#would have been cool to make all the Hokage office windows and Konoha stretching beyond

[uchihashisui-kun]

I got a new tablet and the first thing I did was to draw sexy Hokage Fugaku lmao

@rayshippouuchiha Idk if you remember that one ask I sent some time ago about drawing sexy Fugaku, but you asked to be tagged in it if I did end up drawing him so here it is~

Also @x-authorship-x this is all completely yours and your anons' fault for putting the idea of Hokage Fugaku in my head, so now you have to see it as well u.u

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Itachi Series: Part 2 of Raffle Stories Summary:

There's plenty of conversations they've never had. At least now they finally have one that's been long coming.

Story written for @something-like-air, who was one of the raffle winners!

Ko-Fi || Commissions

It had been slower than usual at the tower. Tobirama scratched out his signature for the umpteenth time, hardly focused enough on what he was doing to read his own handwriting, it becoming nothing but a blur in his vision. His window had been left open to cool his office, and with the pleasant respite of the wind came the sounds of distant laughter from the academy, children safe and at play in the village only a decade or so old. It set his heart at rest in a way he’d never known in his own childhood, and a rare smile touched his lips, papers rustling as he shuffled them in place and reached for yet another form to sign.

A light knock on his door paused his hand, chakra flaring up in a beckon for his unexpected guest to enter. Unexpected yet hardly unwelcomed, quill placed carefully to the side as his door clicked shut once more.

“Hokage-sama, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Is this a professional visit, then?” He’d asked time and again for the other to call him by his name, not his title. But it seemed even Itachi had been affected by the stubborn vein in his heritage, refusing to honor his wishes and insisting on distancing himself from those around him. No matter that they’d welcomed him years before - that he was more family than anything else by now.

He gave a polite smile as he shook his head. “I hope a personal visit isn’t unwelcome. If it is, I could always come back later.”

“You’re already here. Might as well stay.”

Itachi gave a single nod, walking further into the office to stand in front of the open window. He said not a word for quite some time, content enough to stare out at the village below. The breeze blowing the few loose locks of his hair as he leaned forward, more at peace now than Tobirama had seen him in months.

He had to reconsider that thought, frowning as he did so. Years, actually. He’d be hard pressed to think of a time he’d seen Itachi more at peace than at that moment, overlooking Konoha, the scent of plum blossoms in the air around them.

Really, it should have been a pleasant sight. But instead it set an ache in Tobirama’s chest that he couldn’t quite place a name to, and any thought of continuing to work in the quiet around them faded away. He pushed himself up and away from his desk, moving to stand close to the Uchiha.

“Do you miss it? Your Konoha.” Tobirama wasn’t entirely sure he had the right to ask, despite considering himself to be one of Itachi’s closest friends. He found himself too curious to keep the question to himself, though a strange and rather vocal part of himself still feared the answer.

“How could I not?”

He couldn’t help but scowl at that. Quite the opposite of what he’d wanted to hear, no matter that it made sense. There was no doubt little here that resembled Itachi’s time, and as someone who had relocated from his home territory only a few short years after Itachi had been found on the outskirts of Senju land he could at the very least sympathize in some fashion.

Saying as much would probably be a disservice to Itachi’s struggles. Tobirama still had his family, small as it was, and though his life had certainly changed by leaps and bounds he hadn’t been thrust into a past generation against his will. Instead of expressing either his admittedly selfish disappointment or his lacking understanding he merely inched closer, letting their fingers brush together in a way that could almost be accidental if the both of them didn’t already know better.

They still hadn’t taken any time to discuss his rather foolish behavior that night well over a month ago. At least he knew never to indulge in his brother’s sake again, no matter the occasion, if he didn’t want to spew his embarrassment in the middle of the street while literally hanging off the man he’d been pining after for years.

It was a sad sort of solace to find Itachi knew little more than he did when it came to matters of the heart, seeming to shy away from any hint of discussing it. Perhaps he wanted nothing more than friendship, or perhaps he needed time to get his thoughts in order. Either way, Tobirama would understand, despite the deep ache pulsing in his chest at the former possibility.

That vein of thought only reminded him of one more painful. He didn’t retract his hand, only because Itachi made no move to shift away, but he did focus firmly on the rooftops stretching out below. Still shiny and new, a village on its first legs and expanding every day.

“Do you know much about my hiraishin?” They had never discussed the technique before, but it’s hardly like they’d discussed ever second of Itachi’s life. Barely any, as much as it bothered Tobirama to not be trusted with the information. It was possible Itachi had studied or used his jutsu before coming to their era.

That hypothesis was disproved a second later as Itachi shook his head, shifting his gaze ever so slightly to look at him. “I had heard of it, of course. One great shinobi from my time was famous for using it.”

“Oh?” A trickle of pride and curiosity distracted him for a moment, more than glad that at least one of his techniques had survived - more than one, since he’d seen Itachi use his kage bunshin on a few occasions. Though the importance or significance of his own jutsu creations was hardly the point he was trying to get at. “I was actually working on the technique earlier this week, attempting to improve upon it, and it occured to me it might be of use to you.”

Itachi cocked his head in the way he always did when curious about something, one hand resting against the windowsill while the other still hung next to his own. “I was under the impression you were hesitant to teach others that particular jutsu. Was I wrong?”

“Not entirely, no.” Apparently, Izuna’s insistence on learning his jutsu and subsequent whining when he said no had spread quite far. It would have had to for Itachi to know about it, since he was usually so far out of the gossip loop - a feat of its own considering how much time he spent with Hashirama, whose ear was all but glued to people’s doors when it came to personal matters.

A habit he would’ve personally knocked out of the idiot if it wasn’t so beneficial for shinobi to collect intel. Better to encourage what few useful habits his brother had, no matter how trying or obnoxious they might be at times.

His brother was beside the point. As was his continued annoyance and bafflement at how persistent his old rival was about learning his jutsu. And even if the topic he was trying to discuss might be difficult for the both of them, Tobirama couldn’t exactly avoid it forever, especially considering he’d already gotten Itachi’s attention.

“I’ve actually started to research further into fuinjutsu theory, specifically some of the seals used in that technique.” Children could be heard playing in the streets below, some still too young to be trapped in the academy’s classrooms. It was difficult to tell at a distance, but if Tobirama squinted he could see a few as Uchiha children, pale skin and dark hair, laughter bubbling out as they chased after the others ahead of them. He wondered not for the first time who Itachi might have left behind, what family might be aching from his absence. “Scientifically speaking, space and time are the same thing. Well. Not entirely, that’s a simplified version of the explanation, they’re more equal parts of a larger whole that interact with each other but still. The concept works the same either way.”

He was rambling a bit. Using his sciences as a crutch for conversation, like he always did when nervous. At least Itachi never seemed to mind, though Tobirama wasn’t sure he always followed. Itachi might be intelligent but no one’s intelligence translated to every topic.

Now even his thoughts were rambling. Forcing them to come to a halt and get back on track, he half turned towards the other, crossing his arms to hide his fists.

“Theoretically speaking, if I can move through one, I’m already moving through the other. It simply becomes a matter of how one bends either space or time.”

“Bending time?” That certainly had Itachi’s attention. It was difficult to tell his reaction beyond surprised though. His eyes were squinted so far he looked a little displeased by that was a typical expression for him, his vision already poor and the bright sunlight no doubt helping that little.

“It’s only theoretical,” he clarified. Though in scientific theory space/time was a single concept, in practicing fuinjutsu it wasn’t that simple. Still, he’d managed to find a way to bend one half of space/time to a limited degree, and with enough research he was certain he could bend the other half as well. “I just thought you might be interested, since you, well.”

They’d never discussed Itachi’s life prior to his appearance. Not much of it, not nearly enough to get a good grasp on what he’d left behind. But Tobirama wasn’t a fool when it came to people - a bit emotionally backwards if he was being honest with himself, but far from completely ignorant. He recognized that distant look Itachi got sometimes for what it was, his insistence on remaining formal with even those close to him making it even more obvious.

“Messing with time isn’t a hobby I’d like to acquire. Thank you for the consideration still.”

Tobirama frowned over at his companion, not entire sure if he was surprised or not by that answer. Itachi had always been a bit modest but he usually accepted help when he needed it nowadays, especially after Hashirama had smothered the habit into him through his illness.

“You miss your Konoha.” He shouldn’t push this. Didn’t want to, hated the idea of pushing someone so important to him towards a different path, one he couldn’t follow him down. But he knew if he kept this from Itachi it would rot him from the inside out, and he forced himself to speak past his own reluctance. “You wouldn’t have to miss it anymore. It’d hardly be a hobby if you only used it to get back home.”

“I suppose you’re right about that. But Konoha hasn’t been my home for many years anyway.” Something shadowed his face then, there and gone in an instant, and he was turning towards Tobirama before he could think on what it might have been. “It might be time I settle myself into a new home.”

“You’re leaving?” He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing Itachi’s wrist, ignoring the startled look it earned him. No matter that he’d just offered him a way to leave, a way to leave their time altogether, hearing him say that… “What reason do you have to leave us? Did something happen? Was it…?”

“Ahhh, forgive me, Tobirama-san. I should have made myself more clear.” Itachi shifted a bit under his gaze but made no move to pull his wrist away, keeping his eyes focused just off to the side of Tobirama’s. A habit he’d noticed in a lot of Uchiha sans Madara, never quite meeting the eyes of their fellow shinobi unless challenging them. “What I meant was that I planned to settle here, in this time. There’s little waiting for me elsewhere, and you’ve all been more than welcoming.”

“Okay. So it wasn’t- okay. Good.” It was perhaps a bit of a leap for him to assume his uncouth confession might have driven Itachi to want to leave the village but it had been on his mind earlier. Something they really needed to discuss eventually if only for his sanity’s sake, though the gods knew it would be a double edged conversation - speaking on it might be a balm of sorts, but discussing any sort of feelings would leave him rigid and uncomfortable for the rest of the day at the very least.

“...Tobirama-san, may I be forward with you?” Whatever Itachi wanted to say had him hesitating, a barely noticeable twitch to his nose giving his nerves away. “I’ve been giving some consideration to what you said about...well, I thought that, since I’m making a home here already - I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing.” “You asked if you could be forward.” He shrugged, more than happy for the distraction from his own thoughts. “Just be honest and spit it out.”

“I’ve given it some thought, and I think you might be right about us being, well. Compatible. Assuming you’re still interested, maybe we could…?”

“Right. That. Yes, that would be acceptable.”

He hoped none of his emotional panic was showing. It occurred to him then that he still had ahold of Itachi’s wrist, and it took little more than loosening his grip before he had the other’s hand instead. “Acceptable.” Itachi’s mouth quirked ever so slightly, black eyes alight with amusement. It was easier to ignore his own awkwardness and squeeze Itachi’s hand instead of talk further, wondering briefly if it was normal to feel so light and grounded at the same time during such moments.

Neither of them got much time to ponder it any further. The door to Tobirama’s office swung was flung open with all the lacking grace that usually announced Hashirama’s arrival, the living stump himself already mid boisterous sentence, his loud voice echoing in the room around them when he paused to stare over at the two at the window.

“You’re holding hands.”

Tobirama immediately dropped said hand at Hashirama’s statement, taking a half step back to put space between them. “Shouldn’t you be doing something? Talking to the elders, spending time with your children? Sparing? Anything other than being here?”

“But you- you were holding hands! With each other!”

“Anija, I swear to the gods that if you don’t drop this right now I’m drafting you into doing paperwork.”

“Why would you be…” It was sheer horror watching the dawning understanding spread across Hashirama’s face. Soon he was beaming so bright it was blinding, and Tobirama turned instinctively to steady his stance for the crushing hug he knew was coming their way.

Sure enough, Hashirama flung himself at them, blubbering on about having a new little brother and wanting nieces and nephews. It took all of Tobirama’s willpower not to hiraishin away from the embarrassing display, but in the end he figured it was better to get it over with now rather than to put it off for later.

Itachi had the patience of a saint when it came to the man child, giving his back an awkward pat before standing still and accepting his fate. There was a hint of disbelief to his tone whenever he spoke to Hashirama, as there always was whenever anyone spoke well of his company - something Tobirama knew not the source of even after all their years of friendship.

Yet another topic they’d never had the chance to discuss. He reached forward to hold the other’s hand loosely once more, grateful that Hashirama was far too distracted with his own nonsense to notice the soft glance shared between them.

Maybe he knew little about Itachi’s past. And maybe he’d never know any more of it, considering how secretive Itachi was by nature. But he could accept that as a simple fact as long as he had a chance of standing by his side and being a part of his future instead.

[officerjennie]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Naruto Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara Summary:

Hiraeth - A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

For @copyninken because reasons.

Click the link or continue below the line to read. Ko-Fi link in blog header :)

It had started as little more than a waking dream, settled into his mind in the brief moments before he had fully awakened. Laughter in ruby eyes, a scrunched up nose, white tufts a mess as they ticked his cheek. Soft lips pressing against his own with a content sigh, smooth pale skin under his calloused palms, and nothing but peace and quiet hanging in the morning lit room around them.

Once the sleep vision left him, his futon empty save for himself and the pillow he always displaced in his sleep, all he could do was blearily blink at the spot he had been certain someone was laying in. Only after his mind caught up with itself did he feel the tug of revulsion at his gut, and he tossed the covers aside to stumble his way down the hall to the kitchen, determined to pump himself so full of coffee he would never sleep another wink again.

For once, not even his dark roast could comfort him, nor could it erase the small flicker in his chest. He was left staring at his counter-top, searching for answers in the wood grain as the sparrows busied themselves building a nest in the rafters of his back porch.

The Senju brat had been nothing more than a thorn in his side since the treaty had been signed, a constant nuisance determined to cause him issue at every turn. The only sanctuary he’d had left from that sneer and sharp tone since the village had formed had been his home, and now even that had been violated by unwelcomed visions.

Instinct said it was a plot against him. Sage only knew what that bastard could really do, what secret jutsu or poisons he crafted, locked up in that lab of his. The Senju was quick enough for sleight of hand trickery, and it would only take a moment of distraction to slip something into his food. Just to be sure it wouldn’t happen again, Madara spent the little quiet time he had left that morning preparing a bento. His own cooking didn’t compare to what Hashirama forced on him every lunch, but preparing it himself guaranteed no contaminants beyond the food particles he couldn’t be bothered to scrub off his counters.

For a while, his problem was solved. By the time a month had come and gone, he’d forgotten his strange half-dream, mind busy and body exhausted from throwing himself into making his childhood dream and sound and lasting reality. Pondering a fleeting and ultimately meaningless moment was a waste of energy when peace itself was so hard to grasp, every ally gained a victory but a touch and taxing battle still.

Some evenings he longed for the song and dance of his early adulthood. Forms and meetings and long candle-lit nights in the tower left less blood on his hands but always left him bone-weary in turn, as if his soul knew not how to handle this new leaf he’d turned.

At least he did not suffer alone. The oaf might have slipped into this new life with ease, but there were a few whose eyes told tales of sleepless nights. His own night wanderings had gone unnoticed by the village over which he held vigil, though there were times he felt a second set of eyes watching along with him. He never said a word to the form hidden in the trees, never caught that ruby gaze. Only settled himself further into the crook of his oak, letting the cool air drape over him, the moon shinning over the buildings he couldn’t quite believe were real.

It was his habitual nature that brought the memory back to him. He’d groused on about the sparrow’s nest when Izuna would sit still enough to listen, but he’d left the birds to do as they pleased in the end to no one’s surprise, least of all his own. Sneaking to the kitchen window of a morning to watch them had become routine, counting the days til the air would fill with both the bitter-rich scent of his morning brew and the shrill cries of the hungry chicks growing inside the eggs he’d spotted the week before.

The morning came and his heart warmed with it, sparrow chicks turning to hawklings in his mind’s eye, how his own used to respond to his cooing. How that warm memory morphed into his forgotten dream, he did not know, but it was no longer down fluff his fingertips tingled at the memory of, no longer the ghosts of his hawks that caused the melancholy settling over him.

How he could miss a moment that never was baffled him, and he left without finishing his second cup of coffee, hoping to drown himself in the paperwork waiting for him in his office. But for once all that awaited him was menial tasks, never enough to occupy his thoughts, mind ever drifting to the man he could hear down the hall chewing their esteemed hokage out for misplacing some document or another.

It was long passed when the sparrows had left the nest that Madara allowed himself to wander back to his oak, not trusting his own traitorous mind after its recent betrayals. He still said nothing when his silent companion joined his watch, still sat in awe and disbelief at the expanding streets that stretched further below with each passing day.

Exactly when their night watches together became another routine, Madara could not tell. But soon sitting alone overlooking his village put him on edge, the air stale at times when only he stayed up in the dark. Thankfully he wasn’t left often to ponder the whys of the matter, since not even his supposed good sense could keep the Senju from ruining any hope of a healthy sleep schedule, so often he’d slip into the treeline to study the village beneath them.

By the time winter made Konoha its home, even the hostile edge to their professional dealings had cooled. For every heated argument over laws and regulations there was a handful of meetings without incident between the two. In place of the jeering that had marked their relationship there was mutual disinterest, an unstated understanding to let the other be and go about their day with as little provocation as possible.

Winter left them early, spring coming and going before Madara had a chance to enjoy the pleasantly cool weather. His sparrows nested late, their eggs only having just been laid when the heat of July hit them.

He found the dream haunted him more and more as the days warmed, no longer left in the farthest reaches of his mind but just in its periphery. And that wasn’t all that haunted him while the stars were at their peek, shinning in through his open window as the night breeze fluttered the loose papers on his night table. Something niggled at him, a thought just out of reach, his body restless as if on the cusp of understanding.

His answer came as quiet as the nights they’d so often spent in each other’s company. Lunch in Konoha’s newly formed shopping district still felt like a luxury, and Madara hardly ever indulged out of his own pocket. Eating with his overtly generous friend had its perks at least, even if the price was dealing with the tension that sparked the air between their brothers.

With Izuna’s job at the academy on the opposite side of town they split ways shortly after they ate, the other three content enough to meander back to the tower, Madara bringing up the rear. He was treated with a rare sight, watching the two Senju act like true siblings. The growing responsibilities weighed on them all so heavily that even Hashirama often slipped into his own bastardized version of professionalism when out and about, but their lunch out had been enough to relax his shoulders and set him about roughhousing in the bustling streets, doing his best to catch Tobirama off-guard and topple him over.

One misstep, and Hashirama tripped, limbs flailing as he tried and failed to catch himself. Their fearsome leader landed face first in the middle of the street, several of his citizens having to cover their mouths to not be caught snickering at his tomfoolery.

He expected Tobirama to lecture the idiot. His spiels on proper etiquette were so common place they seemed second nature, structured so well Madara was certain he’d practiced in the past to perfect them. And Hashirama was his favorite target, after all, not a day passing without at least one of his several speeches echoing down the halls of the tower from his older brother’s office.

Instead, he laughed. Nothing boisterous like his sibling, no obnoxious snorting or shrill giggles. Just a wrinkle of his nose, the edges of his eyes crinkling, staring down at his wailing brother. A hint of a smile, no noise beyond a soft exhale as he helped Hashirama up from the ground.

All Madara could do was stare at the way the wind tousled his hair, face soft, nose scrunched up just like in the moment that never was. And when his heart ached at the sight he knew he was doomed.

“Coming, Uchiha?” The words were tossed over his shoulder, ruby eyes alight with humor. Madara nodded dumbly in response, but it still took a few more moments to get his legs to listen.

He didn’t go back to his oak that night, dazed at the revelation squirming in his stomach. Only stared up at the ceiling until the sun peeked in, the sounds of the morning spilling in through his open window, his sparrow’s chicks hatched at last and chirping from their nest.

It seemed they weren’t the only uninvited guests worming their way into his heart after all.