#dadmads

[dancingoctopuscrafts]

WIP Dad Mads painting I'm working on. This game is amazing 🌈🦀👶🌉 #kojimaproductions #madsmikkelsen #dadmads #deathstranding #wip https://www.instagram.com/p/B6KN_WQFvtH/?igshid=zshj34wv959x

[anecessarydiscipline]

Tobirama returned through the snow covered gates of Konoha, weather unusual for that of this region but welcomed by many, his initial purpose lost to him. He had once been very displeased himself for it with his immunity to such coldness being a fragile, tiny thing, but all the poff-covered benches brought him now was indifference even in the dark.

The ice cold that had once even seemed to have been too much for him suddenly seemed so insignificant. So meager. He did not remember how he’d come to be here. All he remembered was the cold.That cold was rapidly being drowned in a burning heat coming from his gullet like a deathly fever. There was a purpose...a reason...but he could not fathom that, just as he could no longer fathom the footprints that danced around him or the black mark darkening his neck that suddenly faded into his skin unseen. It became less and less of a interest to him as something else began to take its place. Fury.

Fire frothed within his gullet in a poisonous sea. He did not feel like himself and yet he’d felt more himself than ever before. Whatever insignificant emotions and thoughts he had begun to have was swallowed and burned before he could even know what they were.

Fog settled over his thoughts when he tried to reach back for them, but this gave him no cause for concern. There was something more important he should be doing, right? His red eyes stabbed into the stretches of the village looking into one direction in particular. There. That’s where he was. That’s where he always was. 

And that’s where Tobirama would go. 

[anecessarydiscipline]

“Get out.”

[anecessarydiscipline]

This was a fools errand. Yet by being a brother of a fool, that made him fool by proxy. To think beyond the action that must come next would be a damning action-one he would not partake in. As much as many would like to think of him, he was not a man who reveled in violence. But violence was what he knew. Words proved that they did not hold the solution to this problem.

That problem held a name. That problem held position. That problem held importance. That problem would be missed. However, many solutions would be achieved with the ending of this problem, and for that he was willing to solve it. Tobirama had done so for less.

The timing was critical. The situation invaluable. It must be without witnesses and without a finger. It must be quick and it must be precise. One wrong move and a battle would begin. It would be a battle he could not win, but one he would not fail from. The safety of this village was worth far more than his own or this scoundrel’s life. The safety of his brother even more.

Darkness peppered through the empty moon-soaked fields changing the landscape to shades of blue and black. It was there he saw him before a board of tattered planks and haphazard paint. A poor excuse for a grave. Tobirama had known where they were, having come of his own accord several times before. This was not the first time his enemy had wandered out here in the haze of the late nights to stand before this marker.

The stretch of space between them was far. Far enough for him to feel comfortably unseen. This did not stop a prickling of apprehension from biting the hairs of his neck. Fear even. Something unwell began to swim in his chest, but not before the rising song of adrenaline swore to this deed. It was then, linked with the seal dug into the crumbling gravestone, that he appeared behind Madara, dagger thrust forward and up.