#I’m trying to branch out when it comes to drawing on procreate

[artvaris]

Character sketching (oc) 🗡️🖤✦

[nonbinarypirat]

I am once again attempting art so here’s the Love Trio. I’m not gonna lie, I kind of hate this but I have been off and on again when it comes to learning digital art. I would try drawing, loose motivation because it’s harder than I predicted, and then give up. So even though I’m not satisfied with this, I’m happy I finished something. I have decided the best thing for me to do is practice with my favorite ships and characters so I plan on drawing the love trio more!

Things I’d like to focus on for now is thicker line art (y’all, this line art is so thin, I have to do better, lolol) and shading/highlighting (didn’t do it here but I’ll soon start practicing). I also want to practice drawing clothing and fashion!

If anyone has any tips for that (or art other tips to make my life easier) I welcome helpful feedback! I am mostly a traditional artist branching into digital and my current art style is slightly more realistic so I’m trying to figure out cartoon style again. Oh, and I use Procreate! So if you have any Procreate tips let me know :)

Here’s my sketch if anyone is curious

[thejayness]

What mobile apps can help you make graphic art in a short amount of time? ( I'm still trying to get better at my fox art.) 🦊

Hi!!

To be honest, what app you use doesn’t really impact art improvement or skill, it all comes with practice and also in general studying what you are trying to draw, with either references or tutorials.

But that isn’t really fulfilling the question, so I will just do down the list of recommendations I have for making digital art!!

Sketchbook is a great app to start off on, it’s free and gives you a good set of tools and brushes to use for your art.

From there, if you feel digital art is working for your art process I recommend going to procreate, it unfortunately isn’t free, and costed me about 3€ (of course this price isn’t accurate to all currencies), the price may have also gone up over time, I bought it a while ago when procreate wasn’t as huge yet, so apologies if I’m misinforming about the price. It gives you a huge variable of brushes and new possibilities for your art, it also includes resources for animating, which work well in my experience.

If procreate is working out just fine and you feel like you want to also try some new programs or apps, you can branch out to some apps like Clip Studio Paint, Ibis Paint or even Fire alpaca (and ofc many more). And then in the future if you want to take digital art really seriously, you could get new devices to draw on, like a fancy art tablet.

Ultimately I feel that good art can be made on ANY platform or devise, finding what works out for you is your journey and your choice to make, however what I recommend the most is that you go for the cheaper options before the expensive ones.

Anyways, hope this helps!! Have a good day/evening!!

[shamsshamousa]

Figured that writing down my thoughts here is better than posting it on TikTok.

Ok

I recently expressed my frustration when trying to do research surrounding Islamic Egypt, specifically about Egyptians. This is a branch in the overall frustration that I’ve faced. Despite it all there’s a sense of catharsis when i struck gold with the visuals/clothes but they’re shallow and lack context.

Anyway

I’ll walk through my thought process about this character I’ve designed

1) STARTING POINT

Just for some context, her inspiration is a bit of a mess as I kept changing her from being Khaleeji coded to Egyptian coded as I was trying to figure out what kind of character I wanted her to be. The only consistent thing is her family gatekeeping powerful artefacts that a falling apart with some characters that’s a larger aspect of her character arc. There was this one song I kept playing on repeat because it just fit her so much and it felt so good imaging beats of her story arc to it lol.

A bit of a fun fact: i’ve been reconsidering whether she’s a necessary character anyways, even though she has close relationships with the characters, I feel myself falling into some traps and I’ve started questioning her character’s purpose but that’s probably because of the media I’m currently exposed to, hate to admit it but I’m so easily influenced like that.

Ok back to it

Design wise she’s a bit of a mess not very happy with it but it ties back to me struggling to find references. In all fairness me going back and forth between Arab/Egyptian and sometimes Ottoman(Turkish) didn’t really help.

I’m not entirely sure when the design on the left came to be and looking at procreate canvas info isn’t very useful but the starting point was the girl in the middle who resembles another character who I was happy with (at the time), I wasn’t very fond of her design because I felt like she looked a bit too girly and young, this is very much a reoccurring Skill Issue for me, but the main pain point was how … generic she looks and a bit modern. The other is that she felt very disconnected from other characters who I designed at the time such as this character (Shayma’) below who is quite integral to her story but is also her childhood friend. I felt like it was imperative that they felt like they belonged in the same kingdom and social class.

Shamya’s has a lot more thought put into her and I used many references, at the time she had the design that I was most satisfied with but now I feel like I need to rework it a bit because I dont’ want her to feel like a 1:1 copy of the pictures I used. Something I’m struggling with.

So I went back to the drawing board and with some research and hoarding pics on Pinterest ended up with the reference on the left. IIRC I wanted her to be more..Arab I was unsure about how i wanted this fictional world (or at least kingdom) to come off as; I believe the main inspiration was from non-description Arab/Islamic soldier illustrations. I wanted to hint at her potential fighter side and many of them often have a cape as is often the case in many historical Arab fighter depictions.

The colours are very random idk why I picked those.

With respect to her robe, I wanted my characters to feel like they were related, at the time it was imperative that the MC felt like she belonged to the same kingdom as the rest.

The sleeves being inspired by an illustration on Fatimid plate (x)but mostly Mameluke illustration

Again I’m honestly not sure which one came first but the MC’s design is more inspired by Mameluke manuscripts and other historical Egyptian-Islamic garnements. I’d like to think that the queen’s design followed up from the MC’s but there’s also a real possibility that I just saw a few pictures and went “good enough” irrespective of the MC. Her sleeve details dont’ strike me as very khaleeji anyway.

Just a small disclaimer, most of my uh “research” led to me looking up pictures on Pinterest it’s very useful because the webite bundles up similar looking pics together. Once you find reference you found all them essentially it was a very powerful and useful website for me but, unfortunately people have a habit of not citing so it pains me to carry that habit here. But most of the illustrations are from a Mameluke manuscript.

I don’t want a 1:1 recreation of what used to be, I want to create a world that feels distinct and has a strong identity. Maybe this is me being a bit arrogant but I feel like because the time period inspiration is rarely ever used…might make it easy compared to drawing from English or Japanese culture/history.

I feel like it has to be said, my characters while yes are drawn from Egyptian history are not…Egyptian or Muslims (or Christians) they live in a fictional fantasy world and have fictional fantasy culture and their fictional kingdom draws on Egyptian history and culture(s)

I don’t want to go into depth about how both characters relate to each other but the main idea is that they both occupy the same “country” so to speak, maybe this is a concept I should rethink in and of itself.

Back to the Princess/Queen

I know I just went on about Mamlukes and Egypt but ironically she was supposed to be a bit more Arab, to me she embodies this “Rich Arab Princess” vibe just mainly thought the hair and face shape, it’s very much the ideal (rich) Khaliji Arab Woman (online).

There’s a very high likelihood of me misremembering so much, I’m not sure which one came first but I think I may have mixed both the idea of Mameluke/vague Arab fighters together.

Clearly I wasn’t satisfied because I went on to make more designs

Ok so let me see if I remember this one…

After running errands in a district in Cairo that still has some farms standing at the cusp of advancing urbanisation, I decided to try my hand with a design that drew on some of the outfits I saw on display. My main issue was that she doesn’t look like royalty at all and even after giving some jewelry she still looks like a falaha/fala7a and a bit too homely for me. If the design was for a “village princess” or “bint el 3omda” it would work but for a Princess/Queen that resides in her kingdom’s center of power maybe not.

At least I think for the average Egyptian there’s nothing that hints at “royalty” so this design didn’t really last much.

Just some more line art details, I was trying to play around with her embroidery details but it didn’t give the vibe I wanted.

Kind of abandoned her for a bit and imagined her a bit closer to the left design on the left looking very much Arab but at this point the Kingdom’s inspiration was moving more towards Egyptian based and I was becoming more open to using Ancient Egypt for her, feels inevitable really.

Tried going back to making a comic, just one page I was messing around and this was the design I used for her.

Was she in court? In her palace? meeting her friends in secret because she’s about to send them on a dangerous mission? Who knows

A few days ago I went back to the drawing board with her and while I have mixed feelings about her face I think I managed to capture the overall feel. I’ve also integrated a lot more Ancient Egypt to her for a while I was using elements of Isis in the vein of how Cleopatra channelled Isis imagery to solidify her rule as a Pharaoh and the idea that Pharaohs believed themselves to represent the Gods. I’ve been playing around with that concept for a bit but I’m a bit hesitant with it. How would a child feel knowing that she embodies the will and power of a deity? How can she be sure of it? While questioning her own rule.

I think I’m getting closer to a version of a character I’m satisfied with and I’ve been having fun outlining her arc but I continue to struggle writing her interpersonal relationships mainly with her brother, friends, and potentially lover. It all feels so amateurish but I think her brother is the least throughout. I don’t even have a picture of him.

Anyway the other inspiration is Egypt and after coming across this picture it just felt right, the main inspiration is from the lady on the left despite it looking a bit more like a costume but I really have no way for knowing because the picture is from Pinterest and people rarely give much context. Doesn’t help that they’re from Egyptian nationalist accounts who just care about visuals.

The more I look at it the more sure I am that it’s a costume for a film and I feel so stupid. Her robe/galabeya is too shiny and the way her belt is tied feels intentional in provoking Ancient Egypt but idk maybe I’m just looking too much into it.

I also mixed it with another reference picture I found, thankfully I’ve been able to amass more references but again they’re shallow and devoid of context.

Anyway her is her current design.

You can see similarities with the photograph from the left mainly the vest and belt but now that I’m looking at it I the cuffs share similarities although I didn’t focus on that.

Dramatically changed her hair style. She currently has curly hair and I gave her a staff that’s usually on mummies lol and gave her yellow eyes because she’s so oh special.

Yellow eyes and a brown character? How daring

I feel like her skin a tad darker than I want it, she spends too much time in doors before everything goes to shit (for her) so early on I don’t think she should be this tan.

I’d like to think that her most recent iteration blends elements of Ancient Egypt and Islamic Egypt.

The design on the right is meant to be very ceremonial, she might be at a meeting getting bored to sleep or listening to some elites quarrel about their problems. One day she’ll be looking back at those boring meetings wishing they lasted a little longer.

Anyway

I wanted to share or document my thought process somewhere

[vetyr]

I’ve just gotten into digital drawing and I’m getting disheartened by my lack of progress, and frustrated at how bad I am at drawing without a reference. Is it possible to improve drawing even if I never go without a reference? Or do you have any tips for drawing just from your imagination?

Hey there! Long response ahead. You may find it reassuring to know that it took me around half a decade to get good at drawing without reference, and for a good chunk of that time I was drawing daily for 3 or 4 hours per day. It’s not an overnight thing, it’s not even a within-a-year thing; your brain genuinely needs the time to learn to generate images & volumes rather than to solely perceive them.

In branching out to digital, you and I inadvertently added a slight layer of difficulty to this process of learning to draw without reference. It’s more noticeable now than it will be in a few years time, but here’s what I imagine you’re dealing with (as I dealt with when I started digital): any drawing knowledge you gained through drawing traditionally seems like it’s gone, or at least really hard to access. When you try to sketch or paint digitally it might seem like you “forgot” how to address proportions, values, anatomy, volumes, color, etc.—but when you go back to drawing traditionally, it all comes back. That’s just the nature of moving to a radically different medium. 

If you practice consistently for a few more weeks, you’ll notice that things start to come back to you. After a few months to a year, and digital may feel as natural (or more natural) to you than traditional. If you’re exclusively drawing digitally during this time, you’ll likely have trouble learning to draw without a ref, just because your mind is still adjusting to this very big change—but that’s to be expected. Accordingly, I’d recommend that you keep drawing traditionally as you learn digital, and do your non-reference drawings traditionally, for the most part. This way, your brain is only handling one major change at a time (digital vs. imagination). Once digital is like second nature to you, you can do more imagination drawings there.

On drawing from reference: Stepping away from the logistics of brain stuff, you absolutely can improve as an artist if you never go without a ref. I know hundreds of artists who make incredible work that stems from clever use of references. Art made with references is valid; if you don’t know what something looks like, there is literally no shame in finding pictures of it in order to make a good piece. I do it frequently.

There’s also this spectrum of ref use that I’ve picked up on: on one end, there’s art that may nearly be a copy of some picture (e.g., essentially a study with a few details changed); and on the other, there’s art in which the artist takes little samples from many, many photos or other art pieces and incorporates them into one cohesive image. It’s easier to start from the former end and head towards the latter. The convenient part of using small portions of many references is that it’s not difficult to transition to doing drawings from imagination. When you focus on a small visual, it’s easier to remember it than if you were trying to remember one very large and complex set of visuals (e.g., it’s easier to visualize an eye than the entirety of a face).

Described above is a more gradual solution for drawing without a ref—that is, slowly using less and less reference over years of remembering and learning. I also recommend the brute-force approach (I employed the two in tandem): making yourself to draw from imagination, preferably with a direction in mind, and seeing how far you can go before you encounter too many gaps in your knowledge to continue. When you can discern gaps (e.g., not knowing what an arm looks like at a very specific angle), take note of a few that you find important, and study them. You won’t be able to figure out everything quickly, so don’t fret about that. This is very much an active learning approach, and will likely get you results quicker than the method mentioned in the paragraph above. It’s also scarier, as you’ll be humbled pretty quickly by the ocean of knowledge that you are without—I know I was :)

As is proper for an answer addressing drawing from imagination, here’s a study of a photo. I’ve been trying to figure out how to paint in Procreate as of a few days ago, and it’s been quite interesting. I still prefer Photoshop, but the app certainly has its merits.

I’ve been pretty inconsistent with posting recently, and it’s mostly due to schoolwork. Junior year for my major is notoriously heavy, so I haven't been able to paint illustrations (outside of commissions that I’m finishing) and answer questions, sorry about that!

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 19

Title: Control

Warnings: profanity

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007​

“What the fuck is she doing here?”

They converse in harsh whispers as they seek refuge in the pantry. Using the excuse of wanting to prepare food and drink for their unwanted and unwelcome guests and then leaving them in the living room. They’ve been bickering back and forth for half an hour; arguing about the Sarge’s appreciation and approval of chosen furniture and decor and Michelle’s distaste of the ‘mix mash’ of colours and themes on the Christmas tree. Her voice is enough to drive Tyler over the edge. The way it picks up in both pitch and volume when she’s vehemently defending even the most pointless or ridiculous of things, the Midwestern twang that becomes stronger and more noticeable the more annoyed she becomes, the constant tinge of self righteousness and condescension. She’s the classic narcissistic; infamous for her staggering gift of gaslighting and her ability to make herself seem like the victim despite being the quintessential bully and walking definition of ‘mommy dearest’. Through the five years they’d spent in Colorado, he’d tried his best to ‘mend fences’; extending the olive branch a handful of times in hopes of helping to both repair the relationship between mother and daughter, and create a bond between Michelle and her grandchildren.

They HAD reached a somewhat peaceful agreement; she’d attempt to tone down her hatred towards him and at least try and treat her daughter like a fully functioning adult instead of a hopeless, hapless child. But it had lasted all of three weeks; his involvement with Michael McMann and the subsequent threats against his family only caused the woman’s spite and hatred for him to grow. After that, she’d vowed to never forgive him for putting her daughter and grandkids in danger, and double downed on her belief that he ‘stole’ Esme away and somehow bullied and intimidated her into not only marrying him and giving him children, but returning to Australia. She refused to accept any responsibility for either her daughter’s struggles with mental illness or her horrible self esteem, and placed the blame solely on Esme’s shoulders; calling her weak and pathetic and insisting that she had married a horrifically abusive man and was simply too scared to leave him. He WAS a mercenary after all; he brutalized and killed people for a living. He was an alcoholic and drug addict; his brain unstable and volatile. His involvement in the job immediately made him a threat; he was strong and big and capable of tremendous and painful bloodshed. What would stop him from inflicting damage -or even death- on her?

“How the hell would I know? I’m just as shocked as you are. Not to mention totally embarrassed. My mother and step father know what we were up to; before you answered the door. I didn’t have any pants on! Just your shirt! They heard me talking about how you destroyed my underwear! Not to mention you’re not wearing a shirt and your back and ribs are clawed to shit and you’ve got the whole ‘just got fucked’ messy hair going on. Do you know humiliating this is?”

“I’m pretty sure they know we have sex. We have seven kids. I don’t think they’re going to be surprised that we fuck. For fun. Not just for procreating.”

“It’s one thing for them to know we have it, but it’s another thing for them to know we JUST had it. How the hell am I supposed to keep a straight face around them? When they know I just got done getting railed?”

“Imagine if they knew you got railed TWICE. And besides, us fucking? Them knowing it? That’s the least of our problems. Your mother...who I fucking hate more than I have ever hated anyone OTHER than my old man...just showed up on our goddamn doorstep. And she’s planning on staying.”

“Well, Sarge did say they’re staying at a hotel.”

Tyler’s eyes narrow. “That’s not what I fucking meant and you know it. But you know what? They’re damn lucky they DID get one. Because there was no way in hell I’d let them stay here. I’d pay for the hotel myself. What the hell, Esme? Why are they here? Did you know they were going to do this?”

“I never would have invited them here. And even if they HAD mentioned they were coming, I would have told you. I don’t want them here anymore than you do. I’m not the one blame for this.”

“I told you to call her back. Or text her. When it became clear that she wasn’t satisfied with your ‘thank you’ email and started messaging you and calling you, THAT was your chance. You should have got some fucking balls about you and talked to her. Did I not tell you? To get in contact with her? To avoid her escalating? Did I NOT say that?”

“You did,” she admits. “You DID say that. And I should have listened to you. I WAS going to call her.”

“After Christmas. When we got home. You should have done it days ago; when she started calling at all hours of the goddamn day. Did you really think she’d stop? That she WOULDN’T escalate? You know her. You know how fucked up she is. What did you think was going to happen when you kept avoiding her?”

“Not this!” She wildly gestures with both arms in the direction of the living room. “I didn’t know she’d just show up! There’s no way I could have known that. She always has a big thing at Christmas. It’s her chance to look perfect and come across as the most amazing mother and hostess ever. I didn’t think she’d ever give up the opportunity to do THAT. And why are you mad at me? This isn’t my fault!”

“You know what? It is. Because I told you to call her. So she’d stop her shit and leave us alone. And now look! She’s sitting in our fucking living room. On Christmas Eve. And how the hell did she even know our address? How did she know where we live? You can’t look it up on the internet; I made sure of that. So some asshole wanting a piece of me wouldn’t come after my family.”

“I don’t know how she found out. Someone must have given it to her.”

“Who would know? Riley? Riley would tell her to go fuck herself.”

“Maybe Riley told her dad and he let it slip somehow. I don’t know, Tyler. I don’t know HOW she found out. And yeah, maybe I should have grown a set and talked to her. My bad. But you being pissed at me is NOT helping. We need to be in this together. Not fighting and tearing each other apart.”

“I’m about five minutes away from totally losing my shit. You know what the last two days have been like. How I’ve been struggling. And now she’s here? If she ever wanted to give me a psychotic break, this would be her perfect chance. Just watch the son in law completely snap; prove to everyone just how big of a fuck up he really is.”

“You are NOT a fuck up. You never have been! And I know you’re struggling. I’m the one going through it WITH you. Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I want her here? That is the last thing I want! But she IS here. And there’s nothing we can do about it other than suck it up and get through this together! And you snapping on me is NOT helping! I’m not the enemy, Tyler!”

“I never said you were. I’m just saying that…”

His words trail off as his attempts at damage control are ignored. Her petite frame intentionally bumping into him as she steps away; frowning when he tries to grab hold of her wrist and she aggressively yanks her hand away. He chooses 'peace keeping' in favour of escalation; giving them both of a chance to cool down. And he leans against the back of the pantry door, arms crossed over his chest as he watches her furtive search for something to feed their surprise visitors. The shelves are packed; extremely well stocked and organized. And while they bear a wide assortment of goods, she hastily rummages through things as if there’s nothing suitable; tears welling in her eyes and her entire body tense and her hands shaking. And suddenly he no longer sees a grown woman in front of him; the love of his life, his spouse, the mother of his children. She’s been replaced by a desperate and broken little girl so hell bent on trying to impress her mother; driving herself to the brink of panic and anxiety trying to prove herself worthy to a woman that would rather she’d never been born. And it’s far more painful than any of his own issues; an ache that claws at his heart and forms a deep, empty pit in his stomach.

“I’m sorry." Stepping behind her, he lays his hands on her shoulders and presses a kiss to the back of her head. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I KNOW you’re not the enemy. And I sure as hell don’t ever want you to feel like I see you that way.”

“I know you’re going through a hard time and I know her being here is going to put you even more on edge. But I also know what will happen if we even attempt to kick them out.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t kick them out. It’s not like I’d say ‘get the fuck out and never come back’. I’d be a little more...tactful.”

“You think THIS is her escalating? Do you know what will happen if we even try to explain our way through things? Why it’s not a good time for her to be here? Do you really want to get into that with her? Considering all the things she’s already said about you? How she feels about you?”

“I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. Or how she feels about me. I don’t…”

“But I do!” She slams a jar down with even force to shake the other items on the metal shelf. Both her body and her voice tremble, and her chin and her lower lip quiver as she tries to hold back a threatening flood of tears. “I care what she says about you! I’ve always cared! Because it hurts! You’re my husband and the father of my children and you deserve so much better than that. And it fucking hurts when she says that shit about you!”

“Alright...easy now." Running his palms along her upper arms, he leans down to press a kiss to her temple; lips against the side of her head as both forearms come to rest along her collarbone. “Just breathe, Esme..." he draws her against him, squeezing as tight as her little body will allow. “...it’s okay…”

“I care what she says because I love you. Because I know what kind of man you are. Because I know what kind of heart you have and how much you love me and our kids. Because you’ve almost died for me. TWICE. Because she doesn’t know you like I do and she won't even give you a chance. And THAT hurts. To hear those kinds of things about the person you love more than you love yourself. Who SAVED you.”

“I never saved…”

“You did!” she interjects. “You saved me in every way a person can be saved. And you’ve been willing to die for me. Right from the start. And all she can do is hate you and talk shit about you and you have no idea what it does to me. What it does to my heart.”

“I’m sorry…” his lips brush her cheek, then settle against her ear. “...I never thought of it that way. I never thought about it hurting you like that.”

“I hate that she won’t even give you a chance. I hate that she looks at you like you’re some kind of horrible, evil person. That she treats our kids like garbage. I don’t care what she says about me. Or how she treats me. But when she does that to you? Or our kids? That shit kills me inside.”

“You’ve got to let it just roll off you, Me. Stop letting her have this power over you. Stop giving her that kind of control. It’s what she wants. It’s probably why she’s here. See how far she can push you. Try to break you. And I know you usually tell me not to react and keep the peace, but I don’t think I can. I won’t let her disrespect you. I don’t let ANYONE do that. So I can’t promise you that I won’t snap on her. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

She closes her eyes as she leans her head back against his chest; tips of her fingertips repeatedly gliding along his forearms. “I’m at the point where I honestly wish you would. I mean, maybe not go BATSHIT on her. I don’t want her calling the cops or child protective services. But I would seriously enjoy you going off on her within reason.”

“Baby, I will protect you from anyone or anything. I will stand up for you no matter what. You want me to flip my shit on her? I’ll do it. Want me to toss her ass out into the street? I’ll do that too. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. And I AM sorry,” he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, followed by her cheek and then her temple. “I didn’t mean to snap on you. That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m an asshole.”

“You can be,” she admits, and he loosens his hold on her when she turns around to face him. Hands falling to her hips and then sliding around to the small of her back, fingers laced together. “But it’s rare. That you’re like that with me. And I know you’re on edge. I know you’re going through some real bullshit. And believe me, I would give anything to take that away. To make everything better for you.”

“I know you would,” he presses his lips to her forehead. “And I’m serious; I’d do anything to protect you. Against anyone or anything.”

“I know. I’ve always known you would. Right from day one. Even then you were pretty intense. When it came to the whole watching over me thing.”

“Well technically it WAS my job.”

“You were getting some good benefits on that job.”

“They were pretty damn stellar, I gotta admit. Who needs dental or prescriptions covered? I’ll take the five days of hot sex.”

“You were very well compensated for your hard work. Actually, I think you were pretty spoiled. I think you STILL are.”

“I am not going to deny that.”

“I’m sorry too. I SHOULD have got a hold of her. I shouldn’t have waited. This is just a huge mess. But I honestly didn’t think she’d do something like this. I know she’s crazy, but THIS crazy? What are we going to do? We have our things that we do. With the kids. We have our own traditions for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. We can’t just forget about it all. It’s what they’re used to. It makes them happy. And to be honest? It makes ME happy.”

“And we’ll keep everything the same. I’m letting her fuck things up. For the kids or you. We’ll just go on with it. Do what we’re used to. If she doesn’t like it, fuck her.”

“You just know the kids aren’t going to be happy. The boys and Millie are old enough to remember how awful she was to them. Millie still talks about the time grandma said she was a mistake because mommy and daddy weren’t married when she was made. And Tanner? Tanner had nightmares for three years about you going to hell because you got me pregnant out of wedlock.”

“Well in all honesty, I was probably already going there because of other things.”

She stares up at him pointedly.

“I’m kidding. That was a joke. Not a very well timed one, but…”

“And what if she gets on Nugget about being antisocial? About needing sensory breaks? About needing his safe place and his safe person? I can guarantee she doesn’t give a shit about Autism and won’t bother learning about it. I bet she’s even in denial about. That she’ll say something like ‘there’s nothing wrong with him other than your parenting.’.”

“She says something like that? I WILL toss her ass out onto the street. Literally. Talk shit about my kid AND my wife? That’s not happening in my house.”

“Then we have Declan. A bull in a china shop. You know she’ll get on his ass about being too loud and too hyper and too active.”

“He’s a kid. He’s eight. And he’s got red hair. Of course he’s wild.”

“What about Brooklyn? She looks cute, but she is all daddy and she’s a savage. She will pick up on my mother’s bad vibes and she’ll open her mouth and all hell will break loose.”

“Babe…” he unlocks his fingers and moves his hands to her hips; squeezing tightly and softly massaging. “...you are working yourself up even more and that’s the last thing either of us need right now. Take a breath. It’s going to be okay.”

“And then there’s Takota. Who is crazy shy and super sensitive and I already know he’ll hate her.”

“He’s in good company then. We ALL hate her.”

“You get her and all seven of them together? It’s a recipe for disaster. Especially the Tanner thing. Because TJ will go the fuck off if she even steps out of line with Tanner.”

“So what do you want me to do? Sneak the kids out of the house and replace them with imposters? Get the real ones back once your mom leaves?”

She sighs in exasperation. “You are NOT helping.”

“I think you need to calm down and just let shit take its course. Whatever happens, happens. We can’t predict what’s going to go down and stop it before it does. And you know what else we can’t do? Stay in here for the rest of the day. We went to look for food to make. We’ve been in here for half an hour. She probably thinks we’re in here having sex.”

“We SHOULD have sex. Really piss her off.”

“While I’d normally be right into it, I don’t think even I can get it up under these kinds of conditions. Your mother is kind of a mood killer. Remember how we barely had sex when we lived at her place? And then totally made up for it when we moved into the farmhouse?”

“I always thought you were saying no for other reasons. You always told me you were worried about ‘hurting the baby’.”

“You actually believed that?”

“You were very convincing. I thought maybe you were just super paranoid that something would happen to Millie. And that you suddenly got over it. You should have just told me.”

“The whole ‘honey, your mother’s voice makes me impotent’ wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have. So while I love you and I’d love to be able to bang the shit out of you right now and have you making the kinds of noises I know you’re capable of, it’s not going to happen. We need to get our shit together and deal with this.”

“You know what I was thinking? Never mind getting the kids out of the house. WE can sneak out.”

“And leave the kids with your mother? I know I hate her, but I love my kids and I would not do that to them. Now…” placing his hands on her cheeks, he gently turns his face up towards him. . “...we need to get out there before she comes and breaks the door down. You gonna be alright?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

“I got you, Me. I always do. We’ll get through this like we do with everything else,” he presses a kiss to her brow, then to her lips. “Together.”

*****

They make awkward small talk; brief snippets of conversation in between sips coffee and tea and nibbles of the assortment of finger foods Esme had prepared and laid out on the coffee table. There’s a lot that SHOULD be said; grievances waiting to be aired, hurt feelings dying to be brought to the surface, demands for both forgiveness and apology. But for the time being it’s nothing more than comments on the weather; the differences between the dry Colorado chill and the dampness that plagues the Eastern Seaboard. Five years have passed and no attempts have been made to heal both old and fresh wounds; Esme’s mother either in denial of her shortcomings and her responsibility in pushing her daughter out of her life, or simply refusing to accept blame or apologize for all the damage she’d caused over the years. For the most part she stays silent. Leaving it up to her husband to ask about the kids and life in Australia while she ignores the conversation entirely; spending her time glancing around at their belongings with a look of pure disdain. He even sees the way her entire body stiffens whenever he so as much shows Esme even the slightest bit of attention or affection; eyes narrowing and lips tightly pursing together if he gives her a reassuring smile or wraps an arm around her shoulders or presses a kiss to the side of her head. He knows the mother in law can’t stand it; any form of physical interaction between them or the way they’re so in tune with each other’s body language and facial expressions. Able to easily and effortlessly read each other’s awkwardness or nervousness and then doing their best to provide comfort and support.

He’s been hated since the very beginning. Viewed as the enemy who’d ‘stolen’ Esme from her family and somehow convinced her to give up her old life in favour of a new one with him; keeping her trapped by repeatedly getting her pregnant and intimidating and terrorizing her into staying with him. And while they HAVE had their issues and stumbling blocks, he’s never been THAT bad; refusing to follow in his father’s legacy as a domestic abuser and all around asshole. Even at his worst he’s always adored her; respecting her as the love of his life and the mother of his children. Any logical and rational parent would want that for their kid; someone who worships them and busts their ass to provide for them, who has proven time and time again that they’d willingly sacrifice their own life for theirs. But it’s never been enough. All the good going ignored yet all the bad being thrown in his face and used against him. And while he’s the first to admit he’s not perfect, he also knows that he’s not the monster even his own brain often makes him out to be.

“Do you still do what you do?” The mother in law addresses him, refusing to make even the smallest amount of eye contact.

“Not as much anymore. Now I have employees I send to kill people.”

Beside him, Esme clears her throat noisily and then reaches for a mug of tea that sits on edge of the coffee table. She’s been on edge since the moment she’d finally sat down beside him; nervously bouncing her leg up and down or swinging it from side, or chewing on her bottom lip or thumbnail. He’s done his best to step up and be her rock; tucking her into his side or taking her hand or running a palm over her hair. Little things that let her know that she’s safe. That he’s more than ready, willing, and able to protect her. And it gives him something else to concentrate on other than his own issues; caring for her forcing the dark and dire thoughts plaguing his brain to take a back seat.

Michelle tucks her chin into her chest and stares at him pointedly. “YOU have employees?”

“I own my own business,” he says, then wraps an arm around Esme’s shoulders and gives her arm a squeeze. “WE own our own business. We have for almost six years now.”

“A mercenary business?”

He nods. “A successful one too. Very successful, actually.”

“Tyler’s good at what he does,” Esme says, as she lays a hand on his knee and lightly squeezes; the smile she gives him one of love and pride. “VERY good at what he does. He already had quite the reputation before starting his own company. Now that he has? He’s extremely well known and extremely well respected and sought after. His guys are the best of the best. Second to no one. You won’t find people like that anywhere else.”

Her mother stares at her; a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “And you’re perfectly fine with that? Him having THAT kind of business? Making money by killing people? Or having others do it for him?”

“There’s more to it than that, Michelle,” he husband grumbles. “Way more to it.”

“That’s not all it entails,” Esme informs her. “It’s not just about killing. It’s about helping people. It’s about protecting them and defending them. It’s about doing what’s right. Just because you don’t understand it…”

“You’re right. I don’t. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand it now and I didn’t understand it twelve and a half years ago when you willingly ran off with a man that kills people for a living. That has so much blood and God knows what else on his hands.”

“That’s not all he did, mom. He didn’t just kill people. He’s saved a lot more than he’s hurt, believe me. But you can’t seem to grasp that because you’re too busy hating him for stupid reasons. I didn’t care that he was a mercenary. I was just as much as involved as he was. So stop making him out to be some kind of monster because you have some bullshit vendetta against him. Stop…”

“Let’s just try and calm down, okay?” Tyler suggests, his hand on the top of her arm as he pulls her into him; lips pressing against her temple, then her ear. “Just breathe, babe. No need to get worked up.”

“It’s typical of her, isn’t it,” Michelle snorts. “She’s always been over dramatic. Always blowing things way out proportion. How you’ve managed to put up with her for this long, I’ll never know. I’ll give you credit for THAT; being strong enough to hang in there. Mark sure wasn’t.”

“Don’t,” Esme warns. “Don’t you dare bring him up. Don’t you come into my house and sit here across from my husband and bring that piece of shit up.”

“He was a good man, Esme. You just couldn’t see that. You were too busy finding faults. It’s what you do. You get bored of people easily. Which is why it's extra shocking that you’ve made it this far. Twelve and a half years, seven children. Normally you would have pushed him away by now. I don’t understand the appeal, but you seem to. I guess whatever works for you…”

“You know what, it DOES work. WE work. And I know you hate that. I know you hate that I’m happy. That I got away. That I found someone that loves me. Someone that won’t let you control me and manipulate me and abuse me. That’s what it is, isn’t it. That’s why you don’t like Tyler. He doesn’t let you get away with your shit.”

Laying a hand on the side of her head, Tyler draws her even tighter into him, lips against her hair as he speaks. “I think you need to calm down, Me. Just try and relax, okay?”

“You really ARE brainwashed,” Michelle says. “You will defend him no matter what he does. No matter how much he drinks or how many pills he pops or how many times he puts you and those children on the back burner. You will always defend him.”

“I will. And you know why? Because he’s a good man, mom. He’s a good man and he’s a great husband and he’s an even better father. Only you don’t see that side of him. You’ve never been able to. You REFUSE to see it. You refuse to see how much he loves me and his kids. How he’d do anything to protect us. How he’s so willing to lay down his life for mine. You don’t see any of that. Because you don’t want to.”

“Why don’t you get some air?” Tyler suggests. “You’re getting a little worked up, babe. Just go and take a few minutes and…”

“I WILL defend him,” Esme continues. “I will ALWAYS defend him. I will defend him until my last breath. And you know why? Because he would do the same for me. He HAS done the same for me. No questions asked. So don’t you care come into my house and disrespect my husband like this. I spent years letting you walk all over me. And I refuse to let you try that shit now.”

Wrapping his fingers around her upper arm, Tyler gets to his feet; pushing into the soft flesh as a silent request for her to follow. “We’re going to go and step outside for a bit. Neither of us do very well when people just show up on the doorstep. And she’s a little on edge; Christmas always stresses her out.”

“It’s not Christmas,” his wife argues. “It’s her! It’s always her! And she just keeps pushing me and pushing me…”

His hand moves to the back of her neck, effectively steering her towards the front hallway. “Let’s go and get some air. You’ll feel better if you do.”

“Only thing that’s going to make me feel better is that bitch out of my house,” Esme mutters, as she shoves her feet into her beloved -and hated, by him and the kids- Crocs as he opens the front door and gently pushes her outside. Smirking when he hears The Sarge laying into the mother in law; accusing her of being insensitive and intentionally ‘stirring the pot’ and to stop acting like the victim when she’s the one that’s ‘doling out the bullshit’.

Stepping out onto the porch, he allows the door to shut behind him, then lays his hands on his wife’s shoulders. “You need to calm down.”

“I can’t do this.” She shivers in the cold; arms folded across her body and her hands aggressively rubbing her biceps. “I thought I could. I thought I could keep my shit together; get through the next couple of days. I can’t even last two hours! Here I was worried that you’d be the one to lose it! Yet I’m ready to throw her out the front window!”

“I need you to take a breath and calm down. Don’t let her do this. This is what she wants. She wants to get under your skin and she wants to ruin things for you. Don’t give her that satisfaction, Me. You just give her power when you do that.”

“I can’t help it. She just gets under my skin and she keeps digging away and digging away. Until I can’t take it anymore. And she knows exactly what buttons to push! She knows the more she shit talks you, the angrier and more defensive I get. She knows that’s my weakness. In the same way that shitty people know yours is me and the kids. It’s why she does it; to see me squirm and get worked up and eventually snap.”

“Which is why you need to settle the fuck down.” He runs his palms along her arms, vigorously rubbing against the chilled skin. “Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her screw things up for you. For US. That's what she wants. She spent five years trying to tear us apart. She tried ruining what we had every chance she got when we were in Colorado. And if you let her get under your skin like that? You let her do that? You give her all the power. That’s what she wants. That control. Don’t fucking let her win.”

“I can’t stand when she talks about you like that. I know you have thick skin. I know you can take it. You don’t let it bother you. But think about what it feels like when someone talks shit about me. Or disrespects me. Think about how that makes YOU feel.”

“I hate it. It hurts. Makes me want to hurt them right back. Physically, usually.”

“You know what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and stomped on. Well that’s what it's like for me, too. When she starts in on you. It hurts. Because I know who you are and I know much you love me and our kids and the lengths you’ll go to take care of us. To protect us. I’ve seen you on death’s door. TWICE. Because of me. Because you’ve always been so willing to sacrifice yourself for me. So when she starts on her bullshit…”

“She’s never going to see me the way you do. Hell, I don’t even see myself the way you do. But she’s another story altogether. You KNOW what she’s like. You know the hate she has for me and why she has it. So why do you let it bother you THAT bad? Just let it go in one ear and out the other, Me. Take it from the source.”

“I’m not like you, Tyler. I can’t just turn my feelings off like that. I’ve never been able to.”

“I don’t turn my feelings off. If I could, do you really think I would have busted my ass twelve and half years to get you out of Dhaka? If I was able to turn them off, I would have left you and Ovi behind and I would have saved myself. And I sure as hell wouldn’t have gone through what I did FIVE years ago. I don’t turn my feelings off and you know that. I take it from the source, babe. And her? She’s not worth my time. I don’t give a fuck what she says about me. She’s doing it to be petty. She wants power. She wants control. I won’t give it to her. And you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t think I can do this. Just let her walk all over me. Say shit about my husband. About my kids! I can’t just sit back and listen to that shit. I just can’t.”

“So stay your distance from her. As much as you can. Avoid being alone with her. Try not to get cornered into that kind of conversation with her. I will have your back no matter what. You know that. Tell me you know that.”

“I do. I DO know that. In the same way I have YOURS.”

“I don’t need you to defend me. Or protect me. Not against her. I've gone up against bigger and better and I’ve lived to tell about it. But fuck with family? Disrespect my wife? That’s not going to happen. And you need to trust me to be the one to handle things IF they get out of control. Can you do that? Trust me?”

“I always trust you. I always HAVE. With my life. With our kids’ lives.”

“It’s going to be alright.” He rubs his hands against her upper arms, then tucks her hair behind her ears and cradles her face in his palms. “I need to get your shit together, okay? I need you. To be my wingman. Or woman. I can NOT deal with your mother and eight kids all my own. There is no way I can survive that. So you think it can keep it together? For my sake?”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “I think so.”

“Because those kids are going to be home soon and your mom being here is going to throw them off and who knows what kind of shit show is going to go down. Don’t bail on me, Esme. I need you. In more ways than one. In EVERY way, actually.”

“Finally admitting it, huh?” She chides. “Only took you twelve and a half years.”

“I know you’re going to try and argue with me, but I need you a lot more than you need me.”

“I don’t think…”

“Nope." He pecks her lips to silence her. "Not gonna listen. Not even going to give you the chance to finish that sentence. Because you know I’m right. You always talk about how brave and strong I am? Me, you’re the bravest and strongest person I know. That I’ve EVER known. The things I’ve seen you go through? Willingly? The things I've seen you deal with in the past twelve and a half years? The things you've done? Especially for me? There is no one on this earth that’s stronger than you, believe me. And you have no idea how much I really do love you. How much I actually do worship you and respect you."

“It’s only Christmas Eve and you’re already going to make me cry. Don’t you usually hold off until Christmas Day? When you do something so incredibly sweet and romantic and amazing?”

“I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve,” he grins, then tangles his fingers in her hair and gently tugs her head back; lips softly pressing against his forehead. “Just stick with me, kiddo. You’ll be alright.”

“I remember you saying those exact words to me. At Gaspar’s house. In the guest room. After we…”

“It wasn’t RIGHT after. And I was being an asshole. Because you made fun of me because you said I had gray hair in my beard.”

“I didn’t make fun of you. I said it was sexy. That it would look distinguished if the whole thing went gray.”

“Old. You said I’d look old.”

“Well I MEANT distinguished.”

“Sure you did.”

“And look, twelve and a half years later, and you still have the same amount of gray in your beard. A little more in your hair, mind you.”

“All those gray hairs? They all have your name on them.”

“You can complain all you want. You can bitch and moan that I’m stubborn and I’m difficult and that I’m a huge pain in your ass. But you’d miss me if I was gone.”

He hates the feeling of dread that creeps in at those last three words; so simple and said in a light and playful way, but sending a chill that seems to borrow through his bones and travel right to his very soul. It’s his worst nightmare; facing a future without her and struggling to stay on the straight and narrow for the benefit of his kids. His old vices would return with a vengeance; the booze and the pain meds and suicidal tendencies. And then he’d lose any and all remaining links to her; his children torn from him because his demons and weaknesses would somehow overpower his love for them. But he manages a smile for her sake; never wanting her to realize just how much losing her WOULD actually destroy him.

“I don’t even like thinking about that.” His hands slip from her hair; sliding down her spine and resting at the small of her back . “Never mind talking about it.”

The smile broadens, and she perches her on tiptoes in order to wrap her arms around his neck. “I knew it,” she says, eyes sparkling playfully up as her body leans into his. “I AM your favourite. You do love me, Tyler Rake.”

“I do,” he confirms, and he lightly slaps his palms against the cheeks of her ass; lightly squeezing before drawing her into him and pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “And you have no idea how much.”

[raendown]

Pairing: MadaraObito Word count: 1955 Soulmate au: The one where you each feel each other's pain

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Chapter 208

Madara was known by most as a clumsy person, which he’d always thought was incredibly unfair. It wasn’t really his fault that he was clumsy. Most of the time when he tripped suddenly or dropped things it was because of the sudden pain coming from somewhere on his body. His theory had always been that it was his soulmate who was the clumsy one, constantly knocking in to things or jabbing themselves, and with no warning for when it would happen Madara was of course startled in to clumsiness every time.

After nearly three decades he’d gotten fairly used to it, though it was still annoying on bad days. Driving up to the northern ass-end of Hi no Kuni with Izuna snoring in the seat beside him was probably one of the better times for his right arm to cramp up suddenly. He’d long gotten used to driving with his left hand, propping his elbow up on the center console and guiding the wheel as they rolled down some forgotten dirt road, which left his other side free to stretch out through the open window. Tons of space there.

Whoever decided that the far spread Uchiha clan needed to have a reunion probably had good intentions of reconnected several branch families with the main lines after generations of distance but in all honesty Madara was fairly sure the dust bunnies under his bed could have picked a better spot to host the damn event. Having lived in downtown Konoha his entire life, all of this fresh country air was more likely to give him some kind of asthma than anything else. The scenery was repetitive, the roads were deserted, and the one farm they’d driven by had smelled so bad he nearly threw up in to one of the empty cups that always seemed to replace themselves each time he cleaned out the cup holders. If it wasn’t for their father threatening to revoke his inheritance if he ‘insisted on showing such abysmal lack of interest in his own bloodline’ Madara wouldn’t have bothered braving the wilderness outside of his comfortable metropolis.

Startling himself awake with a particularly sonorous snore, Izuna jerked upright only seconds before they went over a solid bump that would have thrown him towards the ceiling anyway. After looking around and still seeing nothing but thick trees he sighed.

“Are we there yet?” he whined.

“Do you see anything even vaguely resembling human inhabitants?” Madara growled back. Just for that he should make the idiot drive all the way back home.

Before Izuna could say anything else the GPS on Madara's phone sprang to life after two full hours of silence.

‘In 600 meters your destination will be on the left.’

“Fucking right!” Izuna pumped the air with one fist.

“Oh thank the gods.”

“I know, I need to piss so badly.”

Madara wrinkled his nose. “You’re disgusting.”

Knowing their goal was finally within sight, he pressed the gas with just a little more force than necessary, sending them flying around the next corner to where they could at last see what appeared to be some sort rustic resort spreading out through the trees ahead. Lights twinkled at them from the windows of quaint log cabins but it was the squat and sprawling main building that drew them in with promises of other human beings and electricity to charge their phones with; thank all the gods they had booked a room early enough to secure a space there rather than in the cabins.

Unfortunately they should have known better than to be excited for the siren call of technology. From the moment they pulled in and stepped out of the car it felt as though there were relatives they couldn’t remember materializing out of thin air, always ancient and always eager to pinch their cheeks. With the baby fat he’d never entirely gotten rid of Madara had a lot of pinchable cheek area. After fighting their way through the first wave they made it inside the building but they were ambushed at the front desk by another throng of old coots warbling on about how much they had grown. Madara was fairly sure he’d never actually met half these people before.

Getting their room keys and hauling their bags in to the elevator took more than an hour with all the people that wanted to stop and chat. By the time they finally managed it Izuna looked down at his key card and whined.

“You’ll never believe this,” he grumbled. “Our room’s on the ground floor.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. In all the nonsense I never actually heard him say our room number and I didn’t have a second to check!”

“There’s definitely some stairs. Let’s take those and see if we can sneak past the crowds.”

Madara nodded. “I had no idea our genes had spread this much. The Uchiha really need to stop procreating before we overpopulate the damn planet or something.” His brother nodded in solemn agreement.

When they reached whatever floor they had sent themselves to in their rush to close the elevator both of them peeked around the sides in fear of any more distractions. Thankfully the hallway looked clear. Neither of them waited to see if it would stay that way, darting towards the fire exit sign denoting a stairwell and hustling downwards.

At the bottom they both had a moment of panic when they spotted a lone figure resting on the bottom step as though to bar the way. Whoever it was didn’t seem very interested in the racket they were making, however, and Izuna was the first to step forward bravely. The closer they got the more the figure seemed to shrink in to themselves until finally they were only a few steps above the other when their torso heaved with a deep sigh.

“Five more minutes?” the figure pleaded in the weary voice of a man probably around their ages. “It’s so boring in that stupid room.”

“You can have all the minutes you want, my dude, we’re just passing through.” Izuna gave a vague salute on the way by and skipped down the last few stairs.

Madara hurried to follow after – or tried to, anyway. For once in his life it was only his own clumsiness that struck at just the wrong time. As he came down from the bottom step he landed just in the wrong way, rolling his ankle and sending him careening in to the wall on his left. Through the sudden ringing in his ears he only just barely heard a sharp gasp from behind. Probably Izuna. His brother was a worrywart sometimes when it came to how often he hurt himself so that was fairly easy to ignore.

“Holy shit,” Izuna’s voice whispered.

“I’m fine,” Madara growled back, embarrassed to have stumbled so badly right in front of some distant family member he would technically preside over someday.

“No – I mean, yeah, that looked rough – but I…aniki…turn around.”

With a deep scowl he did as he was told. Annoying as the unnecessary worry was it was a little insulting to know the other considered something more important than his possible injuries at the moment. As soon as he turned, however, he understood.

The single dark eye staring back at him was scrunched with pain, one hand rubbing at the same spot on his forehead where Madara had just crashed in to the wall with his own. Just looked at him it was obvious that he was someone who would not appreciate any extra pain. Half of his entire face was twisted with deep scars that extended under the collar of his shirt and ostensibly continued all the way down his arm to where they were visible covering his right hand as well. To one side of him a cane could be seen leaning against the railing, clearly waiting to assist him wherever he needed to go.

“You hurt him,” Izuna said in a daze.

“I what?”

“When you ran in to the wall he grabbed his head.”

“Do try to refrain from doing it again,” the man chimed in finally. “It did hurt.”

Madara stared openly. Scars or no scars, cane or no cane, he couldn’t believe he had met the other half of his soul here in the last place he would have suspected. Despite clearly understanding the situation it seemed to take a minute or two for the gravity of it all to catch up with the other man. Only when he had finally stopped rubbing just above his brows did he freeze and gasp a second time.

“Oh shit…that…you’re…”

“Could you give us some space, Izu?” Madara refused to take his eyes off the one he’d been waiting to find but his brother didn’t seem to mind.

With a low mumble about taking both their bags to the room Izuna scurried off, leaving them alone in the stairwell gawping at each other like a pair of idiots. Clearly made to match. Once he got past the shock of seeing them Madara found that he was able to look past the scars to the attractively messy hair and the strong jawline, the way his one glittering black eye actually seemed to be enhanced by the addition of a patch over the other.

He wondered for one moment what he himself looked like, raggedy hair down his back and still wearing the wrinkled clothing he’d fallen asleep in the night before. There was no use worrying about that now though.

“May I ask what happened?” he said. The man looked away uncomfortably.

“Got in a car accident a couple years ago.”

Doubt wriggled in, drawing out a frown as Madara admitted, “I didn’t feel anything like that on my end.”

“You wouldn’t have. I blacked out on impact. Spent the next year in a coma. Only woke up about eleven months ago and I’m still going through physical therapy. Mostly I’m just…sore and frustrated.” The hand free of scars lifted to rub at the base of his neck. “Name’s Obito. Sorry I’m probably not what you were imagining.”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks.” Obito’s voice practically dripped with acidic sarcasm and Madara smiled.

Stepping forward, he carefully lowered himself next to the other man on the bottom stair. “I never said you were a disappointment. Just a bit of a surprise. My name’s Madara. It’s good to meet you.”

“Is it?”

“Of course.”

His soulmate eyed him dubiously and that made his smile turn up in to a sharp expression, dark with a humor he so rarely allowed other people to see. Not many people could take the full force of his true personality but he had a feeling that he’d found one who could.

“Sounds to me like someone’s been keeping you cooped up in your rooms here in the main building. To be honest that’s probably a better option than drowning in all the old fogeys hanging around. What do you say I keep you company for a while?” He was delighted to see Obito slowly straighten his back, relief flickering over that scarred yet pretty face.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of company.”

“Lead the way, then.”

That was the right thing to say. Although he refused any help Obito’s sudden good mood remained as he struggled his way back down the hall on obviously tired limbs. Madara resolved to work on building trust between them as quick as possible to convince the other it was okay to lean on him sometimes.

But there was time for that, as much time as he needed. They had their whole lives ahead of them to wander through life being clumsy together – and he couldn’t wait.