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tbrma · 2 years

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DAY 3 - Soulmates (+sci-fi)

Soulmate AU where you don't see colors until you meet your soulmate’s eyes for the first time.

On Ao3

For the first time in his life, Madara wakes up to a monochrome world.

It shouldn't be possible. He tries rubbing his eyes, closing them as he presses the heels of his palms against them. Stars bloom across his eyelids, but when he opens his eyes again nothing has changed. Eventually, he gets up. What the fuck. Now he understands why people are given time off work after finding their soulmates, even his own apartment looks foreign and unnavigable with the colors stripped out of it.

He wanders around aimlessly, waiting for the world to start making sense again, and he's so shocked that he almost doesn't hear his phone's ringtone back in the bedroom. He turns around sharply and runs straight into a wall. Still confused, but now also pissed and in pain, he reaches his phone just in time for it to stop ringing.

"What the fuck is it today!" Madara growls in frustration. He checks his phone for the caller - Izuna - and swears at the screen: he somehow managed to waste a whole hour without even starting to get ready for the day and he should already be at the precinct.

His brother calls again and Madara picks up immediately.

"Izuna," he says instead of a greeting.

"Where are you?" his brother half-screams, sounding already done with the day. "Did you forget about the briefing for-".

"Izuna," cuts him off Madara, "I can't come in to work today."

"What!? Today of all days-"

"I can't see."

"WHAT!?" Izuna all but screeches and Madara can imagine how that got everyone's attention by the way the background noise he can hear through the phone drops to almost nothing. Wonderful.

"I can't see colors anymore," Madara clarifies, and with that admission an awful mix of dread, anger and, worst of all, hope settles on his stomach like a rock. He can't see colors anymore. It shouldn't be possible. He's probably just sick. Knowing his luck, of some rare and understudied illness that will kill him badly in a week’s time or something equally tragic.

Izuna is speechless for a whole minute on the other side of the call. Then he says: "I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't move," and hangs up in a hurry.

Madara waits for him.

The following days are full of hospitals and doctors and specialists and tests and Madara hates it all the more because it ends up being totally useless. Nor the blood tests nor the electrodes can find what's wrong with him. His eyes are fine. His brain is too. He's as healthy as can be expected from a man his age with a job as stressful and dangerous as being a policeman is now. In the end, everyone agrees that it's normal, it's just that…

He hasn't met his soulmate yet. The soulmate Madara has known all his life that he doesn't have.

He had made his peace with his condition- with the way he was born destined to a life… not of loneliness, but without that special someone, the other half assigned to him by some higher being, the one that could complete his everything. He’d accepted his fate a long time ago. But that's ruined now, resignation replaced by idiotic hope that Madara wishes he didn’t feel (again). Because it simply isn’t how the world works anymore: it's more and more common nowadays - though Madara had been one of the first recorded cases - that people are born already seeing color, that is, without a soulmate. And it’s a condition no one has recovered from, ever.

It's just Madara's luck that on his first day back on duty after the mandated leave period for colorvision change he gets one the cases he dreads the most: malfunctioning android. Madara isn't a fan of robots. By now, you couldn't go a day without having to rely on their work, be it at restaurants, in public offices or even at the precinct, and yet it was more and more common that they stopped working correctly, sometimes to the point of becoming outright violent. He really couldn't understand why developers kept creating always more advanced models when they couldn't even control the existing ones.

Madara snaps himself out of his self-commisereting thoughts and rubs his temples, already feeling tired as he listens to his brother debrief him on their way to the scene.

"It's not that bad this time," Izuna says to cheer him up, "it's at the Senju Industries. The CEO Senju Butsuma managed to catch the smuggler before he could leave the workshop."

Madara umms distrustfully. "Is the machine dangerous?" he asks as he starts the old-school car. His father had tried to convince him to use a self-driving model with the excuse he couldn't see as he's been used to, but Madara refused. People could call him a control freak all they wanted, but he is going to keep driving himself until it's made categorically illegal.

"It's just some sight problems, so it shouldn't be," answers his brother, checking the file. "The android is a hyper-tecnologic model designed for research and data analysis, T0-b-RAMA. He's the prototype of Senju Hashirama's RAMA line - pretty self-referential name, if you ask me."

Izuna shoots a disgusted grimace Madara's way and Madara huffs a laugh.

"In any case," Izuna continues, "the android had been running for eleven years without significant issues until it started malfunctioning on the 19th last month. Since the malfunction wasn't deemed dangerous, it wasn't decommissioned immediately, but the source of the problem hasn't been located yet and the CEO decided that the robot would be decommissioned today."

"Let me guess, the engineer wasn't okay with that?" Madara says with an annoyed sigh. He has seen this Senju Hashirama guy on the TV a couple times and he distinctly remembers thinking that someone who smiles that much, no matter how smart, has to have a screw or two loose. Apparently he had been right.

"Yes!" exclaims Izuna, eyes sparkling, because he follows this kind of case like one would a trashy telenovela. Right now, Madara envies his enthusiasm. "He said he'd accompany his prototype to be decommissioned and instead he tried to smuggle it out. But! It seems that the android itself stopped him because it didn't want his creator to face repercussions for its sake!"

Madara snorts. "I doubt it," he says, "it's probably just not broken enough to leave the company without proper permissions. You said it yourself: it's a last-generation prototype. It probably has more anti-theft protocols in its body than wires."

"Well, the security guards claim that that's what it said when it refused to be led away," rebuts Izuna, "and I don't see what they'd get out of lying about this."

"Publicity? All that 'our androids really are loyal' kind of crap?" Madara shakes his head. "This case will be all over the news this evening and everyone will be buying Senju machines like crazy for the next month."

Izuna pouts at him and then turns to glare out the window, mumbling something about Madara's lack of romanticism under his breath. "Whatever," he says, "that's not the point. The point is, right now Senju Hashirama locked himself in a security lab with his robot. Since he's the only one with the right credentials to open it, Senju Butsuma called us to assist him."

Izuna is right, it doesn’t look too bad, Madara thinks, though he doesn’t say anything out loud so that he won’t jinx himself.

The Senju Industries’ massive main branch is slowly coming into view as Izuna lists the more boring information he needs to know - the building the workshop they're headed to is in, the type of security lab and the right protocols to open it - until they finally arrive at the gates.

“We’re here for the android theft attempt” Madara says to the security guard and the woman lets them through with the indications to reach the best parking spot.

“This place is a fucking labyrinth,” Izuna mutters with a frown. "You'd think they would have someone guide us considering that they're the ones who need our help."

Madara can’t help but umm in agreement, feeling utterly lost.

It takes them ten minutes of bickering to find the parking spot that was reserved for them and, once inside the building, another ten minutes of walking and backtracking and almost getting lost before a woman in a suit finally meets them to lead them to the right room.

“How long does it take you to train new recruits to navigate this place?” his brother asks and the woman laughs.

“They wish we trained them!” she answers, a sadistic smirk pulling at her painted lips, and it’s Izuna’s turn to laugh. The two of them chat amicably for the rest of the way and it’s only Izuna’s obviously relaxed demeanor that keeps Madara’s own nervousness for his first case without being able to see colors at bay.

However, Madara’s mood sours immediately upon arriving on the scene. The room they enter is not that big, but it has a glass wall that shows an enormous lab beyond. The glass is interrupted only by a high-security metal door and a console with a number of devices Madara doesn’t care to name as well as an intercom, which is currently being used by two men he recognizes as Senju Butsuma and his son, Hashirama. The two of them are fighting loudly from different sides of the wall, and the son is - and this is why Madara despises this kind of case - sobbing between words, a protective arm thrown in front of the figure standing beside him.

“-still performing perfectly in any other area! He takes care of all his duties and more! How can you just throw him away?” the man’s voice cracks through the intercom and Madara can see Izuna’s expression grow more somber at his obvious anguish.

“If it’s malfunctioning even slightly, it’s not worth the resources it uses!” booms the CEO, face contorted in anger. “It’s a thing and it’s broken!”

“He’s not a thing! How can you not see it?” Hashirama shouts, grabbing one of the machine’s hands and gripping it tightly. “He’s family to me! A brother!”

Madara’s stomach twists uncomfortably. The man is clearly delusional, but Madara can’t help but sympathize with his desperation, because if someone tried to harm Izuna he would do way, way worse than lock himself behind an unbreakable wall.

A man in a suit, probably Butsuma’s secretary, thankfully manages to interrupt the ugly (and frankly useless) fight and gets the CEO’s attention. Senju clearly takes a moment to breath and get his anger under control before marching towards Madara and his brother, still scowling.

“I trust you have received all pertinent information?” he asks bluntly.

“Yes, Sir.” Madara answers, barely managing not to respond to the scowl with one of his own. He doesn’t like this man and his cold anger at all.

“Take care of this mess, then.” Having said his piece, he walks away, apparently no longer interested in his son’s obvious distress.

Izuna shakes his head after him and then turns to Madara. “I’ll try to calm him down a bit,” he says, pointing at the engineer now sobbing uncontrollably as the robot rubs his back in a way that is both disturbingly human and disturbingly other.

Now that he’s truly watching it, Madara finds himself strangely captivated by this android, unable to divert his attention. It’s pale haired and pale skinned, with starling glowing lines running through what little of its skin is not covered by plain, dark clothing. And it’s beautiful, Madara realizes, long-limbed and elegant, with a face that would look perfect on the cover of a magazine. But what really gets his attention is its expression as it murmurs something he can’t decipher to his creator: impassive, at first glance, but Madara is known to be quite unreadable himself and he can’t help but think that it’s more resigned, or tired or… even a bit sad.

Izuna has begun talking to the researcher while Madara was distracted, so Madara follows him to the console, still staring despite knowing that it’s extremely unprofessional. There’s something about him- it, Madara corrects himself mentally, have I seen it somewhere already?

The android must finally notice his staring because it turns towards him, its eyes focusing on his badge and then meeting his, and Madara is startled by the shocking contrast between black sclera and-

Red eyes, he thinks in wonder, because it’s a color he has always favored, how lovely.

Then it registers. Madara’s knees buckle under him and his hands catch the console just before he can very embarrassingly fall on the floor. Izuna immediately catches him at his elbow and asks him something, but Madara can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own frenetic heartbeat.

They stare at each other, Madara wide-eyed and sweating and the android - what was his name? Madara wishes he had paid better attention when Izuna was talking - still impassive but not really, with his head slightly tilted to the right as if in deep thought. They stay like that long enough that Izuna stops talking and the researcher finally stops crying, and then, like a spell being broken, the android blinks and turns calmly towards his creator.

“I’ve stopped malfunctioning,” he states.

“What? Really?” Then begins bawling again and lunges for a hug that the android accepts with a distinctively long-suffering expression.

Izuna tugs at Madara’s arm and finally manages to get his attention.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice full of worry, while his eyes roam Madara’s face as if to find some clue about what has gotten into him.

Madara opens his mouth to answer, but only manages to give his best impression of a fish out of water. He takes in the blue of his brother’s uniform and the pink of his skin, so familiar and dearly missed. The neon hues of the blinking lights on the console. And once again, the mesmerizing red beyond the glass, glowing from the patterns on the android’s body and face…

Oh my God, Madara thinks as he takes in the android’s strangely focused eyes that meet his own once again. If Madara can see colors again then that is his- his…

Oh, shit.

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#whatever entity matches souls in soulmates AUs took one look at Madara’s traditionalistic and anti-technologic ass and #decided to be hilarious www #madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #madatobi fanfiction #m #gmciab

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tbrma · 2 years

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DAY 1 - Folklore, Fantasy, & Myth

“Then let’s make a deal,” Tobirama said “You participate in the games, and I don’t take your brother to the underworld until the day after they’re done.”

Madara was still staring at the god, mouth agape.

On Ao3

Tobirama was pissed. His older brother's whining coupled with Kawarama and Itama's tries at cheering him up were grating on his nerves, as well as the thought that for once he had trusted Hashirama to not put himself in trouble if left to his own devices and he had been wrong…

But what he really couldn't stand was the memory of their father's face, impassible yet impossibly smug when, looking up to the mortal realm, he saw Hashirama's champion for the games.

The games. The idiotic games that saw the faithful to the God of Nature, his older brother, face against the faithful of the God of Death, his father. The humans seemed to believe that athletic pursuits were the best way to honor the conflict that saw the God of Nature dethrone his father and relegate him in the afterworld, thus gaining the title as God of the Gods. No god has ever divined why they thought that. In the Heavenly Planes every occurrence was sheer chaos and Tobirama, as the Messenger God Hiraishin, got the dubious honor of carrying the progressively more aggressive messages exchanged between his father and his brother, both banned from each other's realms.

But maybe that excruciatingly taxing ordeal had been yet another way devised by Fate for making him pay for being the one to trick his own father into his downfall. Because the one time he lets the two of them talk directly, his idiot older brother makes a bet: whoever wins the games gets a favor from the other. Which means their father could ask for anything, were he to win, Tobirama had pissedly pointed out when the idiot had told him. But Hashirama had laughed it off, because "Don't worry, my dear brother, my current champion is the strongest I've ever had, a man of honor who prays truly and yet doesn't rely on my benevolence. He’s hearty as an ox and strong as a lion. All in all, a great man!".

A great man, for sure, but one that is nowhere to be seen! thought Tobirama angrily while watching the substitute, a youngster who was hardly exceptional in any way, get ready for the games that were to start in the morning.

"I'm so sorry, little brothers!" cried Hashirama, now completely trapped in one of his gloomy moods. "I was so sure he'd come, he's always been so diligent about his religious duties..!"

"That's not the point!" Tobirama barked back, pulled from his observations of the lands below. "He's a human. Humans die with a whiff of wind, with nothing really! They're totally unreliable to us gods!"

"But he's not dead! Right?"

His older brother does him the favor of shutting it when Tobirama glares at him. But Hashirama does have a point, he thinks, turning his attention back on the humans. Tobirama had checked on the champion, Madara, in the days following the bet, and he was sure that the man's soul hadn't been carted to the underworld as he, the Psychopomp God Hiraishin, was the one who escorted the souls of the dead. And he had looked out for it, for Madara's soul, because he had totally been ready to cheat to make sure their father didn't win, because that would be a disaster. He could ask for anything and Hashirama was bound to do it. All they had fought for in their war against their father, all they'd lost; all Tobirama had sacrificed - his old domains, with the waters and the wars and the thunder that still remains in his namesake, and his honor, because since the war he has become Hiraishin, the Liar God. All in vain, lost in less than half an eon.

And all his work in preventing the man’s death had been for nothing too, apparently, because Hashirama's oh so dutiful, unbeatable champion had disappeared without dying. But not on Tobirama's watch. The games began at dawn and the sun had just set: that was plenty of time for him to try a little trick or twenty.

His mind made up, Tobirama left the view on the human realm and moved to leave.

"Whatever, I'll take care of this mess," he said as a goodbye. All of his brothers, even Hashirama, suddenly looked at him in alarm. Itama opened his mouth, face set as if to try and talk some sense into him, while Kawarama jumped up after him to physically catch him, but he evaded them both with ease. He was, after all, Hiraishin, the Fastest God.

In the seconds it took Tobirama to leave the Heavenly Planes he already had a thousand plans vorticating in his mind, but he settled on one just as fast.

It's night. Humans naturally sleep at night. Tobirama, as the Messenger God, was also the one who brought humans the dreams the God of Sleep paints for them. And he highly doubted that anyone would resent him if, for this once, he hijacked one to talk some sense in the traitorous champion.

So he waited, checking the innumerable dreams that passed through his hands until finally the right spark caught his attention. It was the middle of the night already, way later than the usual time mortals allowed themselves to sleep, so Tobirama didn’t hesitate to follow the dream to its intended recipient at top speed.

He barged in a bedroom, neither small nor particularly spacious, lighted by a single candle’s flame that made the shadows shift and jump and bathed the space in a soft warm light. Two men occupied the room: one was sleeping in the only bed, while the other was sitting on the floor with his head lying awkwardly on the edge of the mattress, face scowling in his repose as if offended by how sleep had taken him by surprise.

That one was Tobirama’s target. Scowling himself, Tobirama caught the spark of dream between his thumb and index finger and flicked it at the man’s face.

Immediately, Madara began waking, lifting his head as he tried and failed to keep his eyes open when faced with the silver light Tobirama knew mortals saw him emanate. When the errant champions finally got accustomed to the brightness, his eyes settled first on the wings on Tobirama’s sandals, floating on a level with his gaze, and then shot to the god’s face as the man blanched visibly.

“No,” Madara whispered, wide eyes full of terror. Tobirama refrained from narrowing his eyes just barely, because while he’s not known to be particularly benevolent, Hiraishin isn’t known as malignant either, so that reaction was definitely out of proportion. He waited in severe silence as the champion glanced at the bed and then shifted in a bow, joining his hands together in prayer.

“Please, it’s too soon,” the man begged desperately. “Nature temple’s priest said he still has at least two days to live, and she’s praying for his health at this very moment. Please wait. It’s still too soon. Please…”

Now that he was paying attention, Tobirama easily noticed that the room was pervaded by the phantom of violence and illness, emanating from the other mortal. Tobirama took in his wounded side and mauled eyes under carefully applied bandages, as pieces of the puzzle began clicking together in his mind.

“I see,” he answered evenly. “He was attacked, right? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Madara growled, voice full of grief and barely concealed anger. “The attackers arrived at the market the day before yesterday. They didn’t speak to anyone and didn’t buy anything. Then they attacked my brother without cause and ran, and their corpses were found a couple hours later just outside the city. Nobody recognized them, least of all Izuna.”

“And how did they die?” Tobirama asked, already knowing the answer, but preferring to be throughout.

“The healers don’t know, but there were no wounds on their body.”

Tobirama ummed, tilting his head to the side. Honestly it wasn’t a surprise that Father would move to make sure that he won the bet - Tobirama had learned how to behave underhandedly somewhere after all. However, he would have expected something less straightforward than this, and also better executed, though he had manage to pass under all of their notice.

Tobirama reached for the sleeping man, intent on checking the injuries himself even if he wasn’t much of a medic, but Madara’s hand caught his wrist before he could touch him.

“Please, he’s dearly beloved by everyone, and so kind. Don’t take him yet,” the insolent mortal begged. His fear of angering a god was obvious in the way his face had lost all color, but the grip on Tobirama’s wrist remained strong and his black eyes held a desperate determination that showed that he would fight, even knowing that he’d lose, if it meant giving his brother a chance.

“If you don’t want both your brother and yourself to become pitiful mortal pulp you will unhand me right now,” Tobirama commanded. Madara held on for a few more moments before freeing the god to capture Izuna’s hand instead.

Tobirama studied this unusual mortal as he stared back with lucid but burning eyes. Stocky but not ungraceful, obviously strong, imposing, with a handsome mane of black hair and healthy skin. He was past the age of beauty that gods maintained for their whole existence, but more entertaining because of it, with laugh lines and a wrinkle between well-defined eyebrows. In one word, interesting.

“You’re right,” he finally said, “now is not his time, but soon it will be.”

Madara tried to answer, but Tobirama caught his chin with one hand, stunning him into silence before he could respond unwisely.

“You stepped down from champion for the games because you want to be at your brother’s side for his last hours, is that correct?” he asked.

Madara nodded, his head bobbing in Tobirama’s hand.

“Then let’s make a deal,” he continued. “You participate in the games, and I don’t take your brother to the underworld until the day after they’re done. If you lose, you gain him a couple more days to live, but if you win, I’ll heal him to the best of my ability and make sure that he survives his wounds.”

Madara was still staring at him, mouth agape.

“Why are you offering me this?” he asked, voice a broken whisper.

“Don’t concern yourself with the motives of gods,” Tobirama answered, wiping away the first tear of relief falling from Madara’s beautiful eyes. “Do you accept my offer, then?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and this time when he gripped Tobirama’s wrists the god didn’t reprimand him.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you…” Madara repeated and then, with renewed fire in his eyes wet with tears, he kissed the palm of Tobirama’s hand still holding his face.

Well, far be it from me to turn down such a show of gratitude, Tobirama thought and crouched down for a kiss of his own.

“It’s not fair..!” Hashirama cried after the games, watching the mortal world from the Heavenly Planes. “I am the god of medicine!”

“Stop whining, brother!” Tobirama snapped half-heartedly, while Itama and Kawarama both snickered at their brother’s antics.

“No! You have so many domains already, but I only have two. Why did you have to steal it?”

“Technically life and nature count as different domains, so you actually have three,” Itama popped in, always the mediator. “Also, Tobirama only gained jurisdiction on recovering from wounds, so you still have power over healing from illness and such.”

“Yeah, brother, you only have to share!” Kawarama teased, and then cackled at Hashirama’s resulting whine.

“But why-”

“Well maybe this time you will finally learn,” Tobirama cut in, talking over his idiot older brother useless grumbles, “ and never, ever gamble again, brother.”

“But I-” Hashirama began to say before Tobirama cut him off again.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Tobirama roared. “Your luck is abysmal! When you bet, you lose, and even when you miraculously win a bet, you manage to lose something else still! Be glad that I only took part of your domain and learn your lesson.”

Hashirama sulked, pouting in a way unbecoming for gods, let alone their king.“...you also stole my champion,” he added with a defeated grumble.

Tobirama smiled smugly at that, remembering Madara’s gratitude on the night they met, as well at their own private celebration after the man had won the games and Tobirama had healed Izuna. Truly strong as a lion and hearty as an ox, Tobirama had to give his brother that.

“I didn’t steal him,” he said nonchalantly, “he came to me all on his own. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a mortal to meet.”

He left, surrounded by his brothers’ spluttering.

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#from the moment I realized that the kanji for hiraishin (飛雷伸) mean “flying thunder god” I couldn’t stop thinking about god!Tobirama #I made him a Hermes-inspired god bc i like the idea of him wearing winged sandals and winged facegaurd #madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #madatobi fanfiction #m #gmciab

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tbrma · 2 years

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DAY 6 - (the beginning of a) Secret Relationship

Court romance!!!

On Ao3

Madara idly listened to the koto strings being mechanically plucked as he stood still behind a finely decorated room divider.

The music, while not very good, was suitable company as he tried not to think about the circumstances that brought him to hide in the daimyo’s palace. Up to the last years of his father’s reign, the noble Uchiha clan had always been a honored guest at court. Now, however, the new daimyo saw his vassals with mistrust and Madara was forced to betray and kill the lords he was raised to serve to root out the worst of the prejudice against his family.

It was also just his luck that he would end up hiding in the rooms of this one of the daimyo’s new concubines. Madara spied the woman’s back covered by long silver hair and the elegant movements as she practiced with her instrument, ignoring the way his hair stuck uncomfortably to his skin, sweaty with exertion and heat.

There had been a glorious moment in the past year during which the Uchiha had breathed a sigh of relief as news reached them that the White Demon of the Senju would move indefinitely with the Uzumaki as part of princess Uzumaki Mito’s wedding contract. They had thought that, despite the disfavor they were facing at court, they finally had a chance to render their longtime enemies a harmless threat with such a strong player taken out of the picture.

However, that hope had soon been crushed when news reached them that the court had required the Senju, a ninja clan, surely, but one born of farmers and merchants with no noble blood whatsoever, to provide a consort for the new daimyo’s harem.

And the Senju had curried their lord’s favor by providing a perfectly suitable one: the clan head’s only sister, of rare beauty, blind -so, untrained- but otherwise perfectly healthy, a flower so sheltered that no one even knew of her existence before she was presented to court. (A jewel so protected that Hashirama hadn’t ever mentioned her when they were children, and maybe Madara is selfish for it, but he can’t help but feel betrayed by such a lack of trust from his old friend.)

Expanding his senses, he could feel the guards finally move away from the eastern wing of the palace, but he was too cautious to try to run so soon. The Senju concubine had been an unwitting ally when the guards had searched her rooms, demurely hiding her face behind the long sleeves of her sleeping robes and looking so shaken at being seen in her night garb by men that the guards had left without checking as thoroughly as they should have.

Madara wondered how such a soft person could have been raised by the Senju, known for their spartan way of leaving, but since it had worked in his favor he wasn’t going to complain.

The soft light of dawn suddenly sliding in through the paper of the shoji blinds took Madara by surprise. Apparently he had waited all night, lulled into a calm he rarely ever felt anymore by the clumsy music that the concubine was still diligently playing. He was almost tempted to stay some more, strangely mesmerized despite the woman’s lack of any particular skill with the instrument, but it would mean pushing his luck in a way inexcusable for a shinobi as consummate as himself. He left his hiding place, intent on blending in with the many noblemen who were leaving their lover’s chambers at dusk after a night of passion, as so often happened at court.

Madara was almost out the doors when a soft voice spoke up, and it was only his experience as a shinobi that stopped him from attacking on instinct.

“My honored brother’s intentions towards your clan are true.”

The fair haired woman’s unseeing eyes were fixed in front of her and there was no trace on her graceful profile of the previous shame at being in a man's presence. Now that was more in line with what he would expect of a Senju, trained or not.

Madara ummed as a way of not-answering, but the curiosity that so many times his father had tried to curb out of him stopped him from leaving like that.

"How did you know I was there?" and why haven't you ratted your enemy out, given the chance? he mentally added, not daring to say it out loud and remind her that it was an option.

"Uchiha Madara-sama is a shinobi of skill greater than most, but even is not immune to the summer's heat," she answered evenly, but he was sure a flash of amusement colored her face at his choked off indignant splutter.

He was suddenly very aware of the way sweat was making his clothes cling uncomfortably to his body and he viciously curbed the instinct to sniff himself, knowing that she would hear it. Surely he didn't smell that bad. Though it made sense that someone without the sense of sight would be more attuned to such things.

"I apologize for making your night uncomfortable."

She shook her head minutely. "You'll be forgiven if you at least consider my earlier words," she murmured, and then, after a moment of consideration, added, "and I never said it was unpleasant."

Not knowing what to say, Madara left silently, and definitely not blushing.

Later that day, just before he was set to leave the capital, it occurred to him that, while she played her koto, the Senju concubine had been aware of his presence all along and he couldn't help but feel that the awkward performance had been entirely for the sake of relieving his boredom. To Madara's own desperation, his heart gave a squeeze at the thought that a person who should by all means be terrified of him would be this thoughtful without it being required. His eyes fell on the fragrant and pearly white flowers on the orange tree he was standing under, one of the last of its kind still in bloom.

He really, really shouldn't do this. Everyone in his family had berated him for his sentimental impulses towards the Senju since that fateful day on the river, and Madara had vowed not to let them down again.

But. Her soft words echoed again and again in his mind, coupled with Hashirama's countless pleas for peace during their fights. Her hair was pure white, just like the delicate petals in front of him. If the daimyo didn’t require that she stay indefinitely - unlikely, considering how far her rooms were from the main wing of the palace -, she would return to her family without prospects within two years, and then maybe…

Hoping dearly that he wouldn't regret this, Madara snapped a beautiful branch off the orange tree and cleaned it carefully of ruined leaves and flowers. Then he fished out of his pounce the finest paper he had - a supply just as important as kunai and shuriken when visiting the capital - and, after a moment of consideration, wrote the best verses he could think up in such a short time. He dearly hoped her skill with poetry was of a level with her skill with the koto, or she was going to laugh at him once she read his letter.

Wearing a light henge as to not be recognized, he waved over a servant directed to the palace, and handed his letter and gift over. "To the lady of the easternmost palace," he commanded, and the servant nodded with a knowing look.

The letter read:

A thought such as this won't be enough to return a courtesy, but I hope this is the scent you will remember our encounter by. As for me

More than the fragrance

Of summer's orange flowers

The good news, brought by

The soft whisper of the wind

Through the green leaves, warm my heart.

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#I really didn’t want to write a poem but it HAD to be there #there's more info about this au in the end notes of the chapter on ao3 (i don't know where to fit them here lol)#madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #madatobi fanfiction #rule 63 #(but only for tbrm)#fem!tobirama #gmciab #m

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tbrma · 2 years

Text

DAY 5 - Betrayal & Bad Ends

Coming home early with a little gift...

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#idk if tobirama would feel more betrayed by madara or hashirama... truly the worst possible end for him;;#madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #m #gmciab #infidelity cw #cheating cw

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tbrma · 2 years

Text

DAY 7 - Scent [Free day]

It was no surprise that Tobirama would also leave the tower, a clear invitation for Madara to follow him to the Senju compound.

Contains explicit content! Only on Ao3

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#an attempt at spicy but i can't write full smut yet im too shy #madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #madatobi fanfiction #m #gmciab

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tbrma · 2 years

Text

DAY 2 - Modern AU

He had paid attention. He hadn't asked Hashirama for advice. He had avoided the hospital his best friend worked at entirely, even.

It wasn't enough.

Warnings: explicit language, medical issues

On Ao3

Madara doesn't think he’s a close-minded man. One of those idiots who need to feel like they’re machos, and that would jump at any occasion to show that they are, be it through violence or pedantry or totally unnecessary displays of wealth. He isn't one of those men that need to feel like they’re unattackable in their spot at the top of the food chain.

Which is why he doesn't think it was fear of emasculation that has had him wary of allowing a stranger unrestricted access to his ass.

So he'd tried with all his might to ignore his problem in hopes that it would just go away on its own. And when that had become unsustainable, he had resorted to self-medication, but even then his efforts had been useless. At that point even Madara, for all of his bullheadedness, had to bite and admit that he couldn't handle this on his own: taking a shit had become a veritable torture, sitting an excercise in endurance of the unbearable, his whole life a parade of always new agony. He needed professional help.

Usually at that point Madara would have asked Hashirama if he had any recommendation about which doctor he should book an appointment with, but that always came with a thorough interrogation about his symptoms, followed by a discussion that inevitably ended up including his best friend’s family, entirely composed of doctors. Madara knew that Hashirama only wanted to be sure that he'd be treated by the best of the best, but… it was one thing to have all Senju siblings know he had a recurring headache or a suspicious mole. It was another thing altogether that they all knew that hell had made its home in his asshole for the last three months.

It had been bad enough when Madara had very privately asked Hashirama for advice on his constipation and, the next day, his (unfortunately infuriatingly hot) younger brother Tobirama had spent more than half an hour lecturing him about diet changes and vaseline consumption. He would literally rather suffer for three more months than risk going through that again.

So he had done his research on his own, discovering that butt doctors actually have a name, proctologist, and booking an appointment with one that seemed legit. He had been really careful. He hadn't mentioned his issue to Hashirama in any way, and he had avoided the hospital his best friend worked at altogether.

But that wasn’t enough, and someone up there must really be laughing at him right now, because he’s here at the hospital and the nurse has finally led him outside of the waiting room, and when he steps in the doctor’s office Senju fucking Tobirama is staring back at him.

Cold dread settles on Madara so fast he can feel the blood rushing out of his face. Please terminate my existence, he thinks, possibly at the nurse, but she ignores his prayers and leaves with a polite goodbye.

“Doctor Tanaka had an emergency, so I’ll be his substitute today,” Tobirama says and Madara thinks that’s the closest thing to an apology the man has ever uttered in his presence.

After a few stunned moments in which Madara simply refuses to acknowledge that this is really happening, he nods his understanding and Tobirama finally breaks eye contact, gesturing towards the examination table. “Please lower your pants and underwear, and lay down on your side,” he commands impassibly.

Madara allows himself another moment to wish he was never born and then complies.

The examination had been quicker than Madara had expected and, even though Tobirama managed to look even hotter than usual in a white coat, Madara had been too mortified for his dick to even think of taking the scene. A small mercy that was the only reason Madara hasn’t yet changed his name and moved far, far away after the frankly humiliating experience.

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic: Tobirama had been nothing but professional, completely avoiding the snide remarks Madara was so used to associate with him, and the medication he had prescribed had actually worked wonders. But could anyone really fault Madara for hating it anyway? The very few times he had allowed himself to think about Tobirama putting fingers up his ass, he certainly hadn’t imagined it would end with a diagnosis of hemorrhoids. So fucking sue him for feeling shameful.

However, Madara has already avoided Hashirama’s weekly lunches for more than a month, and his best friend will soon be liable to drowning him in tears if he doesn’t show up today either. So he gathers his courage and goes: it’s not like he can avoid Tobirama forever anyway.

His first hint that the younger man might also be embarrassed about the medical examination comes in the form of Tobirama not really meeting his eyes. It makes sense, Madara thinks idly, that it would be difficult to see someone as just a patient if you’ve known them since you were ten. Madara also breathes a sigh of pure relief when he realizes that, unlike Hashirama, Tobirama does extend doctor-patient confidentiality to his siblings, so no one but the two of them is aware of the state of Madara’s butt.

While these factors are enough to make him relax, he still avoids Tobirama for most of the lunch. Just to be sure.

In the end, though, it’s Tobirama that finds him in the hallway where Madara has retreated once the living room began to feel too crowded. The younger man settles next to him, his back resting against the wall, and then glances at the plate in Madara’s hand, full of the vegetables he has finally resigned himself to eat for the sake of his anus’s health.

Tobirama raises an eyebrow. “If you had followed my advice on diets when you first asked, you could have avoided that kind of problem, you know?”

Madara should have known this was coming. He sighed, simply glad that for once it's without the usual audience of four.

“Well, I didn’t have more than three months of intense pain to encourage me last time,” he bit out, annoyed.

Tobirama's other eyebrow reaches its twin and he almost looks like he’s impressed.

“You managed to hide it from my brother for that long?” he asks incredulously. Hashirama’s nosiness mixed with his extraordinary skills as a doctor usually mean that he catches on his loved one’s symptoms of discomfort almost immediately and then pursues them with the single mindedness of a truffle dog until he has found a solution, whether they want it or not.

“I know how to evade him by now.”

Tobirama umms neutrally and then they stand there in awkward silence for a while. Madara wishes he knew what to say to keep the conversation going, but since he realized that Tobirama was an attractive man years ago he hasn’t been able to breach the distance that has grown between them. And yet, Madara remembers how they used to be at each other's throat all the time without a second thought.

In the end, the younger man pushes off the wall, looking at the door, but, after an uncharacteristic moment of hesitation, he addresses Madara again.

“In any case, I hope that you’re not in pain any more,” he says, voice low. “I know that with anal-”

One of the bedroom doors slams open, revealing Hashirama's cousin Touka's exhilarated face.

“Tobi!” she exclaims, a wicked grin pulling at her painted lips, “did you finally get laid?”

“TOUKA!” Tobirama shouts, eyes in a deadly glare behind his glasses. “Shut up!”

She opens her mouth, face alight with delight, but Tobirama runs up to her and slaps a hand on her mouth before she can say anything.

“Shut up, I said!” he repeats, while his cousin cackles madly under his hand. “It’s not like that! Stop it!”

By now, Tobirama’s ears and nape are the same color of his eyes. Madara would almost think he’s furious at the implications that the two of them would sleep together, but… Madara knows him, and knows that when Tobirama is truly angry he gets cold and cutting, something that has always infuriated Madara and his explosive temper to no end.

This isn’t Tobirama angry, this is Tobirama embarrassed, he realizes slowly. Tobirama is flailing and - Madara can’t believe it - blushing, because his cousin, who Madara knows is his closest confidant, asked if the two of them had slept together. Finally slept together.

Tobirama glances at him, eyes wild, and then immediately breaks eye contact to try and strong-arm his traitorous cousin back into the bedroom.

Well, Madara thinks as his own embarrassment turns into excited anticipation, isn’t that interesting.

Tobirama won’t know what has hit him once Madara is done with him.

@madatobiweek2022 <3

#:D #they say write what you know so i wrote about embarrassing medical examinations #madatobiweek2022 #madatobi #tobimada #madatobi fanfiction #m #gmciab

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