#i just love hashirama

[saintjudasi]

well i may be the mayor of simpleton but i know one thing and that's i love you

[wispforever]

original quote under the cut

[princeofuchiha]

Forever one of the funniest concepts for me is any of the warring states characters (Hashirama, Tobirama, Izuna, etc) ending up in the future, hearing that Madara is around trying to cause harm to the village and going to check it out either to stop him or help. And just finding his unhinged adoptive grandson instead.

[silly-dandelion]

Some doodles of cuties from the founders era ❤️

[evilkitten3]

one thing i think isn't talked about enough is how much kid!hashirama would've hated the man he eventually became

[inwiste]

was kicking around the idea with @fashionredalert of madara finding out hashirama and izuna are together after months of getting bitched at by hashirama for dating tobirama... at some point i will write more snippets but the basic idea was just "wouldn't it be funny if hashirama was genuinely insufferable about madara daring to touch his precious baby brother" as if he was not being the biggest hypocrite known to mankind

"You could always stay a bit longer," Izuna murmurs. His hair is still damp from the bath, fresh yukata cinched tight. Hashirama's fingers twitch. He can't stop his hands from finding Izuna's waist, pulling him close enough to touch. A dangerous thing to do when he has places to be.

"I can't," Hashirama sighs. He presses a kiss to Izuna's temple, the smell of his hair oil still lingering. He's already late. It's difficult to bring himself to care. "I can come back tonight if you're free."

A kiss is his answer, deep and slow. Izuna nips at his lip when they move to part and he cannot help but deepen the kiss in response, pulling Izuna flush against him. It's far too filthy for the early morning but it's still good.

It's a long time before he's willing to pull away. The flush on Izuna's cheeks, the swollen, shining lips and the dazed look in his eyes are each a temptation of their own.

It's agonizing to step away. He wants nothing more than to pick Izuna up and bring him to the bedroom for a detailed reenactment of the previous night but the rising sun is a cruel reminder of where he's needed.

"I can come by around seven," Hashirama says as he shrugs on his haori. "Do you want me to bring something for dinner?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Izuna sighs. "I have the day off, so if you finish up before then you're welcome to come early."

He stills for a moment. It's rare now, for him to spend a night alone. He's gotten used to having another person beside him.

He can't help but smile. To turn back to Izuna, hand finding his cheek, lips seeking Izuna's own. There's something he would dare call fondness in Izuna's eyes as he pulls away, heading for the door.

"I'll do my best," he finally says. Izuna's huff is more than enough reward.

The door swings open easily but he freezes in the middle of his step, face slackening in surprise. His free hand finds the door frame, steadying him as he stares.

Madara stares right back in equal surprise.

The moments tick by in complete silence. Madara hasn't moved, hasn't done anything save for stare, face settling into blankness.

He's forgotten that Izuna was still in the hallway, the reminder of his presence renewed by his voice, cutting through the prelude of what's to come.

"Well… fuck."

[sinnbaddie]

Naruto has a multitude of characters where their writing is heavily based in queerness and queer experiences. From the devotion two characters have for one another to a point where they would trust each other with their lives, to feeling like the other one is the only person who truly to their core understands them and accepts them for who they are despite their flaws and issues they’ve done in the past.

Naruto as a series is so queer in its writing that the writer - whether intentional or not - made the main two characters always run after each other even if one of them fell into darkness, saying he’d shoulder the pain he’s holding just so he can be near him and you’re saying you think… Obito is gay?? The guy who literally lost his mind over a girl??

Edit: I’m talking about canon btw. Hc if you’d like I’ll always support that, but he’s not canonically gay or bi. His character is rooted in his love for a girl and the only reason he saved kk was to have time alone w Rin because he didn’t want him interfering. He’s in love w Rin and only Rin in canon🙇‍♂️

[perelka-l]

Ngl Minato manga made me a little insane about those two TwT

[moldy-flowers]

The interesting experience of being pro Sasuke, anti konoha, pro tobirama, anti Naruto ending, pro Sasusaku, anti Itachi, pro Sakura, anti SasuNaru, pro Tobirama×Izuna, anti Madara, pro karin, anti Orochimaru, pro Uchiha and anti Hashirama. And also as much as I hate the guy danzo was kind of hot when he was younger...

[saintjudasi]

share with me cuz i need it right now (let me see your insides)

[justsomeoneunordinary]

i love the trope of tobirama being suddenly struck by madara's beauty when he sees him for the first time with his hair up as much as the next person

but

how fucking funny would it be if tobirama sees madara with his hair up for the first time, stops, blinks, and goes, "damn, you really are an ugly asshole! put that hair back down, lest someone gets a stroke from looking at your face"

[princeofuchiha]

Love that Tobirama, the Bitchiest Bitch Who Ever Bitched, is credited with helping foster better relationships between the villages.

Mr. Shut Up Elder Brother 🙄

Mr. That's MY Jutsu 🤬

Mr. Don't Downplay Me ✋️

[anannua]

for @madaobimonday , today's prompt was "crush" and I couldn't go with the sinister/sad option, so here's some slight humor

[everymadara]

Chapter 624

[inwiste]

saw a post about hashirama potentially having ocular albinism based on his first appearance having light eyes like tobirama... i got carried away

“You overdid yourself again.” 

He anticipates the touch before it arrives. Tobirama’s fingers are cool where they find his temples, fanning out to rest gently on the crown of his head. His eyes remain shut, body relaxing of its own accord. 

“You need to wear the glasses, anija.” There’s a sharp edge to Tobirama’s tone, clear dichotomy to his brother’s careful maneuvering, to the way Hashirama’s head settles in his lap. To the fingers that come to his head once more, working in small circles. “At least in the compound. The mokuton can compensate for a lot, but it can’t help you read.”

They’ve had this conversation a thousand times. He’ll learn, eventually. He’ll try to, at least.

“You could always read the reports to me,” he murmurs. The throbbing ache rattles his skull. His jaw is still locked up, mouth hardly moving. His tongue sticks in his mouth, dry as it is. He can’t remember where his tea went. He knows there was tea—the taste has withered on his tongue but he can still catch a trace of it when he swallows, pain pulsing in time with the contraction. “You’re concise. Know what’s important and what isn’t.” 

Tobirama’s hands drift downwards, pulling him up a fraction before taking the base of his skull into steady hands, pressing pads of fingers into the nape of his neck. 

“I have my own work to do.” It’s not an outright refusal. “I don’t enjoy wearing them either, but I make the concession regardless to minimize situations like these, anija.”

They don’t go away entirely, though. The brain is too complex, chakra pathways too delicate to risk the potential damage that could arise from trying to alleviate the pain. They must live with the days that must be spent in the dark, where his brother can hardly rise on hands and knees before retching, where food and water are a poison to Hashirama’s stomach. It’s hardly behavior fitting of a clan head and clan heir, but things progressed beneath his father’s leadership. The work still got done. Their people were still kept safe.

Hashirama opens his eyes for a brief moment, wincing at the dull, stabbing pain that infects his eyes and spreads out to the sockets. His brother’s face is blurry even from the short distance spanning between them, tattoos standing sharp against pale skin. Closes them just as quick.

The clench of his jaw lessens a fraction, stiff muscles uncoiling. He sighs heavily when Tobirama’s thumbs push firmly against the base of his skull. His breathing deepens. Time slips past him, mind drifting into a twilight zone. He can feel his brother’s hands still rubbing circles into his head, throbbing roots slowly being pulled from his skull. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” he slurs sleepily, tongue grown heavy in his mouth. He doesn’t move, though. He’s resting fully against Tobirama now, into the embrace that holds his head so slightly aloft. “I would have gone to the healers if it got any worse.” 

His brother huffs, chakra taking on an indignant tone. A smile finds his lips. He’s never been able to lie to his brother. Not successfully, at least. 

“If only such a thing were true,” Tobirama says. “Someone has to make sure you don’t end up bedridden. I should leave you to the mercy of Izumi the next time this happens.” 

He won’t, they both know. Such an admission will never slip past his brother’s tongue. Such truths are laid bare between them regardless. 

Perhaps once he would have felt guilty for demanding so much of his brother’s time. The mokuton is enough on the battlefield. It’s enough for traversing the pathways of the compound, it’s enough for the floor of their home. The earth is forgiving. Papers are not. 

Something still sticks in his throat when Tobirama pulls free entirely, dragging him from his reverie. He listens to Tobirama pull the shutters closed. To the soft footsteps that bring him close once more, fabric rustling as he sinks to his knees.

“You should rest, anija.” Tobirama’s voice is soft. The ache has lessened to a dull throb. Exhaustion clings to him, even though there are several hours still standing between them and sunset. 

Knuckles brush his cheek before he feels Tobirama’s hand settle against his forehead. His hand has chilled further, free hand stroking his cheek as Hashirama sighs. 

He grabs Tobirama’s hand as it parts from his skin, thumb tracing the raised flesh on the knuckle of his index finger. A particularly bad scrape during a spar had split the skin. They were children at the time but the scar has remained strong on his skin. 

“Stay until I fall asleep?” 

There is no childish tilt to his tone but he feels the trepidation regardless. Feels the memories of a ten year old boy sink into his skin. Of smaller hands rubbing relief into his skull, soothing cyclical pain. It had become clockwork at a point, he remembers. Before he had gained better control of the mokuton. Before he was able to lessen the burden on failing eyes. He feels them well up in his throat, already beginning to fester on his tongue as he waits for an answer beyond the stiffening of Tobirama’s body behind his head. 

He smiles at the huff that answers him—a small thing. Little more than the lifting of the corners of his lips.

“Where else would I go?”

[evilkitten3]

it's interesting to experiment with ideas about how hashirama actually died but imo the way hashirama tells his story in volume 65 says so much more about who he was at the end of his life than anything canon could've shown us. i think leaving it up in the air was the right call