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@asaraltu
Tell me your relation to PAIN, and I will tell you who you are!

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indefinite hiatus.
So, as you guys have noticed, I haven’t really been around here lately. I will confess, as late I’ve lost interest in Naruto RP and don’t feel much muse or motivation to be around. However, I’m still in other places if you’d like to keep in touch that can be reached via my Linktree.
In any case, take care of yourselves and have a good one!
EMPYREAL. pertaining to the highest heaven in the cosmology of the ancients.
an independent and highly selective videogame &&. anime multimuse. recommended 18+ due to mature content // sparse tagging. written by kyrill ( he/him, 20+ ). featuring muses from : Final Fantasy, Death Stranding, Arcane, Naruto, &&. Tokyo Ghoul.

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theblacknpinkforce:
She rolled her eyes. “No but..just hearing such a word coming from the great Madara Uchiha struck me as…weird” She said. She peered at him from the corner of her eyes. That man had enough hair to give to an entire village. She wondered what it felt like. Oh god, get a grip!, her inner screamed. After walking a while his next words made her laugh dryly. “Sure let me just wave my magic wand, we are in the past, I do not have the rennigan, so how do you suppose I get back?” She asked, raising a brow.
God being with one Madara was nightmare enough. Having two of them. Well that was a nightmare. But if he was younger..that meant Hahsirama would be alive as well, which meant, he would not let either of the Madara’s hurt her…right?
She followed him into narrow alleyways. “You aren’t going to take me back here and kill me are you?” She asked, half joking. She sighs heavily. “I do stand out out, I guess I could hinge. And no, I don’t know the way home, you are the one who got us here, sherlock”
She hinged into Ino. Which was better than her pink hair. Now she stood there, her long blonde ponytail hung past her waist, her long blonde bangs over cornflower blue eyes. “There, happy?” She snapped.
She looked down at her hands and gasped. She curled her lips. A fucking manucure? Seriousle? Sakura never painted her nails or got manucures, what was the point? In battle they would just get messed up, she kept her nails short. But here she was with shiny long perfect nails, they weren’t too long but still.
Oh God was she wearing makeup too? She sighs and rolled her eyes. She knew Ino wore makeup, as for the manicure, she never knew the dumb girl had manicures. She hated how the long nails felt on her hands. Maybe she should hinge into a better person. She hinged again but this time she was a random person, her skin a light brown, long black hair and big brown eyes. There, no manicure.
@asaraltu
Well, of all the people he could’ve been stuck in the past with, at least Sakura was rather easy on the eyes... and she wasn’t a goddamn doormat, either, which would’ve been a nuisance to be stuck to like a burr. When it came to those he’d chosen to be by his side throughout his life, none of them had been pushovers or easily downtrodden. Strong enough to put up with what he knew was an acquired taste, which described his entire personality quite well. It was just a shame this one was so attached to that cesspool of a village that was constantly bogged by idiots who couldn’t see it for the shithole it was.
Oh, well. If he had any stroke of luck, the village didn’t exist yet and they could traverse the Land of Fire and its surrounding territories without having to worry about Leaf-nin trying to track down the present-day Madara who would’ve been an exile by then.
His attention was drawn away by Sakura’s choice in disguise, quirking a brow. She looked like a Yamanaka with this particular choice, but without the signature, he doubted any of those bastards would care. His mouth twitched into a teasing smile, something of approval.
“Come now, if I truly wanted to torture you, I would start selling the story that you’re my cute wife,” he teased with an impish grin, winking rather cheekily at the kunoichi. Perhaps it was a bit too daring, but she was starting to become someone rather fun to tease. If he was going to be caught in the past, he might as well make the most of it.
Before Sakura had the time to react, he took his chin thoughtfully. “We’re going to need pseudonyms. I’ll obviously need them, but in your case, it would be rather suspicious if your name appeared in the history books years before your family came into being, if they don’t exist already.” As for him, well, he’d think of something. Regardless, at least he had his mixed heritage that would be enough to sell the story of being a bastard.
Turning to leave, he gestured for Sakura to follow. Obviously, he couldn’t use his surname or any indicators of main family heritage, as most chose names connected to mythology. “...Shotaro. It’s suitably bland, but I’ll forgo a surname. You’d best do the same.” Well, he was never known for cleverness when it came to choosing names, that much was for sure. It would do, all the same.
@asaraltu sent: ❛ why are you helping me ? ❜ for kakuzu pls– :>
The question had been expected. He’d been waiting for it, actually, wondering how long it would take before his motives were questioned. After all, he made no attempt to hide the symbol of his village former village from sight, and despite the obvious, angry scar through its face, it still marked him as an outsider. An enemy, perhaps, under different circumstances. But not for the moment, it seemed.
“Because you looked like shit.” Dual-coloured eyes did not lift from his task, his hands carefully cleaning blood from the wound along one arm. His words were muffled by the cloth that covered his lips - covered the state of his face, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. “Hold still.” He commanded, his voice taking on a stricter, harder edge as his fingers closed tightly on the man’s arm to prevent him from shifting too much and disrupting his work.
A single thread looped itself from his forearm, calmly snaking its way along his wrist, his hand, until it met the paler skin of his patient. It sought the open gash in his arm, thankfully no longer bleeding. “This will hurt.” He warned, mere seconds before the tip of the thread plunged into skin and began to neatly sew the wound closed. Kakuzu kept his gaze down, watching and waiting, until the thread had completed its task. As it severed itself and slithered back to his arm, Kakuzu inspected its work.
Satisfied, he gave a single nod, and sat back. “Try not to move too much, or the threads might loosen and I’ll have to start over.” The hint of impatience in his tone suggested that it was not something he would be pleased to repeat. Now, at last, he lifted his gaze to look the other in the eye - or, at least, as close to as he dared. He knew who this was. He’d known it from the moment he saw him. How could he not? He was just as infamous as the Senju. So why had he helped him, truly? He was not a man who operated on pity, or compassion. Well, not any more. Maybe he might have done, once, but that was before.
His head would fetch a pretty price, of course, if he had the means to take it. But, if his intentions were for profit, he wouldn’t have bothered stitching him up first. Only his head needed to be in one piece, after all. “I won’t ask how the other guy looks.” Better to avoid giving a real answer until he knew for certain what the answer would be.
How long it had been since he’d left Konoha in self-exile, he didn’t know. Leaving his family behind, his clan, any friends or allies he had left... he was practically dead to them. All because he felt aimless, that the village would be the keystone to his clan’s demise and he wished to put a stop to it, somehow. What he hadn’t expected was some ordinary brigand ambushing him in his sleep, some Fuma Clan bastard with their signature, massive shuriken that had grazed his arm before killing him in a single move.
Normally, he wouldn’t have been blindsided like a child just learning the shinobi arts, but leaving Konoha had affected his mental state and made him sloppy. Hell, Madara would’ve healed himself, but this Taki-nin (something he’d sussed with his sensory ability before glancing at the shinobi’s hitae-ate) had found him first. And was helping him, though the Uchiha didn’t doubt for a second that he was likely a bounty hunter and he was needed as a living capture, not a dead one. The man’s answer certainly brought a sarcastic smirk to his lips.
“Come on, now, you don’t really expect me to believe that. Either you’re an accomplished liar, or you just don’t know who I am yet,” Madara replied with undisguised amusement in his voice. “A generous shinobi, in this day and age? Bah, it’s more likely you’re a bounty hunter or mercenary and saw an opportunity. You can guess I’m not impoverished, likely affluent, and a shinobi. That alone is enough to inform you that I probably have a valuable bounty on my head somewhere, as soon as you get my name.”
Gods, he felt like a goddamn child again, when children had refrained from telling each other their surnames to mitigate the risk of a rival clan from exploiting such a nefarious opportunity. Even if, growing up, he found it largely pointless when even a mediocre sensor would come to learn the unique chakra signatures of differing clans and pinpoint one’s origins without needing to know their name. Madara supposed he was fortunate, as he could pass himself as a Hyuga and Uchiha bastard since mutts weren’t common among clans, let alone their nobility.
Still, Madara supposed he could indulge the Taki-nin for the sake of amusement. Even if the man became hostile, it wasn’t like the Uchiha hadn’t slain opportunists before. “Mm, I hope you don’t plan on anything funny. The last person who tried is now carrion fodder,” he continued with a laconic tone, still prone as the man had ordered him to be. He imagined he’d heal soon enough, and it was better to conserve chakra in the meantime.
bestninjaclub:
She was shocked at just how open Madara was to his dislike of her family. No one had ever said anything negative about her family to her before. Hinata has to wonder: Did a lot of people think that way about her family but were just too afraid to say? She imagines as such; The Hyuuga held a lot of power in the Leaf village. And they were very proud of it. Not that any of that power or pride had trickled down to her. Not anymore, anyway.
Hinata clears her throat to clear her mind. Her hand reaches up to stroke the gleaming officer badge that rested on a breast pocket of her uniform. “I’m— I’m actually not here by the Hokage’s direct orders or anything. I, umm, I’m with the Military Police.”
She swallows hard, wishing her captain had prepared her with a speech or at least some sort of coherent statement. “The Uchiha played a big role in the formation of the force. So. . So we’d like to return the favor in any way we can.” Hinata’s smile is weak as her heart sinks. What could she possibly have to offer - by herself - to the Uchiha leader?
“Military Police, eh? I’m surprised the Hyuga didn’t crawl over that like dung beetles on shit sooner,” Madara scoffed dryly, doing nothing to spare his crude tongue from the ears of a girl who was likely unused to such talk. He imagined what a shock it must’ve been, for clan heirs in these modern times seemed insufferably soft. In his heyday, they mingled with the common soldier as much as the everyman, learning how to be self-sufficient as every Uchiha with a drop of the clan’s blood in them was utilized as a soldier, not secreted away in an ivory tower as those he’d encountered seemed to.
“The Police Force was founded by that lout, Tobirama. We were assigned to it, hardly given a choice,” the Uchiha continued loftily; given that this girl was more or less family, and largely removed with what had become of his clan, he supposed he could spare her some hint of clemency.
“And what favor is that, exactly? Don’t flatter yourself, girl. As far as the world is concerned, I was a world-be madman who almost slaughtered the entire world on a whim. A farce I certainly saw as justified. I suppose the motive was, but the execution... Bah.” Folding his arms with a stony expression, he felt himself fracture with an inaudible sigh. “Speak plainly. I’m the last person you should be kowtowing to.”
we live in a fucking sociieties / where we set ourselves on fire.
featuring muses from: jujutsu kaisen. tokyo revengers. kuroko no basuke. arcane. naruto. nanbaka. sasaki & miyano. given.
𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐀
@asaraltu closed starter
❝ Alright ─ Which one of you FUCKERS did it ?! ❞
Disturbing the peace was a common occurrence for the Akatsuki’s loose canon ; a NEEDLESS RAMPAGE was like a morning cup of coffee to him, something that was as automatic as the buckshots he’d fire in the direction of his colleagues, spitting curses and threats of a Holy smite.
This tantrum in particular had to do with the defiling of his newest shrine which had been carefully constructed days prior by the Priest in the organization’s outdoor recreation area; a space normally used for sparring and training. The altar had consisted of sticks and bones strategically manipulated into the infamous Jashinist symbol, accompanied by several sacrificed bodies whose blood smeared surrounding relics, earth and melted candles.
Just as Hidan had ventured to the site to participate in this morning’s prayer, he had come to find a BLASPHEMOUS SCENE - the corpses discarded and the religious paraphernalia askew. Any one of these bastards could be responsible. He lets his displeasure be vocally and perceivably known as he bursts into the common area where a number of the other members were kickstarting their day.
❝ Well?! Speak up you fucking cowards! Or else I’ll start slicing off your heads ONE BY ONE !! ❞
“I fed them to Zetsu. Come, Hidan-kun, you didn’t think that was truly an appropriate place for a shrine, did you? Jashinists in my day were more prudent with where they chose the locations of their shrines. I simply prevented you from committing a grave blasphemy.”
Not that Madara was truly sincere in his honoring of the faith he saw as bullshit as best, but being as old as he was, he’d seen it all. Including when Jashinism was in its heyday and the native religion of the warlike Kaguya Clan back when their numbers had been much higher in the Land of Fangs.
The other members present in the common room regarded Madara with odd looks, and he could hardly blame them; despite Hidan being something of the butt of their jokes, few actually wanted to trifle with one half of the so-called ‘Zombie Combo’ that he and Kakuzu consisted of. But, seeing as he was very well-acquainted with Kakuzu, Madara was more than just a little cocksure.
Rising from where he sat from enjoying the tea he was waiting to steep, the Uchiha gazed at the Jashiist with a devilishly smug expression. “Are you going to retaliate against me, boy?” Madara challenged with a gleeful zeal, a hint of madness bleeding through the eye sockets that were the only indication of any expression he could convey. And what saturated was the madness of a man who’d faced a self-proclaimed god again and again, who was the only one who could.
“In the time it would take for you to plot where you’d arrange my corpse on your next shrine in retaliation, bear in mind I could kill you before you’re aware you’ve died,” he chuckled condescendingly, patting the man’s head with every ounce of sarcasm a man like him was capable of.

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uchihaprodigy:
There’s no denying the eyes. Uchiha eyes. There’s a sense of familiarity to the face other than the existence of the sharingan alone, but Itachi refuses to believe he has anyone left apart from Sasuke. Especially family. It’s too convenient, and he’s nothing if not paranoid to a fault. Eyes skitter over the man’s features and Itachi swallows, sharingan fading, blade tip lowering towards the ground in deference. Laying down his arms doesn’t mean he’ll follow this Uchiha blindly, but there’s safety in numbers…. Except numbers didn’t help his clan.
“So you’re an Uchiha. Explain why I’ve never seen you before.” For someone who claims to be a great grandfather, he looks awfully young. More like an uncle. The story doesn’t align in all the places it should. There are too many pages missing and the writing, half faded. Nothing in this book makes sense. Suspicion coils tightly around his chest, heartbeat fluttering loudly in his throat. For now, he will use this man for protection, for finance, until he can find a way to escape with his brother. With a vague plan in mind, Itachi sits and pulls Sasuke down next to him.
“Fine. I won’t go back to Konoha.” They would be walking straight to their deaths. Who knew years of bubbling tension would erupt into the annihilation of an entire clan? A fresh flood of tears threaten to spill from his eyes and Itachi wipes at his face with a sleeve. “What do I call you?” When the threat of tears recedes and his vision clears, he can’t help but notice that the man looks rather worse for wear. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t fight.
“You don’t look like you’re in any shape to protect us right now.” He doesn’t bother hiding the derision in his voice. “Sleep. I’ll wake you in four hours. You too,” he directs towards Sasuke, patting his lap. Except Sasuke doesn’t get a time limit.
It was only sense that Itachi couldn’t trust him, let alone before his little brother that made him bitterly nostalgic for the protectiveness he’d felt for his own younger brother, Izuna, before the younger’s death. Except, he’d failed to protect his younger brother just as he’d failed to protect his clan that had died in the narrow window between his final death and resurrection. It was by the breadth of a hair that he’d missed it, and it pissed him off. The deafening chorus of crickets reverberated through the cave from the woodland outside, and Madara was almost tempted to set the forest ablaze in a bid for quiet so he could think.
“I was dead. As you might expect, if my age matched my countenance, you’d be before a goddamn fossil. I’m Madara Uchiha, in the flesh, your mother’s grandfather. I was revived with kinjutsu by those that serve me to finish a final vendetta, but... this isn’t the reason why. The Uchiha weren’t... supposed to be...” Madara’s mouth clamped shut to prevent a shuddering sound from escaping, matching Itachi’s mistrusting eyes with pursed lips. “I don’t need sleep. This body is made of Senju cells, and I won’t become exhausted so long as I don’t exert myself.”
That wasn’t why he’d chosen a White Zetsu to form the basis of the new body that would host him until a true revival. He hadn’t anticipated he’d need to remain awake to keep watch after his clan’s genocide, he thought with a bitter clench of his fists so harshly into his palms that they bled. But, maybe, the boy’s offer wasn’t so terrible. He didn’t need sleep on a biological level, yet maybe it was psychological reasons he needed rest. To recoup his mind before it collapsed into a wildfire of rage.
“Fine. But first,” he stated as he made a single hand seal as a Shadow Clone manifested and strode away, exiting into the woodland to begin a wider watch. “That one will keep watch. I doubt you’re too tired to be keenly alert, but my clone can be. Perhaps you’ll sleep, too, boy.”
hana-akari:
The man’s ramblings were of little concern to her at the moment. She was still trying to piece together how she got here. She remembers a delivery mission and then… The scrolls! She reached for her pouch and found that they were gone. The attack must have knocked them out of her bag. But that didn’t explain how she ended up in the memories of the scrolls. Just her luck they had to be about Madara. That explains the flash backs, and the war, and now this. Was this an illusion or was she really thrown back in time.
Sakura came back from her thoughts at the end of his little rant. The guy really likes the sound of his own voice, huh? “I’m a medic, not a spy.” Not that he would believe her.
Her eyes widened as the seal was slapped on her, in an auto response, she grabbed the man’s wrist in a crushing grasp making him cry out before throwing him away from her like he weighed nothing at all. Her eyes narrowed at Madara, in a silent way telling him that her strength did not come from her chakra.
“I will come with you, I would suggest you get that man a medic too. I broke some bones.” She replied so casually, “My name is Sakura, not woman, I was under the impression Uchiha knew respect.” She was giving herself up, sure, but not submitting. He’ll soon learn she was someone not to be messed with either.
She just gestured to them to take her away. She’ll play along for now until she understands what brought her here and why.
Whoever this woman was, Madara didn’t doubt for a second that she’d be trouble. It was seldom that spies ever got in their borders as far as she had, and those that attempted were usually caught it traps or dispatched before they could be a nuisance. This one--this Sakura, if that was really her name--had done the impossible on a stroke of dumb luck. What she wasn’t, for sure, was a convincing actress. For someone who’d gotten as far as she had, she was a bumbling idiot, to put it mildly.
Yet, it was the vice on his wrist that caused the Uchiha to react viscerally as he twisted his body in such a way that the woman’s arm was wrenched behind her back and he slammed his heel into her spine, smothering the kunoichi into the dirt. He yanked on her twisted arm painfully, intending it to hurt.
“Test my patience again and I’ll break your fucking spine, is that clear?” he snarled malevolently, intent on being heard. Taking his sole from Sakura’s back and throwing aside her arm, he jerked his head towards the few of his guardsmen that had followed to chain her wrists in fetters, enough to prevent further action.
Nothing more was said as they began their march into Uchinada, the sentinels that manned the outer and inner walls peering at the new, pink-haired arrival curiously but understanding what it meant: a trespasser, an interloper who didn’t belong. One whose mind would be erased and sent along in a genjutsu-fueled fugue state, as they were wont.
That time, though? It was different. This woman had Mito’s Byakugo and claimed to be a medic, which either bode well or ill... A conundrum that would be solved upon a proper interrogation.
lunaferrous:
Peace. Before this, she felt that it was something foreign and unattainable. Something that didn’t and would never co-align with her way of life, to a war dog treading the same beaten path over and over again. She was a cold-hearted cynic, someone who didn’t put her faith needlessly in others when they were either just going to die or she knew that she had to leave her trappings behind. Faith as a demon, or even in the life she had before, was not something that came easy to her. For the longest time, she thought she was incapable of it, of finding comfort, much less putting her trust in another person who wasn’t set to vanish on her the moment she turned her back on them. Even in her wildest dreams, she never would have imagined things to have turned out this way, after she was sent on the military equivalent of a wild goose chase halfway across the world, only to wash up on the wrong shore and ingratiate herself as a staple of his court.
She was still intent on surviving, and for a while she thought the importance of her mission was the only thing that kept her going, that kept her sane. But after many long, sleepless nights, happening upon one another or seeking each other out inside the castle walls, she realized that in spite of appearances, in spite of being on opposite sides of a cultural divide, they were remarkably similar. Similar in ways that helped them to understand one another, the bitter pain of loneliness, haunting apparitions from their pasts that never gave them peace… not when they had to carry them on their own. For him, it had been when the Senju clan launched an unprecedented attack and ransacked their shores, staining the sands red with blood, down to the last woman and child they could find. For her, it had been an uncle who sabotaged them from within, a brother who turned to violence even for all the times she tried saving him from himself, before he burned himself out like a neutron star. Even then, even for all of her efforts, he still hated her for it. She hated that she felt like she had to turn her back on family, but he had given her no other choice. She had to save herself before she burned up along with him.
She had never told anyone that story before, not even once. But as days bled into weeks, of just the two of them carrying long, drawn-out conversations about anything and everything, from him teaching her their written language and how to properly dictate with a brush, to her regaling him with tales about faraway lands, about subarctic forests that were covered in ice and snow year round to glaciers carving through hidden valleys and giving way to rivers during the coming of spring… the more she came to realize she didn’t want to be parted from him. She may have had her doubts, she may have felt torn between her newfound love and her sense of duty. She may have felt confused, scared, wondering what would become of him if she left without so much as a parting word. How it would destroy him after everything they had been through. She couldn’t bear to put him through that, when he had finally given her something to believe in, somewhere she could lay down roots and put her troubles aside. Well, a warlord was never without his share of troubles, the blood on his hands was forever a constant, but she could help defend the life that they had built, tooth and nail if need be.
He had restored her faith, just by proving to be kindred spirits, brought together by the will of the ocean tides. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she drew her in, threading her fingers from the top of his scalp down through his hair. That monstrous mane of his that crackled with static electricity, an effect of the magicks he had absorbed from the God Tree all those years ago, long before her time. Not that it deterred her in the least, giggling as he nestled into her neck and she held onto him even tighter, him hitting a rather ticklish spot that always seemed to get her, whether she was on guard for his boyish antics or not.
“Careful, love. People might start to get the wrong impression.” A joke as light-hearted as any, squeezing him back one more time before pulling away, hoping that a lovelorn smile from her would help lift his spirits, and in turn the morale of his men as they continued up the path. Beams of sunlight were interspersed throughout the trees, shining down from the canopy overhead as she walked by his side, listening to him intently with her eyes drifting between him and the road winding up the side of the mountain.
“I can’t say I haven’t thought about it.” She paused, clenching her jaw before slowly and steadily releasing her breath, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. For as much as she didn’t want him to linger on it on the journey home, the course of change was inevitable. The world was changing all around them, and if the wheels of progress hadn’t started to turn then fate never would have brought her here. There were even enemy combatants that still managed to moor off their shores, most of them smaller vessels that could have more easily slipped past their front lines or disguised themselves as tradesmen sailing to and from the continent. She had rallied their standing militia and rained hellfire down upon them from the castle gates before they even came close to breaching it, setting herself up with her rifle in the highest watchtower and picking them off one by one, perfectly lining up every shot with not a single bullet wasted.
She didn’t have any complaints or regrets about not joining him on the battlefield. Not when the battlefield was encroaching more and more on their territory, threatening their semblance of peace day by day.
“Everything feels like it’s opening up at the risk of destroying something else. The humans are slowly replacing their gods with iron and steel. They think industry will give way to a better and brighter future for everyone, yet they still fight over resources, trade routes… anything that so much as looks like a rock in the middle of the road and could jeopardize their progress. They get upset, work themselves up for a while, then forget or die before they can finish. The sad thing is, there’s so goddamn many of them that there’s always someone to pick up where they left off.”
Feeling Shiemi’s eyes on her while no doubt trying to keep up with what her mother was saying, she lifted her up into her arms before she tired herself out on the long road ahead, the warmth of the setting sun at her back and basking her head and shoulders in a fiery glow.
“Hopefully, change doesn’t have to mean that we’ve been conquered as a people. Change can come in many forms… but assimilation like they want it from the West is just erasure. That’s what worries me. I don’t want Shiemi to lose her inheritance, to lose sight of her identity just to be swallowed by a world that will forget what any of it means. That will just see it as unimportant. I don’t think keeping them at bay will hold forever. But we shouldn’t have to bend to the whims of madmen in doing so.”
If there was an important lesson that his wife had taught him, it was that not all things new and foreign were necessarily going to be the key to their destruction, that the last vestiges of a bygone era couldn’t welcome someone new who could look at it with as much love as Madara did. As much as he wished to keep fighting, he wondered how long it would be until the colonizing powers of the mainland set their sights south and decided that old superstitions weren’t enough to keep them away. Unlike the properly worshiped kami within Shintoism and other animistic faiths, yokai didn’t necessarily need the belief of the faithful to keep existing, but he wondered how true that would remain to be. Of how long they could defend their shores with tooth and claw, bow and arrow before they sought to respond with war machines that far outperformed the capabilities they could muster against what was a tamable threat. If he could, he would find some greater god and wish that they could preserve their island in the past, unseen and unremarked, while the world turned and changed on the ever-revolving wheel of time.
“I’m... starting to wonder if keeping on fighting as we have isn’t as wise as I wish it was,” Madara confessed to her, a breed of vulnerability only his wife and child were permitted to witness. “Where the humans are with their inventions and machines is a level we can deal with, but I fear that won’t be the case for all eternity. Blasphemous as it may sound, I’m wondering if Nanzan shouldn’t open our borders to other yokai and do away with antiquity we’ve clung so fiercely to. Undoubtedly, having outsiders come and colonize our lands would be a horrible thing, but I wonder if we can’t accept it on our terms. We’ve already accepted some grains of it, thanks to a certain crossroads demon.”
He smirked wryly towards his wife, of this beautiful woman who saved him from years of isolation and loneliness, who was responsible for opening his heart and mind to the world outside and made him consider such an insane idea in the first place. Of course, he doubted it would see him want to drastically change, but his people were adaptable. They had accepted a stranger in their midst, and while there were still some rough spots that needed to be smoothed, they were being combed through and dealt with bit by bit. And if someone as stubborn as Madara could accept a gaijin, why not opening themselves more? Why remain isolated and at the mercy of the world that would overtake them soon enough and overwhelm them? Madara had begun seeing glimpses of the advances they were making, of the machines they were producing and couldn’t help but feel an ineffable dread and what might invade their shores if they weren’t prepared. For however powerful they were, there would come a time when magick wouldn’t be enough. When Shiemi might have to take his place as the crown princess of Nanzan and perhaps not with the same exact kind of powers her parents possessed. While Luna was undoubtedly powerful and a true threat in her own right, and Madara possessed his infernal repertoire, there would come a time when it wouldn’t be enough.
As they finally trekked through the palace gates to the welcoming fanfare of of the palace attendants that had remained behind to defend and maintain the palace grounds, as Madara inclined his head in acknowledgment of their zeal, it couldn’t help but land somewhat hollowly on his psyche. He’d failed them once before, and many of those present had once been Uchiha themselves or subjects that had depended on him for protection that he’d failed to afford them. People who still remembered their deaths, of the Senju’s butchery that had seen them maimed and killed in ways that still haunted him to remember. Of their screams rising in a hellish crescendo when he’d been praying fervently under the boughs of the God Tree, begging for it to grant him succor while those same screams were drowned by the crackle of flames as Nanzan had burned. The Uchiha’s brow furrowed as the bloom of roots beneath his tunic throbbed from the memory of his transformation that had taken all night, and by then, it had been too late. The Senju had succeeded in butchering all but him, and the power he could’ve utilized to protect them came hours too late.
Never again. Madara would be damned before he allowed that to happen, let alone to his precious family that had been built from nothing, of a new generation of Uchiha that had been a hard-won victory for them both. Shiemi’s birth even more so considering how Luna had thought she’d been barren at the time of their meeting, unable to conceive that she’d one day have a child by the man who kept her hostage due to his high walls that rejected the notion that they’d ever be able to meet halfway and get along, let alone be anything for him except a well of intelligence for him to exploit to his own ends against the West’s advances that encroached more and more upon their shores. Now, it was entirely too different. They were soulmates in the truest sense of the word, and had a daughter that only cemented that bond.
As they retired to their chambers so that he might disrobe from his armor and bathe before rejoining his family, his thoughts followed them into the bathing room. Attendants worked carefully to remove the plates and segments, sighing in internal relief as the cumbersome armor was removed and taken away for repairs and cleaning, which left Madara alone as he made way towards the bath that had been prepared in the interim and into the then lonesome bathroom where he changed out of his soiled clothing and scrubbed himself clean before entering the waist-high tub for him to soak for several minutes, the grim of several weeks in the field finally washed away and he finally felt like himself again.
Once he changed back into the clean garments lain out for him feeling much more refreshed, he joined them within where a meal had been prepared for them in the banquet hall, sighing at what would promise to be a feast after weeks in the wilderness contenting himself with game and the spirits of errant yokai who wandered in his path, happy to have something a little more closer to comfort.
“Do you think that’s what they would ultimately want?” Madara continued once they were properly seated, raising a dish of sake to his lips consideringly, glancing sidelong at his wife. Little Shiemi obliviously played with her chopsticks, pouting into the miso soup he knew wasn’t exactly her favorite. “I’ve heard rumors of what they’ve done to their own countries in the West, how they destroy their air with pollution and subjugate the people under the heels of wealthy madmen hellbent on doing nothing except maximizing profits no matter the cost. Not that I’d care much what happens to that filth, but I hardly want the same thing for Nanzan. Hah, could you imagine it? Yokai, serving under the yoke of some greedy bastard! That’s hardly a way for anyone to live, let alone wealth. But, perhaps the stores of wealth the Senju never found might be the key to our security. Maybe we could buy our way to prosperity.”
It was an odd thing to muse over, but a consideration that would have to be made. The teals of silver that existed in caches littered throughout the kingdom bore inestimable wealth, enough to be a strong foundation upon which his conspiracies could advance. Smiling into his sake, he already saw a road in sight they could take. A highroad that would be safe from the cataclysmic floods to come.
hana-akari:
Her breathing was so labored, heart hammering in her chest. Not from fear, no, excitement. It has been far too long since she went against someone that could best her. It was thrilling. Sakura never expected this to be taken so far. A spar turning into an animalistic dance of dominance. The area around them destroy. Blood splatter against the ground and all over them. Her body throbbed from the numerous wounds he inflicted on her body. All still freely blooding. Her bloodied, torn top was only hanging on by mere threads. Threating to expose her chest to the night. It felt as if he did that blow purposely to trip her up. But she was not one to stop and became a blushing school girl over some exposed skin. Modesty was the last thing on her mind during a battle. Prue, yes, but far from weak.
Her hands flexed, fingernailed caked in his blood from the many scratches she inflicted on him before he got her down. She was pleased by the red lines she created down the demon’s pretty face. Goose bumps rose up on her skin as his tongue trailed her neck. It never once left her mind that he could easily kill her now. It made her so excited and aroused. Perhaps she wasn’t as innocent as she thought. This felt like the very thing she’s been missing this whole time. Someone that could best her. Overpower her dominance. Her bright green eyes never broke eye contact with his. Like a last act of defiance. Sakura knew she was beat but took pride in the fact that he had to work for it.
Her lips twitched upward in almost a playful smirk, he may have her hands but not her legs. Hooking a leg around him, she forced him down so she could press herself against his arousal. A pleased sound rumbled in her chest as she grinded on him. Leaning upward, she forced her blood stained lips against his, biting down on his bottom lip,
“I submit.” Sakura muttered, licking some blood from his lips, “You have bested me, Madara-sama.” There was a silent ‘for now’ in her tone, “You may claim your price. I’ll let you pluck the cherry from me, so to speak.” There was still a dangerous look to her. The moment he freed her wrists, she would be tearing into him once more.
“Liar. You’re a goddamn liar, Haruno.” And he loved every second of it. Normally, Madara was one who vastly preferred the company of other men, but Sakura--like the tree she was named for--was a rare exception to that rule. A beast and a beauty rolled into one, chaotic form he couldn’t get enough of. Madara growled pleasurably when the kunoichi took some iota of pleasure for herself, face diving towards her swanlike neck as he bit harshly upon that bruised and hickeyed skin, abusing flesh already subjected to the fierce passion he was capable of exacting. Anyone else would’ve crumpled under the force of his desire, rendered to some mewling bitch while Sakura lied through her teeth. Oh, he was no stranger to the appeal of being ravaged by someone stronger, but it was vastly more arousing when someone could keep pace and then act like a sexy little minx instead of succumbing to the sort of pleasure he could afford.
“You, submit? Tell me something more rational, like pigs flying or some shit like that,” he chuckled breathlessly, the Uchiha hitching her thighs around his waist, bearing Sakura against the trunk of a tree splintered halfway down its trunk, one of the aftermaths of their savage spars. He could only imagine how pissed Izuna would be to see the destroyed tracts of lands, berating his brother for only thinking with his cock, which then and there wasn’t untrue... but his darling little brother would also be a shit-faced little liar if he could blame his brother’s almost violent attraction to a woman as warlike and destructive as he was, as if a tsunami and a hurricane decided to fuck over the ocean somewhere. Laving his tongue up Sakura’s throat, he finished the business her top had begun and tore what scanty remains of the fabric existed, the red-blooded half of him unbearably aroused by the body beneath.
Without much ceremony did he suddenly drop her to instead plunge towards her collar and lower, running his tongue along the kunoichi’s collarbone and lower across her chest, coming to weight of her breasts his eyes dilated to see, practically enchanted as he pressed lustful kisses around their rounded shape, tongue and teeth marking the softest part of her body short of her ass he groped with aplomb, keeping her close against his aching arousal that yearned to feel all of her against him.
Between the valley of her breasts did he descend, down her navel, until the scent of her own arousal bit him and he growled with need, tearing through what remained of her shorts until her womanhood was exposed to the open air, descending past her pelvis before he manipulated Sakura’s thighs over his shoulders, allowed her to steady, before diving in to pleasure her sex with those same instruments that now branded her body beyond recognition.
"Fuck. You feel so good." For luner ofc—
smut prompts | accepting.
Hips buckling up against him, straddling him as she had him pinned on the floor beneath her, she pulled him upright and held him flush against her willowy frame, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame. Skin bare and feverishly hot, brow slick with perspiration, she cradled the back of his neck, no less forcing as she was guiding him to look up at her, feeling his hands running up along her thighs and gripping her hard by the waist, pulling her down onto him with the same fervor, with all the insatiable lust and wanting of a man starved.
How long had it been? Weeks… Months? Since she last saw white sails crest over the horizon and saw her husband safely returned from the warfront? Since she was able to welcome him with open arms and escort him and his men through the castle gates? Even if the castle gates and outer walls were still under extensive repairs from recent failed attempts at a siege, handily thwarted by their standing militia, and the lord’s wife jumping into the fray by holding her position in the highest watchtower, wielding her patented rifle and sending one bullet after another through the heads of the opposition, in aptly timed and rapid fire succession, aimed at anyone unfortunate enough to enter her line of sight. Their victory, together with the lord’s return home to the heart of their stronghold, was more than enough just cause for a celebration. Drinking, feasting, wearing their finest ceremonial robes after causing a mighty uproar and a ruckus in the baths, but in spite of her stalwart and upstanding nature, she didn’t seem to mind the lack of decorum. Seated at her lord husband’s side, she wore the same blue kimono she had been allowed then as a courtesy, a formality at best, on the first night she found herself moored as a cast away on their shores, with golden flowers set aloft in her hair, cascading down in waves. Her smile seemed brighter, more deeply profound yet every bit as proud and noble as she set out to be.
Grace and decorum that was quickly swept under the rug once the festivities died down, and the lord and his wife retired to their chambers.
The wooden panels closed, and between the wanton amount of drinking and the distance they had been apart, even going as far as allowing herself to indulge in sake and forgoing her limits, her lips still tasted like spirits as they tore through their clothes. Sliding her arms out of her kimono sleeves, it seemed that neither of them had the patience to make it over to the futon, wrapped up in each other as they stumbled into a tangled mess onto the floor… no doubt tipping off the guards standing watch outside the door to what was happening.
Now, as the rest of the world melted away, she only had eyes for her husband. Darling, vile, damned… her sweet prince, her hellion. As he breathed huskily against her ear, cursing, bathed in the rapture that was her, cutting his teeth and dragging them over her neck, she relaxed into it, holding the back of his head even tighter and closer to her. Digging her fingers into his mane, brushing her thumb over the ashen scales that grew across his cheek, the same as those on his hands and arms, black, branded, that adamantly refused to let her go, to be parted from her.
As if he would ever be rid of her that easily. Him, his presence, his voice, even that familiar scent of dry earth and crisp, fallen leaves like autumn wind. They were a balm, to cure the dull ache that was the distance they had been forced to be apart. They were a preamble of things to come, knowing that his sexual appetite, his proclivities, would not be satisfied in so delicate a manner.
She just wanted to take him in, fully, deeply, to memorize his face, all the finer details that she alone was privy to.
“... I missed you.” She breathed in, shallow and rasping, rolling her hips into him in slow rhythm. “I’ve missed you… I’ve missed you terribly.”
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Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems; “Pursuit”