Senjuside - Your Local Fandom Comrade - Tumblr Blog

I want to write historical fiction about the Middle Ages, and a lot of these stories will involve both the Middle East and Europe, as these areas interacted a lot more than people realize and I want to educate! However, at this time Europeans were viewed as dirty and uneducated by their Middle Eastern neighbors (who Europeans saw as effeminate). Do you have any advice on including these views in a narrative without validating the idea of Europeans as the 'victims' or without (1/2)

unnecessarily juxtaposing the more-advanced middle east in the middle of a golden age with their less advanced European neighbors (as though the Islamic Golden Age can only be brought up in its relationship to the Dark Ages)? Essentially I’d like to portray the period accurate relationship between two fascinating areas of the world without demonizing one or the other. A lot of this will come down to research of course but I wondered if ya’ll had any thoughts about this type of problem. (2/2)

Juxtaposing Middle East / Europe in the Middle Ages

Europeans weren’t just viewed as dirty and uneducated, they were dirty and uneducated. Telling the truth isn’t victimization.

- SK

I am not sure what you are asking. It’s not like history is a popularity contest. One region was going through a period of political tumult, religious extremism and instability while the other was relatively stable. Is it bad to point that out? I mean, one of these regions thought diseases could be cured by blood-letting and huffing toilets while the other was coming up with algebra. It’s difficult to argue that Europe was doing well by any metric after the collapse of the Roman Empire. 

If it makes you feel better, the most cosmopolitan, populated city in the world at the time and its empire were both also imploding in China. 

- Marika

“Every living thing has its own story. It is only through telling those stories that they stay alive.” [x]

The annual team-up with @IAmANonnieMouse for @inceptionbigbang  ❤

They shrug. “Don’t mind me too much. I wander around, then I’m gone.”

Like a ghost, indeed. Madara hums, turning his head to ask for another drink.

He swallows down the whiskey within the wonder to wander his fingers through the pale skin, to prove they’re of blood and flesh as well.

Pairing: Uchiha Madara/Senju Tobirama

Rating: T

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Chapters: 6

Words: -

Language: English

Happy holidays! This work was for @raegunblast for the @narutosecretsanta challenge💕The genres they gave me were action, angst, mystery, so I hope you like it! English isn't my first language tho, so I apologize for all the mistakes you may find out in the text. I'm cheering it's readable enough, tho jndfjn

Read on AO3!

establish relationship doodles

[Naruto] Fanfic - Hot tea and brigadeiros

Story wrote for the 90-minute gift challenge hosted by the @kakairu-discord-server.

This story is a gift for @senjuside!

The main theme is "Food is a love language" and the food of choices is brigadeiro!

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Umino Iruka, Hatake Kakashi

Relationships: Kakashi/Iruka

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Hurt/Comfort, kakairu server winter exchange event 2021, 90- minute winter gift exchange, Food is a love language, brigadeiro, Not Beta Read, probably going to rewrite it at some point

Short Chapter Excerpt:

"Iruka was not sure what that food really meant to him, but he had discovered some time before that it was an excellent bargaining chip when he wanted to get something from him."

Read over on:

Archive of Our Own (EN) | EFP Fanfiction (ITA)

here, take this (a corny hyoshun comic set shortly after the sanctuary arc)

than 🦋

This meme was brought to you by my 3AM thoughts

valleys of the young

Swallowing back a laugh at the sight of Iruka looking at that pan with such sad eyes, Obito walked to close the space between Iruka and him shyly. Kakashi passed by them, looking at the pan resting on the stove that… wasn’t exalting the very best smell in the air.

Drowning on a half-mixed sauce, completely burned garlic bubbling up the surface, that couple of mushrooms looked almost as pitiable as Iruka himself when Kakashi peeked quickly at the pan’s content.

“Iruka,” Kakashi started so, with some humor in his voice as he softly pulled himself on their hug, “you tried to cook, love?"

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito/Umino Iruka

Rating: T

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2088

Written for the @kakairu-discord-server Winter 90m Exchange for @dooilimx 💕. The main plot was "food is a love language".

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

Recipe used: Cheesy Mushrooms in a Creamy Garlic Sauce

English isn't my first language, but I (tried) to clean it the best I could. I have so muchhhhh fun writing this, so I tried to not worry so much about my language and just write. Butt I really hope it doesn't bother you while reading <3

Iruka has never been an enthusiast of cars, of all the things. Fast and furious had never really caught his attention, sadly for Toretto’s sake. Yeah, he had both family and friends and no white regatta in his closet, shamefully to his Latino blood.

Being stuck in a relationship not just with one, but two pilots were just a playful trick from Lady Luck.

However, the feeling of pure adrenaline while the chant of squealed tires sounded around the racetrack would never feel old when Iruka attended his boyfriends’ races. The F1 being shown on TV by the morning could never bring justice to watching real racing, live. Feeling the bleachers behind his feet shaking as the cars pass through the crowd like thunder, 230 kilometers per hour. The salty taste of the air—smoke, oil, gasoline—yells ripped out the crowd’s throat when the last lap flag stood up, the beer spilled up in the air; all of it made your blood pour out, the adrenaline ran wild through your veins like fire.

People screamed all around Iruka. Some cursed at their favorite pilot for losing, others were in a crazy-ish vibe, driven by race’s winner euphoria. It was quite a hot day, almost windless, so Iruka washed out a drop of sweat running down his temples as he signed, brows furrowed, and made his way between half-drunken men down the bleachers.

The team knew him, obviously. The ‘Ojos de Ángel, corazón de Obito y Kakashi’, as Obito liked to cheer himself at them, arms threw around Iruka’s waist. A few teammates of their boyfriends nodded at him as he easily drove himself at the pits, their expressions sorrowful for Obito’s bad racing too.

Iruka grimaced, looking at where his boyfriends were, standing next to Obito’s Toyota 86. Obito was throwing his helmet angrily at the ground. Iruka left out a worrying noise, squeezing himself to get closer to his boyfriend.

Kakashi glanced at Iruka throughout the people, his white brows deeply frowned while he whispered something at Obito.

“Hey…” Iruka tried, upping his hand to touch Obito’s shoulder softly…

But Obito just shrugged, shaking Iruka’s hand out.

“Obito!” Kakashi hissed.

“Fuck off, Kakashi. I just lost the fucking race alright? Give me a damn break!”

“I—” Iruka muttered, letting his hands fall loose behind his body. Obito scoffed aloud, pushing open the zipper on his jacket, his tan skin shining with sweat, and stepped away from both of them.

Kakashi cursed aloud, shaking his head. Iruka bit his lip, unsure of what to do before Kakashi turned at him with a sad smile. “He’ll be good, ‘right? He’s just upset.”

Iruka licked his lips carefully, trying to put a smile on his face. “Of course. I… see you home…?”

“Yeah,” Kakashi answered, leaning to kiss Iruka’s cheek softly, before turning away to chase Obito.

———————————

It shouldn’t be so hard, Iruka thought within himself, grimacing. It’s just a recipe. It wouldn’t bite.

But, looking down at the ingredients on his lap, Iruka isn’t pretty sure of it.

Everyone has bad days. It was an important race for Obito, so Iruka wouldn’t blame him for being rude. He wasn’t a flower who couldn’t deal with a grumpy lover—even if, actually, Iruka usually was the grumpy one in their relationship.

The very first thing Iruka had learned from the races was that either you win, or you lose. There’s no such thing as a middle term, a second place, within the wrath of the motor.

(Stupid macho man and their pride, as always, Iruka would scoff on Obito and Kakashi’s faces.

“Ask any racer. Any real racer. It don't matter if you win by an inch or a mile. Winning's winning,” Obito said— quoted at Iruka.

To his credit, Obito really seemed deeply offended when Iruka told him to shut up because he wasn’t a protagonist on Fast and Furious.)

Grimacing, Iruka carefully put the bags at the kitchen counter. No matter how Iruka would scoff at Obito's gaudy quoting of Fast and Furious, he knew racing was a real, important thing for both of his lovers. It was their life, the asphalt, the cars, the racetrack.

Even if they’re damn stupid sometimes.

Kakashi had always been the ‘cook one’ between them, but Obito could get by himself pretty decently on cooking too. Iruka couldn’t count how many times he just left work feeling awful, just to be received in a warm home with the smell of his favorite food on the air. How many rainy, depressive days would’ve been cheered up with Obito’s usually gaudy, strong arms around his waist and the warmth of Kakashi’s lap while they watched movies and shared fresh-baked muffins.

Obito and Kakashi worked damn hard for this day. Of course, it isn’t a guarantee that everything would be perfect, and both of them were grown-ass men who could deal with their frustrations, but Iruka could as well help them, offering a piece of what they had given him all that time.

So. Cooking.

It shouldn’t be so hard.

With a sigh, Iruka looked down at his phone, conferring the recipe again. Everything was there: butter, mushrooms, white wine, tomato puree, garlic, cream, cheese, chicken stock, pepper, and salt.

You would look at Obito’s grimy face and just tell his comfort food are those cheapy, greasy $2 double cheeseburgers, all American style, not some fancy soup; but you could guess something, judging by Minato’s own wild mood.

They’d tell Iruka stories about their mentor. Minato was both a brilliant racer and a parental figure for them. He practically had raised Kakashi and Obito, taking those oily boys out of the gangs’ way to work with him on his mechanic.

Minato may have grown a passion for cars and motors, but his family owned a restaurant on Olvera Street. Kakashi may have told him those old memories a thousand times, but it’s still one of Iruka’s personal favorites; how Minato would lead them to his house and cook them those warm dishes after offering them dry clothes after a bad race, or just when they were in a nasty mood. Kakashi said it turned out to be a small tradition between them; to share that meal together after a not-so-good day.

Shaking his head, Iruka smiled faintly washing his hands, his hair already tied on a high ponytail, and turned himself at the stove.

Minato surely spoiled them rotten, but Iruka could do it.

He will.

Mind made up, Iruka breathed deeply. First step. Wash the mushrooms.

Easy peace, Iruka laughed with himself.

Iruka placed the pan and turned the fire in. He started dropping the butter to melt and saute the mushrooms.

It went.... suspiciously well, in the first moment. Too much well, and Iruka narrowed his eyes at the pan as the mushrooms slowly cooked as if they were his worst students, after getting caught doing a prank.

The next step was to open the wine and pour it to make a sauce. Keeping a careful eye on the mushrooms sauteing, Iruka grabbed a measuring cup and filled 80ml, and threw it on the pan cautiously.

A bit more than 80ml, perhaps. But wine was wine, and it went well with everything.

… he wasn’t sure if it was meant to lift fire up, but he felt a bit proud of himself for looking like Gourdon Ramsay on Kitchen’s Nightmare.

Although perhaps Kitchen’s Nightmare wasn’t the best example for this time.

“Stop freaking out, damn,” Iruka cursed at himself, placing a hand on his chest as the fire slowly rose down to die on the pan. It’s just a saute , dear God.

Looking at the recipe on his phone again, Iruka relaxed a bit. It was meant to cook for three minutes, so Iruka, still keeping a careful eye at the stove, stepped away and took his phone.

He could barely get time to close the safari and open a new Twitter tab as it rang.

Anko's very loud voice welcomed him as soon as he accepted the call. “Maria, Madre di Dio, Iruka, do you remember that substitute teacher who lives near me? With a bandana and face scars, acting bossy as if he's Escobar from Narcos?”

Blinking, Iruka chuckled, turning around to shore up against the wall. "Ibiki? Yeah?”

“Do you believe he dared to ask me about…”

Iruka grinned as Anko drowned at rumbling about… anything Ibiki had done to her, as she spoke as he had just murdered her cat. It was pretty amusing, the way she’d curse his life to however would like to hear just to hide from herself the massive obvious crush she got on him.

“... Iruka?” Anko called when Iruka went suspiciously quiet for too long.

“Shit.”

He forgot the motherfucker wine on the fucking fire.

———————————

“I was kinda a dick back there,” Obito said suddenly.

Turning back from the doorway to stare at Obito, Kakashi arched a mean brow. “Good you know,” he managed to answer, dryly. “And I will punch you if you say you ‘live your life a quarter-mile at time.’”

Obito grimaced with his tone but didn't do any further commentary. Looking at his dirty boots, Obito pouted. “I was upset.”

Opening the door, Kakashi was ready to— softly— scoff at Obito's moods again, saying he was lucky Iruka had a good day today and didn't beat the shit out of him in front of their team when a smell of burning garlic and smoke punched them right on the face.

Exchanging a worried gaze with Obito, Kakashi yelled, “Iruka? Are you alright?”

A muffled whimper comes from inside. “Kitchen,” Iruka spoke, raspy.

“Damn.” Obito cut his front, stepping on their house

Both of them blinked, in silence for a second, at the sigh of Iruka, standing pathetically straight in their kitchen.

“I… Welcome home?”

Iruka looked… pitiable, Kakashi thought.

Swallowing back a laugh at the sight of Iruka looking at that pan with such sad eyes, Obito walked to close the space between Iruka and him shyly. Kakashi passed by them, looking at the pan resting on the stove that… wasn’t exalting the very best smell in the air.

Drowning on a half-mixed sauce, completely burned garlic bubbling up the surface, that couple of mushrooms looked almost as pitiable as Iruka himself when Kakashi peeked quickly at the pan’s content.

“Iruka,” Kakashi started so, with some humor in his voice as he softly pulled himself on their hug, “you tried to cook, love?”

Iruka sniffed, rubbing his cheek and spreading tomato puree over his face. “I do what I do best. ‘improvise, all right,” he joked.

Obito cheered, his expression changing as Kakashi poked his ribs softly, mouthing at him. Cheesy mushrooms with garlic sauce, pointing at the pan resting above the stove. Obito frowned. Minato’s dish for bad days.

The realization soon enough beat on him, his heart foolishly aching with softness, as Iruka rubbed his face against his clean shirt, nuzzling closer. Kakashi blinked mildly annoyed at him.

“I’m sorry about early today,” Obito said, quietly, searching to Iruka’s hips to hold him, breathing at the comforting smell of Kakashi’s usual shampoo mixed within Iruka’s skin lotion.

Iruka shook his head. “No. You are upset, it’s alright. I was meant to make that dish of Minato’s, but…”

“Oh,” Obito breathed, a little bit wet—a thing that both Iruka and Kakashi promptly managed to ignore. “Damn, Iruka. I don’t deserve you.”

Iruka chunked, raspy. “Shut up, and… don’t eat. I burned it. Anyway.”

Kakashi couldn’t help but scoff, “I'm going to make us something edible, honey.”

“I hate you.” Iruka’s voice was muffled on Obito’s shoulder, but his gaze didn’t burn less on Kakashi’s shoulder bones. Just like an angreh’ puppy. “And don’t call me that.”

“Honey,” Obito poked, “may we have a minute of silence for the mushrooms?”

“Fuck you, Obito!” Iruka yelled.

Obito snickered. The room fell silent for a couple of seconds before Obito spoke, a grin playing on his lips that could be heard in his voice, “the most important thing in life will always be the people in this room. Right here, right now.”

Iruka cried out with a low whimper. Kakashi turned his eyes while Obito threw his head off and laughed, the bad race forgot for a moment.

They were home, and here none of them needed to worry about crossing the finish mark first. They had got all the time, here, now, between family.

(Damn. Dom really caught them there.)

Day 4 “RAIN” 

This took me whole day lol. Someone needs to become my stupidly rich benefactor so I can just do this all day every day..

I had a sicky day :( but this..rly made up for it. I thought of a bit of a story idea to go with it..but u can just look at pics hehe, they speak for themselves..

***

The rain was cold, frosty even, in the middle of Senju forest, in November time.. 

Not far from Tobirama’s hidden cabin. A place sacred to him..personal..on many levels..a place he doesn’t show off or allow anyone to find and visit..His experiments, research..his person..it resided there the most..it was his home away from home…

There came a day when Izuna felt brave enough to fly out of the nest, in desire to explore…well, at least a neighbouring village. But Madara wouldn’t have it. 

To tend to his “foe’s” broken voyager spirit, Tobirama took Izuna to a small vacation within Konoha. 

[Second part dialogue]

“To his satisfaction, I trust..?”

“Hm-h..yeahh…..sss-cold..” Izuna’s face spoke of contentment. He was warm all over, but the rain disagreed with his orgasm heat.

“Yeah, let’s get you back to the cabin..You’re shivering..see if I can continue my duty and do something to warm you up properly.” He was spoiling him, but Izuna was pretty upset about the whole ‘no departure’ deal.

“Am I your duty? Heh..I’m not just one of your “top secret” experiments, Senju, am I?”

“You’re more of aaa…life-long research that yields satisfactory findings…An eternal duty, I’m never getting paid for…for forever..or as long as I stay sane, with you around..” Tobi smirked and gathered their clothing, soaked in heavy rain.

“Hope that cabin of yours has hot water..”

“And fire..and food..and nice warm bedding.”

“Hmm..I like the sound of this place, how come you kept it from me..” Izuna sat up lazily, as if they weren’t getting drenched, as if the forest bed was his birthplace.

“…Well, you may stay as long as Madara allows, heh..”

“Tsch..he’s not my boss..he’s an ass.” Izuna muttered angrily.  

“Let’s go, you gonna make me food..” Izuna smirked, stood up and walked the forest path, completely nude, 

“Only if you ask nicely..” With Tobirama smiling, shaking his head at the attitude, stepping right behind Izuna, eyes fixed on the round wet bottom, carrying all their belongings on his own. 

***

What did I say about Izuna’s aftersex glow..fuck, he’s beautiful.. Here’s flipped cuz I had to tilt my head for hours, you aint gotta ;).

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Fan art of @watermelon-chan's AU where Ace inherited Roger's height. Go check out her work!!

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support Polish lgbtq teens

Hey guys, you probably heard about the situation of queer folks in Poland. The ruling party has made homo- and transphobia into a new national virtue. Around 1/3 of local authorities adopted resolutions about fighting “gender ideology”. Gender transition in Poland is a very complicated and expensive process. All of this puts young queer people in a vulnerable situation, resulting in appalling rates of mental illness affecting them. On top of that, children’s psychiatric wards are overcrowded and one region doesn’t have such ward at all. (It’s Podlasie with a population of 1,8 million people.)

The poster above was made by the illustrator Szarosen. It reads “[Please] love me, mom and dad”. It’s a response to posters with the slogan “Love each other, mom and dad” which appeared across many towns in Poland. The organization responsible for those is known to be anti-divorce and has fundamentalist ties, advocating for married couples staying together despite home abuse. Szarosen’s drawing points to the lack of support, discrimination and even violence which many queer kids have to face, sometimes from their own families.

Anyway, here are links to some fundraising campaigns:

1 initially fundraising for the posters, now for psychological and legal help for lgbt individuals 

2 transitions 

Izuna Appreciation Week day 3 - Clone Jutsu | Hiraishin

for @izuna-appreciation-week

sharing techniques 💞

“It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was more a curse than a gift, a sweet prank from the gods, the man Madara most hated in the entire world, the man he learned to love so deeply, be the man he worshiped above anything else.”

In the good days, Madara would pray to Izuna, wherever he could be, to understand. That he could never leave Tobirama without giving up his own heart.

In the bad, Madara would look at Tobirama, quietly asleep on his chest, and ask himself what kind of brother that would turn him into.

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara

Rating: M

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 2011

Language: bad English

CW: VERY unhealthy relationship, mild blood/gore, eye trauma

naah, don’t mind me. just some indulgent relationship study i took off my drafts.

read on AO3 or under the cut! <3

⚠️ I’m not a english speaker, and I haven’t a beta version for this text, so you’ll probably notice some grammar mistakes. I did my best to clean the most I could, but I’m not fluent. My apologies for any major incoherence 😔

* There is a very small reference to Uchiha's centers, mostly implied. I guess the first one on the fandom who came with that concept was KeanBlade, so all the credits at them! <3

There were days where everything seemed to be dark.

There were days where Madara felt they were back to war. Fighting to survive another day, to take a last breath, to see the next blood moon rising up in the sky.

There were days when everything was delightful and sweet like it’d be a daydream. The kids running around with their lips spread on big, lazy grins, holding sticks of Dango and tops, instead of too large steel weapons; their wounds were from falls and stupid street fights, not from sharp, poisoned needles.

There were days when everything seemed to be almost perfect. These were days like today, lazy and lethargic when there was no work to be done yet and the afternoon was wasted on small talks, sprawling together in the engawa, speaking with soft voices. Enjoying the post glow, sunlight heat pleasantly in the early spring.

The sky is already dark, the very last warm sunbeams slipping away through the wood floor, reflecting on the clear water on the koi pond. Uchiha’s compound’s quiet murmur rocked Madara’s lazy nap, a soft wind whistling cozily on the engawa.

The heat of the body tangled with him caught Madara’s attention, as the light glimpsed against Tobirama’s chest and reflected through Madara’s own gapping hakama on Tobirama’s body. A colorful enamel uchiwa pendant tied up against his collarbone proudly, painted with Madara’s mangekyou pattern.

A symbol that couldn’t mean less than the obvious. A proof that Tobirama was taken.

Marked as his; married.

(It still sounded odd in Madara’s mouth—luxurious, making his blood set on fire.

Bitter, though, sometimes. Like funeral pyre ashes.)

Was a… strange combination, him and Tobirama, Madara would easily admit. They weren't— aren’t —that kind of sweet couple like Hashirama and Mito were. They never found comprehension in their relationship, and much less any soft, amorous love. There were no tender touches, no kisses on the cheeks, no holding hands in the dark, or mute twinkling love-sticky smiles—there was nothing but sickness, the darkest of two men born and raised in the war, over the bloody ground of the battlefield.

Sometimes, Madara would look at Tobirama, so calm, so quiet, asleep on his side and his heart would hurt with the if.

If he'd be a better man.

If he could pardon.

If they’d been born in another life, one that wasn’t so violently marked by the pain and spotted with bitter regrets. One that wasn’t so much blood and so much war and so much hate.

If he just could be a little more like his oldest friend and let it go from the hate. Wash clean with water the dirty in his hands, brush away the blood over his nails.

(But you could never just forget a life of nightmares and death, the destruction caused by your hands. All the sorrow and all the pain were memorized forever into your head, the memories blurry by the bloody red of the Sharingan.

He was an Uchiha. A great one. Pureblood.

He could never forget the face of his brother’s murder as he could never let his lover go away again when he held Madara’s heart in his hands.)

The war left behind ugly, open wounds. Left violence, left pain, and left unsaid words. Left mistrust. Left regret.

They were like that. Broken, desperately trying to fill in a hole in their souls that neither of them knew couldn’t anymore be fixed up. The softness they itched to have just couldn’t ever take a place between them—not when they were so twisted, so full within the past to accept the glimpse of what the future could be.

They weren’t good, but they managed to move on.

They would die for each other at the same time they couldn’t stay alone in the same room for more than five minutes. Their bodies danced together in the linens on ends until the crack of the dawn, but when the morning rose up over the window, they couldn’t look anymore eye in the eye without the remorse, the bitter regret from the past burning in their lungs, the taste of ashes heavier than the quiet peace rounding Konoha’s sky in the first hours of the morning.

They worked very well until they didn't, but, still in those worst moments, just the thought of being away hurted deeply.

Because, no matter how fun that thing of souls could be, they loved.

They adored in a way that couldn't be healthy.

As it could be any different, when they were just… them; two broken men trying desperately to keep everything together, trying to stay sane in a peace made over bones and blood, dead-bodies of both Senju and Uchiha still warm when Madara and Hashirama held up hands after sign a dumb piece of paper as if it’d a magical solution to a century bloodbath.

As a broken record, keeping the same past fails on replay, they never spoke.

They never spoke about them, about the kilometric distance between them some days. About the open injuries that still bleed, cuts open. About the world collapsing around them, about how everyone was so deeply determined to ignore all the cracks in the fragile, fresh peace they all fought so hard for.

They never spoke. They fucked until the exhaustion and buried all the problems later, hid the blood inside gloves, and put the pain out onto sarcasm and mockery.

Their love was lug, tired, hard. Was sticky, melting across Madara’s fingers. Was like being constantly pushed up to the limit, broke into a thousand pieces and so glued again, the sharp edges non-sanded.

It was like taking a deep breath when you’re drowning in the sea. That moment of agony, when instead of air into your lungs, you’re breathing salty water over the hum of chaos in your ears, desperately trying to reach for the surface; a moment before that silent, awkward peace when you’re slowly losing your conscience.

It was crystal at the same time it was buried. Spotted with too much blood to be cleaned properly.

(Luckily, Madara always liked the flavor of ichor.)

Somedays—somedays like that—, Madara would lay down on their bed and think about how it was a gift and a curse, in the same way, never to forget.

Never forget the moment when Tobirama stabbed his last little brother, face cold and impassive. Emotionless like a demon.

Never forget the moment when Izuna was finally gone, his chakra slipping away from his body as he choked with a last sigh, taken away by the fervor.

It was a gift and it was a curse to see the shy smile Tobirama gave him when he thought no one was looking, the way he shivered when came, the way his whole body shook quietly when he laughed.

It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was a gift and a curse to love and to hate so intensely. It was more a curse than a gift, a sweet prank from the gods, the man Madara most hated in the entire world, the man he learned to love so deeply, be the man he worshiped above anything else.

Tobirama, Izuna’s killer, the center of Madara’s world. The man Madara needed more desperately than breathing.

Anyhow, in the good days, Madara would pray to Izuna, wherever he could be, to understand. That he could never leave Tobirama without giving up his own heart.

In the bad, Madara would look at Tobirama, quietly asleep on his chest, and ask himself what kind of brother that would turn him into.

Trust his life, his backs, his home, his heart in the hands of such a demon.

Madara’s fingers danced across his lover’s pretty face, tracing the fragile eyelids right above the ice, long eyelashes, the crooked shape of Tobirama’s nose, the softness of his white skin.

The veiled act of intimacy, the vulnerability that meant much more to a shinobi than could be put together in words, weighted on Madara’s stomach. The way that Tobirama didn’t even frown above Madara’s fingers, deeply asleep, but leaned at the touch of bare skin, made Madara’s sick mind turn on the obscurity.

How easy would it be if Madara cut his throat like that? Would he feel it? By what emotion would his pretty red eyes be filled when the blood drained down his lips and he gazed up at his lover watching him choking?

But…

How easy would it be for Tobirama to just pull an eyeball out of Madara’s face, push up the nerves, and leave behind a heavy trail of sticky blood spotting their linens? Would the blood drip on Madara’s porcelain skin, if Tobirama waited for him to lean on his lap as he was used to, past his fingertips right down Madara’s temples, and stretch open his eyelids?

Madara could almost feel it. The pain burning his senses, the viscosity gluing down his eyelashes behind an empty hollow…

And Madara couldn’t raise one finger. He couldn’t hurt Tobirama, no matter what he may make.

He’d never be able to do it anymore, would he?

Oh, darling, no. Not now. Not after the pale shine of the ring in his fingers. After he hiccupped the I do below Amaterasu’s arms.

(That trust. That blind, unconditional trust—that scared Madara more than anything could ever do. That, if…

If Tobirama asks him for it, it would be all Madara’s pleasure to rip off both of his eyes to give Tobirama, wrapped in silk.)

The twisted feeling of his chakra twirling on a dark spiral apparently had grown enough to disturb Tobirama’s senses and woke him up, making a wave of mint-refresh-ocean-ozonium chakra burnt, rising up to tangle around Madara’s body like a shield, as a pair of focusless, dilated red eyes open to stare at him.

“Madara?” he offered quietly a second later, a pinch of worry merged in the roughness of Tobirama's barely awake murmur.

There was a knot swelling in Madara’s throat when he tried to speak, the always proud, smug tone of his voice reduced pathetically at a broken whimper. “I—” he started unfirmly, “my head. I’m too far. I need—make me stop to think," Madara begged quietly, stuffy against Tobirama’s hair.

Tobirama’s eyes blinked open, suddenly getting away from the sleepy haze.

“How do you want me?” Tobirama’s tone was thick, a smoker's voice deep on his throat.

Madara swallowed heavily.

Tobirama probably was still open and lacking by the fuck Madara get on him early this afternoon, and it would be so easy to pull out and slide in, but it wasn’t what Madara needed right now.

Not when he felt like this.

When he needed to feel Tobirama, everywhere. Throbbing on him, burning against his skin, touching where he felt more vulnerable.

“On me.”

Please, now, he did not add.

Tobirama’s quick breath against his neck made Madara bristle, a goosebump running down his backbone. Closing his eyes, Madara felt Tobirama clumsily moving behind him, heat pressed behind his thighs as Tobirama’s fingers fumbled blindly to push down his pants.

His fingers were cold, sleeky with the olive oil he spread on his fingertips, as he pressed in Madara’s rim, thorough and controlled as everything that heartless man did—but his shaking fingertips squeezing his thighs painfully, choppy breath told Madara more than he needed to be told.

The elbow was hard against his ribs.

“The dead don’t speak, Madara,” Tobirama murmured quietly into Madara’s sweaty skin, kissing his neck. Madara scratched bloodlines with his nails on his back, holding Tobirama's body as close as he could, squeezing Tobirama’s shoulders like a lifeline while Tobirama slowly rocked against him, holding Madara’s hips firmly against the mattress.

Madara just could close his eyes, boneless, and pray.

If it was for mercy or death, if it was for the gods or for Tobirama, no one could answer but Madara.

Luckily, good shinobi carry their secrets to the grave.

mdtb kisses (click image for better quality)

Uchiha Week 2022: Interest Check

We’re hosting an event dedicated to the Uchiha Clan! Please take our interest check! The interest check will help us gauge the number of possible participants, decide the month of the event, and even collect some prompts, if people are inspired and ready to share. This interest check will remain open until the end of November, so click on the link and give us some feedback!

https://forms.gle/gwMiFqpV3g5WKPDu9

Mod Shisui: @insaneflowergirl

Mod Kakashi: @dieselwinds

@narutoevents

what usopp didn’t see 😏

Hi- Hi!

Finally I can show my work on @narutosecretsanta for wonderful @everythingsakura!!!!

You asked for something with Sakura and I could not resist these beautiful ladies! So I suggest Vampiress!Ino and her Human!girlfriend Sakura! They are in love and maybe they will kiss away from the hustle and bustle of the ball💫

"We are the Peaky motherfucker Blinders!"

Oct. 26th ✠ Mafia AU

@kakuhidaweek

What If Madara and Tobirama were in a relationship in the Warring States Era ?

TW: Past Canon Character Death, canon compliant HURT maybe soooome comfort ??? Honestly, I am evil and this is grief. Madara cries for a very long time. Consequence of war and all that. Blood. You have been warned.

Having pulled, pushed, and dragged Tobirama around until the two were a distance away from the Senju’s clan site, Madara finally let his grief and sorrow come out in an agonising bout of anger.

Backing Tobirama against a tree, a kunai was pulled out of nowhere ( swiftly! ) and at once the length of his arm was against the taller man’s neck, pinning the steel against woody bark right under Tobirama’s right ear. Just a slice across the neck, Madara, do it! Just a slice to end this problematic relationship, to end this apostate.

( but a slice will not bring Izuna back. )

“I should kill you and be done with this! I should! I SHOULD!” As Madara shouted and spat out those words in a growling threat, he stabbed the kunai repeatedly into the bark. Of course, the words were as empty as the hole in his heart, the hole in his life. “I should, isn’t it?! Tobirama?! I should…gah-!”

The last two words were the trail to a whimpering cry as blood stained the bandages around Madara’s eyes and flowed in streaks down his porcelain cheeks; the lion made a kitten in the ghostly arms of sibling death. So weak suddenly his knees gave out, and hand releasing the kunai now dropped. But still he clings. He clings onto the shirt of his LOVER, grip loosening and tightening as he sunk down in utter defeat. The god of the Uchiha clan, kneeling, and crying at the legs of a Senju. How unsightly.

“Why.. why, WHY…” Sobs only made clear one word, but the sentiment was clearly sung into the ashes of a dead fire,

Why must you be the one to kill him, Tobirama?

And what could Senju Tobirama even say? That it was war, that Izuna came after him the same way the elder brothers went for each other’s throats? That it was either him or Izuna? Do or die! Tobirama was sure that Madara knew all of these already, evident by the fact that Tobirama was still breathing, alive, and well; heart thumping loudly in his chest as Madara —his Madara— sobbed at his feet. His oceans, for once, opened up to take in all of Madara’s sorrow. To let himself feel all of the pain that Madara was experiencing in real time, as the Uchiha now was clutching own knees and sobbing, and sobbing, and sobbing… Tobirama was no stranger to sibling death, … it was just that the Uchiha clan were just so different than the Senju when it came to truly loving. Madara’s grief only seemed to increase, not like other warriors Tobirama presumed to calm down when they tire, when the day turned into night and another mission has come. Madara’s grief choked his breath as it got too much, and made him splatter his chakra with a cough. Tobirama could not keep control of his chakra molding in the midst of this immense bitterness, and he briefly wondered how Madara managed to keep so sane and decide not to murder him right here. Tobirama was by his own volition without armour.

Tobirama thought that maybe Madara loved him on an equal level to Izuna. If he let himself secretly fantasize, perhaps even higher than Izuna.

Why was he rationalising this?

What was wrong with Tobirama?

He had to put a stop to his chakra sensory perception to relieve himself of the ache that was building behind his neck. The smell of blood and rust was heady when mixed with the humidity of the forest, and it was an assault to Tobirama’s nose this close to the source. It completely covered the salt in the air. Tobirama carefully lowered himself to Madara’s trembling body, the cries from the Uchiha wrenched Tobirama’s heart into a tangled mess. It filled Tobirama with the nervous prospect of them never coming back from this.

Tobirama wound his arms around Madara’s shivering, and finally let his own tears fall. But silently, with no heaving or gnashing of teeth. Tobirama hurt on behalf of Madara’s sorrow, but he would not take this moment from Madara. Madara clung onto Tobirama once again, and his cries only got louder and louder, and it was almost like the moon and the beasts silence themselves to give Madara the whole forest. Tobirama had to take in a few deep breaths to steady his own voice, lest he fall to cowardice and anxiety. Then, he whispered, “I am sorry… I am sorry that it had to be me.” and Tobirama was, genuinely, so broken over the reality of fate and circumstances.

Tobirama’s apology filled Madara with the madness of the universe. The UTTER INEVITABILITY of circumstance and war. His own failure of being unable to change younger brother’s mind. Failure, as a leader of his people.

And … he probably should not have come to Tobirama. That Madara realised this now was much too late. He could only press his reddened and bloodied face into Tobirama’s chest, trying to muffle his sobs that could not stop. “I–” Madara tried to speak, but he only ended up coughing unceremoniously.

“I know.” Tobirama cooed, holding Madara as close to him as he could, not minding the bloodied bandages one bit. Yet his face was cast to the skies, and his lips barred his own throat from any sound as tears continuously fell against his will.

“No–” Madara sobbed and coughed again. Madara was not coherent but he wanted to be. “I–” Madara was starting to hyperventilate the more he tried to suppress his sorrow, in order to speak. “Shit !” he cursed at his inability. Why did Uchiha have to be like this?

“I un–” Tobirama sniffled and swallowed. “I understand. I do.” Tobirama blinked and willed his own tears to stop. At least, he thought, he had this privilege while Madara was robbed of it. “Feel me … Madara, feel me. I understand your meaning.” And this was the point Tobirama calmed. Rationality always calmed Tobirama. “You feel guilty for being like this…” he started softly, settling onto the ground and cradled Madara’s trembling form in a more comfortable position. “I feel guilty for being the hand of war … because it–it is your last brother.” and Tobirama could feel Madara clutching his shirt tighter. “Because you love me.” It pained Tobirama so much to say this out loud. It begged the question of how much did he himself love Madara? Did he love Madara on the same level? It was so inevitable and so meaningless for Tobirama to compare. “ … and I love you. I … I love you, Madara.”

Madara hears the alignment to his own feelings from Tobirama, and this was what made his sobs finally simmer into hushed sniffles. His heart, his lungs, his eyes, all hurt, tire, and his whole body was overtaken with the awareness of fatigue. His blood was all over the place. Though he cannot see it, he can smell it. “M-Me too. I–” Madara took a deep breath. “I love you.” Madara sniffled one more time, and he sighed… releasing the tension and the anxiety, dumping it all out onto wherever it would go.

In this moment, Senju Tobirama knew for a fact that he was only sorry for this particular casualty of war because he loves Uchiha Madara. Under any other circumstances, he would not have known the man as deeply, he would not have known Madara was capable of such sanity in the clutches of such sorrow. If the situation was reversed, if Hashirama was ever taken from him, Tobirama would close himself and take a mission to level the Uchiha clan, destroying himself in the process as Uchiha Madara overpowers him and releases him from excruciating pain.

Love – how far should one go for love ? How much can one forgive, because of love ? Uchiha Madara tells him :  As far as one can go, and as much as possible.