#and its how i eventually got the hairdresser to cut it properly i had to tell her i wanted a butch version of the men's fade lmao

[lupismaris]

I've had my butch undercut back for 48 hours and while the dysphoria is not cured it is deeply silenced thank fuck

[songapart]

Day 2 Human AU

Could it have really been all that simple, a snip here and a curl there before drawing my nails over the modified lengths of hair. They played like cool silk in my fingers, and I had this image of manicured nails sifting through my locks not unlike my mother so long ago. If she could see me right now I think she’d be proud of just how far I’d come in styling my own hair. Though I think the length would leave her something to be desired, I always had my long platinum hair for as long as I cared to remember. She loved it, especially when dad would grow irked at the sight of one more lost strand of feminine hair. Knowing not if it belonged to Mom or me, and I remember vividly that he would scold the two of us. He never really meant anything by it I think, just it was his way of getting us all in the same room.

The scolding would end and he would hug us both, everything that he could’ve possibly meant flying out the window.

I wonder now how he would react now, his only daughter trimming and making her once vibrant long hair rise up alongside her face. I imagine him laughing and kissing the top of my head and saying quietly that he liked it short. That made me smile against myself in the mirror, my eyes refocusing in on their reflection and their deep trap. Now my thoughts drifted to the object of my day, the very man who I had snipped my hair down for. He always said my eyes were like dark traps, I’m sure if they were blue he’d say something liking them to the seas. But instead they were dark traps, and for a brief second as I gazed into myself I got what he meant. They way the edges of my irises formed along my pupils seemed to blend into one color. Making the dark brown encircling that seem much darker in comparison.

I finished shipping away the hair and set the scissors down on the counter top, returning my left hand to what remained atop my head. I had to admit I wasn’t terrible at this, I could’ve just gone to a hairdresser but I was intending this asa surprise. I’d rather that surprise be created by me rather than someone else. ‘He’ll certainly be surprised.’ I thought to myself, I had to admit that I was nervous about it. Would he like it, or would he be so shocked he wouldn’t be able to put it out of his mind for the whole evening. What if all of this ends up as a pointless endeavor and he doesn’t mention it at all, that’d certainly sting more than disappointment.

Just then with my paranoia spilling over the edge the sound of knocking finally announced itself upon the door. I almost jumped from how engrossed I was in my appearance, pulling away from the mirror and turning out towards the open door that would separate me from the living room had it been closed and called.

“Just a moment!”

I made sure that’d be just a moment, slipping out into the living room and softly shutting the bathroom door. Most of my removed hair had been thrown out hours ago, only meager offerings remained. I tiptoed across the soft carpeting in my apartment, almost crashing along the coffee table that sat besides my couch. It always seemed to close to the bathroom door because I’ve stumbled over it many times in my years of living here. My moderate heels sat just beside the door, coat draped on the hook above it, no umbrella. They were hidden away in my closet since he insisted on bringing it, I remember that being a point of discussion, do normal couples debate just who would bring the umbrella? Typically I’ve seen that the man holds the umbrella, but the woman brings it, would that work for same sex couples? I should know but I’ve never had to debate umbrella possession before. We agreed we’d alternate on the practice, depending on the weather. Tonight it was forecasted that the rain would fall around 7:30 tonight, which means we’d only be leaving the restaurant in the middle of the weather. Coats and umbrellas were a necessity, but this was supposed to be my week, so it stuck with me that Al insisted he bring his. I capitulated after a rather arduous debate that concluded with him admitting it was his pride holding onto him. I had a disturbing inclination he planned something, he was never prideful on many things, save for impressing me. Which I had to admit I never understood about anyone, my covered feet slipped into my shoes quite easily. The slimming socks feeling cool against my bare skin, and allowing me to fit comfortably into my shoes. Which could be described as smaller but seemed quite average to most women. I clicked the tips of my shoes to the floor to ensure they were fitted properly before turning back to the coat hanger. Grabbing the weighty garment from its metallic holder, it was soft but thick, double breasted button design. It was a gift from dad, long enough to sit around calves like a trench coat but with the appearance of a typical peacoat. I slipped it on over my clothing, tying it off but refusing to button it, that was for when it was windy. I sighed delicately, moving over to the front door and opened it with a steady practiced hand but I had to admit I was scared of the possibilities.

There, the door was and there he was standing rather lopsided, leaning forward towards the door as it was pulled inward. His soft brown eyes widening in surprise before his signature grin split on his face, his right arm was curled up around the infamous umbrella. I stood just slightly out of his reach, I had an idea of just how long his arms were and I was mostly bracing myself for the words. I was facing down, like a scolded puppy, my eyes flicking up to him and away. The growingly long silence was terrifying, time like cold syrup, thickly coating everything in its relentless grasp.

I eventually stood up straight, facing myself off to the side so he could properly admire how short I had cut it. He’d mention once how’d he like to see me with short hair. Mild curiosity that I saw as a challenge, this is how things were between us, one upping each other. He seemed speechless with his eyes rolling up and down the side of my face slowly. Every detail had to be captured and documented, every small deviation from the norm.

“Charlie...” he started slowly, I knew I had him now, my feet shortened the distance between us and I finally faced towards him with a small smile. His perfectly rugged crimson coat a stark contrast to my muted black outfit. His collar was slightly lopsided and opened at the top button exposing the inner space of his chest. He smelt somewhat earthy, faint lingering cologne filling whatever remained in the space between us. I looked up at his soft doe-like gaze with his attention intense despite the gentleness he exuded. “You look stunning.” He spoke rather plainly, but he stopped there, letting his admiration sit in the open air that seemed to pace up as he spoke.

“Thank you Alastor.” I said almost breathlessly up towards my evening companion, he tightened up his stance and turned towards the left side of the hallway. Towards the elevators and to our planned evening holding out his free arm which I greedily snuck into, looping my right arm into his as he moved us both down the hall. Tonight was going to be a great night, I could just feel it.

[raendown]

Last entry for @madatobiweek already! For the prompt: something kinky.

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5360 Rated: E Summary: Tobirama takes care of Madara's kinks and Madara indulges Tobirama's. A little give and take is only fair in any relationship.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Reciprocity

Even after several years Tobirama still sometimes found it hard to believe that he associated the words ‘going home’ with the sights and sounds of the Uchiha district. Hearing the old lady that lived next door singing through the open window as she started dinner, seeing children playing in the nearby park, nothing worked better to help put him in a calm mood after long days of signing superfluous forms that were bureaucratically necessary yet practically useless.

The only thing that could possibly put him in a better mood would be times like now when he came home to find Madara’s chakra burning quietly inside like a beacon of welcome. Tobirama’s lips parted in a wide smile after checking to make sure no one around was watching him at the moment. What excellent luck. His husband wasn’t supposed to be due back from his trip to Kirigakure for another week.

Not sure whether he was going to find a happy-to-be-home Madara or an exhausted-and-grumpy-from-his-trip Madara but not particularly caring either way, Tobirama threw open the front door of their home and kicked his shoes off with very little care then set a course straight for the source of that beloved chakra. He found his husband in their bedroom standing in front of a mirror hanging on the back of the closet door. No shirt in sight, towel around his waist but long hair still dry, clearly the first thing he planned to do upon arriving home was bathe. Tobirama very much approved.

And just as clearly this was not a relaxed and happy to be home Madara, currently swearing at his own hair brush as he was. Or perhaps it was the hair he was swearing at.

“Fucking useless rat’s nest! Messy bush! Work with me here!” His brush caught on another tangle and he winced before releasing a fresh wave of curse words that would have made a sailor blush. Tobirama bit his tongue to keep the laughter in and cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what was off about the picture before him.

It took a minute or so to realize that Madara’s hair, already big at the best of times, was somehow even more voluminous than usual. He made it only one step closer before his lover spotted him in the mirror but by then Tobirama was close enough to see what the problem was: kinks. As though it had been separated in to a million different tiny braids, Madara’s hair was thick with tight little kinks. It looked like he’d gotten a perm while he was away except Tobirama was well aware that there were very few people the man allowed to get near his hair.

“Having difficulties, love?” He’d brought a few papers home with him to work on since he’d expected to spend his evening alone but now he set them aside without another thought, approaching his husband instead and not bothering with a proper greeting.

“Whoever invented humidity can just…just…die!” Clearly greetings were beyond Madara at the moment, annoyed as the man was. He yanked on his brush one more time and then abandoned it to hang where it had gotten stuck.

“I don’t suppose you’d like some help?” Tobirama offered. He laughed at the puppy eyes that watched him sadly in the mirror. “I’ll take that as a yes. Come over here, then.”

Madara docilely allowed himself to be led over to sit on the end of their bed where Tobirama settled behind him and began to slowly work the brush free of the hair tangled around its bristles. It was hardly the first time he’d had to play emergency hairdresser, though he couldn’t remember a time when he’d seen anything quite like this, coarse black locks twisted and crimped almost beyond recognition until Madara’s head was nearly twice the size it should have been. Upon closer inspection he revisited the idea of multiple tiny braids. He couldn’t think of anything else that would cause this, no matter how much his partner grumbled about humidity. Perhaps the poor idiot had thought braids would control the mess when he got in to a humid area and his hair began to expand around him.

Eventually, as he’d known it would, the gentle touch of familiar hands helped Madara relax enough that he began a quiet recounting of his journey, all the useless little details he would never think to add in the official report. He told Tobirama about the family of rabbits he’d seen making their way through the undergrowth and the lake he’d found perfectly surrounded by pine trees.

“It looked just like a painting,” he murmured as Tobirama finally worked the brush free. “Or at least it looked like something that someone might paint. I don’t know. You’ve always had a better eye for that sort of stuff than me.”

“That does sound lovely. If I might interrupt for a moment, however, I have a question.”

“Oh?” Madara peered warily over one shoulder. He was right to be suspicious and he clearly realized this as soon as he spotted the amused twinkle in Tobirama’s eye.

“If you were going to bathe anyway then why were you trying to brush your hair first? Would it not have been easier to do this after? I did buy you that special conditioner for a reason.” As much as he loved his partner, there was nothing more satisfying in the world than watching Madara splutter indignantly because he’d caught the man doing something ridiculous. Even more fun was knowing that Madara had probably realized halfway through that he was making things more difficult for himself but was simply too stubborn to give up on his chosen course of action.

Patting him on the shoulder, Tobirama hummed as though the spluttering had contained some kind of well-phrased opinion. “I see. Well, now that we’ve tried things your way – and now that I’ve saved your hairbrush from certain doom – what about we try things my way? If you ask very nicely I might wash your hair for you.”

Madara froze. Of the few people allowed near his precious locks, Tobirama was the only one who knew how very much he enjoyed having it played with, how he liked to be pampered. His offer made it a battle between how stubborn the man was feeling and how badly he wanted to have Tobirama wash his hair for him. While he waited Tobirama hefted the brush towards their shared dresser and leaned forward to press himself against Madara’s back, hoping to subtly point out a few other benefits of bathing together.

It seemed his husband got the point. His muscles stiffened with surprise before relaxing back in to the hold, though he did make a point of grumbling under his breath just so it wouldn’t look like he was giving in so easily.

Both of them scrambled off the bed and Madara made a show of stomping ahead to their master bathroom. Tobirama didn’t mind so much. Walking behind gave him a chance to admire that massive cloud of hair one more time before it got washed away. Hopefully he would be able to get the story behind that hilarious mess because he was definitely going to be sharing this memory with Izuna later. Falling in love did not mean he had in any way given up the rights to make fun of Madara behind his back.

While his husband headed to the closet to pull out fresh towels Tobirama got the hot water running, letting the bathtub fill up as he got undressed. The nights he spent alone, whether because of missions or some sort of fiasco at the office, Tobirama usually enjoyed traditional bathing habits. Soaking his body twice was a pleasure he hadn’t been able to enjoy when he lived in the same house as his brother unless he wanted to risk having the idiot crawl in to the tub with him. No matter how old he got Hashirama refused to learn boundaries. On the days when Madara was home, however, they usually preferred to bathe together and that meant bending to his partner’s habit of cutting the time spent bathing in half by washing first and soaking once.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t any advantages to Madara’s method. At least this way there was less time to wait before Tobirama was treated to the sight of that gorgeous body covered in suds, hands sliding obscenely over his own skin like one of the private fantasies Tobirama would never dare to voice out loud. Waiting for the tub to fill up so he could place a cover over the water to keep it warm was difficult when he could see the treat waiting for him across the room.

Finally Tobirama was able to stand up and slip across the bathroom floor to fit himself up against Madara’s back, closing his eyes against the spray of water from the showerhead and using his hands to trace the muscles he already knew by heart. Madara paused in his washing routine to lean in to the touches with a low groan.

“You said you’d wash my hair,” he mumbled petulantly.

“And I will. Can you blame me for wanting to greet my husband properly first?” Keeping his eyes closed, he tilted his head to press a line of kisses across one shoulder and brought a hand up to massage the opposite one, drawing out a moan of pleasure.

“God that feels good. Fuck your kisses, where’s the other hand? I’ve been tense for a week.”

Tobirama waffled indecisively for a moment, unsure if he wanted to take offense to that or not. In the end he decided that starting a fight in the shower would deprive him of holding a naked Madara close in the tub and they had already been apart for too long. He could start all the fights he wanted tomorrow. Right now he was more interested in the way Madara physically melted and had to prop himself up against the wall when Tobirama brought his other hand in to play as requested, massaging sore muscles, digging his thumbs in to every knot he could find until his husband was little more than putty in his hands.

When it finally stopped Madara was so relaxed he couldn’t even bring himself to protest. All he could do was stand very still and close his eyes as Tobirama reached for the shampoo bottle, pouring out a small amount in one hand to get his own hair out of the way first. Once that was done he ran a bar of soap around his body once, only giving a proper amount of attention to under his arms and between his legs.

After his own body had been taken care of he was free to reach for the shampoo again and gently shuffle Madara out from underneath the spray. He started at the bottom of that incredible mass of hair, lathering the shampoo in and making sure to work it all the way through before moving slowly upwards until finally he was scraping his nails along Madara’s scalp and smirking at the sounds he was drawing out. The whine when he stopped to reach up for the water almost made him chuckle out loud but he managed to control himself, not wanting to break the moment. He mumbled out a warning before pulling the shower head down and using his other hand to help rinse the suds away.

Then it was time for the conditioner. Very expensive and delicately scented, Tobirama came across it in Uzushio where it was considered traditional to cut one’s hair only after being defeated in battle. Considering their renowned sealing skills, it was unsurprising that most people there sported very long hair, nor that they were careful to maintain it. Although it cost a great deal of money to have so much conditioner imported from so far away it was definitely worth it. Tobirama could already feel the difference by the time he had worked it through half of Madara’s incorrigible mane.

He could also feel interest stirring in his lower region no matter how hard he tried to tell himself just to wait a little longer. Nothing was going to happen while his fingers were busy detangling the mess in front of him. Still, his body wasn’t interested in excuses. By the time he was once again dragging his fingernails along Madara’s scalp he was hard as a rock from standing so close and yet so far from all that wet naked skin and listening to the soft shameless moans as Madara enjoyed his turn being pampered.

Tobirama held back while he rinsed all the conditioner out but controlling himself was a lot more difficult when Madara finally turned around to face him, his eyes drooping and glassy, reaching up to pull him in for a kiss. Their bodies pressed together and Tobirama twitched, muffling the noise that tried to slip out at the unintentional friction. Whether it was his reaction or the fact that something hard was poking him in the belly Madara finally seemed to clue in that the mood in the room had shifted. The lazy pleasure in his expression stayed but the fog cleared from his eyes as he slowly tilted his head down to glance between them.

“I assume that’s for me,” he said. Tobirama paused.

“Well it certainly isn’t for anyone else.”

“That sounded really stupid, didn’t it?” Madara asked. Instead of agreeing Tobirama pulled him in for another kiss, drawing it out until they were both reluctant to part.

After clearing his throat roughly he managed to say, “I can ignore it if you’re tired from your trip.”

Madara snorted as if the very suggestion that he was too tired for sex was an insult. With his eyes still locked on the prize standing at attention between them he brought his hands up to trace the shapes of Tobirama’s biceps, shuffling the both of them backwards until his back was up against the wall and Tobirama stood directly underneath the spray of water.

“Have I ever left you wanting?” If he wasn’t already hard the confidence in his partner’s tone would have had Tobirama rising at lightning speed.

“Not yet,” he agreed. “Does this mean…”

“That I’m finally giving in? Yes.”

“Have I told you yet today that I love you? Because I do.”

Blinding reaching out for the soap, Madara rolled his eyes. “No, you love that I keeping indulging you in all your weird little fantasies. I just don’t get what the draw is for shower sex.”

Tobirama paused, stepped back, and deliberately ran his gaze up the length of Madara’s naked body. When he reach the man’s eyes again he smirked at the blush his attentions had earned him. It was always nice to be able to make his point without even having to say a word.

Not wanting to stay separated for long in case Madara changed his mind, he was quick to close the distance between them again. The two of them had been together for enough years that he knew exactly what to do to get his partner in to the mood as well. All it took was a suggestive smile and both hands tracing down the man’s sides to then slip around and take a firm grip on that magnificent ass. Nothing got Madara in the mood faster than having his ass grabbed; the man called him kinky but Tobirama wasn’t the one who got hard in the office after one pat to the bottom.

It did work to his advantage right now though so he refrained from any teasing as Madara pulled him down for a slow kiss. Yearning for a little friction to take the edge off, Tobirama rotated his hips in lazy circles to grind himself up against the other man’s belly. Under the sweet torture of wandering hands groping a muscle here or pinching a nipple there Madara was quick to harden as well and Tobirama was quicker to grin with satisfaction.

Gathering the strength to stop was hard but eventually he managed, slipping the bar of soap out from Madara’s now lax grip and slowly lowering himself to his knees at the same time. His tongue tasted nothing but clean skin and water when he leaned in to encourage his partner’s legs apart with kisses and gentle nips. Thick fingers braced themselves with a tight grip on his hair but Tobirama ignored them, rolling the bar of soap back and forth until he had a palm full of suds then reaching up to trace the seam of Madara’s ass. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention it but later he was definitely going to smugly ask how his partner had known that their soap was safe for such activities when he was usually such a stickler for using proper lubrication.

The first finger slid in easily, drawing out a soft noise. When their position made it difficult for Tobirama to push in as deeply as he should have been able to Madara lifted one leg to drape over his shoulder without being asked. The new stance left him much more open and his soft noises became open groans of appreciation when Tobirama added a second finger and curled them both in search of Madara’s prostate.

Watching one of the strongest men in several generations grind down in to the pleasure he was giving never failed to make Tobirama feel powerful, like he could bring the world itself down to its knees with just a few careful touches. Perhaps it was lucky for the rest of the world that he was only interested in ducking his head to lap at the hard length bobbing in time with the rocking of Madara’s hips. Salt teased his tongue as he drew the head in to his mouth, pre-come already gathering, a welcome little treat as he began to slide forward and back in time with the fingers sliding in and out of Madara’s entrance.  It only seemed polite for him to reward Madara for finally indulging him in a fantasy he’d been rejecting for so long.

After another couple minutes of teasing Tobirama reached down with his free hand to lather the soap again, removing his other hand to transfer it over and then slowly entering Madara’s hole with three fingers this time. He waited for the shudder that indicated his partner was feeling the stretch to open his jaw a little wider and take as much cock in to his mouth as he could. If he could have smirked around all that hard flesh he would have when Madara’s knee nearly buckled under the dual stimulation.

“Damn it,” he cursed. “Fu- aaahh fuck! Hurry up! You always – nngg! – take so much time with this!” With his head thrown back Madara’s words almost seemed to be addressed to the ceiling. It would hardly be the first time he yelled aimlessly at the gods.

Tobirama hallowed his cheeks with suction as he slowly pulled away, letting the cock fall from his lips and watching as it bobbed back up at full attention.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you,” he purred.

“You won’t! Just – guhn. Get up here and get in me.” Madara’s hand clenched in his hair and Tobirama bit his lip.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He slid the twitching leg off his shoulder and stood up with the soap in one hand, the other held under the shower spray to gather a bit of water so he could work up a lather one more time. Once he had enough bubbles on his hand he set the soap aside and reached down between his own legs to coat his neglected erection with lather.

Once again moving without being asked to, Madara turned to face the wall as soon as he had both legs underneath himself, bracing against the tile with both hands and letting his head hang down.  Tobirama stepped up close behind him and dropped his forehead against the back of his partner’s head, breathing in the comforting smell of his freshly cleaned hair. Then he lined himself up and pressed teasingly against the eager entrance waiting for him but not slipping inside just yet. Madara snarled and bucked, trying without words to get him to hurry up.  

“Patience, love,” he said quietly.

Shifting his weight a little, he pressed forward again with gentle rolls of his hips until finally the head slipped in and both of them sighed with a gentle sort of relief, happy to be together like this again after so long apart. For a few seconds Tobirama kept still just to enjoy the feeling of being inside his husband but it didn’t last long. Soon he was pulling out and tilting his head back to feel the shower water on his face as he pushed forward to fill Madara once again.

Though he hadn’t exactly had a multitude of partners before they got together, Tobirama could say with confidence that there was no other feeling he had ever experienced quite like being buried deep within the man he held in his arms at that moment, bare skin pressed flush together while he worked himself in and out of that tight passage gripped him like a vice. Maybe it was the fact that there would always be genuine emotions between the two of them even when they acted little better than animals rutting together in heat. Or maybe Madara was just the best fuck he’d ever had. Whichever one it was, Tobirama was hardly surprised to find himself drunk on the feeling after less than a minute, bending his neck to catch an unsuspecting ear between his teeth.

Feeling the spray cascading over his skin in waves as he rocked back and forth only added to the incredible sensations blotting out the rest of the world. Shower sex was every bit as amazing as he’d always thought it would be, even if he did have to reach over and grab the soap again a couple of minutes later when he realized he was running out of suds to act as lubrication. Really they shouldn’t be using soap, he should have been smart enough to grab the actual lube just to be safe, but Madara had yet to complain of any unwanted drag and there was no way he was stopping now.

Promising himself that he would never be so irresponsible again, knowing that he probably would anyway, Tobirama nibbled his way down an arched neck and latched on the top of Madara’s shoulder to suck a light hickey on to pale skin.

“God, fuck, I need–” Madara whined low in his throat and then finally choked out, “Deeper?”

“Can you spread your legs for me a little more? Like that, yeah.” Tobirama’s eyes rolled back in his head as he slid just that one half inch deeper and felt Madara contract around him.

“Ah! Yes! Ri-right there!” More helpless pleas tried to slip out but Madara bit his lip, muffling them until the syllables built up behind his teeth and spilled out as helpless moans each time the new angle allowed Tobirama to impact his prostate dead on.

Damp skin making lewd noises with every meeting of their hips, water spraying out in all directions with his erratic movements, Tobirama distantly thought that it was ironic they should have their messiest sex here in the bathroom where they were meant to be cleaning themselves. His rhythm sped up just slightly when he felt that telltale gathering of tension and realized he was fast approaching orgasm. And if he was close then Madara definitely had to be after being the only one to benefit from a little foreplay.

Unclenching his fingers from the hips in his grasp was difficult. Tobirama had always been a fan of Madara’s hips and it was one of his favorite simple pleasures to hold them between his hands to guide his own thrusts. He managed only because he loved his partner and he knew just how much of a kink Madara had for being fucked through his orgasm. The heavy shudder he got for his troubles when he reached down in front of the other man to take Madara’s cock in hand was reward enough on its own for sacrificing his own small desires.

Both of them gasped in time with the fist stroking gently along Madara’s length, a perfect counterpoint to the way his hips couldn’t seem to remember their rhythm anymore. Tobirama pressed himself closer to the body in front of him until they were both pushing in to the wall, barely enough space left for his hand to desperately chase the end he could already feel coming.

Madara felt over the edge first, crying out once and writhing under the body pining him to the shower wall. His muscles clenched and his jaw fell open once again to let slip a litany of curse words liberally sprinkled with mewls and whines, softly begging Tobirama not to stop yet.

He got his wish for maybe a dozen more thrusts until Tobirama’s own pleasure crested and he went still with one final snap of his hips, burying himself as deep as he could to ride out the wave. It wasn’t until his eyes fluttered open after several minutes that he realized his limbs were all trembling as though he’d been training for the whole day without rest. Tobirama smiled tiredly to himself; it had been a long time since he’d worked himself up to such an intense orgasm. From the way Madara lay all but melted against the wall in front of himself it seemed that he was in much the same state.

Pulling away earned him a weak growl that would have made him laugh if he still had the energy. Unfortunately all his energy went in to fetching a washcloth so he could help Madara clean himself again before encouraging both of them towards the much needed hot water awaiting them.

Slipping in to the steaming bathtub and laying back with Madara’s weight settling on top of him was nothing short of heavenly. Tobirama groaned and rested his head against the lip of the tub, arms circling his husband’s waist to pull him in tight and keep them close. His eyes fell closed to take a deep breath. The entire room was filled with an interesting mix of sex and soap, not a combination he expected to work so well together but definitely enough to have him contemplating another round right here in the bathtub. He decided against it only because the very thought of moving right then had every muscle in his body screaming out in protest.

A low groan from somewhere around his chest made him look down and he smiled to see that Madara’s eyes were closed, his face lax, and without Tobirama’s arms holding him up he likely would have slid right under the steaming water.

“We’re both going to be nothing but giant prunes by the time we get out,” his husband grumbled. Tobirama pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Don’t worry. I think you’ll make a very sexy prune.”

“Never ever say that again.”

“Why ever not?” Tobirama asked, smirking at the way Madara’s nose scrunched up with distaste.

He was only mildly surprised to get no answer. Clearly Madara was more tired than he’d known if the man didn’t even have the energy to argue. Such a thing had only occurred a mere handful of times since they first moved in together and each time he found himself more amused than worried. Madara was a grown man, he knew his limits and pride be damned he knew when he had crossed the point of needing to ask for help. A little exhaustion hadn’t killed either of them yet.

Unfortunately Tobirama couldn’t afford to let his own body give out just yet. He did allow himself a proper soak before moving because there was no way he would deny himself such a treat but he used that time to gather energy enough to wrestle Madara in to sitting up. Only when he was sure his legs wouldn’t fold underneath him did he feel around with his toes and pull out the plug.

Emptying the tub was really the only way he would convince Madara to get out; fighting about it before hand would be wasted effort.

Ignoring the grumbles that he honestly sort of agreed with, Tobirama made them both stand up and watched with a smile as Madara tottered across the room to where he’d left the towels somewhere out of the splash zone. He accepted one for himself and gave his own body a cursory pat down before helping to squeeze out as much moisture as possible from Madara’s long hair. On a day when they were both awake and energized this task was usually more akin to wrestling a particularly squirmy child since Madara was always caught halfway between the soothing calm of having fingers in his hair and the frenetic energy of arousal from the same thing.

Right now all he did was sit still as Tobirama popped out to fetch the brush he had rescued earlier and set about the task that had led to all of their activities that night: brushing Madara’s hair. With the conditioner smoothing the way it wasn’t nearly as terrible a task as it had been when the locks were dry and bushy. Despite that it still took the better part of twenty minutes just for Tobirama to work out the worst knots and separate it all in to three mostly smooth sections.

“Are you braiding it?” Madara asked in a sleepy voice, all but nodding off on his stool.

“Of course I am. Going to bed with wet hair? You’ll soak the whole bed. At least this way you’re only going to soak your own side so I don’t have to sleep in wet blankets.” Tobirama snorted at his partner’s gentle huff.

“Fucking braids,” was all he managed to say but Tobirama was intrigued. Tomorrow he would definitely work on getting the full story of what exactly happened to the man’s hair.

Stepping back to admire his work, he announced, “All done. Bed time.”

“Finally,” Madara breathed.

Despite his exclamation of relief he didn’t seem capable of getting up on his own just then. Tobirama had to help him off the stool and the two of them propped themselves up against each other’s shoulders as they wandered out in to the next room and crashed down on the bed, wriggling their legs until one of them caught the blanket and kicked it upwards.

Madara snuffled adorably as he shoved and pushed until Tobirama rolled over so he could curl himself in behind the younger man, his rightful place in bed as he called it, always the big spoon no matter that he would never be the taller man. Since it saved him the trouble of sleeping with mouthfuls of hair Tobirama had never bothered to complain. He was doubly grateful tonight not to sleep with his face pressed against that still damp braid, his own short hair already mostly dry.

Silence settled over them like an extra blanket and Tobirama was halfway to some much needed sleep when a quiet voice murmured against the base of his neck.

“Missed you,” he heard Madara admit quietly. He lips stretched in a gentle smile and he squeezed the hand wrapped around to grope loosely at his chest.

“And I you. Now sleep; it seems as though you’ve earned it.”

No response came but the even breathing against his skin that told him Madara had probably fallen asleep before he was even done talking. And that was fine, really. Tobirama closed his eyes again and shuffled back a little closer to the man behind him, holding on tightly to the hand in his grasp as he reached for dreams of his own.

“Welcome home.”

[the-stories-in-my-head-95]

Hey, I’ve Got You- Chapter Two

Tony Stark x enhanced! Reader

Summary -The reader was captured and experimented on and given the healing factor and she has claws that extend out from the bed of their nails. The people who are experiment on her cover her skeleton in vibranium. So the reader now has metal claws. They keep her locked away for a very long time. They rarely feed her or let her out because there is such a high chance of her escape now. Somehow the UN panel that is in charge of the accords finds out about the illegal experiments and send Iron Man in to shut down the operation. The reader is the only one there because the scientists had gotten word that they had been discovered. Tony finds the reader and takes her back to the compound.

Message- This is kinda long...sorry about that! Sorry if it sucks!!

Warning- Reader is held captive and experimented on. Mentions of torture. Self-injurious behavior.

Background  Chapter One

Word Count- 2,500ish

You are awoken to Tony gently picking you up.

“I’m going to take you to medical. I promise no hospital beds, okay?” Tony whispers and you nod.

“No more cutting, no more pain, promise.” You whimper back.

“I promise, no one will ever hurt you again.” Tony says holding you a little tighter. Eventually the two of you get to medical. “Hello, Dr. Cho.”

“Hello, Mr. Stark, is this the patient I heard about.” Dr. Cho says. Tony nods and goes to put you down on the couch but you cling to him.

“Its okay, Dr. Cho won’t hurt you. She just needs to take a look at you, make sure everything healed properly.” Tony says quietly.

“NO, doctors cut!!” you scream as you scrambling out of Tony’s arms and then you run for the door that you had just been brought through but it wouldn’t open. You started to sob. Then you flicked you claws out and start to try to claw at the door.

“Y/N, I promise Helen isn’t like those doctors. She’s good. She won’t hurt you. We just need to make sure you’re okay. See if we can figure out what they did to you. I’ll stay with you the whole time and if she tries to do something you don’t like we can stop. I promise.” Tony says as he slowly starts to walk over to you. After about another minute of ripping at the door you start to calm down. You still have tears streaming down your face but your breathing starts to slow down. You look at Helen who looks distressed at the pain you’re in and she is doing her best to look nonthreatening. You had never seen a doctor do that before. They had always enjoyed your fear.

“Promise me, no cutting.” You say quietly. Tony opens his mouth to answer but you cut him off “No, not you Tony. Helen. I want her to promise.” You say looking at her.

“I promise, all you have to do is go into the cradle for one minute so I can do a full body scan. No cutting and as long as your healthy, no needles.” She says to you. You think for a minute and decide that her promise is acceptable. So you nod and walk towards the cradle thing. Helen opens the door and you get in. After the door shuts you hear Helen ask Tony if he knew about the claws and he replies no. After the promised minute the door opens and you get out. You and Tony sit on the couch as Helen looks at a plate thing. Then she drops the plate.

“Helen, what’s wrong?” Tony asks

“The metal isn’t just in her claws, Tony. It’s covering her entire skeleton. Y/N, does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

“No.” you say quietly

“How did they….” Tony starts to say put immediately stops the question

“Lots of pain and lots of cutting. They put me in…water? Then they put tubes in me and pumped vibranium into my body. I heard one of the doctors say it fused to my bones. Then they locked me in the room. They said I was too dangerous to have around anyone. I-I-I-I promise I won’t hurt anyone. Please don’t lock me in a room” You sob.

“No, I won’t let you be locked in a room. I promise. Your free now and you will always be free, if I have a say in the matter.” Tony says. “Do you know how long you were kept there? What’s your last memory of before this all happened?” you sit there for a minute trying to think back to before the pain. All of those memories were fuzzy.

“Everything before the pain is fuzzy. I think the last thing that I remember is the presidential debate. Has the election happened? Who won Kennedy or Nixon?” you ask looking at Tony and then when he doesn’t answer you look to Helen.

“Y/N, what year do you think it is?” Helen asks

“I don’t know. Maybe 1963. I was probably in that room for at least 2 years.” You answer

“It’s 2016 the first debate between Kennedy and Nixon was 56 years ago. Do you remember what year you were born?” Tony says as he takes your hand in his.

“I think I was born in 1940.” You say quietly. Doing the math in your head you realize that if Tony was telling the truth then that meant you are 76 years old. You look at your hands and see that your skin was still youthful. Then you pull at your matted hair and get a bit loose and you look at the color and see that it’s not grey. Then you get up from the couch and run over to a reflective surface and you gasp at your reflection. You have dark circles under your eyes, you’re extremely pale and your cheeks are sunken in. But you look no older than 25. “How?” you ask looking to Tony and Helen. “How am I still so young?”  

“I-I-I don’t know.” Helen says

“We can figure that out later. Right now I think Y/N could use a bath, a good meal and then a long night of sleep.” Tony says. “I have a hairdresser coming tomorrow. They’re going to get those knots out of your hair and I also have a therapist coming. I thought it might be good for you to talk to someone about everything. You don’t have to if you don’t want to though. It’s your decision. Also Pepper is going bring you some cloths in the morning. But for now I put some of my pajamas in the room you will be using. Is that okay?”

“Yes, T-Thank you.” Tony brings you to a room that he says will be yours now and he shows you how to use the tub.

“I’ll be right down the hall getting you something to eat. I be in the kitchen down the hall, come find me when you’re done, okay?” Tony asks and you nod. After you fill the tub, you get in the warm water. You couldn’t remember the last time you had had a bath. It felt amazing. You don’t even bother to try to wash your hair. The person Tony has tomorrow will probably have to cut it all off but that is better than what you have now. Once the water starts to get cold you get out of the tub and you look at the water and see that it’s nearly black with all of the dirt you’ve scrubbed off of your body. You find the Pajamas that Tony had told you about. You put them on and go find Tony. When you find him his back is turned to you.

“Tony?” you say to get his attention. He turns around and smiles at you.

“I made you some soup and toast. Helen said that you shouldn’t eat a lot. Since your body isn’t used to it. I figured that tomorrow you would be pretty busy with the hair stylist and then the therapist but I was wondering if the day after you would like to meet my two closest friends. Their names are Rhodey and Pepper. I think you would like them. But you don’t have to meet them right away. We can wait until you’re more comfortable here. Also, Pepper said that she would bring you cloths shopping. Once you feel comfortable going out.”

“I would love to meet your friends.” You say while giving him a small smile. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, you can always ask me anything.”

“How did you find me?”

“A lot has changed since the 60’s. Do you remember Captain America?” Tony asks

“Vaguely, I think I went to one of his movies as a kid, it wasn’t very good.” You say. Tony laughs a bit.

“Basically I was a part of a team who protected the world from threats, Captain America was on the team to. But I made a mistake and a lot of people got hurt and some died. Some other mistakes were made and then Most of the countries decided to sign this thing called the Sokovia Accords. The Accords said that we would answer to the United Nations. They wanted us and other enhanced people to be supervised. I thought that it was a good idea some of my team members didn’t. We got into a fight and most of the team left and are now fugitives. But I did sign and the committee came to me saying that they found evidence of an abandoned lab that they suspected to be used for human experimentation and they asked me to check it out. That’s where I found you.”

“I’m enhanced. Do I have to sign?”

“Only if you ever want to join the avengers or any other government organization. It’s not that bad. They take some DNA, and they finger print you. Then they do a threat assessment. I was able to get them to repeal some of the more dramatic clauses. The committee is actually pretty reasonable. Now that things are up and running. Most of them agreed that some of the things the accords called for were basically human rights violations. So we were able to get rid of them or change them for the better.”

“Like what?”

“Any enhanced person who broke the law would be held without trial and be imprisoned at this thing called the raft. I got that bullshit shut down real quick.” Tony answers.

“I think you did the right thing.” You say quietly “and whatever you did, that mistake you made, I don’t think it was your fault, I bet it was an accident.” You add quietly and then you take Tony’s hand in yours and you squeeze it.

“T-Thank you.” Tony murmurs. “Are you done?”

“Yes, I think I want to go to bed now.” You say quietly and Tony nods and walks you to your room.

“The hair dresser is getting here tomorrow at 8:00. I’ll knock on your door a bit before that so you can get ready. If that’s okay with you.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” You say before walking into your room.

****************************

The next morning you wake up to Tony knocking at your door. You walk over and open it. He hands you some clothes that look like they will actually fit you.

“Pepper dropped these off this morning. She said she would bring more with her tomorrow.”

“Thank you and tell Pepper I said thanks.” You say as you turn to walk to the bathroom. You get dressed and then you brush your teeth and walk into the kitchen. Tony hands you a plate with some toast on it.

“The hair dresser arrived a couple minutes ago. She is setting up and will be ready for you soon. The therapist should be getting here around noon.” You nod in response and you eat your toast. After you’re done you follow Tony to where the hair dresser set up. Tony asks you if it’s okay if he leaves and you nod. Then you turn to the hairdresser.

“H-hello, I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Jessie, dear.” The hairdresser says while you sit down in the chair. “This isn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be.” She says as she inspects your hair.

“I-I tried to take care of it, but it was hard. I couldn’t move my fingers because of the-“

“It’s fine, honey. It might take a bit, but we’re going to get all these knots out.”

Y-You’re not going to cut it all off?” you ask quietly

“No, not all of it. Some will have to go, though. A lot of it is too damaged to save.” Jessie says

“I thought you were going to have to shave my head.” You say quietly.

“Goodness, no.” Then she starts to talk to you. She tells you about her kids and she fills you in on all of the celebrity gossip that you’ve missed since 1960. Apparently Kennedy had an affair with Marilyn Monroe. She also tells you about Tony and all of the good he’s done for the world. You ask him about his mistake and she tells you about what happened in Sokovia. You realize that you were right. It wasn’t his fault. At noon you take a break so you can talk to the therapist for a couple hours. It was a difficult conversation and you knew that you would have a lot more difficult conversations with them but it felt good, like you were starting to move away from what happened to you. The therapist tells you that they will be back to talk tomorrow as long as that is alright with you. You agree and you go back to Jessie and you continue to talk about the world. It takes her 10 hours but she finally gets all of the knots out and while she did have to cut a lot off you still have a decent amount of hair left. Its hangs down a bit passed your shoulders. Then she spends another hour showing you modern hair trends and different ways to style it.

“Thank you.” You say to her when she goes to leave.

“You’re welcome dear. I was happy to do it.” She says as she smiles at you. You go looking for Tony once she leaves and you find him looking at a smaller version of the table thing Helen was using yesterday.

“What is that?” you ask and tony looks up at you and his eyes go big. It takes him a minute to answer.

“It’s a cell phone.”

“If it’s a phone where are the buttons? How do you talk to anyone on it, it’s not connected to the telephone wires?” This begins Tony’s long lecture on how to use a cell phone. It takes about two hours but you figure it out. The whole time the two of you have huge smiles on your faces. “What was that thing Helen was using yesterday?” According to Tony it was a tablet. Basically it did all of the same things a cell phone did, but it was different somehow. Tony promises to show you tomorrow.

“Oh, also, I should tell you about FRIDAY.”

“The day of the week?”

“No, FRIDAY, is the artificial intelligence that runs the tower and my suits. FRIDAY, say hello.”

“Hello, Y/N. It is nice to meet you.”  A voice that had an Irish accent said

“Hello, FRIDAY.” You say back. Then you turn to Tony. “Can you explain her to me tomorrow? I’m kind of tired.”

“Of course, you’ve had a long day.” Tony walks you back to your room. Before you walk into your room you turn to Tony.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” You say quietly

“You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s been my pleasure to help you.” Tony says as he plays with a strand of your hair. “I like your new haircut.” he adds and you blush a bit.

“Thank you, and have a good night.” You say back.”

“Good night, Y/n.” Tony says before walking down the hall. You then go into your room and get ready for bed. The bed is way softer than you’re used to so it takes a while for you to fall asleep. But you do eventually.

Tag List- @capbuckthor​ @avc212​ @purplekitten30​  @peachpodge​ @red-writer13​ @redcresent 

[olwog]

Today we learn that there is always the potential for a surprise, especially through airport security and, they really do call out for a doctor when someone is ill on a plane.

Getting to Stansted Airport, unless you live in London, is a real pain. I’m lucky and just been visiting my grandkids in South London so my route is very nearly direct. It’s easy to be sucked into cheap tickets to anywhere but when you add in the cost of getting to the airport then, quite often, it doesn’t add up.

I’ve crossed London and now at London Liverpool Street Station and lucky enough to arrive just as the train for Stansted opens its doors for passengers, how good is that?

    The last time I did this journey it was dark so nothing really to see; however, today is sunny and being able to see the back streets of North London is a bit of a treat. It’s a 40-minute journey direct to the airport and the transport links actually at the airport are great but getting there from anywhere in the North is awful.

There’s a lot of work happening at Stansted and various areas are cordoned off making it even more crowded than half-term-break would normally have it. In spite of Ryanair’s ludicrous changes to their hand-luggage policy with strange sizes to catch you out, I’ve ‘not yet’ had an issue getting my marginally larger rucksack through. It’s five centimetres (about a couple of inches) too long due to the backplate but the other dimensions are fine when wrapped tightly using the straps.

Security 

I’m not geared up for what happens in Security though. The queues are huge and we’re organised into zigging and zagging lines. There are four of them and I usually join the one that’s got more than its fair share of hold-ups and this time I do it again but there is a twist – I’m the hold-up. The bag goes into the scanning machine and appears at the other side then jerks to a halt at the dividing fork, you know the one, to the right goes all the ‘good’ baggage and to the left goes the ‘dodgy’ bags that need to be further investigated. I always hold my breath at this point due to an experience a couple of trips ago when I had an issue with an electric lead that was thought to be a bomb. This time should be fine though as I have all of the electrical stuff in a bag that has already been checked and I have it in my hands.  The system jerks and it shoots up the bad-boy-conveyor, my heart sinks. 

“You have some scissors in your rucksack”, it’s the lady that helped me load the different trays, the laptop on one, phone etc on another, rucksack on another and the liquids on yet another. I only have three liquids, a tube of toothpaste, some aftershave, and sunscreen but she made me put it on a tray of its own. Pea on-a-drum is a very apt description but all of that had come through successfully and was now back in my hands or at least in front of me. The rucksack; however, was not. I’m certain that there are no scissors in that bag, I don’t challenge the lady though ‘cos that’s not going to change her opinion until it’s been properly searched and approved for onward travel. Unlike last time I have lots of time so the only stress is related to the mystery of the scissors. SHe beckons me across and points at the shadow that she clearly thinks is a pair of scissors, it doesn’t look like scissors, it’s more like a flat piece of metal; in fact the only thing that gives the game away is a label that the scanner has added with a helpful little arrow pointing at the shadow “Scissors” proclaimed the label. 

“I do have a metal compass in there”, I say in the hope of getting her sympathy and offering an excuse.

“Yes”, she responds, “That’s this one here”, and she points at another shadow. My mind is racing and I decide to hold my piece in case it looks like I’m guilty and she hasn’t removed all my stuff from the bag yet but I’m wondering what it could be, I know it’s not scissors so I’ll be exonerated but what might it be and hopefully it’s not going to be worse.

I offer a brief training course on how to open a rucksack at the top and also down the side so that she can access as much as possible without having to remove everything. That’s a pipe-dream and everything comes out. Socks, knickers, shorts, pully, thermal vest (it can get chilly in the mountains), pair of Sketchers (they’re comfortable and light) and Cyril – my stick. No scissors though.

“We’ll put it back through empty”, she says. This lady is from the Mrs May school of tenacity but having emptied the thing I’m happy to be proved right.

Off it goes into the scanner then comes to the ‘good-boy’ / ‘not-so-good-boy’ fork, hesitates and veers to the left. I’m still on the ‘naughty’ list. I’m thinking about spitting on the backs of my hands and rubbing my eyes. If I do it and make my bottom lip quiver a bit might I get some sympathy? …no!

She’s asking if the lining is zipped into the bag if not she’s going to have to cut it. Now I’m feeling this has gone way too far but the evidence is stacked against me even though I know that there’s nothing there. 

“It’s not a part of the rucksack frame? There’s an upward inflexion to indicate that this is a question not a statement of fact.

“No”, she says, a little too quickly and then the ultimate irony, she asks her colleague for some scissors.

In the meantime I’m digging around in the rucksack looking for a zip – bingo, I find one and unzip the lining and she reaches inside and like a magician producing a rabbit from a hat removes her hand and in it …a pair of scissors.

Now if this had been drugs and the airport any city in Malaysia or the Philippines then I would have been in deep shit. I worked in Malaysia on several occasions and one particular visit involved sleeping in a hotel room that could be booked for all but one night in the month. The night it couldn’t be booked was for the activities that took place in the local prison and from that particular room, the activities could be both witnessed and photographed. It was the morning that the drug mules would face the gallows and this one room gave a full view of the proceedings over the prison wall. I think of this and shudder. OK, I’m only embarrassed and to this day have no idea how the scissors got in there. In fairness to the security lady, she is impeccably polite and merely binned them in a receptacle labelled sharps. I apologised profusely and feel such a dick but I am a little more circumspect when she confiscates my stick. ‘Cyril’ had been with me all over the Moors, Pennines and many places on the Continent but today he is going and I accept it with good grace but a moist eye that doesn’t need the fake evidence of spit on the back of the hand. I wave and he waves back from the bin into which he’s been unceremoniously tossed … ah well, c’est la vie … I’ll get another one from Santander but I wouldn’t want him to know that.

Stansted to Santander

The flight itself is ‘interesting’. Forty minutes in and I am nodding a bit when there is a noise behind me and a stampede of air stewards down the aisle.

There is a call for a doctor onboard and when this draws a blank, anyone with medical knowledge, still no-one comes forward, so they ask for taxi drivers and hairdressers and when they can’t help they plead for anyone that has read a women’s magazine health page. Still no-one so the pilot puts the plane into a steep dive with a view to landing on a pontoon in the Bay of Biscay so the unfortunate patient can be picked up with a Yorkshire Air Ambulance helicopter (alternatively, he might have been taking us to France) .  A male nurse eventually draws the short straw and stuffs something in the poor victim’s mouth! This brings them round enough for us to finish the flight to Santander. I’m not sure it is anything sweet but they don’t go unconscious again!

Santander

At the airport, there is no blue-light activity so I assume that a reasonable recovery has been made and within minutes we start the zigzagging all over again but this time it is to one of the ‘two’ booths that are open to process 200+ travellers through passport control. Ah well, I’ve known it worse – then they close one and it is worse.

I’d already read that the airport bus leaves from immediately outside the terminal and within a few minutes there it is. I spend the waiting time looking up hotels on Tripadvisor and find one 200 metres from the City Centre that’s officially two stars and gets four and a half stars from the punters. I am aware that this can be bullshit but if you cross check this with registered hotels.Com users it’s usually OK so I book it for £26 – if it’s crap then I’ll walk away – it isn’t.

Nice place with a lovely lady on reception and clean. It’s also got a double bed, I’m delighted.

There’s a bar next door and the guy clearly feels that I’m underfed. I buy a beer and it normally comes with some kind of tapas and this is the case and it keeps coming. I was thinking of a bit of time downtime but change my mind and only three small beers later I’m full of prawns in mayo on a fresh baguette still warm (not the prawns), tuna on a different kind of ciabatta and a patè exquisitely presented with salad. Total cost €7 – you can’t make this up.

  The morning is taken with some exploration in the city. The weather is fantastic and meandering around the art and wonderful buildings is a pleasure. I’m intrigued by the actions of some French girls who are giggling near some statues of full size nude men and women, They’re gathered around the gentleman and initially holding hands with him but you can see by the shine where hands eventually strayed, it would seem that boys and girls are the same the world over.

In the little time it takes me to walk across to the harbour the scene is repeated with another two groups!

    San Vicente de la Barquera

The coach, like all continental transport, is designed around the customer and this is no exception. Seats with plenty of space between them, soft and deep cushioning, air-conditioning and always on time. If I were to be picky I would say that the number 11 bus should have been at the number 11 platform but they chose 33 so I have a bit of rush when I eventually realise that platform 11 is likely to remain empty.

The journey time is a little over an hour and through beautiful countryside so our arrival is a mix of delight that we’re here and a little disappointment that we’re not travelling through beautiful field and mountains.

I go immediately to the pensión that I’ve booked and there’s a sign that asks me to go to a cafe to register. I’m slightly wobbled but do as instructed and meet Carlos who’s very much larger than life. He takes me back to the hostel and shows me the room for approval which I like. It’s a twin bedded room and the beds are very much ample so I’m very happy. There’s also heating as well as air-conditioning the latter of which, I don’t think I’ll need this week.

  St Vicente de la Barquera is a small town with a magnificent bridge and a castle. They’re particularly fond of planting flower beds and lining the roads with trees. I wander around and find a restaurant come bar opposite the main square and Plaza Mayor de Fuero. All Spanish Towns have a Plaza Mayor but this one seems to celebrate the law or some kind of charter. The sun is still shining so I have a beer and do some people watching, it’s at these times that I both don’t miss someone to share it with and, ironically, really do miss someone to share it with.

Enjoy the snaps…G..x

Please feel free to share or comment, I love comments.

Return to Santander and San Vicente de la Barquera Today we learn that there is always the potential for a surprise, especially through airport security and, they really do call out for a doctor when someone is ill on a plane.

[ellanainthetardis]

I know this is a very random prompt (and I understand if you don't write it), but I would love to read a story about Effie's hair. I would love it if it was one that matched with important parts of her life e.g. being compared to her sister when she was young, dying her hair for the first time, getting her first wig, Haymitch seeing her hair, it being cut off in prison and growing back in MJ etc.

This is a very longone, more Effie centric but there is hayffie in there of course.

Since it is so long,there won’t be a prompt tomorrow but I will be reblogging the vampire au because… the requested sequel is coming on Wednesday;) [x]

Dye, Wig And Style

1.

Lyssa’s hair is perfect.

Even at eight, Effie can see that very clearly.

She watches from her sister’s doorway as theirmother lovingly brushes Lyssandra’s hair. The hairbrush never gets stuck in thelovely straight blond strands like it does with Effie’s. From there, it looksglossy and soft, something you would like to run your fingers through… It looksa bit like liquid gold and it is sopretty.

Lyssa is a very pretty girl as a rule, though,everyone agrees on that and nobody agrees more than Effie. She loves hersister, worships the ground she walks on, even if, at eleven, Lyssa tends toconsider a mere baby. Even when she’s jealous of the high heels she’s not yetallowed – having to make do with babyheels, as Lyssa dubbed her shoes – she can recognize her sister’ssuperiority. It is so very obvious that it’s not that difficult to admit.

She wraps her silk dressing gown tighter aroundher, shivering a little in the big cold corridor. She wants to go in, she wantsto jump on the bed – or rather sitproperly and fold her hands on her lap like a lady ought to – and marvel atthe beauty of her mother’s dress, she wants to join in the hushed whispersabout the boy Lyssa likes, she wants to tease her sister about the blush on hercheeks…

She knows she wouldn’t be welcomed and that shewould only be intruding.

Mother will only have time for Lyssa tonightbecause their parents are going out to one of those glamorous parties Effiedreams of attending. Elindra’s dress is a deep crimson, there is a bustierembroidered with tiny sparkling gems – that she thinks are rubies – and a puffyvoluminous skirt that spirals around her mother’s thighs but never moves, keptin place by metallic wires Effie marveled at in the shop. Geometric forms arethe latest fashion – or so her sister claims.

“Euphemia, what are you doing here?” Elindra’svoice suddenly asks. “Wandering the corridors in your night clothes. Truly. You should know better.”

There is nothing hush hush about it and the tone doesn’t bide well for her.

“I forgot my book downstairs, Mother.” sheexplains innocently, waving the aforementioned book for her to see.

Elindra sneers a little. “Books. I do not understand why you choose to waste your time likethis. It is magazines you should read. You do so need to learn about current celebrities’ affairs. You almostembarrassed me with your lack of knowledge at your latest pageant.”

“My apologies, Mother.” she mumbles.

“Do not mutter, Euphemia. It does not become a lady.” Elindra huffs. “Now.Where is the nanny? Why do we pay thatwoman, I wonder… Ah, Tadius. Very good. Be a dear and make sure your daughtergoes to bed.”

Effie whirls around with a bright smile. Herfather got caught walking out of his room and looks startled by the task thatis required of him.

“Don’t we have a nanny for that?” he frowns.“We pay her enough.”

“It might be time to find a new one.” Elindraconcedes.

Effie and Lyssa exchange a disappointed glancebecause they like they current one – but nannies and governesses have beenwaltzing in and out of their lives every few months since they were born and theyare used to it.

“Very well.” Tadius sighs, outstretching hishand with hesitation. “Come along, Effie.”

She beams as she takes it and she lets herfather steer her back to her room. It is a veryrare treat when their father tucks them in. He seems embarrassed and not quitesure what to do. She’s a bit disappointed when he leaves her at her door with astern reminder that she shouldn’t wander around wearing night clothes becauseit is improper, but she feels filled with a warm fuzzy feeling when he pecksthe top of her head and bids her goodnight.

She’s tempted to hug him but controls thespontaneous idiotic gesture before it can get her in trouble.

The Trinkets don’t hug.

They verypolitely shake hands or exchange air kisses.

Once the door is closed and she’s alone again,she tosses her book on the bed and wanders to the dresser in the corner of herroom. She sits down to grab the hairbrush. There has been no miracle when shelooks in the mirror though. Her hair still looks wild and impossibly curly, abit reddish where the light directly touches it, not at all liquid gold butmore like dark honey… Ugly.

It is no wonder their mother likes taking careof Lyssa’s better, really.

With a soft sigh, she places the brush at thetop of her head and runs it down very slowly.

“One.” she whispers. She counts out loud as sheruns the hairbrush down.

A hundred brushes each night.

Elindra promises it is the only way to haveglossy shiny hair.

Effie wantsglossy shiny hair.

She wants to be pretty like her sister.

2.

Effie watches the hairdresser’s reaction in themirror like a hawk.

The woman doesn’t betray anything. She smilesand happily chats and Effie has been answering in kind since their mother has lefther and Lyssandra at the salon. Everyone had oohed and aaahed atLyssandra’s purple hair. Everyone also agreed that Effie badly needed a dye jobtoo, once she had taken her wig off – which is why she’s here in the firstplace, because Elindra finally caved and authorized her to dye her hair instead of just wearing wigs.

She’s nine and she knows this will change herlife.

She will finally be pretty like her sister.

Elindra warned her there would be no walkingaround with her hair in its natural unruly state, even if it doesn’t look its usualplain color. If she wants to be allowed to forego wigs, she will need to takecare of it. It means straightening it every day and making sure it lookshealthy.

Effie doesn’t really mind wigs. She loves them,even. It’s funnier to be able to change color and style every day. But Lyssaproudly wears her hair natural and Effie wants to be like her so she begged and begged…

“Here.” the hairdresser says, done assessingwhat needs to be done with her. She presents her with a card on which there areseveral shades of purple. “You can choose the one you would like.”

She glances at her sister, a few chairs away,who is laughing with her own hairdresser as she gets her hair trimmed. There’sanother woman doing her nails at the same time and Effie looks down at her ownhands, at the impractical fake nails that she keeps damaging – to Elindra’sutter annoyance. She so desperatelywants to look like Lyssa…

But even with the same shade of purple, sheknows she will only suffer in the comparison, so she takes the card and studiesit very attentively and then turns the page back and smiles when she spotssomething she likes. She points at the small square. “This one.”

“It’s pink, Miss.” the woman winces. “Your mothersaid purple.”

“She won’t mind.” she lies.

“Still…” the hairdresser insists. “Purple is really the latest rage… Everyone haspurple hair…”

“Precisely.”Effie grins, flicking her soon-to-be pink strands away from her face. “I do notfollow trends. I launch them.”

She makes her claim haughtily, as if there isevery ounce of truth to it. For a moment, she allows herself to believe it.It’s a game after all, just a game, and in that game she’s famous. She’s… An actress. Or maybe a model. An escort, why not?

She doesn’t want purple. Purple will only makepeople remark how well it suits Lyssandra and how sad it is it doesn’t becomeher as much.

“Miss…” the woman hesitates.

“Please, Olivia.” Effie cuts her off in thesame polite but dismissive tone her mother often uses. “Dye my hair pink.”

She flashes her a charming grin – or what shehopes is a charming grin – and the hairdresser caves.

It takes a long time for the whole thing to bedone but when she sees her reflection in the mirror, Effie gapes. For a fewseconds. Time enough to remember ladies do notgape like common girls.

But she’s beautiful.

Straight hair that falls to her shoulders, thestrands a vibrant bubblegum pink that makes her heart soar with how bright itlooks.

“Mother said purple.” Lyssa comments when shejoins her, done with her own beauty treatment.

“Pink looks better.” she claims.

Her sister runs her fingers in her hair with asmall smile. “It does look good butyou will get in so much trouble…”

She juts her chin in the air and refuses to admitshe might be getting a tad nervous. “But it looks pretty.”

“Yes, but purple is fashionable, not pink.” Lyssa sighs. “Mother won’tlike it.”

“Pink is a kind of purple.” she argues, gettingreally agitated now but trying hard to hide it. “And if I am pretty, won’t shebe happy?”

Lyssa pouts but eventually runs her fingersthrough her hair again. “You are alwayspretty, Effie.”

“Mother does not think so.” she laments,looking at their reflection.

Lyssa is still a lot more beautiful with herbright blue eyes and her fake feather eyelashes Effie isn’t yet allowed. Shelooks grown up. She’s twelve but every head turns in her wake.

“Of course, she does.” her sister soothes her.

She wishes time would freeze or that their motherwould forget them but, unfortunately, ten minutes later Elindra waltzes back inthe saloon with her arms full of shopping bags. She stops dead in her trackswhen she spots her youngest daughter.

It is a disaster.

She makes such a scene Effie doesn’t know whereto hide.

The hairdresser gets a earful and Effie knowsshe is next on the list but that it will probably wait until they are back inthe car on the way home. A part of her is still overjoyed when the salon’sowner, who hastily came out of her office, says that they can’t die her hairpurple now, that it would damage it, that they need to wait a few weeks…

At least she gets to keep her pink hair.

Olivia doesn’t get to keep her job, on theother hand.

Effie is devastated and mortified because itwas her tantrum that put the woman introuble. However, no matter how many times she tries to explain, nobody willlisten to her.

She’s crying when Elindra drags her daughtersout of the shop but an icy glare from her mother convinces her to swallow backthe sobs – and to do it fast. Lyssaslips her hand in hers and she clings to her sister’s fingers like to alifeline. She feels sorry for the kind woman she has accidentally gotten fired,she feels sorry for herself…

The second the car’s door closes behind themand the driver starts the car, Elindra launches into a rant about how Effie always has to be an embarrassment and about how she should just take example onLyssandra.

“I think pink suits Effie.” Lyssa manages tocut in when her mother takes a breath.

“That isbecause you are too sweet on your sister.” Elindra snaps. “And do not get involved in conversations thatdo not concern you, Lyssa, dear.”

Properly chided, Lyssandra remains silent forthe rest of the drive. But she often squeezes Effie’s hand in support and forthat she is grateful.

Later on, once she escaped the madness and sheis back in the safety of her room, she studies her reflection in the mirror anddecides pink is her favorite color.

3.

Effie storms to her room, sweaty and disgustingfrom her third round of the day on a treadmill. It doesn’t matter how manyhours of exercising she squeezes in an afternoon though or if she sticks tosteamed vegetables and soup: she doesn’t get any less chubby.

Puberty sucks.

Being thirteen sucks.

Being thirteen and chubby when your sixteenyear old sister is a successful model sucks even more.

Effie goes straight to the shower, having longperformed the art of not getting a glimpse of herself in the mirror while inthe bathroom. She hates her reflection. She hates the disappointment in hermother’s eyes every time she glances at her.

She is supposed to go to one of Lyssa’s fashionshows tonight. A treat if there ever was one because ever since she put onweight, her mother hardly takes her anywhere. Elindra’s embarrassed because herfriends giggle behind her back about her curvy daughter.

Effie likes fashion though and she loves fashion shows so she’s determinedto look her best. She puts her dress on first, a lovely white and silver piecethat manages to hide any small pouch on her not-flat-enough stomach. Then shecomposes herself a cheerful face with make-up. She’s getting very good at this:inventing herself masks with eyeshadows and lipsticks…

The last thing to do is put on her blue wigbut, naturally, that is when she starts wasting time. Her hair won’t stay inits bun and the wig looks crooked, forcing her to start over and over again.She gets so frustrated she seriously wonders if she shouldn’t just take hermother’s advice and shave it all. What is even the point of having hair sinceshe will never ever allow anyone tosee it?

The thought is fleeting though.

She tears the hair tie off and runs her fingersthrough the strands, making a face at the reddish hues. She hates it. But notenough to get rid of it.

She thinks she is too vain for that.

Better ugly hair than no hair at all.

4.

Herwhole body is hurting.

She’s been going from fashion shows tophotoshoots and back to the catwalk for days on end. She has been crazily busylately and, although she is happy with the attention and the fame that comeswith it, she cannot help but be tired.

She waits for the steam to clear from themirror after she steps out of Stelan’s shower, eager to start her morning.There will be more photoshoots that day. Faun Harwyn’s latest collection iscoming out and she is its face, his star model…

At only seventeen.

The last couple of months have been crazy butshe thinks she did pretty well for herself.

She has a job, fame, money that she will beable to get her hands on in a few months when she would turn eighteen, and anolder boyfriend who is rumored to be the next great photographer. Even hermother is impressed.

The bathroom door suddenly opens and Effiestartles, her eyes growing wide. Stelan makes a face, still looking a bitsleepy, as he rubs his orange dyed hair.

“Sorry, babe. I thought you were gone already.”he mumbles, pressing a kiss on her shoulder.

“Stelan…” she protests, embarrassed to becaught looking like this. She doesn’tmind being naked. She is very confident in her body nowadays. She worked reallyhard to chisel it to what it is now and she looks perfect, if she said so herself. But the bare face and the plainhair? She looks for something to hide behind but comes up empty handed…

“Don’t worry.” he chuckles. “I’ve seen plentyof models during prepping. I know you all look like crap under all that powder– we all do really, that’s whatmake-up is for.”

He brushes her wet hair aside to press anotherkiss on her shoulder and leaves her the bathroom. There is no malice to hiswords and she knows he’s right. Only District people and Avoxes would walkaround looking plain. Beauty needs to be nurtured.

She has always known she doesn’t look goodwithout artifices.

So why do the words hurt so much?

5.

“Come on…” Haymitch insists, an amused note inhis voice.

She bats his hand away and turns to her otherside, showing her his back. “No.”

The Sixty-ninth Hunger Games are dragging inlength and they have been fooling around for days, bored out of their minds andabsolutely done with the Capitol’s thirst for blood, waiting for a victor thatwould allow them to put this season behind them. They are a well-oiled machinenow, on a professional level as well as on a more… intimate one. Wasting time in bed – or against a wall – isn’t theworst way to wait for the end of the Games as far as she’s concerned.

Besides, staying locked up in the penthousealso allows them to avoid the hungry crowd for a little while. Effie loves thefame, she does, but… There are timeswhen the fame is harder to bear than others.

“I’ve already seen every inch of you,sweetheart…” he scoffs, nuzzling her nape with his nose, unwilling to take nofor an answer. “I’ve seen you without make-up…”

“Only because you are a rude man who does not understand the concept of knockingbefore entering a room.” she retorts. “And it is different anyway.”

“Why?” he pouts, snatching another pin from herpink wig. She’s too slow to bat his fingers away, this time.

“Because I say so.” she snaps. “You are allowedto take my bra off but not my wig.”

The clasp of her bra immediately comes loose inanswer and she takes the offending piece of lingerie off. It’s the last thingshe had on her anyway because they never got around to removing it. It is a bitridiculous to be naked only from the waist down in the arms of an equally nakedman.

And she’s more comfortable like this anyway.

She doesn’t ask or wonder why he hasn’t lefther bed yet. She supposes he’s aiming for another round as soon as he will beready for it – hence why he is teasing her instead of storming out. The wig isan old and familiar argument between them. He often requests that she takes itoff and she always refuses, even if he argues that she looks ridiculous withher wigs and make-up and puffy clothes… She knows she looks even worse withoutthem. And if he finds her ugly when she looks at her best, she doesn’t want toknow what he will think of her at her worst.

“What are you afraid of?” he taunts, trying tosnatch another pin. She grabs his wrist and brings his arm back around herbefore he can do much damage. “Are you actually bald under that? ‘Cause I’vebeen joking about it all this time but… That’s it, sweetheart? You’re bald?”

It started as a joke but she can feel him gettingmore and more serious.

“I am not bald.”she denies. “Do not be preposterous.”

He tightens his grip on her waist, tugs hercloser to his chest. She feels him shrug. “It’s okay if you are. Won’t lie…It’s probably not that sexy but… It’s fine. You can show me… Won’t make fun ofyou for that…”

“For heaven’s sake, Haymitch, I am not bald!” she snaps, not at allassuaged by the hand that distractedly runs up and down her front. She huffsand puffs and huffs again. “Very well. Since you wants this so much… Let mebook an appointment at the salon. I haven’t dyed my hair in years, it is very plain. And it willneed straightening too… Once I am somehowfit to be seen without a wig…”

“I don’t need any of that shit.” he grumbles. “Hell, I don’t want any of that shit. Iwant to see you. I want to see whatyou look like when you’re not busy playing at being a parrot.”

“I am ugly.” she replies. The words pass herlips before she can think them through. It is not like her to flaunt her flawsor her weaknesses and she immediately brushes it aside with a dismissive hand.“Everyone is ugly in their natural state, Haymitch. Grooming is…”

“Am I uglyto you, Trinket?” he sneers.

“Of course not!” she protests. “It is not whatI meant…”

“You see me getting… groomed every day?” he challenges bitterly. “I’m pretty muchnatural all the time, sweetheart. You never seemed to mind. Or what… You just wanted a taste of theexotic caveman? Should have made you pay for it like everybody else. Would havemade some money out of it, at least.”

He tries to take his arm away from her but sheholds fast to is.

“It isn’t like that.” she breathes out. “You know it isn’t like that.” She rollsaround and cups his cheek. He won’t meet her gaze but he isn’t really trying tobolt away from the bed either, she will take what she can get. “I do not thinkyou are ugly. You are handsome andyou know it.” She brushes her thumb against his lips until he finally meets hereyes again. He doesn’t look pleased, he has that particular expression thatusually means he will go on a binge soon. “It was a poor choice of words.” she admitsquietly. “I just meant… It is different from the Districts, here. You knowthis…”

“But I’m from a District.” he scowls. “And Iain’t one of your Capitol playboys. I just want to see you, what’s wrong withthat?”  

Plenty is wrong with that because it’sflirting with a line they have always been careful not to cross. Mentor andescort fucking each other is onething. Haymitch and Effie having sex, on the other hand…

“I am ugly.” she repeats. She feels ashamed butshe doesn’t want to vex him again. He will forgive her any offense in time – orhe will grow too desperate for a quickie to care long – but… She doesn’t wantto hurt him. The Capitol hurts him enough as it is.

“Bullshit.”he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “And cut the crap. You’re the most arrogant personI know. The insecure woman act… It’s not you.”

“I am certainly not insecure.” She wrinkles her nose in distaste at the notion. “I am oneof the most beautiful women in Panem, thank you very much.” She licks her lipsand looks away. “When I wear the proper make-up and…”

He grabs her chin and gently forces her to lookat him again.

“You’re actually serious.” he snorts indisbelief. “You think you need that crap.”

“I do need it.” she argues. “And mind your language, won’t you.”

“Tell you what…” he frowns. “When did I everlie to you, sweetheart? If you need it, I’ll tell you. If you don’t…”

“I am not actually keen on being told I look… plain.”she hisses. “Why must you…”

“Trust me a little.” he cuts her off. “You’veseen every bad thing about me. You’ve seen me puke, you’ve seen me freak out‘cause of bad dreams, you’ve seen me wasted out of my mind… Pretty sure you’veseen me cry a time or two when I was too wasted to care…”

“It is different.” she sighs.

“How?” he scoffs.

“Because nobody is requesting you to be perfectall the time, Haymitch.” she growls. “I come with an expiration date. You do realize this, I hope? I am paid to be beautiful, to be a fantasy… Fantasies are not supposed to be any less thanperfect. Fantasies…”

“You ain’t a fucking fantasy. You’re flesh and blood.” he spits out. “I don’twant you to be perfect. Fuck, Effie,you’re so far from perfect it’s ridiculous.”

She pouts, a bit hurt by that assessment butalso strangely pleased by what he is trying to say.

“Everyone wants perfect in the city.” shewhispers.

“I’m not from this city.” he reminds her. “I hate this fucking city.”

“Seriously, Haymitch, language.” she rebukes, studying him with rapt attention. “Isuppose… I suppose if you want to see thisbadly… But be warned I am not playing coy. It is really not pretty.”

She sighs, sits up, and starts unpinning herwig. He sits up too and his fingers are back in her synthetic hair, making amess rather than helping. He seems eager to have it off though and she’sreminded of children unwrapping presents. It is strangely endearing.

Eventually the wig loosens and he tosses itaside to attack the bun she keeps her hair in. She lets him do that by himself.She stares at the wall as he frees her curls and she braces herself for thecomment she knows is coming.

Haymitch doesn’t lie.

Not to her and never to make her feel better.

She feels her hair tumble on her shoulders,feels his fingers tentatively running through the strands…

“It’s reddish…” he murmurs, almost in awe.

“Certainly not.” she huffs. “It is the light. Iam blond. There might be reddish hues in there but I am blond. Strawberry blondif you must be specific.”

He’s not listening to her, she can tell. He’stoo busy burying his hands in the wild mane of curls, crumpled by a whole dayunder a wig.

“It’s curly.” he remarks. “Didn’t expectcurly.”

He coils a strand around his finger and watchesit bounce back in place.

Effie clears her throat and keeps her eyes onthe wall. “I told you I needed to straighten it…”

“Don’t you fuckingdare.” he almost snarls, petting her hair almost protectively. “So beautiful… It’s the make-up all overagain… How do they make you think you need all that crap? You’re so much betterlike this… So much better…”

Her heart is racing in her chest but sherefuses to believe him just like that. She refuses to… “Please, do not mock me.You can just say it is…”

“If you say uglyone more time, I’m gonna fuckingflip, sweetheart.” he grumbles, using his grip on her hair to pull her into akiss. “Fucking beautiful.” he mumblesbetween two pecks. “Fucking shame tohide it.”

It takes her a while to accept he isn’tactually playing a prank on her or pretending so he wouldn’t hurt her feelings– when has Haymitch ever worriedabout her feelings anyway? She only starts to believe him because he seems veryeager to have her again all of a sudden and because he spends the whole timepetting her hair. He is still playing with it afterwards, once she is unusuallyallowed to cuddle against his side.

“Don’t dye it. Don’t straighten it.” herequests.

“You like me ugly.” she accuses. “I should haveknown.”

“Who said it was ugly?” he snarls, apparentlyoffended on behalf of her wild curly plain hair.

“Everyone?” she snorts. “It is so common andunoriginal… Nobody likes that around here.”

“Then, they’re blind.” he declares. “’Causeyou’re fucking beautiful. Just like this. All that shit… That shit doesn’tmake you beautiful, it makes you like them.”

She gets a thrill every time he calls herbeautiful. Nobody has ever looked at her plain face or her plain hair andcalled her beautiful. All peopleusually see are the flaws that nothing hides.

“Being like them is what allows us to survive.”she whispers, low enough that it won’t carry much further. Just in case.

“Just another mask then.” he taunts. “Masks areall well and good, sweetheart… But don’t forget who you are underneath.”

She presses a kiss to his heart.

It’s an answer and a promise.

6.

He tugs the wig off her head because she is tooexhausted to do it herself.

The Quell’s Reaping took too much out of her,the knowledge that the train is rushing to the Capitol where a certain deathawaits the children doesn’t help. The fact that she has been forced to callHaymitch’s name…

She kept up her cheery persona for the childrenbut she cannot do that with Haymitch.

So she lets him undress her like a doll andslip her nightgown over her head. She lets him wash away the make-up from herface because it gives him something to do, an excuse not to think about what isgoing on, what almost happened and what isgoing to happen as a consequence. And she lets him take pin after pin offher wig, her unfocused eyes staring straight ahead.

“ Now,that’s fucking stupid, Effie.” hespits out when the braid tumbles loose from the wig.

It is neat and she loves how it looks on her.It makes her look… fiercer, not aspowerless as she feels. It makes her braver.

“It is just a braid.” she whispers.

But they both know it’s a lie.

It is a Katnissbraid.

It is a statement.

Just like the golden tokens.

She stands with Katniss. She stands with hervictors.

She might be wearing a Capitol mask but sheknows who she is underneath.

7.

She looks at the wall with a  blank stare when they cuff her to the chair.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to flee when theybrutally cut her hair and then shave it.

Her cheek is still stinging from an earlierblow. She thinks the bone might be broken. She thinks she will never make it outof here.

I don’t know anything, she keeps repeating like a mantra,like a shield. The words don’t protect her. Nothing can protect her now.

She doesn’t know if she really wants to beprotected anyway.

Regardless of if he meant to or not, Haymitchleft her behind to die and that thought hurts more than their punches and theircruel gibes.

She’s stubborn about not letting them see howmuch she’s hurting. From the feeling of betrayal. From the torture – that sheknows to be tame still, she knows it will get worse, she knows… From anything.

She sees the blond strands falling to the floorin the corner of her eye but she doesn’t react. She keeps a neutral face, ablank stare, she pretends she doesn’t see. Eyesbright, chin up… The smile, she cannot quite muster. Chin up, though. Always.

Effie Trinket has her pride and they won’tbreak her so easily.

They won’t.

She remains collected even as they push her andcall her names, even as they tell her she was nothing but Haymitch’s fuck toy, a District whore, and that no decent man will everwant to touch something as ugly as her ever again. Haymitch’s bitch, they call her.

She doesn’t protest the title.

Her stoicism annoys them and it makes them moreaggressive.

She knows she should give them what they want,that it would end quicker if she did. She should cry and scream and beg formercy. She will come to that soon enough, she suspects. But not yet.

Not when they just stole her hair

Not when they just stole her armor.

She only breaks down later. Once they throw herback in the cold little cell with Portia’s battered body.

Then, she touches her bald hair and shecries.

8.

Effie wishes she still has a gift for notcatching her reflection in a mirror when she steps in and out of the shower.

Haymitch’s room at the presidential mansion isso lavish that it regularly throws her. She hasn’t been here long. It took along time for the hospital to release her – she understands it was mostlyHaymitch and Plutarch’s meddling, that the two men felt she was safer in herhospital room for the time being because the new rebel President was callingfor blood – and she still feels a bit disconnected from reality.

It’s difficult for her to admit she’s not inher tiny cell anymore.

Her memories are sluggish. She doesn’t know howlong she was locked in there all alone. She doesn’t know if she dreamedHaymitch scooping her up from her bed of filth and blocking her eyes from thepainful light that blinded her. She doesn’t know if this isn’t a more elaboratehallucination or maybe drugs that the guards gave her for kicks out of boredom.

She only knows that the thing that looks backat her in the mirror isn’t her.

It’s a corpse that forgot to die.

Her every bone are jutting, as if eager topierce the thin layer of flesh. There are dark bruises still that are takingforever to fade and accidental fresh ones because she cannot bump into anythingwithout it leaving a mark anymore. There are scars, swollen and angry looking,her back is the worst and she’s happy not to have to see it on a regular basis.

There was a brief period, a couple of years,when she had learned to love herself without make-up and wigs – mainly becauseHaymitch kept telling her just how beautiful she was, and she had started tobelieve him.

Now…

Now she has hollow cheeks and there are deeplines at the corners of her eyes. Now the blond peach fuzz on her head makesher want to throw something at the wall.

She wants to get angry – at Haymitch, maybe,because she needs someone to blame for all of this, she needs someone she canhate for what happened to her.

She doesn’t have the energy for it – and sheneeds Haymitch too much right now, he’s the only thing keeping her sane, theonly one who is there for her, the only one who accepts her for who she iswithout condition.

She startles when someone knocks on thebathroom’s door. Her heart hammers in her chest and her first reflex is to lookfor a potential way to escape – naked and still dripping wet, that doesn’tmatter at all.

“Sweetheart, you’re in there?” Haymitch’sfamiliar voice asks and she relaxes. He left before she woke up that morning,presumably to check on the children.

It’s odd between the two of them but Effiedoesn’t have enough energy to care about that either. She usually falls asleepclinging to him, fighting against her exhaustion to stay awake, staring at thebright lamp on the nightstand because she never wants to be in the darknessagain, and when the nightmares come – and they always come – she lets him hold her and whisper in her ear untilshe’s sure this is the real world and not a dream.

They share his room and it’s weird how not weird it is. They’ve known eachother for a long time, they know how to make space for each other. Effie doesit automatically, a bit wary that he will get tired of her and turn her away.He, on the other hand, seems worried about her suddenly starting to hate him.

He needs her, she thinks in her most lucidmoments, as much as she needs him.

He pushes the door open before she can call forhim to come in. He never waits for her permission anyway so she never bothers givingit. He gets nervous when he doesn’t know where she is and he never leaves heralone for long, if he can he asks her to come with him. She thinks he’sterrified sick of losing her again.

It makes her feel warm inside.

It’s a nice change from feeling dead and empty.

He frowns when he sees her standing there andimmediately snatches a towel from the rack where she insists he keeps them –because he has a bad habit of leaving them damp on the floor and it just won’tdo, it won’t, and she doesn’t mindthat he laughs at her with unmistakable relief when she lectures him about itor that he claims she will be ranting about manners with the last breath in herbody. She lets him rub her dry, not really minding the fact that she’s nakedeven if they haven’t been intimate since her rescue, and she helpfully liftsher arms when he wraps it around her chest to keep her modest.

“You’re okay, yeah?” he asks quietly. “You’rehere.”

It’s half a statement and half a question. Hewants to know if she’s having a flashback, she figures.

“Yes.” she answers, a bit laconic.

His face softens and he forces a small smilefor her. He brushes his hand on her shoulder, up to her nape. It’s new, thisconstant need of him to touch her. In complete contradiction with her suddenaversion to being touched.

He’s the exception though.

He’s always been the exception to a lot ofthings and it doesn’t surprise her this is another example of it.

She relaxes when he squeezes her nape, thefamiliar gesture having long become a source of comfort. It used to bepossessive. Then it became a proof of affection.

“I’ve got something for you.” he says and hesounds a bit smug, very pleased with himself. She follows him to the bedroompart of the suite and she blinks at the heap of blinding fabrics on the bed,next to empty shopping bags. There are shoes too, she realizes, heels and flatboots. And wigs. When she doesn’t move, he clears his throat awkwardly.“They’ve reopened shops on Main Street so…” He shrugs. “You can’t go alone yet, it’s not really safe for you, but… Ithought it might cheer you up…”

It is certainly an improvement over the greyuniforms they gave her.

She isn’t sure how she feels about colors.She’s been locked in a grey cell for months, then in a white hospital room… Ina sense, the grey is familiar.

And now colors…

She brushes her fingers against the fur of ablue dress’ neckline…

“Thank you.” she whispers. And she means it.

It’s not the clothes that touches her as muchas the fact he went to get them.Haymitch hates shopping maybe more than he hates fashion. But he went andbought all this for her and that… Sheturns around and plants a kiss on his lips. It’s a chaste thing but his eyessoften so much that, for a minute, she thinks he might cry. She’s a bit too aware he’s been hanging by a threadlately, still fighting against his rampant alcoholism because she and thechildren need him when it would have been easier for him to drown in the nextbottle. She doesn’t think he will hold on long on that front but sheappreciates the attempt nonetheless.

“Thank you.”he replies with a shrug, almost sheepish, hands in his pockets.

Her eyes fall on a bubblegum pink wig and shepicks it up automatically, turning it over in her hands.

“You hate wigs.” she remarks. “Do you… Do youwant me to wear them now?”

She cannot blame him. She looks awful. There isnothing remotely attractive to the peach fuzz on her head. Certainly not whenhe liked tangling his fingers in her hair so much.

“I want you to feel better.” he grumbles.“You’ve always liked you wigs in public and you’re not exactly thrilled aboutyour new haircut so… I thought you’d want them.”

She analyses his answer carefully beforeturning to him with a small frown. “But do youwant me to wear them? I know I am not really pretty to look at and you have tolook at me almost all the time. Do you…”

“Hey.” he cuts her off firmly, taking the wigfrom her hands and tossing it back on the bed before cupping her cheek. “Idon’t care what you look like and I don’t mind looking at you, let me tell you.I’ve spent months thinking I wouldn’tget to look at you again. Sweetheart,I can spend the rest of my life doing nothing but that.”

It’s more of a declaration than she everexpected from him and she blinks, completely unprepared and taken aback.

“I look terrible.” she argues for the sake ofit.

“Kinda do, yeah.” he snorts. “But you’ve beenthrough hell, princess. Even you can’t do that with style. It’s fine, it’ll getbetter.” He presses a kiss against her forehead. “You’re beautiful to me.You’re always beautiful to me.”

She takes a step forward and lets him wrap hisarms around her, burying her face in his neck. I love you she mouths against his skin.

If he understands, he doesn’t let on.

But his grip tightens.

9.

“If anyone knew I do that for you, myreputation would be done for.” he grumbles but keeps on carefully running thehairbrush through her blond curls.

A grin bursts on her lips. She doesn’t bothertrying to hide the amusement in her voice. “You love it.”

Her accusation prompts him to snort but shehears no denial.

And Effie lovesthose quiet nights. She was sitting cross-legged on their bed, brushing herhair, ready for the night, when he came out of the bathroom and sat behind her.She didn’t ask him to take the brush out of her hand. He knows when it’s coldthe shoulder she injured during the war hurts her – and, she also thinks, heenjoys it because he worships her hair.

“Youlove it.” he retorts.

And she does.

She thinks back to all those times she watchedher mother brush Lyssa’s hair and wished she would have done the same with hers…This is one hundred times betterthough. Not only because it is a proof of caring from Haymitch’s part butbecause it’s a secret they share, something intimate.

She leans back against his chest and hediscards the hairbrush to wrap his arms around her and press a kiss against herglossy curls.

And, as far as she’s concerned, it’s perfect.