! Actually GOOD for about a year. I was free of suicidal ideation entirely for the first time I could actually remember. Then in September this year it started creeping back in. Just the occasional "omg I'm so tired I wish I was dead". Which used to be just a constant screen saver in my brain and I hadn't had in 12 months. Which made me panic a bit. And things have been creeping worse for the couple of months since then. I haven't been doing much work, I'm being less and less patient with child and wife, and I'm not at all prepared for Christmas.

Right now it is the middle of the working day and I have done nothing except order groceries, shower and twat about on my phone. At 5am when Mrs got up for work I started scrolling Tumblr despite having 2 hours until the alarm. Thinking about Christmas with The Families makes me feel sick.

Soo... I'm either under medicated, over-medicated or just responding normally to the objectively stressful events and season. I do not trust a doctor to help me unless I go there already knowing what I want out of the visit.

Should I get help now? Realistically that could only be an increased dose of sertraline because the other options have all been ruled out already. Or should I leave it and see how I get on once the Worst Time Of Year passes?

#suicidal ideation #suicide #mental health #probably tmi #27s brain goes to shit #ssris #i DO have support irl so please dont think im putting this ALL on you guys #i just value your thoughts #and typing it all out helps me get it out of my head #jokes and sillies are very welcome #but if you earnestly tell me to do yoga and go for a walk i reserve the right to set you on fire

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blouisparadise · 2 years ago

Photo

Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis is an independent omega. If you enjoy our fic rec lists and want them to continue, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

2) Night Out | Mature | 9741 words | Sequel

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.

3) Where Do We Go Now | Explicit | 10617 words

Louis goes off to college ready to start a fresh life away from the oppressive alphas of his pack. The odds aren't in his favour when his new dorm mate turns out to be an alpha.

Louis hates alphas.

4) Overwhelming | Explicit | 13261 words

Louis is an omega attending university to get his degree and most definitely not waste his time with unimportant things such as finding a mate. Harry is the alpha who manages to unwittingly mess up that plan.

5) Just Let Me | Mature | 14714 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

6) I Still Crave It | Explicit | 16143 words

Louis is an independent omega, who doesn't need or want an alpha. When he becomes ill and meets alpha Harry, he agrees to let him take care of him and quickly gets addicted to his scent. Once he feels better though, he keeps making up lies so that the alpha continues scenting him.

7) With Love Comes Strange Currencies | Explicit | 16508 words

One day One Direction will be over and Louis won't be around Harry every waking moment. He'll be able to finally get some space, let their bond dissipate as it's bound to do, if they don't mess up again. He can move to Costa Rica and forget that Harry Styles popped his first knot inside him. Until then, he's going to have to deal with this.

8) Don’t Call Me Angel | Mature | 16648 words

Manhattan is a dangerous playground for the rich and entitled Alphas of New York. Those same wealthy Alphas are robbed after spending one night in the presence of a blue-eyed Omega and Officer Styles is assigned to the case.

9) I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) | Explicit | 20681 words

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

10) The Voice Of Range And Ruin | Explicit | 25470 words

It seemed as if the freshly formed Omega Uprising had always been a step or two ahead of the Commandant and the rest of the reigning Alphanian officials. The idea had been floated that there must be someone working with them from the inside, reporting back to them on the government’s plans so that they could be prepared. That person had yet to be discovered, and the Commandant and his surrounding forces had finally had enough of this game of cat and mouse. Harry understood. He agreed. It needed to come to an end, one way or another.

“Your job is to navigate their landscape and gain entry into their forces. You will pretend to be one of them and gain reliable intel for us. It’s clear that no one else has been capable of doing it, and you at least have some semblance of experience in this field. This has gone on for too long, Harry. Enough is enough.” He made direct eye contact with his son, holding it. “I’m counting on you.”

11) Yours To Lose | Mature | 25742 words

“I think I know the person that matches your descriptions of your dream alpha.”

“Who? And oh not my dream alpha, god you’re making me sound like a teenage school girl. I’m a mum, H.” They laugh as they watch kids gather in front of the verandah, getting ready to go back to the orphanage.

“Well, you’re gonna have to find out.” Harry winks before standing up to start cleaning their spot.

12) Where The Lights Are Beautiful | Mature | 31170 words | Sequel

Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off.

Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it.

If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now.

As it is…Louis feels like shit.

13) These Hallowed Woods | Not Rated | 35535 words

Louis becomes Luna of the Tomlinson Pack after the untimely death of his father, the Pack Alpha. Saddled with his newfound responsibility and an unpleasantly demanding pack council, he finds secret respite in the arms of a rogue wolf that camps out just outside his territory. The only problem? The rogue has no idea who Louis actually is, and as Louis falls harder and harder for the man he escapes to every night, the weight of his lies steers him along a path of certain misery.

14) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42979 words

Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation.

Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world.

When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

15) Worth Dying For | Explicit | 44906 words

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

16) Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May | Explicit | 47519 words

A cold prince, an alpha with nothing left to lose and a kingdom with a secret.

17) Hold On To Your Heart | Explicit | 54183 words

The Proposal AU, where Louis is the no-nonsense editor in chief of one of the largest publishing houses in the country, and Harry is the unlucky assistant that gets roped into a fake engagement to prevent his boss from being deported. Things don't go as planned.

18) Let Your Damage, Damage Me | Explicit | 57077 words

A low and dangerous growl was ripped from the future King’s chest.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the alpha snarled, eyes dark and nostrils flared.

Even as anger rushed through him at the alpha’s brutish display, Louis felt breathless at the intense gaze of the man that was going to be his future mate.

‘Tomorrow I’m going to be under all that. He will be inside me, all muscles and rage.’ Louis felt his cheeks heat again, but refused to be cowed. So he put his best smirk on display, the one alphas despised to see, the one that assured them all he had the upper hand.

“Thought you were expecting me, dear husband. I’m your future mate.”

19) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62988 words

As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

20) Mead Of Poetry | Explicit | 65053 words

Under the pressure of continuing the Styles viscountcy line now that he is getting older, Harry sets himself three rules to finally settle down and marry: firstly, the omega needs to be reasonably attractive, secondly, they must be of great mind, thirdly, they cannot be anyone he would ever fall in love with.

Enters Charlotte Tomlinson, the diamond of the first water of the upcoming season and seemingly the perfect candidate to the viscount’s plan, but her omega brother, Louis, is in Harry’s way. Louis only seeks to protect his sister and he sure is not going to let a rake play with her heart.

21) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

22) Swim in the Smoke | Explicit | 101778 words

“What about this, Captain?” Liam asks, nudging the boy kneeling between their feet with the toe of his boot. The boy hisses and swipes at him, slurring out something unintelligible around the makeshift gag Niall had to stuff in his mouth. He misses by a mile and tries again, just as ineffectively.

Harry looks down at him, at the way the sun streams over his face and shoulders, at the way the gag stretches his mouth, lips pink and chapped. He’s lithe and pretty, smudged all over with dirt. They had found him tied up below deck, mostly unconscious, next to a barrel full of gold. He’s clearly a prisoner, but there’s something familiar about him, something that niggles at Harry’s brain. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“Put him in my cabin,” Harry decides, turning back to deal with the rest of the loot. The boys screams out jumbled curse words at Harry’s back, muffled by the gag, and Harry can’t understand any of it.

23) Billow and Breeze (Islands and Seas) | Explicit | 102506 words

It was bright; that was the first thing Louis could recall. With a groan, he winced at the throbbing behind the sockets of his eyes and rubbed his temples in an effort to soothe the pain. Maybe he really did hit his head when he took his tumble. The omega squinted as he looked at the surrounding rolling hills and fog hanging over the countryside. As strange as it was, the world felt different, though it looked practically the same.

Disoriented and confused, Louis padded through the moss and listened for his husband. “Liam?” he croaked shakily.

Nothing but a symphony of woodland creatures met his ears. His footsteps were muted by mossy green grass beneath his feet and soil fragrant as he neared the crest of the hill. At the top, he froze, lips parted in horror and eyes widening at the expanse of empty farmland—not a soul in sight. It had only been less than ten minutes prior that he could see Inverness from the crest, but now there was nothing.

“Impossible,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief—his mind not quite able to make sense of it.

24) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words

A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

25) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind.

In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia.

Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #a/b/o #independent omega louis #blp

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