Headcanon: Like Salazar Slytherin, each founder had a hidden chamber. Godric Gryffindor made a training room full of magical weapons, only to be opened by a true Gryffindor. Rowena Ravenclaw made a library full of every book ever written, muggle and magical, updating every day, only to be opened by those who trukly crave knowledge. Helga Hufflepuff made a simple room, made to cater to the needs of anyone who needed it. To this day, it is known as the Room of Requirement.
My headcanon is that the house mascots are the founders’ animagus forms.
I was thinking the same. Funny thing is, that would make Gidric a Rumbleroar-like character, which would explain the Pigfarts myth. Funnier thing is that Salazar would possibly be a basylisk and the basylisk that Harry killed was more than 1000 years old, which we know, because only Salazar could put it in there. Nobody knows how or when he died, he just sort of disappeared…
Let’s just say that it is not entirely impossible that Harry killed Salazar Slytherin in his second year with Godric Gryffindor’s sword.
Ironic Movie2: Rescue Social Tech should be Artificial Intelligence that keeps people in Equilibrium online - that means positivesentiment.(Social Bots Scripts of Social Influence 2)
Dramedy?3rd parties get involved how? It’s a critical juncture of Social Influence…
‘Let’s brag about bot accounts to Twitter,’ sayslobbyist Adam Waldman - *Fastest* to 1 Million followers in *HISTORY* of Instagram… Campaign Bots! ;) ~ Art of Cyber War.
Live and Learn: What’s *training* on Amber Heard’s 21st Century Story? A Movie?
Winston Churchill (fake vs real profile bots, black and white vs color) is another of Worldie’s Symbols… (Worldie is humanitarians, so that means we can work with many sides for GOOD!).
(History, as in how many Social Bot Accounts to go! Let’s obsess over it! ‘How much can we exploit loopholes in America’ vs targets!?)
Since Worldie has mostly *Whistleblower Types* on its board, we know Wickr is another mercenary tech platform - also used byBlackCube -which attacked dozens of actresses.
1st Photo is Content Agent Moderators/Founders/Inventors put at the bottom of the ladder (Jennifer Lawrence in Joy the movie - 2015)
2nd is a private jet from Smallville - Queen Industries
3rd is before Adam Waldman was suspended, attacking Amber Heard with Winston Churchill pic symbolism of him using a cigar (not SirWChurchill1)… Who are also is featured in this moviewe created.
4th, “She’s out of control!” - meme of Lex Luthor
Moreover…. No one is interested in a Deli Meat Smuggler!!! Do you really think they should be about dogs?! “Do you really think the CIA is interested in a Deli Meat Smuggler?!” -Sarah Walker in Chuck, scene seen below.
Care to look at this Propaganda Analysis Project Organization? It’s well-frequented in Moscow and Qatar! (Intro)
“Persuasion Techniques Detection: Propagandist messages are conveyed through a number of rethorical and… techniques”…. (Except this is open-source: news articles aren’t including social media analysis or comments via social bots). Open-source usually provides introductions to more!
Don’t you love it when Europeans come to the Rescue, while Facebook is Signalbook/military book, & well, so are the other platforms. ~ Cyber War 2.
Amber Heard’s case made us dive deeper into social bots. It’s the most severe case, but we’re creating an Alternative Ending/Universe. With Reverse Engineering and Social Network Analysis, it can be exposed…
Live and learn, you might actually think Life is Like a Movie!
I wonder what a grand finale would be? Apparently, they want this to be a 21st century sadism story!
Who’s read this?? I have only begun this book and having finished chapter one, the genealogist in me is loving it! The historian in me loves it. And the reader in me loves it. So what’s my opinion so far..? Loving it! I have to wait until October to see the show at the Pantages Theatre in Los Angeles, CA, but I’m there in the story now. And it’s just making me more excited to see the show. So if you have some extra time, I’d suggest checking out this book from your local library or purchase from your local bookstore. And a little Thank you to Ron Chernow for writing this book.
Please, come by the shop and let our lovely salesmen, Hashirama and Madara, help you find the merchandise of your dreams!!! ;D (gif designed and produced by the spectacular @petitcanard)
Hello there! You’re probably here because you’re in some form interested in the TobiIzu ship. This event focuses on those two cute little murder beans and is dedicated to them. A whole week full of TobiIzu! This is the masterpost with the rules-not-really-rules and the overview for the whole thing..
The main prompt list
Day 1: Summons/Amnesia
Day 2: Markings/gnc
Day 3: any AU/any swap (generation, body, role ect.)/Soulmates
Day 4: Red string of fate/Battlefield lovers
Day 5: Susanoo/Hiraishin
Day 6: Honor/Oath
Day 7: Letters (of love or not)/Tobirama’s fur baby
While the whole world was fighting in endless wars, the brave men decided to fight for peace instead. Their resolution to reach the other side makes a story worth telling. Our zine dedicated to Konoha founders and their loved ones is finally ready for preorders!
Fanworks by 30 artists and 7 writers 140+ pages A5 size (5.8 x 8.3 in), perfect bound Beautiful merch
Most process and spoilers can be found in our twitter.
Preorders period is June 28 - August 2. Ordering info under cut
Hello there. Since there’s a TobiIzu week planed for the end of 2021/early 2022 it’s time for the interest check. Before this event starts properly, let’s see what you want from it. If you like, please answer some short questions about the time you want it to take place, prompt wishes you may have and the way you may want to participate. You do not need to register for anything and taking part in the survey does not oblige you to take part in the event.
Interest Check for #LegacyUchihaZine is now OPEN! Kindly answer this form so we can gauge if this project is worth continuing: https://bit.ly/LegacyZineIC
2.5k word Hashimada fanfic taking place immediately after Izuna’s death (first part) and in the early phases of the development of the Hidden Leaf (second part). An exploration of Madara’s grief and how he and Hashirama have recovered differently.
warningfor canonical character death (Izuna), heavy angst associated with grieving a family member, dissociation (emotional numbness), self-harm, blood, gore (maybe not but just in case), and suicide mention.
The room was dark and Izuna was dead. These were the only things that Madara could perceive. Yes, the curtains were drawn between the shining light of the moon and this room’s coldness, just like the cloth over Izuna’s face shielded his big brother’s bright-eyed memory of him from the lifelessness that now lay just an arm’s reach away.
Some kind of strange relief stirred amidst Madara’s numbness. The night had been so long. Izuna was shuddering, always wincing and writhing weakly against the mat. It was true that some men suffered for weeks battling for their lives against wounds far unhealable. But Izuna’s fight, though it had taken only one afternoon and evening, was the longest Madara thought he would ever endure again. Of this, he could be sure; Izuna was his last brother. There was nothing, no one, left to lose. And even then, sitting alone, Madara could feel the tension in his shoulders begin to slowly unfurl. It was a blessing in some way, he thought. If there was a god in this insufferable warscape, it had taken pity on his very last brother. Madara’s first little brother.
He sat in silence for an hour, then two. Madara stared into the darkness and felt nothing at all but that quiet relief and this emotional deadness. It’s over, he thought. Izuna would not suffer any longer. He would not have to wake up to war again and again as they had since they were children. Now he could find rest after so many sleeplessness years living the life of the shinobi. It is finally over, Madara told himself, but still the body lay there in front of him… so how could it be?
He saw himself protecting each one of his brothers. He saw them die as children, die within his reach, die in his arms. Choking on blood, clutching at his clothes, rasping last words, urging Madara forward to vengeance, he saw them die. His gaze floated down to Izuna’s body. He had been here four times now, and he would not be here again. He had been given four chances, and he had squandered them all. Madara felt his failures crawling up his throat.
Again, he said to himself, it is over.
But in Madara’s memories, Izuna still lived. The next day, he knew he would wake and expect that Izuna should too. He would eat breakfast alone and be swallowed by the stillness of the empty seat across from him. Izuna would live in the space now left at Madara’s side. He would live in the quiet of the evenings they had once spent together. Izuna would come alive every time Madara’s loneliness crept up to claim him. It could not truly be over until Madara forgot him, and he knew well that that would never happen. And so Izuna would never be dead. He would never stop dying, not truly. While Madara put his room to rights, Izuna would be dying. And when Madara stood in the new silence of his house, Izuna would be dying. As he remembered every heartbreak he and Izuna had leaned on eachother while enduring, as he turned to share a thought with someone no longer there- yes, Madara would come back to this very moment. It would never be over.
It overcame him.
Madara felt the tears well. He felt the numbness he was so accustomed to being bathed in finally, finally recede. The pain he wasn’t sure he could feel any longer bloomed furiously inside him like a wild fire. He gritted his teeth, quieting himself habitually before remembering there was no longer anyone who existed for him to hide his emotions from. Madara threw his head back, beginning to grasp at his hair. In the darkness, he grappled with a thousand urges, every impulse seeming stronger than the last. Weep, weep until you are undone. Destroy everything you have made here. Kill the Senju so that Izuna is avenged, then kill yourself so that you may be free.
Madara set his head against the floor as if to pray. Clenching his fists, he pounded the hardwood weakly. Hearing his own sobs was another defeat. If shinobi did not cry, if they had no emotions, then truly, Madara was just a man. He had no right to cry when it was his brothers who had suffered the most and paid with their lives. Izuna was the one who had died for this futile war while Madara had been able only to sit and watch. It was enough to make him sick.
In grief, he tore his robe and pulled out his hair. He screamed into the empty room and felt the absence left when no one came to comfort him. The darkness of that room pushed down on him until he felt only despair. Madara cursed himself for his helplessness. He cursed the endless war forever between the clans. He cursed the world for knowing only callousness and sacrifice- none better than someone else’s. He cursed shinobi for making his brother into a weapon. For making him into a weapon.
And feeling utterly embittered, Madara removed the object of his resentment.
The pain in its sharpness made his breath catch, but it was nothing compared to the bereavement of that night. Madara’s breaths punctuated the silence. The drip of his blood on the hardwood, the smell of it like every battlefield, the taste of copper running past his lips, filled up his senses. Relief. Finally, relief, if only an inkling. Madara relished in his blindness. He held his eyes in his hands and savored in morbidity the absurd horror of it all.
Then once again, he sat in quiet and in numbness. He waited for the sun to rise, put off thinking of all the things he had still to do. In the morning, he thought. In the morning, I will decide.
…
Hashirama got up late on his day off. This wasn’t like him, but things had been especially busy lately. Being hokage was more responsibility than he had even imagined; he was thankful he had Madara and Tobirama to aid him in the affairs he couldn’t handle by himself. And of course, when he finally got some time to rest and relax, it was much-needed.
He got up and brushed his hair, hurriedly getting dressed as a smile began to set on his face. It looked beautiful outside; a walk might be nice. And to go with him… Hashirama smiled more. Perhaps Madara was free. He grabbed his jacket and raced down the hall, quickly getting some breakfast and glancing at the clock while he shoveled rice into his mouth. It was almost noon; Madara would be at home surely. He was a bit of a homebody since everyone began to settle into the village. When he wasn’t helping Hashirama or out on a mission, he was reading on his porch or napping. There wasn’t anything wrong with a little relaxation, of course, but certainly, Hashirama thought, they could do so together.
He finished eating before heading for the door. There, he was met promptly by Tobirama.
“Anija, where are you going?” he asked. “You are in quite the hurry. Is everything alright?”
Hashirama smiled goodnaturedly.
“Of course! I’m just off to see Madara.”
He was prepared for the contempt that showed then in Tobirama’s face. His brother sighed and rolled his eyes briefly,
“Wouldn’t your day off be better spent with your children or… I don’t know. You could catch up on the paperwork you’re always putting off.”
Hashirama pouted and sagged where he was standing.
“You know they’re grown now. They don’t have time for their old dad… Besides, it’s so nice out- it would be such a waste to stay inside sorting documents. And on my day off…”
His dejected look seemed to soften Tobirama somewhat. He kept at it, and his brother rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to one side uncomfortably.
“You’re not old, Anija,” he muttered, touching his shoulder. “Fine then. Go for a walk. Hopefully the fresh air will help your work ethic in the coming week.”
Hashirama tried not to look too happy.
“I’ll be back later,” he told his brother before slipping out the door and down the path.
As soon as he was out of eyeshot, he broke into a run and his wide smile returned. He couldn’t believe his luck; that trick didn’t usually work on Tobirama. He made his way excitedly down a narrow, hidden path through the woods. It went right from his house to Madara’s. Funny thing was, it hadn’t always been there. They’d simply walked through so many times that they’d worn a trail there themselves. Hashirama fancied it, lining the edge of their path with flowers as he made his way. He admired the view, and he knew Madara did as well. Beech, maple, cedar, pine, and many other trees grew there. Flowers of all kinds: wisteria, bluebells, buttercups. The bramble in the underbrush, the ivy overhead, Hashirama knew all of their names. There was nowhere he felt more at home than in the midst of nature.
Well, that wasn’t completely true.
“Madara!”
Madara woke with a start where he sat dozing on his back porch. The book he was reading, which had come to rest on his stomach when he’d fallen asleep, clunked at Hashirama’s feet. He looked angrily up at his friend who was clearly happy to see him.
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” he barked.
Hashirama laughed cheerfully and sat next to him.
“Quit acting like an old man! Let’s go for a walk!”
Hashirama peered at the book Madara had been reading while his friend grumbled to himself. Madara got up and straightened his kimono. Hashirama looked up at him and smiled teasingly.
“It’s the middle of the day, and you’re still in your pajamas~” he giggled.
Madara gave him a scoff and went inside.
“And what wereyou doing before you came over here?”
Hashirama followed him inside with a snicker. They went to Madara’s room, and Hashirama waited while he changed his clothes. He could see Madara glance over every now and again.
“What is it, old friend?” he asked finally. Madara shrugged, pulling his turtleneck on.
“Don’t you have things you’d rather be doing on your day off?”
This was a curious question to Hashirama. He cocked his head to one side, making Madara smile to himself.
“What do you mean?” he asked. “What would I rather do than spend time with my dearest friend?”
His voice was genuine. Madara’s smile made it to his eyes. He tossed his kimono at Hashirama with a laugh.
“What about Mito? Surely she would like your time.”
Hashirama giggled, bundling the kimono before throwing it back.
“She is away on a mission. Besides, talking to Mito is nice, but it isn’t the same as talking to you.”
“My, my. Does she know you feel that way?” Madara teased him. “Does she know that you watch me dress?”
Hashirama wheezed, laughing loudly. Madara joined him. They pushed playfully as they went back into the hall and outside. Hashirama beckoned him, taking his hand and pulling him down the path they’d made over many afternoons just like this one. Many impromptu breaks from the workday. Many late visits on sleepless nights.
About halfway to Hashirama’s house, they broke from the footpath, walking instead through the trees. They came to a spot they both liked to sit. The grass was soft there, and the trees leaned apart so the sun could bend and touch the earth. Madara remembered Hashirama drawing flowers out of the ground there many times. Hashirama sat in a sunbeam and patted the grass beside. Madara joined him, of course. He took a deep breath, smiling easily and closing his eyes.
“I am certain now,” he said.
“What’s that, Hashi?”
“There is nowhere I would rather be than right here.”
Hashirama opened his eyes and looked up into the canopy, all painted with vibrant greens and golds. He could feel the energy moving around him, within him. He meant what he said; this was what peace was to him. He was sure this was how it felt. Surrounded by life… Madara sitting beside him. Within arm’s reach just as he should be. There was no life, after all, that was more precious than Madara’s. This is what Hashirama thought as he watched the leaves dance on the wind, admiring the beauty of the village they had come together and created. It was enough to make his heart swell. He hoped Madara felt the same.
But when Hashirama looked at him, Madara was not gazing at the flora or the sky; Madara was watching him.
“Something is on your mind today,” Hashirama said, leaning closer to Madara.
He shook his head, looking up at the trees like he had seen Hashirama do before.
“No, I was just thinking. I agree with you.”
Hashirama’s expression softened with subtle endearment. He watched Madara’s dark eyes follow a leaf blowing on the breeze. Their shoulders touched, though he hadn’t meant to get any closer. But Madara didn’t seem to mind, so he stayed where he was.
They settled into silence, resting there against each other. Madara regarded the trees as they bent gently with the wind, and Hashirama watched how the sun made the rich brown in Madara’s eyes come out. He watched the shapes the shadows of the leaves made on Madara’s face. He thought of things to say but decided the quiet would suit them better. He wondered what Madara was thinking of, wished that he could know without asking. Hashirama watched the thin lines here and there, above and below Madara’s eyes glint in the oscillating sunlight. Scars, almost invisible even so close as they sat to each other. He wondered where they had come from. Madara had not had them before.
“Do you mean what you said?” Hashirama asked finally, voice barely audible above the breeze. “You are… happy here?”
A pause.
Madara took a moment, feeling his breath come and go in the calm, gazing at the flowers that had bloomed in the grass since they’d begun sitting there. He knew these; Hashirama had spoken of them. They were called Viola mandshurica, the northeastern violet. Slight and soft, easy to overlook, they delighted him in a way not many flowers did. Perhaps it was because Hashirama had grown them; he didn’t know.
“It is true that I am unhappy at times,” Madara murmured. “But I feel fortunate still that we made it here. This was your dream and mine. I find joy in it… that I am able still to sit next to you and talk after everything we’ve endured. I am happy that our suffering has not been in vain.”
With this, he looked to Hashirama, hoping to find that this answer pleased him. Hashirama gazed back at him intently, eyes like amber in the sun. He was truly the beauty in this landscape, Madara thought. His friend then nodded, and Madara could see that he understood.
“Thank you for being here with me, Madara. Without you, I would be lost.”
1.6k word Hashimada fanfic taking place before Madara left Konoha. Hashirama tries to get Madara to spend Christmas with him and his family. Madara politely declines.
no warnings except angst and canon deaths do apply.
It was the last Christmas Madara would spend in Konoha. Of course, no one knew that. Madara had not even made up his mind, though if he had examined his feelings, he may have had an inkling. Hashirama was quite preoccupied with his own family’s festivities. Mito, Tobirama, his children, they were all waiting for him to arrive home. He’d had some things to finish up as the hokage that morning, but what, or who rather, was really resting heavy on his mind was Madara.
Since they had come together to create this village, though it had blossomed so wonderfully into an oasis of hope and community, Madara had really no interest in holidays. Hashirama figured it had something to do with Izuna, and further, Madara had no remaining family to share Christmas with, or any occasion for that matter. His birthday had been the day before, Hashirama knew. He could not forget, though Madara had told him many times to do just that. He wanted no celebration, no gifts. Just quiet disregard.
As Hashirama neared the place Madara stayed, he told himself he would respect this wish. He would pass Madara’s house and go straight home. He would not wish him well on his birthday or say merry Christmas. He would not give Madara any gifts. He would offer no comfort or condolence on today of all days. Hashirama told himself he would do just as Madara had asked him to do: absolutely nothing. In indifference, he would go about his holiday.
“Oh…” Madara’s look was not particularly surprised. “Hashirama, hello.”
He had expected such a visit. It just wasn’t Hashirama’s nature to leave him alone. It had never been his nature. He was always insisting… always relentless. It was one of Madara’s favorite things about him. He tried not to smile at his friend standing in the doorway, waiting so politely with his usual warmth emanating, the bouquet behind his back barely concealed.
“What do you have there,” asked Madara, though it didn’t sound like much of a question. He tried harder not to smile.
Hashirama glanced over his shoulder, laughing nervously.
“Oh, well. It isn’t anything really,” he held the bouquet in front of him. It was made up of flowers that reflected the season: Christmas blooms of this color and that color. Madara knew them well; those same arrangements had made up every birthday he’d ever had and further every Christmas. He had developed that curious distaste for them which a person only develops after experiencing something lovely too much. Like having the same meal again and again; it could be delectable, but soon the very thought of it would make anyone’s stomach turn in disgusted familiarity.
Even so, in Hashirama’s palm, accompanied by his smile so cautious and kind, these flowers did not seem to Madara so detestable. He was really trying not to smile.
Hashirama looked to one side than the other, beginning again to talk. Madara could tell he was anxious. Yes, Hashirama knew that he was disobeying a friend’s wish, but he continued anyway in case Madara’s heart did not agree with his mouth. This was Hashirama’s nature.
“These aren’t for you, really,” he began again as Madara let him inside. “Since I’m the hokage, the people, you know, they’re always giving me things and inviting me in.”
Madara nodded, “Right.”
“Yes, they are so friendly, you see, and generous. On my way here, a woman at the flower shop gave me this bouquet. For Christmas, of course.”
His speech was punctuated here and there with a goodnatured laugh, a gesture with the flowers still in hand.
“But I’ve gotten a few bouquets now. I don’t have room for all of them, you see,” rambled Hashirama. Madara could see where he was going with this now. “Maybe you could help me out by taking this one off my hands…”
With the last sentence, Hashirama offered him the bouquet with a grin on his face and wile in his eye. Of course, it didn’t matter the explanation, Madara would take the flowers. However, this was the way of going about things that Hashirama knew would put a smile on his face. And he was right.
In fact, Madara gave a teasing chuckle as he took the boquet and began looking for a vase.
“You’re very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he chaffed.
Hashirama beamed in response, and Madara rolled his eyes, smiling more. He put the flowers into a vase and found a place for them on the windowsill. Thereafter, he went to join Hashirama where he’d taken a seat at the table.
“I don’t suppose the woman at the flower shop gave you any wrapped packages addressed to me?”
At this, Hashirama cleared his throat, folding his hands in seriousness.
“No, she did not,” he assured Madara.
“That’s good. That really would have been too much,” Madara eyed him. “I know she is very busy. In fact, I believe she has many people waiting on her presently to return home. Isn’t that right?”
Hashirama sighed, sitting for a moment in uncomfortable silence. It was true. He knew that Mito and the children were probably wondering what was keeping him. Not that they would mind, though Tobirama might. He looked across the table at Madara.
“Forgive me-”
“Hashirama, please.”
Madara didn’t want another argument over this, he knew. But Hashirama’s heart ached, his very soul. Knowing his dearest friend was alone on a day that was supposed to mean care and connection between loved ones, knowing he was just a few streets away, knowing he had the power to do something- well, it was too much for Hashirama to bear. Madara’s reprimand was not enough to keep him from trying. He would sooner be hated by his very best friend than stand idly by while Madara sat in loneliness.
“Come with me, old friend. Please. Let me show you the day isn’t entirely lost. We could-”
Madara put up his hand, and Hashirama knew at once to stop.
“Thank you,” he murmured as he got up from the table. Hashirama stood as well, focused intently on Madara. There was a pause, then he continued, “I appreciate you, my friend, but I tell you the same thing every year.”
Hashirama didn’t want to hear him say it again.
“This time is no different. I no longer celebrate Christmas. Nor do I celebrate my birthday. I’ve left these festivities behind. Please, understand.”
Madara’s smile was gone; Hashirama knew he was fighting a losing battle. Again, he told himself he would do as his friend asked. He would understand. He did understand. He would show him some respect and leave him be. He would let Madara have his day and Hashirama would have his. He would not ask him again or try to persuade him. He would honor his wishes by leaving immediately. He told himself all of these things.
“Hashi…” Madara sighed softly. “Why are you crying? I’m alright…”
“I know you aren’t alright!” Hashirama didn’t mean for his voice to be so sharp, but it was such a blatant lie. “How can you say that to me?”
Madara’s expression sobered. He nodded.
“You’re right. Forgive me. I just don’t want you to worry.”
Hashirama sniffled wetly.
“I’m worried…”
Madara smiled in a gentle way. It was sad and endeared. Seeing Hashirama cry always reminded him of the very first time when they had shared the pain of losing their brothers. As he stepped closer to him, touching Hashirama’s arm, he remembered how it had felt then to give a piece of himself to someone else. Gave a part of his grief away to this boy and felt some small hint of relief. Were they still capable of sharing themselves that way? Madara had no idea.
“I can see how you hurt,” he said to Hashirama. “Sometimes I think you feel more of my pain than I do.”
Hashirama pulled him gently into a hug. It almost startled Madara, but he kept the shock from his features. This was unlike them. The last time he was in Hashirama’s arms was while they were grappling on the ground in a spar.
“You are difficult to read,” Hashirama murmured into his shoulder, “to a stranger.”
Madara hardly dared to breathe.
“But you know I am no stranger. You can’t fool me,” Hashirama said, and his voice was as soft as every bloom that had opened in silence. “I know how much you feel.”
Madara pulled away from him, turning so his back was to Hashirama. To be seen was too great a feat on a day such as that. He would not celebrate any holiday until his brothers could be beside him once again to celebrate too. He would not spend the day in the same room as the man who he had failed to protect his last family member from. And certainly, he would accept no token from Hashirama, the man he’d always dreamt he would create peace with, when he could not even make his fellow Uchiha hear of righting their position of inequity in the Hidden Leaf. How could he? How could he even think of celebrating? How could he pretend he had not failed?
When Hashirama reached for him, he pushed his hand away. What Madara said next, he spoke without turning, and it was not a request but an order.
“Leave me alone now.”
Hashirama paused, watching Madara’s back. A beat passed.
This time, he knew not to disobey. He had pushed far enough.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, old friend.”
“Tomorrow then.”
The flowers sat gently wilting in Madara’s window for the next couple weeks, but every day when Hashirama came to visit, they leaned up to look at him.
The 2022 Founders Calendar + Zine: Applications are NOW OPEN!
(April 17th, 2021 - May 31st, 2021)
Dreams of Peace is currently looking for fellow Founders lovers to bring some appreciation to the characters that shaped the Naruto world as we know it!
The Founders fandom is filled with amazingly skilled content creators and we look forward to working with you!! <3
If you have any questions, comments, or concerns you can reach out to us on any of our social media platforms. Thank you so much for your continued support and for helping us spread the word!
Akatsukiarts is a phenomenal artist with an equally incredible sense of humor, and might possibly be Kishimoto in disguise. lol Their favorite Founders character is Hashirama:
“No hesitation. The only man on this earth I am willing to marry. I also really love Madara but he’s a bastard and the only reason I draw him more than Hashi is because this man’s a sexy beast (Hashirama is sexy too but he’s lacking eyebags and a hot german voice; yes I am a filthy dub watcher).”
smh i don’t remember being THAT thirsty writing about my favourite founder anyway, if any of my artist friends are interested, please apply for this awesome zine!! (i’ll try to post soon again, i’m so so sorry! also thank you so much for the super kind messages in my askbox! i love you guys!! )
![Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/f1ca1cfa639abf5596abb41f7d9258ae/9b006b03c325f170-f5/s1280x1920/b19517d6d1575b7c959dedd31184ed6cfc2b6098.jpg "Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi")
![Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/149da05eba6c2e6f65fb69e1063bcc3a/9b006b03c325f170-2e/s1280x1920/79fcb62cca498f358b5a359e94aa73c738741c8c.jpg "Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi")
![Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c2d4a014d0e03c47e661fdcb4f0d2f58/9b006b03c325f170-a9/s1280x1920/6a143a182db09ddb5be798b888327ea0cba62e96.jpg "Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi")
![Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi](https://64.media.tumblr.com/9c11f2e6818b97e38fe4ba259ec6c083/9b006b03c325f170-04/s1280x1920/2c7cb7708b7ed65b80303d2537c3b796f93e6e16.jpg "Found Episode ListSeason 1[Episode 1.1] [Episode 1.2] [Episode 1.3] [Episode 1.4] [Episode 1.5] [Epi")
