#i wanted to name a character coconut because i had bought coconut oil to help with my eczema and the aroma was v inspiring

[d0vegum]

new oc!! i literally created her just because i wanted to name a character coconut <3

[xoteajays]

Try coconut oil.. Not shampoos or conditioners with coconut, actually use coconut oil before washing your hair. Seriously. Coconut oil is just very good for your heath and hygiene - including your skin, hair, nails, teeth and digestion. Coconut oil is really good for everything you may be able to think of for health and hygiene. So just really soak your hair coconut oil before washing your hair with shampoo and conditioners.

Coconut oil would moisturize skin, hair, nails, whiten teeth, helps with digestion. Everything you can think. Do some research on it if you will want to try it. But there are a lot of health and hygiene benefits with a coconut oil product. Just actually try it before you criticize it though.

My maternal grandmother was one of my hairdressers that was really my style became too complicated to keep up with. But... Because she was in and out of the hospital, she eventually had to give up her salon though. She sold her shop to someone who used to work with her but for some reason, that same person (who bought the shop) just hasn't been taking proper care of the shop. Like why even buy this business, if you aren't actually going to run the business the way it should be so that pisses off the family to know. So we have go to different people - we go to different hairdressers, but not from my grandmother's shop.

That's a disappointment.

I would like a new hairdresser besides my mother's friend. She's really a professional hairdresser, but she never seems to do what I asked for my hair though. Like she's too afraid to actually do anything with how my hair is. I don't know. That annoys me. The only reason why I would go their is that I get a huge discount from her, compared to any other hairdressers. If I actually went to another hairdresser, I'd have to really spend hundreds of dollars for my hair. I have long hair so that actually means more products, dyes, shampoos and cuts. That's more money than short hair people. Spending three hundred dollars is ridiculous.

~

I had similar thoughts before.. My first thought was why have a whole drug factory in Nameless City, where not a single person (besides the one character Shion) knows about this factory. The factory was really loud to not have noticed. I'm assuming Nikaido was living there for so long, maybe his whole life like everyone else. Nikaido's real name was Cain. And it was also mentioned that he actually was an older brother figure towards everyone in Nameless City, especially toward Shion of all people too. So if he did manipulate Shion, unless someone else did then, he might have used his 'brotherly instincts' to manipulate Shion in that way. But I've always assumed Nikaido knew Smoky was sick.

As an introvert, I have never been adopted by extroverts. That I would know of.. I don't think I have. And I would rather keep it that way since most of them have too much energy for me to tolerant. I can't do it.

But I have always thought it was unusual that Ryu's apparently one of the Mighty Warriors, is friends with them. But is barely with them too.

Not including Ice though.

I've been to one club in my life. If you could consider that ever place a club. I was too young to drink alcohol there. Let me explain! Because I was young.. There was kind of a 'ball' inside club, where there was too many different bands playing. Almost like how bars have bands but it was inside a club instead, the bands were real bands not the bands of nobody people. This event happened a couple times a year. So we did going as often as we could. Since we were so young, my aunt actually took my cousins and I most of the time - especially since the club just wasn't in good neighborhoods either. Mostly people for all alternative styles (like emo, goth, punk, cyber styles). Dressing up, listening to all the music if the bands were good. You could buy merchandise in a lot of the little stands. But they had alcohol for adults. And there were so many times where my cousins and I would walk in the restrooms, just to see people people having sex in public restrooms. That's too gross. Don't forget! My cousins and I were young teenagers when any of this happened. So my cousins and I would laugh at people having sex in a public place, that was filthy, in a club like that. So many experiences.

That was the closest to ever being in a club. With the exception of the music in Club Heaven, I hate most music in clubs because I've always never liked that genre of music in my opinion. Strangers grinding on a lot of people, sweaty people. And too many creeps too. I just have the grace of a baby deer. I'm clumsy, I have no rhythm either so I just can never dance. I'm too awkward with dancing. And, like you said, I really wouldn't want to spend money on drinks. Don't get me wrong! I could have drinks. But if I don't like the flavor to the drink, that drink may be wasted unless someone else drinks it. And being a small person, then that also means I wouldn't be able to drink lots of alcohol anyway too.

And sometimes club music is too loud to enjoy. And, if you're really to for some reason, you won't be able to have conversations with people since you can't hear anything. Which could be good or bad. Depends.

If a club like Club Heaven existed, and I don't mean the actual club I'd seen listed online. I mean.. A place were the workers protected any of their customers from harm, and from being harassed. A place where I would be able to enjoy myself (to an extent), I would go there if that is a place that existed. Even if I may be sitting with the White Rascals all night if I'm lucky, maybe converse with any of them if I can. But still.

And as for concerts, I've been to a lot of concerts. Part of me actually misses going to concerts.. But I have no friends to go with. Especially since most avenues in my area are in bad neighborhoods, just like the clubs are. So it's like my parents would allow me to go without people with me either. I know, I know. I'm adult who is still being controlled a lot of the time by my parents (mainly my mother). And I hate that just way too much. But yeah. It might be a while before I can attend some concerts again in some way. Doesn't help that most of the bands that I enjoy listening to have not been coming to America in years lately.

~

Kizzy is probably part of the problem any time a situation happens to the Rascals. Koo actually deserves a raise after everything he does all the time, Kizzy gets a raise despite not deserving it half the time. But Rocky has to care for his sister friend. Kizzy's so overly melodramatic.

~

There's this movie I watched before. Called Pet. It's this horror thriller, and the movie stars Ksenia Solo as the main female character (so you would know her from Orphan Black). The movie was an okay movie in my opinion. But I just watched it the other night.. I realized Rocky was going to hate this movie if he watched it with his girlfriend (or wife) as this movie mistreats women. The female is stalked by the guy despite her telling him she isn't interested, with her actual boyfriend cheating on her with her best friend, her being kidnapped, and everything else.

Rocky would hate that movie. And maybe make him angry about it.

Poor Rocky can't caught a break.

I don't know if I would watch Ballerina. Maybe. Because I know... That the movie is a revenge plot. And it's a movie, not a show. So there is a possibility that I might watch the movie at some point. Not right now.

But if the main character is a ballerina, or was a ballerina, then maybe that could help with any of your ballerina characters. Like for Hinami.

So the Ji's character is pretending to be a relative to the gang leader's childhood friend? That's a good way to manipulate someone. Also the wife manipulating him because of his feelings for her. He's so stupid.

This is why women should be in charge.. Not men. They would always think of their dick instead of their brains. Just let this backfire on him.

He deserves it for being so stupid.

I know what I said. I'm not changing my mind either.

i would do that. but i hate putting anything in my hair. i have a whole sensory issue with hair products …… and make up and lotions/creams. i use one non-shampoo/conditioner hair product because it was foisted on me and it’s not even the actual one my hairdresser wanted me to use because i hated even the idea of my hair being crunchy because of hair products.

i might try it, because my hair and scalp does probably does need it. but i really do hate putting stuff in my hair.

god i have absolutely spent more than $300 at a hairdresser’s because i have such thick hair so they have to use extra products. it fucking sucks!

~

i hate it. i hate nikaido. god if he wasn’t the one actually working the drug lab, he probably told his lackeys to go set up in nameless because he knows it well from growing up there. he probably manipulated more people than just shion. and to know smokey was sick and know why! and be probably used that to manipulate shion! because he knew the boys would be desperate to help smokey!

i had a lot of introvert friends in high school. we kind of broke apart after we graduated, but the one i still have is more on the extroverted side. she really enjoys clubs and stuff, i’ve gone out with her a few times, but not for years now.

~

i’ve seen pet! so creepy. stalker movies always creep me out. but i do watch a lot of them for exactly that reason.

i watched ballerina! more below about that. the main character actually isn’t the ballerina in the movie, but her best friend who dies was. i enjoyed it tho! the fights scenes were very good. heads up for like. weird bondage stuff tho. idk if it was shown in the trailer, i didn’t watch hat, i just saw jong seo and went ‘yay!’ and added it to my watchlist. but yea. weird - though brief - bondage stuff.

and not to be gay but oh my god. the main character and her friend. there’s no way that wasn’t supposed to be read as at least a little gay. they showed flashbacks like she was a dead wife! the main character said she felt like she was ‘suffocating until she met her’. they were so awkward tomboy x eccentric femme gfs. the friend was such a cutie too.

also jun jong seo looks so good splattered with blood. i love women.

he’s my dumb pretty idiot boy. he’s so gonna get arrested. or killed. i’m just. please. please use your upstairs brain. you’re trusting this new guy too quickly and you shouldn’t be hanging out with this chick who is a cop. please listen to your longtime friends who are literally telling you this!

[ajapablog]

Corona Chronicles IV and V

Two in one blogs are an indication that time has started to blur. It takes me a couple of seconds to remember what day it is. I also feel slightly unmotivated to blog because I am not sure anyone reads these and I actually had to ask a friend to read my latest posts to see if these were any good.  But I decided that I should do it for me. 

Otherwise, a routine and the sense of normalcy has started to kick in. Yesterday I sat at the desk doing work for around 6 hours with a couple of water and bathroom breaks in between. I managed to finish a 2-hour ethics and harassment training for my employers and I know now what the Clery Act is and I would know how to file a Title IX case if it ever came to that. So that’s work done! I still have to do my taxes!! 

In the evening yesterday, we ordered Mexican food and started watching Netflix’s latest offering: The Circle. The show has some really interesting characters trying to make it to the end of an experiment where people are eliminated based on interactions between each other through social media. These characters are in isolation so it definitely mimics our current state. This is indeed the time to watch shows about social experiments about isolation. The show Love is Blind is also pretty amazing.  Today began with an hour-and-half-long group work out session. We began with the first fitness test in something called insanity workout. The bald instructor keeps saying “boom boom,” so I have decided to affectionately name him uncle Boom Boom. I was almost  going to faint at some point in the middle of our fitness/cardio training so I am utterly out of shape. I haven’t swam in 3 weeks now. Then we moved on to pilates with a cheery lady who I haven’t had the chance to name yet. But she can talk non-stop while doing some pretty intense work-outs. I aspire to be like her. We ended with some self care yoga that left us feeling warm and fuzzy. As my roommate says, we still might have 2 years worth of pent up energy that needs to be spent. So the workouts will continue.  Grooming in times of Corona My scratchy throat is so much better; my stomach is also fine. I think it might have just been a case of not being conscientious about what I was eating. I am too scared to drink coffee. I have been eating more fruits. Although, a part of me is scared that I will soon run out of papayas and I definitely do not want to go out to get some more. But eating more fruits is good for the skin.  Speaking of which, I have not been great at maintaining a skincare routine since my mid twenties. I know how to but I haven’t been regular. A part of the problem is the fact that I don’t have the usual tools: surprisingly, I don’t have a mud face pack, aloe vera gel or rose water (things I always had at hand in my 20s). I ordered a vitamin C serum, some tea tree oil, a face pack and a cleansing brush on amazon to start a routine. There is no question of going swimming or to the gym but I’ll keep my legs smooth and shaven for myself, thank you very much. I plan to tint my hair with some henna that I bought ages ago. I’ll crack an egg in there, add some black tea and some coconut oil. The last time I did this hair routine, my hair was glowing. 

Grooming in the time of social isolation is  important because it is a reminder that we must take care of ourselves, for ourselves. It doesn’t matter if we can’t show off our silky hair and our painted nails to the world. We do, however, have to live with ourselves and it definitely helps if we look nice. 

In the News Younger Adults Make a Big Part of Covid-19 Hospitalizations in the US  The idea that young people with healthy immune systems will ride this wave has been in circulation for a while now. But the New York Times has a report that says that young people are indeed being hospitalized and have been grappling with the virus. The number of deaths among young people is lower than for the elderly but that doesn’t discount the fact that young people do indeed show symptoms of this coronavirus infection that lands them in the hospital. All the more reason to be cautious. See: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/18/health/coronavirus-young-people.html

Japanese Flu Vaccine Effective Against Coronavirus The Japanese-developed drug, to fight the latest strain of the influenza virus, Favipiravir or Avigan, has proved to be effective against a milder case of Covid-19 according to Chinese medical personnel. They say that the drug doesn’t do much to the more severe symptoms but the fact that it can be effective against milder symptoms is a welcome news. See: https://www.livescience.com/flu-drug-could-treat-coronavirus.html An Indian Cure? There have been news that Indian doctors in Jaipur made a cocktail of retroviral (HIV) drugs, influenza drugs and swine flu meds that cured an Italian patient of coronavirus. The fact that the antidote to this Covid 19 situation lies in the tweaking of existing antivirals, is highly probable. I know retro viruses and corona viruses are different but given that retroviral drugs have been used to “cure” something as tough as HIV, I wonder if there’s something about using these on corona viruses. What is slightly disconcerting to me is the fact that the international news has no coverage whatsoever of the happenings at Sawai Jai Singh hospital in Jaipur. I wonder if the West is not taking seriously the fact that Indian doctors are very likely to be able to treat patients with Covid-19. This is not coming from a sense of pride over South Asian know-how but from the experience of seeing the superiority of Indian medical personnel more generally from having lived in different countries in the course of my life so far.  See: https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/jaipur/city-docs-cure-corona-patient-with-hiv-drugs/articleshow/74584859.cms

Do not take Ibuprofen if you have Covid-19 symptoms Apparently, Ibuprofen is not the drug to take to relieve fever or pain symptoms related to Covid-19. The advice in the public sphere came from the French health minister, Olivier Véran who instructed everyone to take acetaminophen instead. NSAIDs apparently made symptoms worse. From the different things I’ve been reading, it seems like this disease has something to do with the inflammation-oxidation-immune systems in our body: which is pretty much every infection but if doctors could figure out the specificty of the mode through which this virus effects these interconnected systems, they could have the answer to what to do. Of course, all of this will take time. For now, I won’t take my favourite painkiller: Flexon—a beautiful cocktail of paracetamol and ibuprofen, if I feel feverish or feel pain. See: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/17/health/coronavirus-ibuprofen.html

Women fare Worse than Men in Epidemics and Pandemics The social scientific community has been talking a lot about how the pandemic and the practices of social isolation has the effect of reconstituting older social hierarchies. This is the case with gender as well with women having to stay in abusive homes, having to rely on men, do more labor, etc. See: https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/2020/03/feminism-womens-rights-coronavirus-covid19/608302/

The Sky is Falling: Says a NY Doctor A New York doctor wrote that she might sound alarmist but the case is worrying and as a medical personnel who sees life and death situations everyday, this moment is particularly panic-inducing. She says that she is not confident about the medical profession and the infrastructure to be able to take on the surge capacity of this pandemic. She says that there will in two weeks arise a situation where doctors here in the US will have to make life or death judgements. Her insistence that we must be careful is important. See: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/03/19/opinion/coronavirus-doctor-new-york.html

[utsus]

Say Uncle: An Uchiha Madara Anthology

AO3

Uchiha Madara is many things—powerful, enigmatic, alluring.

He has a wide range of talents, and has never met a challenge he hasn’t overcome.

That is, until his little brother and his cute wife must leave town on short notice, leaving him the only available candidate to watch over their twin preteen daughters.

He is not in the habit of backing down.

This, however, makes him think about it.

✧✧✧

“It’ll only be one day, Madara.”

“You know what else happened in one day? The fall of an entire nation, Izuna.”

“That was decades ago. It’s time to move on.”

“People don’t forget,” Madara whispers forlornly, curling his fingers and surveying the smooth curves of his fingernails, each with its own dainty crescent indent.

“Regardless,” Izuna huffs, exasperated. “Please take good care of them.”

Madara rolls his eyes, knowing his brother knows he’s done so. “Of course. Have a safe trip. Tell Hinata hello for me. Don’t forget this time, Izuna. Your lack of follow-through is at times unspeakably rude.”

Izuna sighs over the phone, and the line cuts off.

“He hung up on me,” Madara says to himself, clucking his tongue. “His manners are atrocious.”

✧✧✧

Fifteen minutes since Uchiha Madara stepped through the chipped, dusty doorframe of his little brother’s home, he finds himself sitting in the living room with two eleven year old girls on either side of him. There are teen magazines spread around them, nail polishes in several striking colors lined up in front of him, and two dainty hands resting against his knees.

Surprisingly enough, none of these occurrences take the cake for the strangest, most startling development in Madara’s life.

The conversation at hand, however, does.

“Listen, Mayumi. There are approximately three hundred and seven different reasons why silk sheets are superior to,” and here, Madara pauses to swallow some bile down, “cotton.”

“But uncle, what are they?” Michiko asks, peering up at him with her wide-eyed gaze. So young, he thinks, with so much to learn about the world.

“All in due time, Michiko. For now, just know that the atrocities your father has inflicted upon you will be rectified swiftly.”

“What’s an atro—atrossy?”

“For starters, your hair,” Madara admits pitilessly. “Not to mention the décor in this place. You both have been starved of fine living. I’m surprised at your mother, though this is typical of your father.”

“I want black nails,” Mayumi says easily, gesturing to the black nail polish. This particular shade is one of Madara’s favorites, even amongst the armada of polishes he brought over to share with his nieces from his place. Madara gives her an approving look, and picks the polish up with deft fingers. He turns it in his hands and reads the label on the bottom, eyebrows raised.

“This might look black to you, but it is in fact much more. It’s obsidian.”

“Right,” Mayumi agrees smoothly. “I want it on all of my nails but the thumbs.”

“I want it on my thumbs,” Michiko states, “but a different color for the rest.”

Madara hums as he moves the tiny brush meticulously over his first niece’s nails, not getting a single smidge of paint on her skin. “And the other color, Michiko?”

He watches her from the corner of his eye, sees her lift a specific polish, seek its label, and read out, “Crimson Rain.”

“Extraordinary choice,” Madara praises, beaming at her. He finishes painting Mayumi’s nails, excluding her thumbs, and surveys his work with a critical eye. Pleased with his exactitude, he nods to himself and shifts to start on Michiko’s nails. He treats them with the same careful precision, and finishes with a wide flare of his brush over the center of her pointer nail.

“You’re so good at this,” Mayumi points out unnecessarily. Madara very nearly rolls his eyes. Of course he is.

“Of course I am,” he reiterates aloud, casting a speculative glance her way. “Experience is key. Practice is integral. Understand this, and you’ll nail it.”

His pun flies straight over their heads, and his stomach drops. Strike one, he thinks solemnly.

“Mom’s good at it too. Dad gets some paint on my skin sometimes, but he’s okay.”

Madara cringes. “He does?”

“Yup,” Michiko asserts, blowing on her nails and shimmying in her seat.

“Abominable.”

“Like the snowman!”

“Perhaps,” Madara allows, but truth be told, his mind is still clouded with his brother’s apparent failures. Getting nail polish on the skin—what is Izuna, a barbarian?

“There,” Madara announces, when he’s applied the appropriate amount of coats for their nails to really stick and shine. They coo over his work and his ego is properly bolstered, his chest swelling with pride. He flips his hair over his shoulder, careful to keep it out of their hands. Upon walking through the door, his hair had been the first thing they’d wanted to touch, as always.

And, as always, he had denied them.

That was before he realized that he finds their company bolstering, and even quite refreshing.

They have swift learning curves, and are incredibly receptive to his words and actions—this is certainly genetic, on their mother’s side. They retain the lessons he’s deemed acceptable to offer them, and they seem to share several of his key interests. They did immediately understand the difference between mahogany and pine, and that this difference is life-altering.

This is still not enough to change his mind.

“Uncle, have you heard of coconut oil? And how it can help with split ends?”

Madara turns to Mayumi slowly, suspecting a trap. She’s all wide-eyed innocence and open curiosity, wondering at his answer. He’s an impeccable judge of character, and she seems legitimate.

“Coconut oil, you say?”

Michiko nods, climbing over to kneel by her sister. “Yes! Mom uses it and it works really well.”

“What’s the brand?”

Michiko’s expression pinches. “I don’t know.”

Strike two, Madara thinks, as he reevaluates his initial high opinion of his nieces. The fact that they seem unbothered by this does not deter him, or make him think differently. He wonders if this is really the time for another lesson to be learned, along with some pointedly disdainful undertones so that his nieces understand their deficiency in this regard.

“Well,” he says, deciding to move forward without that disdainful remark. They are still rather young, after all. “So tell me. It’s effective?”

The twins have more to say about coconut oil than Uchiha Madara had ever expected to hear in his life, and he is better off because of it. Already he has brand names running behind his eyes, producers and makers in countries around the world that have the capacity and capability to do coconut oil right. He’s already planning communication channels and shipping delays when Mayumi drops another heavy, but welcoming, blow.

“Uncle, have you heard of restorative hand cream?”

Madara doesn’t know how long he sits in front of his nieces and listens to them share their self care secrets for his benefit, but by the time they finish, the moon is in the night sky and there is an owl softly hooting somewhere nearby. His lips have been pursed in concentration for who knows how long by now, and his brow is a knotted, furrowed line of tension.

Even still, he has never felt lighter.

Hinata has been holding out on him, it seems, though he doesn’t blame her. Much. She had probably been distracted trying to convince his travesty of a brother not to wear socks with sandals again, or, God forbid, two different shades and patterns of plaid at the same time.

“Interesting,” Madara says for the umpteenth time, equally sincere as the first.

“Uncle,” Mayumi pauses, expression just this side of expectant. “We know you have connections in other countries.”

Madara sits up a little straighter at this, eyeing his nieces blankly, giving them no sign of his true feelings in the matter. “Hm?”

“Well,” Michiko joins, dragging the word out. “Our shampoo is bought from the supermarket.”

Madara doesn’t breathe for a solid minute; when the air is finally forced into his lungs, it’s through his teeth.

His voice is a roar, deep and thunderous; he says, “No.”

So much betrayal from his own blood, he doesn’t even know where to begin. The least of it is obviously how the twins have just efficiently played him, though he’s already debating forgiving them, simply because they share his tastes. And he finds them interesting. Maybe they had played him, but truly, their intentions are sound; they merely desire the best, just as he does. They just so happen to need him as a middleman in order to receive the best.

He is only too happy to oblige.

The betrayal he cannot let slide, however, comes as it so often does, from his little brother.

The supermarket.

Madara had thought certainly that he had raised Izuna better than this. This deficiency is in no way related to him, but it pains him to wonder if it may in fact be due to Hinata. She is the person he finds most interesting in the world, an amalgamation of cool, calm introversion with the potential of a dangerously manipulative side if threatened. He’s never felt anything but avid respect for Hinata, but if she is to blame for this supermarket fiasco, he may have to reevaluate her, as well.

His brother, however.

Madara is without a doubt going to have words with Izuna.

“Well played,” Madara finally admits to the twins, noting the calculating gleams in their wide eyes. He gives them appraising looks, wondering for only a moment if he would be overstepping his bounds should he foster that manipulative nature into something worthwhile, something treacherous. Their mother would never approve, but he’s fairly certain that Izuna would quietly side with him on this.

Perhaps another time, then. He requires a plan for such fastidious, underhanded work.

“I’ll have the same shampoo and conditioner that I use, imported from Jordan, in your hands by this Wednesday. It’s only a few days away; as such, I suggest not washing your hair until then, not when your only other options are so horrific. The natural oils in your hair are good for it.”

“Understood,” the twins chirp simultaneously, and turn to flick through some of the magazines spread around them. Madara goes to work putting all of his Louboutin nail polishes away in his travel container, careful not to chip any of them with careless handling. Not long after he’s sealed the container, he finds the twins turning their attention back to him, visibly curious.

“Uncle,” Mayumi starts, before Michiko picks up where she left off. “Can you teach us more?”

“Rather vague, Michiko.”

Michiko, apparently already well-learned in the art of self-preservation, does not roll her eyes. However, it seems a close thing.

“Can you teach us,” she repeats, “about ‘fine living?’”

Madara unashamedly brightens like a sunrise, and stands to his full height. He gestures for them to follow him over to the couch, waits for them to sidle up to him, and points derisively at the cushions.

“First lesson,” he begins. “These cushions are an abomination.”

The couch is only the first victim of Madara’s sharp eye, with countless others to follow. Now that he’s been given free reign to do a few of his favorite things—criticize Izuna’s taste (or lack thereof), and display his expert knowledge on all things upper class—he rambles on endlessly, leaving no cheaply glued frame or dusty flower vase without criticism.

In the future, Madara will remember this day fondly—not only as the first true day that he saw the raw potential for elegantly-inclined scholars in his insightful nieces, nor the first day that said nieces pulled out what would ultimately become a tome of Madara’s finely-honed knowledge of the world, but as the first day of an indomitable alliance between he and his nieces.

An alliance that would lead to immeasurable future victories over Izuna, who at that point in time, twitched and began to feel as though something ominous was moving over him.

Mayumi’s pen pauses in her detailed writing, Michiko peering over her shoulder at the words, and when both of them look back up at him expectantly, Madara smiles.

He doesn’t stop talking for the remainder of the night, not even when they’re tucked into their beds and their eyelids droop.

He has a great deal of knowledge to share, after all.

✧✧✧

“Welcome back, Izuna. Hinata. I trust your trip went well.”

“It went,” Izuna huffs, letting his backpack drop to the tile beside the front door. Madara eyes the bag with repulsion, going so far as to cringe away from it.

“You took a backpack, Izuna?”

“Yes? I only needed to carry a few things.”

“Hi, Madara-san.” Hinata greets, moving around her husband to press a kiss to Madara’s cheek, before heading deeper into the house to greet the twins.

Madara remains staring incredulously at the bag on the ground in front of him—is that a hole?—as he addresses Izuna again.

“Izuna, what happened to the carry-on items I gave you for Christmas? They’re designer, and far more practical than that disaster you have there.”

Izuna scowls. “The bags you got me were too big for this trip.”

“Extra space, Izuna. What if you had required more?”

If possible, Izuna’s scowl deepens. His shoulders bow exhaustedly, and there are deep-set lines on the corners of his lips.

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” he says in response, his words coming out quicker than his mind can keep up. “We don’t have them anymore.”

Hinata, who had just appeared in the doorway behind them, gasps. Izuna looks up and sees the expression on her face—knowing, pitying—and looks to Madara and flinches.

“Pardon me,” Madara says slowly, tone utterly glacial. Chills race down Izuna’s spine; the last time he’d been the target of that particular glare, he’d almost lost an arm. He’s fairly certain his only offense, then, had been wearing glow in the dark flip flops. This, it seems, is far worse. “Did I just hear you say that you got rid of the Versace carry-on bags I got you three Christmases ago? The same ones that I had hand-made with real leather, velvet linings, and gold accents, and were imported from France?”

“Madara,” Izuna puts his hands up defensively, abruptly backtracking. He assumes his most placating tone, expression shifting into something downtrodden simply in an attempt to touch at any heartstrings Madara has left in him. It doesn’t really seem to work all that well; Madara appears a step away from murderous.

“You come into my house,” Madara cuts him off, smooth and derisive, even if he is in fact currently within Izuna’s house. “You insult my fine tastes.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Izuna appeases.

“Oh, and I suppose the Greeks never meant to insult the Trojans, Izuna.”

“Are you really equating this situation to the downfall of Troy?”

“Seeing that I feel thusly betrayed,” Madara snarls petulantly, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

“They’re just bags.” Izuna tries again, tone this side of pleading.

“And hell is just a sauna, Izuna.”

“I never even used them!”

“Deception,” Madara begins to sing lowly, tone rumbling. “Disgrace. Evil as plain as the scar on your face!”

“What? I don’t have a scar on my face.”

“Uncle,” Mayumi suddenly says from his side, tugging lightly on the hem of his shirt. “He won’t know that one.”

Madara’s anger, suddenly girded, becomes a passionate display of disappointment. He turns away from Mayumi, back to Izuna, and says, “You’ve never seen The Lion King, Izuna?”

“No?”

“This is,” Madara states sincerely, not blinking once, “The worst day of my existence.”

“Oh, please,” Izuna rolls his eyes, and Hinata cringes over Madara’s shoulder. “Don’t be so dr—”

“Madara-san!” Hinata interjects swiftly, moving around his shoulder and smiling kindly as his eyes flick to her face. “We happened to see this fabric store on our trip, and one of the signs in the window implied the possession of imported silk. I thought you might be interested.”

Madara allows himself to be deterred, refuses to even think about the road Izuna had so clearly been heading down, and turns to Hinata with an appraising expression. He purses his lips, says, “Signs? In the window? A hideous promotional technique.”

But he considers it; there are not many places near his home that sell large quantities of silk, which are specific to his needs. He has hobbies, after all. And no matter how many strongly worded letters he writes to the local Silk Shack (the most detestable of names, certainly, but their silk stock is second to none in this country), they keep refusing to connect him with the general manager.

His last letter had been especially strongly worded, so much so that he had gotten his very first actual response. Their unremarkable deflection attempt was pitiful, he remembers, and their assumption that he would give in so easily to their laziness a far greater offense. He can still remember how heated he’d been while writing his rejoinder, the tip of his quill very nearly piercing through the parchment (imported from Venice) when he wrote,

“I am Konoha! The Morning and the Evening Star! If I say ‘day is night,’ it will be written! Let it be known, now, that your general manager has done your silk business a disservice, and that I will not allow the continued disregard for the elegant material of silk to ensue further. Need I remind you how I conquered the atrocity that was © 1998 Powerade? I think not.

Best, Uchiha Madara”

Madara doesn’t know how many letters he’s going to have to write before they understand that he doesn’t simply want to speak with the general manager, he wants to follow through with a crafty and stylish coup d’état, and assume his position at the helm of the company. That way, he can really do right by the silk industry in this nation, and spread the wonders of silk throughout the lands.

If he really puts his mind to it, he can probably obliterate the entirety of the cotton market.

Madara’s smile is a switchblade’s transition, all sharp edges and full of bite. “Hideous promotional techniques aside…Hinata, do tell me more about this place.”

As Hinata guides him away from the front room and, coincidentally, Izuna, she chatters on about the details she’d managed to catch from their trip past this mysterious silk shop. Madara raises a brow when she mentions its proximity to the post office, and finds himself opening up more and more to the idea of taking over not one, but two silk shops.

He notices Izuna move past him to head for the twins standing in the doorway, dropping to his knees to hug both of them. His little brother coos softly over their painted nails, and smiles patiently while they recount several of the lessons that Madara had ingrained in them in their short time together. Izuna’s shoulders hunch when they mention flip flops and the term “atrocity” in the same sentence, but Madara swells with pride. His lessons, it seems, were not taught in vain.

He thanks Hinata graciously for her information she offered on the new silk shop, which she tells him is called Fine Comforts. Simple, if a little tasteless.

“Well, as it seems, my duties here have come to an end.”

Instantly, the twins both groan and ask him to stay a little while longer. While he admires their passion, he clucks his tongue at their lack of self-control.

“I have a cell-phone,” he allows, after a considering pause. “Feel free to use it.”

“Please do,” Izuna nearly begs, and Madara turns to him with a deadpan expression.

“Do not pretend you don’t enjoy our chats, Izuna.”

Izuna looks pained, and Hinata laughs behind her hand.

“All you do is reference movies and books I’ve never seen and read, and complain about fashion and home décor.”

Madara scoffs. “What else is there to discuss in life?”

Izuna purses his lips, sounding hopeful. “Anything else?”

“Call me when you come up with something substantial,” Madara turns, opening the door and stepping over the threshold. “Oh, and Izuna? Expect a package on Wednesday.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“It’s nothing uncouth,” Madara promises with a haughty sniff, glancing over to Hinata with a nod. He turns his heavy-handed stare to the twins, considering. After a long moment of weighing their successes versus their failures, he decides that their alliance can only truly be sealed with an act of genuine, powerful trust.

As such, he kneels over the threshold of Hinata and Izuna’s front door and gestures for them to come over to him. Izuna watches with wide-eyed curiosity, lips parting in surprise.

“Mayumi, Michiko, I am going to offer the both of you an extremely rare gift. Cherish it properly, and understand it’s significance, and you’ll be more likely to receive exposure to it again in the future.”

“A present?” Mayumi asks, and Madara rolls the thought of it around in his mind for less than a moment before saying, “Yes.”

He re-situates himself until he’s kneeling, and wraps an arm around each of his nieces, pulling them in close. He hears twin gasps in his ears as their cheeks press against his, and their noses touch his hair. Izuna’s gasp, however, is the loudest of all. Madara hugs them close, though not too tightly, and whispers, “If you play your cards right, girls, our alliance will prosper. In all regards.”

The twins hug him tightly, careful not to touch his hair more than necessary, for which he is eternally grateful. He pulls back first, standing to his full height and patting their heads dotingly. When he glances up at Izuna, his little brother is openly gaping.

“You hugged them?”

Madara stares at him with his typical deadpan expression.

Izuna stutters, even when Hinata comes up to his side and rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. She looks a comical blend of amused and pitying.

Izuna blurts, “You only hug me once a year!”

“That is true, yes,” Madara nods, tilting his head at his little brother. “You haven’t yet earned a higher quota.”

“How in the world did they earn a higher quota? What have you done, Madara?”

If Madara had not been so scornful of Izuna envying his own progeny, he would have smirked outright.

“Poor form, Izuna. They’re your daughters.”

“Yeah,” Izuna agrees coarsely, all rough edges and narrowed eyes. “And you did something dangerous, didn’t you?”

“Dangerous for whom, I wonder?”

“Madara.”

“Afraid not, Izuna. Afraid not.”

“Madara, don’t walk out that door without answering me.”

Madara turns, flipping his hair over his shoulder and basking in the way the breeze causes the ends of it to flutter. He’s certain that, in this moment, he looks just the same way that Pocahontas had when she was standing at the cliff’s edge, gesturing farewell to John Smith, hair blowing in the wind.

His gaze lands squarely on Izuna’s, and his lips curl at the edges with devious commitment. With one parting remark, spoken sharp and true as any declaration of battle, so does Madara initiate the Uchiha Brother War.

“All is fair in home décor and war, Izuna.”