#Bonsai is its own AU at this point I think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cryoculus · 2 years ago

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— reparations 05 ⟢

i have a very marketable skill called “jumping to conclusions”

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 4.6k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, thoma, kamisato ayato, kamisato ayaka

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

“I can’t believe I wasn’t here when he did the thing. What kind of father am I?!”

You’re in the middle of shaping the bonsai you have on display when Itto sulks behind the counter—chin propped on top as he watches the silk white cocoon inside Itto the Fourth’s jar. You roll your eyes.

“Well, if you spent your precious time being here for his milestones in life instead of canoodling with the yakuza…”

“Nope! You are not guilt-tripping me out of this, master!”

“Wasn’t counting on it,” you scoff.

So, as things might have it, after placing your late-night order at Shimura’s, you and Itto decided to lounge in the shop to wait for the food. But the moment he sat down on your swiveling seat, the gang leader refused to take his eyes off the caterpillar-turned-chrysalis that was Itto the Fourth. You actually forgot to bring up that it was finally one step closer to the next phase of its insect life given all the commotion that occurred over the last hour. But your patient didn’t seem to mind the delayed info.

“Say,” you begin, putting down your shears as you flash him a pointed look. “If you won’t tell me exactly what’s going on, can I at least know how you got on the yakuza’s bad side in the first place?”

Itto hums, craning his neck to meet your gaze. “Eh? Ain’t that the same thing?”

“Don’t think about it like that! Your origin story is different from your current predicament, you know.”

And then Itto makes a motion of pinching his thumb and index finger together before sliding it across his lips like a zipper—shaking his head petulantly. What a damn kid.

To his credit, Itto may be idiotic about eighty percent of the time, but he’s still pretty sharp. You’re not sure if he’ll even spill the details once the entire ordeal is over. You can almost hear your mother chiding you for nosing into another person’s business, but what the hell is so important that Itto would have to (literally) break his back for the sake of it? A lifetime supply of yakisoba? A printed certificate that says ‘Arataki “The Yakuza Boss” Itto’? The longer you wallow in your own thoughts, the wilder your imagination runs, so you decide to spare yourself the trouble.

As you get back to your feet, you peek behind the blinds you drew at closing time, wondering when your food is going to arrive. Though it’s only been ten minutes since you placed your order, you were beyond starved. However, there don’t seem to be any delivery motorcycles in sight. Guess your dinner isn’t arriving miraculously early.

“Is there anything I can do to make you tell me?” you ask out of the blue, turning your head to Itto, who is now comfortably leaning against the backrest of your chair. “Beating you in an onikabuto battle? An eating contest? Rock-paper-scissors?”

Yeah. You’ve totally lost it. You don’t even know why you’re trying so hard to get it out of him. It’s none of your business! Repeat until true!

“Those are quite the honorable choices, if I do say so myself.” He laughs, cracking his fingers together. “But not even a mountainload of mora can get me to disclose the details. And that’s saying something ‘cause I’m kinda broke right now, but who cares!”

You do a double-take on that one. “Wait, you’re broke?”

“Hm? Is that so hard to believe?”

You’re quick to stride back to the counter, placing a palm in front of him as you shoot Itto an incredulous stare. “The rent in this place is forty thousand yen a month. Rent that I pay to your gang. Your gang, who owns this property. Did you just happen to forget that?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“Shinobu doesn’t let you handle any of the money, does she?”

“Um… No, she does not.”

“Then how the hell have you been getting by all this time?” you nearly shout, throwing undecipherable hand gestures everywhere. “I-I don’t even pay you—”

Itto effectively cuts off your rambling by pressing a finger to your lips, making your eyes go wide as he shushes you. He meets your gaze earnestly, and only speaks once you’ve completely gone silent.

“I know you’re my master and I still have tons to learn from you when it comes to gardening or whatever. But lemme tell you this: you need to learn how to chill.” He says every word so slowly, it’s as if he’s talking to a prepubescent teenager. “Look at me! Barely escaped with my life back there, but I’m bonding with Itto the Fourth ‘cause the situation calls for it. Sometimes, you gotta adapt to strange environments, y’know?”

Chill. Right, yeah. Chill. A.K.A., something that you were already lacking the moment Itto didn’t step through the front door on the first day of his leave. And now he barges into your home, passes out, makes you treat both his wounds and him to dinner. Where the hell are you supposed to get a decent supply of goddamn chill?!

“Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” you balk sarcastically, slapping his hand away. “Thank you, Arataki. You just solved half the world’s problems with unsolicited advice.”

To your absolute joy, he chuckles aloud, looking way too pleased with himself. “You’re too kind! Some of my boys said I should start writing for an advice column in the daily newspaper. What do you thi—”

All of a sudden, Itto’s cheery voice cuts to the thick silence of the shop. He stills, rising to his full height as rusty amber eyes do a cautious sweep around the room. You’re about to ask what’s gotten into him before the man before you promptly has all the color drained from his face, as if having realized something drastic.

“Tsk, he’s coming...” he mutters, and for a moment, you momentarily mimic the shock on his face. Who’s coming? Those fuckers that hazed him?

“Itto—”

“Yo, I’m going to, uh…” he trails off, grabbing Itto the Fourth’s jar before tucking it beneath his arm. The gang leader jams a thumb over his shoulder with a wobbly smile. “Hide in your room for a sec. Is that okay with you?”

“What?” You scowl. “Are you just going to leave me to entertain those lunatics alo—hey!”

Not even securing your explicit permission, Itto bolts back up to your apartment with his stupid hibernating caterpillar—leaving you right in the dust. The room is silent, save for the erratic thrum of your heartbeat that’s making you feel a little psyched out. Should you call the police? But if the person (people?) that Itto sensed was dangerous, surely he wouldn’t leave you to deal with them for him, right? But then again, cooking up assumptions about your unwitting apprentice was a common mistake that you’re growing tired of making.

Your instincts jolt to life when you hear three knocks on the front door of the shop, making your heart plummet to your stomach.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re locked in another game of ‘Guess Who’s on the Other Side’. This time, it could either be A.) Itto’s assailant(s) or B.) the food delivery guy. Though your hunch was wrong about Tora’s sudden appearance in the balcony, you were pretty damn sure this can only be one or the other.

Calm down, you tell yourself. Sure, Itto isn’t the best at keeping his temporary employment here all that discreet, but surely the yakuza won’t try to drag you into their problems. You’ve got nothing to do with all that!

With a clean conscience, you breathe deep, compose yourself, and open the door.

“And here I thought you’d gone straight to bed.”

When you see who it is, your jaw nearly unhinges itself from your skull and lands on the floor. How the fuck can you be so wrong twice in the same night?!

“A-Ayato?” you stammer, but he’s already letting himself in—shrugging off the coat off his shoulders as he marvels at the state of your shop. “Lovely place you have here,” he comments. “I might send in an order or two pretty soon since Ayaka has been gushing about your bouquets non-stop.”

You can’t even be bothered to feel flattered at the promised revenue because you’re processing the presence of not just one, but three people that have entered your shop past closing time. Ayaka and Thoma followed suit right after the force of nature that is Kamisato Ayato, but thankfully these two look a bit more apologetic.

“You weren’t picking up any of our calls,” Ayaka sighs, stuffing her phone in her handbag and unraveling the scarf around her neck. “We thought you might’ve been in trouble.”

Calls…? As in, plural? Shit. You left your phone upstairs after that strange, heart-to-heart conversation with Itto on your balcony. You hadn’t bothered checking it since you finished patching him up. But you attempt to mask your surprise by shifting everyone else’s attention to Thoma instead.

“I told you something just came up, right?” you sigh. “Why’d you go ahead and let Ayato-nii march all the way here just to see if I’m fine?”

The blond chuckles, already sounding defeated. “We all know when waka’s got something set on his mind, there’s no stopping him.”

Well…that is true.

You guess there’s no use trying to point fingers now that the Kamisato trio was here, so you just tell them to get comfortable instead. Thank Archons Itto suddenly rushed upstairs (for reasons that still eluded you). It’s going to be pretty hard to explain what a shirtless gang leader is doing waiting for late night takeout with you to these guys. Even if the four of you have been through weirder shit in the past.

“Has business been faring well?” Ayato asks, carefully draping his fingers across the bonsai you were just trimming earlier.

You nod. “Uh, yeah! So far so good. The people here in Hanamizaka have been sweet and accommodating. Didn’t really expect that in a place handled by the Arataki Gang.”

For some reason, the older Kamisato raises an eyebrow at that and you internally panic. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Was bringing it up a bad idea? Nahhhhh, Ayato couldn’t possibly know about Itto’s temporary post here. You aren’t even sure if Ayaka knows since Thoma isn’t really a snitch. You should be safe. Maybe.

Then, you hear a loud noise coming from upstairs.

Ayaka glances over to the stairwell curiously and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from actually screaming. Yep, entertaining these three and kicking them out ASAP should be your main priority right now. Close college friends plus big brother or not.

“What was that?” Ayato wonders.

“I-It’s probably just Mikan,” you laugh nervously. “She’s been really hyperactive lately. Turns the place upside down whenever she isn’t asleep hahaha!”

He looks, by no means, convinced of your reasoning, but thankfully Ayato plays along and decides to drift over to your beloved succulent rack. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Ayaka, Thoma, we were…informally invited to the wedding of one of the daughters of the branch families. I say informally because the ceremony is still in its planning stages.”

“Is there any reason you’re telling us this in advance as well?” Thoma asks.

“Mmm, well I heard the bride-to-be, who is one of our cousins, is going to wed a commoner from the city,” Ayato elaborates. “A commoner who suggested that this flower studio is going to take charge of the necessary arrangements for the wedding.”

You take a moment to process that, vaguely remembering a job your mother told you to look out for the last time you were home. “...Do you mean Andou-san?”

For the past few weeks, you were so preoccupied with keeping Itto in check that you completely forgot all about it. But who knew Andou’s fiancée was from a Kamisato branch family? Huh, small world.

“Forgive me, I’m not very good with names, but when our cousin bought up your store in today’s lunch meeting, I just felt the need to bring you three together again.” Ayato laughs softly as he picks up one of the tiny potted succulents, casting a cheery stare at his present audience. “Just like old times, yes?”

“Nii-sama, the three of us have always kept in touch,” Ayaka sighs. “Is there anything else you’d like to talk to them about?”

The older man hollers, setting down the succulent as he raises his hands in surrender. “Oh, fine, fine. You caught me. Another reason why I wished to catch up with our dear friend is…this funny story told to me by one of my secretaries.”

“One of your secretaries?” you repeat.

Ayato nods. “She lives around this area. Told me she was walking home after sorting out some documents at the estate in Yougou Heights when she walked past Sakura Street and… Realized a motorcycle crashed into this very same shop! Shocking, is it?”

…Count on Ayato to express his concern in the most backwards way possible. You can feel your tongue turning sandpaper dry as your eyes discreetly rivet back to Ayaka and Thoma—two people you kept in the dark about the night you first met Arataki Itto. They exchange puzzled looks almost in unison, which means this is probably the first time Ayato brought the matter to their attention.

“Crash?” you chuckle, gesturing around the shop. “Does this look like a place that’s been trashed by a motorcycle, Ayato-nii?”

“Well, now that you mention it, that certainly doesn’t seem to be the case,” he hums thoughtfully. “But I couldn’t help but wonder…especially when Thoma over here told us about your lively helper. Arataki…was it?”

Fuck. He’s on to you. Ayato is soooo on to you.

“Oh, yeah. Itt—uh, Arataki. That’s his name. Y’know, the gangster.”

“From what I heard, that man is kind of a bum,” Ayato remarks warily, folding his arms. “Yet he’s working here?”

“Yeah, ‘course he is!” you reply a bit too quickly. “That guy um, takes odd jobs whenever money’s starting to get tight so I’m just helping out. It’s only for a few weeks.” Shot in the dark. You still don’t know how Itto’s made it this far without a stable job, on top of those weird allusions to a life in prison he’s yet to speak to you about.

“So where is he now?”

As if the man in question wishes to answer Ayato’s inquiries for himself, yet another crash resounds from upstairs. Holy shit. You are going to rip Itto to shreds once you’re done dealing with Ayato. Could he be any more goddamn obvious?!

“Mikan, stop messing with the furniture!” you yell (somewhat) convincingly. “A-Anyways, that guy is on leave right now. So if you’re looking for him, you might have to contact his deputy, Shinobu instead.”

“Do you need help rounding up your cat or something?” Thoma offers. “You always count on me to calm her down, remember?”

The mere suggestion is enough to send you into cardiac arrest. “Nope! It’s fine. Mikan’s just going through it is all. She’ll calm down eventually.”

“Is that why you weren’t able to have dinner with us?” Ayaka shoots you a worried look. “I know a well-practiced vet from Watatsumi Island. Would you like me to give you his card?”

“Hey, come on!” you groan—feeling all sorts of pressured from their kind suggestions. Gods, you can only imagine how much these three were going to fuss if they found out that Itto’s crashing stunt was actually true. “You have all got to chill. We haven’t gotten together in nearly a year, and you guys choose to spend the time worrying? How about we call it a night for now and let’s just…hang out this weekend! How’s that sound?”

Ayato starts to stroke his chin contemplatively. “Hm, I did ask my secretary to free up my schedule next week. Business trips drain the life out of a man, if you kids only knew.”

“Nii-sama, you’re only three years older than us.”

“Ah, the ignorance of youth is bliss I can no longer attain.”

“They’re right, though,” Thoma, thank Archons, agrees with you, straightening the collar of his own jacket with an apologetic smile. “We’ve already imposed too much. Let’s all just continue this on the weekend. Should we meet you here?”

The last bit was directed at you, to which you respond in turn. “Sure. I promise I won’t stand you guys up anymore.”

“We’ll hold you to that then,” Ayato huffs, digging into the pocket of his trousers before tossing something in Thoma’s direction. Fortunately, the blond is dextrous enough to catch it mid-air. “Go take Ayaka back to the car. I’ll just put down a few orders I’d like our dear friend to make for me.”

Thoma nods without question, twirling Ayato’s keys around his index finger as he and Ayaka exchange farewells with you. Though, you try not to think about how your best friend’s stare lingers on you a tad longer than usual.

When the door shuts behind the two of them, Ayato paces around the shop for a few moments more. Though you’re sure as hell he was just stalling, you can tell that the fondness in his eyes as he surveys each shelf is anything but fake.

“So my office back at home has been looking very dull to me as of late,” he laments. “The rainforests of Sumeru are quite a refreshing sight, and I’d like to emulate the scenery, no matter how minimal, inside my workspace. That’s why I wanted to ask which decorative pieces you recommend for the setting I have in mind.”

You rack your mind for a catalogue of tropical plants that could suit Ayato’s tastes right then and there, feeling a bit proud of yourself to have earned his favor. “Let me see, uh, Monstera plants make for good minimalist decorations in the office, Ayato-nii. I actually have some displayed right…here.”

Wandering around the rows of shelves, you show Ayato a miniature version of the lush green plant that seemingly has holes on its leaves. “This is what they actually look like. They didn’t get attacked by pests or anything.”

“Oho, these are exactly what I saw by the riverbanks.” He nods. “I’ll have someone pick up, hmm, five of these within the week along with a check for the payment. Just text me the invoice after.”

“Sure thing.”

You’d be lying if you say you weren’t expecting him to sneak in something else in such a casual conversation about the items you have on sale. If there’s anything you know best about Kamisato Ayato, it’s that he likes to keep his intentions tucked discreetly between two different pages of a book—so that only those who are meant to know their meaning can read between the lines. But as you quietly see Ayato out of the shop, you wonder if it’s actually possible for him to do things without an underlying motive beneath all that pretense.

“A shame that you weren’t able to sample Komore Teahouse’s special dinner sets tonight,” he sighs, raising a hand to pat your head affectionately as he puts his coat back on. “But we all have lives to live and other matters to attend to at times. Just make sure you show up on Saturday, yes? You promised~”

“Yes, Ayato-nii. I promise.” You spare him a hearty laugh, wrapping your arms around Ayato tenderly. The years you spent growing older alongside him and his siblings always makes you feel like you were part of their family, too. Well, Ayato did say to never hesitate calling them your family once, and you’ve always done as told.

“Can you promise me one more thing?”

Pulling away, you meet his silver-eyed gaze with brows raised. “What is it?”

He gazes at you with a tinge of seriousness for the first time tonight, one hand placed on top of your shoulder. Ayato opens his mouth, as if raring to speak his mind, but the moment you anticipate his words, they never come.

“...Forget it. I might be speaking out of turn,” the older man sighs, smiling sheepishly to himself. “Just—take care of yourself. Your future’s looking quite alright here in Hanamizaka, but I hope you know it won’t hurt to be more cautious.”

“You sound just like my dad, it’s kind of creepy,” you joke, patting his hand with yours. “Got it. Now, shoo! Ayaka and Thoma are probably waiting for you in—”

“Shimura’s delivery!”

Startled, you glance over at a man whose motorcycle is parked by the curb—the familiar Shimura’s logo printed brightly on the delivery box behind him. You can practically feel the day’s fatigue evaporate from your body at the sight of it.

“I’m the one who placed the order!” you say, waving him over. But as the delivery man scrambles over to where you stand, Ayato flashes you a minute nod—one you return with a warm smile that doesn’t falter even when he’s already walking away.

“Late night special for—” the delivery man practically announces to the whole neighborhood as he squints at the receipt in his other hand. “Arataki Itto?”

Again, you feel your entire body seize up at the mention of his name. You whip around to the direction Ayato headed when he finally made his leave, chest threatening to burst. He hasn’t gotten far yet, and the possibility of him having heard what this mouthy delivery guy just said is more likely than not. But Ayato doesn’t look back. In fact, he just keeps his strides forward as if he heard nothing at all.

“Yeah,” you respond to the man in front of you with a queasy smile. “That’s our order alright…”

“Well that took long enough!”

You don’t even have the energy to snap at Arataki once you make it back to your apartment, carefully setting down your food on the now-tidy coffee table. Huh. Did he clean up while you were downstairs or something? Only the remote to your TV and Itto the Fourth’s pickle jar littered the surface.

“What took long enough?” you sigh. “The food or me getting rid of my impromptu guests?”

Itto snorts from where he’s sitting cross-legged on your sofa. Thankfully, he’s now wearing a shirt but it seems a few sizes too—wait, is that your old pep rally shirt? “Duh! I was talkin’ about aniki. I have the patience of a mother when it comes to food, mind you. But when that guy’s in the vicinity, ohhhh boy! I’m not really ready for my 781st loss yet. I hope you understand why I had to run with my tail between my legs. Don’t tell him that, though. He’ll laugh at me.”

No matter how much you try to make sense of what the hell Itto was saying, you’re way too famished to think. So you decide to fill your poor stomach with something to eat first before asking questions.

The scent of chili oil and steamed dimsum makes your mouth water as you pop one into your mouth, chewing happily as you watch Itto wolf down his own very late dinner beside you. It feels a little strange, having a meal with someone on a couch you’ve only shared with Mikan, but the change isn’t unwelcome. Even if he probably broke into your room to steal your clothes.

“So, this aniki person you mentioned,” you start, quietly slurping your fried noodles. “Are you…talking about Ayato-nii, by any chance?”

“Eh?” Itto stares at you, putting down his chopsticks before bracing his palms on his knees. “You know aniki, too?”

“Well, yeah. He’s the older brother of one of my best friends,” you inform him. “How do you know him?”

“Haha! It’s a long story, master. One that’s best told over drinks and not fast food takeout. But I’m sure I can convince ya to go out drinking with me sooner or later.”

“Do you even have the mora for that?”

“Ahh, no. No, I don’t. That’s why you’re footing the bill as usual.”

“You’re really fucking thick-skinned, you know that?”

Once the two of you have finished bickering over interchanging topics in the span of thirty minutes, you clean up after your food. Itto actually has the decency to help you dispose of everything that needs disposing, as if he isn’t sporting any healing injuries at all. You try not to laugh at how comical it looks for him to lug a trash bag down the stairwell of your apartment wearing your pep rally shirt-turned-crop top. It’s either this guy has zero self-awareness or he seriously does not give a fuck. You’re not really sure which one it is.

“So, can I sleep on the couch?” Itto asks once he gets back, wiping the sweat off his brow.

A pause.

“What? You’re sleeping here?”

“Of course I am!” he says. “I can’t exactly show up at our home base looking all jacked up like this, now can I?”

“Well, you can’t just volunteer your employer’s couch as a temporary stronghold either, wise guy!” you scowl, kicking him in the shin as you retrieve your phone. A quick scroll across the lock screen clues you in on the several missed texts and calls that your friends made earlier, and—damn. You should really keep this thing on you all the time.

“You’re kicking me out just like that?” He pouts, and god, it’s such an atrocious look on him that it makes you want to hurl. But then again, it’s already, what, one in the morning?

If you evict him now, Itto would probably just go back to those assholes that hurt him instead of swallowing his pride and letting his gang see him like this. Which will give you more problems than if you just let the guy sleep over for one night. Dammit!

The gods better be looking down on you with favor right now.

“Fine. Do you need any blankets or something?”

“Nah, s’fine. They don’t give you blankets in prison, so.”

“...Remind me to do a background check on you tomorrow?”

“Hehe, now why would I do that?”

You let out a long, long sigh when you shut the door to your bedroom. Itto assured you that he’d hold down the fort and beat up anyone who tries to rob you in the dead of night while you slept. A promise that’s equal parts reassuring and terrifying but you’re frankly too exhausted to think about it too much.

To your surprise, Mikan is already inside your room. But she seems to be preoccupied by something—

A gasp flees your lips when you see one of the photos you have propped up on your nightstand on the floor, lying face down with a couple of glass shards littering the floor. Mikan mewls once she notices you draw near, pawing at some of the fragments as you pick up the frame with careful hands.

It’s a picture of you and your dad at your junior high graduation day, but the protective glass sheen was smashed to pieces. Thankfully, the photo didn’t seem to suffer any damage.

“Did you do this?” you ask Mikan, to which she replies with a sharp cry that makes you chuckle. “Yeah… Just messing with you.”

That night, you think of two things as you slowly drift off to slumber. The first is: what did Ayato want you to promise? It’s really not like him to cut himself off mid-sentence like he did earlier. You’re going to try and bring it up again this weekend, if chance permits you.

As for the second thing…

“Why the hell would he do that?” you whisper to no one in particular, one arm draped across your eyes. In your mind, you imagine a statuesque man with strange tattoos standing over the broken picture frame—a disdainful look distorting his usually vigorous smile.

For once, you decide to sweep the dust under the rug, where no one else can hope to find it.

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★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin fluff #arataki itto smut #arataki itto fluff #genshin x reader #arataki itto x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfiction #reparations #cryoculus

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justimajin · 4 years ago

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Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.3

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (3k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, depictions of graphic violence

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, January 5

Your feet pace back and forth.

It must have been two, three‒maybe four days? You can’t recall anymore. All that remains in your memory is hours of roaming the long hallways of the house, nearly close to memorizing the amount of lights from the ceiling, or the multiple portraits set aside in one particular hall, lining together every head that came after Namjung.

You know every room colour, every room door, every speck of dust that lingers behind, but you’re nowhere close to transparently knowing the shareholder’s inside out.

Not having their favour means no communication. No communication means no reports are sent back, the static box still stored and hidden away.

Your bottom lip has become battered from your constant chewing, losing track of how many circles you’ve paced at this point.

And yet, it isn’t very difficult for you to decipher the exact reason for your distress.

The shareholders don’t want you around. The moment you stayed during their meeting was off putting enough for them and Namjoon's sudden interest for you to be vocal about your father’s intentions had piercing glares thrown in your direction.

But you’ve been assigned a task and you have to accomplish it, regardless of their desires.

Sucking in a deep breath, the sound of the doors to your bedroom wrenching open completely fails your attempt to calm down.

Swiveling around, Namjoon stands in front of you, eyes wide with delight.

“Oh, you’re here!” He quickly enters, striding over to you in an instant. “Is everything alright?”

Realizing that you’re simply gawking at his abrupt presence, you hastily shake your head.

“I-I was just surprised to see you.”

He smiles warmly and for some reason, you immediately flush at the gesture. You wonder if there will ever be a day where you can get used to the constant tenderness his eyes hold.

He raises his hand and you simply stare, until he leans closer to signal you.

“Come with me.”

Blinking, you cautiously take his hand, and he tugs you away, far from the confines of your room and into a place that makes it easier to breathe.

***

A gust of a wind immediately hits you, the brisk breeze feeling cold yet exhilarating at the same time. It’s strength blows and ruffles your clothes, the flowers at the bottom of your feet delicately brushing up against your skin.

You spin around with knitted brows, facing Namjoon who stands a distance away from you. He’s still clad in the suit he was wearing from work, but his eyes are closed, as if he was trying to absorb and completely immerse himself with the wind.

A question sits on the tip of your tongue.

“Why did you bring me here?” You nearly have to yell, the sound of the wind and the distance not aiding with your voice projection. Namjoon dreamily opens his eyes, walking over to you.

“It’s my mother's garden.” He points to the flowers, a cascade beginning with white, down to lilac purple and petal pink, “They have a calming effect, don’t you think?”

A strained smile remains on your lips, “I guess…”

Namjoon takes a step closer to you, “I’m sorry.”

You turn to him, eyebrows raised, “For the way the shareholders acted with you during our meeting, for putting you on the spot like that, and then leaving you alone for so many days even though we just got married‒”

He abruptly pauses, a pondering finger left on his lips.

“Wait, I don’t think this is enough of an apology, just give me a moment.”

Spinning around as if to leave, your arm involuntarily reaches out and latches onto his suit’s jacket.

He glances at you with surprise and you let go right away, awkwardly stifling back a cough.

“I-Its‒...it’s okay.”

Namjoon is frozen, teeter tottering between remaining by your side and leaving at once. After a moment however, he makes up his mind and leaves, before hurrying back with what would be adjacent to a small tree in his hands.

There’s a frown on your lips when he presents it to you.

“It’s a bonsai tree.” He quickly clarifies, “I got it a while ago and have been maintaining it since.”

You hum, leaning closer to observe it. It’s best description would be a miniature tree, although now you notice the string of ethereal pink that wraps around the branches.

“It’s beautiful.”

A warm, knowing smile crosses Namjoon’s lips. He gestures for you to sit down, still holding onto the small tree.

“So you mentioned you were raised in the outskirts of the country? And then went to the imperial academy?”

You nod right away, “What was it like?”

“Um…” You attempt to wrack through your mind for an answer, “My family didn’t have much but tried their best to raise me. I ended up going to the academy because they assumed I would be the next L/N head.”

“Did you want to be the next head?”

“Not really…” You fiddle around with the hem of your shirt, “I just went because my parents wanted me to.”

“So you didn’t want to be involved with the business and you didn’t want to go to the academy?” Namjoon repeats, like he was trying to memorize the facts, “What did you want to do then?”

You blink, staring at him wide eyed, “I don’t know….” There’s a cloud brewing above your head, fog spreading, “I guess...I never figured out what that was.”

“Come on, there must be something.” He raises the tree in his hands, “No bonsai trees to look after?”

A wide grin spreads across his features, yet your expression remains stoic and confused. His smile begins to deflate, and he lowers his arms, but an unexpected smile cracks across your lips, morphing into a lop-sided one.

“There was one bonsai tree, but it wasn’t a plant, or a mini tree for that matter.”

Namjoon eyes you in intrigue, as if you were telling a story that he was enraptured in. A genuine smile surfaces on your lips, fond memories emerging from the depths of your mind.

“I used to love reading....with my father, every Saturday morning.” There’s a spark within your eyes, recalling the day you first peered into his library much to his own joy, “It was something he initially picked up on as a hobby and then later introduced to me. I still remember days where I used to be buried beneath books and my mother would scold my father for the habit.”

A snicker leaves your lips, “I got into so much trouble once, I didn’t attend my classes at the academy to keep reading and I’d never seen my mother so furious.”

There’s a ray of euphoria splashing over your features, eyes brimming with excitement and bliss. You can’t believe you can still remember these memories, memories that are years old and only consist of absolutely innocent times.

Times in which you were allowed to indulge your natural curiosity instead of exploiting it.

At that, your smile falls and you turn to Namjoon to apologize for your abrupt rambling, but your breath hitches in your throat. He’s extremely close to you, only a mere inches away, and although there’s a small tree sitting in his arms, the look in his eyes is enough to draw your attention.

You awkwardly cough, looking away with a flush spreading over your skin.

“W-Why are you asking me all these questions?”

Namjoon blinks, as if broken from a trance.

He meekly smiles, “We’re married now, but there’s still so much I don’t know about you…”

You swivel around, eyes completely wide. The loose dots clumsily connect, but it’s enough for you to understand his intention behind bringing you out here.

He’s shared a piece of himself with you, in hopes that you’ll share a piece of yourself with him.

Namjoon gets up holding the tree, offering you his hand. You stare at it for a mere moment, a thousand thoughts swimming through your mind.

Cautiously taking his hand, you have to remind yourself that this is all a simple mission ‒ nothing more, nothing less.

***

Namjoon takes you across the garden, pointing out the various flowers that he’s aware of, while you trail behind him and listen in. At one point his bonsai tree nearly falls from his hands when he trips over a sharp ledge, and you’re quick to offer your help in holding it.

This results in your carrying of the small plant, and Namjoon’s deciding to let you know what he named it.

“Cherry?” You repeat, knitting your brows together.

Namjoon hums, “Like cherry blossom.” Pointing towards the string of pink you noticed before, you realize that the faint dust was indeed the emergence of new blossoms along the branch. “I have other ones too, and they all have names.”

You perk your eyes up at that, continuing to slowly trail behind him. There’s something that uncomfortably itches at the back of your throat, the apprehensive feeling in your stomach increasing.

The longer you’re here, following along with Namjoon and listening to his thoughtful words, the longer the mayhem increases. Red flares are exploding in your mind, and heaving ringing pounds through your skull, dragging you back before it’s too late.

“Y/N?”

You suddenly jolt from the proximity, realizing you’ve stopped in your tracks and that Namjoon is gazing at you with troubled eyes. You’re about to shake it off, mutter that you were just lost in thought, when a loud blare rings through the air.

“Sorry.” Namjoon winces, hurriedly taking out his phone and swiping away the piercing sound. “Hello?”

You peer down at the tree in your hands, curiously holding a branch between your fingers. “The deal’s been finalized? Already, Yoongi?”

At the sound of the shareholder’s name, your head snaps up. Namjoon goes silent for a moment, before his voice dips into a lower tone.

“I-I understand...I’ll be there soon.” The line is cut off, and he looks up at you, an apologetic smile forming on his lips.

“I have to leave, it’s for an urgent matter.” He takes the plant from your hands, “I’m sorry.”

You instinctively shift as he moves, grabbing onto his suit jacket like before. “I‒…”

He pauses, eyes rounding. The naive look he holds makes you grimace, the lie easily slipping from your lips. “I-I really don’t want to be alone here….”

Confusion dawns on him and you gaze down at the ground, attempting your best to mimic a somber expression.

Namjoon tilts his head to the side and places a finger on his lips, as if he were deeply pondering.

“I-I understand…” Although his words suggest it, he struggles with the implication. Relief floods through you, hoping that your professing is enough to sway him.

However, the last thing you expect emerges from Namjoon.

His tone drops a register and his piercing eyes flicker at you, holding onto an alluring yet ominous ambience to them. It sends shivers down your spine and you instinctively want to back away from him, caught off guard.

“It won’t be pretty.” He sharply enunciates. Swallowing hard, you can only nod in response.

Without another look, he gestures for you to follow him.

***

It would be a lie to say that you’re not knowledgeable about the Kim’s.

However, to say that you’re too knowledgeable about them, would be most accurate and a fact that you’ve always been careful to conceal.

The Kim’s manufacture weapons. They have far more connections that an octopus would have limbs, and they spread out everywhere, making deals left and right.

However, these are simple facts. Easy to memorize and remember.

And hurdles away from reality.

The building is far from Namjoon’s office, and exhibits a strange bluish grey hue, almost as if it were abandoned for decades. Yet when Namjoon hurriedly paces ahead and the steel door creaks open, your jaw drops.

It’s massive ‒ assembly lines running parallel and forklifts moving along to put up the heavy bundles of steel. It becomes clear to you in that one exact moment, of how much wealth the Kim family truly reigns over your heads.

Your dilated pupils glance in Namjoon’s direction again and he’s occupied with opening a separate door, far from the catastrophic noise raising in the room. Following him inside into an expansive hall, you’re again confronted with the four individuals that seem to despise your very existence.

Hoseok is the first one to scorn, stepping forward immediately.

“You brought her with you?” He spits, eyes throwing daggers at your form from across the room. Namjoon intervenes in an instant, raising his hand.

“She’s staying.”

Hoseok appears to want to protest more, but instead remains silent with only a twitch of his nose and another glare in your direction. You’re taken aback from how he’s rendered mute, but Taehyung crosses his arms and focuses on you.

“You better keep your mouth shut.” Brushing past you, he turns to Namjoon, his demeanor shifting. “We’ve just received the samples today.”

Yoongi takes out a large briefcase and places it on the table before sliding it in Namoon. As he works his way through the codes on it, Jungkook begins handing Yoongi more of them, and he slides them along.

The moment the first one is open, your heart rate spikes up.

A colossal gun is encased within the soft black styrofoam, nearly double the size of your arm. It’s distressing structure includes a handful of large bullets, one of which Namjoon picks up and inspects.

Tapping the side of the copper metal, his gaze narrows in intriguement, as if the bullet in his hand were a mere lightbulb. “What is it made of?”

“Lead and antimony.” Yoongi clarifies, “It has long distance range.”

Namjoon hums and your fists tighten, nails digging into the flesh of your palms. You had never imagined the Kim’s would be exploring these kinds of weapons, a weapon so fatal when their business has only ever focused on producing simple handguns.

Apart from the severity of the new knowledge you’ve just obtained though, for some reason the glint in Namjoon’s eyes as he views them seems to frighten you more.

His next question drains colour away from your skin.

“Do they work?”

Yoongi smirks like it’s a question that shouldn’t even be asked. Taehyung reaches over, swiftly grabbing onto the abundant gun and lining it with his shoulder.

“Would you like to see?” He ponders, and Namjoon nods, backing away from him. Taehyung cranks back the hammer and closes one eye, directing his aim for the wall.

You patiently wait for him to release it, expecting to hear a sudden spike in the breeze accompanied by a loud boom. But that’s when Taehyung shifts his feet, changing his angle with a small smirk dancing on his lips.

Aiming straight for you.

Your heart pounds in your ribcage and before you say anything in opposition, he releases the bullet.

“….if you ever are found out, Y/N…..

....at the split second in discovering your true nature….

....the Kim’s will not hesitate….

...they will never hesitate at the opportunity to dispose of you….”

The sound of your palpitating heartbeat blares through your eardrums, breath completely halting. Save for the frozen state your body has entered, the sight of having all eyes glued to your form barely draws your attention.

The bullet has whizzed right by you, landing on the wall you are standing in front of.

Taehyung snickers.

“It’s hard not to show off these precious babies when you have a L/N in the room.” He remarks and from afar, Hoseok shares his knowing look.

“That’s enough.” Namjoon stomps over in Taehyung’s direction, grabbing the gun from his hands with a scowl.

“What?” Taehyung innocently questions, cocking his head to the side. “It’s not everyday that you get to see a L/N in here.”

He gyrates, facing you, “I was hoping a demonstration would have helped you understand how the Kim’s operate.”

“Taehyung.” Namjoon warns again, but he saunters over to you, not fazed in the slightest.

“How was your father planning to save the company again? By letting it drown first or by setting all his assets on fire?”

His sharp eyes twinkle with amusement, brows narrowed as if he were observing you. There’s a handful of words prepared to spew from you, ranging from how he was completely wrong and downright conceited, but you bite your tongue back, recalling why you’ve persuaded Namjoon to bring you along in the first place.

You clear your throat instead.

“Well you know what they say,” A small smirk curls on your lips as you meet his gaze, “The L/N’s never did understand true power.”

There’s no naivety leftover in your expression, no hint of hesitation remaining anymore. The card you’ve pulled out is one you’ve been taught rather than naturally embodied, and it’s one you’ve been persistent to never use.

But you’re running of time and the only one to carry out your mission, is to wholeheartedly agree.

Taehyung appears taken aback, prepared for a giant fire to be thrown his way that ends up only drowsed in complete water. Your response has rendered him speechless, but it’s not long before a smile begins to tug on his lips, the dark look in his eyes commending you for the statement.

When he steps back, you notice the look of intriguement surfacing on every individual present ‒ save for the man you’ve been married to.

Although you’re content that you’ve captured their attention, it’s hard to ignore the stunned eyes Namjoon sends your way.

218 notes · View notes

rayveewrites · 4 years ago

Text

Ray Hijacks the Team ZIT Ghostbuster AU Again

So @shadeswift99 made a few posts a while ago about a Team ZIT(S) ghostbuster AU, And then I may or may not have hijacked the post to add in ideas for most of the other hermits because why not.

Now, back then I was spitballing ideas and making them up on the spot, which is admittedly my usual writing process, but hey.

That said, I've had more time to think about it, and then last night I blacked out for a few hours and came to with a Google Doc filled with short bios for all of the hermits and a handful of hermit-adjacents. Now, this rapidly turned into an urban fantasy AU in my hands, but hey. It's fun.

This is in alphabetical order, with alternate personas (EX, Helsknight, Beetlejhost) beneath their original counterparts when applicable:

Bdubs

Lives in an old mansion in the woods alongside Doc for reasons known only to them. Bdubs works as an interior designer, with a side gig as a freelance hairdresser. His eyes are unnaturally large, similar to Keralis’, and he is at least partially a plant. Completely feral and frequently gets in trouble for having knives on him at all times. He and Cleo have a thing called Knife Club which makes everyone else nervous. Nobody messes with Knife Club. It’s not worth it. Sunbathes frequently.

Beef

Is a perfectly normal human being. He works as a butcher with a side gig as a graphic designer specializing in album covers and spends his free time playing pokemon and dragging Etho along to social events. He was the first person to spot the cryptid, and the first person who Etho approached of his own accord.

Biffa

Is a ghost possessing a robotic shell. Biffa is from the future. While initially his main goal was to get back home to his own time, Biffa has since made friends and settled down into a new life running a cafe specializing in a wide range of teas. He’s quite content with this, and has actually found himself far happier than he was in his own time. While his nature means he can see, hear and touch ghosts, his body was built specifically for a disembodied soul to be in the driver’s seat, and he doesn’t want to risk another taking control. Also, he has more important things to do than have fistfights with ghosts.

Cleo

Is a ghost possessing her own dead corpse. Her nature allows her to see, hear and touch ghosts. Can and will fistfight spirits. She works as a teacher, so she’s usually busy, but occasionally in really nasty situations the Beetlejhost will drag her in to break a ghost’s legs. Does sculpture in her free time, and is actually really good. The only one who can wrangle Beetle to any real capacity, and she’s learned to keep him on a fairly short leash. Housemates with Joe, and Keralis also pops in pretty frequently. Has Knife Club with Bdubs. Has an enchanted flower crown that prevents her from decaying further; a gift from Beetle. Recently started learning magic in the form of necromancy and illusions. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Zloy, in which she temporarily traps his soul in random inanimate objects every now and then.

Cub

A bit of a ‘mad scientist’ archetype, Cub’s experiments are not exactly the most ethical, though they’re at least more professional than Doc’s. Responsible for the creation of Jevin. Cub gets possessed stupidly easily- sometimes willingly- and can usually handle it himself but sometimes has to call for help. Has a magical method of communication with Scar for exactly this reason. Has a day job as co-owner of a business called ConCorp, which he started with Scar. Has probably broken the Geneva Convention.

Doc

Was presumably human at one point. Now an abomination. Repeated experiments on himself have resulted in a massively changed facial and foot structure, a body covered in mottled green scales, claws, and goat horns. He lost half his face in one of his experiments, and constructed a new cybernetic one. He lost his right arm fighting God. Killed said god and would do it again. Lives in a mansion in the woods with Bdubs, though nobody’s really sure why. Owns a casino because of course he does. Also a living crime against fashion, because the man refuses to wear anything other than his tattered lab coat, torn jeans, and crocs.

Ely

Runs the local radio station. Nobody’s ever seen him in person, and nobody knows where he gets people’s voice clips for his remixes. Probably a cryptid. Maybe a ghost. Seems pretty chill, despite the blatant invasions of privacy.

Etho

Is a cryptid. Lives out in the woods in an abomination that can barely be called a house. Has never been seen in anything other than full Kakashi cosplay. Tends to keep to himself, but occasionally lets Beef drag him along to social events, often with Doc and Bdubs. Nobody really knows what his deal is. Probably not human. Probably.

False

Used to be part of an illegal underground cage fighting ring, until she earned enough to buy her way out. Having grown up in said ring, she struggles to adjust to normal life, but living in a town where the barista is a robot and the local tailor has wings makes it easier. She now has a job as security at Doc’s casino, alongside Iskall.

Grian

Is either an angel or a demigod, but nobody knows which. Has wings. Is both a tailor and an architect. A complete gremlin who has elaborate masks of various birds and will wear them to commit crimes. Eats seeds. Messes with everyone else’s plants. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats. Volunteers at the local theatre.

Hypno

Has three eyes, but hides the third one under a bandanna at all times. Can see ghosts with it. Had problems with sections of plumbing randomly getting clogged and also making very weird noises, and eventually called Team ZIT when the plumbers couldn’t find the source. Was prepared for ghosts, but wound up with a slime creature instead. Works in a $2 store for some reason.

Impulse

Is fully human. The most sensible member of Team ZIT (which admittedly isn’t saying much), Impulse has a day job as a freelancer building custom PCs and fixing broken tech. Agreed to the whole ghostbusting deal because he was bored, mostly. Was the first one to meet Skizz face-to-face, and is the one to own that particular place outright. Gets possessed every now and then, usually by larger spirits. Used to run solely on caffeine and chronic anxiety until Zedaph started getting on his case about his sleep schedule. Now he runs on less caffeine, more sleep, and the same amount of chronic anxiety.

Iskall

Was part of a cloning experiment to create the ultimate hitman, and was the only known one to both survive and escape before the whole thing was shut down by the authorities. Their eye and arm were replaced with cybernetics in order to increase their already enhanced abilities, and they were chased by said authorities, eventually winding up on Mumbo’s doorstep and becoming Mumbo’s problem. Now works as security at Doc’s casino, alongside False. Lives at Jungle Wood flats. Occasionally volunteers at the local theatre. Does bonsai as a hobby.

Jevin

Is the slime creature in the pipes. Hypno lets him live with him under the condition he stops blocking the plumbing and making weird noises at 3 AM (Jevin still blocks the plumbing and makes weird noises at 3 AM, just not as much as he was). Has taught himself to take a humanoid shape, and likes having fingers. Sleeps in the bathtub because he can. Was created from a vat of chemicals in a secret lab underneath the house, which used to be owned by Cub. Doesn’t really talk to the man in question that much, but will occasionally refer to Cub as his father for the sole reason of watching him go through eight existential crises in three minutes. Has a glock.

Joe

Head librarian at the local public library, and has read a lot of books on Supernatural Things. Is a veritable fountain of exposition if you can figure out what he’s saying or have Cleo along with you to threaten the integrity of his shins. Has never been seen in the same place as the Beetlejhost. Are they the same person? Are they entirely separate beings? Is there a Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde-type situation going on? Who knows!

Beetlejhost

Literally nobody really knows what his deal is. Nobody. Team ZIT ran into him on a call that they expected to be a false alarm and then he decided to follow them home. Spends most of his time being a minor nuisance in the most bizarre ways possible. Is implied to be responsible for the Ever Given getting lodged in the Suez Canal, but never confirmed. When he’s not bothering Team ZIT or getting them out of tight spots, he’s usually pestering Cleo, the only one who can keep him in line. It’s not really known if he and Cleo have a history or if they’re just Like That.

Keralis

Is a ghost haunting an architecture firm, and is mostly bound to the building, though he can travel to other buildings the firm has built, which is, uh, most of them. Initially only able to do small things- mostly writing notes or drawing diagrams- he eventually meets the Beetlejhost when the latter follows Mumbo to work one day for shits and giggles (he wanted to see how long he could mess with Mumbo before the man noticed. As it turned out, about a week, and by the end it was Iskall who noticed). After a couple of days in which Beetle teaches Keralis Ghost Things™, he scares half the office when he finally manifests for the first time. Has unnaturally large eyes and nicknames for most of the workers. Has no idea how he died or what his unfinished business might be. Very knowledgeable about architecture, and his input is usually very much appreciated.

Mumbo

Is a perfectly normal human being who does IT at Keralis’ architecture firm. Lives at Jungle Wood flats and spends most of his free time tinkering with tech and trying to keep Grian and Iskall out of trouble, which is a losing battle. Has a large, beating golden heart in his flat. He’s not really sure what its deal is, but if he feeds it apples it produces enough power for the entire building. Oh, and if he forgets to feed it for an extended period of time it starts draining his bank account. It’s really weird.

Pixlriffs

Was a perfectly normal human being until he died protecting a certain Russian zombie and became a perfectly normal ghost. Was a reporter in life and is a reporter in death. Runs a blog alongside Zloy about the local goings-on, supernatural or not. The blog’s the type where unless you live in/near the town you most likely won’t stumble across it, but they do have a small following of outsiders who assume the blog’s just a work of fiction. His unfinished business is to prevent Zloy from doing anything particularly stupid, a constant battle. Is able to go more places than Zloy due to being incorporeal, but respects people’s privacy. He’s bound to Zloy to a certain degree, not being able to go beyond a certain range of his friend. The range is pretty big, though, and he has plenty freedom of movement.

Python

Had a run-in with the fae as a kid, in which he accidentally pissed one off. In retribution, the faerie challenged him to answer a riddle or he’d be turned into a snake. Python’s answer was partially correct, so the faerie only transformed him partially. Python is fairly chill, though he strongly dislikes the cold and starts hissing if anyone disturbs him during Sun Time™. Sometimes Bdubs, being partially flora, joins Python for Sun Time™. He’s not venomous, because, you know...python. Also, he has a mildly disturbing habit of strangling rats and mice and then eating them whole, but he can’t help it and just tries not to do so when he has company.

Ren

Is a werewolf. He’s pretty chill regardless of form, though it’s only been recently he’s been comfortable enough leaving his ears and tail visible. He works as a lumberjack. One time Pixl introduced him to Monty Python’s Lumberjack Song and it quickly became his favourite thing. He spends most of his free time volunteering at the local theatre because Ren is absolutely a theatre kid and nobody can convince me otherwise. Gets possessed every now and then. Lives in Jungle Wood flats.

Scar

Works as a landscape developer. Gets possessed absurdly easily, though not quite as frequently as Cub. Has a magical method of communication with him. Technically co-owns ConCorp, but isn’t as involved. His cat, Jellie, is very obviously an eldritch abomination in feline form and he is comedically unaware of this. Lives in Jungle Wood Flats with Grian, Iskall, Mumbo, Stress, and Ren.

Skizz

Is the ghost haunting Team ZIT’s office. He was murdered by someone he’d thought was a friend who was trying to use his place to hide from the cops, and he’s stuck around, haunting the building. His unfinished business is to make sure nobody else uses the building for anyone shady, but the ghost rumours tended to chase most people off. Eventually he gets used to having Team ZIT around, and when Tango admits he doesn’t really have anywhere to go one day, Skizz eventually makes the decision to finally unlock the still-furnished upper floor for him. He’s bound to the building, but Impulse learns that carrying Skizz’s old vest with them allows him to leave. After that, Skizz sometimes accompanies them on missions and occasionally just hanging out. He’s usually more helpful than the Beetlejhost is.

Stress

Is a witch. Stress lives in Jungle Wood Flats and works as a doctor who specializes in supernaturally caused injuries- Team ZIT are some of her best customers. She also sells magic potions of various kinds, and has a side gig as a florist. She’s 90% of the Jungle inhabitants’ impulse control. Also has cryokinesis.

Tango

The Team ZIT member with a car. He gets possessed with frankly ridiculous frequency, but claims not to believe in ghosts for a long time (and keeps up the bit for even longer). Has developed various signals to indicate when he’s being possessed again. The strongest one, a rather nasty demon Cleo and the Beetlejhost had to team up on, left him with his glowing red eyes. He didn’t really have anywhere to go before Impulse bought the office, and tended to sleep on the couch or in his car until Skizz decided to let him into the upper floor, where he now lives alongside Zedaph and Impulse.

TFC

A now-retired ghostbuster, TFC calls in Team ZIT one night when he finds himself in over his head against a ghost with a grudge. He winds up becoming a bit of a mentor figure to the trio, usually coaching them over the phone if they��re not sure how to deal with one of the stranger spirits. Lost his leg years ago in a fight with a poltergeist that could have gone better, and now has a robotic prosthetic made by Doc.

Wels

While Team ZIT was out investigating some rumour or another in the woods, they came across a large stone box. Following video game logic, I guess, they then decided opening this large stone box sounded like a fun idea. Well, Tango and Zedaph did. Impulse was a bit more hesitant. The box actually held a medieval knight who’d been put in an enchanted sleep for centuries by his demonic doppelgänger, and was very much not prepared for modern life. Team ZIT took him to Xisuma, who happened to live closest, and Wels is currently helping out on the farm and trying to adjust to life in the 21st century. He can understand and speak modern English just fine because magic. Volunteers at the local theatre quite a lot.

Hels

Is Wels’ doppelgänger. Technically a minor demon. Won a fight with Wels and sealed him away for centuries as a result. A recurring problem. His real motivation is that he really desperately doesn’t want to go back to Hell, but he’s too proud to admit it. Lives in the woods with EX, who’s basically his only friend, though the weirdo with the brown cardigan keeps pestering him about his backstory and feelings for some reason. Has minor pyrokinesis.

Like Biffa, XB is also a ghost from the future, though it seems to be a different timeline than Biffa’s. His unfinished business is preventing the apocalypse, but he has no idea how to do that, no idea if he’s in the right timeline, and is pretty sure he’s gone back a lot farther than he probably should’ve. Also, there’s the whole paradox issue, where if he prevents the apocalypse he never has a reason to go back and prevent the apocalypse, so he doesn’t prevent the apocalypse, so he has to go back and- he tries not to think about it too much. He mostly just hangs out in an abandoned house on the edge of town and vibes.

Xisuma

Is a beekeeper. Nobody’s ever seen his face; when he’s not in his beekeeping outfit, he’s either wearing a helmet, or (more recently) an extremely lifelike and detailed animal mask (is it a mask?). Actually a shapeshifting alien, he crashed down to Earth after a scuffle with his evil clone and was stranded because Earth doesn’t have the right tools or resources to repair a spaceship. These days he’s actually found he’s happier tending to his bees, selling honey, and helping his friends out, and probably wouldn’t leave Earth even if he could. It’s a simpler life, but a pleasant one. He bonds with Biffa over a shared love of tea and being stranded in a technologically inferior world and finding a home.

Evil Xisuma

Is Xisuma’s clone. Feels that if everyone’s going to call him ‘Evil’ he may as well own it. Shot his original’s spaceship down in a scuffle but wound up being brought down with him. Currently hides in the woods. Generally more of a minor nuisance than an actual danger. Used to spend his free time bothering X but has gotten put off by Wels, who has a problem when it comes to evil clones. His friends consist of Hels, who is a terrible role model, and Zedaph, who’s trying to help him work through his problems behind everyone’s backs. Can summon lightning because he deserves it.

Zedaph

Is the reason Team ZIT is ghostbusting in the first place. He’s a sheep shearer by trade, but that’s a fairly seasonal thing and ghostbusting is more fun anyway. Has somehow never been possessed, and claims it’s because he’s always standing next to Tango. He makes sure the other two gets enough sleep Because we all know they can’t be trusted to do it. Probably has some sort of really bizarre and situational magical powers he is thoroughly unaware of. Qualified to be a licensed therapist. Made friends with Evil X at one point, somehow.

Zloy

Like Cleo, he’s a ghost possessing a corpse. Unlike Cleo, there’s a good chance it’s not his corpse. Eh, it’s not like anyone else was using it. Runs a blog with Pixl, because why not. Was already a zombie when he met Pixl, who was still alive at the time. His body is a bit more decayed than Cleo’s, but it’s fine. His goggles are enchanted with the same preservation spell; it’s not really ever explained where he got them from. Has no regard for privacy but is fortunately unable to turn invisible or phase through walls due to inhabiting a physical body. Both can theoretically physically fight ghosts and has enough time to physically fight ghosts, meaning he would be a valuable ally if he could be bothered. Lives in a graveyard. Has an ongoing ‘feud’ with Cleo, in which he puts jabs at her on the blog. Once spent a week as a (very sarcastic) floating potato.

Hermiton

Is the name of the place they all live in/near. Located in an ambiguous location in an ambiguous country, Hermiton is technically large enough to be considered a city but has Town VibesTM. Supernatural going-ons are a fairly normal part of life, and a good number of inhabitants aren’t humans. Despite this, the wider world seems mostly ignorant of the existence of ghosts, magic, etc. I’m not too sure about geography, but it’s surrounded by forest in most directions and in a warm enough climate to not have snow in the winter (so Python doesn’t, you know, freeze to death). Most people don’t tend to bat an eyelid at strange-looking people walking down the street or serving them at the store; they’re used to it by now. There are several theories as to why Hermiton specifically has so much going on when it comes to the supernatural- ley lines, secretly the resting place of some long-forgotten god, et cetera- but it’s actually more of a case of ‘people who have supernatural traits hear rumours of a place where a lot of people have supernatural traits and go there in search of answers/a place to belong’. This doesn’t exactly explain where all the ghosts came from, but hey. Nothing’s perfect.

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phckingusername · 4 years ago

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GUYS!!! HEXBUG AU

Connor and Nines are a form of robotic aliens there ship in danger and their bodies inactive, they and their crew have escaped the immediate threat but uploading themselves into what we know as hexbugs made for smaller and more efficient travel when necessary. the two brothers escape pod lands on earth on the roof of the DPD. Making their way to the main floor, they observe the planet and it's organic inhabitants. Gavin finds the little robotic on his desk while Hank is unaware of Connor for now. Gavin looks it over in his hand and puts it down on his desk where Richard/nines decides to move around in a bit of a panic. It looks random to gavin and he is entertained by the toy. He's not sure where it came from or who's it is or why it's on his desk, but he's keeping it. Maybe it's a new toy that's coming out for Christmas. Maybe he can hand it over to his brother to look at. Make sure it isn't some kind of military spy tech. Most likely he thinks he just might be out of touch. He puts it in his pocket.

In Richards view he is scared of being broken. After all this is his last link at life. His soul is stored in this small weak form if it breaks he dies. Connor is talking to him but when Gavin leaves for home they get to far and their signal Is lost.

At home gavin empties his pockets and basically forgets about Nines due to his hunger and work tired body. Gavin is in the other room watching TV while he eats when he hears the buzzing on the table. What is that? Getting up he remembers his new toy.

It's on its side wedged between his keys. Nines view he is panicking again being unable to get up and under the attention of the organic alien. He is unsure of the species temperament. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Gavin picks him up and looks for a switch. There Is none. 'dont handle me like that' Richard thinks

He puts he down and Nines stops buzzing. "What happened? Is it broken?" He taps his finger on its pointed back.

'oh ra9 it's angry now' nines thinks and he takes his chances to escape the organic alien and vibrates away from gavins hand again.

He trys to leave the table but gavin catches it before it falls. "the fuck is wrong with this thing?" He asks holding it in his open palm

The light inside turns bright red and the buzzing seems to convey a trembling. Gavin gets a silly impression that it's afraid.

"What are you?" He asks confused about the objects purpose.

He continues to shake.

When Gavin has the free time he takes it to his brother

"I've looked online and I can't find anything about it. Not sure if it's broken or something. Doesn't have a on off switch and it has different lights and shit in it. What is it?"

"I'm not sure. Where did you find it?" Eli asks casually looking it over.

"On my desk."

Nines begins to shake again and the transparent parts of his body glows red.

"See there it goes again. Is it low on battery?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Well it's not important anyway. Just thought you might know something about it. Given you're into tech and all." He takes it back and his light turns yellow.

'no disassemble.' (lol)

They hang out and Gavin eventually goes home

Nines learns not to move when the organic known as Gavin is near. But his light still turns yellow when he enters the room.

Gavin pays it very little mind. And Richard wonders how his brother is doing.

At some point Gavin notices the way it moves is like it's being controlled by someone rather than random movement and he is highly suspicious that it is a kind of spy ware.

He busts it moving around and he decides to talk to who ever is listening in. And first it doesn't move or respond in any way. But Gavin gets it to blink yes and no questions.

He grins and is satisfied with himself at having figured out a fly in the wall. He is convinced that it is being controlled by an fbi agent or something and continues to talk to it. First asking it questions but then simply talking about whatever. He knows he hears him, and the government is listening in to everyones conversation anyways, but it's kind of nice knowing someone is on the other side, even if they don't want to listen or care, it serves them right for spying on Gavin.

Meanwhile Richard listens, and listens, and responds in what ways he can asked something. Apparently Gavin is under a false impression but it still helps take the edge off. Richard learns a lot about Gavin and his own little piece of the world and his life. Organics are not so different from his own people.

(You ever read a romance story between a human and an alien Hexbug? Lol)

Is the little Hexbug getting feelings for the human? Did the drunk human forget about the little spy and please himself in bed? AtTrAcTiOn???????

Alphabets on paper. Snarky replies, "geez didn't know you were such a smart ass." Ask for help. "I'm not gullible." Reluctant Acceptance, realization.

Connor is chilling under a ded bonsai he is more than concerned about his brother. He is back in range and is infact coming right towards him. Gavin snatches Connor from the desk but Hank is pissy about Gavin taking something from his desk. Eventually Gavin convinces Hank he didn't take anything.

Goes to his brother Eli where he is laughing at Gavins little joke. With both Connor and Richard together they manage to link their internal thought into glitchy text on one of eli's computer screens.

With this they manage to convince Eli and give him the information to the means of helping them and their ship. While Eli is working on that Gavin can actually have conversations with the thing now. Learns it's name is Richard and all about his sarcastic sassy, snarky, smart ass, genuine, gentle personality. He gets along with his new little robo friend.

It takes a little over a year for their ship to get to earth.

When they step inside everyone is on the floor with their chassis exposed. They look odd and dead. Gavin is and isn't surprised by this. Which one is Richard?

It takes even longer to figure out what happened to them. And longer still to fix them. But Connor and Richard help Eli understand and fix the problems they physically can't.

But one day it happens. One day Gavin wakes up and the Hexbug is not glowing at all. He's not sleeping, if he were the light would be a dim throbbing (oof maybe not that word. Slowly going on to off to on again) white. But the light is just off and Gavin is afraid he's ded. He runs to find his brother when he bumps into a broad chest.

He thinks it's a human man trespassing in his brother's home, but Richard clears up Gavins confusion.

"But you didn't look like this on the ship."

"Our synthetic skin was deactivated along with everything else. We, do not like to be seen that way."

AtTrAcTiOn!!!!! "This is your body?"

"Yes."

Lol gavin has the hots for a robo man who used to be a Hexbug. And the robo man has the hots for the organic bag of meat flesh. The feck is this story.

Its time for the brothers to collect the rest of their people across the cosmos. You know what that means!!! Ask the two organics to go with them!!!!!! And they both say yes! Out in space Gavin stands in awe at the view and he's flustered about his feelings for the former Hexbug. Richard is not so stand off ish. He's a lot more bold with his approach. "I can read you vitals and I've come to understand them." Mentions the time Gavin gave himself some loving and how richard uses that for reference for when Gavin is aroused. Along with other regular moments he used as a base line.

Guess who ends up naked in the same room? Lol. Gavin is surprised at the display

"I told you before, we are not so different from each other. Perhaps we share our point of origin."

"You don't know?"

"Do you truly know your beginning?"

(~Let's get physical, physical. Come let's get physical~)lol I can't even

Hey yo explore space get the peeps back and safe and the. Decide to return to earth.

"My brother and I would like to explore your planet. It is new and awful. I can not stop thinking about the place you call home."

"Do you want to be a part of it?"

THE FUCK IS THIS STORY. I FUCKING CAN'T. OH MY GOD. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. HOLYSHIT.

#dbh #detroit become human #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh richard #dbh nines #my writing #reed900 #rk800 #dbh connor #rk brothers #hexbug au #dbh elijah #elijah kamski

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sooesthetic · 6 years ago

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Flour and Flowers

“Would anyone care to explain why we have a flower infestation?”

Pairing: Baker! Taehyung x Florist! Reader

Genre: Flower Shop! AU, Bakery! AU, Fluff (like a gross amount)

Word Count: 1.4k

Synopsis: Taehyung’s allergic to flowers, but he doesn’t know how else to talk to the cute florist. Luckily for him, you don’t mind the baker boy who comes in every week (the free pastries might or might not be a bonus).

A/N: Hello my loves! i’ve missed y’all so much but i hope this little drabble tides you over until i can start getting back into the groove of things! enjoy!

“Is anyone going to explain why the bakery is being overrun by flowers?” Jimin drawls, strolling into the kitchen with one hand gesturing towards the front of the bakery.

“They were on sale...?” Taehyung means the statement to come out confident but the slight lilt in his tone makes it sound more like a question.

“Translation: he’s pining for the new florist across the street,” Jungkook supplies from where he was currently piping frosting on cupcakes. “He’s been taking over treats to her for the past week with the excuse of buying flowers.”

Jimin blinks and after a moment of silence, he says, “Why don’t you just ask her out, like a normal person, instead of letting this flower infestation happen?”

“Because she’s extremely cute, and I have a habit of making a fool of myself in front of cute girls.” Taehyung sighs, moving to begin sliding the baking sheet of cookies into the oven. “Besides, I don’t even know if she likes me like that. Maybe she’s just too nice to turn me down.”

The bell chimes as Taehyung pushes open the door to the flower shop, signaling his arrival. Hoseok’s at the front this time, wearing the standard pink apron with a sunflower and his name stitched in the corner. His eyes raise from where he’s finishing up with a customer, a smile growing bigger and lighting up his face as he spots Taehyung.

“Hi hyung,” Taehyung greets, stepping forward after Hoseok wishes the customer a good day and starts putting away the bills. He’s nervous, fingers tapping against the bag by his side as his free hand lifts up in an easy wave.

“Hey Tae,” Hoseok nods, hands slotting themselves into the apron’s pockets. “She shouldn’t be too long. She’s just doing inventory with Namjoon in the back, but you can head over if you don’t want to wait.”

Taehyung shakes his head, raising his hands “No, it’s okay! I can wait-!”

“If it isn’t lover boy,” A lazy voice drawls, and soon enough, Taehyung sees Yoongi walk into view. It looks like he’s just gotten off his break, eyes droopy like he just took a nap and was trying to walk off the drowsiness. “Are you here to see Y/N again?”

“Is it really that obvious?” Taehyung replies with a blush, fingers threading itself through the back of his hair nervously.

Yoongi raises a brow and gives him a look as if to say are you actually asking me that question? Hoseok laughs from where he’s standing next to Yoongi, “Don’t worry, Tae, we’re all rooting for you.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Taehyung replies, muscles relaxing a little before they stiffen once again when your voice drifts towards them.

“Yeah, I’ve just got this new bonsai tree, and it’s been growing really well! Granted, it’s only been a few weeks, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of growing things.” Taehyung hears Namjoon exclaim as two pairs of footsteps come nearer.

“That’s good, Joon! I told you that you could do it! Just have faith,” You laugh in reply, rounding the corner. Taehyung swears he sees your face light up, but it might just be his lovestruck daze.

“Either you’re a flower hoarder, or you don’t have a green thumb,” You say as you round the corner, a smirk curving on your lips as you spot the sheepish boy. There are several orders of bouquets in your arms, which you set down delicately on the counter. Immediately, Hoseok helps you begin tying ribbons around each of the bundles. Yoongi watches the interaction between the two of you for a moment, a knowing glint in his eyes as he murmurs a good-bye and passes by you.

For a minute, Taehyung is awe-struck by your beauty. Because you’re pretty, like extremely pretty. It’s like the time apart does little to prepare him to see you again, but he swears every time he sees you, he’s speechless again. Taehyung rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head a little to right his thoughts. A shy smile curves on his lips as he shrugs, voice soft as he speaks, “What if I just really like flowers… and the florist who arranges them…?”

You cough, fighting the blush that spreads across your cheeks. You turn slightly to avoid his gaze and pluck the finished bouquet of tulips for him, handing them to him. The tips of your ears turn red though, making Taehyung’s heart flutter slightly at the sight to know that his words had affected you. Hoseok gives both of you a knowing look before excusing himself, which falls on deaf ears as you’re both too busy looking at each other.

“Yeah, whatever. I guess I don’t mind seeing you too… uh, especially when you always bring pastries....?” Your gaze lifts slightly, anticipation brewing in them, but you act as if you’re not salivating at the thought of a new pastry.

Taehyung laughs before setting a small paper bag with the logo of his bakery emblazoned on the front in front of you, trading you for the tulips. “Of course, it’s a chocolate croissant today. Seokjin-hyung’s been trying out different fillings. I was in charge of the chocolate ones, so I figured they would be the safest bet.”

“Well, I’m sure this one will taste just as good as the others. Thank you, Tae,” You wink, plucking the paper bag from the counter and turning on your heel with a wave of your hand over your shoulder.

Good thing you miss the blush that dusts the apples of Taehyung’s cheeks as he turns to exit the store, his bouquet of tulips forgotten on the counter.

“You’re an idiot,” Jimin states bluntly, ignoring Taehyung’s wince as the younger boy moves to continue mixing the cookie dough. “You forgot the tulips?”

“In my defense, she’s never called me Tae before!” The younger replies, pouting a little. “I was a little caught off guard.”

“Honestly, hyung,” Jungkook shrugs. “At this rate, you’re practically funding the flower shop.”

“You know, if you don’t ask her, I’ll just go over there myself and tell her about your little crush-!” Jimin says, beginning to turn on his heel before a loud clatter sounds from Taehyung’s station.

Taehyung whips around, brandishing his mixing spoon like a weapon. The batter is threatening to drip off the end of the spoon. “Don’t you dare Park Jimin, or I swear on Jungkook’s life that you won’t see the light of day.”

“Hey!” Jungkook says, brows furrowed from where he’s perched on a stool sipping his banana milk.

Jimin raises both hands in a form of surrender, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Please, like that’s going to actually stop me.” A noise of protest sounds from Jungkook, but Jimin ignores it to continue, “But I’m not going to watch you sit here and pine over her, especially when your problem is so easily solved. I’ll be in the front.”

“Aren’t you allergic to flowers?” Seokjin says, wiping his flour-covered hands on a rag as he leans against the doorway separating the front from the kitchen.

Taehyung blushes, directing his gaze elsewhere, hands moving to slide the trays into the display cabinets. “N-No?”

“So, it wasn’t you who’s been sneezing for the past forty minutes since your shift began?” Seokjin points out with a raise of his brow. “Taehyung, don’t tell me… is this about your crush on Y/N?”

The door opens just then, and Taehyung thanks whoever is up there for looking out for him and avoiding the topic all together. Except, when Taehyung turns his gaze to the customer that just entered the bakery, it’s, well, you.

The apron that usually adorns your figure is gone as well, and your hair isn’t pulled up into its usual ponytail. Instead, it’s down in loose waves that frame your face. Taehyung’s breath hitches in his throat, and he barely hears Seokjin greet you until you’re replying back with your own greeting.

“Hey,” You say, eyes roaming his face which briefly flicker to his lips before meeting his gaze again. He snaps out of his daze when you give him a little wave, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Hi,” Taehyung replies, clearing his throat, “Here for another one of my chocolate croissants?”

You tilt your head to the side, a smirk playing on the corner of your lips. “Mmm, sure. But… does that include a date with you?”

#taehyung scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung au #bts au #bts fanfic #kim taehyung scenario #kim taehyung fanfic #writings #baker! au #baker! taehyung

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futuremrsjervistetch106 · 7 years ago

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Jervis Tetch Diaries

( Hi guys, this is something a little bit different, I've decided to post some of the chapters of my Jervis Tetch fan fiction based on my version of the sweet little cinnamon roll in a AU universe roleplay I write in, I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think 😊 )

Jervis Tetch Diary 1

RIP Mum and Dad...

The summer of somewhere in the 1980's, thats when it happened...that was the day when I was born in the heat of the Indian sun. My parents were not Indian but British/ American. My mother, born and raised in the old money roots of London while my father was new money. From that oh so delightful city of Gotham which was soon to be my home...and my prison. My parents were in India for specific purposes, they were both scientists of the highest order. recommended and noticed by their genius and intellect when it comes to technology and physics along with key elements of biology and chemistry. But their intellect could not compare to how loving and kind hearted they were when I was in their company. Oh how gentle and sweet they were to me, loving me 24/7 making me warm and happy and it wasn't the sun making me warm most of the time . Ah yes, I had such a cherished life in India, seven birthdays and seven wonderful Christmases with my parents in our little home and I distinctly remember the giant bonsai tree on the side of our garden where the tropical birds sang and the lizards performed their mating call. My fondest memories of my childhood was sitting in that tree reading the book which would later leave a mark on me for all eternity in a good form and in a bad form...and that book...was Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. My mother gave it to me as a gift for my sixth birthday and the memories I had with that book I shall never forget. I felt like I was owning the keys for my imagination to be set free into the world which was full of darkness and despair from the grime and sort of criminals, gangsters and the corrupted people in society...just thinking about it makes me laugh at the irony of it all. But back to the point, seven years of wonderful memories...and now your probably wondering, Jervis, why did you only spend seven years with these happy memories and ever so loving parents...well my dear sweet reader of my diary I shall tell you. It's because on the winter when I was seven years old...my parents had been burnt.

Yes you heard me right my parents were burnt to their deaths...and the memory still scars me after twenty years and it was the day that would haunt my dreams...forever. It all started on that very day in winter when I was about to go to bed. But before I did I went to to wish my parents good night. So I went down to my parents lab, which was filled with the most adorable little animals which were used for humane experiments and we make sure that they are properly taken care of and not given any toxic chemicals. Like my dear father used to say....'I would never dare hurt an animal, not even a fly, as it is simply cruel I tell you, for you see Jervis my boy, animals are part of our education, without them we would never of gotten mythical creatures like the unicorn or the mermaid', my father always was a wise man. Anyway they were about to shut down the lab before I came in extremely tired and hugging my prized bunny toy which I have had since the day I was born and I still keep it to this very day. My father, Charles Alister Tetch was not only smart but a gentle soul and showed only but kindness to his family and friends along with my dear sweet mother Louise Tetch...they were completely innocent people I tell you...innocent. That night they gently hugged me and gave me sweet kisses upon my face with tender loving care and passionate affection that every parent should have for their child especially at a young age. I adored my life that I was given and I could not be more grateful that God had given me to such smart kind hearted parents...they would be ashamed of me now if they saw me today and what I had become. After hugs and kisses they tucked me into bed and wished me good night as well and blessed me with sweet dreams of Wonderland. However me being a cheeky and mischievous lad I decided to sneak out of bed and climb onto the bonsai tree to read chapter 7 of Alice in Wonderland. That infamous scene with The Mad Hatter's tea party...that scene would doom me for the rest of my wretched life...but nothing could compare to what was about to happen next. When reading my prized book I thought I heard a noise like glass hitting the ground, I got off the tree to check for the noise incase one of the lab animals was injured or had gotten out of its cage and started knocking over test tubes...if only it had been test tubes knocking over.

But when I entered my little home in the warmth of India,...it was about to become hellishly hot as the entire lab...had been set on fire with a nightmare of a blaze but what shocked me even more was what I saw on the ground. There...lying on the cold chemically stained floor...was my mother and father...with a bullet in their heads. As a child it was the most horrifying sight, the sort of sight which shall mentally scar for all eternity..like it did for young Bruce Wayne who has been hiding ever in his mansion in Gotham City. But there they were...dead, not moving...gone..and I was not with them...I ran out the room just before the massive explosion occurred...and I laid there on the grass and snow...a little boy watching his happiness crumble down before him...They took me back to Gotham in an open eyed coma like state with emptiness and darkness within my once crystal blue eyes...I had nobody left...except for one. The family lawyer Carlos Radcliffe was my only hope at this point as the court were tempted to send me to Arkham Asylum believing I was the culprit but luckily my lawyer defended my case while I was traumatised and I was to be put into the care of St Petersworth's boarding school for boys where I was to be educated to be the most sophisticated young gentleman in Gotham and to rival that of Bruce Wayne and Oswald Cobblepot at the same time...Three of the most wealthiest families now in the same city, three heirs of their fortune and I had no idea what to do with my newly earned fortunes at the time so I kept it safe in my account and made sure no one will ever touch it as it was safe and sound within the family bank, no greedy swine would remove it from my fundings. But money didn't matter...my parents were gone and I felt so alone during the rest of my years within the walls of St Petersworth's...I will explain my time in there in a moment my dear friends do not worry about that. But I felt miserable on this world, I had no friends my age that I could turn to for support as I was a freak to them, a weirdo, a lunatic of society to all of them....mad as a hatter to everyone in Gotham.

#jervis tetch #fanfiction #Alternative Universe #Roleplay Inspired

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tkpro-scenarios · 7 years ago

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[Christmas/Holiday] may i request a scenario with mamoru/sora with an s/o that has never really cared about christmas or whatsoever so its actually their first time celebrating together?

Decided to use the Tsukino Kindergarten!AU for Sora’s scenario. Hope you like it~!

- Mod nana

Fujimura Mamoru

Brown eyes blinked in disbelief. “Eh? You’ve nevercelebrated Christmas?!”

“My parents aren’t really the party type and we never reallycared much about celebrations or holidays at my house so yeah…I’ve never reallycelebrated Christmas.” You explained, fidgeting as you felt your face warm upat his expression. It wasn’t something you thought was a big deal but the wayMamoru reacted to it made you feel like the odd one out.

“Hehhh…” he breathed, leaning back in his seat. The messy-hairedcomposer cupped his hand around his chin, glancing down in thought. “Iknew this was our first Christmas together but I didn’t think it’d be yourfirst Christmas ever…” he muttered, the gears in his mind turning.

The rest of the Growth boys headed home for the holidays andwouldn’t be back until New Year’s so you were left dog-sitting …babysitting…keepingMamoru company during the holiday season.

“M-Mamoru, it’s really not a big deal so—” you began when heslammed his hands on the table, rising from his seat.

“I’ve got it‼ If you don’t know how to celebrate Christmas,then I’ll just teach you! Leave it to me, [Name]!” He jogged around the tableto your seat, seizing your wrist to pull you along.

“Mamoru, where are we going?”

—

“Celebrating Christmas with [Name], part one!” The burgundy-haired idol cleared his throat before presenting a box. “Decoratingthe Tree!”

Mamoru opened the box, revealing a bunch of lights, tinsel, streamers,colored paper and some ornaments. “They’re leftovers from when we decorated thetree back at the dorms but since it’s just the two of us, I think this’ll bemore than enough!” he said with an energetic nod.

“I see…and what’s that then?” Brown eyes followed your gazeto a pachira plant sitting by the window.

“I-I couldn’t find a Christmas tree so I figured we coulddecorate the pachira instead…” Mamoru explained, looking away in shame as heheld out a tiny pot while you covered your mouth to muffle your laughter. “Itwas either the pachira or this bonsai tree so…”

—

“Celebrating Christmas with [Name], part two!” Mamoruexclaimed, placing his hands on his hips while you gasped in awe. “ChristmasIlluminations‼”

“Wow~!” you breathed, [e/c] hues sparkling at the sight whilethe idol grinned proudly. You jogged forward to take a better look at theglittering lights. “I’ve always seen them on my way to and back from work butit’s my first time looking at them so close up! They’re so pretty‼” you turnedon your heel to smile at the Growth composer. “Thank you so much for bringingme here, Mamoru!”

“I’m glad you like it!! It’s close to our recording studio so I actually came herebefore with Kou-kun and the others but it’s still so pretty no matter how manytimes you see it, huh?” Mamoru marveled at the changing designs as he made hisway towards you.

“Oh Mamoru, be careful! That spot’s a little slippery—”

“Waahhhh‼” he screamed, losing his footing as he slidstraight towards you, both of you crashing to the ground.

—

“Celebrating Christmas with [Name]…part three…” the youngman pat his back as he tried to stand straight. “Christmas Dinner‼”

[E/c] orbs blinked at the sign, tilting your head. “Here?Isn’t Christmas dinner usually a homemade meal?”

“Well neither of us can cook so this is the next best thing…”Mamoru replied with a sheepish grin, shaking his head as he led you into thefast food restaurant. “Chicken is a must when celebrating Christmas‼”

—

The two of you walked hand-in-hand, watching the crowds passby as you made your way home. “Ah, come to think of it…[Name] do you know anyChristmas Carols?” Mamoru asked, looking to you. “Celebrating Christmas with[Name], part four. Christmas Carols‼”

“Are you going to announce everything we’re gonna do…?” youasked with a wry smile, looking up in thought as you tapped your chin with yourfinger. “Hmm…Christmas Carols as in songs like ‘Jingle Bells’ and stuff?” youasked to which he nodded.

You hummed in thought again, taking a breath. “Jingle bells,jingle bells, jingle all the way~! I wanna enter the monitor~…?” you sang,looking up at the idol for confirmation.

“E-Ehh?! So you only know Kakeru-kun’s version?” Mamoruasked with an awkward chuckle to which you laughed as well.

“I’m kidding.” You giggled. “It’s actually ‘Oh how fun it isto ride in a one-horse open sleigh, hey!’ right?” you asked, earning asurprised look from the idol/composer who laughed once more.

“You actually had me going there for a minute!” Mamoruchuckled when something cold landed on his nose. Brown eyes opened to blink atthe snowflake melting before they looked up at the night sky. “Waah, it’ssnowing~!” Mamoru gasped in awe at the gracefully falling snow.

“[Name], we’re so lucky! It’s a White Christmas~!” He lookedfrom you to the snowfall and back again, hopping on his toes at the serendipitousevent. “Celebrating Christmas with [Name], part five! White Christmas~!” Mamorulaughed, pausing once he felt your grip tighten.

“N-Next year…” you began, taking a deep breath before youlooked up at the messy-haired idol—eyes sparkling as bright as the illuminationsyou saw earlier in the day. “I had so much today and it’s all thanks to you!Th-That’s why…n-next year too! W-will you celebrate Christmas with me next yeartoo, Mamoru?”

Brown hues blinked at you for a moment, expression turninggentle as he squeezed your hand back with a nod.

“Of course. It’s a promise, [Name].”

Ohara Sora

His ears twitched, brown eyes looking back to see youtalking to the messy-haired teacher.

“Ehh? [Name]-chan, you’ve never celebrated Christmas?”Mamoru asked to which you nodded, frowning at the blank piece of paper in frontof you. Your assignment for the day was to draw something related to Christmas.All the other kids already finished their drawings and went to play, leavingyou by your lonesome since you had no idea what to draw.

“[Name]-chan, you don’t know about Christmas?!” Both of youlooked up to find the redhead stumble to stand up straight, leaving hisbuilding blocks aside to walk over to you as fast as his tiny legs could carryhim.

“Sora-kun, do you want to help [Name]-chan with her work?”the burgundy-haired man suggested with a clap of his hands. “I’ll give you tillthe end of the day to submit it so [Name]-chan, learn as much about Christmasas you can from Sora-kun, okay? Sora-kun, I’m leaving it to you!” Giving you botha pat on the head, Mamoru took his leave to tend to the other children.

“…Are you sure this is a good idea?” Soshi asked, prying anoverly energetic Nozomu off his shoulders before he pulled all his hair off.

“Apparently [Name]-chan’s family doesn’t really care aboutor celebrate Christmas but if it’s Sora-kun, I’m sure he’ll be able to show herhow fun a holiday it is.” Mamoru reassured just as Kensuke ran up to him,tugging at his apron.

Dark brown eyes looked over to the two of you with a low hum,setting Nozomu down. “Don’t you think they’re a little too young for you to beplaying Cupid?”

“Haha, have I been found out?” the messy-haired young manchuckled, following after the blue-haired boy who tugged him along. “He’s hadthe biggest crush on her for a while now so I’m just trying to give him achance to shine.”

—

“[Name]-chan, you really don’t know anything aboutChristmas?” Sora asked again, brown eyes staring at you.

You shook your head, fiddling with the crayon in your hands.“I’ve seen it on TV but…Mommy and Daddy are always busy working so there’snobody around to celebrate it with…”

The red-haired child blinked at you, humming in thought.

“Then!” he took your hand, lifting you up to your feet. “I’lljust teach you! Christmas is a really fun day, you know!” Sora grinned, takingyou towards the Christmas tree.

—

“Kou-kun! Kou-kun‼ Are you guys done with the tree?”

Blue eyes made their way to the owner of the voice, watchingSora wave his hand as he sauntered over with you in tow. The blond shook hishead, holding up an orb. “Not yet.”

“Wow~!” you gasped, looking up at the beautifully decoratedtree. “A real life Christmas tree‼”

Sapphire hues glanced at Sora, raising an eyebrow to whichthe energetic youth whispered in his ear. The two boys looked at each other, theblond nodding before he tapped your shoulder.

“Do you want to help?” Koki asked, handing you an orb.

“C-Can I?” [E/c] hues sparkled at the decoration in hishands, Koki nodding as he gave it to you. “Wh-What do I do?”

“Just hang it on a branch.” He explained, pointing to thetree and then at a pair of white-haired boys rummaging through a box. “You can askRyo and Ren for more. I’ll go get a teacher to put the star up.”

—

You cautiously held onto the orb and carefully slipped itonto the tree. Sighing in relief once you saw it was hanging safely, youoffered a sheepish smile to Mori who replied with a friendly smile of his own.You looked around for the redhead, eyes nearly popping out of their socketswhen you saw him climbing onto a shelf.

“Sora, what are you doing?!” Morihito exclaimed, both of yourushing to the bookshelf.

“We don’t have to wait for the teachers—I can put the staron the top by myself!” Sora explained, walking along the length of the shelfbefore hopping onto the Christmas tree.

“Be careful‼” you yelped, looking around for some way to gethim down.

“I’m fine!” he reassured, his tiny hands reaching out for abranch. “I’m almost—U-Uwaahh‼”

“Sora!”

You covered your eyes as the tree swayed under his weight,about to fall down.

“What are you brats doing?!” You peeked through the gapsbetween your fingers in time to see Soshi support the tree on his back, pullingSora off.

—

“Sora-kun, are you okay?” you asked, sitting next to him.

“I-I’m fine…Sou-sensei was just being a bully!” He sniffledup the snot trailing down his nose, wiping his tears on his sleeve as herecalled the thorough scolding he received from the dark-haired male. “Moreimportantly [Name]-chan, this is the second most important part of Christmas!”

Sora presented the plate of snacks in front of you two. “Cookiesand milk! You can’t have Christmas without Christmas cookies and milk!” Hestated, shoving some cookies into his mouth before chugging down a glass ofmilk. “Santa eats them too so you know they’re good for you!”

“M-Milk…” you muttered, staring at the drink in your hands.

“That’s not good, [Name]-chan!” you flinched at his sudden risein volume, looking up to find Sora wearing a serious expression. “You won’tgrow up big and strong without drinking milk and eating a lot!” He chided,eating another handful of cookies. “See? I’m gonna eat tons and grow up to betaller and stronger than Sou-sensei‼ I’ll even grow taller than a Christmastree‼”

You blinked at the youth then at the glass of milk, squeezingyour eyes shut as you downed the drink.

“That’s the way‼” Sora cheered.

—

“Ooh~?” Brown eyes observed the drawing in his hands,smiling down at your fidgeting figure. “So this is how you celebrated Christmastoday?” Mamoru asked, chuckling at the drawing of you, Morihito, Ryota, Ren andKoki standing at the foot of a Christmas tree, looking up at Sora standingproudly at the top next to the star—a few doodles of cookies and a glass ofmilk scattered across the page.

“Sounds like you two had quite the adventure!” he laughed,ruffling your hair. “Good for you, [Name]-chan~!”

You giggled at his action, [e/c] hues opening inremembrance. “Mamoru-sensei, can I ask you something?” you looked up at themessy-haired male who blinked. “Sora-kun said that cookies and milk was thesecond most important part of Christmas…so what’s the first?”

“Ah, I guess that’ll have to be presents.” He replied. “Youknow, Christmas presents. Santa flies all over the world on his reindeer,delivering presents to all the good kids!” He made a gliding action with hisarm. “Family and friends give each other presents too.”

You hummed in understanding, glancing over to the red-hairedyouth fighting with Nozomu over the last of the building blocks.

“Ah, I know! [Name]-chan, why don’t you give this to Sora-kunas a Christmas present? I’m sure he’d be delighted to see what you drew.”Mamoru suggested, handing back your drawing.

You took the paper into your hands, giving a shy nod as youexcused yourself to head over to the two boys.

—

“No-zo-muuu‼ You already played with them before, didn’tyou?! Gimme‼” Sora grunted, pulling at the blocks when his hands slipped and helost his balance, falling onto his back.

“Sora-kun!” he sat up at your voice, blinking as you joggedup to him.

“Sora-kun! I…that is…” you presented the paper. “Th-this isfor you! A Christmas present…a-as thanks for helping me out today…”

He released a breath of wonder at the drawing, pointing atthe top of the Christmas tree and then at himself. “Is this me?!”

“Woah‼ No fair‼ [Name]-chan, draw me too‼” Nozomu insisted,reaching for the paper only to have Sora push him away and hold it above boththeir heads.

“S-Sora-kun…will you spend next Christmas with me too? Andthe Christmas after that? And the one after that?” you asked, [e/c] huessparkling with admiration. “Today was so much fun so I want to keep celebratingChristmas with Sora-kun‼”

The red-haired youth felt his face flush at your smile,grinning at you with a fervent nod.

“Sure! I’d love to, [Name]-chan‼”

#TsukiPro #tsukipro imagines #ALIVE #Growth #SOARA #Fujimura Mamoru #Ohara Sora #holiday special #Christmas #scenarios

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modernart2012 · 7 years ago

Text

You remind me of (Home)

@sumigakure Halloween Event 2017

Prompt 5: Urban Fantasy (Modern Magical Characters)

Word count: 17718

On AO3

Summary: “Dammit Hashirama, I swear on the Fire God’s eternal flame that if you’ve pissed off your house again, I’m going to let it kill you with absolutely zero regrets.” Madara growls into the receiver of the phone, head still achy and throbbing from having to coax his aunt’s house all yesterday in order to let the masons come and fix the exterior without It trying to cause accidents. It’s too fucking early to deal with Hashirama’s drama queen of a house. Of fucking course his nearest and dearest would have houses that were persnickety and have difficult personalities that necessitated regular placation.

MadaTobi AU where Madara has (slight) House magic, among other magic Or, I thought about Madara being able to speak to houses, then the Sumigakure prompt for Modern Magical Characters happened. I regret nothing.)

They say the reason the Uchiha are good at fire magic is because they can trace their lineage back to the first devotees of the Fire God and for their devotion they were Blessed. As far as everyone else was concerned, this was close enough to the truth as to make no difference, so there was never really any point in trying to tell anyone otherwise.

They also said, in quieter whispers, that there was no better homemaker than an Uchiha, that their homes were always warm, welcoming, and well-appointed and always had that little touch of magic that made a house a home. The sort of thing featured in magazines and were the envy of every housewife. Only, that warmth failed to extend to strangers. (Which considering, meant vast majority of the population, it was a wonder this was even a believable rumor, especially given the rather famed Uchiha reserve and their subsequent issue with making friends.) Everyone speculated as to why, but no one ever came within a stone’s throw of the truth.

Madara suspected that most Uchiha didn’t know either, since the Blessing wasn’t particularly noticeable from any other talent (unless you really were looking) and even then it could have been passed off as a learned skill. By virtue of having a younger sibling who could not recognize a bad idea if they tried, for the Fire God’s sake Izuna, Madara knew why. Hearth and home, intrinsically linked, so mote it be from now into the ever after.

Of course, there was a range of what constituted homemaker magic. Izuna was exceptionally talented with needlework and knitting, Cousin Mikoto had an affinity for appliances and gadgets and fixing them, and Cousin Kagami could work a kitchen without looking. All perfectly normal Blessings (for a given value of Blessings being normal). Madara, on the other hand, he got to talk to buildings. Unusual, and not that Madara was complaining (because he knows what happened to the last guy who complained about a Blessing), but why couldn’t he have gotten something like baking? He could handle being roped into baking things for everyone he knew and their friend circles besides. Being their on-call house doctor/ house-sitter/ human-building conflict mediator was a whole separate issue.

“Dammit Hashirama, I swear on the Fire God’s eternal flame that if you’ve pissed off your house again, I’m going to let it kill you with absolutely zero regrets.” Madara growls into the receiver of the phone, head still achy and throbbing from having to coax his aunt’s house all yesterday in order to let the masons come and fix the exterior without It trying to cause accidents. It’s too fucking early to deal with Hashirama’s drama queen of a house. Of fucking course his nearest and dearest would have houses that were persnickety and have difficult personalities that necessitated regular placation.

Hashirama laughs awkwardly on the other end of the line, “Actually.....”

Madara pinches the bridge of his nose, “Fires above, why am I even friends with you, you damn dryad-descended bastard?”

“Because I wouldn’t leave you alone on the playground and I grew on you like a fungus,” Hashirama recited the well-worn response without a hint of shame. “But actually, I don’t need you to talk to Konoha. They’re doing fine since we left the little fox in the garden alone.” Madara thought about the massive “bonsai garden” Hashirama nurtured and the equally massive “little” fox that lived there and decided it was exactly not-his-business enough to have to think about.

“Then what.” Hashirama had 30 seconds on the clock starting now, or Madara would hang up and go back to sleep. If it had anything to do with his best friend’s wife, he was going to punch Hashirama in the face. He was not going to play couples counselor before he had at least 3 cups of coffee today. Or before noon. He glances at the clock, squinting at the brightness of the digital display. Make that 4 cups of coffee and one of those weird energy pills.

“Ineedyoutohousesit.” Hashirama blurts, as if sensing he was on thin ice.

Madara lets the line fall silent because that was a single text message at best, and failed to warrant a call in any way, shape, or form. His gut told him there was something more to that, and the guilt would hit in, oh, about 15 more seconds - “AndTobiramawillbethere.” It comes out in a barely understandable rush.

And there it was. Fire God’s blessed ashes, Hashirama would expect him to house sit with his younger brother. Obstinate wood-brained optimist that he was, he might even expect them to not absolutely destroy his house. “Details. Now.” Madara mentally adds another cup of coffee to his total for being functional today; Hashirama usually had this effect.

“Uh, Tobirama had a small accident at his lab, and his apartment doesn’t have an elevator. So, he’s going to be staying here too?” Hashirama mutters sotto voce as if that would really obscure what he said. “Really, he’ll be no trouble.”

There’s a lie if Madara ever heard one; the Senju brothers were all trouble. He sighs heavily, “I’ll be there.” Then he hangs up, stares at the ceiling and contemplates his life choices.

Normally, Madara’s fire magic would repel plants and woody things because fire, but stuff tended to become imbued with magic over time, and then subsequently tended to echo the sentiments of the person who they were closest to. Which stood to explain why Madara was fighting Hashirama’s over-large blackberry bush instead of entering the house like a perfectly normal visitor.

“You know, they wouldn’t do this if you’d just say ‘hello’ like a normal human.” Madara knows that voice and that voice is unbearably smug.

He ceases struggling against the woody shrub momentarily in order to shoot back, “No, they wouldn’t do this if they were cared for by anyone sane, unlike your brother.” He felt a piece of shrubbery wrap closer, “Shit, watch the thorns! Your plants don’t do this, ever.”

By the time the bush had Madara completely trussed up like a roast pig in some kind of macabre hug, he’s more than ready to face Hashirama and Konoha’s wrath over setting fire to a bush. Tobirama huffs amused from the porch swing he's perched on, “That’s because I take more after my water-natured mother than my earth-natured father, and you and I both know it.” Still, he reaches out to tap the bush, and Madara feels the brush of still-quiet-current-cool that marked Tobirama’s magic. The bush slowly unwraps Madara until he is finally free of it’s clinging branches, dragging out the time it has him in its clutches, but by that time Tobirama had gotten himself indoors and there were no other potential witnesses.

“Hi to you Finn, please don’t do that again,” Madara murmurs as he lets a small touch of sun-warm trickle into the plant. It sends back a warm-sun-happy-yum. Then he finishes making his way up the path to the porch steps, and patting the rail to send a fond, greetings-hello-once-more into the foundations of Konoha, brushing against the ancient wards inscribed there. With houses this old, ones that had developed their own personality, it was better to be formal. Homes talked after all.

Konoha, for all their age, was still young and mischievous in temperament, and washed against his fire with green-wood-salt-water-come-in. Younger buildings, once they knew he could understand them, were prone to overwhelming with imagery and sensation, tugging and yanking on his magic as though they might be able to siphon enough to become sentient and rattle their thoughts to the world, spilling over the minutiae of what they saw and heard. It was something to be appreciated about grand old homes, really, even though Konoha had left the edges of his fires smoking with their wet wood impression. Even after all this time, he wasn’t sure if it was their way to describe Hashirama and Mito or their way of messing with him.

Mito is waiting for him in the foyer, a nine-tailed fox perched on her shoulder. “Well met Madara,” she greets as she flicks salt water from a mirrored bowl over him.

“Well met, Mito,” he responds by rote, letting her douse him with more water than strictly necessary by ritual. Much like her home, Mito has a mischievous streak hidden behind a veneer of decorum and stateliness, which she exercises healthily on the unsuspecting regularly. “Are you and Hashirama ready to leave?”

Mito sighs, ignoring the growling and hissing fox on her shoulder, “He’s farewelling the garden. Stars leading home only know how long it will take to finish. Feel free to set up your flame in the shrine.”

Madara sighs as well, feeling the throbbing behind his eyes that signaled an oncoming headache. Hashirama’s garden was less a garden and more a forest. “I’ll go drag Hashi out first.”

Mito smiles serenely; they both knew that she could very well go and drag her erstwhile husband from his plants, and would, but the plants were always more interested in pleasing Madara-burn-underbrush-gone than Mito-salt-water-death. “I’ll finish packing then.” The fox turns to keep an eye on Madara as Mito walks away, tails lashing all the while, and it’s not until Madara is leaving out the back door does he realize that it’s probably the same fox that Hashirama was complaining about upsetting one of his redwoods. He firmly tells himself he doesn’t want to know, because that is most certainly not leaving the fox alone and clearly it’s been well out of hand for sometime if the fox is being carted around like a small yappy purse-dog.

“Hashirama!” Almost as soon as his foot hits the moss that marked the edge of Hashirama’s gigantic “bonsai garden”, he can feel the tug of the flora around him trying to drag him into them, to Hashirama, to keep him in place. He’s too busy concentrating on keeping walking and not getting got by plants to notice the thumping that usually precedes Hashirama tackling him; it’s entirely too late when he sees Hashirama flying through the air.

Luckily, the moss Hashirama grows is always inexplicably rabbit soft, so getting tackle-hugged by his best friend really only bruises his ego and dignity. “Mada, you’re here!” He bears the ensuing cuddling and the way the tree closest to them is slowly winding roots over until a root gets entirely too close to his hair.

“Mito’s finished packing,” he announces in lieu of having to shove Hashirama off. It worked like a charm, Hashirama yelping and fleeing back towards the house faster than the time he was being chased by ducks. Madara followed just as quickly - Hashirama’s plants were just as tenacious as their caretaker, and given the chance they would try to carry him off into their depths never to be seen or heard from again. He wasn’t going to stand for a repeat of last time; the fact that Mito had to call in Search and Rescue to retrieve him was something that always came up whenever he had to work with them.

“One of these days Brother is going to catch onto the fact you and Mito are friends.” Tobirama murmurs into Madara’s ear as he hobbles past, once Madara was securely back inside the house. Mito had the last of the luggage neatly assembled by the door, fox secure in her arms, clearly overseeing Hashirama carry the bags to the car. “Waves carry you and Brother safely, Mito.”

“And may the tides guide us back,” she murmurs in response, kissing Tobirama’s cheeks, finishing the ritual farewell. “You know where everything is, don’t burn or flood the house down.” The last bit was said with a pointed glare, even though that was once and it was all entirely Hashirama’s fault.

“May the eternal flame light your path,” Madara presses his right hand to his chest, then extends it to brush fingertips with Mito, who mirrored the action.

“So mote it be,” she responds easily, then leads the way out. Tobirama moved easily on the crutches, and Konoha tugs hard at Madara safe-keep-still-water to his displeasure. Tobirama was a grown adult who knew how to take care of himself. Nonetheless Madara kept an eye trained on Tobirama; it wasn’t worth fighting with Konoha this early, especially given that they were more than likely influenced by Mito and her particular brand of payback.

Almost as if it were planned, Tobirama stumbles on the unsteady flagstone that refused to stay down no matter how much Hashirama begged or pleaded. Madara easily caught his upper arm, returning Tobirama to an upright position even as he moved to get the last bag to Hashirama before he closed the trunk. A part of Madara missed the feline grace that usually marked Tobirama, unfurled and flowed through his actions, but considering at self-same part tended to find all of Tobirama attractive it was to be expected. He sternly ignored that part, the one that had felt the well-defined muscle of Tobirama’s bicep and wanted.The final bag fit precariously, but the trunk closed and that was as good a win as they were bound to get with Hashirama packing the trunk. Hashirama turns to Madara, “Earth God keep you, Mada. We should be back in 3 to 4 days, but hopefully sooner if things go well.” Then conspiratorially, “You should take this chance to fix this UST thing between you and Tobi. Work things out via the motion of the ocean - ”

Madara smacks a firm knife-hand into Hashirama’s skull, frustratedly, “Why are you like this?” After a beat they share a grin, and hug farewell. “Earth God keep you too Hashi. Come back in one piece.” And with that, Hashirama and Mito were off.

Madara blows out the incense cone and lets the fragrant smoke fill the hall. The lamp representing the Eternal Flame of the Fire God was lit and the evening aarti had been completed. It felt odd to have non-participant while going through even an abridged version of his usual prayer, but it couldn’t be helped that the shrine alcove in Hashirama and Mito’s house fell across from the sitting room. Air disciple habit, to place the house shrine at the nexus of all four directions in the house, so the winds could carry the prayers to the ears of the God. For them, it didn’t matter if someone observed or overheard, their prayers were verbal and meant to be so, but it was odd for everyone else. He turned to meet Tobirama’s assessing eyes, only to find the person in question was attempting to use the end of his pen to reach a scratch inside his cast.

His reaction is instinctive, smacking the pen out of Tobirama’s hand with more force than was called for, “What are you doing?”

Unphased, the offender tracked the flight of the pen, “You’ll have to return that to me, I have notes to make.”

“No, you damned kelp-brained idiot, I am NOT returning your pen! Didn’t you listen when the doctors told you not to stick foreign objects into your cast?!” Madara points a finger in Tobirama’s face, “You are going to wait here and I am going to bring you ice and then you are going to ice wherever is itchy.” As he stalked down the hall towards the kitchen, he grumbles aloud, aware that the house and Tobirama are listening, “I swear on the God’s flaming balls that for all his supposed genius, he’s more likely to injure himself than use his STUPID WATERLOGGED BRAIN.”

He feels a sharp tug on his magic and the accompanying terse flash of impressions still-water-sputtering-fire and while translating that set of meanings, he completely misses the way Konoha purposefully misaligned a floorboard and trips. He flails, trying to remain upright, and instead crashes into the doorpost that marked the kitchen. “Of course you like Tobirama. And he doesn’t get the better of me!” Madara growls in frustration as he rights himself. However, it seemed like Konoha disagreed, since the freezer door stuck shut when he went to search it for frozen vegetables. “Are you sure you want to do that? The longer it takes to get something to stop the itching, the more likely he is to cause himself further injury.”

Almost as if to prove his point, there was a loud thump from the direction of the living room, and a muffled curse. As though conceding with ill grace, the freezer drawer unstuck with a put-upon sigh and Madara fished out a particularly well-frosted bag of peas.

He’d had low expectations of what he’d find when he returned, from Hashirama’s horror stories Tobirama was insufferable when ill or injured, but he really wasn’t expecting this. “Fires above and below, fucking how? What?” Madara sighed aggrievedly, “Could you not have sat still for the two minutes it took me to go and come back?”

Tobirama glares at him in response, but the effect is ruined by the fact he’s stuck bent over, face to the floor. “I would not be in this predicament if you had simply returned my pen.” His speech is dampened by the thick Kaze-style carpet, but the annoyance is clear.

“Because I ought to have returned to you an implement that you were probably going to use to keep itching. Yes, that seems reasonable,” He huffs a sardonic laugh as he hefts Tobirama upright by the waist. Madara very firmly thinks about things other than Tobirama’s ass, like the very nice fan Mito had put on the wall. It was a very nice fan. Silk, with dancing cranes. Lovely. He was not going to even begin to think about the feel of Tobirama’s hips in his hands, nosir he was -

From the floor, Konoha sends the impression of salacious-forward-approval and what feels like a smug titter, and realization spreads like fire quickly followed by burning embarrassment. “Wha - absolutely not you sentient hunk of wood!” Madara barks to the room at large, trying not to drop Tobirama as he fumbled uselessly between depositing Tobirama back onto the couch and burying his face in his hands. “Why would you even think that?” The sense that Konoha was laughing returned, doubled and echoed and crackled like Izuna wielding lightning to smoke a marshmallow like the massive show-off he was.

By some minor miracle, Tobirama had enough coordination with his non-dominant leg to maneuver in order to land on the settee, pen firmly in hand. “If you’re quite done arguing with inanimate objects, Uchiha.” That tone is both disgruntled and imperious, as is the set of Tobirama’s shoulders and the thrust of his hand, “My papers, if you will.” With a simple flex of his index finger, the peas flew across the room to land neatly on his cast.

Face still burning, Madara collects the strewn papers, entirely resigned to ensuring that they’re in order. He tries to ignore the crowing of Konoha in the back of his head. “Are you even supposed to be using magic for anything other than healing right now? Didn’t you listen when the doctors told you what to and to not do?” Madara distinctly remembers that lecture from when he broke his arm, though that may have been because close contact with fire and subsequent sweating was a serious risk for bacterial growth and rash. Fire wasn’t particularly known for healing properties after all.

A single eyebrow lifts, as if decrying the inanity of the questions, “It takes less than a thought to attract water, especially already extant water. And doctors are used to dealing with the average magic level of the general population; I can multitask. I’m sure you’ve done the same.”

Madara shoots back, “That’s not the point, and we both know it. You should’ve been able to heal this sort of mess already as a powerful water-natured magic user, but the fact that you’re on crutches after the fact means you’re drained and shouldn’t be throwing magic around.” He crosses his arms, “Go on. Tell me I’m wrong. Whatever the thrice-damned Twelve Hells you were up to in your lab exhausted you completely and you’re still recovering.”

The tightness around Tobirama’s eyes and the thinning of his lips betray him; Madara had hit the mark then. “Your papers. I’m going to go get groceries, try not to die while I’m out.”

There’s nothing better for healing than water, everyone knows that. It is one of the most common applications of water magic, after all. But without fire to boil, burn out infection and illness, healing would never work, and that’s something no one who bows to the Water God will ever own up to. And as sure as Madara is that Mito keeps a perfectly well stocked pantry, there’s no way she has the necessary spices for his famed soup. Sure to warm you from the inside out and cure whatever ails you. That over half the ingredients work towards replenishing magic reserves is added benefit.

He’s trying to recall which brand of Sichuan pepper is better when his phone trills. It’s Kagami, which is promising since it’s not Fugaku or Hizashi Hyuuga, both of whom fail to understand what a ‘weekend’ is. “Madara, why is Tamae telling me you’re buying the ingredients for your infamous soup. It’s no-where near time for the Midwinter Fire Dances.” Scratch that, Madara will take Fugaku and Hizashi simultaneously.

While left unsaid, Madara also clearly hears the, ‘and Izuna hasn’t even come close to hurting, harming, or outright maiming himself yet this month while gazing adoringly at Tōka.’ It might actually be a record for how long Izuna has gone without injury, and Madara makes note to investigate that at earliest opportunity. Eventually. He’s got a rolling priority list.

He sighs heavily, before grabbing the larger bottle of Sichuan pepper and moving onto the dried red chiles, “Tobirama -”

Kagami inhales in surprise, “Professor Senju? Fire God’s flaming balls, are you finally making a move?! Couldn’t you have put that off until I need him to sign off on my thesis? Wait, wait, no, this is fine. I just need you to keep him distracted when I go to defend. If I got you one of those wifi-enabled adult toys, would you convince him to have fun with it the day of my defense? You’ll do that for me right? Hang on, I need to call Uncle Hikaku and Cousin Mikoto, we need to settle up the betting pool - ”

“What betting pool,” Madara cuts in sharply, “And I’m not making a move! Except to housesit. That’s it. That is my only move!” He snatches up a package of dried wood ear mushrooms, and shoves it into his basket next to the anise and mugwort. He tries to remember if Mito keeps ginger paste or knobs.

“But you’re making soup! Your soup! The soup you only make for someone special, to show you care in your own unique Madara way! The recipe you guard so well even Izuna doesn’t know the whole thing! If this isn’t a passionate declaration of love I don’t know what is!”

Kagami really missed his calling in the dramatic arts. “I don’t even know where you got this idea of me being even remotely interested in Tobirama,” Madara hisses down the line, flustered, failing at keeping the memory of Tobirama stuck bent over and his ... shapely posterior from his thoughts, “but it is a complete and utter falsehood. A lie! Complete slander!”

“I think the lady doth protest too much,” Kagami sing-songs down the line, “Also, Cousin Izuna said your house had thin walls. You really ought to try being quieter. Don't worry, I’ll make sure Uncle Setsuna has a heart attack before the wedding. No one needs that asshole.”

“What wedding?!” Madara splutters, making mental note to strangle Izuna next time he saw him; eavesdropping on ... private time and gossiping about it was not okay. Then as an afterthought, “And don’t kill Setsuna. He owes me 5,000 ryo still.” The old lady next to him in the freezer aisle startles and stares. She quickly grabs a carton of ice cream and flees. Madara watches her go, and prays she wouldn’t recognize him as the current head of the Magical Crimes Division. This would be so hard to explain to IA. “In any case, Tobirama is currently crippled. That lab accident you missed by dint of having to teach class. Since Hashirama implied I need to take of Tobirama while housesitting, I’m going to do that.”

“And that means making him soup. From scratch.” Kagami’s tone is incredulous. “One day, you are going to look back at this moment and the rest of us are going to laugh. And you’re going to do that thing where you try to phase through the floor in embarrassment, because this is totally you trying to woo Professor Senju by demonstrating your superior househusband skills.” Then he hung up. With a sigh, Madara pockets his phone, selects a carton of ice cream at random, and makes his way to the check out.

It was one thing to know Tobirama was most likely a cat in his past life and thus contrary when it suited him (usually around Madara), it was a whole nother level to personally experience the willfulness in person. Meaning, Madara comes back to Konoha just in time to meet a pizza delivery man on the front step. He had said he was going to the grocery store, hadn’t he? That implied he was going to cook, right?

Awkward polite smiles are exchanged, but silence prevails. From inside the house, Madara could hear the steady thumping of a man on crutches making his way to the front door, but otherwise Konoha was silent. Time elongated, as he continued to nonchalantly ignore the stranger beside him, conscious of his nonchalance and the way the ice cream was probably partially melted in the late summer heat. Madara hoped that the carton wasn’t dripping, the sugar would attract ants.

Finally Tobirama swings open the door. His hair is damp and slicked back, as if he had just gotten out of the bath, his t-shirt damp and clinging to every muscle in a way that meant he had gotten doused with water while dressed. “Apologies, there was a slight mishap. Do you take credit?” A fat water droplet weaves its way down Tobirama’s neck and sinks into the saturated white collar, drawing the eyes towards Tobirama’s well-defined shoulders and pectorals. Madara was never going to be able to unsee that, it was going to haunt his dreams for the rest of eternity. Konoha seemed to agree, sending the memory of a wolf-whistle and a snippet of song, too-hot-hot-damn. Madara chokes and furiously sends back why as forcefully as he could manage. It wasn’t like he was unaware Tobirama was attractive; he was also aware that Tobirama had no interest in him.

While the pizza man tries to unswallow his tongue, Tobirama glances Madara’s way, and something like curiosity-aha-oh unfurls in ruby red. Wisely, Madara decides to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, grabs the pizza, and squeezes past Tobirama into the house. “Madara, before you go, there’s a slight issue with the laundry that will need your immediate attention.”

A quick questioning pulse of magic through the floorboards and Madara is flooded with the sense of gush-spurt-flee from the laundry faucet, and the slight sensation of oh-oh-no from Konoha itself. “Senju, what in the ten names of the Fire God did you do?” Then he’s dashing back towards the laundry, tossing the pizza box and groceries haphazardly in the kitchen.

It’s worse than what he’d initially thought, with the sink faucet spraying water like it’s a fire hose. Within a few minutes, he’s also dripping wet from the waist up, and blinded both by water and the weight of his hair being dragged down into his face. Even sending the image of a faucet turning off to Konoha only gets a wailed can’t-can’t-can’t! in response.

It’s a trial to even get close enough to the spray to grab and yank the handle to off, and it only does so with force. By then, Madara isn’t the only thing soaked, with the floor and walls slick and shiny. He hadn’t noticed before, but he’s rather sure there’s water on the ceiling too.

With an aggrieved sigh, Madara raises his hands to swipe off the excess water on his face. If only he hadn’t broken his last hair tie this morning -

A hair tie is thrust into his face, and he takes it without thought. Midway through tying his hair back, he realizes that magically appearing hair ties are not, in fact, a thing that happens normally outside of the office. “You are a walking hazard,” he grits out between clenched teeth. There is no way, no way -

“Despite your thoughts to the contrary, I know better than to tempt fate,“ the scoffed reply comes back quickly. “Crutches and slick floors are something I’ll leave Kawarama to test.” Madara inhales deeply and glances towards the corner where Tobirama’s voice is coming from. He is in fact safely perched upon the counter by the door, settling one of his crutches neatly in a dry section of floor, and in no clearly danger of getting his cast wet or causing himself further injury. Tobirama’s still soaked through, though, and the way his shirt is sheer and plastered to his abs makes Madara’s stomach twist like Izuna has electrically shocked him.

He can feel his face flushing, and the snap-crackle-spark of his fire rising.The ooooh-squee-excite that marks Konoha’s interest is tinged with the sensation of raised eyebrows and a discreet thumbs up. With a flick on intent, he marshals the rise of heat to the core of his magic and sends it out as a wave of scorch-boil-dry that flashes away the water into hot, heavy steam in the work of a moment. It takes even less to dry himself and Tobirama, and if he lies to himself and says it’s to prevent them from catching colds, then only he needs to know.

“Very impressive,” Tobirama’s voice rumbles through the heavy air, and almost just as quickly the moistness condenses into what is a rather large sphere of water that holds it’s shape just long enough splash harmlessly into the sink drain. The smirk is evident in just Tobirama’s tone, and with good reason; it’s no mean feat to convince something hot to cool and come together, especially if it’s very recently reached that state. It’s appealing, to know he has that level of control.

Except, “Why are you using magic?!” Madara hadn’t known his voice could hit that register post-puberty, but you learn new things every day. “Did you suffer a traumatic head injury as well?!”

“For the Water God’s mercy!” Tobirama snaps out, eyes alight with anger as he resettled himself on his feet. Foot. Foot and two crutches. “Are you so small-minded as to believe I am utterly incapable of taking care of myself?!” His nostrils flare as he pauses to inhale deeply, jaw clenched. “Let me take this ... opportunity to disabuse you of some misconceptions you seem to have arrived at. First, not every water magic practitioner has the skill or ability to heal. While most can do so at some level, for a minority more than basic first aid is the limit of their ability. I am among that number, no matter my power level, and I do not harbor any desire to be among the number who have the ability to heal.”

Madara scoffs, “Because Tobirama Senju would stop at nothing in the pursuit of knowledge. Weren’t you the one who said, ‘Knowledge, whatever the price, is worth having’?”

“Don’t twist my words to suit your own purposes, Uchiha! Knowledge is always worth having, but there is a distinct difference between ‘knowledge’ and being able to apply that knowledge.” Tobirama’s mastery tattoos twist along with his features, lips thinning into flat lines. “Given Uchiha proclivities towards obstinacy in the face of common sense, I’m sure you’ve seen enough fire magics blow up to have some grasp of the idea.”

“We’re obstinate? I’m not the one who kept expecting me to kill Hashirama over some centuries old feud!” Madara snarls back, leaning into Tobirama’s (slightly taller, gods-dammit) face. “And explosions are cool!”

Tobirama looks as though he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes, tone somehow still calm and rational.“What were we to think? The first Senju-Uchiha interaction in ages, and right after an assassination attempt? Of course anyone in their right mind would be suspicious!”

“I was 8! Expecting a 8 year old assassin is practically the definition of paranoia!” He gesticulates widely, attempting to impress the sheer amount of crazy it would take to even consider the possibility.

“A 6 year old assassin once killed the daimyo of Mizu no Kuni and stole the succession.” Tobirama interjects mildly.

“Why do you even know that?! Also, wasn’t that so-called assassination attempt actually Hashirama discovering he’s allergic to shellfish?!” Madara is completely done with this conversation. It was like trying to convince Setsuna that no, that person wasn’t giving him the evil eye, and no he didn’t need to go fight them for the sake of the family honor.

“That’s not the point!” Whatever point Tobirama was going to make is lost when he throws his hands up, over balances, and begins to fall. In almost slow-motion, Madara watches as Tobirama’s face rapidly approaches his, horrified shock written all-over. It was almost comical, and nearly made Madara’s violent introduction to the ground worthwhile.

They both lie there for a moment, silent, before the hilarity hit them all at once. “Stars leading home, your face!” Tobirama cackles, as he rolls off of on top of Madara. “I thought those faces were only in movies!”

Madara howls with laughter himself, “You looked like that time Izuna tripped into the rabbit pen at the petting zoo!” They were both set off again by the shared memory, and their laughs were joined by the pleased shimmy-jitter of Konoha.

When they finally had exhausted themselves to occasional chuckles, the quiet chirp of crickets in the yard was unavoidable. There is a companionable quiet for an instant, then Tobirama bolts upright. “Moonrise.”

Madara startles too. It was that late? “You go set up in the garden, I’ll grab the pizza?” With a firm nod, they both take off as quickly as they were able.

Madara had taken part in plenty of Moonrise Ceremonies; though the Water God and the Celestial Moon and Tides were not the God and spirits he kept by nature, it never did to piss off the fickle Water God or his court. Water was life, water was healing, and water was something you always wanted on your side. First the bow to the west, and the chants as the moon rose, and then the splitting of the chalice of water. Four sips, then pass. Any left over was spilt to the ground to be returned to the Water God by way of the Earth God’s halls. Life to death, death to life, such was the balance of the world since the stars first lit. Final blessings are uttered and then the ceremony was over. More involved than the morning and evening aarti, but less formal than an Earth God observance.

“So, why can’t you just go to some specialist healer and get your leg fixed?” Madara asks around a bite of pizza, wrinkling his nose at the lukewarmness. In the soft glow of the sun crystals dotted around the grass, Madara could make out the thoughtful tilt of Tobirama’s chin as he pondered the question.

“Magical accident means that magic will not work to heal it, only time will. A spirit healer might have been able to do so, but that art has been lost,” Tobirama explains slowly, trying to put something that he probably knew in minutia into vernacular, “It’s a hazard of academia; most people have had a few accidents and scars by the time they’re at my age. A minor miracle I’ve been able to go so long without major mishap.”

“That doesn’t actually make the situation any better.”

Tobirama snorts, the edge from earlier is gone, no bite in his tone. “Says the man who gets shot at regularly.” Madara valiantly ignored the cute fluttering around his diaphragm. He really needed to have a talk with Konoha about this teasing, because one-sided interest was to be pitied not encouraged. Also, possibly sexual harassment. “ - Not to mention the violent spells, hexes, curses, and otherwise black or forbidden magic you encounter.”

“But I signed up for that! You’re a professor. Nowhere in that job description does it say to expect bodily harm.” Playful banter like this is comfortable, like the burn of his fire warm through his core. For all their sharp edges, true arguments had tapered off in their twenties as they had to band together in the face of Hashirama making an utter fool of himself in trying to woo Mito. There’s nothing for setting aside animosity like having to fish Hashirama out of the shark exhibit at the aquarium without alerting security or getting eaten.

“I work in Experimental and Theoretical Magic. And explosions are cool.” A pleased smirk is dancing in the corners of Tobirama’s mouth.

Madara murmurs a quick supplication to the sky,“Small Lords of Ash and Smoke preserve me,” because he knows when his own words are being used against him, dammit. And it’s not supposed to be attractive, but on Tobirama it always is. Any matching of wits between them is attractive but this is doubly so. It’s not fair, and he could really really use a well placed lightning bolt to end his suffering.

As he’s leaned back he notes a flash of white at the base of his very grey chair. It’s only due to years of being around Hashirama’s plant nonsense and that memorable six months of Hashirama using flowers to romance Mito (making multiple runs a day to every flower shop in a 15 mile radius, triple checking flower meanings in Google until they were ingrained in his memory, the level of misunderstanding about his romantic life that had occurred with Tsubaki and Hanae at the flower specialty store - Hashirama has a lot to answer for) that he’s able to identify the flowers sprouting up through the spaces between the pavers around them.

Tobirama notices the way he’s frozen and also looks. “Those - “

“Jonquil.” His throat is dry, and not in the good way. Love Me; Desire; Desire for Affection Returned. Also a flower of the underworld and death, but that’s not particularly applicable. Konoha is being terribly obvert and it isn’t funny.

Next to him, Tobirama stiffens. “It’s gotten late. Perhaps we should go inside?”

Madara manages to croak out, “Agreed.” They stumble indoors, and Madara almost immediately falls into bed.

He gets almost no sleep that night.

Let it be known that trying to argue with a house is an effort in futility. Usually, usually, Madara knows better. Houses tend to take umbridge with such things and enact their revenge in various creative and plausibly deniable ways. Only Konoha was decidedly not even pretending to listen, and it rankled endlessly to be iced out. They weren’t even trying to exact vengeance, and that was more worrisome than the plate of naengmyeon stuck to the break room ceiling when he arrived at work the next morning.

Luckily, the building that housed the police department was too jaded to even care about a little surface damage, but as a function of it’s imbued cynicism, it completely failed to warn him that Fugaku had made the coffee (mmmm liquid glue) or that Izuna had commandeered his desk when he returned from making a run for actually palatable coffee.

“So, Mada, what’s this I hear about you making soup for Tobirama?” Izuna rests his head on his hands, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “Are congratulations finally in order?”

Kagami had blabbed, that rat. “There was no soup.” Madara collapsed into one of his guest chairs; there was no way he was going to stand for this conversation especially after spending his sleepless night arguing with the silent ceiling.

Izuna straightens his spine, “What do you mean ‘there was no soup’. Tamae saw you buy soup ingredients, Kagami confirmed, why was there no soup. Was there an accident. Did he not appreciate your superior homemaker skills? Do I need to talk to Tobirama? Do I need to murder Tobirama? I’m pretty sure I could take him, Tōka would forgive me eventually - “

“Fires above, Izuna. There was no soup because we had pizza instead.” Madara rubs his face tiredly. “While I love you enough to fight the Lady of Death herself in your name, if that’s all you’re here for can’t it wait until lunch? I have a backlog of work to get done before Yoshino Nara at the mayor’s office figures out how to dispose of me remotely, and I need to figure out how get Konoha to talk to me even though they’re currently ignoring me. Plus, the investigatory team over at the Bureau of Magical Affairs has requested a report about some unusual findings about the most recent magical explosion at the university, and I don’t even know who’s free enough to investigate that. ”

Izuna brightened, “Oh yeah, I heard rumors about that. They say the researcher was looking into something for the military, something highest level of clearance only. Lots of red tape, hush hush.” Izuna spun in Madara’s chair. “But whatever it was, it backfired, and backfired loudly. Most of the black magic practitioners have all gone quiet, cause whatever was going on, it’s caused a lot of interference with the spirit world.” With a sudden halt, he began spinning in reverse, aggravating the nascent throb behind Madara’s eyes, “Whatever it is, you’ll probably be shut down pretty quickly. Wonder if Hashirama could give you a heads up about when the gag order is coming down? That way you don’t have to waste time and money on investigating something that won’t go anywhere.”

Something about that niggled at the back of Madara’s head, but he was already feeling the beginnings of a stress headache and he couldn’t quite put a finger on what. “Izuna, shouldn’t you be putting all that into a report?”

Izuna had the gall to laugh, “Yes yes, it’ll be filed in triplicate by the end of the day.” Then he swanned out of Madara’s office, leaving Madara to sigh and sag into his chair.

He tiredly rubs his temples, then curses aloud, “Dammit Izuna.” He resettles himself at his computer and starts digging.

Madara feels the subtle flare of Konoha’s wards unlocking just as he finishes frying up the peppers in oil for the temper. He notes the time idly - it’s early for Tobirama, who usually has to be forcibly fished out of his lab - but considering said individual is probably stuck on administrative work while he’s injured, it’s to be expected. “Kagami, I expect the simulation to be done by tomorrow morning, please have the final report ready before our thesis meeting.” A beat of silence, as Tobirama sets down his bag, maneuvering around the clunky crutches while still keeping the phone clenched between his ear and shoulder. “Yes, I do expect that meeting is going to occur on time. I don’t have any meetings before that.” Madara waves his ladle in Tobirama’s direction, and met by red eyes widening in surprise and something warm. Is it so odd he can cook? “I’ll speak to you in the morning. It seems I’m holding up dinner.” He falls quiet as Kagami chatters on the other end. “Yes I think it is soup.” The line of his spine stiffens. “I hope you have appropriate and ground-breaking results for me in the morning.” He hangs up without further adieu.

Mildly, Madara queries, “Kagami wanted to have you torture the recipe out of me?” There’s little other reason for having such a sharp response; he quickly sends a text to Hikaku to go and haunt Kagami for a bit, make sure whatever betting pool exists remains unfulfilled. The sizzle of hot oil reacting with the broth is satisfying, much like the hunted look Kagami will wear come morning.

Tobirama clears his throat lightly as he accepts a proffered bowl, “Something like that. Thank you.” He blows on the steaming surface, then takes a sip that ends in an startled series of coughs. By the end of it his eyes are watering. Madara nonchalantly sips at his own bowl, pointedly not reacting though the back of his throat burns with the spice of red chili oil. “So this is the famed fire soup of Uchiha Madara,” Tobirama chokes out. “It’s certainly - something.”

Madara chuckles. First time tasters were fun to watch. “Try mixing in the oil instead of taking a mouthful of it.” Madara pointedly glances at his own thoroughly mixed bowl before scooping out a piece of tofu.

“Because I need to trust the man who served me liquid fire.” The spice was taking effect, a delicate pink color flushing across Tobirama’s cheeks. Konoha taps at Madara’s awareness, breaking their silence with a superimposed image of that self-same wash of color, but paired with swollen lips and panting. He is suddenly glad for the red staining his own face - no one would know if it was the soup or the vivid imagery Konoha was so helpfully providing. Flight-human-matchmaker, Konoha crows in delight, clearly under some operational delusion about how compound words worked.

He busies himself with the act of eating, instead of paying attention to Tobirama and the poorly stifled moan said man lets out at the second sip. Definitely not foraying down that path. Konoha upgrades the last image, and Madara mentally swears himself blue. He had to have attempted world domination in a previous life to deserve this. There’s a damn house thinking they’ve got wingman status, waggling their nonexistent eyebrows salaciously. Why did Konoha even have that sensation? And that wasn’t even good wingmanship, for all that Madara had to remember Hashirama in a speedo to avoid having a visceral reaction.

“Perhaps this is worthy of kissing the cook.”

Madara is jerked from his thoughts by that sentence. Tobirama is smirking, and that smirk is the same smirk that gave Izuna a mullet in the 7th grade. “What?”

Tobirama’s lips tilt upward minutely, and his gaze drifts down to Madara’s chest. Madara follows, and, groans. “Fires above, Hashirama why.” Of course Konoha would give him the most embarrassing apron, after burying the lede with the frilly pink one. The black, masculine apron that Madara hadn’t double checked because there were only two choices and clearly only one right answer. He pulls off the offending article and throws it into the kitchen.

“Mito.” Tobirama corrects, eyes dancing with mirth. “That apron is Mito’s. The frilly one is Brother's.”

“You’re joking.” Tobirama pulls out his phone, still smirking. The photo of Hashirama in the pink frilly, slightly too small monstrosity startles a disbelieving laugh out of him. “You have to send that to me.”

“Fair warning, this won’t be good blackmail material,” Tobirama commented, tapping away at his phone, before looking up to serve himself another bowl.

Madara saves the newly-sent image. “I can’t imagine Hashirama being even remotely phased by this going around. No, it’s to make me laugh when work’s a cluster fuck.”

“You make it sound like work is regularly a ‘cluster fuck’.” The amount of chili oil going in was conservative at best. How sad.

He leans over and pours in a larger amount of red chili oil into Tobirama’s bowl, baring his teeth in a playful challenge to Tobirama’s wrinkled nose. “Mixed bag - crimes aren’t really anything but a cluster fuck, but. Somedays are better than others? Today was a prime example of high levels of FUBAR.” Because red tape and stonewalling and not even a hint of rumor was suspect in normal circumstances, but even more so when it involved the government. That all major criminal players had gone into hiding was a secondary, if triply worrisome, situation that needed to be looked into once they had the first situation manageably wrangled.

Tobirama looks intrigued, interest captured. It sharpened his features into something open and genuinely curious - wholly invested and focused, expression the same sort of soft-sharp neutral that was found in models and captivated. To have it focused entirely on him sends shivers down his spine. “How so?”

Konoha nudges him with a finishing blow of intent ignited in carnelian eyes paired with Tobirama’s usual feline grace prowling over him. His temper finally breaks, no matter his usual policy about houses, slamming around in his seat to bark at the rest of the dining room. “For the Water God’s mercy, Konoha!”

Tobirama startles at the violence of his tone, his own tone sharp. “What’s happened?”

“This damn house is suffering delusions of grandeur.” Madara catches the irony and self-corrects, “The other grandeur, not the physical grandeur.” Because Konoha was large and elaborate and deserved the meticulous restoration and hidden modernization work they had all pitched in to do, though if he ever saw antique wallpaper glue ever again in his life Madara was liable to set the whole damn bucket on fire.

Tobirama cocks his head, amused, “Don’t you have a policy about arguing with buildings? Especially Konoha - ”

The sharp ring of a phone cuts off whatever he was going to say next, and Madara shuffles in his seat to pull out his phone, frowning when the number appears to be from a government office. As he trips into the hall, dinner abandoned, he answers, “Madara Uchiha speaking.”

He doesn’t recognize the voice, “ Yoichi Yamamoto with Emergency Response. We’ve got a situation sir. There appears to be a group setting up some sort of mass summoning.”

Madara feels like he ought to smack his head against the nearest hard surface, since everyone and their mother likes to call in summonings as crimes when they really really aren’t his department’s purview, but grits out instead, “That is not necessarily a crime.”

“Your office has been abundantly clear on that point sir, but the group appears to be under some sort of magic-induced hypnosis mind-control. And no one here can break it. They also have been shooting guns and black magic spells at anyone in the vicinity and piling the bodies on their conduit seal.”

Which actually are crimes. Three separate felonies, and possibly intent to commit a fourth. Or fifth, if the person(s) being used are still alive for the ritual and their soul(s) wind up harvested to power it. Fuck fire and brimstone. The paperwork alone is a bitch to contemplate.“Any clue what they’re summoning?”

“Unclear, but there are quite a lot of tori hand seals.” Tori meant air, and air never meant anything good when summoning. In the corner of his eye he could see Tobirama easily commanding water to clear the table, leading the symphony of movement with nothing more than intent. His mouth went dry; it was one thing to know that Tobirama was powerful with his element, it was entirely another to see precisely how talented he is. That level of control - even among those who had earned master’s marks, it was rare. Idly, Madara wonders about applications of that. Applications-implications-testing Konoha helpfully shares. He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to deny the lewd implications there.

“Please hurry, they’re mixing magic natures.” The man on the other end hangs up to the sound of gunfire and the distinct roar of magic passing close by. Madara releases a slow breath, because mixing magic natures without proper training was liable to blow the scene to the 12 Hells, back, and then further on to the 12 Heavens. If they were lucky. Dammit, would he need to stop for a magic-resistant bulletproof vest?

“I can’t imagine that that call was anything good.” Sometime during that phone call, Tobirama had managed to quietly hobble over. A thermos is helpfully floating behind him like a particularly enamored puppy. “If they’re desperate enough to call you when you’re not on duty, then you’re likely to need this.” It’s like being blindsided by a truck. Madara’s head’s swimming with things to accomplish before he goes, and it shows. “Soup. Did you think I wouldn’t notice what property half of the ingredients share?”

There’s a look in Tobirama’s eyes that Madara can’t parse, oddly open in the face of his usual firm logic. “I might not be back until late, if at all,” he says instead, collecting his coat and wallet. It’s not worth spending time wondering on things that can be left by the wayside when it’s likely that he’ll be embroiled in a literal fire fight in the next half hour.

“See that you come home in one piece.” The words are an unmistakable order, but tinged with an undercurrent of fondness. Just as suddenly, Tobirama’s mouth tilts up playfully, mischief in the gleam of his eye, “I still need to seduce that recipe out of you.”

With finality, he closes the door in Madara’s face, leaving him flustered on the porch step.

In a turn of events that surprises exactly no one with a brain, Madara ends up not only not going back to Konoha, but singed, scorched, and sooty on top of deprived of sleep for the second night in a row. And more paperwork than should be possible to even exist. He’s contemplating the benefits and consequences of taking a nap on his office couch (uncomfortable, but he can lock his door and get uninterrupted sleep) versus the break room bunks (broken in, but noisy and prone to high traffic) when Izuna barges in and drags him out to lunch. For lunch? Language.exe has stopped functioning, try again when he’s had some quality rest.

“Mada, you smell like you were on fire.” Izuna wrinkles his nose in distaste, frog marching him through pedestrian traffic like a man to his execution. “Did you burn a hole in your shirt again? I’m not going to fix it this time.”

In all fairness, there were holes in his shirt, but not just burn holes and entirely not his fault. Mind controlled cultists from Kaminari no Kuni (probable cultists, though if they were cultists before the mind control is the question) were entirely at fault, both for the holes, the burned patch of his hair, and the massive crater in front of city hall. Luckily, spare suits were a staple of his locker, and that shirt had been too trashed to salvage. Still, Izuna didn't need to know that, so Madara settled on, “There are no holes in my shirt.”

Izuna clearly did not believe him and settled on sarcastic placation, “Yes yes Mada. Just like you aren't wearing eu de smoke right now.” He pats Madara on the shoulder soothingly, “Very masculine. It’ll go well with crisp ice pine.”

The subtle dig doesn't register until they're seated at a table in some yuppie cafe. “Goddammit Izuna.” He wants to bash his head against the surface of the table; first a goddamned house and now his little brother are implying he should have sex with Tobirama. Also, why does Izuna know what Tobirama smells like? He sulks into his coffee, which the waiter has blessedly brought over the largest size the cafe carries. (He tries not to think too hard about how he looks if a waiter can tell he needs it.)

“Look, I’m just saying. And being supportive of your long-standing appreciation of a pretty Senju. Which you're finally doing something about, good for you. If you can manage to start dating in the next two weeks or by December, that'd be much appreciated.” Izuna was not a master of subtlety, no matter that most of his job description was talking to people. How he even got half the information he did was a marvel, truly.

“December would be ideal,” Tōka grins as she drops into an open seat.“I’d like to win the pot outright.”

Madara nearly spits out his freshly refilled coffee, “Why are you in on it?” He hadn’t known Tōka would be showing up, or that someone outside of the Uchiha were taking bets on his still-entirely-nonexistent love life. Especially a Senju, one close to Tobirama. Thank the Four Above that Hashirama wasn’t aware of it, Madara’s life would be a living hell then. Tōka doesn’t seem to have heard the beginning of their conversation though, so small mercies, even if it’s ultimately moot.

She eyes him concernedly, but her words are aimed at Izuna, “You’re right, Madara can get shrill.” Tōka unfolds a menu calmly, “So, are we talking shop first, or gossiping first? Also, how’s the eggplant parm panini here?”

“Shop,” chirps Izuna unphased by the death glare Madara is sending his way, “Kaminari no Kuni cultists in Hi no Kuni? That reeks. I think the quiche sounds good. Mada?”

“It does reek. Something fierce. But as far as anyone can tell, they were all civilians who were hijacked and illegally trafficked into Hi no Kuni,” Tōka closes the menu, and crosses her arms on the table. “Some parties think there is something to the kidnappings, but Kaminari no Kuni swears up and down and to all the Four plus some smaller spirits that there was no obvious linkage in the disappearances when they happened. No evidence of there being a motive except that the victims were easy targets.”

They’re silent as the waiter comes back to take their orders, nominally because Tōka is still in uniform and while none of this is a secret (there’s probably several reports on it already, plus several dozen newspaper articles), it’s better to not start rumors about information leaks. The television blares on about vandalism and break ins at ruins across the Elemental Countries, that the culprits are still at large and that there are no current suspects.

“So, what you’re saying is we have a bunch of bodies, warm and cold, but nothing beyond ‘cult’ as to what happened.” Madara sums up when the waiter has left. That could have been a memo. A literal memo, whereby everybody and their uncle who went back after the fact to point fingers about fucking up would find that there was a paper trail for interagency conclusion of ‘cult’. He might just set an intern on just that, if he’s honest. No one needs a paper-pusher screaming at HR and IA over a piece of paper that any idiot could draft.

“Nothing beyond ‘Kaminari no Kuni cult’.” Izuna corrects lightly. They breed the crazy ones up in those mountains and everyone knows it; the long-standing joke is that all the lightning fries the brain so that pretty much everyone's running around well scrambled upstairs. It neatly accounts for the crazy idiots and the crazy strong ones. (Unfortunately, there are no crazy smart ones by dint of the ‘fried brains’, but if there were, they'd be trying to take over the world or something equally maniacal.)

“Because that makes such a difference,” Madara grouses. “It’s the equivalent of saying ‘that's not MY house on fire, so it's not my problem’.” Only with more collateral damage, by way of bodies in the morgue and in the cell than the average house fire.

“Except, it is someone else's crazy cult, and since it's a sovereign nation, we can't just go and get rid of the crazy.” Tōka points out distractedly. “Did anyone else see that there's a large storm headed our way?”

Madara and Izuna both groan. They'd need to finish processing the scene tonight before the storm washed away evidence, and CSI was already grouchy. “Izuna, I'm delegating this to you.” Izuna opens his mouth to argue, but Madara cuts him off. “You told Kagami about something you overheard, and I still haven’t decided if I want to strangle you.” Izuna tilts his head in confusion.

“Thin walls,” Madara prompts, and finds satisfaction in the way Izuna blanches. Serves him right. “If this cult was known, why wouldn't you send in someone like Hashi to go take care of it? He's a government negotiator, he's meant to negotiate for things like having the ability to take out a threat.”

Izuna recovers, then interjects, puzzled. “Isn't that what he went to do?” Madara’s brow furrows, Hashi hadn’t actually mentioned why he was going, or on such short notice. Usually he knew well in advance if he needed Madara to house-sit; he usually had a firm timeline too, come to think of it.

Tōka frowns too. “I wasn't aware he had anything in the pipeline? He asked for some time off, actually.” She drags a fry through the garlic-basil-parmesan aioli provided, “Wouldn't Mito stay at home too then? She’s still faculty at the university.”

They chew their respective thoughts quietly as the waiter passes by to refill cups and to drop off their food. This itches in Madara’s brain, like there's an answer just there, but fatigue eats at him. His eyes keep straying to the spray of myrtle and sage over the door. Myrtle for luck in marriage or prosperity, sage to ward off bad humors. There's an answer on the tip of his tongue but it doesn't feel quite right. That might just be the pine nuts in his salad though, he’s always suspected he is allergic. He takes a long draught of his quickly cooling coffee, “It’s been ... 9 years since Mito and Hashi got married, right?”

Tōka shares a speaking glance with Izuna, who eye speaks something right back. That weasel, and here Madara thought he hadn’t made it past the stare-adoringly phase. Madara is going to permanently assign him to run interference with their father, so help him. “Madara,” Tōka begins carefully, “It’s been 10 years.”

Madara squints at her. “No, I’d know if it were 10 years, I was best man and got knocked out when Mito’s great uncle tried to dance and hit me with his cane instead.” He remembers that cane vividly. Mostly because he woke up to his father berating him for failing to duck.

She shakes her head slowly. “No, their anniversary already passed.” Which would make it 10 years, goddammit. But also explains Hashirama calling him frantically at 3 am a week ago for the name of the florist one town over. He needs to send an apology note to Hanae and Tsubaki then. And get them a gift. Dammit. Would Mito appreciate a commemorative vase?

“Fire and brimstone.” Tōka and Izuna have the gall to nod sympathetically. “Well, then they must have gone on a belated ten-year anniversary trip then.” It still sounds too easy, his detective senses tingling, but they seem to accept it readily enough.

Silence pervades as they each chew on their lunches. For all the yuppie-ness of this cafe, the food is decent. A distinct outlier in terms of general fare, but still has that air of pretension that means they’re catering to people who like the latest fads. They’re probably back there in the kitchen trying to make mermaid avocado toast with matcha powder and poached egg, and Madara is judging them.

“So what’s this I hear about you seducing Tobi, hmm? Finally finished flirting and made an honest man out of him?” Tōka smiles all teeth, breaking his thoughts, and it transforms her face into something that screams of shovels and mischief. Izuna eeps next to him, and Madara gives up entirely because he’s not getting his brother back anytime in the few minutes.

“There was zero seduction!” Tōka looks unimpressed with his token defense, and he feels the need to explain. “It was only soup!” She still looks like she’s trying to determine if he needs to have a back alley meeting with her and Hashirama over his intentions. Which, currently, are to not have a back alley meeting with her and Hashirama.

Izuna has somehow marshalled himself, a minor miracle in the face of a display of power by Tōka. He clarifies, “Mada’s special soup that he doesn’t share with just anyone.” Madara knew he should have made a bigger fuss about returning Izuna when his parents first brought him home from the hospital; he hadn’t wanted a younger sibling and now he's got this on his hands.

Tōka seems even more unimpressed with him at this point. “So you’re trying to seduce him with soup. Is that just a Madara thing or...?”

And Fire God, please, send a bolt of lightning to end him forthwith. He doesn’t need to see that face ever again on his baby brother. It is a face that promises whatever he is going to endure after this point is going to be torture. Madara valiantly tries to flag their waiter - if he hurries he can make it back to the office and not have to witness this.

Only, too late. Madara regrets everything. Izuna leans forward, propping his head on one hand, “Mmmm, yes and no. We Uchiha have a thing for... how should I put it?” Coyly, from under his lashes, because he knows he got their mom’s pretty eyes, “Caring and caretaking. Really, we’re prone to homemaking. Traditional housewife skills and the like, little things to show we care. We all have various talents towards that end, incidentally.”

“Oh?” Tōka’s tone was intrigued. Nope, nope, nope, Madara was going to phase straight through his chair and through the floor and let the Earth God take him to the Lady of Death’s hall. Reincarnation erased memories right? “So Madara makes soup, and you...?”

“Make things. I’m good with thread and yarn.” He is going to say a hundred hymns of thanksgiving for their waiter on Thursday. Their waiter deserves the biggest tip he has in cash, plus whatever blessings Madara can pray up. He’ll even throw in another 100 ryo if he gets here before -

“Yarn? There’s nothing quite like a new ball of yarn in the hand, don’t you agree?” This is flirting. Why is there flirting. This was supposed to be the ‘have conversation with subtle hints of interest stage’, there should not be innuendo-laden flirting (about yarn!) anywhere near him. Tōka is supposed to be sensible and keep ignoring Izuna until he finds another lady who can break him in half with just her pinkie finger, not engage in flirtation.

“Mmmm. Do you like your yarn forward or back?” They’re not really talking about yarn, and Madara can sense it. He hastily signs the receipt, uncaring that he just paid for Izuna and Tōka as well as himself, and factors in a massive tip, because he's so sorry in advance. Then he flees; he needs mind bleach not further trauma.

He gets no mind bleach. He doesn't even get another break, since some paper-pusher has finally reviewed and filed his all of his recent paperwork and now he has explanations to do to whichever hireup(s) didn't read his report(s) and decided he needs to do more paperwork to cover their ass(es). How is he supposed to put more detail in a 6,000 word report that already has all the pertinent details? He considers being petty and recording every time he blinked or breathed, or moved even a fraction of a centimeter, but instead adds three paragraphs and calls it done. He still nearly melts his computer when the same paper pusher tells him it’s quote acceptable unquote.

Further causing complications is the fact that Fugaku and Hizashi have devolved into actual children and are embroiled in some inconsequential feud that has had casualties in the form of: a broken wrist, a burned desk, as well as half the regular officers and most of the detectives getting food poisoning from the coffee. Mikoto can’t even figure out what they did to make it spit out an actual biohazardous substance, much less fix it, so they’re all out the last good coffeemaker and stuck with the one that only produces tar and is, in it’s own way, a biohazard. Madara doesn’t even want to think about the paperwork it will take to requisition new coffeemakers.

All that and it still doesn’t touch the findings of the lab explosion, or the cultists, or the rest of the on-going cases. By the time he’s halfway done with the cultists situation and running in proverbial circles, he’s got a headache that only judicious application of acetaminophen and a maximum strength anti-migraine seal prevent from turning into a full blown migraine. He calls it quits then, even though it’s only 3 in the afternoon.

By the time he comes back to Konoha and collapses into one of the many plush couches in the living room, slightly damp from the just-beginning drizzle outside, he’s done and been done with the day. Konoha seems to feel it, somehow, and he’s soothingly rocked to sleep with the gentle memory of a long ago lullabye.

He wakes up to the crack of lightning and the boom of thunder, and he has to fight the couch he’s sprawled across to get out. Fire God bless Mito for insisting on couches that swallow you whole, Madara feels like he went to sleep in a horizontal hug. Also, slightly trapped, but he’s not going to look a gift rest in the mouth.

It’s a narrow thing, but Madara manages to roll out and land on his feet instead of on his face. Konoha is dark and quiet in the face of the violent, thrashing storm, the dark halls made eerie in the brief flashes of lightning and reverberating with near back-to-back thunderclaps.

Faintly he can hear the lull of the stereo playing, some tune he knows but can’t name dancing just on the edges of his hearing. It’s coming from upstairs, grows stronger with every step, soft rock that’s almost drowned out by the sheer roar of rain pouring down outside. Finally, at the end of a hallway, in a half-hidden room, Madara finds the source.

Tobirama looks up from the book he’s reading, the light of the lamp glinting off his glasses. “Ah, you’re awake.” Rain sheets off the windows, and shimmers where it refracts with Mito’s wards.

Mito's wards and seals are things of beauty, elegant structures that spire deceptively delicately for all their diamond strength, tied directly to the foundations of Konoha. “I was almost worried when I came home and saw just your arm hanging out of the couch.”

“Almost?” The tone is just as teasing as Tobirama’s, but there’s something underneath the white-haired male’s that Madara can’t dissect.

The soft smile flirting with Tobirama’s mouth draws Madara’s eyes to his full lips, and he has to forcibly keep his brain on track. “Mmmmm. You dying on me would certainly throw a wrench in my plans.” Shala-la-la, My-oh-my, Kiss-the-male Konoha croons softly, humming a snatch of The Little Mermaid.

He doesn’t understand, then he remembers Tobirama’s parting words. “Still intent on my soup recipe?” Is the room hot, or is it just him? Madara hasn’t had an issue with thermoregulation since he was a child.

Tobirama stands and saunters past Madara - when did he get a walking cast? - glancing at him archly from under his eyelashes as he puts his book away. “Not just your recipe.” Crimson eyes slowly track downwards, a slow appraisal that burns.

Lightning flashes outside, followed in quick succession by thunder and the flicker of the lights. The stereo skips with a touch of Konoha’s influence, and a new song queues up. It’s a remix, a song that Madara knows, a song that makes Tobirama outright smile predatorily and start backing him up to the wingback chair Tobirama had vacated. “Wha- ,“ It takes him a minute to catch the insinuation Tobirama just made, and insinuation about sex, with himself and Tobirama as the key players in the scenario. His head can’t make heads or tails of it, can’t fathom Tobirama. Something sane in him has snapped, that he’s seriously letting himself be backed up like a patron at a strip club. Not that such a scenario hasn’t ever crossed his mind, because there’s only so many ways to interpret Tobirama’s fluid stride, but that’s all fantasy. Fantasy doesn’t happen in real life. He’s not entirely sure this isn’t a joke, even if it’d be a painfully sick and twisted one that’s not in Tobirama’s style.

“Come now, Madara, I think you’d recognize a seduction if you saw one,” Tobirama purrs, and every nerve comes alight. The carefully constrained fire at his core flares with the burning path Tobirama caresses across his shoulders, licking at the tenuous control he has. “And here I was, thinking you would understand that I’m just as interested in you as you are in me if I was... obvert about it.” His breath ghosts over the shell of Madara’s ear, and his words send Madara’s head spinning. “You certainly have been willfully ignoring every other signal I’ve been putting out.” A finger traces over his throat, and he can’t hold back a choked moan. Which, that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? The missing piece of their last few interactions; has Tobirama been flirting with him? The fire that is the core of his magic goes from a blaze to an inferno, to magma burning and consuming and wanting.

Madara lets himself get pushed down into the seat, lets Tobirama straddle him, pin him in place, can’t take his eyes away from burning red staring back at him. The molten rise of his magic feels like it’s about to burst through his skin and he can’t rein in any control; there’s small consolation in the hiss of steam where Tobirama grips his wrists and guides them to his waist, the equally strong sense of still-quiet-current-cool rising from Tobirama that betrays how uninhibited he has also become. He’d willingly drown in that sensation, he thinks as Tobirama’s breath mixes with his own. “Please,” he pants out, desperate. Another centimeter and he would feel those lips against his -

Three things happen near simultaneously: lightning hits the house, the power stutters and dies and so do the wards; something unnatural prickles at the edges of Madara’s magic and howls enraged; Madara realizes that Konoha had the music player play a remix of “Careless Whisper”. All three things alone are enough to prick at Madara’s instincts, but together serve to rouse him to full alertness and he stiffens in his seat. It’s like being doused in freezing water, three bucketfuls at once, and the moment is ruined.

Tobirama’s head falls against his shoulder, “Fuck.” Madara whole agrees with the sentiment, prods at Konoha with a general question, but Konoha is silent. Silent as a tomb, with not even the impression of them left. Somehow, that is more frightening than the animalistic snarling audible even over the raging storm. He says as much, and Tobirama goes stiffer in his lap before clambering off. “That’s - expressly dangerous.” At the look Madara sends him, “Konoha isn't linked to the wards, but it is the keystone to the wards since the wards were laid into the foundations. If Konoha’s consciousness is knocked out, then the wards are down, but not vice versa.”

“Meaning?” Madara doesn’t deal in wards, beyond knowing how to he’s keyed into the ones at his apartment, his parent’s home, and at Konoha. Honestly, there’s a reason there are experts in wards and seals, and a trillion more reasons that Madara isn’t one of them.

“Meaning those... things out there,” Tobirama pointedly nods out the window, where the noise has yet to stop, “Can get in here. Unless they’re still outside when the wards come back online. Come on. We need to hurry.”

Madara would like to point out that all his blood is otherwise occupied still, so the amount of time it takes him to process is not indicative of his usual cognition rate.“Things? Multiple? And hurry to do what precisely?” Tobirama is already skating down the hall, having slicked the way with ice, so Madara has to slip and slide in his wake. Its rankling, to see how quickly Tobirama can switch gears.

“I know enough about the ward and seal matrix here to reionize the interseal matrix. You'll need to keep them out. It won't be easy; surviving alone might be all you can achieve.” Which, in normal person speak means Tobirama is going to reboot the wards. Cool. Not dangerous at all or at risk for blowing them all into the next epoc. Not in the slightest.

But. “Why won't it be easy? Do you know who’s -what's- out there?” He demands, because Tobirama has always been in the 98% percentile for magical ability and base magic quantity, Tobirama who can and has gone toe to toe with him and Hashirama - both of which have objectively larger pools of magic from which to draw - and kept up due to sheer analytic prowess, Tobirama saying a fight won’t be easy. Madara can’t suppress the way his back raises - from fear or anger, he can’t say.

“Those are the Kin and Gin brothers out there. They were reanimated in an experiment, and escaped.” It's matter of fact, to the point, but Madara feels like there's ... self-flagellation tinging Tobirama’s tone. Also, weren't the Kin and Gin brothers among the most prolific Kaminari no Kuni assassins ever to live? And intensely powerful? Reanimating -

Madara stops dead at the top of the stair. “Reanimation is a lost art.” They covered that enough in school, drilled it into students heads to discredit urban myths and legends and scary stories whispered to little kids.

“To conventional knowledge, perhaps. It takes a very distinct set of parameters to manage. Not everyone has background in Earth magic and Water magic to even begin the process.” Tobirama looks back, face blank. “It’s also not foolproof.”

Things start fitting together, and the picture Madara is getting isn't good. “You were meddling with Reanimation and you exploded your lab at the university. Fire God’s most fiery balls.”

Tobirama’s mouth twists wryly, “To be fair, the explosion was not my fault. The Kin and Gin brothers overloading the paralysis matrix in the seal with conflicting magic resonance was.”

Madara can't wrap his mind around the amount of gall it would take to think - “You brought back assassins.” Then, because that doesn't really capture the essence of the amount of why going through Madara’s head. “You lost control of undead assassins.”

“They're not undead, they're still perfectly dead. They've just had their souls returned.” Of course Tobirama would think that it was vital to be precise in terminology usage.

“This isn't the time to quibble semantics!”

“It's not the time to quibble at all. If they get in here, they will kill us both and continue to roam free until the world is bathed in blood. As things stand, I'm one test result away from knowing how to put them down, and I fear that they know that. Until then, feel free to go wild on them.” That was a dismissal if Madara ever heard one, but considering he might actually be going to die - well, he has unfinished business from earlier. Becoming a ghost is not on his to-do list.

Madara feels the way his lower lip splits catching on Tobirama’s teeth, mouth open in alarm at the way he had yanked Tobirama around. Their teeth clack painfully together, messy in haste, tasting of blood. His hold doesn’t falter on Tobirama’s waist; he can feel the fist that came distressingly close to punching him in the temple loosen then clench tightly in his hair. Madara disengages with a gasp for air, ignores the hand that’s brushing just under the waistband of his pants, “When all this is over, you and me, we’re going on a date. Then we’re finishing what we started.” It’s a growled promise, and Tobirama flushes a pretty pink that Madara wants nothing more than to chase with his tongue down down down until the end.

Madara stalks out the door without another word, because if he stays then he’d surely given into temptation to kiss Tobirama more, leave marks across that pale swathe of skin, and there are zombies at the door this is not the time to think about ..... all of that. He inhales deeply and evenly as he steps onto the porch, into the dark dull shadows of twilight and heavy rain; emotion could make magic stronger but it always made it sloppier as well. Rigorous mental control was the cornerstone of fire magic for this reason, after all: to know what path one was going to take and to take it with intent to see it through without wavering was the most fundamental tool for bending fire to one’s will; the slightest doubt and it would burn you alive from the inside out. Madara has a twitchy feeling he’ll need every ounce of control with the way his skin starts crawling the minute he steps out.

Fire God and all the Small Lords, zombies weren’t supposed to be a thing anymore. If this was anything close to the ancient Reanimation technique, then Madara can completely understand why a single zombie would send whole battalions fleeing in war. His every sense screams at him to flee, but if legend was to be believed that would do little to save him against Kinkaku and Ginkaku.

As if they had been summoned, two men melt out of the deep shadows surrounding Konoha. Hashirama’s damned plants were lovely in daylight, but at night they made the entire area a perfect setup for ambushes and traps. And in the deluge of rain, they’re in constant movement creating thousands of false alarms. And even then, Madara has the lovely handicap of having the plants wanting to become-one-together with him, and isn’t that a lovely thing to have on one’s side in a literal firefight with undead notorious killers?

They didn’t look like much, one taller with gold flowing locks and one shorter with a silver mane, both seeming perfectly normal by general (soaked) appearance. It didn’t really fool Madara though - people didn’t wear their bloodlust or advertise their confidence in their ability so openly; their pitch black eyes were also a dead giveaway of their... zombie-ness. Their magic leaked everywhere too, but the only read Madara got off that was the overwhelming sense of death-death-death, like a black magic practitioners’, setting his nerves on edge.

“What do we have here, Kinkaku?” The silver one leered. He must be Ginkaku then. “This isn’t the white-haired Master who summoned us.” His dark smile promised pain and suffering, and the confidence to mete that out at his own leisure. “This one will be a tasty appetizer before we get to the other one.”

“It can’t be helped; that Master won’t be able to get far on that leg of his.” Kinkaku seemed to eye him contemplatively for a moment, before also dismissing Madara.

That suited Madara just fine, “Already talking about the living as if they’re dead? I won’t be that easy to win against, old timers.” With a touch of intent he ringed the yard with flames as tall as Konoha’s roofs, trapping them together. One trap negated, hopefully. Now to deal with slippery mud, puddles, and half a sea of water combating his magic.

“Oh? No hand seals, and you can only create a piddly fire ring in a storm? The quality of magic users has dropped since we were alive.” Ginkaku almost seemed to disappear, before reappearing right in front of Madara holding a small knife; he barely dodges in time to avoid, a thin line of blood welling across his face. Right, preternaturally-good, bloodthirsty, undead killers; this wasn’t time to think of this as black-magic high thugs coming at him.

The next blow is easier to anticipate, now that Madara knew that the brothers are fast - he ducks under a reaching blade, breathes out flame and sparks against Kinkaku’s face when he materializes in Madara’s periphery. It’s not enough, though, as Madara takes two small kunai high on his thigh- a roundhouse kick to block a punch from Kinkaku, only to have two kunai cut through his pants up near his hip, followed swiftly by Ginkaku launching a cross that strikes true to Madara’s cheekbone. A flaming open fist punch blows all the wind out of Ginkaku, but buys Madara enough time to retrieve the kunai and fit them between his knuckles for a more lethal blow.

It pays off when Kinkaku whips up behind him; a touch of magic along the blade has it bathed in blue flames and Madara slashes home across Kinkaku’s eyes as he launches neatly into a butterfly kick, spraying dirt into Ginkaku’s eyes before landing a heavy blow across Ginkaku’s throat. The aborted choke and burnt smell of flesh offer some satisfaction - they’re a step above the normal criminals Madara has to deal with regularly on raids, but at least Madara is giving as good as he’s getting.

“Ginkaku, perhaps we need to stop playing around.” There is a sharp hissing sound that carries, and then Madara is looking Kinkaku in the eyes - not even a small scar to show where Madara had burned away his sight and the flesh beneath it.

“I agree Kinkaku; let’s go.” And that isn’t the sound of a man who’s had his windpipe crushed. Fire God and all the Small Lords, of fucking course they’d be regenerating zombies; Madara pours his magic through his veins, coaxing the muscle to burn higher, hotter - fire for energy, fire for strength, fire for burning through limits. If the brothers had been playing earlier - a shockwave reverberated out, extinguishing his flame ring in an instant. Then the brothers were gone.

There. He bends backwards to evade the massive chunk of rock hurtling towards him, only to have to do a back handspring out of the path of an air blade then jackknife back up out of the path of water spikes. He doesn’t have time to think just move, like sparring with Hashi, only no holds barred. Madara pulls flame after flame from his core, dodging and weaving around Kinkaku’s and Ginkaku’s own reaching magic, flinging knived fists and feet into, bone and muscle again, again, once more again. Blood splatters, limbs fall off, smouldering carbon husks of bone and ash in the downpour. Tree trunks splinter, go up in flame, as their bodies go smashing through, the earth splits and scorches and the very air grows sluggish with heat and steam as they clash around and around in a whirling dervish of sparks and blood.

One thing remains constant - no matter how badly the brothers’ are wounded, they simply regenerate. They don’t flag or falter, nor do they seem to feel any of the damage Madara wreaks on their bodies. Bone crunches sickeningly back together, muscles ricochet back into place, limbs regrow from stumps. On the other hand, Madara’s seen better fights; only his magic has prevented serious structural damage to his bones and muscles, but he feels every inch of the many bruises and cuts the brothers have left on him. Twelve Hells, no wonder the military wants Regeneration in its arsenal. He’s powered through a little less than a quarter of his magic pool, but he’s already feeling the fire of overuse rippling down his nerves and the general wooziness of blood loss. Kinkaku and Ginkaku didn’t seem to have broken a sweat. Madara catches and melts the kunai aimed for his heart, “This all you over-hyped fried-brained thugs have?”

Kinkaku snarls in his face, though whether he’s taking exception to being called over-hyped, the implication he’s been hit by lightning once too many times, or being called a thug is anyone’s guess. It’s enough to make him miss the pillar of lava Madara pulls up through the earth, only able to survive by dint of diving forward and catching only his lower half in the fire. “Kinkaku!” Ginkaku yells, materializing out of the heavy rain with a kunai gripped tight and another two hurtling towards Madara. Diverting lava while keeping it molten against it’s wont to cool to rock in the rain is taxing - Madara is no Master, and he’s feeling the strain against his will - but it works to scorch Ginkaku and divert him away from Madara and his brother. Suddenly, there’s a ripple of green slashing through the air from below, what looks like a thousand roots come tunneling up through the muddied ground and through Ginkaku where he lays on the grass regenerating.

He stumbles back - there’s a bloodthirstiness to the way the roots keep stabbing up and through and pulling Ginkaku to pieces. Kinkaku is receiving similar treatment, stomach-turning in the ferocity and the tsunami of sensation coming with. As he leaves the garden to deal with the brothers - and leaves before the garden turns on him, if it can even differentiate between friend and foe - he tries to parse the layers; faint Hashirama green-wood-grow-strong overlaid by Konoha’s creaky-timbers-warm-walls tinted with Tobirama still-quiet-current-cool. Madara hopes that means that the wards are back up - he’s burnt up at least half his magic but he’s pretty sure he’s blown out at least three of the major pathways in his chest and back and that means nothing good for his control, so being able to duck behind some kind of shielding would be fantastic.

Whatever Tobirama did, it feels impressive. Mito’s wards are back, but bulked out with previously hidden seals that have the dual sensation of being thick plates of steel but also a thousand knives poised to fall upon whomever sets off the trap. Madara doesn’t want to even imagine what the seals actually do, since Mito never advertises what her seals do until they’re triggered.

Tobirama meets him at the door, slightly dusty. “Oh good, you’re alive.” Because apparently that outcome ranks higher on the “unexpected surprise” scale than not being maimed. He’d take offense if only said undead assassins didn’t have limitless energy.

“You and I need to have a talk about full disclosure before the next time you go fiddling around with magic,” Madara responds flatly as he wrings out his hair. Konoha pricks at him distractedly for the water he’s spilling onto the floor, and he can’t be impressed upon to care. There’s what’s probably a pulled groin muscle screaming at him with every step he takes, now that he’s dropped his magic usage, and the myriad cuts protest movement as well. His shirt and pants are shredded as well, but maybe he can bribe Izuna -?

“There are much more interesting things to do than talk.” That quicksilver grin promises things, but there’s no heat behind it. Pity, because even making out on the couch like teenagers would be amazing, but who knew how long the forest would be able to keep Kinkaku and Ginkaku occupied. Konoha agrees, which given their disappointment over the lack of making out means that the making out has to come later.

“Not while there are zombies at the door.” Madara responds lightly as he hobbles over to the swing. Tobirama tries to help support him, operative word being “tries” because there’s nothing like one person with a lamed leg trying to help someone with the opposite leg lamed walk. It’d be comedic if either of them were in a position to laugh - as it is Madara can hear Kinkaku and Ginkaku rampaging, though it also sounds like the garden is still doing it’s best to murderize their faces. It can’t hold out much longer - the magic pushed into the plants will be exhausted soon, and if not that the forest will take critical damage and be unable to bounce back from it.

Once Madara’s settled, Tobirama speaks, “Brother and Mito are on their way, but it might not be much help - Kagami’s finished running the simulations - thank you for having Hikaku harass him into incompetence, by the by - and it doesn’t look like anything less than a God is going to work to deal with them.”

“Hashi and Mito?” Madara diverts half his attention away from prodding the laceration across his ribs - would it need stitches? Sloppy job on his part; he’d realized entirely too late he wasn’t wearing a tactical vest.

“Mito was adamant that the brother’s be stopped forthwith, especially once it became clear that they were using their cult to terrorize the populace of the Elemental Nations again,” Tobirama seems to realize something before slapping Madara’s hand away from his cut. “Is that what you took away from that?”

Madara considers, then shrugs. “It explained things, like why Hashi took off so suddenly. I usually get more warning you know.”

“And you’re not at all concerned about needing a God?” Tobirama is clearly astonished, and it’s almost cute. Almost because this is literally the stuff of children’s tales.

“You mess around in the realm of Gods, of course you need a God to fix it.” All the stories agreed on that. Sometimes Madara forgets that for all the Uchiha reputation for coolness to outsiders, they were still warm to each other within their family (for a given value of “family” - fuck Setsuna). There was always someone to tell him a legend when he was little; something that seems to have been distinctly lacking in Hashirama and Tobirama’s lives. Would it be weird to insist on reading Tobirama the more instructional ones? “You’re probably not in good with the Earth God so getting that God to retract the brother’s souls is a no go; the Water God is probably pissed you’ve mucked around with life - you should probably go on pilgrimage to fix that. The Lady of Death is out on grounds of she’s maniacal and has plans of zombie apocalypse, which this plays neatly into. That leaves Fire and Air, but neither of us has any traction with Air, so Fire it is.” Madara ticks off on his fingers, “Any objections?” Kinkaku drops into the front yard, slashing at pursuant vines and roots through the rain, Ginkaku still hidden in the tree line. Konoha outright snarls die-destruction-DIE and the wards ripple with malicious aim.

“Yes! Do you have some half finished summoning for the Fire God hidden around? Or even the basic tools for communication with the Divine?! How exactly are you going to go about getting Divine Assistance without that?” So Tobirama had read some of the tales (if not all of them), good to know.

Ginkaku gets hurled into the wards, and screams as he’s fried. Konoha is screeching a litany of die-death-die; that must be his cue. “I’ll have to tell you later.” Madara steps out of the cover of the porch confidently before letting his core burn hotter than he’s dared in a long time, bleeding red-hot heat into his eyes. “Amaterasu.”

The world goes up in black flames.

Madara wakes to dull pounding in his skull and a ringing in his ears. He feels like one massive contusion, sore from the roots of his hair to ends of his toes. There’s a funny throbbing under his fingertips, low and even but not lumpy. Madara doesn’t know why he expects it to be lumpy, but moving his fingers is a massive mistake. His eyes shoot open at the pain, meeting a deep velvety darkness instead of light. The beeping of a heart monitor going berserk is dim in his ears, the shouting and flurry of noise fuzzy and Madara vaguely realizes he’s in a hospital. It doesn’t help. The world closes in until it’s a pinpoint revolving around his eye sockets and the encroaching black.

“Madara, breathe before one of these half-witted quacks doses you with a sedative.” Of course Tobirama would simultaneously order him around whilst in the hospital and insult the medical staff; the thought loosens the constriction around his lungs and the roiling tumult in his gut. Izuna is arguing now, low and hot, and that’s dangerous territory. He doesn’t think Izuna ever forgave Tobirama for that one school fight, no matter that they were both idiotic for using magic in an uncontrolled setting during puberty - of course a spell was going to blow up and injure someone badly.

“‘Zu-zu,sh’t ‘p,” Ah the joys of a dry throat. At least it sounded like language. He was going to count it as a win.

“Mada! You’re awake!” Izuna (highly likely, at least) grasps his hand and squeezes while babbling about something. Whatever noise escapes him is pained enough to make Izuna loosen his grip; Madara must be on the good drugs then, that Izuna didn’t slap him for ending up in the hospital. There’s a murmured conversation before Izuna breaks, “Mada, you still sure you don’t want Dad or Mom anywhere near you in a hospital room?” He hopes that is rhetorical - Dad would lambast him while Mom would intimidate the hell out of the staff and not-so-subtly imply that they were blundering fools and both would drive him up the wall with stress. Izuna, blessed brother that he is pats his hand consolingly, “I’ll go drive them off. Don’t mess with the bandages, your eyes were bleeding.” Fuck fire and brimstone, the Fire God, and all the Small Lords too. At least now he knows he’s got bandages on?

The door slides shut, taking with it the gaggle of medical staff as Izuna helpfully reminds them that he’s Madara’s medical power of attorney until after he’s off the good drugs. All that’s left is the drone of the machines and the steady breathing of another human - probably Tobirama. The silence is comfortable, and Madara wants nothing more to sip some water and then go back to sleep.

“Here.” A ice chip knocks against his lips; he must have said that outloud. It takes conscious thought to open and take in the chip to suck, but the low amount of liquid it yields is soothing.

“Thank you.” Another ice chip bumps against his lips, and he gratefully captures that one too.

“Think nothing of it.” Tobirama’s tone is clipped, but not noticeably different from his usual ‘I’ve had to deal with utter imbeciles’ lilt. This time the silence is tacky with potential, but it all dances around the main issue.

Madara decides to pursue the elephant in the room before it festers, “You have questions.” He hopes his meaning is clear - he doesn’t want to waste precious hydration on unnecessary words. For his efforts he’s rewarded with a third ice chip.

“I do. I’m sure you do as well.” Ah, tit-for-tat. Sensible, really. “Let’s start with what exactly you did to the Kin and Gin brothers.”

“I used heavenly fire to burn them from existence,” Madara pauses to tuck the ice chip into his cheek. “It’s an Uchiha thing.”

“Explain.” Tobirama sounds like he’s shuffled his position.

“You know that myth about Uchiha and fire magic? Well, devotee worship is one way of describing that situation....”

Tobirama connects the dots quickly, especially given the context. “The first Uchiha were demigods.”

“The first Uchiha were demigods.” Madara agrees, nominally because it’s less words than ‘At least one of my ancestors made like a bunny with the Fire God and lived to have babies,’ but also because no one needs to talk about their ancestors making like bunnies. “If it helps, only a handful of us are probably capable of channeling the Fire God’s magic - me and Izuna are the only ones who are known for sure.” Because nothing says channeling God level abilities like starting a chain of centuries-dormant volcanoes to erupt via lightning and then reversing the eruption.

“The Fire God tends the flame/ Of hearth and home/ Kith and Kin/ All drawn back to the fires that warm and the ties that bind.” Tobirama quoted from an ancient Fire text. “Quite literally in this case.”

Madara shrugs; it wasn’t untrue. The Fire God did tend to look out for Uchiha a little more than other people; they had an entire extra Blessing to that effect. “It’s not useful otherwise, there isn’t a need to have the power of the Gods roaming around freely and the human body isn’t really meant to handle it, even if Uchiha are little more resilient.” Thus the migraine and bleeding eyes, but those should pass normally.

Tobirama pauses, then, “So you could walk out - for a given value of walk - right now and be fine.”

“Something like that? Uchiha don’t have a healing Blessing, but as long as it’s not fatal overuse, we heal up just fine.” According to records anyways, apparently the ability to channel the Fire God’s power used to be much more common.

“That’s impressive.”

“Says the one who rediscovered Reanimation and lost control of a pair of historically renowned assassins in an event that terrified all of the criminal magical element.” Madara wishes he had his sight, to gauge the expression Tobirama is making.

“That’s a statement, not a question.” Tobirama sounds amused, which is better than clipped. “Is the demigod saying I’m impressive?” Another ice chip comes, and Madara blames his numb mouth for the entirely unintentional way he carefully sucks it in. The abruptly ended inhalation is gratifying, but also mortifying. He’s probably a massive contusion, how?

Yet. So many possibilities. “Really?” Madara playfully licks his lips, catching the droplet resting over the scab on his lower lip, and the hitch in breathing gives it all away. “You know, isn’t the hero supposed to get a kiss from the pretty love interest after saving the day?”

“Is that how it’s supposed to go?” Tobirama matches his flirtatious tone, “Then I suppose I owe Konoha a kiss for sending the forest after the brothers and keeping you in one piece.”

“Nothing for me?” Madara pretends to pout. There’s movement and a line of warmth close to him; Tobirama must have moved closer.

“Not as long as Brother, Izuna, and Kagami are listening at the door.” There’s a series of yelps and shushed whispers, and then the patter of feet swiftly leaving. A chair scrapes nearby, “I think I’ll speak to my PhD candidate about a certain betting pool while you and Brother catch up.” Breath tickles his ear, “And then, I think you made me a promise that I fully intend to cash in.” Then the door slides open and Tobirama is gone, leaving Madara flustered.

Hashirama must come in, because the chair screeches over the linoleum again. Madara hopes he’s not flushed, or that if he is, Hashirama won’t ask questions. For the first time in a long while, the silence is awkward. Fire God save him from this. Just. All of it.

“So I suppose congratulations are in order?” Is there a nearby canyon or outcropping? Hashirama sounds tentative, he needs to preemptively go lemming off a cliff. “I think this is the point where I give a shovel talk. At least that’s what all the tv dramas say, but usually that’s right before the wedding and I don’t have a shotgun. Or is that a shotgun wedding?” Then, Madara can practically hear the lightbulb go off, and he wishes he could flee for his life. “Madara. WE COULD BE REAL BROTHERS.” And there goes the bear hug. Madara doesn’t have stitches in his ribs or anything, this is is fine.

He’s on the verge of vomiting when Hashirama lets go. “Hashi why.”

“Why what?” Hashirama punctuates his statement with a melodramatic sniff. Whether he can mean excitement over his best friend and little brother finally acknowledging the UST or excitement of the idea of a wedding is unclear. Madara tries to tell himself that it’s obviously the former, but it’s most likely the latter and now he really really hopes that Hashi and Kagami never have a discussion.“Can’t I be happy for you both?”

“Yes. No. Yes and no?” Madara sorts the questions before ignoring them entirely. “So what’s the official verdict from on high?”

Hashirama sighs. “It’s research for the military that went wrong. You know how they do, they’re wrapping everything in gag orders and red tape a hundred miles long and selling the story that it was Teleportation gone awry rather than a successful Reanimation technique.”

Madara parses that, and concludes it’s got more holes than a ship built in Kaze no Kuni. “Tobirama doesn’t do research in Teleportation.”

Hashirama sounds tired, “Now he does.” A nurse bustles in and changes his IV, reminds him not to touch his bandages until the doctors come back. She sounds like the type of nurse who would punch in the face of a recalcitrant patient, and Madara takes her at face value. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Madara wishes he could glare at Hashirama, but bandages. “For the love of the Four, why is your goddamned house invested in matchmaking? Konoha is terrible at it.”

Hashirama has the gall to laugh, “Not so terrible, since it worked. Besides, are you complaining? I hear you have a hot date with my little brother to look forward too.” Hashirama is probably waggling his eyebrows salaciously. Madara makes note to murder him at earliest possible convenience. Then the chair shrieks across the floor again. “I’ll stop by later; I need to regrow my entire garden.” Madara can hear Hashirama’s sulk and decides that no his guilty conscious does not get to volunteer him to help fix the mess. Especially given the sheer quantity of paperwork probably now waiting for him. How was he supposed to explain this one? Can he blame cultists? At least he has a date to look forward to. “Earth God keep you, Mada. Don’t get caught sneaking out of here.”

Madara returns the farewell in time to hear Tobirama re-enter and Izuna gasping for breath in the hall. “Madara. Why did Kagami just give me a wifi-enabled adult toy?”

#sumigakure halloween event 2017 #sumigakure halloween event 2017: prompt 5 #madatobi #art writes #i am so done with this #please leave concrit

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