#but the mental scar tissue is still there and would be seriously picked at | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

master-sass-blast · 3 years

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Care and Trust: Chapter Two.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five -Chapter One

Summary: “--and he says to me ‘my birthday’s every year, dude,’” the shorter one --he’s got gentle green eyes and dark, wavy hair--laughs. “Like, if the bushel of lilyweed I caught him with wasn’t evidence enough--” He pauses when he sees you and Lin waiting, takes one look at your bag and table, then tries to book it. “Nope!”

The taller one grabs him by the shoulders. “Bolin, come on! It’ll be okay!”“Nope! I’m totally fi --agh!”

You wince sympathetically when the younger one cringes and jerks in pain, then step forward so you can get one arm behind him, then introduce yourself as you usher him into Lin’s office. “It’s nice to meet you, Bolin. Why not sit down for a minute, okay? Take a load off? Maybe” --you glance at Ryu-- “we could have a cup of tea?”

AKA you learn why you got called to Lin's office.

Pairing(s): Lin Beifong x Reader

Rating: T.

Word Count: 4.2k.

Also, a huge thank you to @chromecutie for beta reading this fic in addition to all the others in this series! I would not have had the confidence to post any of HTH if she hadn’t assured me that I was doing the characters justice.

Lin’s office is a real, proper office; go figure, she’s the Chief of Republic City’s entire police force. It’d be weird if she didn’t have a proper office.

It’s an expansive, long room, with wrought iron support beams and a dark, wood panelled ceiling. A desk sits in the center of the room, right across from double doors. There’s a leather chair that looks like it’s worth more than your apartment behind the desk, as well as one to the side of the desk (presumably for visitors or reporting officers).

There’s a small sitting area to the left of the doors. Two couches are positioned across from each other, with a metal coffee table in between. On the opposite wall is a wardrobe --you’re putting money on a second set of armor and some clean casual clothes, given the horror stories Lin’s told you about messy crime scenes.

Aside from a third couch tucked into the corner of the room --it looks luxuriously padded, and you’re also putting money on Lin sleeping on that couch during long haul shifts--and a vase to the right of the double doors, the rest of the room is entirely utilitarian. Filing cabinets, bookshelves, a few boxes with active case files in them.

It’s Lin to a tee. Thoroughly practical, borderline spartan, but what is there is more than you could afford in a lifetime.

You politely turn down Ryu’s offer of tea or coffee, then set your massage table and bag on the floor. You pace a short circuit back and forth, mentally filing through what you know about Lin and how her body bears out physical stress. Any injury is liable to have aggravated her hip, given the body’s tendency to compensate to avoid pain. Combine that with her scars and her left side’s propensity to knot up… she’ll probably need some stretching and healing work before I could even try to adjust her--

The doors open again --and in walks Lin Beifong.

You cross your arms over your chest and cock your head back. “Let me guess --you didn’t have time to see a healer earlier, and now it’s biting you in the ass.”

Lin’s eyebrows spike to her hairline. She blinks, then holds up her hand. “Whoa, no. I’m fine.”

“Cut the hippobullshit, Lin. Your personal secretary called me here--”

“It’s not for me,” Lin interjects. She glances behind her, then closes the doors before continuing. “It’s… for one of the younger officers. Something of a situation.”

Your brows draw together as you frown. “If they’re seriously injured, they should go to the hospital--”

“No, no, it’s not like that. He was…” Lin grimaces as her voice trails off, “...advised to see someone like you after getting injured during the dock explosion debacle, but he’s… not comfortable with the thought of getting adjusted.”

“Oh.” You blink, wind going out of your sails as the panic ebbs. “And… your assistant called me…”

“I asked her to,” Lin clarifies. “I know I can trust you to handle this right.”

Something warm and heavy settles in your chest at the thought that Lin trusts you, especially with the well-being of someone that’s clearly important to her. You gulp hard and ignore the way your eyes are starting to sting. “Oh. Thanks.”

The sound of footsteps and chatter outside Lin’s office draws both your attention.

Ryu opens the doors and lets two young men in --one shorter and stocky, the other taller, leaner.

“--and he says to me ‘my birthday’s every year, dude,’” the shorter one --he’s got gentle green eyes and dark, wavy hair--laughs. “Like, if the bushel of lilyweed I caught him with wasn’t evidence enough--” He pauses when he sees you and Lin waiting, takes one look at your bag and table, then tries to book it. “Nope!”

The taller one grabs him by the shoulders. “Bolin, come on! It’ll be okay!”

“Nope! I’m totally fi --agh!”

The assistant smiles knowingly, nods, then slips out of the room.

“Okay, sure,” Bolin concedes, still wincing. “But I promise, I’m totally fine.”

You hold up your hands and take a seat on the other side of the coffee table. “Understood.” You staunchly ignore the way your pulse spikes when Lin sits next to you --Spirits, the effect this woman has on you--and turn your attention to the other man. You introduce yourself and extend your hand.

He takes it --firm grip, but not painful. “I’m Mako.” He nods to the younger man. “I’m his brother.”

“Ah, wonderful.” You smile warmly at the brothers. “How long have you two been on the force?”

***

It’s easy to get the boys talking --or, rather, it’s easy to get Bolin talking.

Mako’s a harder platypusbear egg to crack, but there are small things to pick up on; the way he frowns whenever Bolin winces in pain, for instance, tells you he’s genuinely concerned about his brother. He sits a little straighter whenever he looks over at Lin, but he’s not sweating or cowering in front of her, which you take to mean that he wants to impress her, to earn her approval.

He’s also watching you closely --which is fair, considering you likely scare his brother.

You meet his scrutiny with a relaxed, polite smile and do your best to convey ‘I’m here to help, please trust me,’ through your eyes and posture.

Bolin’s far more relaxed around Lin --almost remarkably so. He leans back against the couch as much as he comfortably can, and actually jokes with her (or tries to, but he doesn’t seem deterred whenever Lin doesn’t respond with more than a twitch of an eyebrow).

You also catch him looking towards Lin whenever he talks about an aspect of his job, a hopeful smile on his face, which then broadens every time she nods or confirms whatever he’s saying.

Honestly, it’s adorable.

(Lin’s also an interesting one to watch in all of this. She’s still as stoic as ever, but she doesn’t roll her eyes at Bolin’s lame jokes or talk down to Mako despite him being miles lower in rank than her. If anything, the air you’re getting from her is… warm. Almost maternal.

It’s wonderful to see.)

“I’ve been studying for the detective’s exam, though,” Bolin chirps with a bright smile. “Mako says I’m doing pretty good.”

You grin, then shoot a playful glance at Lin. “And your thoughts, Chief?”

Lin smirks and crosses her arms over her chest. “They’re both green --but, with time and training, they’ll be excellent members of the police force.”

There’s no missing the way both boys glow under Lin’s praise; Bolin outright beams, and while Mako’s more subtle, you still catch the small, pleased smile that flickers across his features.

You smile.

There’s a brief pause in the conversation when Ryu walks in with a tea set. She sets it on the coffee table between the two benches, then leaves with a nod when Lin waves her off.

You murmur a quiet “Thank you” when Lin fills your cup, then turn your attention back to Bolin. Time to try and make forward progress. “So, what happened to your neck?”

Bolin turns his head to look at you --and promptly winces. “What? What do you mean? How did you know?”

“You’re not the only detective,” you say with a wink. You smile when he chuckles, then gestures to his neck and head. “You’re compensating. You’re tilting your head to one side to avoid using the injured muscles. You probably didn’t even realize it.”

Bolin’s eyes widen. “Wait, seriously?” He tries to straighten his neck, then grimaces and lets out a yelp. “Ow!”

“Just leave it be for now,” you interject, holding one hand out to stop him. “You won’t be able to force it to straighten out on your own. Best leave it to the professionals.”

He offers you a weak smile. “And that’s you?”

You smile and nod. “That’s me. I’m a chiropractor and massage therapist; I specialize in scar tissue treatment and injury rehabilitation. Started my degree at Atege Medical University in the Northern Water Tribe, then finished it here at Republic City Medical University, and then I did my training here in Republic City at Kyoshi Rehabilitation Center. About… oh, five years ago, I moved to the Northern Moon Physical Therapy Facility.”

Mako raises one thick eyebrow in assessment. “So that’s… what, seven years?”

You snort. “Flattering, but no. Try closer to twelve. Medical school and residency takes a long time for chiropractors, too.” You spare a moment to watch Bolin --he’s paled since you’ve started talking about being a chiropractor, and the rest of his body’s gone tense--then try getting to the point once more. “What happened to your neck?”

He grimaces and rubs the side of his neck. “I was at the docks when the explosion went off. I didn’t get hit by the debris or anything, but the shockwave knocked a lot of us over.”

You nod along. “That makes sense. Considering how close you were, the shockwave might’ve been enough to throw something out of alignment.”

Bolin grimaces. He hesitates, then offers you a nervous smile. “Look, I appreciate you coming all the way out here, but I’m fine. I promise! I’ve had tons of injuries before --used to do competitive pro-bending, all that jazz. I know how to handle these kinds of things: a little heat, some stretching, and everything will clear up before too long.”

“Street beat’s a physically demanding job,” Lin interjects. She arches an eyebrow when Bolin opens his mouth, then continues when he closes it. “I can’t have you on the duty roster if you’re hobbled.”

“Not to mention that if something’s out of alignment, you could make it worse by stretching,” you add with a concerned frown. “And things are likely to get worse without treatment, too. I know this isn’t your favorite idea,” you say with a sympathetic smile, “but it really is best to handle things early before they become bigger problems down the road.”

“It’ll be okay,” Mako assures his younger brother. He puts one arm around Bolin’s shoulders. “Chief’s the one who called her in; she wouldn’t ask some quack.”

The corner of your mouth turns up at the commendation, but your mirth fades when you watch Bolin cover his face with shaking hands. You cock your head to the side, listening, then purse your lips when you hear a quiet sniffle. “What is it about adjustment that scares you so much?”

Bolin shrugs (and winces), then waves his hand dismissively with an unsteady smile. “Eh, it’s nothing. No big deal to let someone jerk around your neck like crazy; not like it’s gonna break or anything.” He grimaces, then ducks his head to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “That’d just be stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” you assure him. You duck your head so you can catch his gaze, then smile understandingly when he looks at you. “It’s not. Self-preservation is one of our most natural, baseline instincts. Besides, you’re hardly the first client to be scared of getting adjusted.”

Bolin straightens gingerly. “I’m not?”

You shake your head. “Not at all. I work with a lot of trauma patients; several of them have anxiety over being touched and adjusted. And I’ve had a lot of people ask me about snapping necks, believe it or not.”

Bolin turns his head to one side and assesses you warily. “And… what do you tell them?”

“The truth: I don’t use remotely enough force to snap a neck,” you say, “nor am I working at the right angles to cause a break. It’s not as easy as all the pulp fiction novels make it seem.” When Bolin doesn’t relax completely, you start mulling over other ideas to help convince him. Chances are he’s never been adjusted before, given how nervous he is, meaning he doesn’t have any previous experience to apply to what I’m saying. Short of letting him watch an adjustment-- You snap your fingers when a lightbulb turns on in your mind. “What if… what if you could watch me adjust someone else? That way, you’d be able to see that it’s perfectly safe.”

Bolin quirks his mouth to the side. “...I guess. It couldn’t hurt.”

You nod, then turn to Lin. “Would you be willing to let me adjust you, since you’ve already been through it all before?”

Lin nods without hesitation, then smirks. “I’m guessing I’ll need to take my armor off.”

“Well, since I’d rather adjust your back than crush my hand, yes,” you quip back. You shoot a reassuring smile at Bolin, then stand. “Let me set up my table.”

...

Bolin, for all his warmth and magnanimity, doesn’t coax along easily. It takes adjusting both Lin and Mako before he agrees to it (who has scarring in his left arm from a lightning injury that he got, according to him, while taking down Kuvira’s giant mechadroid less than half a year ago, and if you get a little too caught up in analyzing his injury and talking about treatment plans and Lin has to remind you --albeit subtly--that this is her office and she has work to do, well, it’s only a tribute to your commitment to your career.

Anyway.)

Between the three of you, though, you manage to get Bolin onto your massage table so you can start working on him.

He grunts as you dig into the muscles that run along his neck. “I know what you said about not using enough force, but it sounds like you’re breaking something.”

“I get it,” you laugh. “What you’re hearing, though, is the release of gas that builds up in the joints and tissue, plus the joints and ligaments being adjusted back into place.” You let up for a moment so you can reposition your thumbs, then press down again. “Okay, deep breath in… and out… good; just like that.”

Some light examination and prodding with your waterbender had revealed the culprits: stuck rib heads in the upper back, a few misaligned vertebrae in the neck, and some very irritated and inflamed muscles. Painful, but easy to fix with the right treatment.

You curl your fingers, using your waterbending to knead the muscles in Bolin’s right shoulder. “Oh, come on… I know you’re not happy, but if you could please relax for me…”

Bolin groans when the muscle finally unkinks. “Oh, yeah, that’s the spot.”

“I bet,” you laugh. You bend the rest of the water back into your skein, then put some oil on his skin and start working the spot with your hands.

“Is it hard to work around injuries?” he asks, voice slightly muffled by the massage table’s headrest.

You make the grunt equivalent of a shrug. “It depends on the location and what state of healing it’s in. Sometimes, it means I can’t do a normal adjustment --or do one at all, really; some injuries or scars mean that moving the joints and ligaments around would cause further damage to the site. Other times, it’s a matter of waiting until everything’s healed, and then I can do normal adjustments again.”

“How can you tell which to do --oooh, right there.”

Your lips turn up in a small smile, and you keep working a tense, knotted muscle in his upper back. “The patient’s medical history tells me a lot. X-Ray imaging helps, too, if there is any --and I can usually get a good feel for what’s wrong with my waterbending.” You keep going until the muscle releases, then pat Bolin’s shoulder. “Okay, I think you’re ready for adjustment.”

As expected, he tenses. His neck works as he gulps, and when he speaks again, his voice comes out high-pitched and thready. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t try if I didn’t think you’d adjust properly.” When Bolin doesn’t respond --or move--you kneel down so you can see his face through the hole in the head of the massage table. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll take this nice and slow, alright? I’ll tell you everything I’m going to do before I do it.”

Bolin nods, gulps again, then flips onto his back.

“I need you to sit up so I can put the adjustment board under your back.” You slip the board into place, then put a pillow under his head before having him shift lower on the table. “Okay, good. I’ll adjust your middle and upper back first, like I did on Lin. You might feel some discomfort in your upper back because of how the rib heads are stuck, alright?”

Bolin nods, then offers you a feeble smile. “You’re sure I’m not too heavy for you?”

You wink. “I’m stronger than I look. Whenever you’re ready, cross your arms over your chest.” Once he does what you ask, you adjust his arms so they’re in the right position. “Okay, curl your chin down against your chest… good. Alright, it’s gonna be just like how you saw on Lin. I’m gonna help lift you up, I’ll put my hand under your back, and then I’ll lay you down so I can adjust your back. Sound good?”

Bolin clenches his jaw, but meets your gaze and nods minutely.

“Alright. You ready?” When he nods again, you do exactly as you said you would --help Bolin curl upwards, put your hand under his back, against the board, then adjust the position of your arm around his shoulders. “Alright, deep breath in… and out.”

The series of adjustments up his spine go without a hitch. You grin down at Bolin after the last adjustment and congratulate him for doing so well. “You took that like a champ!”

Bolin blinks, startled, then smiles. “Eh, I’ve been told I’m a quick learner.”

“Oh, you’re an absolute natural.” You grin when he chuckles, then step towards the head of the table. “I’ll give you a minute before I do anything else, but is it okay if I feel around your neck to see where the tension is?”

Bolin pales. His eyes go misty, but he nods regardless.

You murmur a quiet “thank you,” then put one hand on each side of his neck and start prodding at the muscles. “Well, it’s better after the massage work and the adjustment.” You rub your thumb against his trapezius muscle, then grimace when it refuses to relax for you. “Actually…” You take your hands off his neck and rifle through your bag. “I think I’m going to use an activator on your neck, if you’re comfortable with that.”

“What’s that?” Bolin asks, voice fraught with panic.

You hold the device up for him to see. “I use it to tap the side of your neck; it helps loosen up your joints so that when I adjust you, we get you back to your full range of motion.” You fire the device so he can see, and your stomach sinks when you see tears well up in his eyes. “I can use it on your forearm, if you want, soyou can feel how hard it’s going to be.”

Bolin swallows hard, then nods. He holds his arm up --then blinks when you press the tip of the activator against his arm and fire it. “Oh. I thought it’d be a lot stronger than that.”

“Tui and La, no,” you say with a laugh. “The neck’s a delicate instrument; I’m not trying to make things worse for you.”

Bolin smiles shakily, but it slips back to a frown after a few seconds. “Is… Will it hurt?”

“I’ve never had a patient complain before,” you say, sincere. “I’d be stunned if you felt any pain whatsoever from this.” You smile reassuringly when he gives you a questioning look, then place the tip of the activator against his neck when he nods. “Alright. I’m going to tap you a few times on each side of the neck, then I’ll take another feel at what your joints and muscles are doing. Okay?”

“Can you… give me a minute?”

“Of course.” You pull the activator away from his neck, then place a hand on his shoulder when he inhales shakily. “Hey, deep breaths. You’re gonna be fine. I promise.” After a moment he nods again, and you press the activator back against his neck and fire it.

“...It kind of tickles.”

You let out a huff of laughter. “That’s a new one.” You finish working on both sides of his neck, then tuck the device back in your bag before putting your hands on his neck once more. “Alright, right now I’m just going to stretch your muscles some more and get your head into position, okay?”

Bolin clenches his fists at his side. “Could you --do you think you could give me a countdown before you, y’know, do it?”

“Uh…” You purse your lips, then shake your head. “I don’t think so, no. I don’t want you tensing right as I try to adjust you; you’re liable to get hurt that way.”

“It’ll be okay, kid,” Lin says when Bolin lets out a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t have called her if she wasn’t the best.”

You duck your head to hide a shy smile, then try to focus past the warm glow spreading through your chest. “Okay, Bolin. Deep breath; in through the nose, out through the mouth… good, just like that.” You slowly turn his neck, angling his head until you feel the right resistance. “Tilt your chin up; I’m gonna stretch your neck a little.” You tug gently until the muscles loosen, then surreptitiously keep working him to the proper angle. “Good… just stretching… feeling everything out…” You adjust the position of your hands on his neck. “Another deep breath in, then let it all out.” You wait for him to exhale --for his shoulders to relax--then jerk his head to the side.

Bolin grunts, then shoots you a wide eyed look. “You said you were just stretching me?”

You smile apologetically. “I needed to make sure you were relaxed. Makes things better for both you and me. Did you feel any pain?”

“No,” Bolin says after a moment of consideration. “It felt… pretty good, actually.”

“Good!” You start massaging the other side of his neck. “You think you’re still alive?”

He chuckles. “Pretty sure I’m still breathing, yeah.”

“Good stuff,” you joke right back. “Means less malpractice suits for me.” You grin when he laughs, then start stretching the other side of his neck. “Let’s do this side, and then I’ll do your lower back and get you back to work.”

***

“Sorry that took so long.”

Lin waves a hand at your apology. “It’s fine. I figured the kid would take a while to calm down enough for an adjustment.” She offers you a small smile. “Thanks for making the trip up here.”

“Of course.” You resume packing up your things, then let out a quiet laugh. “Honestly, I’m just glad it wasn’t you that needed an adjustment. I damn near had a heart attack when the receptionist told me your assistant called.”

“I told you I was fine.”

You shoot Lin a flat, unimpressed stare. “Right, because you’re the type to always consider the limits and needs of your physical well being.” You roll your eyes when she merely arches an eyebrow at you, then zip the carrying case for your collapsible table shut. “How does the department handle billing?”

“Send the bill to my assistant,” Lin answers, writing down the proper mailing address on a slip of paper before handing it over to you. “She’ll file it with the department’s insurance company. The department will pay out the rest.”

You nod and reach out to take the paper--

Lin holds it back. “Write the bill for all three adjustments. Clear?”

You smirk and pluck the paper out of her fingers. “Pay me more. Fine by me.” You grin when she rolls her eyes, then cast your gaze down to her desk.

It’s a nice desk. Solid, polished wood, with engravings and etchings of Earth Kingdom style patterns.

Unbidden, images of Lin fucking you on her desk --bending you over it, laying you out on your back, sitting in her chair while you bury your face between her legs--flood your name.

Lin either picks up on the spike in your pulse, or maybe she knows your facial expressions well enough to know when you’re horny. Either way, she smirks up at you. “Problem?”

“No…” You absently trace your fingers along the edge of her desk, then shoot her an impish smile before grabbing your things. “Call me when you have a free night.”

You can hear Lin chuckle behind you as you walk out of her office.

#sass writes #lin beifong x reader #next week will be more smut #because we must have our character development and massage therapy before we have smut #aka i'm projecting how much want a massage again #my back hurts lol #also this is my first time writing mako and bolin so be nice pls #the hands that heal #legend of korra

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dog-teeth · 4 years

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2 weeks post op top surgery update!! pics & details under the cut!

i had my 2nd post op appointment on monday, getting the stitches off of my grafts and medical tape off my incisions. other than my limited mobility and some mood stuff and scar care, im pretty much back to normal! im v happy with how my chest looks, and my doctor said i was looking more healed than average for the 2-week mark :)

physical healing:

having the stitches taken off the nipple graft was a bit uncomfy but just felt like a light tugging and only took a few minutes. having the medical tape taken off hurt a bit bc the adhesive pulled on my skin, but it was super fast and not an intense pain at all.

so i had been instructed to keep my nipples very very hydrated with aquaphor (which is why they look shiny here lol), and not to pick at them or rub them. before my appointment yesterday, the entire grafts looked how the nipple does now, all black and scabbed, but i hadn’t been able to tell that it was just dead skin scabbed over & ready to come off because i had been keeping them so hydrated that they didn’t flake off like normal scabs, i thought it was just my bruised healing skin and that the scabbing process had barely started. then, i went into my appointment, and when my doctor took out the stitches, she swabbed the area lightly, and all of the dead skin came off super easily! i was so surprised! turns out almost all of the scabbing of the areola had already happened, i just didn’t know, because it was so different from normal scabs due to the constant hydration. now all thats left is the nipple, which takes longer to heal because its a thicker part of the graft.

you can see the little indentations on my skin from the gauze pressing down under my compression wrap, which i still wear all day every day, and will continue to do for the next few weeks. there is still a light bruise on one side of my chest and a numb patch on the other, plus a bit of swelling around the incisions, especially near the center of my chest. the bruise actually looks more visible in these pics than it does irl.

current physical care:

i’ve started scar care, which is super exciting! i massage my scars twice a day with healing ointment, keeping them nice n hydrated under a thin layer (but still dry enough that they dont get weird from being wrapped up all the time). i also started using silicone scar cream, which is for healing and fading scars.

i massage the incisions for about 15 minutes per day total, for 5-10 minutes at a time. it feels nice, its pleasing to run my fingers over the incisions, it is a bit tender on the place where there is still swelling and a light bruise. i also (very lightly) rub the outside of my nipple grafts when applying the aquaphor, which is to prevent the buildup of excess scar tissue that would raise my areolas up.

i feel much more confident about my healing after having the tape taken off my incisions and the scab tissue wiped off my nipple grafts. i spent the entire past 2 weeks worrying about my nipples falling off, and now i know that won’t happen lmao. im very excited about scar care, being able to massage the incisions and confidently touch my nipples is great. i’m looking forward to my nipples scab tissue flaking off, and for the dissolvable sutures under my incisions to dissolve completely, because i can feel them under my scars which is weird!

concerns going forward:

-spitting sutures, which is when a dissolvable suture gets agitated or rejected by your body and has to be removed, but it’s an easy fix if it does happen, i just have to go into my surgeons office and have them take it out.

-scar care! keeping my nipples hydrated, massaging my scars and the rims of my grafts, keeping everything wrapped under my ace bandage compression with gauze pads over the nipples.

-limited mobility and not carrying stuff- now that i’m pretty healed its hard to make myself not do normal things like reach my arms out, stretch, and lift things up, but i really shouldnt do it even if it doesn’t hurt.

-compression, i still wear my ace bandage wrap and will for at least 2 more weeks, which sucks, i can’t wait to be done with it! but im also glad it’s there because it makes my chest feel protected, i’m still very very cautious and weird about my giant wounds and still-healing nipples.

mood:

overall, i’m very happy with how it looks and how it’s healing. im very relieved to be past these first few weeks when everything is at its most difficult. i’ve been really really stressed out about it this whole time, worrying about my nipple grafts failing or not healing right, having full on anxiety attacks when i accidentally stretch my arms out too far or put too much weight on them, and being terribly afraid that my chest won’t look good aesthetically.

i’ve also been depressed lately, idk if it’s post-surgery depression or my normal depression or my seasonal depression. i was in very good spirits the first week, but i’ve been having low moods and low energy more recently :( i think once i’m able to drive and exercise again i’ll be much happier, but for now being trapped inside all day in my room has been rough.

recovery has been physically grueling and mentally very weird, because i literally did not believe it would actually happen until it had actually happened (seriously i was at the hospital getting prepped to be taken into the OR and i still didn’t think it would happen), and i didn’t believe it would be okay until my 2nd post op on monday when i saw how healed my grafts and incisions were. so really, i’m just now getting to experience the relief that i finally got surgery!!!! the more healed i get the more i enjoy it, which i’m sure will continue for the next months and probably years.

#top surgery #ez says

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xaysnotebook · 4 years

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Chapter 2 - Two New Friends

Alex’s last memory was having Tasha ask why they were watching a window, then suddenly blackness and cold. They couldn’t see anything around them, their chest felt full and it was hard to breathe. All around them was darkness and silence. Silence. Something Alex had not experienced in years. There was always some noise; a thought, a voice, a noise. But here, it was almost like before, when he was still innocent.

“You find comfort in this place? Most mortals panic almost instantly, they feel trapped and go insane in moments.” Resonated a voice, deep and smooth, like a professional conman’s. Sounding both distant and close, like both a memory and person. “Strangely enough, you are able to listen, but not respond. You’re meek, not confident enough in who.. no.. what you are.” Alex was most definitely not confident when it felt like a planar entity was casually conversing with them.

Suddenly a dull purple haze crept into the nothingness in front of them, seemingly clinging to a figure. Almost humanoid, it looked like something out of a badly rendered game. The figure was tall, close to Alex’s height, with what seemed like four legs in an X pattern, a very spindly torso that couldn’t have been more than a foot across which slowly rose to a broad chest that held a single set of muscular arms and something that vaguely resembled wings. However, they were fluid, and seemed more like a collection of squid tentacles that simply held the shape of wings. The head, or what Alex could only assume was its head, was far larger than a humans, being close to thirty inches in circumference with extremely high set features, similar to how elves are described in fantasy. The only facial feature that Alex could clearly make out was a brightly glowing pair of violet eyes.

“Interesting indeed, you don’t seem afraid of my form.” It resounded, not visibly moving any mouth. “You could prove helpful, maybe even perfect to bridge the gap again.”

“Where the hell am I and what the hell are you?” Alex’s voice boomed, startling even themself, the creatures “wings” stopped their movement at the sound. “Why are you looking at me like a dog?” It felt draining to speak, and the two sentences left them feeling like they had just finished a mile sprint.

“Very interesting indeed, strong force of personality with low confidence.” It mumbled as its wings started up again, but in a slower cycle, “I will answer one question for now. We’re currently in the Abyss, the deepest part in Zentharia.” The eyes narrowed slightly, “Zentharia used to be a twin to your realm, what you refer to as Earth, but is Pateteria to my people. However, Zentharia was long forgotten by humans after the connection was severed thousands of years ago.”

Alex immediately felt like his head was swimming, he had to be on a bad trip as none of that made sense, realms? An abyss? A weird squid wing, creeper, wrestler cosplayer? Their vision began to go fuzzy and their head felt both heavy and light.

“You had better wake up now, Alex. If you stay too long, you’ll forget how to. But don’t worry, our conversation isn’t over quite yet. We can talk more when you’re stronger.” It said, beginning to dissipate.

“Alex!” cried a familiar voice.

“Tasha?” Alex croaked out. They blinked and suddenly they were in the apartment complex. They could breathe again, their vision was clear, all the noise was back. The only feeling left was a cold spot near their heart and their eyes.

“What the hell just happened to you? You had purple eyes and you were wheezing!” Tasha seemed ready to cry, which on its own would have scared Alex, but combining that with everything that had just happened, Alex was ready to either take a nice long nap or have a mental breakdown. Or both.

After about five minutes of them both freaking out, they managed to get into their apartment and lie on the couch. “Are we going crazy?” Tasha whispered.

“I don’t think so, this seems too real, plus we both are going through it.” Alex replied, still trying to figure out how to explain the weird purple squid thing.

“Well, what are we going to do about this? We can’t tell anyone, we’ll get kicked out of college, probably put in some institution.” She sounded as hopeless as Alex felt, it seemed like nothing would make any of this better.

“Well, there’s more to my side of this. I kinda talked to a, a something? An alien?” Alex began to explain the weird, vaguely humanoid looking creature and what it had said to them. Focusing heavily on the fact that there are apparently different realms, made up of things that knew of and once co-existed with humans. And they apparently knew English on top of everything.

“Dude. Maybe we should go see a psychologist. You saw a mist alien and I'm believing you.” Tasha said with a dull look in her eyes. Clearly she was trying to comprehend everything, and failing miserably.

“‘I’ve studied it for four years, unless we have some sort of combined schizophrenia, they’ll just put us in some hospital for being crazy. Or they’ll experiment on us. Or maybe even both.” Alex responded hopelessly. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, “Never happened.”

“Never happened.” Tasha agreed. “I have to get to campus, the math final is in thirty minutes. Maybe try to take a nap.” She stood and began to collect her notes.

“Unlikely, but I’ll try my best.” Alex stood and hugged Tasha for a minute, such being uncommon as Alex didn’t like physical contact very much. They often made an exception for Tasha, however, she was probably the only person they could touch on a regular basis.

“It’ll be okay my little raven.” Tasha said, taking a motherly tone. She was the oldest of six siblings and was used to the idea of comforting others. “When I get back, why don’t we order Chinese food and watch movies?”

Alex felt another shift in their balance, but different than before, “Or watch old cartoons?”

5:00pm came faster than Alex expected, they spent the time relaxing on the couch. Idly playing on their phone, the door opened and Tasha slunk through. “That was awful, but I made it back alive. Mostly at least.” Tasha said as she collapsed on the chair next to Alex.

“Did you do good on it?” Alex asked, looking at her admiringly, “I wasn’t ever really that great at math, you’re seriously good at it.”

“I think I did alright. Some parts of it were actually difficult, but my professor said that I would easily get my degree this year.” Tasha rambled on for a few minutes. Alex just watched her talk and waited for her to finish, “Jan was actually useless in finishing her part, I’ve been talking too long, what did you do while I was gone?”

“Just layed here on my phone, waiting for you to get back. I took a nap and watched tv.” Alex had actually taken a quick nap on the couch after watching cartoons, but was feeling a bit embarrassed by it, “You said we could get food and watch movies, is that still okay?”

“Of course it is. I’ll get the menu pulled up on my phone and you can pick out what we watch tonight. Do you want me to just get your favorite or do you want something different?” Tasha said, looking up from her phone, her tone very soothing.

“I’ll just take my normal, what kind of movie do you want?” As they were scrolling through the movies available. No response came, “Tasha?” Alex said as they looked over and choked back a scream, as Tasha’s had turned a pale color and her eyes had turned a bright golden color.

Tasha was extremely warm, like her lungs were filled with a cool fire. Her breathing was harsh and hot, her eyes were watering. All around her, she saw gold and orange. No one was around, but there was a distant sound of music and laughter. It seemed like she was going to explode in a flash of heat, but it was also comforting in a strange way.

“Terribly sorry it took so long to get here my dear, I was held up with some other matters.” A feminine voice said from behind her. Turning around, Tasha saw something both perfect and disgusting.

This creature that stood in front of her was at least a foot taller than, nearly the same size as Alex. Alex! She realized that he had partially switched out, and that they shouldn’t be alone for too long.

“Relax darling, they will be okay. You’ll be back soon to be with them again.” The figure said, its mouth open but not moving with the words. As it stood there, it looked mostly human; two arms, two legs and one head. However, it clearly had far too many eyes. It also had something that seemed like a set of wings, almost birdlike covered in feathers but with strange patches of skin-like material, almost like scar tissue.

“Where am I and who are you?” Tasha questioned through gritted teeth, feeling like she was talking through a campfire’s heat, her voice very warbled and unsteady.

“Well, my dear, I am Vesril, and we’re in a realm called Zentharia. Specifically, we’re at the top of what you would call a mountain, close to the peak where my family resides. This place is called Summoner’s Perch.”

Thankfully, Tasha was great at storing information quickly. Mentally rotating everything Vesril was saying, trying to decode and comprehend it. “How did I get here? How do I get back?” Tasha questioned, starting to get her voice to obey her again, “I want to leave, now.”

“You can leave whenever you would like to, child. All you have to do is ask and I will send you back. But you may want to hear what I have to say about your friend, Alex.”

Tasha was taken aback, anger and fear starting to bubble inside her, “What about them? Don’t you dare lay even a finger on my little Raven.” Her voice was instantly like steel, her eyes narrowed and burned at the thought of Alex being hurt. Just like any other time she began to get angry, it felt like her hands were set on a stove, burning hot.

“Ah, you’re further along than they are, that can be a good thing.” Vesril mumbled to themself. It made a sound like it cleared its throat before it spoke again. “Alex, as I’m sure you know, was contacted by another entity from Zentharia. I want you to make sure they stay far away from them. Alex is far too valuable to be in the hands of someone like him.”

“What do you mean ‘too valuable’.” Tasha was furious at this point, the idea of Alex being used by whatever this creature was was pushing her past her limit. Her fingers felt like they were wreathed in white-hot flames, but it wasn’t painful. “I swear, you had better stay away from Alex!”

Darling, I’m only trying to help the both of you. You both have extreme potential that would be wasted with those creatures.” The creature started to sound worried and angry.

“What are they then, if they’re so awful?”

“I can’t tell you that yet dear.”

Tasha snapped, she lunged at Vesril, faster than she had ever thought was possible, grabbing Vesril by the throat. “You stay away from me and Alex! We dont need some freak of a creature talking nonsense to us!” Her grip tightened even further, the burning feeling was gone, but her hands were still warm. Stealing a quick glance down, she was terrified, as her hand was cloaked in a dark blue flame. She looked back up, forgetting her panic, “Take me home. Now!”

“Very well.” Vesril choked out with a gasp, and suddenly Tasha had Alex’s neck in her hand.

#novel #art #my writing #writing #DID #nonbinary

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peterbitxs · 4 years

Photo

[ CHARLES MELTON , MALE , HE/HIM ] it’s nice to see you [ CLYDE SHAW ] ! the last time i saw you, it was at the last town meeting, and you were acting a bit [ WITHDRAWN ], i have to say. but i’ve also seen you around being really [ LOYAL], especially when you get called a [ THE DESPONDENT ]. so i totally get it – everyone has their bad days ! how’s it been, by the way, working as a [ LANDSCAPER ] at just [ TWENTY NINE ] years old ? i hope it’s been good – you were so excited to start there ! hopefully they didn’t ask about [ AFTER AN ACCIDENT AT WAR HE WAS THE ONLY SURVIVOR, HE SUFFERED MAJOR INJURIES BUT WHEN HE GOT BACK HE FOUND OUT THAT THE MEDIA PICKED UP HIS STORY AND PEOPLE THINK THE MISSION HE SURVIVED SHOULD HAVE BEEN A SURE THING. BUT INSTEAD HE WAS THE ONLY ONE TO WALK AWAY. HE’S HIDING IN GLORY VALLEY ]. but i promise i’ll keep that between us.

tw: blind/deaf, war, ptsd

GENERAL INFORMATION.

full name clyde shaw

alias shaw

age twenty-nine

date of birth august 19

place of birth pheonix, arizona

zodiac leo

gender cismale

nationality korean/american

religion non-practicing catholic

orientation straight

relationship status single

PHYSICAL ATTRIBUTES.

face claim charles melton

height 6′1′’

weight 172 lbs

hair color black

eye color brown

voice claim charles melton

tattoos joker playing card on sholder

distinguishing marks scars on the side of face and ear, down leg, arm. he has very deep scars from the war.

outfit/clothing style anything really. doesn’t care for appearance

BACKGROUND INFORMATION.

hometown pheonix

current residence

past residences nevada

spoken languages english, mexican, german, ASL, korean

financial status lower

education level high school, community college

occupation landscaper

B I O:

his mother was an exotic dancer in pheonix butshe started in korea and his father was a product of a loss of casualty at war. it his the family hard but that didn’t stop his precious mother for making just enough money to get her son across the border to live his life in america,when he grew old enough he just moved out to live with a family friend, rodrigo and his wife cassandra. away from his mother and younger sister who he didn’t even know how to connect with; whether it be the age difference or just how different they were.

he did his mother proud, getting passing grades in school, not letting the hard life of being alone get to him he had friends, went to parties. he was a typical boy, and grew into a strong and very independent young man.

at nineteen he felt the need to fight for the country, just as his father did to fight in the war. and he was sent off to climb the ranks until he had face the ultimate hurtle. he and his team were sent out to an unmarked city, there to make grounds and start a set up for their next ground camp. only it was littered with landmines and he made the wrong step sending he and his team blasting into the air. he lost great soldiers and would never forget the looks on their faces as he tried to save each one.

through the shock of the explosion though clyde didn’t realize how hurt he had gotten. not until he passed out and woke up in a hospital back in nevada. they told him to take things calm. to take in the new surroundings as they came to him; only, not all of them did.

in the explosion he had lost hearing and sight on the left side of his body, the explosion destroyed his ears, left him with a limp, and he was smacked dead in the face by shrapnel leaving a scar and such damaged tissue they had to remove his eye. he wears a glass one now but the scaring has been hard for him to get over. (rodrigo calls him the phantom of the opera when he wants to piss clyde off.)

it was in the hospital after waking up from the explosion that he realized something strange. he woke up with a flash; camera men swormed him daily for being the only survivor in the accident. he was depressed and overwhelmed and needed to escape if he wanted to heal; and dealing not only with trying to live with a healing body and a broken one at that the male walked out of a hospital not in nevada as he had thought. no, he stumbled out of the doors and made his way to gory valley where he hides off of the media. only now not only is he the only survivor, but they found out that the mission was supposed to be a one and done, only something happened that no one can figure out and they think clyde is behind it. now he really is trying to hide from the people who hate him.

he has had to deal with 78% of his hearing taken from him and 50% of sight. along with his mental breaks of PTSD, depression, and survival’s guilt.

M O R E

physical training was hell for him. he refused help and grew angry with himself for letting himself make such a huge mistake after all the training he went through. but worse of all he blames himself for the solders who didn’t make it home.

he walks with a limp but tries to hide it no matter how badly it may hurt him some days.

he may be angry at himself but just as he pushed himself not to let the pain get to him as a child he tries to be positive; still kind to people and as helpful as he can be. he never wants to be a burden on others so even though he constantly wants to help others he refuses any help for himself.

he picked up gardening as a form of therapy and even if he’s not the best he does have a pretty decent collection of herbs he grows in a soap box and a few house plants

when he arrived to glory valley he joined a program to get a guide dog, the rush of the city was new to him so he needed to get a little help as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

he acts like his dog isn’t that big of help but honestly he loves he loves him more than anything. he is a GOLDENDOODLE almost complete with training that he named CHINO

as landscaper he takes his job seriously

#about #intro #please DM me if you want ant connections or plots

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

Text

Play The Game

Hello my lovely Tumblr buddies!

Here is the next part for you all!. Hope you enjoy.

Just to throw it out there, this is all a work of fiction from my head and I do not know Taron.

This one is for @fuseburner :)

Suze xx

“Courage is feeling fear, not getting rid of fear, and taking action in the face of fear.”

Taron quickly zipped the garment bag that held his suit up as the bathroom door opened and hoped Robyn didn’t notice the guilty look on his face.

“All yours.” She said to him.

“Making use of all of the facilities?” He smiled as she looked cosy wrapped up in the white dressing gown that the hotel provided, her hair in a messy bun on her head.

“You are going to love that shower. It will definitely help knead those knots in your shoulders out.”

Taron picked up his suit and holding it close to him, walked past her. “Did you use all the hot water?”

“I am afraid it is a cold shower for you!” She laughed, giving him a wink.

Taron swallowed the lump in his throat and thought maybe a cold shower wasn’t such a bad idea. The towelling robe moved as Robyn walked and exposed enough of her left thigh for his whole body to be filled with a glorious shiver. Trying to hold himself together, he continued his walk towards the bathroom and once the door was closed, threw his back against it and blew out the breath he was holding. He couldn’t understand what on earth was happening to him. He had seen Robyn in shorts before but for some reason it all seemed so much more intimate to him now.

“Jesus fucking Christ Taron.” He breathed and took a long deep breathe, something that made him close his eyes as he inhaled the scent of Robyn’s body wash that still lingered in the bathroom. He was ready to slip down the door and fall in a heap in the floor, his head was so foggy but he made himself hang his suit up and start to strip out of his clothes, folding them as he went, laying them on the marble counter beside the sink. He turned on the shower and let it run for a few seconds before he stepped under it, trembling as the cold water rained down on him. Closing his eyes, he stood with his head under the stream, still shaking as the water slowly became warmer. Once the shower had heated up, he moved and leaning his chin against his chest, let the water cascade down his back before he moved again so the water pounded powerfully on his shoulders, a slight moan leaving his lips at it stung him a little.

“Ok Taron you seriously need to get your shit together because this is not good.” He gave himself a little pep talk as he stood under the shower. “She is your friend. Your best friend who you are undoubtedly and completely in love with but she is your friend. Get your fucking shit together.” Running his hands through his wet hair, Taron stood up straight, rolling his neck, still feeling a slight twinge. “You cannot use that voucher. You cannot use that voucher.” Taron had brought one of his ‘one shoulder massage’ vouchers with him, hoping to use it later once they came in from the musical but right now, he couldn’t even comprehend what it would do to him to have Robyn rub his shoulders. He would absolutely break under her touch and just blurt out everything. Taking a few deep breathes, Taron turned his attention to washing his hair and body, using Robyn’s body wash and shampoo that she had left in the shower. He happily would have stayed longer under the water but figured the twenty minutes he had spent under the water spray was long enough.

Stepping out carefully he pulled a towel from the rail and wrapped it around his waist. He turned to the mirror and for once didn’t cringe as he looked at his reflection. He eyes were bright and the dark circles he was normally cursed with after a long shoot were fading. He opened his wash bag which sat neatly beside Robyn’s one and pulled out his razor. Lathering his jaw up, he quickly shaved and grimaced as he nicked himself, cursing. A little flow of blood trickled from the small cut on the right side of his jaw. He grabbed a tissue and held it against the little cut while finishing shaving the left side of his face. He dropped the slightly bloody tissue and cupping some water in his hands, washed the shaving cream residue from his face. He then pulled a towel and patted his face dry, grabbing another tissue for his jaw, the cut still bleeding.

Drying himself off, he opened the garment bag and pulled on his boxers and black suit trousers, pulling another tissue from the box to hold against his jaw, the nick from shaving persistent as it continued to bleed a little. With a hand towel in his left hand he rubbed his hair, while his right held the tissue against his jaw. “Fuck it.” He cursed as the little cut pooled blood again, once he had taken the tissue away

“Taron are you ok?” He heard Robyn call into him,

“Yeah I’m fine.”

Robyn looked to the bathroom as it opened and Taron walked out half dressed. She automatically found herself biting her lip and tilt her head as she watched him towel dry his hair, her eyes roaming down his torso as his trousers sat low on his hips. Her resident butterflies were back with vengeance and she was mentally scolding herself for staring at him but he was so beautiful and as his muscles moved with every quick movement he made to rub his hair dry, her breathe caught in her throat and her body shivered with a tremble that felt so good. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen Taron half-dressed before. She had been the one to rip his shirt open but it was such a different context at the moment and with her head and heart completely muddled together with conflicting feelings, her womanly instincts wanted to do something completely out of the question as she took in his physic and low hung trousers.

Once Taron closed the bathroom door, she had organised all of her make-up on the desk in front of the mirror and sat on the chair. She also had her bag with her hair bobbins and pins, and after brushing her hair free of any knots, plugged in her hair crimper. She hadn’t planned on crimping all of her hair, but wanted to add a little bit of volume to her planned hairstyle and as she couldn’t curl her hair, crimping was the next best thing. Once she had crimped various sections of hair, she unplugged the appliance and started to section her hair off so she could work in the two plaits on the top of her head. She quickly plaited the left top and tied it off and then plaited the same on the right top side. With a little pulling and tugging she fluffed the plaits out and once happy they were even, sprayed some hairspray. She plugged the crimper in again and once it was heated, added a few more crimps to the hair behind her ears, just to add a little bit more volume. She had just finished adding a second layer of mascara to her dark cranberry smoky eyes when she heard Taron curse in the bathroom and the door opened and she was greeted by his half-dressed appearance.

She got to her feet and walked over to him as he sat on the bed, dropping the towel beside him. He was holding a tissue against his jaw and frowning.

“What did you do?”

“Cut myself shaving.”

Robyn moved his hand to inspect the damage. “Just a nick.” She moved his hand with the tissue back to his face. “Keep that there for a few minutes and it will stop.” Robyn moved the wet towel from the bed and sat beside him at his right side. “You should invest in some moisturiser for when after you shave, if you haven’t already.”

“You sound like Stella.”

Robyn grinned. “Well it helps to take that sting you can feel from shaving away.”

“And how would you know?” Asked Taron raising an eyebrow but he quickly realised what he had said and shook his head. “Yeah alright I know. Stupid question.”

“Just a little one and if Stella has told you so, you should listen to her.”

“And Stephanie.”

“And your make-up artist from Kingsman? Then it is definitely something you should do.”

“I will look into it.”

“Good. You can borrow some of mine if you want. How are your shoulders?”

“Better.” He answered hoping his acting skills were working and Robyn believed him. “The water helped.”

Robyn kept eye contact with him for a few seconds and decided she wasn’t going to question his half lie and let it be. Having been around Taron for two whole weeks when he came to see her last year, she knew a little about how his body worked and it would take more than a hot shower to ease the pain he felt from stiff and sore muscles.

“I like your hair. What did you do to it?” Taron grinned as he reached over with his left hand and picked up some of the crimped strands. “Very Madonna.”

Robyn laughed. “That wasn’t really the look I was going for but sure. I brought my hair crimper with me. Adds a bit of volume and texture and you know I can’t curl my hair so I am bringing that Madonna look. Just wanted something different. I always wear it straight.”

“I like it and the plaits. Robyn’s signature look.”

“Naturally!” She moved his hand from his face again. “That seems to have stopped Taron but let’s give it another minute or two.” She guided his hand back to his face but missed his jaw and the tissue went to his neck instead.

“Robyn?” Taron watched as Robyn was completely distracted from what she was doing by the scar from the bullet from when he was shot in Florida on his upper right arm. He felt her fingers trace the thin line on his skin. “It’s only small.”

“It is. Doctor Hart told me it would be only small and I was very good and didn’t pick at it as it was healing.” Robyn’s touch was so light on his arm and he couldn’t help but smile as she placed her two hands around his arm and ran her thumbs over his scar. “Robyn, you ok?”

“Just seeing it beings back some memories, that’s all. I can’t believe how neat it is Taron. There was just so much blood from the wound, I thought the scar would have been much bigger.”

“Me too if I am being honest, but thankfully it is not too noticeable. It’s just like yours only a little bit longer.”

“Yes it is.” Robyn slid her thumbs over the mark again and looked to him. “War wounds.”

He chuckled. “Yeah exactly. War wounds.” He enjoyed the light strokes she made on his arm and would have let her continue but he took a glance to the clock on the bedside locker and realised they were cutting it short on time. “We probably need to get a rush on soon. It’s just after half five. Anthony will be outside for us at six.”

“Give me fifteen and I am done.” Robyn gave his shoulder a little kiss and stood up, walking back to the chair in front of the mirror, to finish her make-up.

Taron walked back into the bathroom and threw his bloody tissue in the bin, looking at his jaw in the mirror. The little shaving nick was tiny and thankfully had stopped bleeding. He pulled another tissue from the box and wet the corner of it, so he could clean the little blood smear on his jaw.

“Taron I am going to get changed in the little hallway. Stay put.”

“Well I am getting dressed too so no peaking.”

“Might be a bit late rocketman. Already seen it all.” She answered as she walked around to the wardrobe and opened it up to see the garment bag Taron had brought with her dress. She really hoped it fit because she had completely forgotten to try the dress on when she arrived, choosing to nap with Taron instead and then they were distracted exploring the hotel and using their restaurant reservation to have some lunch afterwards. She didn’t think Stella could work miracles in the twenty minutes they had left to get ready. She zipped the bag open and smiled as she saw the dress in person. It was such a beautiful shade of burgundy and the lace was more detailed then it appeared on the computer. She took the bottom of the dress and held it out, frowning a little at how short it seemed and she prayed it fell above her knee and not any further up. She untied the hotel robe she was wearing and stood in the hallway in her underwear and although felt a little self-conscious and her heart raced at the thought that at any minute, Taron could walk around the corner, she probably wouldn’t have minded too much if he had of and caught her standing in her matching burgundy strapless bra and pants. She carefully took the dress from the hanger and got a brief look at the Armani label and knew, although it wasn’t as expensive as her Alexander McQueen dress, this one still came with a sufficient price tag. She undid the zip at the back and pulling the dress on over her head, she prayed she didn’t get stuck and have to call Taron for help. Making sure not to mess up her hair, Robyn managed to get herself into the dress and once she had it settled on her frame, she laughed to herself.

“Stella you genius.” Although the dress had to be zipped up at the back, it fitted her perfect and fell just as she had hoped above her knee and wasn’t too short. She twirled around and chuckled as the skirt twirled with her and as she spun around again, she heard a wolf whistle and stopped to see Taron standing at the bed. “Hey! I told you to stay.” She said pointing at him.

“Figured you were dressed by now.”

“Not quite.” She walked toward him and turned around, moving her hair over her shoulder. “Can you zip me up please?”

“Sure.” Taron carefully pulled the zip of the dress up, watching as each centimetre of the skin of her back was covered up. “And done.” He smiled as she turned around. “I was wrong about the burgundy dress. It’s perfect.”

“As is your suit.”

“Just need to add the tie and shoes.”

While Robyn moved back to the desk to put on her shoes and few accessories, Taron took a breath and prepared himself for the backlash he knew he was going to get from Robyn as he picked up his burgundy pocket square and slipped it into the chest pocket on his suit jacket. If the small piece of fabric that matched Robyn’s dress wasn’t enough to make her pretty face frown, his matching burgundy tie would be. It was Stella’s idea, not his, to have something that matched. He was very happy with his blue tie but once Stella knew what dress Robyn had picked, his stylist had wanted him to match just a little with Robyn. Taron had protested knowing how Robyn had asked him not to match with him again but inside he liked the little sneaky and subtle way to match with her. He picked up his tie and had just thrown it over his neck when he heard her heels on the wooden floor walking towards him and he closed his eyes, waiting for the accent that only got stronger when she was a little frustrated with him.

“Let me help you.”

Taron’s eyes popped open as Robyn stood in front of him, matching his height in her heels, her hands on the collar of his shirt bending it up his neck so she could fix his tie around it. He watched with interest as Robyn made quick work of fixing slightly complicated knot into his tie, moving it up to his neck and folding his collar back down, her hands brushing down the lapels of his suit jacket. “I like this suit and tie and pocket square.” She moved to straighten his pocket square too. “Perfect.”

“Robyn?” He asked as she took a step back tilting her head as she looked at him. “Are you mad? Are you doing that thing where women pretend everything is ok but inside they are really really mad?”

Her face lit up with a beautiful smile and she stepped over to him and a little roughly, pulled his body right into her for a hug, her arms wrapped around his back extremely tight. Normally her hand would trail up his back to his hair, but her hands stayed firm squeezed around his waist. “I am so not mad at all.” She said into his shoulder. “Not at all. I can’t believe I am saying this, but I love the matching tie and pocket square.”

“And that it matches you?”

“Love it too.” Robyn felt Taron’s whole body relax against her. “I really love it. Sort of become our thing, right? Matching outfits and I know it wasn’t you. I know you were talked into it by Stella and I think I am going to have to get used to the fact that this is what she is going to do with us from now on.”

“You sure? I would put the blue one on but she conveniently didn’t give it to me.”

“I am sure.” Robyn let him go and ran her hands flat down his chest. “I like it. I hate that I like it but I do. That unity coming through once more and I promise. It’s just a little subtle touch.” She enjoyed the smile that grew slowly on his face and she brought her hands down to his and lifted his hands. “And you are wearing your cufflinks.”

A full grin filled his face. “I told you I would wear them to my events and this is an event so I am wearing them.”

She carefully placed his arms back by his sides and letting go his hands, brushing invisible dirt away from his shoulders. “You look so handsome. Hate that you can pull off jeans and t-shirt as well as a beautifully tailored suit perfectly.”

“Says the woman standing in front of me who can wear both a hotel dressing gown and fabulous fitted dress. I see Stella got it right once more.”

“She has a knack for it.”

“You are stunning.” Taron’s breathe hitched in his throat. He had meant to say look stunning but the words came out wrong, the words he really wanted to say to her falling from his tongue without a second thought.

“Thank you Taron. Can you give me two minutes in the bathroom and then we can go?”

“Of course.”

He watched as she walked away and ran his hands down his face once she had closed the bathroom door. He sat back on the bed and placed his hands on his chest, not that that was going to help his racing heart. Taron wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep control of his thoughts, feelings and true emotions. He was so proud of Robyn already for coming to face the red carpet with him and once again she pulled out all the stops for her appearance with him and he was so happy to have her with him and stand with him.

While Taron fretted a little in the bedroom, Robyn was gripping the marble sink in the bathroom so hard her fingers were white with the pressure. She wanted to be annoyed at him for his tie, for his pocket square, for looking so ridiculously handsome but she couldn’t. The little tribute to her dress through his tie was so touching to her and although she knew he hadn’t picked a suit that matched her outfit at Elton’s on purpose, he had a little something to do with his silk tie tonight and it made her heart soar that he still felt the importance of that unity and the simple gesture of what a matching accessory made. She closed her eyes and once opened, looked in the mirror. She was getting used to dressing up with Taron and as she sprayed some perfume, she half grinned. She once again liked what she saw in the mirror and as she pulled some air into her lungs, she tried to composed herself. Getting dressed was the easy part and she knew she was going to lean heavily on Taron for the next two hours and it was something she wasn’t used to, looking to others for support. She opened the bathroom door and grinned as Taron still sat on the bed and as she walked over to him, he shook his phone her way.

“Selfie time!”

Once they had taken their obligatory traditional selfies together and Robyn had picked up her clutch bag, they made their way out of the room and back towards the lift.

“Don’t even think about it.” Warned Taron as they waited for the door to open.

“I am just standing here.” She replied but with a smile on her face. The walk through the Mandrake was much more comfortable in their outfits compared to the Premier Inn and Robyn felt like she belonged in this outrageously expensive hotel in her dress and heels, her arm linked with Taron’s as they walked through the entrance door to the hotel which was held open for them.

Anthony was outside waiting for them and once they walked to the car, he opened the door and Taron let Robyn into the car first before he slid in after her.

“It is going to be a quick five-minute drive to the theatre Robyn. It’s just at the top of Oxford street. Once there, Lyndsey will meet us and we will walk together before going inside and taking our seats.”

“That sounds fine Taron.” Robyn was glad Taron took her right hand in his two and held it tight. Her nerves, which she thought she had under control were starting to untangle and escape and she could feel her left knee starting to shake as it always did when she was nervous and her heart was thumbing incredibly hard against her chest, she felt it was ready to actually burst through her. She placed her left hand on her chest and closed her eyes. The last time she felt her heart race this hard was when she was giving Taron CPR and it was getting uncomfortable now and she just wanted someone to shake her and tell her to get a fucking grip.

Taron could still feel Robyn’s hand shaking even though he held it between two of his hands and he could see the blood slowly seeping from her face as his normal composed Robyn became a bundle of increasing nerves and he couldn’t remember a time he had seen her show her emotions so clearly on her sleeve, not including when she was having nightmares at her home last year. Letting go of her hand, he turned his body on the seat of the car and placed his hands on her shoulders, making her turn towards him. “Look at me.” He said softly to her. “Robyn look at me.” Wide blue eyes filled with worried anticipation stared back at him and he had never seen such a vulnerable look in her eyes before and he was suddenly overcome with a need to protect her. Robyn was always, always a force of nature and he didn’t like seeing this new side to her. He gently cupped her cheeks. “You do not have to do this. You are under no obligation to go out there and face the media, the questions and have your picture taken a hundred times with me. I invited you because I wanted to spend the time with you and I know how much you love musicals and have this one on DVD and know it backwards. I want you there with me but you do not by any means have to do this. I can walk the carpet and meet you inside. I will not be sad or any or upset if you don’t walk with me. I am already so proud of you for even taking this step and you have nothing to prove to anyone and to just see you and spent time with you is all I want and need and I think I might have rubbed your make up off and I am sorry about that.” As Taron spoke, he had been gently stroking his thumb against her cheeks.

“What have I told you about giving speeches that are better than mine.” She replied putting her hands on his wrists. “You are not allowed to do that.” She tugged on his wrists a little and brought his arms around her, glad he understood what she was trying to do and gave her the hug she looked for. “You are something else Mr Egerton and I want to walk the red carpet by your side because I know without a doubt, if you are there with me, I have absolutely nothing to be worried about.”

“You sure?”

“Definitely.”

“Robyn…” He let her go and stared at her again, noticing the brightness had returned to her eyes along with a little mischief sparkle. “Are you one hundred percent sure? I don’t want you doing anything you feel uncomfortable with.”

“I am so very comfortable with you. We have to go and show off this tie and pocket square.”

Taron smiled as she gently ran the fingers of her right hand down his tie. “You stay with me or Lyndsey the whole time ok?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Ok well if you are certain, let’s get ready to get out of the car because we are here.” Taron knew Robyn hadn’t realised the car had stopped and Anthony was waiting outside to open the door for them. “You sure?” He asked again.

“Yes. I am sure.” She watched as his eyes flicked back and forth and leaning in, she kissed his cheek.

Taron took the kiss to his other cheek as his permission to pull on the door handle and once he had done so, Anthony pulled the door open and giving Robyn one more look, Taron stepped out of the car and stood up, closing the button on his jacket, giving Robyn the time she needed to shuffle over and carefully guide her legs out first. He held his hand out to her and grinned at the smile she wore as she gripped his hand tight and let him help her out of the car. He could already see the flashes of the media and hear the calls of his name and once Robyn stood up beside him, her name too as well as the cheers from the crowd who had gathered too.

“Well hello you two. I was wondering if you ever going to get out of that car. What were you up too?” Robyn and Taron turned their heads as Lyndsey walked up beside them. “Taron.” She leant forward and gave him a hug. “And my beautiful Robyn. It is wonderful to see you again.” Stepping closer to the young woman, Lyndsey wrapped her up in a hug. “Just breathe and be yourself. Trust and lean on Taron.” Once she let her go, Lyndsey turned to Taron. “Just a few stops along the way, not as many as Elton’s. Expect the questions we all talked about and for God’s sake Taron hold her hand!”

With a laugh Taron reached for Robyn’s left hand and linked his fingers with hers. “So, shall we go and get our picture taken?”

“Well we did get all dressed up for the occasion, it’s a shame to waste it and I need a photo to put with my one from Elton’s.”

Holding tight onto Robyn’s hand, he led her over to the large poster which had the name of the musical along with the names of some sponsors. As before at Elton’s, Taron tucked Robyn into his left side, his arm going protectively around her waist, while she returned the gesture, her free arm going around his too. She turned her body a little and struck a pose with her hand on her hip and following the instructions Lynsey had given her when she called her talk about the red carpet, smiled and looked from left to right and forward, trying to appease everyone who called her name.

“Think we got enough?” He moved his head to her to whisper.

She turned to look at him and grinned. “We probably think so but not them.”

As the photographers shouted Taron’s name again, ordering him to look their way, he turned to face the media and as the volume of the shouts increased, Robyn saw his grin quickly start to fade, his soft features turning hard. She gently tickled his right side, causing him to grin widely, Robyn laughing at him as he tried to tickle her back.

“Time to move on I think.” Taron was thankful for the tickle distraction from her as his patience started to wear thin as it always did when the photographers became more demanding as they yelled at him, but even with her nerves Robyn still managed to keep his spirits up and support him in her own way, as she always did. Slipping his arm from her waist, he held her right hand, his fingers immediately interlinking with hers. “Lyndsey will meet us at the top of the media queue.”

Again, Robyn let Taron take the lead and she followed him keeping a very tight grip on his hand as they walked the first few steps of the red carpet, stopping as Lyndsey instructed them.

“Jane from Fab TV.”

Once he got his cue from Lyndsey, Taron moved over to the barrier, leaving Robyn with Lyndsey and the two women stood together while he answered the questions asked by the interviewer.

“You are already a pro at this.” Grinned Lyndsey as she took in Robyn’s smiling face, her eyes completely locked on Taron’s back as he spoke to the interviewer.

“Having Taron around makes it easier.”

“I can’t even begin to tell you how happy he was that you agreed to come with him tonight and not just because you love musicals and are about to take the stage yourself which by the way congrats.”

“Thanks Lyndsey”

“He is beyond excited to share some of his life with you.”

“It really didn’t take much persuasion on his behalf. I wanted to be here. Probably about time I made an actual appearance too. It’s either going to break the internet or hopefully shut it up about Taron and I and judging by your face, I imagine we have already broken some part of Twitter.”

“And want to know what I think?”

“Of course. You are the one who deals with this all the time.”

“Who gives a fuck. Taron wanted you here. You wanted to be here and that is all that matters. Whether you visit each other at your homes, or you come to something like this, people are going to talk so let them talk. You and Taron are wonderfully close and I know how much you mean to him and without a doubt you love him as much as he loves you. So, screw what everyone says. You have both been through this already and know what to expect, so what I want you to do is be you. Be Robyn and enjoy the whole night. This red carpet is just one part of the evening. You still have the whole musical to enjoy and the rest of your weekend with Taron.”

“Have you and Taron been practising your supportive speeches for me?” Asked Robyn as she brushed some hair from her face as the wind blew around them.

“He just wants you to feel comfortable.”

“He does and he has.” Robyn looked back to Taron as she heard him laugh. “He always has.”

Taron could feel the eyes of his publicist and best friend staring into his back and he tried to keep his attention on the questions being asked to him and the second question of course asked was about Robyn and if his guest was indeed the woman who had saved his life. Taron dodged a few awkward questions asked, giving his pre-rehearsed answer of how Robyn was a huge fan of musicals and this happened to be one of her favourite movies too and naturally he invited her to come along.

He only had a few minutes for each interview and was glad when Lyndsey tapped his shoulder to move him on.

“And that’s one done and only twenty more to repeat.” He said to Robyn as she stood beside him.

“Want some company?” She asked him as they waited for the next interviewer to be free.

“Really?” Taron knew his face showed how surprised he was.

“Could be fun?” Speaking with Lyndsey had given her a little boost of confidence and she had made the effort to come with Taron and as she thought about it, answering some questions with Taron might appease the world of social media.

“You are going to get me in so much trouble.” He grinned.

“Lyndsey gave me some answers, might as well use them.”

With a chuckle, Taron grabbed her right hand with his left. “Have I told you how glad I am you came yet?”

Lyndsey didn’t even question it, after she had told Taron who was next and Robyn walked with him over to the interviewer. She just let it happen, knowing she wouldn’t have been able to stop them no matter how hard she tried but inside was a little bit happy Robyn was willing to go with Taron. Their constant unity with each other, although made the trolls and keyboard warriors criticise every part of it, just continued to show that their relationship and friendship was one that was not easily broken and as they stood beside each other at the railing. Lyndsey knew that although Taron would look after Robyn at his events and on the red carpet, she would repay him the same favour in every other way she could.

“Taron it is so good to see you once again.”

“Ricky mate, you too.” Taron had been interviewed twice before by the presenter of the Sunday showbiz show from Magic Radio.

“So, Taron, you know I have to ask you but is this Robyn?”

“It is indeed. She was gracious enough to accompany me tonight but she is also a huge musical fan so I had to invite her.” Taron gave Robyn’s hand a squeeze.

“Nice to meet you Robyn.”

“You too.” The reporter and Robyn shook hands and once the hand shake was finished, Robyn quickly found the Welshman’s warm fingers again.

“So, you are actually a real person then and not just a cardboard cut out Taron carries around with him.”

Both Taron and Robyn laughed. “Oh, dear no but I would love to have seen that! Unfortunately, not. Taron has been stuck with an actual person for a while now.”

“He doesn’t seem to mind too much.”

“He likes to keep me around just in case he gets a paper cut from scripts he is reading.” She replied.

The reporter laughed. “Speaking of scripts, Taron have I heard rumours of a new project you might be getting involved in with Adam Driver?”

Taron smiled. “All just rumours I am afraid though they are ones I wish were true.”

“So, you have just wrapped Kingsman?”

“Yeah just back from New York this week. We were finishing up some re-shoots.”

“I am really looking forward to the third one. Can you give us any insights into the story?”

“Nah mate. Afraid not but I will say it is going to be just as good as the last two and I think the audience will really relate to Eggsy in this one, even more so then before. I am excited for everyone to get to see it.”

“Looking forward to it Taron.” The reporter saw Lyndsey tap Taron on his shoulder and knew his time was up so he held out his hand to Taron to shake it one more. “Thanks so much. Nice to meet you Robyn. You both have a great evening.”

With another goodbye, the two moved back from the railing. “Anything you are not good at?” Taron asked Robyn as they waited for Lyndsey to set up Taron’s next interview. “You made that look so easy.”

“I wish. That interviewer was a nice one. He didn’t care too much about me and you and was completely respectful. I don’t think we are going to get away that easy every time.”

“I have been interviewed by Ricky before. He’s a good guy and like you said, doesn’t care at all about the personal stuff.”

“Shane from Musical’s UK.” Informed Lyndsey as she walked over to them, Taron still holding Robyn’s hand.

They walked back to the barrier and were immediately met with a smirk. “Taron, nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

“And welcome to the opening night of this musical. You must be excited to see the stage performance of such a beautiful movie.”

“Very excited. It’s wonderful to be invited to something so special, especially knowing how important the arts are for the world today.”

“Sure of course and you yourself have been part of the world of musicals with Rocketman.”

“Yes, indeed and it holds such a very special place in my heart so I understand how a new musical like this is so important to the Westend.”

“And you have brought someone with you? Is this Robyn?”

Robyn wanted to roll her eyes and reply with the most sarcastic answer she could, but let Taron answer.

“Yes, this is Robyn. When I got the invite I knew I had to ask her to come with me because she is a bigger fan of musicals than me and she has watched the movie so many times I have lost count and if I didn’t, I would never have heard the end of it that I got to see it and she didn’t.”

The interviewer smiled. “He tells the truth.” Answered Robyn. “One of my all-time favourite movies and the music is stunning, I know I am very excited to see the stage adaption. I am already singing Deliver Us in my head and I am not even inside yet.”

“I have a feeling you are going to love this then.”

“I am very thankful to Taron for inviting me.”

“As I am sure he is for you.” Grinned the reporter. “Well I can guarantee you are both going to love the show and just so you know, it is ok to sing along.”

Robyn laughed and nudged Taron. “I’ve gotten permission now! No stopping me!”

“You may regret giving her that permission. Don’t blame me if you have to stop the show. I like to sing constantly, but Robyn is just as bad!”

With a laugh and a few more questioned centred around Taron’s role in Kingsman and future projects, they said goodbye as Lyndsey tapped Taron’s shoulder.

“Thanks so much Taron. Nice to meet too Robyn.”

After another elven interviews, Taron was feeling relieved that everyone he had spoken to had been light and cheery, most of the press from Westend and musical background so there was more interest in promoting the new show rather than his guest and with Robyn’s background in musicals it was easy to keep the conversation flowing between the two of them and the interviewer.

“Last one Taron. Probably going to be a stickler for bringing Robyn into the conversation.” Taron looked to Lyndsey. “It’s The Sun.”

“Seriously? At a Westend opening night?”

“They are from the showbiz pages, the same that printed the picture of you carrying Robyn into the ocean.”

“Wonderful.”

“Hey, we got this.” Robyn gave his hand a squeeze that had not left hers since he took it once they started to approach the interviewers at the railing together. “One last one and then I am going straight to the merch stand. I need a programme and a CD and a t-shirt and a cup and a poster and a keyring and a magnet!”

Taron laughed so thankful that Robyn had become comfortable enough on the red carpet that she was able to make a joke to lift his mood. “I will get you one of everything if we survive this last interview.”

“We will. One last one Taron.” She placed her clutch bag under her right arm, freeing her left hand and she reached over to encase his hand in her two. “You want fiery Robyn to come out for a visit?” It was nice to hear Taron chuckle and Robyn was glad to see his face smile too. “When this is done, we are going inside and I am getting you a beer and a magnet.”

Not even thinking Taron moved his head closer to Robyn and gently kissed her temple. “Always there to pick me up no matter what.” Taron took a breath and gave her two hands which were still holding his left one a quick rub. “Just have fiery Robyn on standby for me ok?”

“Will do.”

“You two finished psyching each other up? Jason from The Sun is waiting with baited breath.” Lyndsey looked at Robyn. “Play nice.” She said to her, earning a laugh from the two who stood in front of her with innocent faces.

With their steps in time with each other, the duo walked towards the barrier and the last interview of their evening. The first thing Robyn noticed was the judgemental look on the man’s face, his eyes glaring at them and immediately she could see not only was this interviewer ready for a fight, he was pissed off that the picture and article that was published in his paper had been removed.

“Taron, Jason from The Sun.”

Robyn could see the tension in the handshake and found herself standing a little closer to Taron, using his body for a little protection but also for some heat. She really needed to invest in dresses that were both long and with sleeves as she was really starting to feel a little cold but thankfully her trusty electric blanket beside her was always warm and toasty.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Replied Taron as he ended the handshake.

“So, you brought Robyn along with you?”

“She is an even bigger fan of musicals than I am so I knew I had to ask her to come with me.”

“Have you heard of the film that the musical is based on?”

“Sure. The Prince of Egypt is a...”

“It’s not a Disney movie.” Interrupted Jason.

“It’s actually a DreamWorks production.” Finished Taron. “It’s a wonderful movie and the music is…”

“By the wonderful composer Hans Zimmer.” Finished Robyn. “But of course, the music for this musical was composed by Stephen Schwartz who also composed the score for Wicked and Godspell. Such beautiful orchestral compositions. They are stunning.”

Taron wanted to laugh so hard at Robyn’s quick response, his beautiful fiery Robyn coming out quicker to play then he expected.

“So, you are a musical fan Robyn?” Asked Jason.

“Definitely, just as Taron. Sure with Rocketman under his belt, he is a musical prodigy.”

Taron laughed and nodded. “She gives me a little too much credit but I know we are both very much looking forward to the performance this evening and thankful to have been invited. The arts are so important nowadays and to be able to support it, it’s very important to me. Music is such an important feature in both of our lives too.”

“A life which you have because Robyn saved it?”

Taron thought he might have escaped the question as the musical seemed to be the focus of the interviewer’s attention but it seemed Jason was finally making his way towards what he really wanted to ask. With a look to Robyn, Taron nodded. “I think the whole world knows by now that Robyn did something incredible for me and without her, I definitely wouldn’t be standing here, waiting to go and watch this wonderful new Westend show.” As instructed by Lyndsey and using his well learnt distraction skills, Taron brought the reason why they were on the red carpet back into focus.

“So, seeing as how she is here with you now and as we all know, she has visited you in Aberystwyth, can we start to assume there is definitely a romantic relationship between you two?”

“Robyn is my best friend and of course it may seem like more to the outside world and those who follow us around in my home town, that there is something more between us but so many have mistaken our closeness for a romance when it is just a connection we have due to the extreme circumstances we were placed under.”

“Even though you are tucked into each other?” Jason shoved his microphone a little closer to Taron and Robyn, the camera man, following suit and zooming his footage in too.

“It is actually quite cold out on this chilly February evening in London and unfortunately this red carpet is outside. Taron doesn’t know how lucky he is to be wearing long trousers and sleeves.” Returned Robyn. “Maybe next time we can ask for the interviews to be inside or perhaps even over the phone so us poor girls don’t have to freeze. I know I am not only excited to get to watch this first performance of this amazing show but also to warm up a little.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you both when you went swimming.” Retorted the reporter.

On cue both Taron and Robyn laughed together as suggested by Lyndsey in an attempt to make light of the question if it was asked.

“I am afraid I have to take the blame for that one.” Taron explained, keeping his tone light.

“Taron thought it was the perfect time for a swim.” Agreed Robyn. “But thankfully we are far enough away from the Thames this evening so he won’t be tempted to do it again.”

“So, you plan on going to visit him again in Aberystwyth?” Jason probed. “I mean you two always seem to be together now, maybe you are just moonlighting as friends? There are rumours that you actually knew each other before Florida.”

“I have heard about those rumours.” Frowned Taron. “It’s such a shame something as serious as Robyn saving my life and the two of us ending up in hospital was shadowed by vicious rumours. It was already such a challenging time for our families not to even mention Robyn and I, that these rumours hurt more than anything else. I have said it so many times before and during my press release which I know your paper was given a copy of, that Robyn was a stranger who came to my aid and since then has become a very special person and friend in my life.” He felt Robyn give his hand a very tight squeeze.

“I can only repeat what Taron has said.” Robyn added before Jason, who wore a look of frustration, could ask another question. “What I did for Taron should be celebrated. Naturally a friendship and bond has formed between us and I consider him one my best friends and unsurprisingly we are going to try and visit each other and get to know each other. I don’t think either of us could walk away from the other after what happened.”

“I am just happy to be able to share such a wonderful opening night with Robyn especially when I know how music has such an impact on her life like it does with mine and I give her complete and utter respect for coming along with me and walking the red carpet.”

“So we can expect her as your companion from now on?” Asked Jason still probing.

“If Robyn is willing to accompany me and is not working and maybe if the weather gets a bit warmer, she is always welcome by my side.” Taron turned his head as Lyndsey tapped his shoulder and he had never been more grateful for her timing. “That’s my cue to go.” He said to the interviewer. “Thanks so much Jason.”

“Have a good night Taron. Robyn nice to meet you. When you tag along to another red carpet with him, I look forward to another in depth conversation.”

“Well the next time I tag along with Taron, I will make sure that you are first on the row of media because it’s best to get the unpleasant part of the evening done first before we can concentrate on enjoying ourselves.”

With a pull on Taron’s hand, Robyn led him away from the last interview of their evening and they stood beside Lyndsey.

“Right give me the damage report.” She asked.

Taron grinned, “Nothing to report.”

“Robyn?”

“A little bit of sass but nothing that wasn’t deserved. He just a got a little too personal but it’s nothing we haven’t had to deal with before.”

“Should I be prepared for an article in the morning?”

“Probably.” Answered Taron. “Just the normal shit Lyndsey. We are romantically involved and we had a swim in Aber.”

“So, a little bit of damage control?”

“Just a little.” Confirmed Taron.

“Sorry.” Robyn said quietly as she hid behind Taron’s shoulder a little. “I will keep my mouth shut next time.”

Lyndsey smiled. “Absolutely not. Nothing like a bit of feistiness to keep some reporters off your back. I have heard about all your sassiness Robyn and it is normally warranted. Sometimes it’s not always a bad thing with reporters just to put them in their place a little.”

Taron gave her hand a pull so she was standing beside him. “You are a natural chicken.”

“You helped.”

“Now the hard part is done, you both can breathe and go inside and enjoy the evening and the musical.” Lyndsey stepped closer to Taron and in her normal parting way, gave him a hug. “You do everything in your power to keep her, you hear me?”

As Taron nodded into her shoulder, it was only then the cheering, shouts and calls registered with him. As he let go of Lyndsey, he looked over her shoulder to see a crowd of people behind the barrier on the opposite side of where the reporters were, calling his name with posters and phones.

“A lot of fans here.” He looked to Lyndsey and then to Robyn who shrugged her shoulders his way.

“No point in looking at me Taron. I was a fan once; I am still a fan and that could have been me standing there desperate for a photo or autograph so you know what I am going to say.”

Taron looked to Lyndsey. “It’s up to you Taron. Just remember, you need to be inside in forty-five minutes.”

“Want to come with me?” Taron looked to Robyn and grinned as she had taken her phone from her clutch and shook it at him along with a receipt from her purse.

“Only if I get to go first!”

Taron laughed and pulled Robyn in a for a hug and didn’t bat an eye lid as bright lights flashed around them, the media closet to them taking advantage of snapping their hug.

“I was serious.” She grinned when he ended the hug. “I want the first photo and autograph!”

Obliging her, Taron took the pen from her hand and signed his name on the back of the paper and then taking her phone snapped a selfie with her, both pulling a funny face.

“Thank you!” She laughed as she put the pen, paper and phone back in her clutch. “Let’s go and say hello to the people who really matter here.”

Together they walked back down to the start of the red carpet and while Robyn took a step back, Taron interacted with the fans along the barrier, greeting them all with a smile and a chat. Robyn thoroughly enjoyed watching Taron converse with each fan and was so entertained by his willingness take the time to snap a photo with each. She could see a few heads look her way and hear her name mentioned but she just gave a smile and a nod.

“Hey Robyn, come here.”

She looked confused as Taron called her over but took the few steps to the barrier.

“They want to meet you.” He reached for her hand. “This is Robyn.”

Excited chattery voices filled the air and a friendly conversation sparked up at the barrier, the fans delighted to be finally getting to meet Robyn and some of them thanking her for what she had done for Taron. As they moved down the barrier, Robyn soon took over the taking the photographs, making the process of meeting his fans a little quicker so he would be able to greet them all, letting them have their moment with him as she took a step back, only joining in when needed or to take a picture for him.

With Robyn’s help, Taron managed to get to every fan of his who had come to hopefully get not only a glimpse of him but an actual photo and with a final wave, they walked in through the theatre doors, Taron breathing a happy sigh of relief. He guided her through the slight crowd in the foyer and over to an area that was a little quieter and without a reason or explanation, took Robyn into him close for a hug, snuggled into her shoulder, his hands gripping her waist with a squeeze.

“Taron?” Robyn would never refuse a hug from him but was a little shocked at the need she could feel from him and the almost ferocity at which he hugged her.

“Just give me two minutes to have a cuddle ok?” He asked, ignoring how his tight grip, stretched his shoulders uncomfortably. He was used to feeling sore and run down after re-shoots and he was thankful he had two days to sleep off his tiredness but it just wasn’t quite enough time to appease sore muscles however it wasn’t going to stop him from taking advantage of the closeness and comfort a hug from Robyn provided him, the rush of energy he always felt walking the red carpet drained from him completely.

Robyn wrapped her arms around Taron’s broad shoulders and with her two thumbs, applied some pressure in between his shoulder blades, massaging him through his jacket and shirt, smiling at the little moan she heard him exclaim quietly into her neck. “You carry all your tension in your shoulders.” She whispered to him, dipping her thumbs up over the collar of his jacket and in under his shirt collar as far as she could go onto his warm bare skin at the nape of his neck. “You can relax rocketman.” She moved her hands up through his hair. “The only thing you have to worry about now is my loud singing stopping the show mid-way through.”

Taron chuckled against her. “I look forward to it.” With one long inhale, Robyn’s perfume making his head spin a little, he reluctantly moved his hands away from her. “Thank you Robyn. I know that was hard for you and you just surprise me with your willingness to just take that leap and be here with me.” Robyn’s hands moved to his face, her thumbs now gently stroking his jaw.

“Red carpets take it out of you.” She replied taking her hands away from his face, noticing a little tiredness in his yes. “I understand why. The repetitive questions, the stupid ones and then the plain rude ones. No wonder the promotion is so draining on you. I can already see the anxiety building in your eyes.”

“They can stress me out a little.” It never failed to amaze him how she could read him so easily and without even asking him, she already knew he felt slightly zapped of his energy.

“Well now you don’t need to worry about it anymore. It is done and we can finally get me my merchandise and you your drink!” Taking his hand and without waiting for a reply, Robyn pulled on him a little and walked through the small crowd to where the counter for the merchandise for the show was and she stopped, a quiet sad cry leaving her lips. “Oh no!” The stand which sold the souvenirs for the show was closed.

“Oh chicken!”

“I only wanted a CD.” She said sadly. “And a programme.”

“I can ask for you.” He suggested.

“No it’s ok. I am sure I can get them online from the musicals webpage.” Both looked up as the ten-minute warning before the performance started came through the speakers. “So I need to go the bathroom before this starts and I also want to get you your beer.”

Taron grinned. “You go and I will get my beer and meet you back here.”

“Okie dokie.”

“Want anything to drink?”

“Surprise me.” She said with a grin and turned to walk away from him to head towards the bathroom, a wide smile on her face. As nervous and scared as she had been in the car on the way over to join Taron on the red carpet, she knew she how lucky she had been with her first one. The journalists and reporters were mostly from a musical background so had no interest in their relationship or how they met, most happy to talk about Taron’s background with music and delighted to hear how supportive he was of the arts and understanding how important they were. It was really only the one reporter from The Sun who tested her patience and she prayed the paper didn’t try to invent another story to print and re-arrange their words. Things between herself and Taron were finally wonderful again and though she knew they would approach any story printed with a different tactic as they had used in the past but she’d rather not have to worry about it right now. There was still so much to look forward too and she was delighted to be spending it all with Taron.

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Trust #Friendship #Cuddles #Holding Hands #Support #Red Carpet #Dressing Up #Westend #Musical #Media #Sassy #Robyn and Taron

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strawberryamanita · 4 years

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People say it gets better over time, what do I do when over time more problems have been showing up. Ive had anxiety and depression for a while now and recently more things have been showing up. I don't know what to Do. I feel like my family doesn't care for my mental health that much, and only took it seriously when I brought up suicidal thoughts. But its been a few years and I feel like they've forgotten it all. I'm sorry to vent, I just don't know what to do

i’ll admit, this is a little much to be hit with out of nowhere, Anon. i’m gonna still answer, just know that my DM’s would be better for this kind of thing. i’m not a professional, and if this was a night that i couldn’t answer this i would’ve needed to ask you personally if you’re seeing a professional -- which is information you have a right to not share with the public.

when people say “it gets better”, it does admittedly feel like a copout. nobody can promise you it gets better. nobody knows if it gets better, unless they can see the future with 100% accuracy. i’m not saying it’s impossible that it will get better, but it’s become such a cliche at this point that it feels ineffective. honestly, sometimes when i hear “it gets better”, it’s mostly because other people are afraid, and they want to speak good things into existence out of superstition or whatever.

i’m not going to promise you that it gets better, Anon. i couldn’t in good faith, and i couldn’t with total honesty. but what i can promise you is that it gets easier to deal with.

i myself live with a fair amount of trauma; i only share that to tell you the advice i’m giving you is based off experience. i’ve been fucked over by so many people that i’m almost in disbelief when people tell me so -- especially when they’re some of the people that’ve fucked me over. so at that point it sounds like people just kinda say whatever they want to me, whether it’s genuine or not, and i just kind of have to live with it. but in a weird, twisted way, it’s kind of a blessing: it’s helped train me to pick and choose who i want to believe and take the word of, instead of nodding my head mindlessly to whatever my parents or older relatives or whoever say.

and what i’ve learned from looking inside myself, instead of just letting myself being talked-at, is that, yes -- it does get easier to deal with. we know this to be true based on how the rest of our body reacts to trauma: all scars started as cuts at some point, all callouses started as blisters. the term “emotional scarring” is thrown around a lot, but that’s honestly the most accurate way to describe traumatic things that forever weigh heavy on the mind. the part of your brain that was hurt from the shit that’s happened to you now sits as if it has a scar: some days you can poke at it no problem, some days you don’t even give anything the idea of touching it. but the great thing about scars is that tissue builds around it. cells regenerate from nothing. our body forms bridges and walls and shields around our wounds without us even telling it to, and there’s something kind of beautiful about that. and even though scars look imperfect compared to other cuts that’ve healed, a lot of people do find them to “build character” -- they’re reminders that we’ve been some shit, and we’re still alive despite it.

i’m very proud of you for being open about your mental despair, Anon. i think that what you should work on, instead of spending your time tending to wounds that are scarring on their own, is finding moments to let yourself live genuinely and actively make your happiness happen. i know it’s easier said than done, but you aren’t going to be considered a failure or invalid or whatever if you don’t get to that happiness right away. progress isn’t linear, and victories should be praised no matter how small(as a tangent i’d look up Skinner Box experiments if you wanna see how that kind of emotional encouragement works from a third-person perspective. the lil lab ratties they work with are congratulated no matter how much or little they accomplish). ***furthermore, Anon, if this is more urgent and you need a mental health hotline, i’ll give you some links.

you’re making more progress than you think. i believe in you. <3

#tw: suicide #suicide

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elegant-etienne · 5 years

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🍏🍉🍊

Fruity headcanon asks!

Apologies for the late reply @taetelli and thank you for the asks! I quite stupidly kept trying to answer this without a draft and would then accidentally close the tab, losing all of my answers more than once.

🍏 : how stable is my muse’s physical health? do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician? do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication? how often do they get sick?

Etienne: is in pretty good health! They swim every morning and have gotten back into strength training. They see the healer as little as possible, even though they should know better. Over the years they’ve struggled with self-destructive urges, addiction and depression, which they call their ‘dark moods.’ Since going on hormone replacement therapy, those dark moods have lessened considerably - not that their mental illness is fixed by HRT by any means, but their baseline of absolute hating themselves, their body, etc., has been considerably lifted and they’re much happier.

Etienne severely damaged their aether pool casting black magic, essentially breaking through their considerable well of mana and pulling from their own life force in order to cast a blizzard spell. Since then, they’ve had trouble maintaining their body heat, have somewhat poor circulation, and in the past have had a slow healing time from injuries. Etienne assumes the injury has shortened their life and do any time they cast black magic - one of the myriad reasons they stopped adventuring was the very real possibility they would cast a spell that ultimately killed them.

Etienne is also at risk for a hereditary illness, but so far only experienced the symptom of occasional life sensitivity (but it’s fine, they have those cute pince-nez!)

Adi: suffers from a chronic hereditary illness. His symptoms include sensitivity to light which can be coupled with intense headaches, physical weakness and dangerously low stamina, and digestive issues coupled with frequent nausea. The dry air Thanalan irritates his delicate membranes and he gets nosebleeds and sometimes has coughing fits. Most of the sufferers of this illness die early which is preferable to the alternatives. He handles his illness with potions that help with nausea and have mildly restorative properties and an inhalant potion. He eats little snacks during the day any time he’s not feeling too sick to eat to maintain energy. He’s very food-oriented as a way to battle what could be seen as an apathy for life that also tends to couple with the illness. While he’s begun to occasionally eat dairy products (and eats honey and items made with east), he is a staunch vegetarian, partially out of a literal inability to do harm to other living things.

His organs and bones are a huge mess of scarring and tissue from constant, quick-healing, though aside from his scarred, mis-healed eye, he shows no external signs of what he’s been through. He’s surprisingly able to handle poisons and intoxicants, provided they’re things he’s encountered before, he treats himself with micro-dosing until he develops immunities “to better understand” the illnesses he treats.

Kadin: is the swoll dude who brags about how he never gets a cold. He has an iron stomach and can eat things regular people would probably die eating.

Houmei: suffers a compromised immune system, headaches and fatigue due to his physical and mental trauma. He suffers severe dissociative amnesia. He engages in extremely rigorous care of his skin, nails and scales, in order to try and fight his compulsion to pick and bite himself.

🍉 : which of the four seasons suits my muse best, and why?

Eti: loves spring and autumn equally. They love the changes - both the living and dying - and has a deep fondness for their transitory natures, which they find spiritually inspiring. The bursting into life and the quiet surrendering into death and sleep are equally beautiful. Also, they have a slight preference for spring pastels over autumnal earth and jewel tones

Adi: loves winter, but only in the Shroud, where it’s constantly cold, wet and rainy. He’s rather apathetic to seasons in general but prefers gray weather.

Kadin and Houmei: both love the activities, warmth, and foods of summer, but are wary about the fireworks.

🍊 : does my muse desire romance? is it something they would actively seek out, or prefer to happen more ‘ naturally? ’ what is their love life like? do they have any exes or past flings, or crushes?

Etienne: I feel like if someone asked Etienne this question right now they’d probably just sort of laugh and shrug? They just got out of a serious two-year-relationship with plans to marry, and before that they were in a toxic marriage. Ultimately, they’re not sure that those kind of committed relationships are right for them, and a lot of that comes down to what they feel are their obligations to someone they’re in a relationship with, and feeling trapped by monogamy.

They are pretty used to having other people pursue them, and in truth, are not quite sure what to do when they like someone. They make a lot of excuses for it, like the guy should always ask the lady out, but the truth is they are afraid to be super-open about their feelings. After all, if others are aware you want something, or someone, or the objection of your affection is aware of it, what’s to stop them from taking advantage of those feelings in the worst ways? It doesn’t really cross their mind that they could have something genuine if they risked being vulnerable with others. It’s too scary for them.

Besides, they have their pride. They don’t want to let someone else “win them over,” because that means they lost.

Basically:

Adi: has a boyfriend currently, Zihji’li. I think when it comes to his desires for romance and sex, he is still in very early stages of baby gay (“terrifying religious upbringing” model), while he’s not in total denial he still believes that it would be better if he were not gay, and that he does not deserve to feel good, be loved, or love anyone. Up until growing close to Zihji’li he would never allow himself to consider the possibility of even looking at another man twice, so he really doesn’t have any history with that sort of thing.

Kadin: has lived with his boyfriend for two or three years now! They started out as close friends, but Kadin always had a torch for him even when he was dating his ex. As far as previous relationships go, he’s had a lot of casual sex with men and women but has only dated other men seriously, although the last two guys he dated ghosted him - one of them actually ghosted him twice, and the second time really, really hurt. Considering people’s propensity for not taking him seriously or treating him like a priority, he’s not really interested in dealing with that crap from people! He’s down for casual flings with his boyfriend present, or if his boyfriend wants to have them on his own, but currently there’s no one whom he feels is worth the effort. He loves sex, but he’d rather stay at home with the dogs.

Houmei: has barely been able to leave the FC house until recently due to his level of fear of others. That doesn’t make for a lot of romantic possibilities! He does not have many clear, cohesive memories of his own personal life, just flashes of things, but he does have a sense he had two people who were precious to him in the past, and that bond was severed, and that he’s also taken lovers short-term now and then, people who’s names he might not even remember with a complete memory. Talk of feelings did not feature highly in any of his past relationships. He is somewhat interested in how romance is pursued in Eorzea ‘as an exercise,’ and I think he’s open to the idea, but a bit intimidated by the idea of navigating things when he feels he has little to offer. He has someone he likes but he’s taking it slow with them.

#asks #ooc #honestly for the romance one i could say they all wanna love and fuck but they keep getting in their own ways about it #except kadin he always just Goes For It and he's honestly the most pure in his relationships lol #taetelli

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niveunwhite · 6 years

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tddk valentine/white day exchange 2019: (for ray)

for @tododekuvalentine and @tzubakis !! happy tododeku valentines day friendo

title: i think i love you

summary: In a so-called exercise of teambuilding and marketability awareness, the UA teachers had decided to arrange a secret Valentine exchange between the students.

Midoriya Izuku

Todoroki stared down at the piece of paper impassively.

“And remember! Valentine’s Day is next week, so get those cards and candies ready fast-- let me hear you kids say ‘YEAH’!” Present Mic’s words fell on deaf ears as 1-A went about whispering to each other about the names that had been distributed to them.

In a so-called exercise of teambuilding and marketability awareness, the UA teachers had decided to arrange a secret Valentine exchange between the students.

Aizawa shuffled to the front of the group of staff, ignoring Present Mic’s radio energy, “Even though they’re called ‘valentines’, your gifts should not necessarily be romantic. The purpose of this exchange is to establish an appreciation for your peers. You’re likely to be working together for a long time, so take note of and acknowledge the positive traits in each other.”

Todoroki looked over to see Midoriya muttering to himself, deep in thought. Midoriya’s positive traits… Considering the possibilities, Todoroki should have been relieved to have picked him; there should be no shortage of compliments to give such a positive and overall inspiring individual. So why do I feel so tense…?

“You’ve all been working nonstop for the past few months, so this should be a nice change of pace. There’s only fifteen minutes of class left, so just go ahead and get started on this, I guess.” As Aizawa zipped himself in his sleeping bag cocoon for the day, and the rest of the teachers filled out of the classroom, the students quieted down, seeming to take the assignment very seriously.

To Todoroki’s left, Yaoyorozu was writing hesitantly, often sighing to herself. In front of her, Mineta was slumped over on his desk, sniffling. I suppose he didn’t get one of the girls. Todoroki took a moment to give a small prayer of thanks before directing his gaze further forward to see:

Midoriya Izuku. He was leaning over his notebook, writing furiously, right foot tapping. Ever so often, he’d tangle his other hand in his hair, and Todoroki took the opportunity to study the particular shade of green it was. Emerald? No. Brunswick? Not quite… Pure phthalo green. Like it was just painted on. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through it.

Then Midoriya began to shift as if to look over his shoulder and Todoroki snapped out of his reverie. Quickly looking down at his own blank notebook, Todoroki felt a familiar burning sensation crawling up to his face. Don’t write about his hair, Todoroki made a mental note to himself as he picked up his pencil.

Class ended, as it tends to do, and when evening came, Todoroki found himself in his room, still staring at the same empty piece of paper. Frustrated and confused, he decided to head to the dorm kitchen for hot chocolate. Perhaps he’d run into someone who knew what they were doing along the way.

When he entered the common room, Todoroki saw, in one cluster, Ashido, sprawled upside-down on a couch next to Kaminari and Hagakure, while Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya sat in another on the opposite side of the room. Midoriya looked up as he walked in, smiled, and waved. Todoroki attempted a smile back but it may have come out looking like a grimace, considering how desperately his heart suddenly seemed to be attempting to jump out of his chest. This is probably not normal.

“Sooo, does anyone know what we’re supposed to actually be doing for this secret Valentine thing?” Hagakure’s voice drew his attention back to her group.

“Yeah, they didn’t really give us a whole lot of instructions,” Kaminari agreed, “What’s up with that?”

“As many things will be when we are Pro Heros,” Iida cut into the conversation from the other side of the room, “This assignment is up to our interpretation and discretion. It is yet another test of our initiative and resourcefulness.”

Ashido pouted at this response. “Boo, it sounds less fun when you put it that way.”

Todoroki debated asking for more specific advice, but he wasn’t sure how to do so without sounding foolish. Hot chocolate will make this better, he thought to himself… Probably. As he headed further to the kitchen, Todoroki heard Ashido call his name.

“Todoroki! Who do you have for the exchange? You could probably do something super duper fancy and romantic, huh?”

“Uh.” He responded eloquently.

“Don’t push him!” Uraraka scolded, as Iida simultaneously cried out a reminder of the platonic nature of the exchange.

Then the microwave timer went off and suddenly Midoriya was standing by his side, retrieving a steaming bowl of katsudon. Todoroki stared at Midoriya’s hands as the boy hummed to himself, pouring a sweet-smelling sauce over his food and smiling all the while. They were warped and scarred, but steady and soft-looking? That can’t be right.

“Would you like to come sit with us, Todoroki?”

Todoroki startled, meeting Midoriya’s eyes. “I’m--” he waved his hand towards the empty mug he had retrieved from the cabinets, “... Hot chocolate. Sure.”

Midoriya gave a nervous laugh, scratching lightly at his face with his utterly captivating hands and Todoroki is vaguely aware that Midoriya is saying something, and he’s trying to pull himself back to reality, but he’s a little preoccupied at the moment and--

“T-T-Todoroki? What are you doing?”

Ah, yes. Midoriya’s hand is comfortably soft, despite all the scar tissue. Now what can Todoroki do to explain why he’s holding it between both of his own hands?

“Boom.” A small plume of fire puffed out from Todoroki’s palm, held in such a way that it almost looked like it was coming from Midoriya’s, “You’re Bakugou.”

There was a stretch of silence.

“WHAT?” A sudden wave of laughter came from the common room, “Todoroki, what was that?!”

Turning to look, Todoroki saw his classmates in various states of disarray. Ashido and Kaminari had ended up on the floor, while Hagakure flailed about from her seat, all in fits of uncontrollable laughter. From their own corner, Uraraka looked on with a mixture of concern and barely-concealed mirth, while Iida appeared to be going through every stage of grief simultaneously.

But back to the matter at hand. Todoroki glanced back to Midoriya, who bared an uncanny resemblance to a tomato at the current moment. In the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the smell of something burning.

“I think… I might go back to my room, actually. I have a bit of work I need to do,” Todoroki muttered. Hot chocolate be damned.

“Oh! That’s totally okay,” Midoriya stammered out, “But, um. You’re kind of. On fire a little bit.”

The shrieking in the common room was revitalised as Todoroki quickly extinguished his hair, absolutely mortified. That hadn’t happened since the time Fuyumi caught him running through the living room, pretending to be All Might’s sidekick when he was five. And that now seemed to pale in comparison.

“Thanks. I’ll… see you later.”

...

“Todoroki?”

“Yes?”

“Can I have my hands back?”

Todoroki left the common room with a speed that would have made Ingenium retire in shame. Back in his room, both hot chocolate-less and no further along with his valentine, he laid down on his futon with a silent huff. Sleeping his troubles away didn't sound too bad…

There was a sudden, timid knocking on his door. Inwardly bemoaning his existence, Todoroki pulled himself together and opened the door to find--

“Ah! Hi, Todoroki!” Uraraka beamed up at him with an angelic smile. But not quite as angelic as Midoriya-- He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Undeterred by his silence, Uraraka continued on, “So I couldn't help but notice that you seem kind of unsure about your valentine.”

“Well, I don't really know what to say…”

“Mmhm.” Uraraka studied his face with bright eyes. “Do you have Deku?”

Todoroki took a bit of pride in preventing himself from combusting again. He nodded curtly.

“Oohh, I see…” Uraraka had a somewhat unnerving look on her face… Mischievous? Knowing? What could she know? “Is it alright if I come inside?”

Once reseated on the futon, with Uraraka reclining in his swivelling desk chair, Todoroki felt himself beginning to sweat.

“So, Todoroki,” Uraraka clasped her hands together in a very business-like manner, “What are your intentions with Deku?”

He blinked. “To… surpass him as a hero?”

Uraraka stared at him. “Okay, but maybe, like, more personally?”

Twice. “To give him a good Valentine?”

“Okay, and you want to do that because…?”

And again. “Because… That’s the assignment?”

“Oh, my God, you’re even worse than I was! Where’s your fighting spirit?!” Uraraka slammed her hands down on the chair armrests, “ Listen, Todoroki. I’ve been where you are. Deku would never let anything come between him and his friends. Now’s your opportunity! You have nothing to lose but your chains!”

The confusion in the air had a somewhat salty taste.

“Are we talking about the same thing?”

Todoroki felt his skin crawl as Uraraka once again stared through him.

“You like him,” she stated, matter-of-factly.

“I… Like him.”

“Yes.”

Todoroki contemplated this for a minute. Oh. Oh no.

“You’d do anything for him, wouldn’t you?”

His head seemed to nod on its own.

“And you have so many things to say that you can’t even begin to write anything down?”

He looked towards his noticeably blank notebook and nodded.

Uraraka hummed, satisfied. “Sounds like love to me.”

Hm. That surely sounded interesting, but Todoroki was unfortunately too busy experiencing a total emotional reboot to respond.

Uraraka stood up. “I’ll leave you to think about it. But really, you’ll feel a lot better once you get it out there. I’ll see you later!”

Todoroki remained firmly planted on his futon as Uraraka let herself out.

Sounds like love to me. The words rattled around in his head like the world’s most confused baby angel. Is this what love is? Not being able to look at one of your best and only friends in the face without spontaneously combusting? When did this start? How do you make it go away? What would Midoriya do?

Memories of Midoriya murmuring to himself while furiously writing flooded his mind. Smiling, hard-working, genuine, beautiful Midoriya. Todoroki could feel his heart melting. Midoriya would never do anything to hurt him. Maybe Uraraka was right. Maybe he should be straightforward.

With a new sense of resolve, Todoroki picked up his pen. He was ready for the class Valentine's exchange.

I think I love you.

#tddkvalentine2019 #this is my first time doing something like this i hope its okay #tododeku #yeet yeet

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shamelessly4shameless-blog · 7 years

Text

130lb of Ukrainian Courage (pt 8)

The gentle oblivion of medicated amnesia can’t last forever. Ian begins to remember on his third day in the hospital. It is fragmented at first, snatches of half memories that are steeped in senses. He remembers the bright light around the outline of closely cropped grey hair as he opened the door.

He remembers the scent of prison linen and mustard on heavy breath and the burn of cheap rope around his wrists.

Ian glances down at his hands, at the healing blistered skin and swallows heavily. Another fragment falls into place and he clenches his jaw against it, pushing back against the reality. His body aches all over and Ian tries not to think too much about it but the memory fragments are like sand trapped in a timer and no matter what he tries, they will not stop trickling through.

Ian glances around the sterile room and his skin crawls with the urge to be in a different place, a place with things to distract him. He is very good at monitoring and controlling his thoughts, he practices doing so as part of his mental health self-check ups but he needs things to aid the process. He needs familiar objects and routine.

The vision in his left eye is fuzzy as he glances around for his phone and he blinks a few times trying to clear it but it won’t clear and his temper begins to fray. He ignores the searing pain in his side and twists round to rummage in the white plastic drawers beside his bed.

His phone is tucked in a pair of socks – hidden from casual chancers but also hidden from Ian and as he finally locates it he curses Mickey’s cautious paranoia.

There are a few messages on the screen but the one he lingers on is the most recent, delivered a couple of hours ago.

‘Gone to shower & get u some proper food. Txt me if u need me. M.’

Ian types a quick text and presses send

‘Bring my clothes. Getting out of here.’

Ian’s phone flashes up almost immediately

‘Dr give u all clear?’

Ian considers lying but it doesn’t seem worth the energy.

‘No. Need 2 leave tho. Want to be home.’

‘B there soon.’

Ian reads the message and then closes his eyes and tips his head back against the pillow. His phone buzzes again a moment later

‘Do NOT leave without me. Will kick ur ass. Love U.’

Ian smiles slightly and opens up his photos. He scrolls through pictures of Mickey, pictures of Yev, he lingers briefly on the photo of Mick and Yev asleep on the bed from a few days previously, then keeps scrolling. There are pictures of his family and a few selfies but it is a specific photo he wants to get to. It is part of his anchoring technique.

Finally it appears in the gallery and Ian presses his finger to the little image with a sigh. Mickey’s face fills the screen, the image of his eyes, aiming straight toward the camera, stills Ian’s jumping nerves and he breathes through his nose as steadily as he can.

A single lock of dark hair is flopped forward onto Mickey’s forehead, his expression is serious but if you know where to look, and Ian does, you can see the very beginnings of a smile hidden in the slight crease of his eyes and the gentle rise of fine black brows.

Ian stares until the screen darkens and then closes his eyes trying to remember every little detail. He recounts the tiny noticeables. The beginnings of stubble, a vague shadow of cheekbone, slightly flared nostrils, a tiny scar by Mickey’s right eye from …

Memory hits Ian, a vicious gut punch from his brain that leaves him gripping the sheets and gasping for each panicked breath.

The way the butt of Terry’s gun swept down in that dreadful arc, striking his teenage son with a crack that made Ian’s stomach shiver.

Mickey blinking into wakefulness after the blow, his eye socket suffused with angry purple bruises and his lips cracked and bloody. Terry had been in the kitchen and Ian had helped Mickey sit up, whispering to him that they could run, if Mickey could stand, they can run and Ian would cover him.

Mickey had shaken his head and touched Ian’s face as if he wasn’t even sure if Ian was real.

“Whether I run or not, he’s gonna kill me, man. But not you. People would miss you. You’re gonna be OK.”

And he had fucking smiled as he said it, Ian remembered that now, Mickey smiling vacantly as he assured himself that Ian was going to be okay, like that was all that mattered to him.

Tears slip down Ian’s face and he lets them.

He remembers Svetlana and the old familiar hatred that he has learned to push away and overcome for the sake of Yevgeny resurfaces with a vicious snap that Ian embraces wholeheartedly.

He remembers Mickey, his Mickey, pushing him away, so terrified of what would happen if they were caught again. At the time Ian had thought, had always thought, that fear was a self-preservation thing. Shoving Ian aside, marrying Svetlana, he thought it was all about protecting himself and maybe some of it was but now, lying in this purgatory of a room, Ian sees the layer beneath the obvious.

He sees Mickey’s fear for him. He sees the agony of wanting something so badly but knowing that to catch it would be to court destruction and rage fills his heart completely, blackening the edges of his love for Mickey, his care for Yevgeny, tainting everything in it’s path, an oil slick without boundary.

Mickey arrives with a backpack of fresh clothes and a meatball Subway and enters Ian’s room with no idea of the storm behind the closed door.

“Hey, I brought you a … OOF!”

He staggers back against the wall, dropping the tightly wrapped sandwich, eyes wide as Ian’s tongue fills his mouth, aggressive and demanding. Mickey tries to pull away but Ian’s body is crushing him into the white coated wall.

“Get on the fucking bed.”

Ian growls, grabbing the front of Mickey’s shirt and yanking him forward.

“Hey! Woah! Hang on ...”

“What? You don’t want me?”

Ian shoves Mickey’s chest and gets in his face within inches of his boyfriends, eyes burning. Ian’s face is a medley of colours, the skin around his left eye a swollen mass of red and black, the fair auburn brow lost in a sea of bruising.

Mickey licks his lip, he had not to be met with a towering inferno of sexual fury and he is trying to catch up to Ian but he doesn’t know how much of what is happening is genuinely Ian and how much is the disruption of his medication routine.

“Of course I fuckin’ do. But not here.”

“Why? Because I’m a fuckin’ state? Because I got the stink of a victim on me? Because you were right and I was wrong?”

“What are you … Hey! Calm the fuck down!”

Mickey snaps as Ian grabs his shirt again, dragging him up onto his toes roughly.

“I am not going to be fucking tamed by this shit! I will not be whipped and afraid like you were!”

Ian snarls and crashes his lips once more against Mickey’s own.

Mickey is desperately trying to fit the pieces together correctly. Ian isn’t being exactly cryptic and his words sting more than a little but Mickey knows this sort of anger – it is almost aimless in it’s all encompassing reach. He lived with it for years, lashing out at everything and everyone and cowering away from his true self with almost pathological fear.

That isn’t Ian.

It could never be Ian but it is close at the moment and he needs to tread lightly.

“No you fuckin’ won’t but you gotta build your strength up. And we need a plan. We can do more damage with a plan, remember?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

Ian’s eyes are wild, his red hair flying up around his head like some sort of demonic halo and Mickey simply nods in agreement.

“Fine.”

He holds Ian’s stare until some sort of awareness returns to the speckled green depths and then slowly detaches the grip Ian has on his shirt and crouches down to pick up the Subway bag.

“I got you this. I want you to eat it. Then we’ll get you checked out.”

Simple instructions. A simple plan. They are what Ian needs and he clings to them, sitting down painfully on the edge of the bed and taking the sandwich from Mickey. He doesn’t apologise and Mickey doesn’t need him to.

There is blood on the floor and on the hem of Ian’s gown from where he has pulled his stitches. Mickey covers the drops with his boot before Ian can notice them and folds his arms until he is sure that his hands have stopped shaking.

The atmosphere is settling around them and Ian is looking more himself as the minutes tick by, a little flat lined and so tired it makes Mickey’s chest ache, but definitely closer to his Ian.

“You want a bite?”

Ian offers, the fire has all but drained from his voice and Mickey can’t think of many times he has felt less like eating in his entire life but he nods and accepts the package as Ian passes it to him.

“You know, I never get how people eat these things without getting sauce everywhere.”

He passes it back, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Ian’s lip lifts slightly and he shrugs

“You take too big bites.”

“Yeah? That the secret? Gotta nibble it?”

Mickey cocks his head to the side and gives Ian a little smirk which Ian returns as best he can.

“Just don’t cram it in.”

“I’ll just stick with chicken and bacon club.”

Mickey grabs a tissue from the box on Ian’s stand and wipes the blood under his shoe discreetly before sitting down next to Ian on the bed.

“Are we going to ours or you maybe wanna go to Fiona’s?”

“Ours.”

Ian says definitely and without hesitation.

“Cool.”

Mickey has left Fiona and Debbie doing a seriously thorough clean up of the place because he thought that was likely to be the answer. The bedroom he cleaned up himself, the bedding shoved in the trash, along with the mattress and bed frame, which Mickey smashed to pieces with a baseball bat in the alley.

The new bed was due to be delivered later that day but even if it wasn’t there, it didn’t matter. Mickey would set Ian up on the couch and sleep on the floor.

The doctors are reluctant to let Ian leave so soon and turn to Mickey as Ian’s next of kin. Mickey hesitates because privately he thinks they are probably right and Ian could do with a few more days of rest and a team of doctors at his disposal because Mickey will do his best and he knows how to dress wounds but that is about all he knows how to do.

However when Ian looks at him, his eyes wide and pleading, Mickey takes his side instantly and signs the paperwork he is asked to sign with a firm grip on the cheap plastic pen, his other hand linked with Ian’s.

The drive home is quiet. A little of the rage seems to have dissipated beneath the gentle sway of medication and Ian alternates between staring out of the window and leaning down to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey smokes but only one, despite his agitation. He needs to tell Ian that Terry is already dead but not yet. If Ian is using that as his guide through the maze of hurt and confusion, then Mickey is not about to rip it away from him until he absolutely has to.

They pull up outside their house and Mickey watches Ian anxiously waiting for him to give some sort of cue. Ian stares at the bright blue door for a second and Mickey considers just driving them both down the block and to a cafe or bar to wait it out a while but Ian is taking a deep breath and opening his car door and getting out. He is doing it with or without Mickey and as always, Mickey faithfully follows his lead.

They get inside and Ian looks around as if trying to place everything in his mind.

He notices the new mugs that have replaced the ones he broke as he tried to get away from Terry. He notices the absence of a carpet in their living room but doesn’t ask why.

He ignores the broken banister posts.

He turns a blind eye to Mickey’s watchful gaze.

He is home, that’s enough for now.

Ian goes to the coffee machine and scowls. Mickey braces himself for Ian to give him some dreadful detail of his ordeal but when Ian turns to him he simply says

“You’ve been messing with my coffee station, haven’t you?”

“Uh … Not on purpose. I thought I put it all back right.”

Mickey is so relieved he is grinning like an idiot and Ian returns his smile with a genuine glint in his eye.

“You got the papers all mixed up and clearly stirred your cup with the scooper – it’s sticky.”

“That ain’t the thing we measure the vanilla stuff with?”

“We don’t have a thing for measuring vanilla cream because that stuff is gross.”

“You know I like it sweet.”

Mickey shrugs and Ian rolls his eyes. This is normal. This is their life and it is fractured but not broken. They are both willing it back together, pressing the pieces like wet clay, moulding their reality into what they both need and want it to be.

“It’ll rot your teeth.”

“Nah man, I got perfect teeth.”

Mickey’s lip quivers slightly, remembering the last time they had this conversation but he pushes the thought back, hard.

“You gonna make me a coffee or not, Firecrotch?”

“I’ll make you a black coffee, fit for adults.”

Ian quips back and flips the little machine on.

“Oh, hey, Yev wants to come by later, is that alright?”

“Of course!”

Ian nods enthusiastically, the thought of having Yev there is a welcome distraction from the white noise loitering at the back of his mind, threatening to encroach on him if he lets his guard down.

Ian glances over at Mickey, he is hovering, not quite still and definitely not at ease. Ian can’t blame him but he wishes he wouldn’t. He suddenly feels too crowded and desperate to be alone.

“Mick, could you maybe go out and get me some ginger or something with ginger in it? The meds have got my stomach all fucked up.”

Mickey springs to attention and under other circumstances it would make Ian laugh aloud.

“Sure, you wanna come with?”

“Nah, I need a shower.”

Ian sees the emotions of indecision flicker across Mickey’s face as he weighs up wanting to get Ian whatever he wants and also not wanting to leave his side. It feels a little dishonest but Ian rubs his gut with a theatrical grimace, watching Mickey’s eyes follow the movement. Mickey reaches for his keys and nods as if to himself.

“I won’t be long. You need anything else just text me.”

His eyes are dark with concern and Ian forces himself to smile.

“Thanks babe.”

The pet name eases some of the worry on Mickey’s face but the kiss he places against Ian’s lips is still too gentle.

“Just text me, okay?”

“Got it.”

Ian nods and watches through the window as Mickey gets into the car and drives away. The coffee machine splutters and Ian turns it off, leaving the steaming pot where it is. He moves from the kitchen to the living room, scuffing his trainers against the rough boards. From the living room he makes his way upstairs. He pauses at the bathroom. It is mostly spotless but there is a dry rusty looking streak on the underside of the sink which has been missed. He goes to Yev’s room and breathes a sigh of relief. The little box room is clear and looks as it always looks. He hesitates and then takes a deep breath and opens his bedroom door.

The bed is gone and the rest of the room is unnaturally tidy. Ian shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and moves a little further in. He crouches down and rubs his fingers over the indents in the carpet where the legs of their bed used to stand.

Ian can’t explain why the loss hits him so damn hard but it feels like a part of himself has been thrown away.

He suddenly wishes that Mickey was there. He feels far too alone and his loneliness scares him.

A car backfires down the street and Ian flinches with a startled gasp.

He leaves the house and walks quickly to the alley. His mattress is there but it’s been rained on and is clearly fucked. He lifts the dumpster lids one after another until he sees a familiar glimpse of white wood. He grabs for it but instead of being a complete leg or slat it is only a stub. Ian throws trash bags out of the way to find the rest. It is all there, but smashed beyond recognition. It is splintered and broken and ruined.

Ian understands, he isn’t angry. Of course Mickey would smash it to pieces and there is no way that Ian will be able to fit them back together again. He supposes it is a wonder Mickey didn’t burn the damn thing as well really. Ian chucks the trash bags back in and goes back into their house.

He takes a shower and by the time he is finished, Mickey is downstairs unpacking a grocery bag that is stuffed with ginger beer, ginger snaps, root ginger and even carrot and ginger soup and a ginger flavoured power bar which he must have got at the health food store.

Ian grabs him and hugs him as tightly as he can, burying his nose in the crook of Mickey’s neck, relaxing into the strong arms that wrap around his back and the sure, capable hands that cradle his head and body.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so ...”

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.”

Mickey says sternly. They stay like that for what feels like an age until the doorbell rings and the new bed arrives. It’s a super king divan that Ian doesn’t even want to know the price of.

Ian signs for it and then they both negotiate the stairs, laughing when it gets stuck and and working together to get it through the bedroom door.

“Jesus, Mick! This thing is huge!”

“Yeah well, tired of always bein’ on the edge when you and Yev decide to play starfish.”

Mickey huffs, tilting his end and ramming it with his shoulder to try and force it through the doorway.

Ian grins and pulls with all his might. The thing finally gives and within minutes they are sprawled side by side on it, panting and exhausted, but happy.

“Don’t put your boots on it.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

Mickey rolls his eyes and runs his fingers through Ian’s hair. The room seems full and centered again and Ian kisses the inside of Mickey’s wrist gratefully.

He is home.

#shameless #shameless us #shameless imagine #shameless fanfiction #ian gallagher #Ian loves Mickey #mickey milkovich #Milkovich #yevgeny milkovich #Gallavich Love #Gallavich #ian x mickey

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vgcam · 7 years

Text

Fanfic: There’s a First Time for Everything…

Author’s notes: Fic created for @txf-prompt-box challenge. Prompt: An FBI charity event. Story takes place towards the end of season one. I can’t exactly categorize it. It’s very delicately smutty, but I’m a terrible smut-writer, so it’s the closest I’d get to this sort of stuff. It’s mostly broody and slightly funny. With these prompts I seem to have lost contact with my real life friends, and have ignored my work, kids, hubby and home… oy vey!

Also tagging @today-in-fic

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sigh.

There’s a First Time for Everything…

By Vered Gilad Friedman

It was their first official FBI event together and for the life of him, he was unusually nervous. He’d been on the job with Scully for almost a year now but even though they’d been having plenty of off duty phone calls, they’d hardly seen each other off work. Not that he hadn’t thought about it; it was just that she was so closed-up when it came to her private life and somehow in a manner that was very uncharacteristic to him, he felt extremely cautious when it came to handling her.

Yes, they’d both been to one another’s apartments but it was always work-related and it was always shop talk they dealt with. He’d always wanted to go beyond but whenever he’d try to dig in a little further through that unseen façade of hers, she would button up and he’d not pushed further.

Why? Because… it was even hard for him to admit this to himself, but the bottom line was, he cared for her and it was more than just this partnership that had been forced upon them. No, it was far more than that.

She intrigued him from the moment he read about her, but when he actually got to meet her, he became fascinated. Yes, he’d tried all those boyish tricks of his on her, and he got her annoyed at times, but he loved those moments when she set her blazing blue eyes upon him, and glared as if she were willing to bash him with a mallet of sorts. He’d get her pissed on purpose, just so he could see that expression on her face. He liked that she took him seriously to the verge that his words could get her to react so strongly. Later on, as they got to know each other better, she had figured out his dry sense of humor and was able to respond in line with it. This just made him feel even more excited being with her. And he got to be with her every day and it was pure elation. Even when they argued. Maybe even especially when they argued.

And they grew closer. He knew that. Nobody had to force them to work together anymore. She could have left and he could have asked that she be removed but none of that happened. Neither of them wanted that to happen. And it was more than just work. He knew it, even though neither of them said any of that to each other, even though he’d still not invited her over to his place just to have a plain cup of coffee.

And here they were, about to go on a… date? Could a formal FBI charity event even be considered a date?

He got out of his car and walked the well-known path to her house as if it were the very first time he’d ever seen it. His heart was pounding so strongly. Why couldn’t he control himself? This was Scully! He saw her just a few hours ago at the office. Why was he making such a big deal out of this?

Last year he went to this event with one of the lab techs he’d been dating. Well, more like screwing, he had to admit. A tall woman, with long blond hair. Not a natural blond. Screwing a woman tended to unveil such hidden details about her. Not that he’d cared. She was a great fuck and a perfect accessory just for such formal occasions. He’d show up, enjoy a good dinner and then finish it up with a satisfying fuck. He’d not delve about it even one second after coming. He was no stranger to dating and screwing and having a good time with pretty women, yet now, when it came to dating his partner, he felt as if he were about to break some sacred vow.

Besides, was this even considered a date? True, he was the one who came up to her and suggested they’d go to the charity event together, but he wasn’t quite sure if she understood that this was more than just two work partners going to some work function. She didn’t even make a fuss when he offered to pick her up. After all, he’d come by and picked her up several times when they went on assignments. He was usually in charge of getting their rentals, so she never argued, and they both took turns driving, so she didn’t go all feminist on him, so maybe all she read into this was just two partners on yet another assignment.

He realized he would have been a lot more self-assured had he known that his companion for the night was going to end up in bed with him a few hours later, but with Scully he wanted much more than just casual sex. Not that he didn’t think about sex when he was with her but this time sex wasn't his main goal. He wanted it to be the culmination to a far more meaningful interaction. He wanted foreplay, but not only of the sexual kind. He wanted them to just snuggle together and talk over a glass of wine, or a movie, or both. He wanted her to let him in. He wanted to know more about her and he longed to share more about himself, because he knew she'd listen and not in a patronizing fashion like his past relationships; those few relationships where it was more than just the sex. Back then when he was a mere toy boy for strong dominant women. It was a time in his life when he had needed that sort of trait in a woman. He was young and inexperienced and they were there to teach him something about the world and he didn’t mind being controlled by them because in a way he felt so out of control about his own life that he wished somebody would just take over. Both Phoebe and Diana had no problem filling that position.

But that Fox Mulder was now long gone. He remembered how vulnerable he felt when Diana got up and left him. He was like this hurt puppy, left to lick its wounds, but slowly he grew stronger without her. A thick layer of scar tissue formed on top of those wounds and he stopped feeling when he went out with women. He made sure they weren’t as smart as he was and he focused on their bodies and zoned out when they spoke. He had enough charm to lure them in so he could satisfy his needs and none of them realized he was just playing them.

And then Scully came and something snapped. She was beautiful and smart, yet vulnerable and soft, and she cared for him and admired him, but she also didn’t let him have his way and she had her own set of values and beliefs. She was never a bitch towards him, she never abused him and he realized that for the first time he had found his equal.

But for the life of him, he didn’t know how to proceed in this new uncharted territory where he wasn’t in control, nor was he controlled. He was at a loss.

He was finally at her door-step. If it weren’t for time constraints, he would have waited out there forever, but the new Assistant Director, Walter Skinner, was mentally breathing down his neck. The A.D. bothered to stress the point that tardiness could possibly lead to re-assignment. Mulder still didn’t know him all too well and he didn’t want to risk it; especially not when it came to Scully. So now being almost out of time, he heaved a deep breath and pressed her doorbell.

He could hear her calling out from behind the door. “Just a second.” And then indeed, a second later, the door was unlocked and opened.

Despite promising himself he’d behave normally, he was so taken aback by her looks, he wasn’t able to speak. He just stared at her, gawking like a total dork, feeling somewhat out of breath in lieu of the totally out of character attire she was wearing.

Yes, he knew she’d be wearing some sort of evening gown, but never in his life did he imagine this look. Her petite slim body was perfectly encased in a black strapless dress that enhanced every minute detail of her every curve, not to mention her perfect snow-tainted breasts.

It’s not that he didn’t think her beautiful in her plain FBI dress code 'uniform', but most days he forced himself not to think what lay beneath, but at this very moment not much was left to his imagination.

"Mulder?" Scully, stared at him confused.

Still speechless, he kept on gaping at her figure. When he realized his eyes had unintentionally become affixed on the amazing crack between her bosoms, he hurried to transfer his gaze to a different section of her body.

He set his attention on her hair, which had been beautifully pulled up into some form of elaborate construction, which he had no idea was at all possible. He always marveled at her perfect auburn hair, but he'd gotten so accustomed to her helmet hairdo, he didn't even think of the possibility of her wearing it differently. The usual second option was a basic ponytail which she reserved for trips to the wilderness and autopsies. There was only one single occasion when she had it up in a bun. It was during their case with the liver eating creature, Tooms. Suddenly she wore it up a-la Melanie Griffith in working girl. That do made her appear very professional and somewhat uptight and he knew she only wore it like that to impress her snarky former classmate, Tom Colton. She tried to appear serious because she thought nobody would take her seriously now that she worked for the X-Files with Spooky Mulder.

She never wore her hair like that ever again. It was then that she really decided where she wanted to be and with whom her loyalties lay. The return of the helmet do was a symbol of sorts. She removed the shackles that were imposed upon her by her previous training and she didn't care anymore what people thought. Well, at least not like she did before, he added as an afterthought.

And this amazing do she was sporting at that very moment was nothing like that puffy, professional bun of hers. No. This do was a testament to seduction. Part of her hair was pulled up while precisely calculated strands of auburn fell loosely against her perfect glowing neck. Mulder had no doubt Scully had bothered to pull the precise number of strands out of the pulled-up arrangement of hair but he wondered if he was the prime target of her amazing look or was she aiming at the general male population.

"Mulder!"

He blinked, somewhat startled by Scully's peeved tone. He had to say something. He had to, but he was so stunned, he just kept on eyeballing her, unable to hide his astonishment.

"Mulder. It's just a dress. Snap out of it. Seriously!" she blazed.

"I… I'm… you… I'm sorry, Scully. It's just that… I've never seen you in this way before." He managed but he quickly regretted his words as she pursed her lips and glowered at him.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She shot at him.

Jeez! The woman didn't really know how to take a compliment. "Hmm, well… it's just—"

"Never mind, Mulder," she uttered impatiently. "We're going to be late if we don't get a move on."

And she glided down the front steps slightly brushing him against his shoulder as she went towards their rental. Her superficial touch was enough to exert an involuntary gasp out of him.

Dammit, he had turned into a puddle of boyish adolescence. He expected to sprout zits on his cheeks next as final proof of his total inability to function like a mature, professional adult.

His mind was racing back and forth between 'Jump right in and fuck the hell out of her' and 'Whoa boy, this is Scully you’re talkin’ about. Settle down cowboy'. He was afraid he'd lose control and that that would ruin any chance he'd ever have with her. He knew he wanted it to be totally different with her, but it was as if that dress had managed to erase Agent Dana Scully, colleague, partner, best friend, companion and so forth and instead it brought about only Dana Scully, sex bomb.

He was ashamed of how out of control his physical reaction was, when he knew that what he truly wanted was to treat her with respect and win her affection and love like a true gentleman.

"Mulder! Are you coming?"

Scully stood beside their car, her stance oozing irritability, prompting him into a wobbly dash towards her. He'd lost all his basketball training finesse all of a sudden, barely managing to avoid stumbling right into her as he broke his step at the very last second. He was hoping to get the door for her, but the moment he unlocked the car alarm, Scully hastily opened her own door and slid into her seat.

For a moment he stood there like a child lost amidst a bustling crowd, then he scooted around the car and took his place beside her at the driver's seat.

"If I would have known you'd have reacted this badly to me wearing this dress, I might've worn my bathrobe instead," Scully teased him as they drove through the evening traffic.

Still unable to trust himself, Mulder opted to keep from side-glancing. "Maybe you should have eased me into this," he suggested, surprised that he was actually not only making sensible conversation, but that he was actually able to joke about his awkwardness.

"I'll uncover only one shoulder next time," she laughed.

And just like that the tension that was threatening to implode his belly a mere second earlier suddenly disintegrated into nothing. Dress or no dress, they were their usual selves again, banter and all. He smiled, then slid a quick sideways glance, took in her beauty but now she was his companion again, just that she was even more beautiful than usual.

"You can keep both shoulders out in the open," he told her. “I think my moment of shock is over."

"Pity," she feigned disappointment. "I was kind of getting used to this unknown side of your personality."

"Well, you were privy to a rare event akin to an X-File," he chortled.

"It's definitely worth cataloguing under the bizarre category," she agreed.

--------------------------

Grand Hyatt Hotel, Washington D.C. 21:04 PM

Scully decided to let Mulder help her out of the car this time. Her dress was making it somewhat harder for her to lift herself out of her seat without having to perform some unconventional acrobatics.

Mulder was over his initial shock re her attire and was mostly back to his usual self. Mostly, because she couldn't help noticing how his glance kept straying towards the central section of her chest. Well, when she chose this particular dress she had precisely that in mind.

There were moments during their assignments when she glimpsed something more about Mulder's reaction towards her, but it always seemed like a flicker that he quickly tucked away. She knew he saw her more than just his partner. They were definitely close but that stemmed from the type of job they did day in and day out. He did try to stir their conversations to more personal direction on many occasions, but she kept reverting back to the professional path, despite his constant attempts.

He'd share a sports’ jokes with her and search her face for a reaction. He'd tell her about his family from time to time and he was a major support after her father had died.

But she was having a hard time opening up to him. She was a woman, working in a male territory and to prove herself worthy, she had to show she was strong and unflinching and she couldn't let him in or she'd appear vulnerable, so she kept him out, but he never stopped trying.

So today she chose to leave that comfort zone of hers. She could have worn a far more conservative evening gown. Certainly had her mom and dad seen her like this, she would have had plenty of explaining to do, but her daddy was gone and she wasn't that innocent girl anymore. She wanted to receive more than just a flicker from Mulder this time. She didn't know where this would lead them and how far she was willing to go, but she was willing to move forward and she felt this was the best way to send this message.

The only thing she hadn't accounted for was that Mulder would lose it altogether. He had such a reputation, she was sure he'd take her appearance in stride. Instead, he went all school-boyish on her and at some point she was considering slapping his face so he'd snap out it.

She was glad when he'd eventually recovered, at least to a certain degree.

The door beside her opened and Mulder peered at her through it, making her almost chuckle as he bent all the way down and then snuck another peep at her partially exposed breasts. She offered him her hand and he grabbed it and assisted her onto the sidewalk.

As he gave the car keys to the valet service, she snuck her own peep at his amazingly built body and marveled at the view before her. Yes, he was dressed in a suit and tie most days, but his usual choice of jackets and especially ties were not the greatest. His pants were usually a lot less snug around his buttocks, not to mention his frontal parts, and the loose shirts he usually wore made him look far less masculine than he actually was. And she knew he sported a great set of abs on him, having handled his medical misfits a little too often ever since they'd become partners.

But today it was a black tie event and he'd chosen a much tighter suit and a bow tie instead and not that he wasn't handsome enough as it was, it was just that this particular garb he had on, brought everything into focus, so to speak, and she enjoyed zooming in.

"Scully? You coming?"

She shook her head. "Yes…" she answered, absent-mindedly.

She felt his palm sliding into hers and to her surprise, she shivered. Up until now, most of their physical contact was of a friendly kind; a tiny shove on the small of her back as he ushered her about or a slight touch on her shoulder. It never went beyond that. She was amused at how holding hands like silly schoolkids could make her all giddy and tingly inside.

They climbed the stairs slowly as her narrow dress was preventing her from taking large strides. She’d been watching her footsteps, making sure she wouldn't take any unceremonious dives, so she was completely startled when she heard a familiar army-style voice speak all of a sudden.

"You're late."

Scully gazed up and saw the recognizable shiny cap of the Assistant Director towering above them.

"Sorry sir," Mulder apologized as if he were this tardy student standing before the school principal, "We had shit traffic."

"Save your sorry-ass excuses for somebody else, Mulder," Skinner growled. "Everybody else got here half an hour ago. You're the last to arrive."

Fuck. She was never late for anything before she met Mulder. In fact, her nickname was goody-two-shoes-Scully. She was always the first to arrive and customarily on the decoration committee which meant she was usually preparing for an event hours before. Now she'd fallen in with the wrong crowd, aka, Mulder, and look at her, she'd become little miss tardy and possibly a slut all in one go. Her father would probably be rolling in his grave at that very moment.

"Sorry sir," Mulder apologized, sounding like a very unrepentant schoolboy.

"We'll deal with this tomorrow. Now step on it." Skinner ordered, turned around and basically marched into the grand Hyatt as if expecting Mulder and Scully to fall in line right behind him.

"Somebody's going to get detention tomorrow," Mulder whispered under his breath.

Scully was too uptight at that very moment to find Mulder's antics funny and she sent him a peeved glare to which he responded with a shrug.

Unfortunately, there was no way she could hurry her step while ensconced within the restrictive evening gown, so she proceeded as best she could while Mulder kept to her side. By the time they reached the elevator, Skinner was already long gone.

"Relax, Scully. We’re already late. It's not like we can do much about it."

She wasn't able to see these things the way he did. There was no point in him trying to calm her down. She was still unaccustomed to being scolded, even after all these months with Mulder. She wondered if this would ever change.

The sign by the elevator listed the FBI event two floors down and if she were wearing one of her power suits and comfortable shoes, she would have made a dash for the nearest stairwell, but she'd had enough of stairs with this dress for one day, so the both of them waited patiently till the elevator arrived.

Mulder got in and Scully followed suit. She was barely inside when the elevator doors slid shut. To her utter horror, the trail of her beautiful evening gown got caught between the doors. She felt a strong pull on her body as the elevator began its downward journey.

It all happened very quickly after that. She let out a cry of shock just as Mulder realized what had just happened. He didn't think twice. He grabbed hold of her body and made sure she remained grounded to the floor. The beautiful garment's seams exploded under the pressure and gave way. It was better the garment than her limbs, she managed a quick thought.

Mulder held her firmly to the ground as the bottom half of her dress tore off, they both breathed fast as adrenaline washed through their blood stream. She could feel his warm breath against her nape, and to her surprise she also felt a firm presence pressing against her lower parts. It was the most absurd of moments; sheer horror, pure danger, uncontrolled excitement and sexual delight all mixed into one crazy juncture. It was like the epitome of their relationship, she came to realize.

She let out a silly hysterical chuckle.

"It's great that you're enjoying this, Scully," Mulder murmured against her cheek.

She was about to respond in kind, but suddenly she heard the elevator doors whooshing behind her accompanied by a chilly breeze brushing against her now exposed thighs and buttocks.

Then came a deafening sound created by a major group of people gasping all at once.

She knew she shouldn't look behind her, but despite herself she did. The minute her head turned around, she regretted it.

The entire membership of the Federal Bureau of Investigation all stood outside, their jaws ajar, and their eyes the size of continents, and like a cherry on top of a cake, there stood Assistant Director Skinner fronting the entire crowd. But unlike the rest of the gathered law enforcement personal present, Skinner bore the most outraged scowl she'd ever seen.

She was still pressed hard against Mulder's body, her exposed thong-clad butt there for everyone to see, and she was unable to move a muscle. But Mulder stirred slowly, gently pushing her behind him, but never letting go of her. Finally he stared squarely at Assistant Director Skinner and said, sheepishly, "Errr… what's up doc?"

THE END

@today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box @fictober

#txf-prompt-box #todayinfic #xfiles #fanfic #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #evening gown #fbi charity event #season one #very light smut #broody #funny #walter skinner #fictober

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loose-leaf-teacanons · 7 years

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Random collection of birthday gift hcs

...for all those character birthdays I missed. orz

Kuroko is so careful with his presents. He examines the box from all angles to figure out how to untie the ribbon and then caaaarefully peels back the tape so the wrapping paper doesn’t tear. Everybody is like, “C’mon, just rip into it, it’s half the fun!” but he refuses because someone took the time to wrap and gift him this, and that must be honored properly.

(if he likes the wrapping paper, he will fold up a sheaf of it and turn it into a bookmark)

Kagami has been scarred by way too many joke presents from Himuro, so each box is subjected to a very cautious shakedown first. Does it rattle? Does it smell odd? Was that a noise???

Himuro swears up and down that he picked a right and proper gift this year but Kagami doesn’t believe him. He just moves to the next box, shakes it cautiously, waits to see if it’ll explode or start singing loudly or something–

“This one is actually from me, Kagami-kun,” says Kuroko, and that makes Kagami extremely conflicted because, on the one hand, it’s Kuroko. On the other hand... it’s Kuroko. He’s not entirely sure he believes him, either.

((It’s okay, Kuroko lovingly hand-picked some KitchenAid add-ons that Kagami has been eyeing forever but had a hard time justifying the purchase of... then Kagami realizes the fucking box is covered in doggie-print.

He can’t even get mad about it. Kuroko just looks so quietly delighted at having managed this bit of mischief, with his eyes doing that goddamn heart-palpitation-inducing silent-laughter look and... Kagami is so screwed. He’s so, so screwed.))

Kise cannot live around a wrapped gift for even five seconds before he just has to know what is in there, c’mon, just a peek, I’m DYING here, I’ll pretend to be surprised later, honest–– so when he has finally suffered this state of unsatisfied curiosity for the socially appropriate amount of time, he turns into a gleeful human shredding machine.

Well, for people he knows and loves and who are known to give gifts like actual human beings for other actual human beings to actually enjoy.

This notably excepts Akashi, who cannot, for the life of him, pick out even vaguely appropriate gifts for anyone (honestly he just picks gifts that are both way too expensive AND the kind of stuff you’d gift a distant business associate you wanted to impress and/or intimidate – there was that time when he sent everyone he knew a very elaborately carved letter opener and it’s a wonder he still has friends because everyone was appropriately disturbed for a rather extended period of time.)

It also notably excepts Aomine, because Aomine is a plainly horrible gift giver in ways that are rather different from Akashi but still somehow always fail to hit the mark. He’s just not very good at separating what he likes from what other people might like (this is why poor, traumatized Momoi ended up with a live frog on her birthday table).

Usually he sticks to handing friends candy bars or something, though even THAT is a 50/50 thing at best since he sometimes shoves them in pockets or lets them sit out in the sun and then goes and wraps them up anyway, and that is the only time you’ll ever find Kise sharing thought space with Murasakibara. Just. Identical expressions of horror.

And then there’s a third person whose presents are excepted from Kise’s enthusiastic opening methods, but that’s for entirely DIFFERENT reasons because first Kise has to go lock himself in his room, faceplant onto his bed and scream into the pillow because ohmygodsenpainoticedmehelpmyheartican’t–!!!

(Incidentally, most of Kasamatsu’s gifts are aggressively utilitarian affairs that rather poorly disguise the fact that he is a gigantic mother-hen to everyone. Seriously, Moriyama once caught an ear infection right before his birthday, so his present ended up being a headband because this is what happens when you go running in shit weather without proper gear, you colossal dumbass.)

Momoi totally rips up the paper wrapping on her presents, but before that she carefully unties and sets aside the ribbon. All the ribbons get stored in a cute shoe box.

Aomine makes fun of the box but is secretly very jealous because like half of the ribbons in there are from presents given by Kuroko and Kise. He has not yet made the mental leap that maybe there'd be more of HIS ribbons in there if he ever bothered, y'know, properly wrapping things. Or remembering birthdays before the fact. Or even just picking non-terrible presents. (Seriously, his attempts at wrapping make the thing he wrapped look like a wads of socks or tissue paper; he can't wrap for shit).

Murasakibara is very annoyed by all the paper and boxes, because that stuff gets in the way of the thing that he wants to actually get at.

(After complaining about it once, Kurochin the big mean meaniepants went and gave him a box inside of a box– and inside that box was ANOTHER box and that was just the WORST.

He threatened to crush it out of frustration and Kurochin was just like, “You won’t do that, Murasakibara-kun” all serene-like, and ugh, it’s true, he wouldn’t. Because really, Kurochin is a very good gift giver, and it was worth it this time too, but Mukkun made sure to eat the limited edition maiubo selection inside the evil box-ception very, very spitefully.)

((Himuro is sitting in the background, carefully taking notes.))

Anyway. Akashi does not get anything wrapped, because giving him something wrapped would mean he’d have to break out the scissors and nobody wants that. Nobody.

(Tbh the whole friend-people-give-presents thing initially threw him for a loop, because after age five he was taught that gifts are never truly gifts. So the concept of present presents took some time getting used to.)

Mayuzumi rarely ever gets gifts because he’s a cynical asshole with no friends, and he also acts like he doesn’t care about presents at all unless they’re like... waifu merch or something.

(If you look reaaaaally closely, you can see a muscle in his face twitching whenever he gets something he really likes, but liking the gift conflicts with being a cynical asshole and Containment Field of “Meh” Failure Imminent.)

As a general rule, he doesn’t give gifts, either.

Though there was that one time when Rakuzan were semi-seriously throwing around the idea of getting Akashi something because uh, well. those letter openers were kinda nice? maybe????

So Mayu ended up giving Akashi a box.

If you’re wondering why Mayu gave Akashi a box, well. There was nothing inside the box.

It was the first time anyone ever got to see Akashi wear the “utter comprehension failure ERROR 30 GOTO 10” face, which is just as delightful as it sounds. What is decidedly less delightful (for Mayu, anyway)?

Akashi kept the box. One day he will divine its meaning.

( “So, das anyone want to tell him that the box is actually a giant middle finger?” - “Nope.” - “More fun this way.”)

#kagakuro #kikasa #mayuaka #aomomo #headcanon cannon

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kusunogatari-a · 7 years

Text

[ Relent ] [ @masterofwar ] [ Uchiha Madara, Uchiha Izuna, Fubuki, Suigin Ryū ] [ Blood mention ] [ Verse: At The Beginning ]

“You really should -”

“It's fine.”

Izuna gives a curt sigh, walking the path beside his brother. “If not now, then what's the point?”

“It's nothing she needs to bother with.”

“Onīsama, you're wounded. She's a healer. That's why you brought all of this about in the first place! You really think she won't notice?”

“It doesn't matter if she notices.”

The younger Uchiha stares at Madara with a furrowed brow, trying to puzzle out his stubbornness. “...you're avoiding her.”

No reply.

“Why? You've gotten what you wanted! Why not make use of it? Don't tell me you're regretting this, after all the effort you put in.”

“That's not it.”

“Then what?”

“I simply...do not wish to bother her with something so trivial.”

“Funny, usually you'll bother anyone about anything if it suits your mood, no matter how trivial,” Izuna counters. “If I didn't know better, I'd guess she makes you nervous.”

Dark eyes slide to their corners, giving Izuna a silent, warning glance.

“...why on earth...?”

“It is clear she resents me. I asserted power over her – no sane person would be happy with such a turn of events. I wouldn't.”

“You're also the first victim of your pride.”

“Izuna...”

“While it's clear Ryū-san has her share of self-held dignity, I don't think that interferes with her work. At the very least, she's a healer first and foremost – she would want to help you, regardless of anything else. As for your fears of resentment...maybe it's a matter of making it up to her.”

Before Madara can protest, Izuna lengthens his strides, carrying himself up through the squadron as they make their way through the valley spine.

“...brat,” the clan head mutters, hardly any weight to his tone.

Still settled in a temporary encampment, the Uchiha retreat back to the canvas of their tents, yards from the village proper. Though he has his own among them, Madara rarely uses it, spending his time examining as much of his new surroundings as possible...but avoiding the manor at the valley's tail. Despite the weight of their arrangement, he avoids her like the plague for reasons he'll never voice aloud...one of which Izuna has deduced. Surely she feels nothing but detestation for her conqueror, and he may as well ease her of his visage as much as he can help.

And though it was his intention (granted, it began as Izuna's suggestion), the agreement still leaves him...disquieted. He refuses to call it nerves – nothing makes him nervous. It's simply...not what he imagined having at such an age, or under such circumstances. So, for the time being, few would be able to guess the arrangement at all, given how little the pair see of one another.

Lost in his brooding thoughts, Madara eventually glances up as a streak of white blooms in the corner of his gaze. To his irritation, there's a clench of his chest at the assumption of white waves...but they're only feathers.

Alighting upon a branch, Fubuki gives a greeting clack of her beak. “Ryū-sama wishes to see you, Uchiha-sama.”

“What for?”

“An assessment of your wounds.”

Blinking, Madara looks askance from the summon to see his brother pointedly ignoring him.

“...you may tell her there's no need. I'm fine.”

“She was rather insistent, and...predicted your refusal. I was told to make her own intentions rather clear: if you do not come to her, she will come to you.”

“Must she meddle in every little thing?” the Uchiha growls, working at the straps of his gear.

“It is her occupation, Uchiha-sama – as such, she takes issues such as these quite seriously.” Shifting, Fubuki admits, “...she is...stubborn on the subject.”

“Fine,” he snaps, relinquishing his armor with a clatter. Venting his unease through temper, he adds, “Tell her I'll be there shortly.”

Withholding any reply, Fubuki gives a dip of her head before retreating.

Walking past his brother, Madara mutters, “You'll be answering for this in a spar later.”

“Whatever you say.”

Following the well-worn path, the clan head sets his jaw, stride full of purpose and drawing nervous gazes. Ignoring them, he soon finds himself at the manor door, taking a brief moment before entering.

“Almost done...”

Pausing, Madara's gaze is drawn to her voice, spotting her preoccupied by someone else: a boy of no more than six or seven. Clearly biting his lip against tears, he turns to give the man an anxious glance.

Sparing a hand, Ryū turns him back toward her by the cheek. “Pay him no mind.”

The gesture almost sparks his mood again, but he swallows it down, not wanting to interrupt. Instead, he leans against a corner, arms folded to watch.

In the dim belly of the manor, the white of her chakra is clear, seeping into a wound along the child's forearm. Minutes pass in silence, save for the boy's sniffling. And eventually, the gap in the skin disappears.

“There...now, do be more careful with those tools. They have their uses, but they're still sharp.” Ryū gives the boy a warm smile.

“Yes ma'am.”

“Go on, then.”

Skirting Madara nervously, the boy bolts through the door as Ryū straightens.

“...your turn.”

“There's nothing to fuss over.”

“I can smell the blood from here.” Her tone is soft, but not without a firmness that allows for no refusal. “We'll waste far less time if you set your pride aside for the moment and let me work.”

“We'd save more letting time tend it.”

“And risk unnecessary infection? That would take even more time.” Arms loosely cross beneath her bust, expression blank. “I'd rather save myself the work.”

Jaw tensing, it takes him a moment to respond. “...very well.”

“Bare the wounds.”

After a pause, Madara stands and removes his top, half-revealing a wound along his side. Several smaller breaks in the skin litter his chest.

Looking to the largest, Ryū carefully pulls at the waistband of his trousers, showing its trail down his hip. “...cause?”

“Mokuton.”

Silvers flicker to his face. “Hashirama...?”

“Hn.”

Replacing her gaze, she orders, “Sit. I need to clean it – there's debris in the muscle.”

Gingerly taking a seat, Madara favors his injured side, watching her work. Picking through herbs, she quickly filters them into water, boiling it with a spark of chakra. Every motion is done without hesitation, obviously made habit from years of practice.

Drawing the substance to the palm of her hand, she takes a knee at his side, guiding the formula into the tissue and drawing out traces of the Senju's technique.

Beyond a tensing of his jaw, Madara gives no reaction.

Once the water is soiled with blood and slivers, Ryū discards it into a nearby bucket before beginning to weave the wound closed.

“...you've been avoiding me.”

Though he gives no outward sign, the Uchiha mentally curses. “I've had no need of you.”

“And yet even when you did, you resisted. Which means it's not that simple.”

Another clench of his jaw. Damn her. “...I assumed...it would be easier this way.”

“There were other ways you could have gone about this. I'm assuming you chose this path out of some kind of civility. But if all avenues are not what you wanted...why bother? Why not choose one that would have led to less of...this?”

“I wished to avoid force.”

“I was still left mostly choiceless. Kinder in some ways, harsher in others.” Giving him a glance, she lets that settle for a moment. “...I'm not angry.”

Silence.

“...nor am I abhorrent. Uchiha-sama, I am not so caught up in myself that I cannot accept the circumstances. As of yet, I have no reason to dislike you. As...one-sided as this agreement may be, I still have yet to come to harm. Nor have my people. That, in the end, is all I truly care for amid the changes. So long as you keep your word, I am not ill at ease.” A pause. “...nor should you be.”

Still no reply.

Slightly, she softens. “...I want this to work. If I am to be at your side as you've willed it...then I will do my best to fill that role as expected. It may yet come to pass that we find ourselves...incompatible, to a point. But an agreement is still an agreement. Such things have been done solely out of duty before. But until I have absolute certainty...I will still give it an honest try.”

Dark brows raise ever so slightly. That was...unexpected. “...you have quite the open mind.”

“...I have my reasons to be.” When he offers no response, she goes on. “...little can be said to sully the name of a man who cries so openly as his brother dies in his arms.” Silvers lift again, managing to catch obsidian orbs. “I told you...I read people well. There was little left hidden in your heart that day. I still have hope that what I saw within it can yet find peace with what I hide within my own.”

With the wound stabilized, she brings a hand to his chest, making quick work of a mark amid aged scars, and then another, watching the skin rise and fall with his breath.

“...arrangements do not always have to be met with presumed disdain. I will not make the mistake of making my own assumptions regarding the man you are. I will let you prove your own impressions. That said...I will be watching.” One by one, she makes her way up the plane of his torso, until a palm cups a scrape along his jaw. Watching her work, Ryū eventually meets his eyes, her own flickering between them before she withdraws.

“...what I've done so far needs to stabilize. I'll wrap it to keep it clean. You will return this evening, and we will finish.”

Watching her retreat, Madara unabashedly continues as she returns, gesturing for him to stand. Reaching around and around his frame, she ignores his gaze until it's finished. “No bending, no twisting, no lifting. Not until I complete the structure, and the tissue is given time to adjust. If you tear the new muscle fibers, I will be...annoyed. We'll then have to start all over.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replies lowly with a hint of flat humor, echoing the boy.

The corner of her lips twitch. “Then you're free to go for about...eight hours.”

“Understood.”

“And try not to avoid me this time...?”

Mood far flung from its beginnings, he manages a subtle smirk. We'll see how open-minded she is, then. A hand takes chin for a moment. “I think we've reached an...understanding.”

Expression momentarily shifted, Ryū manages a nod. “...good.”

He holds her just a little too long before releasing his hold, lingering for another moment before taking his leave, moving to take up his cloak.

“Leave it.”

A glance over his shoulder.

“It's bloodstained – I'll wash it.”

Something akin to surprise tinges his gaze for a moment. “...very well.”

Once back amidst the camp, Madara seeks his brother. “You're off the hook until morning.”

“Doctor's orders?”

“Hn.”

Tilting his head, Izuna dares to note, “...you seem...not quite so dour.”

“My mood has been tempered for the time being.”

Izuna's brow raises. “...oh really? I suppose it would be too much for me to ask for some admittance that my interference was for the better...?”

Madara gives his brother a cool look, lips ever so slightly upturned. “...I suppose I can relent.”

...oops I did more xD

I am very quickly becoming too attached to this AU. I like the shift in dynamic compared to the threads we’ve had, so...I’ll indulge myself, haha~

Izuna is best peacekeeper. Also best wingman x’’D

The tension is TANGIBLE and I love it. Just...gahhhhhhhh.

...anyway, that’s all for now. But I’m sure there will be more soon :3c

#masterofwar #uchiha madara #uchiha izuna #fubuki #suigin ryū #blood mention #at the beginning [ canon verse ]

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