HashiHimee

The first time Hashirama reported him he was 17; he wished that day had never come. Less than two months away from his eighteenth birthday, at well past four in the morning, Hashirama spoke to police officers and doctors alike, standing in the middle of a deserted hallway and watching his brothers sleep together in a hospital bed. Hashirama didn't know if he wanted to throw up or kill that monster.

Boss' smile was sharp and cutting, all knife and shard of expensive liquor bottle, and his eyes were so impossibly soft and calculating behind the red lenses of his shades and Ash wasn't even seeing him, just another powerful man dripping riches and gold whenever he was still for moment too long, golden blood pooling at his feet like a Christ walking on water, the blood of all them around him, nightmarish and holy, terrible in his beauty, like a painting of old times.

A killer came to the beach, big eyed like a kid, big eyes full of terror - they were the mirror of an adventure

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45793849/chapters/115242214

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/110377294

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/110376900

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109957743

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109957678

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109811650

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109811449

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109621434

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43361730/chapters/109570659