#mito: there are two foxes inside me. one is a demon. the other is my relentless libido. you are finished.

[donotpercieveme123]

Idk if I should post this on ao3, it’s still a wip. Hashimada, kind of, it’s mostly one sided, but Madara also can’t tell the difference between friendship and romantic attraction. it’s an AU where Hashirama doesn’t kill him at the VotE, and they try to talk about it. it’s heavily inspired by this rp thread I’ve seen on here, and I’m also just surprised more people haven’t played around with this idea, so here’s my take on it i guess.

5k of the first part under the cut

MADARA

The first sensation upon waking is a dull throbbing pain behind his eyes, and through his heart where Hashirama had impaled him. 

It worked... Madara thinks with some surprise. He knows yokai are bound by their deals, but they are also tricky creatures. There is no shortage of cautionary tales and horror stories about men getting involved with them. He knows Izuna would have enjoyed their strange rules and tricky nature.

The next to come back is his sensing. He reflexively stretches it out and- 

Hashirama.

His chakra, usually so boundless and bright, lively and almost overwhelming, is now drawn tight on itself with a tension that would be unsettling to most. It hangs like a dark almost tangible thing, and despite everything it is still comforting in it's familiarity. 

Maybe it didn't work. Maybe he's in hell. How fitting, Madara thinks with disdain. 

His chakra feels muted, but he can still feel the nature energy inside the mokuton vines wrapped around him. Maybe he isn't dead? It wasn't supposed to happen like this, the yokai- 

"I know you're awake Madara." Hashirama has never sounded so defeated. Part of Madara wants to take it all back and beg for his forgiveness, if only to make that cold emptiness disappear. The other part revels in it, wants to twist the knife deeper and take everything from him, until they are the same again.

Instead he opens his eyes and stares up at the night sky peeking through the cracks of whatever mokuton prison Hashirama has grown. 

"Am I dead?" Madara sounds tired to his own ears.

"No." 

Hashirama looks like he's aged 10 years, like all the lightheartedness and optimism has been drained right out of him. Good.

"You didn't kill me?" 

"No."

Madara tries to sit up and the vines around him tighten.

"How long have I been unconscious?"

HASHIRAMA 

"Two days." 

After healing the hole he'd put through Madara's heart, and restraining the beast he'd brought with him, Hashirama sat by his side contemplating when everything had gone so wrong. When his brother and Mito showed up, Tobirama had urged him to end Madara's life in the same way he had on that battlefield 10 years ago. And Hashirama had refused in much the same way. After safely sealing the nine tails inside Mito they went back to Konoha and he stayed to monitor Madara. Mito will be fine, Tobirama will take care of her, Hashirama rationalises. Madara is the first priority right now, he’s still a threat to the village.

Madara, who is lying sealed and bound, staring at him with the same detached coldness he himself is feeling. When had the rift between them grown so large. And what had Madara meant when he said he'd changed. Hashirama only feels a little guilty admitting that's the biggest reason he hadn't let him die.

Madara glares at him as the vines manhandle him into a sitting position.  Hashirama doesn't meet his eyes. With Mito's seals active Madara shouldn't be able to activate the Mangekyou, and he's never been one to use genjutsu, but he won't put anything past him right now. Cornered animals are the most viscous, and all that.

"Why?" 

"Why what?" Madara's glare has settled down to cold hostility.

"Why did you attack the village? Repeatedly. Why did you leave?" Five years. He'd disappeared off the face of the earth without a word for five years, only to come back with the fox demon to destroy the very thing they'd built together. Their dream. No, Hashirama's dream. He can't pretend he understands Madara anymore, maybe he never did.

Madara's face twists into a mocking sneer.  Hashirama wants to punch it right off. 

"Why? Did you miss me, Hashirama." His voice is laced with the same mockingly sweet tone, a threat that he's only heard levelled at Tobirama in regard to Izuna that night when he had nearly killed him. It makes his hackles rise.

He stares Madara down until the sneer disappears off his face.

"Because I should have never accepted peace. I should have listened to my brother and crippled the Senju when I had the chance." There is no disdain or hint of emotion when he says it. As if he were making a simple statement about something as trivial as the weather. Whatever hope Hashirama still has of getting through to him, of rebuilding the tatters of their friendship, is slowly starting to die. He can't possibly mean that. 

Hashirama ignores the sharp sting of betrayal, and schools his features back to impassivity. "Why? I thought we both wanted peace, a place where children won't have to die.” That had been the crux of their friendship, what he had admired about Madara since they were children on that riverbank. Their dream. It was their shared dream that drove him to chase Madara all those years on the battlefield, even when it seemed impossible and Madara had grown resigned to the conflict. Hashirama kept pushing, for him, for them, and all the people that came to rely on their strength. “The village-" 

MADARA

When Hashirama brings up their shared dream of peace, and the village, Madara wants to burn him. Feels the urge to destroy everything Hashirama holds dear, his demon of a brother, his bitch of a wife, his rats, the stupid fucking village and all the people in it. It was for their little brothers, a place to keep them safe. So much for that. The only thing he has of Izuna now is his angry ghost, his eyes and their memories, and the moments captured with the sharingan that will never fade or let him rest. 

He and Hashirama were supposed to be equals, mirrors of each other, gods in their own right, standing forever on the same field, side by side. Madara wants to accuse him of leaving him behind, of replacing him. Of lying, of never caring or holding him in the same regard. But he's not quite that pathetic. 

Instead he tears into his dream. The futile thing Hashirama is willing to sacrifice everything for. 'His best friend, his brother, even his own child.' How much he’d changed once he had his fucking peace.

HASHIRAMA

"Ha!" The sneer comes back. "Grow the fuck up Hashirama. Your little village is nothing but a ticking time bomb. Even if the clans don't turn against each other, how long before the other villages grow paranoid of Konoha's power, and it's nations going to war instead?" 

Madara's demeanour suddenly turns friendly, and his tone sickly sweet. 

"Or do you think the God of Shinobi will deter them? Maybe if you had them all in your gentle iron fist?" 

"We've talked about this before, I refuse to subjugate them." 

Hashirama remembers the argument, that in retrospect, might have been the last wedge that drove Madara to completely distance himself before finally leaving less than a year later. While Hashirama was getting married, Madara was in The Land of Stone threatening their hidden village. He'd momentarily stomped out the sparks of conflict, but Hashirama hasn't been able to ease their brewing fear and disdain since. 

"Yes you're right. They would only grow to hate you, and the second you die they'll unite to crush Konoha before turning on each other." 

"If you agree then what the hell do you want me to do Madara? Some level of conflict will always be present, even the gods wouldn't be able to change that." 

This had always been a source of frustration with Madara. Always tearing everything down with his paranoia, whether justified or not, but being unable to find better solutions. 

MADARA

He’s wrong, a God could change that. Madara wants to tell him about his plan, wants to share his dream, so it can be theirs again. Hashirama could understand, after all, they both want peace. Madara could give him that, not a flawed thing, but perfect, eternal peace.

No.

He and Hashirama have never been on the same page. He'd only get in the way. His plan to attack the village would have been for nothing. He'd undo all his work if Hashirama sees it best to keep him alive, sealed away, under surveillance like some rabid animal. He’s surprised he is not in Konoha right now, maybe Hashirama still sees him as too much of a threat, maybe he plans to defang and break him first. He needs to drive Hashirama to kill him instead, without revealing his hand. He needs to be a threat.

Yes. He can do that. Twist the knife until Hashirama guts him. 

"You can't do anything. And I don't expect you to. After all you're not really a god, and  even if you were, you lack the guts." 

He can see the visible irritation growing on Hashirama's face. Madara is well aware that changing the entire shinobi world as they have, as Hashirama has, takes an incredible amount of guts, and ruthlessness. Ruthlessness Hashirama possesses in spades despite the benevolent front he puts up, genuine as it is. Stabbing him in the back, should be testament enough to that.

"Maybe if you'd subjugated the Uchiha clan faster my brother might have still been alive to enjoy your dream of peace." He sneers.

Hashirama's chakra flares up at that. He can feel the anger in it. 

"You're acting like you weren't the one to turn down my offers of peace for years after you became clan head. Fuck at times you were more aggressive than Tajima. Maybe if you’d accepted peace faster- What the hell do you want from me Madara, seriously?!" Hashirama pauses to take a deep breath before continuing more calmly. "And please do tell me how the Uchiha are subjugated in Konoha." Madara is seconds away from spitting fire at him. As if that thought hadn’t kept him awake most nights, eating at his mind until he thought he might go mad with guilt. What if he had accepted peace sooner? Izuna would at least be alive to help him manage the fallout. He was always better at politics anyway, Madara had no patience or delicacy for it. He knows this, but it still hurts that Hashirama thinks so too. It really fucking hurts.

And Tobirama was still the one to kill him, and his biases will likely be the end of the Uchiha under his hand too. He has every right to hate that man, Hasirama isn’t allowed to begrudge him that.

"Oh come now Hashirama, I know your brother might as well be running things in your stead, but I really thought you at least knew a thing or two about politics." 

"I'm really growing tired of your accusations against my brother." 

Yes he would wouldn't he. Madara can't exactly blame him for being blind to the worst of Tobirama though. After all, Madara had always given Izuna the benefit of the doubt. And despite Izuna's unshaking loyalty to his clan and family, he had his fair share of secrets, he too could be selfish. He knew his little brother was a master manipulator, he could talk circles around anyone, and they'd rip out their own heart and give it to him smiling, but he really underestimated the extent to which his nature was so akin to a yokai's. The way his internal reasoning followed the same twisted rules, the way he revelled in the same games. It really puts Izuna and Tobirama's relationship in some perspective, Madara thinks with contempt. The fact only makes Madara hate Tobirama all the more.

"The reason I declined peace for so long was the same reason the village will someday completely ruin the Uchiha." He feels the anger in Hashirama's chakra slowly abate, replaced by something like curiosity.

"Explain." 

"The Senju was, and still is, one of the wealthier clans in the Land of Fire. The same is true for your allies. The Uzumaki, the Aburame, the Akamichi." The Akimichi (and by extension the Nara and Yamanaka) weren't technically allies, but they were on neutral, even friendly terms, with the Senju. Similar to the Uchiha's relationship with the Hatake. If push came to shove they would undoubtedly back them against the Uchiha. Hashirama can't possibly not know this. 

"The Uchiha on the other hand, had neither the resources nor the allies the Senju did." Madara continues. "Izuna pushed for us to expand, and rightly so. If we ever came to making peace with the Senju, the Uchiha would be at a disadvantage if we weren't on equal footing. We would effectively be trapped in a Senju village." Hashirama looks like he wants to say something, but Madara cuts over him.

"And we would have achieved it, had it not been for the Hagoromo and Fumma betraying us." Madara snarls. He had personally destroyed them himself, burnt everything they had to the ground for the slight, pushing them out of Fire Country. They're mostly extinct now. 

"After that the Uchiha started defecting to the Senju. After Izuna died- by the time I agreed to peace, the clan had very little choice if we wanted to avoid civil war, and survive the winter." Half of the clan had begun rallying behind Hikaku, despite Hikaku holding a neutral stance at the time. The other half were either loyal to him and Izuna, or they were too scared of Madara to go against him. Funny how quickly they turn when they are no longer prospering. Despite everything he can't really blame them. It doesn't mean it still doesn't sting though.

Once they had peace, once their children were off the battlefield, and their stomachs full, their fear and disdain towards Madara only increased. His strength was no longer a necessary comfort, but a looming oppressive presence, and his paranoia only threatened the precarious trust of the other clans. They well knew they would be unable to do anything, the best course of action would be to keep their heads down and embrace the peace. Especially when the other villages started to form, and the entire shinobi system radically changed, almost overnight. It left them trapped. Izuna was right. He'd always been right.

Madara tells Hashirama as much.

"They may not be subjugated under your leadership, but I can't extend the same trust to Tobirama. He sees only the possibility of conflict and hate, but ignores the fact that the clan desperately wants peace as much as anyone else, maybe more so. And in treating them as a threat, he creates conflict, which in turn justifies his biases, and further exacerbates the problem.

It's a cycle of hatred. And it can only end in blood. Most likely Uchiha blood if he has his way." 

HASHIRAMA 

Madara... might have a point, but it's entirely undermined by his biases. The situation isn't half as dire as he thinks, and Tobirama's feelings towards the Uchiha border more on wariness than hatred. Madara is also hypocritical in his treatment of Tobirama. His vehement hatred, fuelled by loss driven madness only serves to strengthen his distrust for the Uchiha. It was endlessly frustrating trying to bridge that impossible gap between them. He could never ask Madara to dampen his hatred, it was well deserved after all, regardless of the context of Izuna's death. Hashirama hadn't been the one to lose his last brother, so he could never begrudge Madara his grief. But there are limits. 

And it's tearing him, and everyone around him apart, while inadvertently harming the very clan he claims to be protecting. 

He used to admire Madara's devotion to his brother, but the more he's had time to think about it, the more he's come to the realisation that Izuna is the root of Madara's madness. While alive, it was Izuna who whispered into his ear, and steered his hand towards war, filled his mind with paranoia, and turned him against Hashirama and their dream. And even in death, Izuna's shadow has only seemed to grow.

"Tobirama is weary and distrustful of the Uchiha, yes. He's also rightfully scared of you, you know. Your open hatred for him has never really helped." 

Madara looks incredibly angry by his response, so Hashirama quickly continues.

"I can't blame your hatred towards him. But it is harming the Uchiha. He only sees you and your brother, and projects that onto your entire clan. It wouldn't hurt to try to be a little civil with him. It will only make things worse otherwise." 

"Hashirama..." 

Hashirama's hair stands on end at the tone of Madara's voice. It's low and calm, and entirely furious. 

"It is not my job to coddle my brother's fucking murderer. And all because he can't see past his prejudices. If he can't look at them and see their desire for peace, that they are no different from his own clan, then me being fucking 'civil' with him, kneeling like some fucking dog, isn't going to do shit!

He hates the Uchiha, while simultaneously fetishising the very passion he condemns us for. Ha! The only reason I never laid a fucking finger on that degenerative abomination is because I valued our dream, and the friendship we shared as children. Because I never wanted you to know how it feels to lose your last brother... But I meant it when I said we are no longer the same. If he died you'd mourn sure, but you have the luxury of eventually forgetting, the pain would dull with time. And you still wouldn't be alone regardless.

So maybe I should do the world a favour and put the dog down before he bites anyone else-"

"Madara, that's enough!" 

...What is he even talking about?! Where is he getting any of this from? Madara has always been as unreliable about Tobirama as Tobirama is about Madara. Though Hashirama is starting to understand what his brother was seeing.

Madara merely laughs, it's an unhinged thing. Hashirama hates it.

"Oh Hashirama, if you knew half the things he keeps from you. Maybe I'd be doing you a favour too-" 

"I said that's enough!"

Hashirama is on his feet, if the cage wasn't between them he'd punch him. He hardly notices the vines tighten painfully around Madara, one inching around his throat. Madara flinches at the sudden flare of oppressive chakra coming from Hashirama, before his manic grin takes on an increasingly feral, challenging look. 

He reclines his head back, lazy like a deadly predator, to give the vine more room. 

"What are you going to do, Hashirama? Kill me?" He's tempted. 

No- this is Madara.

"No, I'm not done with you yet. I'm going to knock some sense into you if it kills me! You were once my friend. You're just not in your right mind right now." And even if he can't it would still be valuable to understand Madara's psyche in order to prevent anyone else from emulating him.

Madara laughs again. 

"You want my friendship again? Don't you know friendships are built on equality, and mutual understanding? We no longer understand each other, we are no longer the same. Maybe I should take everything from you too until we are once again. Your brother... Your wife... Even your children-" 

The vine tightens, choking him off. The challenging look in his eye doesn't flicker.

To say Hashirama is horrified would be an understatement. How did he miss this level of deranged anger? That he'd be willing to slaughter infants, Hashirama's own children- no he's just trying to get a reaction out of him. Madara has always known how to push his buttons. But to what end he doesn't understand.

"Don't you fucking dare-"

"What's wrong, Hashirama? You'd sacrifice them all for an idea anyway- a naive dream of peace-" 

Hashirama can't help but flinch at that.

'You've changed'... is that what he was referring to? He wills the mokuton to loosen, much to Madara's confusion, and... disappointment? 

"What are you-" He needs to think. Away from Madara, he needs time and space. 

"Where the hell are you going? Hashirama! Come back here! Do you hear me, Senju?! Come back here! Coward! ...Fine, run away!" 

MADARA 

Hashirama doesn't come back the next day, or the day after. The asshole didn't even leave him any water. 

Madara replays their conversation over and over. He doesn't know what else he could say at this point that will trigger him into a murderous rage. And how fucking typical for Hashirama to run away, to stick his head in the sand when something challenges his delusions, or confronts his grandiose ideas of his own moral superiority. 

Fucking typical.

And fucking typical of Madara to still care about what the idiot thinks. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel utterly betrayed. If anyone was supposed to understand, it was supposed to be Hashirama. But he has always picked his brother first. Madara can't entirely blame him, he would pick Izuna over Hashirama every single time if it came down to it. Regardless of how he might still feel about him.

He can blame Hashirama's endless leniency with Tobirama though. Izuna knew his place, and Madara was well aware of his biases. He wouldn't let Izuna anywhere near the Hokage seat, not that it would stop him if he really wanted to hurt the Senju. But Madara could be trusted to put his little brother in his place if he had to, the same could clearly not be said for Hashirama.

He shouldn't care about what Hashirama thinks of him, but he does. And isn't this part of the plan? He needs Hashirama to sever their bond, or he will never be able to truly move on.

Hashirama comes back on the third day. Madara hates how relieved he feels to see him. 

"You came back." The frigid distance is there again, in the rigidness of his shoulders, and the blankness of his expression.

"Yes, and if you can stand to be civil while I ask you a few questions, I'll stay."

Madara is tempted to push his luck, but he doesn't want Hashirama to walk away again. He reluctantly nods, and Hashirama rolls a storage scroll to him through the gaps of the mokuton prison.

Food, and a flask of water. How considerate.

HASHIRAMA 

Hashirama has had time to think in the time he put off returning to Madara. Part of him wants to completely forget about the man, he no longer recognises him, not as the boy he met by that river. The boy who could still laugh and dream of peace despite, or in spite of, the horrors of war around him. When had he turned so nihilistic, so paranoid, unable to see the good in what he helped create? Izuna. It all comes back to Izuna in the end. Once the village had been formed Madara had grown mad, seeing shadows and conflict where there was none.  Constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Refusing to form new bonds in the place of those he’s lost. Hashirama can’t blame him, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s hurting not only Madara, but everyone around him too. 

He needs to help him.

So he leaves Konoha and Mito, who's still recovering from sealing the Kyuubi inside herself, in his brother’s meticulous hands to deal with Madara once again. Tobirama hadn’t been thrilled by Madara’s continued existence, but he’d held his tongue. He knew better than to question Hashirama whenever he made up his mind about anything concerning Madara. He’s not entirely sure if he’s making the right choice keeping him alive, but he needs to understand him first. If  it proves to be futile, if Madara proves to be a continued threat, if he keeps insisting on forcing his hand… Hashirama wonders if he could do it again.

He remembers to bring him food and water. He feels guilty leaving him this long with neither. 

Madara looks like shit. He’s tried to burn his way out of the Mokuton, but it’s drained and muted his chakra and Mito’s seals hold true enough that the cage is merely charred. Madara is covered in it too. His clothes are particularly singed. He set himself on fire. Of course he set himself on fire. 

“You came back.” It’s a gruff statement, Hashirama can’t make out what he might be feeling. There had been a time when they could read each other so well there had been no need for words, now they no longer understand each other. But he’ll learn to once again. 

Madara’s voice sounds gravelly and somewhat hoarse from lack of use and water. Hashirama internally grimaces, definitely guilty, and reaches for the storage scroll he remembered to bring.

"Yes, and if you can stand to be civil while I ask you a few questions, I'll stay." Hashirama draws on that coldness from before. He needs to set boundaries. He may have resolved to try to get through to his old friend, but he hasn’t forgotten the way he had threatened everything he held close, the way he’d laughed, completely unhinged, as if he found real amusement in the thought. His words had incessantly pestered him for the past two days. And maybe Madara was right. He had changed, somewhere along the way he’d learnt to compromise, he’d become so fixated on protecting his dream that he could sacrifice the things most dear to him. Madara had talked about sacrifice before. Hypocrite.

He looks like an extremely peeved off porcupine, Hashirama sees the deliberation in his eyes, before he reluctantly nods. He rolls the scroll to him, and Madara takes it without a word. He doesn’t comment on the inarizushi but Hashirama catches the twitch of his eye. It really hadn’t been intentional, it had been the first thing he had on hand. In retrospect bringing Madara his favourite food at a time like this might have come across as a little petty, if not outright mocking. Hashirama waits until he’s greedily had his fill of the water before he speaks again. 

“I no longer understand you, Madara. But I’m going to learn to again-”

“You never did. There’s no ‘again’.” Hashirama can’t tell if Madara is trying to get a rise out of him again. He doesn’t sound angry or accusatory though, he states it as if it were merely a fact he’d long since become resigned to. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just that you never once asked. I’ve seen your guts time and time again, but you never once asked to see mine.” That can’t possibly be true. “You just always assumed I wanted what you did, and if I ever disagreed, I just had reservations and had to be coaxed or convinced into what you thought was best. It’s always been about what you wanted-” Madara suddenly cuts himself off and busies himself with the inarizushi instead so he doesn’t have to talk.

Did he really do that? In his mind Madara had always wanted the same thing in the end. Had that been nothing but Hashirama projecting his own dream, his wants and whims onto him? He hates the thought, he wants to rebel against it. It stings, grips his heart in cold dread. But hadn’t he resolved to listen to Madara, to understand him.

“What did you want, Madara?” His own voice has lost some of the coldness, he sounds unsure to his own ears. Madara looks at him with guarded curiosity but refuses to meet his eyes. 

MADARA

He had wanted a lot of things. They had always been impossible futile things in the end, just out of reach. Peace, true peace. His siblings, alive and safe. Hashirama. To be a priority to someone, even one person. That person had been Izuna while he was alive, but even Izuna hid so much from him. Hashirama had been the only person he had left, and Hashirama had left him behind. After all, once he had his dream he no longer needed Madara. Once he had the love and respect of Konoha, of Madara’s own clan, once he was happily married-

But none of that is important anymore. He’s found a solution, inscribed on that tablet in the Uchiha shrine. He has a purpose again, he can bring to life true peace. He wants to tell him, but he knows  Hashirama won’t understand.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Hashirama frowns and leans forward, trying to meet Madara’s eyes. The necklace he gave him after Hashirama’s wedding, after his stint in Stone, falls out of his robes. Madara fixes his eyes on it, and tries not to think of that night when Hashirama had come knocking at his door, hurt that his best friend missed his wedding. They’d gotten to drinking, Madara had wanted to kiss him, not for the  first time. Instead he’d given his blessing and his mother’s necklace that Tajima had given her at their wedding, an Uchiha heir loom, as he pressed their foreheads together, his sharingan active, in the universal Uchiha kiss. “May you both have a long, happy life and prosper.” Hashirama had been so happy, so full of hope that things would go back to how they were between them.

“It does matter. Talk to me.” Hashirama sounds a little desperate, like he cares, like there’s a chance for things to go back to how it was when they were naive children skipping stones. When everything was simple between them. Had they never grown past that? Remaining stagnant, clinging to nothing but memories. Madara is no longer that boy, neither is Hashirama. It’s futile. Madara hates it, hates that Hashirama still makes him want to try despite it all, stringing him along, manipulating him because he knows Madara still cares, that he could never not care. He knows! Izuna had known it too, he’d warned him against it time and time again, knowing Madara’s heart to be weak. 

“Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what?” Hashirama sounds genuinely confused, like he doesn’t know. Madara wants to hurt him again, like he had the last time around, if only so he’d stop pretending. But he doesn’t want him to leave so soon again, his presence is like a balm. “Madara, look at me.”

#wip #naruto #naruto founders #VotE #Uchiha Madara #madara #Senju Hashirama #hashirama #fanfic #tobirama #Senju Tobirama #izuna #uchiha izuna #hashimada #of a nature #tobiizu #also of a nature and only implied #but its there #Mito Uzumaki #she's mentioned

[egirl-itachi]

[Original Art by me]

‘Kurama-Hime’ - A wedding portrait of Mito Uzumaki, inspired by the Ukiyo-e school of Japanese art. More info & Original color version under the cut.

Ukiyo-e is a school of Japanese art that aims to capture the pleasures and wealth experienced by those of the upper-class in Japan. A major component of this art style lies within the clothing of the figures in the paintings or prints - often women who were seen as beautiful, Kabuki(performers such as Geisha), and famous actors, actresses, or courtesans. So, people seen as beautiful or stylish.

Ukiyo-e represents the final phase in the long evolution of Japanese genre painting. Drawing on earlier developments that had focused on human figures, ukiyo-e painters focused on enjoyable activities in landscape settings, shown close-up, with special attention to contemporary affairs and fashions. As artists chose subjects increasingly engaged in the delights of city life, their interest shifted to indoor activities. Article

So, this in combination with the style’s composition and the fact that, aesthetically, Ukiyo-e is one of my favorite art schools, I decided to try and emulate aspects of that concept when I created this piece. 

Obviously the muse here is Mito Uzumaki, the wife of Hashirama Senju in the animated series Naruto. My reason for drawing her is not profound, it simply stemmed from my desire to paint a Japanese-style portrait arising in conjunction with my writing the scene of Hashirama Senju and Mito Uzumaki’s wedding for a fan-fiction work I’ve created. Yep. 

This is not a traditional wedding portrait - as I said, all of these things are influences, which means that my actual painting is more a collage of styles than any one in particular. The most amount of detail went into her clothing and hair accessories. In the painting, Mito is dressed in a traditional wedding-style Furisode Kimono, distinguishable by its extremely long sleeves. In accordance with Shinto wedding tradition, rather than being a brightly-patterned kimono like what people tend to imagine, the Furisode is instead a white/pale base-color lined in a vibrant red hue. The defining, stand-out piece in the ensemble is a Maru Obi, the most formal and expensive type of Obi worn in traditional dress, which was popular for weddings during the Edo-period and Sengoku period; which corresponds to the periods at the time of and during her life before Mito Uzumaki married Hashirama Senju, respectively.  

Additionally, her hair is superfluously ornamented with various flowers and Kanzashi hair pins - they are highly detailed(the painting was drawn on a 300ppi template) and you can zoom in to see the effort I put in. The hair pieces alone took me three days of work, while the entire body, kimono, and background took around two. This is in large part due to me not using a drawing pad; I suck at them, and am too impatient to learn, so I draw everything with a mouse and keyboard. I drew each of the flowers and pins individually, using real-world stock-image counterparts as references.

Other notable imagery in the background is of course the nine tails sprouting from behind Mito - she was the first Jinchuuriki of the Nine Tailed Demon-fox, Kurama in the Naruto series. Being an Uzumaki - whose clan ensignia can be seen in all of the red swirls scattered about, such as on the fan, and the fan-shaped Kanzashi - she has the two abilities that she uses to suppress and control Kurama:  adamantine chakra-chains, which can be seen in the foreground and extend into the background, to ‘wrap around’ Mito and the Fox, thus linking them together; and the five elements seal, a fuinjutsu technique used to seal the demon inside of someone. This seal is the weird symbols that surround her head, in front of the moon. 

The Uzumaki clan hails from the Land of Whirlpools, and resides in a village on a small grouping of islands surrounded by ferocious seas. This is, obviously, characterized by all of the wave patterns, namely the one on her Obi that can be seen covering the visible back-portion of the Kimono. In my story, this Obi belonged to her late mother, a respected healer within the clan who died in service during a war. The two prominent camellia flowers - hot pink, sitting at the top center of the other flowers - are a pair of Kanzashi pins that belonged to her mother as well.  The camellia flower is said to represent different things in accordance to the color of the plant:

White camellias symbolize adoration and are given to someone who is well-liked.

Pink camellias symbolize a longing for someone and are given to someone who is missed.

Red camellias symbolize love, passion, and deep desire.

Since these particular pins represent both her mother, who is missed, and the new love she found prior to and within her union, I made them…red and pink. I also just like the gradient between red and pink, so it all works out. Last but not least, in the top-left background near the Kanji spelling of ‘Uzumaki Mito’, I drew a Double-crested Cormorant, which are representative of Nobility and Indulgence; in the manga (and in my story) her betrothed - Hashirama Senju - is the head of the Senju clan, one of the two most powerful in the land, as well as the first Hokage or village leader of Konohagakure. 

Thus concludes the ‘major’ influences in this work of fan-art that I spent five days on after being inspired by my own fanfiction.

Here is the original color version:

#art #fanfiction #Naruto Shippuden #naruto fanart #mito uzumaki #uzumaki clan #hashimito #hashirama senju #senju clan #japanese art #my post #my artwork #fan art #shinto #kurama #ukiyoe #ukiyo_e #traditional art #japan #edo period #sengoku era #furisode #maru obi

[raendown]

Pairing: MinatoMadara Word count: 3062 Soulmate au: The one where it is impossible for a person to physically injure their soulmate

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

Chapter 116: MinatoMadara

Having studied the Uzumaki sealing techniques extensively, Minato was absolutely sure that he should have been trapped within the belly of the Shinigami at this very moment rather than waking up in an sunny room with the window wide open and a pleasant breeze drifting across his face. Sitting up slowly revealed no gaping hole through his midsection where he was positive the Kyuubi had impaled him. Curious, suspicious, and incredibly wary, he peeled back the covers and slipped out of the hospital bed he had been tucked in to.

Whoever had put him here had dressed him in a sleep yukata of an incredibly outdated cut, something his own grandfather might have considered fashionable way back in his youth. It was thick and warm, however, even if he felt a little exposed without his uniform and weapons. A quick search of the room revealed his personal effects were not present, which was disappointing. Nevertheless, he had expected as much. It looked as though he would be exploring in the outfit he was wearing.

Peeking his head out the door revealed no one in the hallway so Minato crept out and made his way through the quiet hospital, which he now realized wasn’t quite as familiar as he’d first thought it to be. The walls were wooden with no plaster or paint. Beneath his feet the floors were not covered in vinyl or linoleum but were also crafted from wood so smooth it might have grown in that shape. Minato stepped lighter, more and more unsure of his location by the minute.

Several of the rooms he peeked in to were occupied yet he saw none of the traditional hospital equipment one would expect to find, no heart monitors or the new beds which had been installed recently with automatic controls to lift and lower the mattresses. Instead all he found were simple frames, most of them with archaic leather restraints still attached as though he had somehow stepped backwards through time. Overall the effect was creepy and he couldn’t wait to figure out where the hell this was so he could get back to Konoha.

Minato’s steps paused and his head thudded painfully in his chest. He leaned against the closest wall as he fought for air that seemed to disappear between one second and the next. Konoha. Until yesterday the thought of home had evoked thoughts of his loving wife and unborn child. Now all he could think of was how warm Kushina’s blood had been against his skin, how pale her skin had looked as she made her final goodbyes, how very small their child had been. If all had gone as planned then Naruto now had the demon fox sealed away within his belly and Kushina, spirits rest her soul, would have gone to her final rest.

He himself should have been sealed away as well and yet here he was having a panic attack in what appeared to be unfamiliar territory. Tightening the muscles in his jaw, Minato forced himself to get a grip. Breakdowns could come later. Right now he needed to concentrate on finding his bearings as well as locating both clothes and weapons.

Keeping his breathing tightly controlled, he pushed away from the wall and continued on down the hallway. When he reached the end and descended the stairway he found there it took him to a much more populated floor where he was forced to employ all the subtle skills of a good shinobi. He blended in to the shadows and disappeared, avoiding all human contact, making his way out of the building entirely undetected.

As soon as he stepped outside he found that the buildings tugged at his memory as well. It was almost as though he knew this place but it had been distorted somehow and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what the difference was or why he should recognize it. Blending in with the shadows still, he observed the citizens passing by and tried to identify his location using any clues they could provide; local fashion, skin tone, dialect, anything at all. What he discovered was that this village must have been frozen in time to still have some of these things so common amongst themselves and still be using such outdated modes of speech – but their accents were indisputably Fire Nation. Wherever he was, they should be his allies.

Minato was only just starting to calm down when he scaled the side of the hospital building he had escaped from and used the roof as a higher vantage point to observe from. What he saw from there made his heart freeze inside his chest.

The last time he’d checked, there had been three faces carved in to the side of that mountain.  

-

Looking back on the day he had arrived in the era of his forefathers, Minato was eventually able to laugh at himself for his old wild reaction to discovering that he had somehow fallen through time, although there were still times when he had to stop and sit down, almost unable to wrap his head around it all. Losing his family and everyone he knew in one fell swoop was a blow that took time to recover from. Amazingly, he did so with the help of the three founders of Konoha themselves.

Hashirama was the easiest to get along with, a boisterous enthusiastic man who on a good day was a welcome reminder of Kushina’s personality. While he didn’t quite have her fire or her penchant for getting in to trouble, he did have the same charmingly child-like wonder in his eyes when he looked out at the world around him.

Tobirama, though intimidating at first with his immovable stone face, became a greater friend than Minato could ever have imagined. He was incredibly knowledgeable about seals and jutsu theory – unsurprising considering he had invented many of the staple jutsu which would later be taught in the academy – and they whiled away many an afternoon in theoretical discussion so deep it sometimes baffled even Mito, an Uzumaki who had studied seals her entire life. Minato did tend to make himself scarce when Tobirama got that experimenting look on his face, though. He was smart enough not to get involved in any of that.

Although it baffled him as to why, it was Madara to whom Minato found himself most drawn of the three. The man had hardly been welcoming when they first met and it took quite some time before they warmed up to each other. Being friends with Madara was rather like herding a cat without trying to startle it or let it know what you were up to. Pinning him down to spend time with you was difficult enough and the moment he caught wind of the slightest sign of affection he was gone again as though he’d never been there. How Hashirama managed to catch him for so many hugs was a mystery when both Minato and Tobirama could move faster and neither of them managed to lay so much as a hand on him even just for a pat on the back.

But an aversion to touch wasn’t such an unusual habit for a shinobi in Minato’s own time, let alone now when they were only a few years past a generation’s long war, decades upon decades of trusting no one but your own family. So Minato didn’t think much of it until it had been three years to the day since he had arrived here and suddenly it was Madara seeking him out for once.

“Spar with me.” Long used to Madara’s abrupt ways, Minato hardly took offense to what might have sounded like a demand if he hadn’t know better. That right there was as good as a ‘please’.

 “Has little Kagami been bothering you to train with Tobirama again?” he asked. Madara snorted and brushed by him, allowing their sleeves to touch for the barest of seconds.

“I thought a distraction was in order.” And that, in Madara’s taciturn way of communicating, meant that he knew what day it was today and was trying to help the only way he knew how; he was trying to take Minato’s mind off of things by occupying his mind with a fight. Something deep in Minato’s chest fluttered with affection for this socially challenged human disaster.

Were he being truthful Minato could have admitted that he was actually doing just fine today. Getting over the loss of his wife and child had been hard, that was true, but knowing that Naruto was safe from harm and that Kushina had gone on to a better place meant that he had slowly been able to make his peace with where he was now. But he certainly wasn’t about to say any of that to Madara right now. To do so would ruin this rare opportunity of Madara seeking someone else out for a bit of human interaction and that was a chance too good to give up.

Together the two of them made their way towards the nearest training grounds with purposeful steps. Madara went everywhere with purposeful steps, never a fan of lackadaisical wandering. Upon reaching the field he immediately began to stretch, as all shinobi should before a training session, and Minato couldn’t help but admire the sight. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Madara spar with anyone other than Hashirama in the three years since he had arrived here, the Shodaime Hokage being the only person who Madara saw as a worthy challenge. Being allowed to watch was a great honor all on its own. Madara taking the initiate to ask him to partake was nearly beyond comprehension.

“Rules?” the Uchiha grunted. Minato blinked. It seemed he was being offered many honors today.  

“One point per connecting blow? First to ten points or to force their opponent to yield.”

“Acceptable.” Madara tilted his head to one side. “You are faster than Tobirama,” he noted.

Minato hesitated, not wishing to downplay his friend’s abilities but also incredibly proud of his adjustments to the hiraishin which had fascinated even their inventor himself. Eventually he admitted, “Some might say that.”

“I wish to test my skills against yours. Let us see which triumphs: your speed or my strength.”

Smiling at the formal speech cadences which still amused him on occasion, Minato agreed with a simple nod of his head. After finishing their stretches they stepped in to position and fell in to ready stances. Barely a single heartbeat had passed before Madara murmured for them to begin, bulling forward straight away for a frontal attack. Minato wouldn’t have made it to Hokage if he hadn’t been able to hold his own in taijutsu, however, and their clash ended in nothing more than several blocks and a couple of near misses.

They sprang apart again as it became clear that neither would gain the upper hand so easily. Strangely, Minato found himself reluctant to use his specially marked kunai so early in the game. He could have danced around the field faster than the blinking of an eye but he wanted to see how this would play out without such things first. Hopefully Madara would be up for round two afterwards so he could truly make an effort to impress.

He got the feeling rather quickly that Madara was feeling him out, ramping up the pace only gradually to test his abilities bit by bit, and the idea rankled. All three of the founding trio knew the truth of his story, they all knew that he been named the fourth Hokage of Konohagakure. There was no need to treat him like a child in training. A little insulted, it was him that threw the first jutsu. Madara dodged his now completed version of the rasengan, though only barely, and responded with a thin stream of fire that heated the air around them both. For a moment Minato thought he’d been hit but he felt no burns and spun back with a triumphant smirk.

Once they had both crossed in to that territory it was free reign, anything goes. Jutsu exploded at every turn yet never seemed to connect. Frequent bouts of taijutsu left them both frustrated as neither of them seemed able to land a blow. When Minato finally did feel something against his cheek he marveled that a titan such as Uchiha Madara could hit with so little force.

It seemed that Madara himself was also startled by how ineffectual his punch had been and the surprise of it was enough of a distraction that he left himself wide open. Minato took that opening on pure instinct, rearing back and putting the full force of his weight behind a blow straight to the center of Madara’s face.

Nothing happened. Both of them stood there blinking at each other, completely still, their fight having been paused by the harmless tap of Minato’s fist against Madara’s nose. What should have been a blow that sent him rolling across the field and shattered his nasal cavity had instead done nothing but squish the tip of his nose in to his face a bit. Minato frowned. He hadn’t held back at all, knew he’d felt the muscles in his body extend to make impact, and yet nothing had happened.

“Fascinating,” Madara rumbled under his breath.

“But I hit you,” Minato said, a little lost. His opponent titled his head to one side.

“It did not hurt.”

“Oh sweet kami.” Eyes widening, Minato dropped his arm at last and stumbled back. “But that would – you – you’re my soulmate.”

Madara reached up to rub his nose, somehow managing to make even that simple gesture appear regal. “Yes I rather thought that might be the case.” His words left Minato stiff with shock.

“You what!? You knew? How could you possible know?” He expected neither the extremely serious look that appeared in Madara’s eyes nor the way it would cause his knees to weaken. Considering how much effort it took just to become friends with the man, Minato had never allowed himself the chance to admire Madara as anything more. Suddenly it was all he could think of.

“I feel…myself around you. Had you not come in to our lives I think I should not have been as content in my days as I am now. One genial word from you brings to me a calm I had not felt since my brother’s death and I know that without your influence I could never have borne Tobirama’s presence in the village, could never have come to terms his actions.” Rather than look at all embarrassed by his words, Madara’s expression only intensified as he stepped forward. “You have effects on my person which I could only attest to one possibility; I knew you must be my soulmate.”

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, like an echo of a past he was still working to leave behind, Minato thought he could almost hear Kushina’ voice whispering in his ear. Ridiculously, he was hearing her say ‘He’s so hot for you’. Which, admittedly, did sound like something she would say.

But he could also hear her whispering that it was time to move on and take a chance. Reaching for the future didn’t necessarily have to mean letting go of the past. He had loved his wife and he would always love the son for whom he had been willing to give his life but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let anyone else in to his heart – especially if that someone new happened to be his soulmate.

A surprisingly romantic soulmate, it would seem.

Forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath, Minato allowed his eyes to fall down and drag his gaze back up the length of Madara’s body, inch by inch, taking everything in while his thoughts rushed forward nearly as fast as his famed jutsu. His soulmate stood a mere foot away without any indication of closing the remaining gap, politely allowing him that choice.

“If I were to be honest,” he said slowly, “I never got the impression that you thought me more than tolerable.” Which, to be fair, was still quite an achievement when it came to the man in question. Madara lifted one eyebrow.

“Then I shall work to be more obvious about my affections in the future. I had thought myself to be perfectly clear.”

“You disappeared halfway through our conversation just three days ago without telling me what I had done wrong,” Minato pointed out. He received a quiet huff in response.

“When you spoke of your admiration for certain Kiri-wrought weaponry I left to bring you a piece from my own collection. Upon my return I discovered you were no longer present and I am not in the habit of chasing those who are so impatient as to not wait more than half a minute.”

Minato couldn’t help it; he smiled. “One of these days I’m going to help Hashirama trap you for a nice long conversation about polite social interactions.”

“No.” His tone was dark enough to scare small children but Minato had sharp eyes, he could see the minute twitch at the corner of Madara’s lips. He’d made the man smile! Well, his version of it, anyway.

“You don’t think I could do it?” He asked, sidling ever so slightly closer.

“Correct. Nothing could make me suffer through such ridiculousness.”

“Hmm. What if I let you hold my hand the whole time?”

As he spoke Minato reached out and slipped his fingers in to Madara’s palm, thrilled to see dark eyes widen in surprise. For someone as touch-starved as Madara, to hold hands probably seemed like an incredibly intimate action. And just as Minato suspected it rendered him completely immobile.

With both of their pasts taken in to account it was pretty much a given that the two of them would need to take baby steps as a couple exploring their new relationship. Looking at the hint of color rising up on Madara’s cheeks, however, Minato thought to himself that he was rather looking forward to it all. However he had ended up in the past didn’t truly matter. What did matter was the chance for happiness quite literally dangling at his fingertips.

He intended to take that chance.

#soulmate collection #rae writes #minamada #minato #madara #fanfiction #naruto shippuden #classic example of ''i didn't mean to ship it''

[uchiuzus]

the lengths you’re willing to go to

Naruto... does not want to live forever. (1,862 words, naruto-centric introspection, sad fluff sns)

It's within natural disposition as a jinchuuriki to question one's mortality. This, Naruto knows, and every time he's been injured, he's thought: How far is too far?

There aren't exactly scores of people he can discuss this with. Even if she were alive, he's not sure his mom could give him an answer. He considers all the other jinchuuriki family, but they're always too far apart for any kind of good discussion to be held about it. The only person he can consider reliable for the topic is Gaara, and even he can't come around much (being Kazekage and all).

During one of his visits, Gaara had been very candid about it all. They're two very different people on the outside and while they'd grown up similarly, Naruto can't say he can put himself in Gaara's shoes well.

"When I was very young, I learned there was no way out."

He'd meant, they were trapped in this existence until death naturally took them or someone took the bijuu out of them. Before coming to terms with what they were, it was an exhausting, pointless existence. Gaara had explained how he thought there was no reason that someone like him should be alive. To be a cage for a weapon to a village that didn't care for him? What a nightmare.

Naruto still can't say he disagreed.

After his initial showdown with Naruto and returning to the Sand, Gaara had considered what it meant to be Kazekage. For someone like him, he'd explained, it seemed impossible; the people were terrified of him, he could just barely control Shukaku inside of him, and the legacy of his father... was a burden on him.

Gaara is extensively self-taught in self-love, and after all those years of it, he hadn't known how to love anyone else, or how to protect anyone else.

"The answer was simple after that. I didn't have to protect because of love. I could protect for protection's sake."

The rest had followed.

While Gaara had lived for himself, and then learned to live for other people, Naruto had always lived for the sake of others. He'd considered how this lead up to his current life and found that there were few things—though they were heavy enough—he regretted. Living for others had never betrayed him. He'd never even considered trying to live selfishly like Gaara had, no matter the pain others put him through.

Naruto can't remember when it was that he realized just how powerful he is. That if he wants to, he can level the entirety of the Leaf and not break a sweat. He passes people in the streets and in their faces, finds awe, reverence—and fear. He's not the only one aware of his capabilities.

But for all that he's a weapon of mass destruction, he's also just a man—boy. It still baffles him sometimes how people can't understand that; that he sheds tears and bleeds just like they do, that he hurts and fears like they do. He isn't... not human. Maybe he's not entirely human, but he definitely isn't not one. There's a middle ground for him to share with them.

The question of it all is, even though he's maybe-not-entirely-human-but-still-not-not-a-human, how much can he really be hurt? By someone else. There's been mortal injuries before—mostly by exactly one person's hand—but Naruto's walked away with nothing to show for it mere days later, with his emotional scars tucked away deeply under his skin.

He's got absolutely nothing to show for all the battles and torment he's been through: Every inch of his skin is pristine, scar free, without mar.

Is he upset about it? He's not sure. He's not mad at least, and he's grateful to Kurama for his life many times over, even if the fox only saved it out of self-preservation nine times out of ten. The problem is, it's brought about all this confusion.

Can jinchuuriki die? Yes. The answer is yes, because Gaara had died once, because other jinchuuriki had died. Naruto, though...

Naruto has never died, not even once. Not even near it. Every time he's been close, Kurama had cloaked him in blood red and took care of the rest, and after that, even when his virulent chakra had scalded Naruto's skin, there was nothing to indicate the meltdown had ever happened at all. His life is Kurama's, and Kurama isn't ready to die—Naruto's not sure he ever will be.

It's not like there are many examples to go off of: Mito Uzumaki had died of old age, and Kushina Uzumaki... Well.

So now there's Naruto Uzumaki, a boy who can be hurt, but seems invincible. Kurama likes him, so if he wanted, could he stop Naruto from dying entirely? The thought is alarming, earth-shaking. He isn't about to ask him about such a heinous thing.

Naruto... does not want to live forever. He's already lived enough for a hundred people, and to want more would be like asking for a life sentence in the most torturous part of hell. He wants...

What does he want?

He does not want to die right now because there are still too many things to do, too many jobs to finish. There's the chair of Hokage, there's the corruption of the system that produces child soldiers and carelessly leaves too many bodies behind, there's... Sasuke. And Gaara. Sakura, and Granny Tsunade. Kakashi-sensei. All of his friends.

No, it's not time to die, and it won't be for a while yet.

Naruto wants to live long enough to figure out what he truly wants out of life, and then live long enough to see those goals through. He wants to find peace as a human, as a jinchuuriki, and as a leader. He wants to live long enough to make his forebears proud, to make those who will follow proud, and to make his most important people proud. He'll have help, of course. He's never alone now, and even if, someday, everyone turns their backs on him, he knows at least one person will still stay by his side.

Now it's a matter of what'll happen after that. What will happen to this unscathed body when he's too tired to carry on? Will Kurama let him go? There's no such thing as true immortality, but if anyone could achieve it, it'd definitely be the giant, orange demon fox sealed to Naruto's insides. Gaara may think the same thing about Shukaku.

…He'd have to ask someday.

Naruto supposes it's not entirely true that he's walked away from every fight scotfree. In fact, he was very certain that all of his worrying is for no good reason—after all, Kurama could never give him his arm back. It's not like he wanted it, but doesn't that prove that when he's too tired to go on, he'll be alright? He'll be able to go free?

It's a breath of fresh air, that promise of freedom.

He closes his eyes and thinks of the one person who could give it to him. The person who saved him.

"Say, Sasuke," Naruto murmurs when they're laying on the floor in the dark. The window is open because it's hot and the curtains undulate with the night breeze.

"What is it?" Sasuke's voice comes from close next to him, and it fills the space around them and ricochets in Naruto's head. He feels dizzy.

"If I asked you to kill me, would you?"

Kurama's interest perks inside his head and he can feel it pushing against every one of his muscles. Sasuke tenses next to him, only for a moment.

"Yes." he answers moments later. The crickets are getting louder outside.

"Then I suppose you'd kill yourself, huh?" Naruto asks. Where it's supposed to be amusing, it's only pathetic and rueful instead.

"Why do you think you're so important?"

He knows Sasuke thinks the same of the question and its obvious answer: pathetic and heartbreaking.

"I wanna hear your answer." he insists. He's laying to Sasuke's left and neither of them have arms right now, so he can't hold Sasuke's hand like he wants to. "Tell me."

"...Yes." he finally responds. Naruto's heart breaks, of course.

"You shouldn't, bastard."

Sasuke snorts. "You can't ask me to live in this world without you, moron."

Kurama hates the both of them and Naruto can feel it running through every vein in his body.

"Guess not." he breathes, and wishes sweat didn't stick his shirt to his skin so uncomfortably.

"Would yo—"

"No."

"...Thought not."

"You could never ask that of me, bastard."

"Everyone thinks you're such a selfless savior, but you're actually a selfish little shit, aren't you?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Ah, he wants to hold Sasuke's hand so bad.

"You need to move to my other side, dammit."

Sasuke snorts again. "I don't want to hold your hand. It's too hot."

"Now who's the selfish one?"

"At least I'd kill you."

"You say it like it's a bad thing that I wouldn't do the same."

This kind of topic agitates Sasuke and Naruto knows it. Just as much as he can't fathom living without Sasuke, Sasuke could never live without him either. It's a... mutual fucking mess, that's what it is.

Kurama insists he'll kill both of them and be done with it. (It's a farce; Kurama would never put his life in danger—Naruto is his only lifeline at the moment.)

"The fox might not let me die, y'know."

"I'm sure I could find a way around that." Sasuke says smartly. "He has to give in eventually."

Naruto thinks on that for a moment. He does, doesn't he?

"Who would wanna live forever anyway..." he mumbles, wiping stinging sweat from his face.

There is silence for too long.

Then, Sasuke says, very quietly, "You're not ready now, are you?"

The question isn't surprising because this kind of talk isn't the norm for Naruto. He's actually very uncomfortable about it, but Sasuke is Sasuke, and if Naruto can't talk to him about it, then who?

"Nah. Not yet. Don't worry."

The floorboards shift with how Sasuke relaxes all at once, and guilt swaths through Naruto.

He rolls over and flops onto his face, groaning at the pain and how his nose bends awkwardly. His hand blindly pats around for Sasuke's torso, and when he finds it, he drags their bodies closer together.

"I swear dead last, I'll kill you right now because it's too hot for this shit."

"Sasuke," Naruto whines, tucking his face into Sasuke's shoulder, "I wanna live. Live with me."

Sasuke's chakra crackles irritably in the air, and Naruto figures maybe he does have a death wish. Sasuke's body fits nicely under his arm though, so it's worth it.

"I do live with you, moron."

"No." Naruto murmurs, and his lips move against Sasuke's skin. "Live with me."

There's no immediate reply. Then, Sasuke's hand slides over Naruto's, up his arm, and grips at his elbow, letting their bodies slot even more snugly against each other.

"So long as you'll live, I will too."

And Naruto breathes out something like respite.

I'm so fucking sick of you two. Kurama thinks.

#sasunaru #sasunarusasu #Naruto Uzumaki #Sasuke Uchiha #Naruto #Sasuke #Gaara #Kurama #miel writes