hashidrama

i dont remember how to make a blog pretty anymore, its been 84 years invisiblesquirrel on Ao3 currently possessed by the hashimada spirit

[invisiblesquirrel]

Making an intro post so I can pin my rec list(s)

Hi i'm Squirrel (she/her, 25+) because I thought about my username for about 3 seconds before committing. I write and post on Ao3 and I feel abnormal about HashiMada/MadaHashi (its all the same to me)

HashiMada Canon Universe Rec List

HashiMada PwP Rec List

HashiMada AU Rec List

TobiIzu Rec List

#mywriting

smut dictionary

putting this here so I never lose it again

[n0pepng]

Wip Wednesday Thursday

In my defense, @stygian-blu was late first 🙂‍↕️

I'm not someone who has a lot of wips usually, I tend to finish stuff before I start the next thing so the only actual wip I have is the one I'm currently working on

Don't look to closely it's still a mess

I do, however, also have a fic wip 🫦 I didn't see any rules soooooo

Anyway! Tagging @lexisglitching @invisiblesquirrel @ladiebythesea @dneiza @lycentropy

Heat. A throbbing pain; light so blindingly bright it penetrated through his eyelids, and then—a cool, soothing sensation, spreading from his forehead to the rest of his body.

Was this what death felt like? A bit—odd. The cold was nice, but he was still in pain. Wasn't death supposed to be painless? Had that been a lie? Or maybe he just wasn't dead.

Izuna frowned, and was surprised he even could. He tried to concentrate on his limbs, tried moving them; they were mostly numb, except for the dull ache stretching throughout. The cold sensation from earlier wandered down to his chest and— Was that chakra? Was someone healing him? Was he—

Alive?

His eyes fluttered open, and there it was. The world of the living. And also—

Senju fucking Tobirama.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and suddenly his limbs listened again; he jolted up, forehead crashing against his enemy's in full force. Izuna was too panicked to really register the pain though—instead a hysterical screech exited his mouth, as he shoved the cursing man away with tiny hands.

With—

With tiny hands?

His eyes darted from his tiny fucking hands to the huge fucking man in front of him, brain completely and entirely unable to parse the situation—

What the hell was going on? Why was he alive? Why was he with Tobirama and why was he so small?

“Calm down,” Tobirama finally hissed and grabbed Izuna by the shoulders with his almost comically large hands. Right. Maybe it wasn't that Izuna was small, maybe Tobirama was just big.

And maybe Izuna had a concussion or was on drugs. Both very possible. Both very likely, now that he thought about it. Not that thinking was currently working very well.

How the hell was he alive?

[stygian-blu]

Tagged by @inrever1

Wip wednesday

It is no longer wednesday sadly... hope that's fine

Aaah many of these are most likely scrapped but here's a sneak of some of the unfinished stuff i have

Some of these i have posted before but theyre still right where they were back then oooooops

Tagging

@n0pepng @sanska @thesuicidalfox @tisslesu @butterflybutterfree @kodamaoftheforests (no pressure)

Aaaand an open invite if you want to do this u can say i tagged you too!

ﾟ+.ﾟ(*´∀`)bﾟ+.ﾟ

[hashiramashonkers]

I so badly want a HashiMada Cut "truth or drink: exes edition" video where they haven't spoken for like five years and Hashirama messages Madara out of the blue asking if he wants to air their dirty laundry out on national television and Madara replies 👍

They're both well-dressed professionals sitting across from each other at a tiny table, their feet and legs intertwined, and they speak in quiet polite voices and laugh together as they unpack their MESSY relationship and catastrophically anticlimactic break-up. They drink throughout, but they answer every single question without hesitation. The production staff are in awe at how awful the video is. The producer asks at the end if they would ever consider getting back together and they quietly look at each other for a brief moment before simultaneously taking a shot. When the cameras are off and they're walking out the studio, they knock shoulders and clasp hands and kiss around a cigarette.

[gnilushhka]

?!?!?!?!!!!!

[mokuryuwu]

Am I Making You Feel Sick?

@hashimada-week

Prompt: Immortality

Read on AO3

There was a pain in Madara’s stomach. How odd it was to notice this, when there were a litany of more pressing issues at hand. Namely the wounds riddling his body: open skin, no longer bleeding, but definitely vulnerable to infection if not dealt with swiftly. He cursed Hashirama’s name. That the bastard who did this to him would have also been the one who could heal him so easily.

Another step forward. Madara’s gut churned.“One cannot look deep into another’s insides. You can never see down to a person’s guts,” he had once said.

Hashirama, always the optimist, had replied, “Isn’t it possible to show how you feel without showing your guts?”

Well, Hashirama had seen Madara’s guts. On the battlefield and in quiet moments alike. Sometimes it was Hashirama’s blade slicing him open. Other times it was Madara baring himself willingly, speaking his hopes and anguish and dreams to the one person who claimed he understood. He understood. How foolish Madara had been to ever believe that.

The forest was growing dark. The most egregious of Madara’s wounds, a deep puncture that tore through his heart, blossomed pain throughout his chest. The pain was not unwelcome, though. If anything, it reassured Madara he was still alive. That the Izanagi had worked. He may have just walked out of his grave, but at least he was still walking.

Madara had done his best to put distance between himself and his tomb. At least Hashirama had the decency of burying him somewhere secluded. Although, perhaps it was merely so that the Senju could have sole claim over his corpse. Madara would not have wanted Tobirama’s hands on him, the younger Senju’s affinity for wicked experiments bringing desecration to Madara’s final rest. But he would not have minded Hashirama’s presence over his body.

Would the great Hokage be unable to help himself from coming to his grave to visit? The same way his path used to take him over and over again back to the river? Would Hashirama, the one left alive, be haunting Madara instead?

Hadn’t their haunting of each other started years ago?

A roiling in Madara’s stomach. Bile rose to his throat, and, along with it, something else. A souvenir. He braced himself against a tree. No, not yet. He was still out in the open. He had to find somewhere safe.

The solution turned out not to be the forest, but the earth itself. Deep, deep down Madara went. So deep that perhaps he would find his way to the underworld after all. This was the only place for him now—a dead man walking, the Uchiha’s living ghost, a ripple in reality itself. No one must know of his dreadful existence. Not yet.

The pain centered on his heart bloomed anew. Madara staggered. Forced a calm breath. It would be an inconvenience to die of Hashirama’s wounds again before he could persist until that perfect day.

Anchoring himself and clenching his stomach, Madara heaved. The burning in his throat and the lingering taste of blood was a small price to pay for his prize: a heap of Hashirama’s flesh, torn off with his teeth during their final fight. Madara’s whole body shuddered. For a moment it felt like he wasn’t done, like the rest of his insides would revolt and he would be left truly, finally, empty. But the heat passed and he wiped his mouth. The man who killed him would ultimately be the one who saved him.

Madara was no physician, but Hashirama was no ordinary donor. Grafting the skin onto his chest, right over the tear in his heart, Madara noticed it was as if Hashirama’s cells wanted to cling to him. That weak-hearted saint; his proclivity to heal evident even in his smallest particles. Madara could be sick all over again.

The new skin melded to his own in such a way that it was nearly indistinguishable. A tired laugh fell from Madara’s lips—hadn’t that been the whole issue in the first place? That he and Hashirama were one and the same, and so the few differences they did have were irreconcilable? Madara remembered a time when he prayed for someone like Hashirama. Little did he know he would be bringing himself the greatest curse in the form of the greatest gift. They completed each other. They ruined each other. What would his existence be without him?

Madara supposed, in a sense, he would never need to know. He had a piece of Hashirama with him. It was the only thing keeping him alive. Madara had rewritten the instance of his own death, but Hashirama would preserve his continued life. A time would come when Madara would return back to the world above and save his clan. Save everyone. The bloody cycle of war and death would come to an end by his hand, he just had to bide his time. Make the perfect arrangements. One death would not stop him, and neither would the next.

He would rest for now, but become a thing undying. And Hashirama’s flesh and chakra, his body and soul, would accompany him. Strengthen him. Nothing could separate them, not now. Not until their eventual deaths and returns to life and deaths again would they part.

[dorkbending]

Hashirama: *just arrived on the battlefield and hasn’t seen Madara*

Hashirama: *breathes (?)* 

Madara: HASHIRAAAAAAMAAAAAAAAAAA

Hashirama: there he is.

[mokuryuwu]

Wood Rot

@hashimada-week

Prompt: Switching 

Read on AO3

Hashirama could not move.  

It was less so that he was frozen in place, compelled by some unseen force or hostile jutsu to remain in his kneeling position on the ground, and more so that he was reaching exhaustion. A strange sensation to notice within a reanimated body…although, physical exhaustion was not the only kind. 

Madara, surging with power from the Rinne Rebirth, had broken through the wooden gates that held him. Hashirama felt the weight pressing down on him grow heavier. 

For a moment, shame flashed through the long-dead Hokage. Perhaps he had let his guard down. Although, in his defense, Hashirama had no reason to believe that the Gracious Deity Gates would not work. It was a sage level art, after all; Madara was strong, but was he that strong?  

As it turned out, Naruto and Sai had proved to be of little use in sealing Madara. Even Sasuke with Amaterasu was barely effective. The black flames ate away at Madara’s armor, leaving him in little more than his pants and sandals, but failed to dispose of his body. 

“It is these two polar opposites operating together that give rise to all things in this universe…” Madara spoke as if unbothered by the dark inferno around him. “Hashirama, do you remember me telling you this long ago in front of the Uchiha Stone Tablet?” 

If Hashirama had a beating heart, perhaps it would have faltered. He remembered. Of course he remembered. Madara could have asked him if he remembered the exact shade of the sky on the day they met and he would have said yes. 

Madara continued without waiting for an answer: “That the inscription on the stone says, when two opposite sides cooperate, you have true happiness. But I also told you it could be interpreted differently.” 

Hashirama deflated. “That’s…” 

“The one who obtains both Uchiha and Senju powers can attain true happiness. Don’t you think it could be read that way, as well, Hashirama?” 

Madara weaved a sign. Now Hashirama could not move and it was entirely Madara’s doing. 

Naruto and Sai were no match for the Ghost of the Uchiha reborn. Madara sent both of them flying, and was upon Hashirama all before he could blink. A gloved hand wrapped around his throat. Hashirama gasped. 

“I will tell you a secret, Hashirama.” Madara’s eyes were closed, yet Hashirama still felt as though Madara could see right through him. “I am not happy. Though…I would like to be.” 

Chakra pooled at Hashirama’s neck. The one who obtains both Uchiha and Senju powers can attain true happiness. 

“And I am willing to let you influence me one last time.” Madara’s voice was barely above a whisper. “So, shall I achieve this happiness by taking your power from you? Or shall we cooperate?” 

Hashirama was silent. It was only now, in allowing his eyes to travel down Madara’s form, that he understood why he felt he was being watched: another face was staring back at him. It was blank on all accounts except for the markings around its eyes. They…they were Hashirama’s sage markings. 

 “What are you saying?” Hashirama rasped. 

Madara moved his hand from Hashirama’s throat. The chakra flowing towards him abated. 

“I am saying,” Madara said slowly, “That if there is room for me in your heart, I would have you.” 

Madara’s hand traveled up from Hashirama’s neck to cup his cheek. 

“I would let you walk by my side. And I would walk by yours.” 

The uncanny mirror image of himself sat right above Madara’s own heart. 

Hashirama closed his eyes. No. There was no way he could do what Madara was asking of him. All he wanted…all Hashirama ever wanted was peace. For Madara to live in this peace with him. So, in a sense, all Hashirama had ever wanted… 

Was Madara.  

A reanimated body could not cry. At least, it should not be able to. Yet tears pricked Hashirama’s vision all the same. “Why do you insist on walking this road? Why can we not walk some different road together?” 

Madara exhaled. Deeply. “For the same reason you always put the village above everything else. For the same reason I put you above everything else.” 

Hashirama could break. He could shatter into a million pieces right there and be carried away by the wind. If anything merciful in the divine was his witness, he willed them to make it happen. Although, if it did, he supposed those pieces of him would just reform. He would be right back in this impossible situation, facing an impossible proposition. Curse this undying body—it felt hollow, unnatural. Like a shell that didn’t fit quite right. Hashirama had never bothered himself much with his younger brother’s endeavors, but the Edo Tensei was a jutsu he’d always found particularly vile. Experiencing it first hand, it was as though he could feel the rot in his bones. 

Madara brushed a thumb across Hashirama’s cheek. “Hashirama…you must be tired.” 

The dead man sighed. A broken sound, almost a sob. 

With his other hand, Madara reached for Hashirama’s. He pulled it to his chest, resting it right next to the hollow face with senjutsu markings. Hashirama’s face. Hashirama could feel Madara’s heartbeat: strong, steady, unending. 

“I could bring you back,” Madara said. “Once my Rinnegan is returned, I can perform the Rinne Rebirth on you. And then…we could live a new life. A true one.”

This was not the first time Hashirama had been reanimated. Surely it would not be the last. He was tired. Tired of being called back into wars so far past his time. Tired of war continuing to persist even after he’d done everything, everything in his power to make sure no more children had to die. He looked around; so many of the bodies littered across the battlefield were young. Too young. It pained the heart decaying inside his chest. 

He was tired of feeling this rot every time he was reawakened. 

Madara was right. On more accounts than just this. Madara had also always put Hashirama first, whereas Hashirama had always put the village first. And where had it gotten them? Children were still dying in wars they’d inherited from their elders. Violence still marred the land. There… 

There was no end. 

Hashirama leaned into Madara’s touch. For only a moment. Then, though Madara could not see him, he looked up at him with the Will of Fire in his eyes. “I do not wish to kill anyone.” 

“You will not need to,” Madara promised. “You are their god. If you were to tell them to stand down, perhaps they would listen.” 

It was not a horrible idea. 

“Our first dream failed,” Madara continued. An echo of the reality Hashirama was coming to realize. The village, the Kage system, dividing up the tailed-beasts…it did not secure peace. Everything Hashirama had championed, that he and Madara initially strove for together, crumbled to pieces before it could last. 

And here he was, a decomposing piece in a war he had no business in. Heavens above, his insides felt backwards. 

Madara took a step back. The hand that had cradled Hashirama’s face now hovered before him, palm up. An offering. “Let’s build a new dream. For everyone.” 

Hashirama blinked. His gaze traveled outwards, towards the battlefield. He could convince the shinobi to cease their fighting. He was sure of it. The largest factor of unpredictability was the tailed-beasts….But Hashirama had subdued them all once before. He could do it again. 

Hashirama took Madara’s hand and rose.

[isora1012]

Artist: Mai Nhạn

Do not repost

[saltoncity]

scientists are trying to discover something harder than getting out of bed to go to work in the morning. and dont make a fucking penis joke ok they already checked everyone’s dick and it doesn’t even come close

[myankleissprained]

Guys can I be honest. I like you guys . You are my Frends. Yay Ok

[7mexxx]

良いお年を　

happy new year!

[stygian-blu]

@hashimada-week - Day 6 - (Cat's) Cradle

Took a bit of liberty with this prompt! Explanation + close up below

Cat's cradle is a string game played by cycling through a sequence of configurations for a single looped string. The game progresses by cycling through the configurations until someone messes up or a dead-end configuration is created.

which got me thinking of the cycles of war and violence these two were trapped in, but also of their friendship; they tried to keep it going but there were too many players always pulling in different directions so their game was a loss since day 1. No matter what they themselves wanted, they were bound by circumstances beyond their control.

Close up

[andreyahalms]

Agents Senju and Uchiha of Leaf had a certain reputation, and they had it with good reason. With a mission success rate of 99.98%, they were the team you sent in to unfuck the fucked when all else had failed. Efficient, effective, and perfectly in sync — their strategic plans and tactical manoeuvres were analysed with great interest throughout the intelligence community.

If the right people were to ask the right people, they would find that Senju and Uchiha’s on-field chemistry could be partly attributed to their off-field chemistry, for deep within Leaf HR’s jealously encrypted servers sat the form which bound them as husbands.

How these two notorious personalities ended up on the same page - marital or otherwise - is a separate story altogether, involving possessive older brothers, an mlm sex cult and some good old-fashioned human sacrifice.

Keep reading

[andreyahalms]

THIS TASTE...IS THE TASTE OF A 『LIAR』, SENJU HASHIRAMA!!

---

What if after Hashirama stabs Madara and says his bit about necessary sacrifices, it is revealed that he'd only killed a clone, and the real Madara appears behind him and pulls Buccellati's "taste of a liar" move and licks his sweat. (This is the same man who'd taken a chunk out of his arm earlier.)

It cracked me up, so here we are 10 mins later. If you're seeing this, I'm sorry.

[invisiblesquirrel]

Theme of the year: treading water

Mood of the year: nerfed

[finnlet]

i just know hashirama would text like a Dad™. he would use so many emojis. he would Love tenor gifs. he would take 5 whole minutes typing just to send a thumbs up emoji or "OK". he would leave people on read for like hours to Also just reply with a thumbs up emoji.