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sjhanny2000 · 7 months

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Hidden Within the Arrangement (10/?)

Summary: The old saying of time is of the essence never rang more true as the Leaf's top shinobi flight to save Tobirama's life grows more dire by the second.

A/N: Welcome back homies! Sorry for the long wait and little activity, life has yet again kicked my butt and my will to write. This chapter will bounce between Hashirama, Touka, and Mito's perspective. The next one is solely dedicated to our spiky porcupine, Madara 😈

Warning(s): mention/reference to child abuse/neglect/death

Word Count: 3.5k+

~~~~

The feather soft splashes of the Naka were the only thing Hashirama and Madara could hear from their spots on the river’s edge, the two thirteen year old boys settled beside one another in quiet with their eyes searching the sky’s endless landscape in content. It had been one of those rare days that neither boy had the will nor interest to train with one another, being content with simply being in the other’s presence on the cool fall day that had come to be in the Land of Fire. They had spent countless hours splashing about and skipping rocks to pass the time, laughter and playful jabs (at least from Hashirama) echoing fluidly across the rocky riverbank they had come to call their meeting place. This very place had become a sanctuary of sorts with the passage of time, somewhere they could escape the harsh realities that came with being not only shinobi but clan heirs that never seemed to quite meet their respective fathers’ lofty expectations.

Family was a topic rarely broached between the two young teenagers, simply due to the fact that speaking of such things would inevitably lead to identities being revealed and their already precarious arrangement tarnished beyond saving. The rare moments where either of them even dared to mention their blood relatives was when they found themselves dreaming of a time without war, of shinobi fighting alongside one another under one banner within the Land of Fire regardless of their clan or allies, for one common cause. Dreaming of a childhood where they would no longer be molded into child soldiers but to solely be children that played, daydreamed, and explored the world around them. Both teenagers pondered what their lives would be like in a time of peace subconsciously, thoughts focusing almost solely on the ones they had lost far too soon, particularly their fallen siblings. Even outside their rendezvous at the riverfront, Madara yearned to hear his three youngest brothers’ laughter just once more, to see his mother smother her five children with attention and affection. Hashirama simply wanted the chance to hug Kawarama and Itama once more, to have someone to hold on the dark nights with even darker thoughts. Tobirama was never one for physical contact, being the clear opposite of Hashirama who thrived off of hugs and touches, and Izuna was abhorrent to Madara’s overprotectiveness due to how adamant he was to prove himself, often stating with great indignancy that he was fully capable of handling himself. Each elder brother couldn’t help but question that if in another world, would their brothers be the way they are or would they be more alike?

“What lengths would you go to protect your younger brother?”

Hashirama promptly turned his head just enough to face his friend, Madara gazing up at the sky with thoughtful and serious pools of charcoal, caution-fueled curiosity pumping through his veins. He would later feel a meager flicker of shame of how hesitant he had been when it came to answering Madara’s question, envy and bitter emotion crawling up his throat. From the moment he laid his eyes on Tobirama, uncertainty and excitement in his veins, Hashirama had wanted to protect his younger brother, his otouto and at some point, unbeknownst to him, such a mindset had changed. The thought of losing Tobirama was paralyzing, yes, but not for the fact that the white haired boy was his brother; no, the mere thought of being left as the lone survivor and forced to face the world alone was far more grievous. Was such reasoning appropriate? No, probably not, in fact mother would have scolded him for such thoughts if she was still alive. Yet, he still thought those blood-riddled, desperate thoughts, his field of vision steadily growing more tint with envious viridian, the years of pent up jealousy threatening to suffocate his lungs. All Hashirama wanted to do was scream, yet, for some reason, he still answered.

“To the ends of the earth.”

The near silent splash of their sandals’ respective bottoms hitting and thrusting off the Naka’s surface was damn near deafening to Hashirama’s ears, the long haired brunette dutifully following his group in tense silence. All four of them were dressed for war, their small squad moved into the forest without a moment’s hesitation, killing intent tumbling off the three shinobi moving alongside him, each one bearing a face of disgruntled focus. Mito, foregoing her traditional Uzumaki garb, had chosen to fit herself in Senju armor quite similar to Touka’s own, although hers happened to be a sheening violet that contrasted violently with her scarlet locks. The Uzumaki woman had taken the role of squad leader within seconds of Hashirama’s appearance at the northeastern entrance, Madara and Touka having already arrived at the predetermined location with their gear and themselves at the ready, and the Senju clan head could do nothing but follow behind like a lost duckling. Momentarily shifting his gaze to the left, the hokage was met with Touka’s determined form, the kunoichi an explosive tag just waiting to be set off and Hashirama knew better than to address his cousin when she was in such a mood.

“Touka is much like a yellowjacket, anija.” Tobirama’s pupil-less pools of endless merlot messily met Hashirama’s earth-rich ones, the albino pausing in his task of sharpening the length of his katana to do so. “Docile until provoked.”

Bile curdled dangerously within the back of his throat at the memory made the mokuton user inwardly and outwardly cringe, his stomach feeling as if he had eaten a hefty stone. A complicated mixture of emotions toiled about within him, his heart and mind at war over the reality that he may have been the one to send his brother, perfect Tobi, to his potential death. A part of his heart rejoiced greedily at the thought of Tobirama no longer existing, relishing in the mere possibility that they would be too late, that Hashirama would no longer be burdened with the truth of being the lesser, unintelligent son. Not surprisingly, the voice within him clashed madly against his beating organ, his heart aggressively snarling with its canines bared whilst it worked to rid his poor excuse of a soul of its poisonous envy. Tobirama was his brother, the one he had pledged to protect, love, and cherish from the day the young boy was brought into this accursed world, and he knew that a world without his otouto wasn’t one worth living in. That didn’t stop the feelings of past resentment from bubbling up to the surface however, oozing sleepily from invisible emotional wounds that never have seemed to heal no matter what either he or Tobirama did.

With a slight shake of his head, Hashirama purged his already brimming mind of those poisonous thoughts, trying to set his focus back on the task at hand, on pushing himself forward into the unknown set before them. There was no time to be wasted if they were going to reach Tobirama in time, a great if not impossible feat in itself. His otouto had come to create a jutsu, the Flying Raijin as Tobirama had proudly named it, to best the Uchiha’s sharingan and in turn became the fastest shinobi in the Land of Fire if not further and the likelihood of them reaching him before he met his intended doom was slim if second to none.

Such a heavy thought bore significant weight on all four shinobi’s minds as they ventured further from the village into the dense forests of the Land of Fire, not a word spoken between them. Truly, what could be said to mitigate the situation at hand?

Touka grimaced at the thought, grinding her teeth in raging opposition because they shouldn’t be in such a predicament in the first place. Oh how she wished she hadn’t paid mind to Tobirama’s requests, that she not defend him from his dolt of an older brother and his abusive excuse for a future husband. The urge to beat the ever living shit out of not only Madara and Hashirama but Izuna as well boiled dangerously beneath her skin, clenched fists tense and ready to strike either man in their party if they so much as utter a sound. They honestly had no business, no , no fucking right to be a part of this retrieval mission; those bastards were why her precious cousin was not only injured but on this suicide mission in the first place! Both men (if she could even call them that with how childish they acted) were absolute idiots with their own selfish goals and incentives and Tobirama had been their unwilling victim, years of abuse and conditioning from Butsuma and other Senju having warped his sense of self-worth to the near point of non-existence. Hashirama, bearing his own trauma and self-induced jealousy, ripped into his younger brother with conditioned purpose and Madara, once an avid enemy rapidly turned intended spouse in the span of just months, was crafted to be a bringer of war just as Hashirama was and taught from birth to bear hatred for the Uchiha’s eternal rival. While Touka could only postulate the troubling events and behaviors Madara and Izuna had both experienced, seeing as how she hadn’t been present in their lives aside o from the battlefield, but she knew without a fact that it gave neither of them the excuse to treat Tobirama the way they had. Madara had struck her cousin in a moment of emotional and physical vulnerability, having only been in such an unstable state because of the Uchiha and her damn older cousin in the first place, and kami how she wished she had been there in the moment to stab her naginata through the fool’s foul spewing throat-!

Now, she was fully aware that Tobirama was nowhere near perfect, no matter how hard he had tried over his seventeen years of life, but Touka knew without a shred of doubt that he deserved far more in life than what he had been given. He deserved a spouse that not only loved but respected, cherished, and worshiped him as if he was the greatest thing on this cursed earth; it was the least the Kami could do for him after experiencing the brutal childhood of sneers, broken bones, sickness, and abuse Tobirama seemed to endlessly endure. Right?

Mito, not oblivious to the internal war her husband and cousin-in-law were warring against their emotions, continued to flare the tendrils of her sensory field outward as she led the way towards the border, focused on finding any inkling of Tobirama’s soothingly cool chakra whilst continuously kneading more chakra to sustain her efforts. She herself was struggling to maintain her emotional composure, though one could not sense her plight just by looking at her person; no, the mask of emotional indifference she had come to craft over the span of her childhood in Uzushiogakure was one of her greatest masterpieces and one she relied on heavily in moments like these. Born as the second eldest child to the Uzumaki throne, Mito had to be epitome of perfection if she wished to be regarded, let alone be gifted with an ounce of attention and consideration, seeing as how she was forever stuck in her nee-san’s massive shadow. Countless hours of her childhood had been spent working on her fuinjutsu craft and training herself into an excellent kunoichi, Mito striving to be the one who just might catch her subjects attention for longer than just a moment. She refused to be the extra, the spare heir if the worst happened and her nee-san perished, and such a mentality needed a face of fearlessness and invulnerability to make her demands a reality. If Mito wished to be regarded seriously by those around her, she had to craft a persona of grace and perfection, one that spoke without a stumble of the tongue and stood tall with the confidence of a Kami.

“Those of the court are much like the sharks of the ocean, my beloved Mito.” Father’s tender hand cupped Mito’s cheek with reverence, her seven year old self gazing up at the man that was the epitome of dignity and grace whilst he gave her a bittersweet, knowing smile. “The second a drop of your blood hits the water’s surface, they will be upon you without mercy.”

So, with that knowledge in mind, even as a young child, Mito set about eradicating every shred of external weakness she could find within herself and in doing so became the revered Crimson Tide, one of the most powerful fuinjutsu masters of the Uzumaki clan. She reveled in her status with perfectly veiled pride by the age of twelve years old, bearing a selfless front as her heart relished in the spoils of her success, at hearing her people and the rare foreigner murmur their intimidated approval whilst she walked the streets conducting various acts of charity. Mito had been content with her life, each day full of learning and exploring every inch of the island and the waters beyond it, whilst scouring each and every millimeter of the royal library in search of new information to progress her research and studies. All had been well and then, on a stormy, summer’s day shortly after her fourteenth birthday, a gangly boy with skin pale as the moon and curls as white as a dove’s feathers appeared on Uzushiogakure’s shores.

To say the boy piqued her interest almost immediately was putting it mildly; Mito found herself unable to pull her deep violet gaze away from the mainlander who had crossed the ocean’s rugged landscape as if it were smooth as freshly woven silk. The boy’s features, while offsetting to many of her people due to factless superstitions that cankerous elders and fire and brimstone religious preached to stray the population from the unknown, were a marveling mystery that Mito desperately wished to dissect and consume. She studiously studied such features whilst the boy, Senju Tobirama as he had come to introduce himself as before her father and the council members present at the time, taking notes of his high cheekbones and scar littered skin, many of the marks a rosy pink which testified that he had acquired them recently. Mito listened on with vigor as Tobirama eloquently explained his reasoning for weathering the high seas to reach their island, bearing a scroll from his father, Senju Butsuma, who wished for his eldest son to marry one of Uzumaki Akaneo’s daughters in hopes of strengthening their ties both politically and economically. Her father, ever the studious and ruminative man, gave Tobirama no instantaneous action, expressing with great seriousness that he would need time to mull over the Senjus proposal and in doing so, promptly offered Mito as the boy’s guide until said decision had been made.

That very decision would change Mito’s life forever. As her father pondered on with his advisors, Mito found herself engrossed in the boy who would potentially become her brother-in-law. With a tongue sharp as silver and a mind fit as a freshly tuned biwa, Tobirama proved himself to be the epitome of a genius over the coming weeks, stumping Mito in matters of science and ninjutsu development, the twelve year old boy having already created a jutsu in which he could create multiple tangible copies of himself. Such a jutsu was astronomical in terms of advancement and difficulty but Mito found herself enraptured in Tobirama’s thorough explanation of his scientific process, to which he informed her that only were these copies capable of performing their own jutsu, they were autonomous yet interconnected with one another subconsciously at the same time! What proved to be even more impressive was Tobirama’s wealth of knowledge on fuinjutsu, with such knowledge having been attained and mastered through self-taught lessons from the meager age of four years old.

As time passed and the summer grew long, Mito came to accept that she had finally met not only her intellectual but physical match in no one other than Senju Tobirama. Her fourteen year old self relished in finding someone who not only possessed a brilliant mind and impressive sensory abilities, but an individual who could be quiet as a sunny day at sea one moment yet destructive as a hurricane the next. Tobirama’s incline to suiton nature happened to garner the attention of many as well, elders and young alike mystified that a mainlander could possess such a strong tie to water, and they would avidly watch on in interest whilst he and Mito sparred one another at the training grounds. In time, Tobirama had become one with the Uzumaki, assisting in staving off the harshest of storms when need be and teaching the young ones basic taijutsu and ninjutsu, a duty in which many of the elders loathed to undertake due to the rowdiness of the children. Oh many a nights did Mito find herself gazing at the constellations twinkling above in the night sky with Tobirama and her sisters at her side, the four of them listening on with wonder and stars in their eyes. Tobirama had become the brother the princesses had also wanted, one that provided comfort yet tough lessons, a confidant and an anchor amongst the brisk waves of life's ocean. How mortified Mito would feel upon learning that Tobirama had become such an astute individual and sibling due to being one of the sole caretakers for his and her future husband’s younger brothers, both of which she never had the pleasure of meeting due to them having been killed early on into their childhoods.

It was because of Tobirama that Mito would meet the man she would come to call her husband, her new friend assuring her that only was Hashirama strong, he was kind and a thoughtful individual who was dedicated to protecting his loved ones. It was because of Tobirama that she would venture from her home, the only place she had ever known, and settle in the Land of Fire, far from her family and deep into the mainland. It was because of him that she would gain not only a brother but a cousin as well, Touka swiftly becoming one of her dearest friends and closest confidants upon her arrival in the Senju compound. It was because of him that Mito would be spared from Butsuma’s cruel demands for her to consummate her marriage with Hashirama at the mere age of fourteen, to produce the next clan heir as if Tobirama himself had not been standing right there. It was because of Tobirama that Mito began to notice just how cruel Hashirama could be to a brother that he claimed to love with all his heart, how her eversweet husband could be so bitter to another human without batting an eye.

Mito couldn’t help the curling of her fists just at the mere thought of Hashirama’s kunai sharp words, of Madara’s ignorant and foolish actions, of knowing her precious otouto was in danger because of their arrogance. Her temper flared and her heart screamed for retribution, but she knew that now was not the time nor the place, no matter how much she craved for penance. Flaring the tendrils of her sensory field outwards once more, Mito steadied her internal self whilst taking the leap over the dense tree line that acted as the unofficial border line between the Lands of Lightning and Fire, focusing on the task at hand. She wasted no time waiting to see if her party was following her, Hashirama’s hefty and earthy chakra clashing deftly with Madara’s own fiery and ash-riddled signature acting as blinding beacons amidst the mainly empty forest. The kunoichi shifted her body just enough to dodge a poorly placed tripwire, her party members thankfully doing the same; they had no time to waste on trivial bomb tags that were clearly placed by a genin or an idiot of a higher ranking shinobi.

With a silent cry of her missing brother’s name, Mito sent her sensory field outwards in growing desperation, and just as she expected to be met empty handed as she had been every time before, chakra of frigid mint and fresh fallen rain flickered across the far edges to the northwest. In any other case, she would have felt relief at sensing her otouto’s precious chakra, but such relief evaporated the very moment she felt it fluctuate in and out of existence, which could only mean-.

“I sense him, 20 miles northwest of here,” Her words jarred the others from their internal dialogues, the three shinobi snapping to attention. “We won’t reach him in time if you wait on Touka and I! Go!”

“Mito-!” Hashirama, the damn fool, dared to argue, concern ringing true in his voice, and she didn’t hesitate to rip into the mokuton used without restraint. “Do you wish to see your brother alive or not, husband?! GO!”

“Listen to your wife, you imbecile! MOVE IT!”

Madara was gone in a flash of crimson and obsidian, the Uchiha racing towards Tobirama’s estimated location without abandonment, leaving the remaining three shinobi in the dust. The hokage, effectively silenced by her question and his best friend’s jarring shout, launched himself after the man without another word, leaving Mito and Touka to follow after them.

All they could do now was pray to the gods that Hashirama and Madara reached the teenager before it was too late.

~~~

“What lengths would you go to protect your younger brother?”

“To the ends of the earth.”

“Listen to your wife, you imbecile! MOVE IT!”

All they could do now was pray to the gods that Hashirama and Madara reached the teenager before it was too late.

~~~

“What lengths would you go to protect your younger brother?”

“To the ends of the earth.”

Touka grimaced at the thought, grinding her teeth in raging opposition because they shouldn’t be in such a predicament in the first place. Oh how she wished she hadn’t paid mind to Tobirama’s requests, that she not defend him from his dolt of an older brother and his abusive excuse for a future husband. The urge to beat the ever living shit out of not only Madara and Hashirama but Izuna as well boiled dangerously beneath her skin, clenched fists tense and ready to strike either man in their party if they so much as utter a sound. They honestly had no business, no, no fucking right to be a part of this retrieval mission; those bastards were why her precious cousin was not only injured but on this suicide mission in the first place! Both men (if she could even call them that with how childish they acted) were absolute idiots with their own selfish goals and incentives and Tobirama had been their unwilling victim, years of abuse and conditioning from Butsuma and other Senju having warped his sense of self-worth to the near point of non-existence. Hashirama, bearing his own trauma and self-induced jealousy, ripped into his younger brother with conditioned purpose and Madara, once an avid enemy rapidly turned intended spouse in the span of just months, was crafted to be a bringer of war just as Hashirama was and taught from birth to bear hatred for the Uchiha’s eternal rival. While Touka could only postulate the troubling events and behaviors Madara and Izuna had both experienced, seeing as how she hadn’t been present in their lives aside o from the battlefield, but she knew without a fact that it gave neither of them the excuse to treat Tobirama the way they had. Madara had struck her cousin in a moment of emotional and physical vulnerability, having only been in such an unstable state because of the Uchiha and her damn older cousin in the first place, and kami how she wished she had been there in the moment to stab her naginata through the fool’s foul spewing throat-!

“Listen to your wife, you imbecile! MOVE IT!”

All they could do now was pray to the gods she no longer believed in that Hashirama and Madara reached the teenager before it was too late.

~~~

Sorry for another cliffhanger, it was just too much to resist! Kudos, comments, bookmarks and the like are always appreciated! Until next time!

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sjhanny2000 · 9 months

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Hey folks!

I know it's been a hot minute since I posted anything new on here and let me tell you, it's for good reason! And you may be asking, what is this good reason? Well let me tell you!

I have officially decided that while doing my own writing ideas, I'll be taking fanfic commission requests as well! This is not only beneficial for me both monetarily and professionally, but you can get a commissioned fanfic made to your specific standards/wants.

I will say, I will not write pieces that include:

-NSFW

-Incest

-Rape/Non-con

-Furry content

-Bestiality

-Underage

If you're interested, please contact me through DMs!

#sjhanny writes #uzui tengen x reader #madara x tobirama #demon slayer x reader

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sjhanny2000 · 10 months

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Reblog if Fan Fics are just as valid as Fan Art

Affirmation for writers, please!!

Likes do nothing!!

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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I dont think you realize the grip you have on me with these Tengen x Wives x Reader fics like I foam at the mouth whenever I read them

If im at work and you post? Best believe im taking a break cause aint no say im hell I waitin for one of the only things that keeps me happy till I get home

LMAO this had me dying! @trashfox I'm so glad I've been able to fuel your addiction lol! I'm nearly done teaching for the school year so the next part of the canonical Tengen×Wives×Reader series will be posted soon 😈

#kimetsu no yaiba #uzui tengen x reader #uzui tengen #tengen uzui #sjhanny #demon slayer #tengen uzui x reader #sjhanny asks

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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uhm part 2 of fights and sweet touches 😳

Hey there! If you follow this link, you can find my entire Demon Slayer Fanfic Master List! Part 2 and the rest of the series can be found there! Thanks for reading! 🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/sjhanny2000/687767409335091200/demon-slayer-master-list?source=share

#sjhanny writes #sjhanny asks #sjhanny #uzui tengen x reader #uzui tengen #tengen uzui #uzui #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Lustful Blood (2/2)

A/N: I AM BACK!!! Nearly three months later and I'm back. This semester has been a hell ride since I'm teaching AP U.S. Government and Politics for the first time but oh well! To make up for my absence, here's not only the conclusion to this AU but double the amount of the first chapter! Enjoy!

Warning(s): TDoFL AU, mentions/references to cannibalism, non-consensual transformation, reference/implied rape, minor gore, canon-violence, angst with a bit of fluff, Demon Slayer spoilers

Word Count: 3.6k+

~~~

Bah-dump. Bah-dump. Bah-dump. Bah-dum-bah-dum-bah-dum-bah-!

The sound of your heart pounding filled your ears, deafeningly loud and numbing to your senses. Your body felt as if it had been hit by a lightning strike, nerves and muscles quaking with excited electric energy, your fingers itching and mouth dripping copious amounts of saliva.

Fresh meat mother, feed us!

You could sense four fresh, delectable bodies entering your sensory field at a rapid pace, their swiftness unlike that of any civilian you had come across since your awakening. No, these four were something else, their scents tantalizing familiar, and oh how did your stomach grumble in want of their presence. Yet, as your stomach yearned to taste their flesh, your heart was another matter; it madly thumped and thrashed against the confines of your ribcage, outstretching its veins outwards in hope of grasping onto something or rather, someone.

I’m here! ________, I’m here!

Your mind came to a crashing halt for just a split second, because youknewthesesomeonesbuthow-?

MOTHER! FEED!

You didn’t have the time to process that damning thought, no matter how debilitating it was. No, your children needed you on your guard and your body needed the sustenance these four bodies would provide; they had to be in good health due to their obvious athleticism, which meant their flesh were fresh and tender, perfect for sinking your teeth into and-. Desired drenched saliva swished about within the cavern of your mouth, thick lines of the transparent secretion trickling from the corners of your lips in copious amounts.

Your meal was approaching.

Silently slinking into the shadows of the canopy above you, you settled yourself amongst two hearty branches and silently laid in wait for your prey to arrive, your children growing silent and the air still. You need to feast, you were so hungry-.

Don’t hurt them-!

INTRUDERS!

Maybe, maybe you should wait to eat, but could you truly wait any longer? You had become so weak, with the ridges of your ribcage and bones present more than ever, perhaps just a drop of blood would be enough to curb your urge to feed. No one had to die nor suffer, just a drop of blood would do and how glorious it would taste! Yet, your salivating day dream of finally consuming something evaporated the second you felt one of the four individuals seemingly disappear into thin air.

One intruder vanished, three remaining, find…

What is the meaning of this-?

“-said this is where the demon’s been hiding. Stay on your guard.”

“Hai!”

“Remember, just because there’s wisteria and security measures in place throughout the estate, doesn’t mean you don’t need to stay on your guard.” Dressed in a sleeveless, mid-thigh dress that was the color of crimson spider lilies, golden bangs framing an face hidden from your sight, the woman’s voice possessing uncertainty yet confidence within its cadence. The woman’s calloused hand was cupping your left cheek with such love it made your stomach turn and twist, cheeks growing hot out of embarrassment. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, promise.”

A silent hiss escaped your lips as the memory momentarily blinded all of your senses, clawed fingers coming to tightly grasp your locks in a weak attempt to relieve the sudden pressure within your cranium. Now was not the time for these thoughts, not when you and your children’s survival was at stake!

“-don’t understand is if the demon who’s been holed up in here as long as the village leader says has yet to hurt anyone, why are we in such a rush to hunt it down? Maybe they’re like that one boy demon slayer’s sister, y’know, the one that’s supposedly a good demon!”

A quiet, saddened sigh left the woman cuddled beside you, her slate blue dress clashing pleasantly against the emerald stalks of grass that laid below her sprawled out body. Her hand was stretched outwards in a pointless attempt to take hold of the azure sky looming above the both of you, a soft, spring breeze drifting across your bodies. “Have you, y’know, ever wondered if a demon could be good? Like, one that chose to protect people instead of eating them? That would change everything!”

Familiar, stop, please make it stop! It HURTS-!

“We can’t afford to take any chances here just because the demon hasn’t killed someone yet. It’s better to deal with it now then give it the opportunity to kill someone in the future.”

“We can’t afford to take any chances, ___-chan. But I promise, when we return from our mission, we’ll all make a trip into town. Just hold out till then, okay?” Calloused palms gently cradled your fingers, the woman wearing the violet dress gifting them with a light squeeze that made your heart flutter with excitement and ached in dejection at the same time.

MAKE. IT. STOP!!!

The branches of the canopy began to grow antsy from the duress of your quaking mental foundations, what little control you possessed over your shipping psyche threatening to slip through your brittle fingers whilst your children willed themselves to thrash in rage.

GO AWAY!

“Look out!”

Any energy left within your body seeped into your children, sneaking vines and needle sharp thorns lashing toward the three individuals, no women, in search of bloody penance for invading your shared home.

One of your prized children, a venus flytrap you had come to lovingly name Takara after it had prevented curious villagers from entering your home one late night when you were debilitated from endless mind aches, reared its body back and aimed to entrap one of the women within its jaws with a deafening roar.

“GET OUT!!!”

Various of the rose bushes uprooted themselves and hurried forward, doing their damndest to sink their thorns within the intruders' skin, the ones who met your beloved children with peculiar weapons that were sharp as knives yet wielded like hand held katanas. With a pained grimace, you forced your scrunched eyes to open, blobs of salty, pain saturated tears staining your dirt covered cheeks whilst you forced yourself to shift into a better vantage point and further away from the intruders. Vines took hold of your torso and lifted you upwards further into the canopy until you were met with the night sky, desperate, agonizing gasps escaping your lips as you felt child after child die in your defense.

“There you are.”

Before you could even register what was happening, a deep, cocky voice belonging to a man sounded off behind you and as you moved to face him, you were met with twin, razor-edged blades aiming for the meat of your esophagus. A cry of surprise escaped you whilst your body was yanked to safety by a swarm of vines, thick oak branches that had erupted from below at some taking the brunt of the attack from the fourth intruder that had most definitely not vanished. Sent tumbling across the broken glass paneling of the green house, you found your battered form tumbling over the edge of one of the metal beams that supported the roof with a terrified scream. In a weak and desperate attempt to stop yourself from falling to your death, you swung your arms outwards and managed to take purchase of a glass shard jutting from the beams, a cry of pain escaping you at the feeling of the transparent material piercing into the meat of your right wrist. As you uselessly hung there, mind boggled and heart racing, your gut instinct urged you to look upwards and the moment you did, horrified dread poured into the pit of your stomach; descending from the night sky in a flash of color and deafening sound, the fourth intruder was flying towards you with enormous blades and aimed with killing intent. At that very moment, time seemed to slow, and you knew you had two choices: free yourself and lose your hand in turn or die.

With the yank of your shoulder accompanied by a scream, the glass ripped through the tendons and bones within your wrist and hand, blood spraying madly against the glass and the stranger’s obscured face as your descent downwards saved you from another killing blow.

MOTHER!

Branches, thick leaves, and vines shot outwards, each attempting to slow your plummet, only for each outstretched chlorophyll limb to be sliced to pieces by the accursed blades. As the wind rushing past you, your (h/c) locks whipped angrily around your face, until in a small second of reprieve and chance, the gusts thrust upwards against your falling body freed your eyes of the growing tangle nest of your hair and you found your (e/c) irises meeting vibrant pools of invigorating fuchsia.

Muscular arms two times the same as your own cradled you against a (naked) chest of pure muscle, your husband’s hypnotic pools of fuchsia peering down at you with unadulterated love and affection, a blinding grin set on Tengen’s handsome face. “You aren’t sneaking away from us that easily, spirit flower.”

“You gotta stay today, Y/N-chan! You promised!” Suma’s arm sprung forth from the mound of blankets and bodies that were you and your spouses, tears forming in the woman’s dazzling cobalt irises as she grasped onto your wrist in desperation.

“I-uh-I really do need to begin on my chores,” You attempted to break free of your teary-eyed wife and scramble out of Tengen’s massive lap, face burning as bright as the summer sun out of pure nervous embarrassment. “Plus, I am not used to performing actions of pleasure as well as you, Hinatsuru, and Makio and-!”

A cream white hand of calluses appeared from the sea of covers that were blanketing your shared naked forms and came to playfully fondle your breast, Makio’s lips bearing a mischievous, shit eating grin of her own. “Well let’s fix that then, baby girl. Chores can wait.”

Slinking forward with the heady scent of wanting lust filling your nostrils, you couldn’t help the squeak that left you as Makio’s lips met your own, the taste of persimmons meeting your tongue whilst her tongue scraped the inner walls of your mouth. Wandering hands swept across the unblemished skin of your forearms, something warm and wet running across the junction of muscle and flesh of your shoulder up your neck until-. You couldn’t help the moan that ripped from your throat at the feeling of teeth nipping at your right earlobe, Hinatsuru’s soft spoken voice gracing moist air into the shell of your ear. “We want to see all that you have to offer, love. Outside and in.”

Her hand traveled to your core and with the flick of her wrist, her index finger-.

“Tengen-sama.”

His name left your mouth before you could stop it, fresh tears pricking at the corner of your eyes at the sight of your husband for the first time in forever because how long had it been since you had last seen him?

A part of you relished in the mortified realization that bloomed across the Sound Hashira’s facial features, his lips moving soundlessly against the wind rushing past the two of you.

“Spirit flower?”

In an explosion of blinding pain, a multitude of memories burst forth from the darkest recesses of your cavernous mindscape, bitter words and touches from childhood intermixing with bright and happy ones from your time with your spouses at their estate. Suma’s back breaking hugs, Hinatsuru’s light as a feather kisses, Makio’s balance stealing pats on the back, Tengen’s all encompassing figure, each point of contact sweeping over your skin with suffocating reminiscence.

As you clutched onto the wood of the front gateway standing tall around you, you watched on in silent sadness whilst your spouses set off down the dirt road with purpose, Nijimaru leading the four of them towards yet another mission. Just as they reached the edge of the horizon, your three wives spun around and waved a final goodbye, Tengen watching on with fondness.

“We love you Y/N-chan!”

“Y/N-chan!”

Strong, unrelenting arms of muscle wrapped around your dirtied form and suddenly, with the abrupt jolt of your body, you were no longer falling. Senses having gone haywire and far too afraid to see just who was holding you, you would not dare open your eyes nor move, holding your breath in hope that they would just leave you there.

You are the monster, the demon.

The very thing they despised and hunted in atonement for their sins.

“Tengen-sama!”

“Tengen-sama what are you doing?!”

“Tengen-sama?”

Too loud, everything was too loud. Make it stop, make it stop, make. it. stop.

The body holding your own shifted ever so slightly and in a blur, you found yourself cradled within the lap of the man who should be slicing your head off your shoulders, not cradling like some baby, like you were still the person he had once loved.

“Spirit Flower, open your eyes.”

“Tengen-sama, that isn’t Y/N-!”

“Makio!”

How deafening was the tense silence that followed Hinatsuru’s reprimanding shout but you did not dare open your eyes, unwilling to face the reality that lay beyond your eyelids because how could you do so?

“You’re alive, Kami you’re alive,” A overly large and calloused thumb, the one that used to caress the bridge of your cheekbone fondly whenever you were within reach and it made you feel so special-- moved to wipe away the tears gracing the flesh of your cheeks with such tenderness that was unholy undeserving for a monster such as yourself. “Our sweet, gorgeous Spirit Flower.”

“But if that’s Y/N-chan, that means…”

A quiet, mournful sob followed those damning words closely like a predator stalking its prey and bare arms were wrapping tightly around your neck-.

What?

Your eyes snapped open in surprise, body going stiff beneath Suma’s breath taking hold as she rubbed her face against your own, and you found your shocked gaze meeting Tengen’s tearfully joyous one, the Sound Hashira gifting you with a watery smile. “That was quite a flamboyant way to reveal yourself, you know. I give it a 9/10.”

Makio’s two-toned hair appeared in your field of vision in a blur of movement, the fiesty kunoichi shoving Suma away from your person to strangle you in a hug of her own, a soft squeak slipping from your lips. A touch of lips as light as a feather graced your left temple and you managed to move your head just enough to see a silently sobbing Hinatsuru kneeling above you, violet irises shining with boundless, unending love.

How could, what was, why-?

“Why?” You croaked, voice crackling with misuse or the lack there of it. “Why?”

The singular word caught all four of their attentions in an instant, Suma popping back into your vision with a stern glare. “If you’re asking why we aren’t killing you because you’ve been turned into a demon, Kami, so help me-!”

Hinatsuru moved to restrain the frothing blue-eyed kunoichi without hesitation, the more composed of the two gracing you with a strained smile and effort. “What Suma is trying to say is, how could we ever think of killing you when we’ve thought the person we love was dead this whole time, only to be alive in the end?”

“We thought we lost you forever, you baka.” Makio let out a sniff whilst she pulled away and wiped the tears from her face. “When we found your kimono in that hellhole of a cellar and there was blood everywhere, we-!”

“-presumed the worst,” Your attention shifted back to your husband, a haunted look marring Tengen-sama’s typically vibrant features, one that made your skin crawl with discomfort. “It was pretty unflashy of us.”

Squirming against Makio and Tengen’s holds on your body, you did your best to get away from them, before you made a mistake you could never remedy. “You need to let me go, forget you ever saw me, please, before I hurt you!”

“No way!” “Hell no!” “Absolutely not!”

“Now you listen and you listen good, spirit flower,” Much to your chagrin, Tengen’s mighty arms drew you back into his lap and held you there, the Sound Hashira gifting you with an unforgiving glare of foreboding warning. “We’ve thought you’ve been dead for a year, we were forced to hold a funeral for you without anything to bury, without the chance to tell you our goodbyes.”

“So like hell we’ll let you out of our sights. You’re our wife and we pledged to stand by one another in sickness and in health, that includes one of us becoming a demon. You got that?”

All you could do was dumbly nodded in confirmation, words failing you in that moment of truth, and Tengen’s mood shifted from threatening to reserved within a second, the silver haired man gazing down at you with calculating fuchsia irises. “Now, with all of that nonsense out of the way, tell me with truth: have you eaten a human?”

You could have sworn your eyes popped out of their sockets in fearful anxiety. “N-no! Never! I mean, I wanted to but something stopped me every time! I’m sorry-!”

Hinatsuru gave your back a comforting rub, offering you a supportive grin. “It’s okay Y/N-chan, no one’s upset with you!”

“Yeah! So can it with the stupid apologies, baka!” Makio cuffed you on the back of the head, glaring warningly at your person.

Rubbing at the now sore spot on the back of your head, you turned back to Tengen with searching eyes, body quaking with nerves. “Then, what are you going to do with me?”

“Well first, we’re going to find you something else to wear then the drabby rags you have on now.” His fingers plucked at your clothes with distaste, the man speaking with such nonchalance it left you reeling. “And then you’ll bring you to Shinobu-san and let her see if there is anything she can do to reverse your condition. She’s been making some progress in research supposedly due to an anonymous benefactor and a little demon girl who refuses to eat people just like you.”

“There’s another demon like me?”

Suma grinned at your questions, practically bouncing with excitement in Hinatsuru’s arms. “Her name’s Nezuko-chan! The Butterfly Girls said she’s very nice, just like you Y/N-chan!”

Blush broke out across your cheeks, embarrassment fueling you to curl tightly against Tengen and hide your tomato red face between his muscular breasts.

Mother, safe?

“-chan?”

You snapped to attention, only to see your four spouses peering at you with worry, and you felt your fingers curl into the fabric of Tengen’s uniform unconsciously while you did your best to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. “The plants, they talk to me. They want to know I’m safe.”

Jumping to her feet in a flash, Suma set her gaze on the trees looming above with a shout. “It’s okay plant babies! We’re here to bring her home, safe and sound!”

Take mother away from us?

“They won’t take me away forever, I promise,” The plants surrounding the five of you grew taught with apprehension, protective anger within them beginning to grow. “T-they want to help me, help us! They’ll feed me, take good care of me!”

Feed mother? Take care of her?

“Yes! S-so it’s okay, I’ll be okay! We all will be!”

Your children grumbled in agreement, the want to feed once again growing in intensity and the urge to sink your fangs into Makio’s arm because it was sitting there and it smelled so-.

Thoughts of fulfilling your hunger came to a grinding halt at the rough jerk of your head backwards, something hard and unforgiving slotting painfully between your jaws. It took you a moment but you quickly realized that a thick branch had been shoved into your mouth, the limb thick enough that it would take a considerable amount of energy to snap it, the very energy you lacked due to your lack of feeding.

“Can’t have you trying to feast on us just yet, spirit flower.” A thick rope was promptly attached to both ends of the branch and tied tightly at the back of your head, Tengen making quick work of the muzzle he had clearly put through in haste.

The bark of the branch cut into the meat of your lips but you couldn’t find the will to care; all you could care about was that you had just attempted to eat one of your wives, a reality that made your stomach curdle in disgust.

“I’m fine, tree hugger. Not a scratch on mine, see?” Makio wasted no time in showing that she indeed was fine, the woman moving to stand on her feet beside Suma and Hinatsuru, the latter who gave your shared husband a worried look. “We should probably leave soon, Tengen-sama. The sun should be up within the next two hours.”

“If that’s the case then, let’s be on our flamboyant way, shall we?”

With a simple thrust of his legs, Tengen was standing with you draping over his left shoulder like a sack of flour, a noise of surprise escaping you at the sudden movement. “Sorry, spirit flower, but if we’re going to make it to the Butterfly Mansion before the sunrise, I can’t carry you in style. Now hold on tight!”

Before you could even think of objecting, Tengen was on the move and that meant so were you, a muffled scream ripping out of your throat while the ex-shinobi turned demon slayer made what seemed like a mad dash for Shinobu-san’s estate, your three wives following close behind with grins on all four of your spouses’ faces.

~~~

Thanks for making it this far! Comments, likes, reblogs and more are always appreciated!

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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After a few weeks of waiting, I received an email last night that informed me that I was chosen to be one of the contributing writers for the Naruto Cookbook! From drinks, snacks, and meals with stories attached, I'll be working with over fifty-five creators to create a cookbook inspired by Naruto, one of the most beloved animes to date. While it's not going to be a licensed Shonen Jump product (perhaps someday!), I'm still so excited to have the opportunity to be a part of this great project and beef up my writing portfolio!

#sjhanny #sjhanny writes #naruto #creative writing #hell yeaaaaaaah

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Hidden Within the Arrangement (9/?)

A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for such the long break between chapters! I have recently joined an exercise class three days a week and along with my full time job as a teacher, I've simply been exhausted. It doesn't help that I've been experiencing some the worst writer block in my life. It's just been hard to feel happy with the work I've been churning out lately. With that aside, please enjoy the extra long chapter as an apology for my extended absence!

Word Count: 8.87K+

Warning(s): mentioned/referenced couples violence, mentioned/referenced child death and abuse, angst, some foul language, misunderstandings galore, arranged marriage, etc.

Taglist: @tsukihimeyfan

~~~

From a young age, Hashirama knew he was never the sharpest kunai. In fact, many over the years considered him to be intellectually challenged, having always been far more interested in helping tend to the gardens or play games rather than learning from musty scrolls from even mustier elders. Father never was pleased to learn that Hashirama had skipped yet another lesson to swing from the trees, nor when he slacked off in his training, but for some reason unknown to his young self, he had no interest in what others around him deemed important. All he wanted to do was explore, make flower crowns with baby Touka, snuggle in mother’s lap beside the hearth, and run around in his grandmother’s cabbage patch. He had been happy and content until one day, in the midst of the leaves turning, Hashirama noticed that his mother’s lap was growing smaller and her stomach larger, hard and firm. When he had asked her why, the Hatake woman paused in her knitting and gifted him with a fond smile, placing a tender hand on her swollen belly.

“Well, sometime in winter, I will be having a baby,” Mother gently took hold of his tiny palm and placed it against the taut surface, his chocolate irises growing wide at feeling something briskly skim the skin beneath her stomach. “And you, my little sapling, will have a little brother or sister to play with.”

Though it was years ago, Hashirama could remember how excited he had been to be a big brother, an anija as his mother dubbed him during one of the cold winter nights he had been allowed to sleep with her and father. He toddled after his mother everywhere, asking question upon question and offering her flowers he had picked from the nearby meadow so they could decorate the bedroom before the baby came. Often, he even found himself talking to his unborn sibling whilst mother slept or while she knitted, telling his otouto or imouto everything he had done throughout the day and more. Touka sometimes joined in his mindless chatter when they had playdates or her mother needed to attend to something without juggling a far too curious toddler like she was. The two of them together would learn about what needed to be done before a baby arrived and everything that came after their arrival, including how to hold one, that it needed far more sleep than they did, and that they wouldn’t be ready to play games with them until they were a bit older. Still, Hashirama was excited and far too young to understand the weight his mother had been under at the time.

He understood it quite well when he found her sobbing over a bundle of white mere hours after his new sibling had been delivered. It had been early in the morning that very day when he crawled out of bed, sleepily rubbing his eye whilst stumbling messily into the kitchen where mother should have been making breakfast, only to find his grandmother, aunt, and various other women of the clan bustling about in an anxious hurry. Before he had been able to even question what was going on, his father was upon him, stern faced and unforgiving, guiding his three year old self away from the women and onto the back engawa where various men, including his uncle and the male clan elders, lounged about, cups of sake poured and thick smoke slinking leisurely from their pipes. Hours must have gone by before Hashirama asked where his mother was and when he did, Touka’s father came to pause in his recent whittling project a few feet away, a playful laugh escaping the shinobi as an eager grin on the man’s face.

“No one told you, boy? Your mother is having the baby you have been obsessing over!”

How excited he had been, hearing that his new otouto or imouto would finally be arriving after so long! What would they look like? Would they like him? Would they like plants like he did? Would they also dislike eating pickled herring? Oh he had so many questions to ask!

As dusk approached, high pitched cries echoed from deep inside, cheers of triumph and celebration escaping the group of men surrounding him, prompting him to cheer as well though he had no clue as to why. Pipes were relit, cups refilled, and the joy flowing from the men was contagious, so much so that Hashirama hadn’t caught the look of displeased hatred fixed upon his father’s face as he appeared on the engawa. The man made no move to stop the moment he stepped over the threshold, passing the men without a word whilst they followed him with questions of their own, leaving his young self all on his lonesome.

Grandmother eventually came out to fetch him, her dark eyes holding an emotion he had been unable to put a name to as she led him into the house, her aging hand grasping his youthful one. Just as they reached the door, he could hear his mother crying, which prompted him to panic simply because mother never cried-!

Moving to cradle his earth-toned cheeks in her calloused palms, grandmother kneeled down to meet him at eye level, face stern yet comforting. “Your mother needs you to be strong right now and not ask questions, Hashirama. Can you do that for her?”

If his mother needed him, then he would do anything for her and he had told the woman adamantly so! With his fiery admission, grandmother let out a sigh he couldn’t tell was out of hopelessness for his grandson or out of relief and moved to open the door, quietly guiding Hashirama inwards without another word except “hush.” Knowing better than to make the old woman cross, Hashirama did as he was told, but it was hard to do so when he came upon the scene set before him. Clearly exhausted, his sobbing mother sat in the center of the room, a bundle of pristine white cradled protectively against her hardly clothed chest whilst she rocked back and forth.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry! Amaterasu, Raijin forgive me!”

“Mama?”

He had been unable to stop himself from speaking at the moment, so confused and scared at the situation at hand because wasn’t everyone supposed to be happy for the new baby? Father had spoken various times how he would finally have the precautionary heir he had been waiting for and mother had never spoken badly about the baby, not once! Never had Hashirama realized at that age just why his mother had been crying and his father furious, the remaining adults still present being sullen and hesitant to speak. However, he knew something was wrong the second his mother’s reddened eyes met his own, to see just how distraught the unshakeable kunoichi was. Fear clouded those obsidian irises, an emotion Hashirama had never seen in his mother’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but toddle over and plop down right beside her, not saying another word. After a few long seconds of quiet, the smallest, palest hand Hashirama had ever seen appeared from the snowy bundle in his mother’s arms, a tiny, adorable squeak following soon after.

While Hashirama wasn’t the sharpest kunai ever, he did have enough common sense to realize that his mother was holding the new baby, his new imouto or otouto, and a rush of giddy excitement had filled him with a gasp. “Is that the baby?!”

In an instant, his mother’s fearful apprehension seemed to melt away, a weak but ever present smile growing on her cracked, pale lips whilst she adjusted her hold on the bundle. “It is. Would you like to meet them?”

Nodding vigorously, Hashirama was practically vibrating with excitement, only for such a feeling to be eclipsed by that of utter awe the moment his mother pushed away a bit of the blanket to reveal the person he had been waiting to meet for months now. Chubby, rosy red cheeks contrasted perfectly against the baby’s skin that was pale as a ghost, wild tufts of pearly white covering the top of their tiny head, so pure and beautiful.

“Hashi, I want you to meet your new otouto, Tobirama,” Hashirama’s already racing heart began to sprint faster upon hearing he had a baby brother, just like he had wanted! “Tobirama, this is your anija, Hashirama. He’s been so excited to meet you, little one.”

With wide, awe-filled eyes, Hashirama couldn’t help but smile, moving to stand on his tippy toes to gain a better view of his new brother. “Hi otouto, I’m Hashirama, I’m your anija!”

The rosy cheeked infant let out a hardly audible coo, one soft as downy feathers and sweet as permission jelly, and Hashirama couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped his lips at seeing alabaster eyelashes flutter open. They opened just enough to reveal neverending pools of merlot, the young boy’s irises of freshly toiled earth searching the tiny ones of his brother with curiosity; he had never seen anything or anyone like him, especially amongst their fellow clansmen. Tanned fingers cautiously snuck across the bundle of snow, the toddler watching in wondrous anxiety as his right index finger came to gently poke the flesh of Tobirama’s tiny palm, hoping to garner some reaction from the newborn. Chubby, pearly white fingers clumsily curled around Hashirama’s extended digit mere moments after the older boy made contact with the younger, a smile as bright as the summer sun blooming on the toddler’s face. Turning his attention to their observing mother, who watched on in relieved fondness, Hashirama couldn’t help but beam. “Did you see, mama?! Otouto is holding my finger!”

Mother let out a soft chuckle, the Hatake woman moving to hold his brother out to him, a knowing look in her dark eyes. “Would you like to hold Tobirama for yourself, sweet sapling?”

“Yeah!”

“Hold still, now. There you go.” Careful in ensuring Tobirama was held correctly within Hashirama’s arms, mother set the hours-old infant into the toddler’s lap with a smile.

Hashirama could only gaze down at his otouto in wonder the moment he was settled into his arms, taking in all his peculiar and tiny features because how couldn’t he? His baby brother was perfect.

“Hashirama.”

Earth colored irises met desperate, stern obsidian, mother never breaking eye contact with him.

“You must promise me, Hashirama, that no matter what may occur between the two of you, you will protect Tobirama from harm.” Brushing strays locks of chocolate from Hashirama’s line of vision, the woman remained steadfast in sobering seriousness, lips thin and unforgiving. “He will be your greatest ally and dearest friend, even in times of turmoil and strife, so you must take care of him and treat him well. Do you understand?”

Not truly understanding what their mother was asking of him, Hashirama had had no issue in replying in the way he did. “I promise mama! I’ll protect Tobirama, no matter what!”

He would have never made that damn promise if he had known just how difficult Tobirama would make for him to keep his word. From birth, Hashirama and Tobirama were opposites of one another in everything that seemed to matter, whether that be looks, intelligence, personality, and so on. Whilst Hashirama was loud and messy, Tobirama was quiet and calculated even as a baby, and while he himself was a healthy, robust child, the white haired child was frail and sickly throughout the beginning of his childhood. Due to such frailty, mother would spend most of her time tending to Tobirama, ensuring he was well fed and clothed at all times and spending countless hours with the boy that she failed to spend with Hashirama, reading him a plethora of scrolls that bored the brunette to the core. It left Hashirama to play on his own, which wasn’t supposed to be the case anymore because Tobirama was to be his new playmate, the otouto that followed him everywhere and loved to play in the garden and get dirty! Every time Hashirama tried to roughhouse like he had seen other brothers do within the clan, mother or one of the house maids were upon them in a flash, scolding him thoroughly whilst plucking Tobirama up from the tatami floor with stern glares.

“What have we told you about playing roughly with Tobirama?! He-!”

“-can’t handle it!”

Yes, physically, Tobirama was quite feeble as a small child, but it was evident fairly on into his life that he was an intellectual prodigy in the making. The pair of them had been playing on the engawa with their mother hanging laundry nearby, Hashirama nursing a few bruises from training while he showed his otouto his newest technique for flower crowns. The one that had been present on his cheek must have caught the freshly turned six month old’s attention somehow because before the toddler realized what was happening, Tobirama was crawling towards him with worry in those vibrant merlot irises of his and much to Hashirama’s surprise, the baby jerkily placed a comforting hand over the aching flesh. It was only moments later that mother was upon them, a rare grin of admiring pride on her lips whilst she pulled a quiet Tobirama into her arms, cooing obsessively over how smart her little Tobi was and not paying a shred of attention to him. Such behavior only continued as Tobirama continued to grow, his otouto standing at the mere age of eight months while Hashirama had been eleven months, the albino’s first word of “Hashi” following just a short month later. While he should have been excited to have his otouto’s first word be his name, Hashirama hadn’t been able to stop the bitter jealousy filling his veins, such a feeling only increasing when mother praised the baby for his accomplishment.

Even with these feelings, Hashirama loved his otouto, his joy in spending time with Tobirama doubling when mother was nowhere in sight and he had the free reign to do as he pleased. Whenever he was free from training, such free time having steadily been shrinking following Tobirama’s birth, Hashirama was with Tobirama, telling him about his adventures with the other clan children or how father had been particularly rough during training that day. By the time Tobirama’s first year was rolling around, the pair of them were venturing the garden together and watching the koi play in the pond within their grandmother’s courtyard, Touka often joining them on their endeavors with her ever serious attitude. Moments spent cuddled together on hard nights when father made mother cry and bleed or with Tobirama riding on his back whilst they once again ran away from a flock of angry chickens ate away at the feelings of jealousy, the two of them slowly growing closer with the passing of time. Grandmother would call them two peas in a pod, a strange emotion in her eyes every time she uttered it, and how eager he had been to finally have the otouto that did as he did, not obtaining all of mother’s attention and being interested in following him wherever he went. They were exactly what Hashirama imagined when it came to being brothers, attached at the hip with a bond that could never be severed. His child self was too optimistic for the bloodthirsty world they lived in.

“Again!”

As the seasons changed and the two of them grew, Hashirama found his shinobi training intensifying, such changes becoming even more evident following his fifth birthday. Butsuma was a strict and unforgiving taskmaster, eager to tear Hashirama down at any given opportunity and never hesitating to beat him into a sobbing mess of quivering submission. Any time spent with Tobirama dwindled during this period of their shared lives, Butsuma having no interest in interacting with the bright eyed toddler that he steadfastly proclaimed was not his own blood, one of the many excuses he spouted endlessly when he beat their mother black and blue. Still, Hashirama found himself feeling unhappy and unfulfilled, never excited to learn how to properly throw a kunai or how to kill an enemy in one move; he would have much rather been playing with Tobirama and Touka or running through the woods in search of adventure, enjoying everything nature and the world had to give-.

“You stupid boy!”

A loud crack filled the air the moment the back of father’s hand struck Hashirama's left cheek, the force behind the strike sending his small and gangly self sprawling to the ground with a cry. In an instant, Hashirama moved to clutch the aching flesh within his palms, tears blurring his vision whilst he looked up at the monster of a man standing before him.

Senju Butsuma, in all his snarling glory, gazed at him with eyes identical to his own, a maddened rage consuming the clan head’s dark irises whilst he loomed menacingly above the young boy. “Tears are for the weak, Hashirama, and I’ll be damned if my heir is seen weeping like a goddamn infant! Get up!”

“I’m sorry, father! I’ll do better, I promise,” Unable to stop the tears from falling, a yelp escaped the five year old as Butsuma’s cold, calloused hand took hold of his arm, forcefully yanking Hashirama to his feet. “Let go, father! Please!”

“ENOUGH!” Butsuma’s free hand wheeled backwards for another harsh slap, the crazed clan head frothing at the mouth. With his body being held in place by the man’s tight grip, all Hashirama could do was screw his eyes shut and wait helplessly for the scarred limb swung to strike him once again.

*Shing*

“Argh!”

In a disorienting blur, the hand gripping Hashirama’s arm was gone, sending the five year old sprawling to the ground with a cry of surprise, roughly falling backwards onto the dusty training field on his behind. Dark eyes snapping open at neck breaking speeds at the sudden change, Hashirama hurriedly glanced around, only to see Butsuma clutching his right hand against his chest, the appendage weeping a steady stream of crimson from the kunai that was now lodged through his palm. Before Hashirama could even react, a small figure white as snow stepped between the two of them, their thin and gangly frame swamped in Hashirama’s hand-me-downs. What absolute terror filled his veins when his brain finally caught up with the situation set before him, to see two year old Tobi standing between him and Butsuma, arms spread out and feet parted in a protective stance, placing himself in the crossfire.

Only to add insult to injury, Tobirama in all of his craziness stood his ground against the man that was triple his height. “Leave anija alone!”

“Tobi no,” Hashirama moved to stand but it was as if time was in slow motion, reaching his hand outward to pull Tobirama away from harm.

Butsuma let out a growl of a monster, the aging brunette taking hold of the kunai’s hilt with murderous intent in those hellish eyes of his. “You little bastard, I’ll slit your throat-!”

Time slowed to a painful crawl as the man pulled the weapon from his palm and moved to step forward, wielding the kunai with the intent to kill Tobirama, sweet, brilliant Tobirama. He couldn’t let his otouto die-!

Protect otouto…

The kunai was within Tobirama's exposed throat when suddenly, the momentum behind Butsuma’s cowardice act came to an abrupt stand still and the air surrounding them grew silent. No one was able to speak, Hashirama and Tobirama out of shock but Butsuma? A thick branch gagged the monster of a human standing before them, vines wrapped around the horrified man’s limbs in an unforgiving hold of steadfast restraint. Hashirama had been unable to do anything but silently cry, something unfamiliar and powerful coursing underneath his skin as he had watched plants erupt from the ground beneath Butsuma’s feet and restrain the clan head in a matter of seconds, hand outreached and shaking.

“Anija.” His attention snapped to the left to see a worried Tobirama kneeling beside him, the toddler clearly having moved at some point in the chaos. Tobirama wasted no time in grabbing his extended arm with surprisingly gentle hands and lowering it into his lap, voice leveled and comforting to Hashirama’s ears. “You are safe, anija. I am here.”

That was the first of many times that Tobirama would step in-between their father and Hashirama. It was also the first time Hashirama’s mokuton awakened, a development that proved to be both a curse and a blessing for him over time. After that day, their father deemed Tobirama old enough to train much to their mother’s utmost displeasure, the woman pleading with Butsuma until a harsh slap silenced her pleas.

From that day on, the two of them were trained alongside one another and much to Hashirama’s gradual envious horror, Tobirama repeatedly proved himself to be the better shinobi in every way that matter. Ninjutsu, taijutsu, genjutsu, you name and Tobirama was excelling in it, his otouto facing Butsuma’s arduous training regiments and scathing words without a single tear and a kunai in hand. With the awakening of the mokuton, Hashirama’s training doubled and many times, he was forced to face Tobirama in combat practice, which almost always led to him collapsing in defeat and the albino standing victorious. Butsuma would verbally and physically beat Hashirama for every defeat he met at Tobirama’s skilled hands and every time his otouto stepped in to defend him, the boy would promptly be beaten as well. Every time this happened, Hashirama’s promise to his mother echoed loudly within his mind and his frustration with the younger boy would grow because he was the one that was supposed to be protecting, not Tobirama! His envy for Tobirama only grew when Butsuma would falsely praise the albino for his accomplishments to rub it in Hashirama’s face, and when their mother would coddle him with kisses and dusty scrolls and simply treat Hashirama’s wounds and hand him his study materials without a spoken word, her dark eyes conveying her desperation for him to do his work. Neither of his parents ever truly understood how hard school was for Hashirama, having been so full of energy and his attention so short that he was set up for failure from the very beginning, and neither were forgiving when they found him playing rather than studying.

“I paid for the finest tutors and what do you do?! Daydream and make flower crowns?!”

“Hashirama, please, just do your work! The faster you complete your lessons, the sooner you can join Tobirama and Touka in the courtyard-!”

While he knew their mother never meant to do it intentionally, her protectiveness over Tobirama would subtly place an ever growing wedge between her two eldest sons. Said wedge would grow larger with the arrivals of Kawarama and Itama, followed by Madoka’s birth and her and mother’s subsequent deaths, and Butsuma’s constant jeerings that seemed to always hit their mark no matter what Hashirama did to ignore it like Tobirama said to. His frustration and disdain for the war between their clan and the Uchiha grew with this wedge, Hashirama becoming far more resisting and combative because there was no point to the bloodshed the two clans were creating. He would complain to his otoutos about the stupidity of it all and all Tobirama would do is stare at him with suddenly unfeeling, dim merlot irises and tell him to be realistic and resume their training, settling his attention back on Kawarama and Itama’s stances. Tobirama had been the one to insist their two otoutos train so excessively, Butsuma watching on with feigned indifference while he watched his four sons fight one another in sadistic glee, and Hashirama did everything in his power to show the two young boys that the world had more to offer than crusty, old scrolls and war. Their opposing ideologies clashed far more often than Hashirama would care to remember, Tobirama acting if he was the all-knowing mother in a vain attempt to fill the hole left behind their poor mother and kami it angered Hashirama to no end, especially when Itama and Kawarama chose him over their eldest anija. At times, the envy Hashirama bore on his shoulders took shape in harsh words and brutal hits on the training field against the white haired boy; Tobirama, was a prodigy after all, he could handle himself in battle, even if the older boy accidentally snapped one of his bones amidst the chaos out of anger.

Their toxic relationship continued onwards as the war with the Uchiha worsened, Butsuma’s attitude following suit much to the four brothers’ chagrins simply because it meant even harsher training and far more beatings. Tobirama bore a brunt of the beatings by the age of nine and his twelve year old would keep his promise to their mother by healing the boy when his injuries were bad enough or when Butsuma took it a step too far. Aside from that, Hashirama lived out his days in search of some reprieve from the doom and gloom that came from the war and in that seemingly hopeless search, by the grace of the Kami, he came upon a raven haired boy skipping rocks on the opposite side of the Naka River.

Madara, as he would come to learn through playful teasing and mindless chats, was everything he had been looking for in those bleak days, their meetings being one of the few reasons Hashirama willingly rose from his futon every morning. They spoke about everything under the sun it seemed, from hobbies to their favorite foods, often skipping stones or adventuring up and down the Naka without a care in the world. Tobirama, ever the astute and nosy otouto that he was, of course had to notice the change in Hashirama’s overall attitude but much to his relief, the younger boy never had time to question him about it due to his mission load and his duties in the home. Hashirama would never openly admit it, but there were times that he thanked the Kami that Butsuma had saddled Tobirama with the responsibility of caring for Kawarama, Itama, and their household, simply because it meant he had more time to spend with Madara by the peaceful riverfront. Touka would berate him for abandoning Tobirama in said duties but such grievances disappeared from the front of his mind every time he saw Madara patiently waiting for him, that feigned look of indifference on the boy’s face. Outside of his studies, training, and the battlefield, Hashirama made himself scarce, aiming to avoid Butsuma’s foul temper and Tobirama’s nags in hopes of experiencing the freedom he had so desperately craved for years now. Then, in one of the worst battles between the Uchiha and Senju to date, Kawarama’s life was taken from them with the throw of a single spear and Hashirama could only wish he had spent more time with his otouto whilst he watched the dirt hit the surface of his brother’s far too small casket.

Kawarama’s death, no, murder , pushed Tobirama almost to the brink of madness and Hashirama could only watch on in silent, grieving aggravation as his otouto attempted to pretend he was smothering poor Itama in attention and protection like their mother once had done for the albino, yet he allowed Butsuma to speak so ill about his freshly buried son! Tobirama’s possessive behavior encouraged a wedge to appear between himself and Itama, the young boy clinging to Tobirama’s side like a leech instead of his like he should have, and all Hashirama could do was watch on in envious turmoil. Tobirama continued to be the perfect brother and the ever perfect cousin in Touka’s eyes, their lone surviving cousin looking down on Hashirama in disdain whilst placing oh-so-perfect Tobirama on a pedestal.

The same oh-so-perfect Tobirama who had garnered everyone’s attention on and off the battlefield, both good and bad, the one who seemed to slaughter countless lives without a single regret and carried on with blood soaked hands that dripped an endless trail behind him. His death count by the age of ten was in the hundreds and much to Hashirama’s utter horror, he followed every one of their father’s orders silently, cold and reserved like he had been since he was a baby.

“The wraith of the Senju, that is what your brother is, Hashirama-sama.”

“That thing is incapable of love, all demons are.”

“The only reason why I keep that demonic bastard alive is because of your continual failures, not only as a shinobi but as a man! A soulless, defective being serves as a better son than my own flesh and blood and all within the Land of Fire knows this!”

His friendship with Madara was the only thing that kept Hashirama sane in the months following Kawarama’s untimely demise. Topics of the world around them were banned and conversations about peace and harmony bore fruit between them, childish hope and fading innocence present. In a surprise show of emotion and vulnerability, Madara spoke of the people his family believed to be Amaterasu’s descendants, of how revered and well-loved the Blessed were because they were someone’s soulmate, of how he wished he could have been fortunate to have such a perfect person in his life. He had been so enraptured in the very idea of soulmates existing, Hashirama brought forth the question that would ruin everything.

“How do you tell the difference between who is a Blessed and who is not?”

Individuals born with skin and hair white as freshly fallen snow and eyes as red as spider lilies. Madara’s answer made Hashirama’s stomach curdle and his blood boil, his emotions clashing so dangerously within that he hadn't dared to speak in fear of saying something he couldn’t take back. He was forced to sit there and listen quietly as Madara went on and on about finding his Blessed, of meeting the one the Kami had fated him to fall in love with and take as his eventual spouse, someone that looked exactly like Tobirama. Hashirama never mentioned anything of Tobirama after that, refusing to even take the chance that Madara would discover that his otouto was one of his people’s sought after Blessed, that the boy was the one his best friend had thought about unknowingly for years. Tobirama had taken enough from him already, he wouldn’t allow him to take Madara from him as well.

Such a greedy mindset must have angered the Kami, so much that soon after the first anniversary of Kawarama’s passing, Itama joined their brother, mother, and sister in the Pure Lands. Itama’s death left the two remaining brothers broken and what little remained of Tobirama’s heart seemed to vanish from existence, the freshly turned eleven year old remaining silent in existential grief that couldn’t be remedied no matter what Touka and Hashirama did to do so. He was forced to watch perfect Tobirama slowly fall apart with each passing day and all Hashirama could do in his own grief filled mind was give the younger boy space to heal on his own. In his mourning of yet another brother dying, Hashirama numbly ventured to the river and Madara arrived not long after, and it was that day that they vowed they would create a place of peace and prosperity, a life in which their younger siblings deserved.

As their friendship continued to deepen and their training segments grew more advanced with every passing week, Hashirama found the will to at least attempt to salvage what little remained of his and Tobirama’s fractured relationship. The albino met him with initial skepticism but with time and smiles, the wedge between them shrank bit by bit; it had nearly been a decade since Hashirama could remember not feeling upset just by being in Tobirama’s presence. They trained together, ate together, soothed one another when the nightmares became too overwhelming, their relationship was finally what Hashirama had dreamed for all those years. Tobirama followed his lead and only corrected him when needed, acting as Hashirama’s rock and council in stressful times on and off the battlefield. Tobirama and him were finally brothers in more than just blood and how foolish he had been to believe that such developments had been without an ulterior motive.

Tobirama was Butsuma’s loyal, little soldier after all.

Within a day, a two year long friendship was burned to ashes, all because of his heartless monster of an otouto. Utilizing Tobirama as an innocent mean of spying on Hashirama, Butsuma learned of his friendship with Madara, and in turn came to know that the boy he met at the river was the eldest son of Uchiha Tajima, the clan head of the Senju’s mortal enemy. The truth of his best friend’s familial origins was something he had subconsciously suspected, seeing how Madara was able to use ninjutsu, genjutsu, and taijutsu, but seeing the truth set before him with Butsuma glaring at him and Tobirama hanging his head in submission like a dog made everything real. All of it turned to hell when Butsuma, in all his homicidal madness, ordered him to follow Madara and if he grew suspicious of Hashirama, to kill him, that very order sealing the fate of Hashirama and Madara’s friendship for good.

If Tobirama had just kept his damn mouth shut for once.

The next river rendezvous between Madara and himself was the final nail driven into the coffin that was his and Tobirama’s relationship, the hammer falling deafeningly against the head of the nail the moment Butsuma and the boy he once vowed to protect appeared with the intent to kill the Uchiha teen before them. Hashirama and Madara were forced to watch Uchiha Tajima and Izuna do the same, their father’s and brother’s blades meeting without mercy, the intent to kill their foe heady and suffocating. Then, without an ounce of regard or care for the children they brought into this world, each clan head threw their chosen weapon not at one another, but at the two young boys fighting below them. Both teens reacted without hesitation, neither wishing to witness yet another brother die even if there were misgivings between them, and the rocks they had once skipped out of play swiftly turned into weapons with a swift and precise flick of their wrists. Their dream died that day, as did their friendship, and with the awakening of Madara’s sharingan came the bitter reality of what Tobirama had done, of the utter betrayal he had committed simply because Butsuma had demanded.

It was that day that Hashirama silently decided he no longer had a brother, just a fellow Senju that lived under the same roof as him and fought alongside him. He played the role of the doting anija and once Butsuma was graciously killed, he wore the title of clan head to finally gain advantage over the boy for the first time since his birth all those years ago, something he wielded against Tobirama with ease. Yet, even with his harsh words and questionable actions, Tobirama stayed by his side and supported him, even drawing up extensively detailed blueprints for the village Hashirama continued to dream about night after night. A part of him had wondered whether how he treated his brother was wrong, that Tobirama perhaps had been conditioned into the mindless killer he had become, but every time Hashirama attempted to look him in the eyes, all he could see was the perfect shinobi he could never be. So, they lived with each other in tense but bearable conditions, which improved with the arrival of beautiful and graceful Mito, the Uzumaki princess being everything that Hashirama wanted, needed, and more. Better yet, she acted as the much needed buffer between the two Senjus, thankfully becoming one that assisted in dealing with Tobirama when he forgot to eat and sleep for days on end so Hashirama could tend to other matters.

Time flew by after Mito’s arrival in the Land of Fire and suddenly Hashirama was twenty-years old and facing off with Madara once again on the battlefield, their respective brothers having a battle of their own nearby. If they were truthful with themselves, everyone knew these battles were for show, used to continue on the war none of them wished for in hopes of the opposing side caving in and their clan reigning supreme. That specific day in history was the day that the tables of long winded fate were turned and the few embers of hope remaining within Hashirama’s heart grew into a fiery blaze, all because Tobirama had nearly spilt Uchiha Izuna’s blood on his already blood soaked hands but in a rare show of humanity, chose not. Tobirama’s actions that day set off a chain reaction amongst their peoples and as Hashirama sat across from Madara amidst peace concessions they both had longed for, a tiny part of him dared to acknowledge that the younger Senju heir had finally done something good in his life.

The Uchiha delegation's final requirement for concession, however, silenced that thought without hesitation. How could Madara want to marry Tobirama of all people, all because he was somehow one the “Blessed” simply because of his outward appearance?! Hashirama had tried to object, asking the Uchiha clan head whether this course of action was truly necessary, only for the bane of his existence to speak for him.

“We agree to the terms you lay before us.”

Just thinking about the moment made the hokage’s toes curl in disgruntled disgust, because how dare he steal Madara away again-?!

The sound of his office door slamming against the wall adjacent to it sent Hashirama flying upwards in surprise with a cry, the jarring feeling echoing through his right knee the moment it clashed mercilessly against the wood of his desk. Subconsciously moving to grasped the injury area whilst his mind reeled, Hashirama moved to see just who had been the culprit of the slamming of his door, only to see a tan hand marked in white scars come into his field of vision, calloused fingers unforgivingly grasping the collar of his hokage dress. The unexpected motion ripped a grunt from the hokage, Hashirama suddenly finding himself eye to eye with a seething Touka, his cousin’s dark eyes alight with barely contained rage.

“Where. Is. He?!”

Hashirama grimaced at the kunoichi frigid tone, trying to pull away from the woman in hopes of being spared from her unforgiving anger. “Touka! What are-?!”

“Don’t play dumb with me Hashirama,” Touka all but roared in face, pearly white teeth gnashed together with sharp canines out for all to see. “WHERE IS HE?!”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” In an act of primal instinct, Hashirama pushed his cousin away from himself, glaring at the kunoichi because what in the world was she talking about?!

His admission only seemed to worsen Touka’s ire, the fellow Senju stepping forward with her naginata primed and ready to strike. “Don’t play dumb with me, you-!”

“Touka.”

Manicured fingers curled around the width of Touka’s weapon, his beautiful Mito appearing in all her prim glory, face lacking any negative emotion and voice even-keeled as always.

“Mito, my sweet, thank goodness you’re here! Touka’s gone mad-!” A wave of relief swept over his confused person, Hashirama moving to embrace his lovely wife-.

Just mere inches away from wrapping his arms around the Uzumaki, Mito raised a hand of warning into the air, painted lips turnt downwards in utter seriousness. “We do not come here on a social visit, my husband. We are in search of Tobirama.”

The edges of his field of vision grew green with envy, his words dripping with jealousy as they slipped from his suddenly dry lips, arms falling unceremoniously at his sides, “Oh, is that all?”

Priming her naginata to strike once again, Touka took a threatening step forward with a deep snarl. “Is that all?! You bastard-!”

“Hashirama!”

In an instant, Hashirama’s attention was snapping over to the doorway of his office, his earth toiled irises meeting Madara’s charcoal ones, his best friend standing there with a hint of concern on his face. Behind him stood a weary Izuna and frowning Hikaku, the three Uchihas watching the scene before them unfold with cautiousness, Madara’s gloves hand clutching the doorway in a near death grip. “Where is he, Hashirama? Where is Tobirama?!”

Truthfully, the Uchiha clan head’s queries threw the Mokuton user off kilter. Wasn’t it just yesterday that Madara came to his office complaining of his brother’s poor decorum, expressing how stressful their arranged marriage had become for him?

“You! You have no right to ask where he is, you spineless bastard of a human!” Touka spun on her heel in a blur, projecting her rage onto the Uchiha without mercy. “None of you would be here if Mito and I hadn’t intervened and questioned you about Tobirama’s whereabouts!”

“You should be glad that we agreed to assist in your search for the Senju Demon! I only came along because the village’s peace treaty depends on this scam of an arranged marriage,” Izuna growled, the younger of the two Uchiha brothers glaring at the Senju kunoichi from his place beside Madara, Hikaku placing a stilling hand on the nineteen year old’s shoulder.

“That is enough, Izuna-sama,” Mito’s words silenced the boy in a second, the Uzumaki princess turning her scathing glance onto Izuna, deep plum colored irises swelling with concerned seriousness. “Now is not the time for petty arguments, nor name calling. If you truly wish to maintain peace amongst our peoples, you should learn to quell your hatred and listen for once. Such a change of behavior would do you some good.”

Mouth agape in surprise, the Uchiha teen could only stare at Mito whilst the woman moved to settle her unnerving gaze back unto Hashirama’s unsuspecting person yet again. “Hashirama, please tell us, where is Tobirama?”

“Why is there such an urgency to find him? Did otouto do something wrong again,” Hashirama wordlessly noted how everyone in the room tensed just a fraction, even Mito, the queen of prim, stoic perfection. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. “Mito, just what is going on?”

Her painted lips moved to speak, but as the first word began to slip out, Madara stepped forward with surprising steadfastness. “We believe Tobirama may have been injured. Upon entering his lab, your dear cousin and wife found it in disarray, as well as a pool of blood on the floor.”

“Hashirama!”

Glancing up from his current plant obsession of the week with a jump at the slamming of the screen door, Hashirama found himself meeting Touka’s panicked gaze, his typically stoic cousin clearly in distress. “It’s Tobirama, hurry!”

Out of nowhere, a teary-eyed Kawarama appeared, one small hand clutching onto the silky fabric of Touka’s kimono. “Father beat him, anija, he beat Tobi!”

Hashirama hadn’t realized he was running until his hand came to grapple the wood of the doorway of Tobirama’s room, dark eyes hurriedly searching the room’s contents until-. He thrust himself forward in a blur, Touka right beside him as they came to kneel at the bloodied, broken body of a contorted Tobirama, Kawarama yanking a sobbing Itama from their dying brother with desperate urgency. Ragged, wet breaths were the only thing that kept Hashirama from believing his otouto was already, his state of being lying only inches from death’s door. The younger boy’s legs were a sickening sight, his left tibia bent unnaturally underneath Tobirama’s battered skin; he nearly vomited at the jagged, alabaster bone jutting from the albino’s right leg, flesh torn and weeping thick rivets of crimson from the puncture wound.

Reaching out a shaking hand to cup Tobirama’s split skull as thick globs of salty tears began to pour down his tan face, all Hashirama’s voice could muster in his horror was a weak mutter. “Tobi, oh Kami what on earth did he do to you?!”

The pool of blood beneath the young boy’s body was a gruesome sight Hashirama knew he would never forget.

“What do you mean he may be injured? He was perfectly fine when I met him for his mission debrief this morning,” Hashirama cried, panic beginning to sprout within his chest, earth-colored irises snapping to the left to search his wife’s serious features. “Are you sure it’s even his blood?!”

“I am afraid so; the blood contained Tobirama’s chakra signature.” Mito refused to break eye contact with him, the redhead resting her hands upon his broad shoulders whilst she gifted him with an imploring look.

“That is why we must know, where is Tobirama?”

Tongue having suddenly grown heavy, Hashirama found himself stumbling over his words, the brunette unable to look away from his wife. “I-I, he requested to undertake an S-Rank assassination mission in Lightning Country and since he’s been instigating fights with Madara lately, I gave it to him, no questions asked so they could spend some much needed time apart! I didn’t know he was hurt-!”

“Whether you realized he was hurt or not means nothing now, Hashirama.” Mito’s manicured nails pressed into the muscled flesh of his shoulders, forcing him to stop mid-panicked ramble. “What matters is his time of departure and his target, nothing else. Now, when did he depart and who is his intended target?”

His target? Who was it again?

“Raikaku has been reported to be traveling throughout the steppes between here and Lightning Country,” Hashirama pointed to the map of the elemental nations set before the two brothers on his desk, gesturing to the unmarked territories marked on the general vicinity. “You are to observe first, and when you see the right moment-.”

Tobirama wasted no time in cutting him off, gifting him with a callous nod, far more stoic and aloof than he usually was. “Understood. I will not fail you, anija.”

Oh, fuck.

His chest grew heavy at the damning, frigid realization spilling into his veins, eyes growing wide and mouth going agape, desperate to deny the reality set before him. “There’s no need to get so upset, Tobi can handle himself after all-!”

Touka took another step toward him, dark eyes narrowed in impatient suspicion. “Where did you send him?!”

“He, he’s headed towards the lands between Fire and Lightning Country,” The Senju clan head wanted to vomit, his stomach thrashing madly within his core at soberly realizing he had sent his brother, his lone, remaining brother, whether he acknowledged him as one or not, to his possible death. Had Tobirama been injured like they said, and if so, why hadn’t he noticed-?

Gloved hands unforgivingly grasping the collar of his uniform jerked Hashirama from his spiraling thoughts, charcoal irises digging into his brown. Madara’s seething face was suddenly a mere inch away from his own, the Uchiha tightening his grip on Hashirama’s clothes whilst aggressively shaking his upper body. “Who is his target you, dimwit?! Who did you send Tobirama to assassinate?!”

“Raikaku, his target is Raikaku!”

The second the name of the Scribe of Raijin escaped him, he found his back meeting the wall with a jaw aching slam, uniquely patterned, swirling irises of scarlet and obsidian belonging to the one and only Uchiha Madara searing into his flesh. “What in the hell is wrong with you?! You and I both know that going after Raikaku without additional support is suicide! Are you trying to get your brother killed?!”

“Of course not! Don’t you think I told him the same thing?!” Grasping Madara’s wrist, the Mokuton user tried to shove his best friend away to no avail as he attempted (and failed) to provide logic to his decisions, the Uchiha’s grasp only tightening. “I tried to convince him to take Touka or Izuna with him but he wouldn’t listen! He just kept saying that he was fully capable and that he didn’t need to put anyone else he cared about in harm's way and then he left!”

“And you didn’t think to stop him?! You’re the goddamn Hokage, you imbecile!” Madara roared with a menacing scowl, Izuna and Hikaku rushing over to pull the frothing Uchiha off of Hashirama. “We all know that when Tobi makes up his mind, there’s no arguing with him! You of all people should know this, you’ve complained about it constantly!”

“Enough!”

“Quarreling amongst one another is going to do nothing in helping Tobirama-sama!” With a vicious tug of Madara’s arm, Hikaku placed himself between the two of them, the look on his face deadly as the jellyfish toxin Mito ingrained into the finishing of her senbon needles.

Touka gave a reluctant nod of agreement, pointing the blade of her naginata at the pair of them. “The Uchiha's right, we’re wasting time. We need to catch up to Tobirama before it’s too late. Now shut the fuck up, you pieces of shit!”

“For once, I agree with you, Senju,” Izuna quipped readily beside her, only to garner himself a threatening finger being pointed his way. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, you scheming weasel! Your treatment of my cousin is just as despicable as theirs and I’ll be damned if I don’t beat you within an inch of your life like you fucking deserve the moment Tobirama is safe!”

The threat promptly had Izuna shutting his mouth with an audible click, to which Mito took as a sign to speak. “If we have any hope of stopping Tobirama before he reaches Raikaku, we need to leave immediately.”

“Hikaku-san, Izuna-sama, you will remain here in the village in case a situation occurs. Touka, Hashirama, Madara-sama, and I will be pursuing Tobirama en route.”

Settling her damning plum irises on the three shinobi, the Uzumaki princess spoke like a true war leader. “Gather everything you will need for the journey ahead and rendezvous at the northeastern entrance within five minutes. Be late, and we will leave you behind.”

Madara let out a grunt, the Uchiha sending a poisonous glare towards Hashirama. “I will be ready in two.”

With that said, the dark eyed man disappeared in a flash of smoke and fluttering leaves, leaving the remaining five shinobi to their own devices. Izuna and Hikaku wasted no time in abandoning the office as well, shunshinning after Madara most likely, who was in the most peculiar of moods, even for the Uchiha clan head. Hashirama moved to speak with a solemn Mito, only for a seething Touka to block his path, his cousin glaring at him with fiery eyes. “If Tobirama dies because you, know that you’ll be the first one I’ll be killing, you being hokage be damned.”

“Touka, I’m-.”

“If you are done threatening my husband, dear cousin,” Mito sidled against Hashirama's right side, gifting the taller kunoichi with a warning glance. “You should be preparing yourself for the road ahead.”

“You’re lucky your wife is terrifying, Hashirama, or your ass would be mine. Remember that.” Sending one last glare his way, Touka pulled away and shunshinned with the swift signing of her hands.

“Hashirama.”

The twenty year old shifted his gaze downwards to meet Mito’s, the redhead meeting him with a face of little to no emotion. “If Tobirama does not return home with us unscathed, I will not stop Touka from beating you within an inch of your life.”

“Mito, I-!”

“Silence,” Hashirama paused mid objection, knowing far better than to test his wife’s patience. “I am thoroughly disappointed in you, husband. In fact, I am appalled by your behavior. I have every right to divorce you and remove Tobirama from your care, since you clearly care so little about him to begin with.”

Not waiting for Hashirama to respond, the Uzumaki kunoichi stepped away, her gaze never leaving his. “Ready yourself, we leave in four minutes.”

She was gone in a puff of smoke, the scent of sea salt wafting through the office air, leaving Hashirama to bear the weight of his mistakes all on his lonesome.

“You must promise me, Hashirama, that no matter what may occur between the two of you, you will protect Tobirama from harm. He will be your greatest ally and dearest friend, even in times of turmoil and strife, so you must take care of him and treat him well. Do you understand?”

“I promise mama! I’ll protect Tobirama, no matter what!”

The young man was unable to stop his stomach from heaving its contents outwards at the guilt-drenched memory, the burning bile scorching the inside of his throat with shame while he expelled what little remained of his breakfast in a nearby pot. After a few moments of unsuccessful dry heaving, Hashirama pulled away with a pant, wiping the bile coating his lips on the back of hand without a care in the world. He wasted no time in rising to his feet and stripping himself of his hokage attire, slipping his armor onto his shaking form and shunsinning to the northeastern entrance.

Hopefully the others would still be there when he arrived.

~~~

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Me after reading your last demon slayer fic

But also me knowing I have a talented person as a mutual <3

🥺🥺🥺

You're too sweet @trashfox ! Thanks for the love and support, even through the piles of angst I drop on you with every Demon Slayer fic!

#sjhanny asks #sjhanny

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Hidden Within the Arrangement (8/?)

A/N: Happy holidays folks, I come bearing a gift of angst AND fluff?! This chapter has definitely been the most difficult one to write so far and while, I'm not completely happy with the outcome, I hope you guys will still be able to enjoy this extended part of the story. I'm finally introducing a long awaited character so here we go!

Warning(s): mentioned/referenced couples violence, mentioned/referenced child death, angst, some foul language, misunderstandings galore, arranged marriage, etc.

Word Count: 5.25K+

Taglist: @tsukihimeyfan

~~~

“We’re going to get you Mada’!”

“In your dreams otouto!”

Jerking his body to the right, Madara let out a laugh of triumph at skirting around the corner without the embarrassment of slipping and wiping out, which occurred last time and had gifted him with a bruise on his right hip that ached madly for days.

“They’re gaining on us, aniki!”

Ryuma tightened his grip on Madara’s just a tad firmer, his voice erupting with squealing giggles from its place beside the older boy’s right ear. “Faster, aniki, faster!”

Behind them were three racing bodies of various colors, a devilishly grinning Izuna leading the pack, the twins of Kaji and Kasai flanking his sides with ear splitting grins of their own.

The multitude of their small feet slapping readily against the floor announced their entrance into the small sitting room their mother often claimed as her own throughout the winter months, a shout of triumph escaping Madara and Ryuma’s mouths in perfect unison whilst they skidded to a grinding halt.

With a basket of yarn settled beside the crackling hearth, mother was needling away, the soft clicks of her needles meeting filling the once peaceful air coming to a halt while the young woman watched on with slight displeasure.

“What on earth is going on here,” Mother rested the near finished scarf within her lap, one brow arched in question.

“Look out!”

Before either boy could even attempt to answer the woman, three bodies slightly smaller than Madara’s own crashed into him with a shout, sending the eldest and youngest flying to the floor in a pile of arms and legs.

Laughter erupted from the five boys from their place on the floor, Ryuma able to wiggle free whilst Madara laid trapped at the bottom of the pile of bodies, Izuna laying prone atop him as Kasai and Kaji perched haphazardly on top of him, giggling like mad men.

Mother suddenly was standing above them all, having ventured over to their position in the chaos most likely, with a grinning Ryuma perched on one hip and her fist on the other, a look of fond exasperation worn on her unblemished face. “How many times do I have to tell you boys, no running in the house, hmm? You little rascals!”

In a blur of movement, her snake-like fingers were flying across Kasai’s exposed stomach, inciting a squeal of glee from the four year old whilst he tried to flee from their mother’s harmless assault. Knowing better than to wait and lay prey to their mother, Madara and Izuna began to squirm in earnest to free themselves from the pile, laughter from the five boys filling the air. Finally, after much struggle, Madara broke free, a shout of excitement escaping the eight year old as he crawled away from the carnage their mother wrought and to an excitedly clapping Ryuma, the three year old giggling madly at the situation unfolding before him.

“Wait for me!”

Izuna, after narrowly escaping the Uchiha matriarch’s clutches as the twins became her unwilling victims of tickling torture, scrambled over with a laugh of his own, raven locks messily tussled from the struggle.

After a few more moments passed, mother’s reign of terror came to an end with a victorious laugh, a twin settled on each of her hips, her painted smile warm and playful. “Oh how the mighty have fallen!”

“Mama, let go,” Kaji fruitlessly struggled against the dragon of a woman with little fervor, his giggles making him incapable of doing so.

“I don’t believe I will,” Mother practically threw the twins into the air, plopping each of them herself down on her shoulders with little effort. “You boys were supposed to be asleep ages ago! If your father sees that you’re still awake, he’ll tan all of your hides.”

From his place in Madara’s own lap, Ryuma gifted the woman with a smile. “But we’re not tired mama!”

“That I can see, but that doesn’t mean that I’m willing to allow you rascals to stay up any longer than you already have. Come along now.” She nodded towards the open doorway, kind but unrelenting.

A chorus of ‘awws’ filled the air whilst Madara and Izuna stood to their feet, the older brother placing Ryuma on his hips without a second thought. “But mama, papa will never know!”

“Oh, he’ll know alright, especially when he finds all of you running around the halls, making a mighty ruckus like you just were! Then the lot of you will whine and complain when he wakes you for early training as punishment, just like you do every time, and then I’ll have a handful of grumpy boys on my hands. It’s a no win-win situation for all of us in the end!”

The march to their shared room came to an end far too quickly for Madara’s taste, watching on in defeat whilst his mother set the twins on the ground and rolled the door to the side, gesturing them inward. “Now, accept your defeat, and crawl into bed. Your father should be home any minute now and you will need to be asleep before he does.”

With a cacophony of unwilling grumbles, the five boys scurried inside, Madara setting Ryuma on his futon before venturing over to his own beside Izuna.

Quick to settle beneath the covers, Izuna piped up from his bed, an innocent almost shy smile on his face, “Mama, can you tell us a story?”

“A story? Was my lullaby earlier not enough for you?”

“Stories help us go to sleep even better than lullabies, mama!” Kasai gifted the woman with a tiring grin, the exhaustion of the day slowly creeping up on the young boy.

Let out an exaggerated sigh of surrender, mother settled herself into a seiza between Madara and Izuna’s futons, promptly pulling their comforters up to their chins. “Fine, fine, a story it is! Now, what kind of story do you want to hear?”

“Ooo, ooo, the one about the Blessed One!”

Mother chuckled at all of their enthusiasm, shifting her body just enough to rest on her right hip, brushing stray locks from Izuna’s face, “Let me see, how does that story go again? Ah, yes.”

“In the days of the Sage of Six Paths, there were two sons, one who had incurred the Sage’s favor and the one who bore the first Sharingan. Angered by the Sage’s favoritism towards his brother, our progenitor abandoned his home and everything he knew in hopes of finding solace and support elsewhere. Day and night the brother journeyed, searching high and low for a place to declare as his own until one day, with a wary soul and worn feet, he found settlement amongst a set of mountains. It was there that he was warmly welcomed by the small settlers, and they provided the brother with food, shelter, clothes, and company for the first time in months. The one who welcomed him with the greatest fervor was the clan head’s lone daughter and what an oddity she was, with hair white as freshly fallen snow and eyes red as wine, skin marked in crimson tattoos that stood out beautifully against her pale skin. As practitioners of the ancient religion, the clan believed the daughter to have been touched by Amaterasu herself, viewing her as a Blessed One amongst their small community. Wowed by not only her appearance but also by her wit and charm, the brother chose to settle in the village and spent many of his days with the daughter, learning and exploring the vast mountainside the valley below. A year had passed by the time he gathered the courage to ask her father for her hand in marriage, in which the clan head readily agreed. So in time, the brother and the Blessed daughter fell in love and married, bringing forth five sons of their own. Following their sons’ births, the brother ventured downwards into the valley below in search of wild game and berries, only to be met with his brother and his followers. Upon meeting one another, a great battle occurred, and in hopes of sparing the village and his newfound family, the brother led his attackers away from the mountains and fled further into the continent. Afraid of his brother following him home, the brother never returned to his family and was forced to begin anew in the Land of Fire, in turn creating the Uchiha clan of which we are a part of today. However, even with his new people and clan, the brother yearned greatly for the Blessed Woman from the mountains and died facing the great twin mountains in hope of her watching down upon him. It is said that those born with the features of the Blessed Woman are her reincarnations and that they are searching for her beloved husband in hopes of one day reuniting with him once again. As legend has it, their eternal love for one another is why the sharingan is tied to our emotions, especially to that of love, and why our chakra affinity happens to be katon, for our love burns deeply for those we love.”

Tiny snores echoed across the room as the story came to a close, the twins, Ryuma and Izuna now peacefully slumbering in their futons whilst Madara laid with heavy eyes.

“Mama?”

Brushing away his messy waves from his eyes, mother watched on in fond curiosity. “What is it, my dearest?”

“Do you think,” Yawning quietly, the eight year old snuggled further into the covers, keeping just one eye open. “-I’ll be able to find someone to be my Blessed one day?”

A smile that Madara was unable to decipher grew on the beautiful woman’s face, her hand coming to cup his cheek. “Oh, how great is the fire of an Uchiha’s soul, for it shines brighter than the heavens and its blaze is more scorching than the magma that serves as the veins of this world. The Uchiha feel deeper than any other, our love is stronger than any storm imaginable, and all cower at the symbol of such emotion, the Sharingan.”

“-But now, oh now I see that could be anything farther from the truth because there was never any hope for whatever we call this sorry excuse for an arranged marriage because there never was any to begin with! Because you are incapable of love-!”

“As long as you possess our clan’s dojutsu, Madara, you will find your Blessed, that I am sure of,” Her index finger came to gently tap the space between his eyes, a weird reminiscent like sadness filling her dark irises. “Just remember, my little spitfire, to treat your Blessed as if they are Amaterasu herself, for you only have one lifetime.”

“You have rejected my courting gifts, you have insulted and assumed every step, you have not come to me with your discontent regarding our courting but to my brother when it is truly none of his business,” With the calm before a storm, Tobirama refused to break eye contact with Madara’s crimson-obsidian eyes, voice steady as the earth beneath their feet. “I have accepted your terms, your rules, your culture, your barbed words, your hatred for me. So, what have you done but do the opposite?”

“They will be your soulmate, a rarity amongst those on this earth, the fan to your flame, your other half.”

“You are no better than I in the end, Uchiha. The only difference between us is that I am willing to accept the monster that I am.”

The rain that day had done nothing to cool Madara’s raging temper, each raindrop sizzling angrily against his magma hot skin whilst the Senju standing before him cut the two of them apart with the skill of a surgeon. His words cut deep, their meaning searing Madara’s bones without mercy, his heart crying out in agony whilst his mind imploded on itself. Everything had become too loud yet too quiet, senses going haywire all while this facade of an arranged marriage was cracked open like a roasted chestnut, his faults laid out before him and damning. He had tried to escape, to withhold the explosion of emotions and harsh memories growing within him, but in one shove and an accompanying shout, Madara had ruined what little was left to salvage between him and his intended.

“What did you do?!”

In a blur, Tobirama had somehow ended on the ground, slouched against the gateway, snowy locks growing dark with crimson, a smear of fresh scarlet blood marring the wood behind him. Madara had been unable to move, to breath, to speak, to do anything whilst he numbly watched Izuna hurry to the bleeding teen’s side–he had caused this. Tobirama’s head lolled about without coordination as Izuna asked if he was alright, clearly in a daze of some sort, yet before either Uchiha could move to stop him, the teen was lifting a shaky hand and was gone in a flurry of leaves. Neither Izuna or Madara had known what to do as they stood in the middle of the storm, both sopping wet and minds reeling, unable to say a word or think a thought. They both remained quiet for the rest of the evening, even after dragging one another inside, both too shocked to speak until finally, at breakfast the next morning, right before stuffing a small mouthful of rice into his mouth, Hikaku had broken the silence between them.

In his typical deadly calm demeanor, Hikaku placed his bowl on the chabudai before him with a sigh, body primed and voice stern. “Alright, what did you two do now, and don’t try to convince me everything is fine. You two are never this quiet unless something bad happened, so spill it already.”

Much to Madara’s chagrin, Izuna beat him to the punch.

“During the storm yesterday, Senju Tobirama paid us a visit.” Clearly distraught both physically and emotionally, the nineteen year old refused to make eye contact with either of them. “It didn’t go well.”

“What do you mean ‘it didn’t go well’,” Hikaku shifted his gaze back and forth before it ultimately came to settle on Madara’s hunched form, concerned realization dripping thickly off his person. “Madara?”

Growing agitated, Izuna piped once more as Madara choked on the lump caught in his throat, emotions fluctuating dangerously within his chest. “He didn’t do anything, it was that Senju Demon-!”

Their cousin paid the teen no mind, his dark and heavy gaze never leaving Madara for a second. “Madara, did something between you and Tobirama-sama?”

“It is as Izuna said,” The lump in his throat promptly grew in great proportion as answered his cousin’s query. “The Senju paid us a visit and it didn't go well.”

“There is more to it and you know it. No, what happened between you two and Tobirama-sama?” Hikaku’s face contorted into an unrelenting glare.

*Bang, bang*

Before either brother could gather the strength or will to even broach the truth of yesterday’s fallout, two loud bangs echoed from the front of the house, a shout of rage following close behind.

“I know you’re in there, Uchiha! Come out and face me!”

The three Uchiha males sat at the table stupefied, the voice of an enraged Senju Touka reverberating throughout the home. Madara and Hikaku shifted their questioning gazes to a fearful looking Izuna, the teen promptly throwing a defensive glare their way, a drop of sweat rolling down his forehead. “What are you two looking at me for?!”

“I’m going to give you till the count of five to come out here and face me like a man, Uchiha, peace treaty be damned!”

Growing annoyed with the noise the female Senju was generating because how dare she demand things of any of them, Madara stood to his feet and stalked out of the dining room, Hikaku calling after him.

“Madara, wait-!”

"One, two, three-!"

He waited for no one, wasting no time to march up to the sliding door and sliding it open with a resounding crack, temper flaring dangerously the moment his obsidian irises met Touka’s fiery pools of rich soil. “What do you want, Senju witch-?!”

The Senju stood firm in her spot in the doorway, a nasty snarl marring her typically stoic facial features as she brutally cut him off mid-question. “Where is he, Uchiha?!”

Madara glared at the threatening kunoichi with eyes sharp as kunai, the earthquake of emotions with him growing more violent with every passing moment. “I have no idea what you are speaking of, blasted woman!”

“Don’t you dare act as if you’re stupider than you already are, you Uchiha bastard,” Moving to place her face only inches from his own, a growl as aggressive as that of a mother bear protecting her cubs ripped out of her throat. “Where is my cousin, where is Tobirama?!”

“Your beloved baby cousin isn’t here, hasn’t been since last evening when he barged on our property and promptly lost his mind. Not that it was surprising if you truly think about it, seeing how animalistic he can be at times with his bloodlust and all.” Izuna, having joined Madara in the doorway at some point in time, gave the Senju kunoichi a leveling stare, practically daring her to try and do something to his aniki all while a concerned Hikaku came to stand behind him.

Touka let loose another menacing growl, hands curling into tight fists as she moved to attack the younger Uchiha brother. “You have no right, I’ll-!”

“You’ll do nothing, Senju witch!” Madara forced himself between the two, readying himself to put the bitch in her place, not caring that she was Hashirama’s cousin or not. “Now get off my property before I-!”

“Before you do what, Madara-sama?"

The ice cold voice of Hashirama’s curse of a wife froze the Uchiha clan head mid sentence, Madara’s head snapping over to the side to see the damned Uzumaki demon strategically standing there, primly dressed and poise set to perfection. A look of indifference sat on her face but oh he knew better; the quieter and more polite Mito was, the more dangerous she became.

Stepping forward to settle beside Touka with grace, the Uzumaki princess’s once stoic face split into a warm, endearing grin of imminent danger whilst she gifted them with a bow of apology. “Please forgive my cousin’s brashness Madara-sama, Izuna-sama, Hikaku-sama. She does not mean to cause any misgivings between our families-.”

“Like hell I don’t-!”

Mito ignored the haughty kunoichi with the skill of a well-practiced politician, placing a dainty but daring hand on the woman’s forearm. “-we are simply in search of Tobirama and hoped you had seen him recently. He never returned home last night and when we went in search of him at his lab, we found quite a disturbing scene.”

Madara’s body stilled as if he had been caught in a Nara’s cursed shadow paralysis jutsu, mind sent reeling as his heart began to beat incessantly against his ribcage. A disturbing scene-?!

Hikaku, who had remained quiet until that moment, spoke up from his place behind Izuna. “Is Tobirama-sama alright, Mito-sama?”

“See now, that is our dilemma, we do not know if he is or not,” Worry graced the Uzumaki’s features, her earrings swaying from the faint breeze in the air. “When we arrived at Tobirama’s lab, we found blood and broken glass but he was nowhere to be found. It seems he may have been in a struggle with someone but the likeliness of this is extremely, seeing how heavily warded the space is.”

“Can you not sense him anywhere in the village?” The youngest of the three Uchiha placed a grounding hand on Madara’s shoulder, Hikaku shifted his gaze between the redhead and the Uchiha clan head, as if to gauge his reaction to the situation at hand. Mito Uzumaki was known for three things; her spotless etiquette, her mastery in fuinjutsu, and her impressive sensor abilities. If she was unable to sense Tobirama, that could only mean-.

His heartbeat only seemed to intensify as the woman responded with a shake of head in the negative, deep violet-almost-black irises peering up at the men in concern. “I have not been able to sense him all morning. He has either hidden his chakra signature or-.”

“Someone has cut him off from his chakra,” Izuna finished unhappily, his glare set on the two women never fading. “And you think that we’re behind it, don’t you?”

Releasing a growl of indignation, Hikaku settled a glare of his own on the nineteen year old.

“Izuna!”

Yet the teen would not have it, pointing an accusatory finger towards the Uzumaki. “Oh please, they wouldn’t be here unless they suspected we were a part of this madness!”

“Izuna-sama, please do your best to not misunderstand us nor our queries, we are simply attempting to retrace Tobirama’s steps to better understand where he may have gone,” Mito slid her hands within the sleeves of her kimono, face darkening with seriousness. “The only reason why we are even here is due to the fact that we have found a faint yet present hint of his chakra on the gateway of your property.”

What hint? Tobirama had left nothing in his messy retreat, nothing aside from-.

Shit.

As if a predator was moving in for the kill, the Uzumaki demon stared at Madara with bloodthirsty eyes, just waiting to feast on its prey, which just so happened to be him. “Now, answer me this Madara-sama, why is my otouto’s blood smeared on your gateway?”

“What?!”

Hikaku’s outcry of indignation forced the clan head to wilt before the small group, his gaze never leaving Mito’s.

“What happened wasn’t our fault! Your cousin trespassed onto our property, rambling like a mad man about aniki being incapable of love and accused him of putting their arranged marriage in jeopardy!” Izuna was practically frothing at the mouth now, hands clenched into fists of fury. “Madara told him to leave and when the Demon refused, he-!”

Never had Tobirama refused to leave. No, his ever self-sabotaging temper had gotten the better of him and hurt an already hurting individual. Madara realized this as he absentmindedly listened to Izuna and Hikaku bickered, his dark eyes never leaving Mito’s own, and much to his horror, he came to realize something even more troubling. In his anger, he had never taken the time to think as to why Tobirama had been upset or why he had spoken like that, too riled up by Izuna and the unexpected show of crippling emotion from the teen to fully grasp how dire the situation had been. For the first time, Tobirama had truly shown his emotions and what had Madara done in return? Oh, he belittled him, accused him of wanting child murder, of trying to dissolve the peace treaty and in turn destroy the village that he himself had greatly contributed to, and top it all off, Madara had assaulted him without a shred of reason other than he lost control of his emotions like some young child.

“You are no better, Uchiha.”

At times, the truth hurts and kami, it hurt now more than ever and Madara deserved to feel every bit of that pain. Because Tobirama had, whether he deserved it or not.

“-was Tobirama bleeding when he left this yard?! Answer me!”

At the feeling of hand roughly grabbing his collar, Madara was abruptly forced from his thoughts and back into the present, right into the snarling visage of Senju Touka. “Are you stupider than you look, bastard?! What did you do to Tobi?!”

No more lies, no more skirting around the issues at hand, no more ignoring how broken his and Tobirama’s arranged marriage already was because of their mistakened ignorance. It was to face the music.

“I shoved him,” the effect of his words was immediate, various reactions coming forth from the four people standing in his vicinity. “To accuse an Uchiha of being incapable of loving another, it is equivalent to saying that they are a heartless monster and it is one of the greatest insults an Uchiha can endure. I lost hold of my temper, but I hadn’t realized just how hard I had pushed him or that I pushed him at all until I saw the blood from the back of his head smeared on the gateway.”

He turned his attention back to Mito, his heart heavy and his consciousness even heavier. “He shunshinned away before we could do anything to help him.”

The dragon of woman watched him with calculating eyes, flakes of righteous anger swimming about in her dark irises, before finally, much too little relief to Madara, she sighed in reluctant defeat.

“None of that matters now, what does matter is that Tobirama's chakra has become undetectable and he is nowhere to be found and injured. If Tobirama hit his head hard enough to bleed, we also need to assume he is concussed but coherent enough to be capable of shunshinning to his lab,” She shifted her attention to Touka, fresh worry flooding her facial features. “He must have landed on one of his lab tables, meaning he most likely has additional injuries aside from his concussion. The pool of blood we found on the floor of his lab was small but still worrying; he could be bleeding out somewhere as we speak.”

“You never mentioned that there was a pool of it,” Izuna cried out, clearly disturbed by the events unfolding before them.

Touka was swift to give the boy a mocking sneer. “Sucks to have important information withheld from you, doesn’t it Uchiha?”

“Enough! Arguing amongst ourselves is not going to assist us in locating Tobirama-sama!” Hikaku’s shot a stern glare that was searing hot, just daring for one of them to object, and after seeing that neither had something to say, he set his sights on the tree brain’s wife. “Mito-sama, you said you’ve been retracing Tobirama-sama’s steps up to his lab, correct? Is it possible he shunshinned elsewhere in the village, a place he felt safe enough to recover in or perhaps someone to stay with?”

It took the Uzumaki a moment, but a dawning look of realization flooded both her and Touka’s face as their gazes shifted to one another before the two women turned to the three Uchiha. “In times when he had migraines, Tobirama prefers to spend time with my husband in his office at the Hokage Residence.”

“Says that the dolt’s earth chakra is grounding or some bullshit,” Touka pulled away, clearly making to leave. “Let’s hope he’s there, Mito-.”

“Wait!”

Madara moved before he even realized what he was moving, his gloved hand coming to take hold of the kunoichi’s arm in hopes of halting the woman for just a second. She originally spun around with disgust, but he must have looked quite pitiful for the sickening emotion lessened just a tad the moment she saw his face. “We’ll come with you. The more of us, the quicker we’ll be able to find Tobirama.”

“Hhmph, don’t act like you care about Tobirama now just because he might be in danger, because of your actions no less! You’ve treated him like utter dog shit from the moment that peace treaty was signed!” Never one to surrender in all the times Madara encountered the female Senju, Touka wasted no time on pouncing on the Uchiha’s tender faults. “Why on earth should we believe that you give a damn enough to help us find him after all that you’ve done?!”

“Because, he’s my Blessed One.”

Hikaku and Izuna’s necks should have let out a resounding crack with how fast their heads snapped towards his direction, mouths agape in a mix of emotions he didn’t have the time to decipher.

“And what in the fuck is a ‘Blessed One’,” Touka growled in question, shifting her body just enough to inform Madara he had successfully interrupted the kunoichis departure.

Face growing hot, Madara moved to explain, but found the words would not leave his mouth, embarrassed at having to explain something so intimate to an outsider, the cousin of his intended no less.

“A Blessed One is an individual that is believed by the Uchiha to be a child of Amaterasu herself, one of red eyes and snowy hair,” Much to his relief, Hikaku rose to the occasion as he often did when the clan head became flustered. “Tobirama-sama’s very appearance is why we pushed for the arranged marriage in the first place, for Madara-sama, our clan head, to be married to a child of our patron goddess is the greatest show of empowerment an Uchiha can ever obtain.”

“They are also believed to be one’s true soulmate, the yin to an Uchiha’s yang. Rare and highly coveted by all of our people.”

“If all of this is true, if Tobirama truly is a ‘Blessed One’ like you say he is.” Mito implored, curiosity killing the cat. “Then somewhere, hidden behind all of this callousness and brisk behavior, you believe him to be your soulmate, don’t you?”

Somewhere, deep down past all of the trauma and confusion and inter-clan mishaps between them, a part of him that represented the young child still within himself believed that the pale boy Madara saw staring back at him across the battlefield all those years ago was his soulmate.

“-It is said that those born with the features of the Blessed Woman are her reincarnations and that they are searching for her beloved husband in hopes of one day reuniting with him once again.”

The hopeful awe that had filled the chest of that young child, the sudden inability to take a breath because the boy standing before him was everything Madara could have ever wanted, had been overshadowed by the bloodsoaked fields and countless years of needless war amongst their peoples. Life had been cruel to place them on the opposite sides of conflict, having them born as inherited enemies and tied to one another by a thin, red string of fated lovers.

“Yes.”

Though it was no answer of extravagance, the single word that fell from his stiff lips had the weight of a million.

Much to the Uchiha’s surprise, for he had been expecting a dismissive scoff at the least from the Uzumaki, a soft, genuine smile of understanding grew on her painted lips. “Then let us all be on our way, shall we?”

Before any of them could speak, a burst of leaves had been left in the redhead’s wake, and before doing the same, Touka gifted Madara with a glare of warning. “If we find my cousin dead, no peace treaty will stop me from removing your head from your shoulders. Got it?”

“Crystal,” Madara slumped forward with emotional exhaustion, this much outward expression wearing on his bones.

“Smart answer, dumbass.”

With that, Touka was gone, leaving the three young men in her wake.

“You really meant that, didn’t you,” Madara didn’t have the energy to face Izuna head on. “The whole thing about Tobirama being your soulmate?”

Refusing to touch yet another emotional can of worms, Madara readied himself to shunshin. “We shouldn’t keep the Senju and Uzumaki waiting. Either join us or stay behind, it’s your choice.”

Not wanting to wait and see what his brother would choose, Madara performed the hand signs needed and thrust his chakra forward, shunshinning himself one step closer to finding his missing husband.

~~~

Comments, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Lustful Blood (1/2)

A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to get this out everybody. Between finishing my first semester as a teacher to having surgery on Monday, life's been kind of crazy! With that said, here is part one of two for Lustful Blood.

Warning(s): TDoFL AU, mentions/references to cannibalism, non-consensual transformation, reference/implied rape

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

~~~

Mother, mother save us…

So faint were the voices within your mind, everlasting whispers of pleas for salvation and freedom from fleshed oppressors. How desperate your children were, in need of a mother to protect them from the mindless slaughter brought onto them by the human race. How desperate were you to sink your fangs into the ones who wrought such injustice on your children, to feast on their corpses as they cried for mercy, just as your sweet darlings had done for centuries.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Watery saliva dribbled down the expanse of your lower lip, slick as blood and moist as flesh. The urge to feed was growing more unbearable by the moment, hunger eating away at what little resolve you had left within yourself. Sustenance would bring you strength, the very strength necessary to seek out revenge on those you wronged your poor children.

Feed, oh how hungry you are…

Oh how loud the voice within your head had become, once a mere whisper and now a deafening cacophony. To feast on the flesh of your enemies, what an act of justice it would be-!

NO! I’M NOT LIKE THEM! I WON’T HURT PEOPLE!

This voice was always the one to dictate your choices, so divergent yet similar, as if you knew its owner a long time ago. It was why your stomach was rumbling, your throat dry as desert sands, chin moist with waterfalls of frothy spittle.

Oh how you wished to feast!

“-try this! We made it and it tastes so GOOD!”

High pitched, feminine, familiar. You wondered who this woman was to you.

“Don’t shove it in their face you idiot! Here,-!”

Aggravated pitch, still feminine, still familiar. Another foreign woman in your mind.

“It should be their choice on whether they eat it or not. Y-?”

Even-keeled pitch, ever the epitome of feminine, one you were somehow so well-acquainted with. She must mean something to you.

No, all of them must, yet their names remain out of your reach, slipping out of your reach.

“Eat, my precious spirit flower. You’re looking thin!”

Male, smooth as silk and reeking of prideful fondness, bitter to the mind yet so sweet to your senses. What a great wish it was to meet the owner of this majestic voice, the one which quelled your most adamant urges.

He must be someone of great importance, just like the three women.

Who were they to you?

No, what were you to them for the four to treat you with such reverence?

Mother…

Tearing yourself away from the neverending well of thoughts and assumptions, you refocused yourself on the task at hand.

Your children needed a sanctuary after all.

~~~

Time no longer holds any value in your life.

Days pass by in a blur of colors, the only tell tale of time passing being the growth of your children and the daily setting and rising of the sun.

The sun that was your worst enemy yet your darlings’ greatest friend. Such an element was essential for your children to thrive, yet it bore prejudice against you without a single thread of mercy the moment you stepped within its rays. What a lesson that had been, of learning of your tumultuous relationship with the life giver, of watching your flesh grow blistered and covered in painful boils just at the precursory touch of the sun on your forearm. The pain had been horribly excruciating, body physically reeling as it worked to heal itself whilst tears of anguish and perplexity wetted your pastel lime cheeks, arm cradled to your aching chest. Your children bore the capability to dance beneath the warm rays of the heavenly sphere, to soak in the soothing wafts of heat under the clear, azure sky. One bed of your little ones in particular, so tall and bright, held not only the ire of your envy but your attention as well.

“-chan, look! Sunflowers!”

Your fingers brushed against the flower’s canary yellow petals, soft as silk and sweet as honey, cool to the touch yet fiery as a burning flame. If you were truthfully honest, they had been an unintentional addition to your burgeoning family, these four sunflowers, having simply just appeared one rainy afternoon when your thoughts had grown far too heavy with the familiar voices that were plaguing your mind. Yet, as you stood amidst the summer downpour the day of their appearance, the sky dark above you and the earth moist below, the sun hidden beyond the wall of slate gray, the world silent yet your mind racing, you knew they had appeared with a purpose. You simply needed the answers as to why.

Hungry, mother, we are hungry!

A grimace marked your pale features as you moved to cup your face within your dirtied palms, the unanimous cry of your children near deafening within your already overstimulated mind. Their cries had only grown in intensity with time, once a mere murmur that was hardly audible to now an overwhelming roar that threatened to bring you to your knees every time they sounded. Thick, moist saliva poured wantonly from the corners of your lips, stomach contracting painfully in a void attempt to sway your inner consciousness to finally feed on something.

Every so often, a human or two would venture near your sanctuary, so fresh and reeking of tantalizing, supple flesh, and how torturous it was to watch them walk away whilst your stomach remained uncomfortably empty. Your children would cry, damn near scream for you to feast on these flesh bags, to wreak vengeance on those that had hurt them before your arrival, that had stolen countless of their kin without a second thought. Water was not enough for them nor yourself, your mouth perpetually dry even upon dousing your mouth in the chilled, unfulfilling liquid. Your taste buds vied for the liquid ambrosia of the human body, thick as syrup with a hint of metal, oh so wonderfully perfect; the only blood you had come to consume had been that of what you believed to be your originator.

Oh, what a hideous demon they had been, possessing shark-like teeth and clawed like talons for hands, body nothing but wrinkled skin and protruding bones. Their claws had been in places you knew were wrong, burning hot like a branding iron as you sluggishly came to reality, eyes growing wide in utter horror. Those were your last memories of the foul creature before you awoke on the balls of your feet, hands slathered in copious amounts of bodily fluids and innards, mouth sticky and chest heaving from exertion. Even now, all of these months later, you were unable to explain what had exactly happened between you and that creature, the petals of your children gracing you with their soothing touches. All you knew was that no being should be able to contort their body in such a fashion, nor should their insides be strewn across the room in almost a sense of decoration-.

“-always come for you, spirit flower.”

You stood to your feet with an aggravated cry, toes grinding tersely against the dark soil beneath whilst angry, crimson thorns shot from your flesh, resounding crashes filling the once quiet air as they met and destroyed countless surfaces. Glass shattered, walls cracked, floors shook, bugs scuttled, birds cried, your children wailed, those voices called for-!

It was all too loud!

That was your reality, your curse in serving as the protector of your children. Possessing heightened senses was beneficial but quite detrimental just the same; whispers translated into shouts, scents were overpowering, everything was blinding. Only in your refuge within the sanctuary could you find any semblance of peace, dark and riddled deep underground, quiet just enough so you could truly think without overstimulation.

Just so you could catch glimpses of the four nameless individuals who continuously plagued your mind in and out of consciousness without avail. How frustrating it was to see them yet not see them at the same time; their bodies were visible and their voices audible, but their faces and names evaded you, much to your great frustration. With time, you had been able to deduce that three of the individuals were women and each of these women were distinct in not only their clothing in terms of color but with their vocal tones as well.

“-shut your mouth for once, you idiot?!”

Shades of cherry, auburn, and gold flash across your vision at the sound of the feminine yet gruff, confident and stern voice.

“-there’s no need to shout-!”

Smooth as silk, calm as freshly fallen snow. Various hues of violet dancing before you, welcoming yet taunting.

“-stop hitting me! WAAAHHHH!”

Shrill, high-pitched, yet somehow appealing. A sweet, encompassing sea of cobalt always accompanies this voice.

Sometimes, as you lay prone on the bed of leaves you arranged soon after your arrival, you can feel small, calloused hands grasp at your own, sturdy yet dainty fingers dancing over the expanse of your naked body. Then, he appears.

“Daddy’s going to make you sing, spirit flower-.”

Fiery, overwhelming heat flooded your core just at the mere growl of that deep, sultry voice sounding lustfully in your ear, knees shaking from the exertion of keeping yourself upright. His voice, saturated in desire and staunched in everlasting want, made your innards melt and your knees quake, desire of your own blooming within your chest as faint, ghost-like fingers gripped the inside of your bite-riddled thighs without abandon-.

Crack.

..ders…truders…intruders!

All thoughts of the nameless man of pleasure ceased to exist as the terrified cries of your children crashed into your mind, senses flaring searchingly for the danger amongst you. Your senses sped across the rugged soil without pause, flying across the sanctuary through every nook and cranny in search of the intruders your children spoke of. For a moment, as you searched, you doubted them for just a second–your children often were spooked by unimposing creatures in search of shelter or sustenance of some sort, ones that took but gave thanks in turn.

Then, amidst your egregious doubt, you felt someone, a human, on the outskirts of your senses, swiftly yet stealthily approaching, deadly intent coating their beings.

No, you felt some ones.

~~~

Happy Holidays!

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Naruto Master List

I thought it was time to put a master list together for my Naruto works.

The Uchiha-Senju Boys Universe {In Progress}:

Hidden Within the Arrangement (6/?)

Part 7 |

Secrets Worth Sharing (Complete)

The Impending Future Brings Forth the Darkest Realities (Complete)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Rainy Days Equal Headaches and Mental Crises (Complete)

Naruto Headcanons:

Hair Care Frustrations (Complete)

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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New Artwork (December)

The first one I'm actually selling, just not on Redbubble because they rejected it like a bunch of losers. The second one is my druid DnD character, Alwyn Quirke! I just gotta add shading and she'll be complete.

#sjhanny #sjhanny draws #eevee fanart #vaporeon #christmas #dnd art #original art

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sjhanny2000 · 1 year

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Hidden Within the Arrangement (7/?)

Chapter 7: The Warring Sons

A/N: Right out of the gates, I'm telling you, this chapter is heavy with ANGST. It's a bit messy but it's that way for a reason, as you will soon find out. Thank you for all of the support love you have been sending my way for this series!

Warning(s): mentioned/referenced to child death, mention/referenced minor character death, PTSD, self-deprecation, minor language, relationship issues, mentioned/referenced body dysmorphia, intersex Tobirama, emotionally stunted characters, abusive relationships, arranged marriage, mentioned/referenced child abuse and neglect

Word Count: 2.3k+

~~~

How does one become something they are not?

The world was off-kilter. Time no longer maintained its steady pace, no, it was crawling at a snail’s pace, so painstakingly slow. The albino felt as if he was underwater the moment he shunshinned away in desperation, the world around him blurry and unintelligible to his muted senses. Numbly raising a hand to steady himself on a blurred structure somewhere in his currently limited range of senses, Tobirama could only stand there and try to stave off the sea of emotions toiling within him, to not lose what little control he had over his life. His mind felt as if it was filled with cotton, muddled and brimming with thoughtless thoughts and utter nothingness, for if any coherent idea came to mind all he could envision was his deform-!

Tobirama physically shuddered at the image, the taste of bile filling his mouth, heart aggressively slamming itself against the bars of his ribs.

“-has to make a good impression before their wedding night when Madara-chan finds out about his deform-!”

“-he peace we’ve created hinges on the success of their courting and marriage!” Hashirama’s piercing gaze never left Tobirama’s emotionless one, voice void of malicious intent but his words dripping in demeaning venom. “Madara-chan says you’ve been quite distant, Tobi! I know being emotional and touchy doesn’t come easy to you but you need to at least try to get along with him!”

“FREAK!”

“An oni is what you are, boy, a blight on our family and a curse to our clan! I should have killed you the moment I laid my eyes on you!”

“Tobirama, you must promise me you will never speak of this with anyone aside from I or your grandmother! Do you understand me?!”

“-You, however, are the undeniable proof that no one can escape the judgment of the Kami, not even the great Senju Butsuma.”

“You’ve ruined everything! I finally had someone that cared about me and you ruined it like you always do!”

“I am so sorry, Tobirama. I failed you.”

Tobirama had not realized it was raining until he felt the vague feeling of moist droplets hitting his trembling form but when he did, the teen soberly noted it was pouring freezing rain.

Touka-nee will be furious with me for being out in this weather.

Why does that matter? Many would be thrilled to see him succumb to illness and die. All would rejoice that the White Demon of the Senju was dead, even those of his clan. The clan elders would be most pleased-.

The health of a monster does not matter.

“What on earth are you doing here, Senju?”

Vermillion irises refused to meet obsidian at the sound of Izuna’s vexed voice echoing from somewhere in front of him, senses flaring as he came to feel the man’s blurred figure of smoky flamed chakra standing just a few yards away. How did he arrive here? Why had he-?

“Whatever it is Senju, you had better have an acceptable reason to be trespassing within our compound or-!”

“Shut. Up.”

The abrupt silence that followed the terse order was tense and the air was tainted with the scent of furious bloodlust.

“How dare you?! You trespass on our land and you have the nerve,” Izuna, in all his fury, stepped off the front engawa of his and Madara’s shared home with a growl, the sharp ‘shing’ of his katana being unsheathed echoing across the space between them. “-to tell me to shut up?! Just because you are my brother’s bastard of a future husband does not mean you have the right-!”

Chilling bitterness filled Tobirama’s veins as the Uchiha gave his rant, hands curling into fists and tongue sharpening with overwhelming anger. The sea of emotions was beginning to thrash dangerously within, the chilling winds clashing unforgivingly with the boiling waters, a threatening dance of overflowing feelings.

“Izuna, what in the Kami is-?! Senju?”

Tobirama’s head raised in recognition against his will, nerves fraying at the mere sound of Madara’s gravelly voice, a deep fissure under the raging sea’s surface breaking open.

Madara’s inferno-like chakra came to settle beside Izuna’s bonfire, the Uchiha clan head’s body language conveying cautiousness. His own future spouse was afraid of him, afraid of the Senju Demon, of the monstrosity that was Senju Tobirama.

He could not blame him.

The man spoke once more, voice leveled yet jagged at the same time, calming yet accusatory. “Why are you here, Senju? Has something-?”

A snarl ripped from the seventeen year old’s curled lips, his nails digging relentlessly into the flesh of his palms, unwilling to meet the man’s enticing charcoal irises. “Tobirama.”

“What?”

“I said,” Anger and chakra flaring, Tobirama came face to face with the surprised one of Uchiha Madara. “My name is Tobirama, not Senju!”

“Fine, Tobirama. What are you doing here?” Madara was not backing down in the slightest, in fact, he was beginning to size Tobirama up as if he were an enemy.

They were enemies, they had been enemies since Tobirama took his first cursed breath, since they stood opposite of one another on the battlefield from childhood leading into adulthood and in those damned peace negotiations that he had put his heart and soul into to ensure everything would succeed because it had been Hashirama’s greatest dream since they were children and yet again, here he was screwing everything up! He wanted to be the brother Hashirama wanted, to be the son his mother wished for, to be the weapon his father craved, to be the husband that Madara deserved-.

Yet…

“I am a fool.”

Madara and Izuna watched on in confused silence as they watched the albino’s rage slip under the chilling waves of his chakra, a crazed smirk appearing on the Senju’s face.

“What a fool I am for actually believing this arranged marriage would work, that I could ever convince you to love a cursed, deformed monster of a creature like me for the sake of peace! At first, I believed your indifference to me to be unintentional, for how conflicting it must be to be forced to marry the very boy that fuels the nightmares of your people, the very one who slaughtered countless of your kin for a pathetic war that had no rhyme nor reason! But now, oh now I see that could be anything farther from the truth because there was never any hope for whatever we call this sorry excuse for an arranged marriage because there never was any to begin with! Because you are incapable of love-!”

Izuna glared at the ranting seventeen year old with growing ire, teeth clenched and fingers itching in anticipation. “Enough Senju-!”

“Tobirama! My name is TOBIRAMA!” The albino shouted in avid desperation, effectively silencing Izuna before he could speak another word. “I am no Senju, nor have I ever been, for what people attempts to murder a child sixty-three times before the age of nine if they are seen as kin?! What clan allows their leader to beat his child an inch from death and then praise him for his deeds, of ridding them of the curse wrought by past transgressions?! WHO?!”

“ENOUGH!”

Tobirama froze at Madara’s bellow, chest heaving from exertion, both emotional and physical.

“You come to my clan’s compound, to my home,” The Uchiha clan head wore a mask of displeased stoicism, the man’s bulky form beginning to trek toward Tobirama’s soaked one with murderous intent. “For what purpose? To shout at my brother and I about your faults, your transgressions?”

He continued his trek without pause, each step becoming more enraged. “Oh what nerve you have, Senju, to accuse me of being incapable of loving when it is you who is not able! I have done everything in my power to ensure this arranged marriage is at least bearable for the both of us and all you have done is meet me with indifference or insulting slaps across the face! You are the one that has depleted any hope from this blasted arranged marriage, you are the one causing conflict between us, it is all YOU!”

“We have finally managed to achieve what was believed to be unattainable, peace between our peoples, and here you are,” Madara now stood before Tobirama, mangekyou sharingan swirling and their noses almost touching from how close the older man was standing next to him. “-attempting to absolve the very thing this entire village has been built upon, and for what?! Does your hatred for my people truly run so deep that you crave to destroy the dream your brother and I have dreamt since childhood?! To put children back into the crossfire in the name of what?! To fulfill your bloodlust?!”

“ANIJA!”

The scent of wet, rusted iron and death flooded Tobirama’s nostrils, tongue coated in a sticky, metallic substance. Once vibrant chakra of freshly toiled earth and aloe runs stale-.

Deafening thunks of dirt meeting the top of the far-too-small coffin filled the teen’s ears.

“ANIJA! HELP ME!”

Chakra of tangy citrus, fresh spring breeze vanishes from his senses, the taste of blood saturating his tongue.

Thunk.

“You are no better, Uchiha.”

Before Madara could even combat what was happening, Tobirama staring into the raven-haired man’s eyes without a hint of hesitation, vermillion irises swarming with barenaked emotion.

“Peace has been attained due to my concession to your demands of marriage. The children no longer fight one another on the battlefield but play together in the village streets, the clans live amongst one another peacefully and fight alongside each other as if they are of the same kin. Your dream is secured regardless of whether this arranged marriage is successful and do you know why?”

No words left Madara’s snarled lips, the chilling rain falling harder and jaw locked in shocked silence. “It is because I am willing to do the impossible if that is what is needed. I would readily offer myself to the Shinigami if it means I will not have to see Hashirama or any child join my mother, sister and brothers in the Pure Lands before I.”

“I conceded to being wedded to you, the very man of the clan that thoughtlessly slaughtered both of my younger brothers without a second thought. Itama begged your clansmen to spare him, did you know that? A seven year old child begged for his life, only to have his throat slit in return.” A sobering smile bloomed on the albino’s pale facial features, red-slitted tattoos creasing with the movement. “You are no better than I in the end, Uchiha. The only difference between us is that I am willing to accept the monster that I am.”

The silence between them was tumultuous, sharp as kunai and heavy as the weight of the world. Both of them were naked as the day they were born, their emotions out for all to see, opposing perspectives revealed, vulnerable and open. One might think their argument to be the magnum opus all had been waiting for.

Such thoughts were all in vain.

Quietly, Madara took a stride backwards and turned away, face dark as the stormy sky hung menacingly above them. “Get out.”

“What?”

Anguish flooded Tobirama’s features, suddenly feeling as if he was free falling through the air.

“You heard me, Senju,” Bitter rage swirled in the Uchiha’s gravelly voice. “Get out, before I escort you to Hashirama for breaching the peace treaty myself.”

The air was thrust out of his lungs as his cracking form crashed into the grounding earth of reality below. He could not, he could not, he could not-.

In a blur of movement, patterned irises mercilessly slammed into Tobirama’s sanguine, a roar ripping from Madara’s throat whilst his gloved hands shoved the teen away.

“OUT!”

Having not expected the shove, Tobirama was sprawling backwards, ass hitting the soaked grass and an unforgiving, stern surface striking the back of his head. The world spun widely upon impact, a surging wave of nausea flooding his senses, and it took all of Tobirama’s little willpower to not heave what little food remained in his digestive system. Muffled voices spoke not too far from him, or perhaps they were close, he could not tell anymore– everything was simply wrong.

“-did you do?!”

Senses fluctuated with irregularity, everything either so close or too far, he felt as if he was floating, field of vision slowly but steadily growing dark. Hands touch him on the arm, a blurry face is suddenly in front of his own.

“-nju, are you alright?”

Izuna but not Izuna- his voice was not that deep. Pain, there was pain in his head. He needed to get away-.

Calling on his chakra with the simple movement of his hand, Tobirama was shunshinning and abruptly, much to what was probably his concussed confusion, crashing against a hard surface, a sharp, stabbing pain flaring from his side upon contact. Groaning, the teen forced himself off the surface, only to promptly collapse onto what he assumed to be the brick flooring of the lab. His vision was fading, the dark abyss of unconscious lurking ever closer, and all Tobirama could do in that moment as he laid there on the cold ground, concussed and in pain, was wonder what consequences the future would have in store for his injudicious actions.

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