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@annienne
21+ | RP blog | Indie | Novella | Multi-Para | English | Multimuse | Semi-selective
Muses from Naruto, featuring Senju Tobirama.
Rules | Muses
— penned by Annie. (She/Her, 26, GMT+2)
Interact with me through the ask box, DMs, or through whatever you like. I don’t bite. (don't forget to specify muse when sending an ask.)
(I'm using the beta/new editor and XKit Rewritten.)
Est. 2022, remade 2026.
I've been swamped by work and thesis. I will get to writing replies and answering my inbox soon, hopefully by Monday.
You never really had a childhood.
I wonder what the chakra of a someone having a mental breakdown feels/looks like to a sensory ninja. Who will not only pickup on it, but actually that hyper empathy effect where they start to experience it.
Senju Tobirama, the strongest sensor in shinobi history, is unable to tune out the absolute torrential power of Uchiha Madara's frustration, and anger, and grief. Not for lack of skill on either of their parts, they are excellent at stealth and suppression, but for the fact that they are both Too Powerful: Madara is too strong and chaotic , and Tobirama is too sensitive and alert. Neither can disable who they are or their natural abilities. And it is.....affecting him. How to solve this?
@senjuhashirama sent:
📖 (for Tobir.ma)
Senju Tobir.ma was the second son of Senju Butsuma, Senju clan head well known in our district in his own day, and still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which happened thirteen years ago.
Regeneration limit reached
(Feb 2021)
I will get to my inbox tomorrow because I have a few interesting asks waiting to be answered!
For Munday, anonymously ask the mun something you want to know about them, their portrayal, or what they will/won’t write.
Especially if it’s something you’re too shy or afraid to ask off-anon.
(Admin note: If you reblog this from someone, try to send them something, even if it’s just a basic question. The mun will really appreciate it.)
“Ara ara…,” Orochimaru smiled, then he chuckled. “Someone figured it out. And in three days and five hours, no less. It’s impressive~”
He crossed his arms, and leaned his chin on his fist. He tilted his head, smiling as he watched Tobirama wolf that meal down.
“I fear you are correct. Fu fu fu… For obvious reasons, I needed you to draw for yourself the conclusion about Benzaiten and time travel. Spoilers could have caused trouble, wouldn’t you agree?”
Orochimaru walked slightly past Tobirama, and he pulled out a kitchen chair for Tobirama so he could eat while seated. Orochimaru sat down on a kitchen chair himself too.
“My full name is Orochimaru Kou. My name’s suffix indicates I am of a higher birth, but at our first meeting, I withheld my name. I didn’t want to send you running off to accuse the faraway Kou family. Those strangers know nothing of me yet–I doubt I’m even born. So to answer your question, I am about fifty to seventy years into my past, but I can’t calculate it precisely. I’ve only seen you and your equipment, after all. For now, it’s only a guesstimate. Now is my turn.”
Orochimaru ticked his nails onto the kitchen table. Tick tick tick tick. During the past few days, Orochimaru had carefully crafted the his words for a proposal. He spoke calmly.
“Let us be very frank with our expectations about one another: Ku ku ku… I propose we both go our separate ways. We research the jutsu ourselves, in an exhilarating skill race which may or may not start an ugly Timeline War. Alternatively…
"I propose we work together on perfecting the Benzaiten jutsu so I can go back to my own time, after which you will hide it well, so it cannot be used. During this togetherness, let us treat one another with the respect and dignity of a friendly researcher. Ideally, I would like to be your guest. I won’t spoil any discoveries before you make them, but I will help you streamline your thoughts about work.” He glanced down to the plate of rice and beans. “I occasionally could suggest you eat. Sleep. Rest. Not like a mentor, not like an assistant. Like a work colleague.”
“Alternatively… I’ll start a mysteriously indestructible teahouse, and simply wait a handful of decades.”
TOBIRAMA ATE IN SILENCE WHILE OROCHI–MARU SPOKE.
Not because he lacked questions, quite the opposite. His mind was moving too quickly now, piecing together probabilities and consequences with the same ruthless precision he applied to battlefield strategy. Every sentence that left Orochimaru’s mouth confirmed one thing:
This situation was catastrophically real.
Fifty to seventy years.
The number alone was enough to dig something unpleasant inside his chest. Tobirama had expected perhaps a few years ahead at most. A decade, if he stretched imagination to its limit. But decades?
Enough time for history itself to rot and reshape. Enough time for Senju Tobirama to become a dead man. If not in battle then by old age. His expression remained impassive regardless.
He swallowed the mouthful of rice before finally speaking. “You speak very comfortably for a man who infiltrated my laboratory, concealed critical information, and carried my brother’s chakra signature into my home. A matter which I will look into.”
His crimson eyes lifted slowly toward Orochimaru. “And yet you expect me to simply accept your proposals at face value.”
The rhythmic ticking of Orochimaru’s nails against the table scraped against Tobirama’s nerves with precision.The sort of sound meant to fill silence while waiting for a reaction.
Tobirama refused to give him one. Instead, he leaned back slightly into the chair Orochimaru had pulled out for him, the movement subtle but cautious, as though he still expected this entire interaction to turn hostile at any second.
“Your restraint is interesting,” Tobirama admitted after a moment. “If your intentions were malicious, you have already squandered several opportunities.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You are correct about one thing, though,” he said quietly. “This technique cannot be allowed to spread.”
A jutsu like Benzaiten could not exist openly. Human greed alone guaranteed a disaster.
“And if you truly came here to preserve that outcome, then your goals currently align with mine.”
Currently.
“As for your proposals…” His gaze sharpened further.
“The first option is idiotic. If we separate and independently continue researching Benzaiten, then conflict becomes inevitable. Even if neither of us intends hostility, distrust alone would escalate the situation until one of us attempts to eliminate the other preemptively.”
A pause.
“And judging from your survival instincts, I assume you reached the same conclusion before presenting the alternative.”
Tobirama folded his arms loosely. “The second option is more rational.” The admission clearly displeased him. “You assist me in stabilising and understanding the technique. I ensure the knowledge does not survive beyond us. You return to your timeline. The matter ends there.”
If they proceeded with this research together, then his laboratory immediately became a problem.
Tobirama disliked problems.
His lab housed far more than unfinished theories and harmless experiments. Forbidden techniques lined those shelves. Prototype formulas. Sealing arrays. Half-completed jutsu capable of destabilizing entire battlefields if mishandled. Benzaiten alone was already catastrophic enough without placing it beside every other dangerous creation he had yet to fully perfect. And now there was Orochimaru, a man from the future, leaving him unattended near those scrolls would be idiotic.
Tobirama exhaled slowly through his nose before reaching for the plate once more.
He would need another location. A temporary research site stripped of anything truly valuable. Perhaps one of the older outposts near the river valleys, far enough from the clan to avoid attention, yet close enough for Tobirama to return quickly if necessary.
“You may remain here temporarily,” he decided at last. “As a monitored guest.” Heavy emphasis on monitored. “You will answer my questions when necessary. You will not interfere with clan affairs. You will not alter events intentionally. And if I suspect, even once, that you are manipulating circumstances beyond Benzaiten…”
His chakra sharpened subtly in the room. “I will kill you before you become a problem future cannot correct.”
Then Tobirama took another bite of rice as though he had not just calmly discussed murdering a man displaced through time.
“…And if you are going to continue commenting on my eating and sleeping habits,” he added after a beat, voice quieter now, “then you may as well make yourself useful and prepare something less miserable than sealed ration rice.”
Another thought irritated Tobirama. Where exactly was Orochimaru supposed to stay?
Tobirama had spent most of his adult life alone by preference. Solitude was efficient and necessary for uninterrupted work. Even Hashirama’s presence could become exhausting after extended periods, and Hashirama at least possessed the decency to radiate sincerity instead of cryptic amusement.
Orochimaru, however, unsettled the air around him merely by existing.
The idea of sleeping in close proximity to him—
Sharing walls with a man capable of bypassing his barriers, slipping free from restraints, and speaking about the future with that calm, serpent-like cadence...
Tobirama disliked it profoundly. Because part of him would never fully relax. Not while Orochimaru remained nearby. And yet another, far more dangerous part of him was becoming increasingly curious and not merely academically. That was the truly irritating part.
“As for sleeping arrangements…” Tobirama paused, visibly displeased by the subject alone. The hideout was not particularly large.
One bedroom.
One bed.
Tobirama already regretted every possible outcome.
"You know very well I have not improved since you introduced it to me some fifteen years ago." She sets out another white piece at a still unclaimed intersection of fine lines carved into the wood. "You may be good at this game, but you're lousy at teaching it." Kaname truly was not very good at this game, never had been. Her rare wins seemed dependent entirely on lucky and unintentionally brilliant moves, and whenever she focused less on the strategy and more on what felt right at that moment -- though it was not a very reliable or sustainable playstyle.
"So, if it's not something pressing...what is on your mind then?" Brown eyes glance up at Tobirama, hoping to see a flicker of something that would indicate a lie.
TOBIRAMA'S EYES LOWERED BRIEFLY TOWARD THE NEWLY PLACED STONE, studying it with the same sharp scrutiny he afforded battlefields. Then came the soft click of his own black piece settling onto the board beside it.
“You are not entirely hopeless,” he replied evenly. “Your problem is that you play by instinct rather than structure. Sometimes that makes you unpredictable.” A pause. “Most times it simply makes you reckless.”
Though the criticism lacked bite, there was familiar dry amusement hidden beneath it. Tobirama had never been skilled at praise in its gentler forms.
Brown eyes searched him carefully, too perceptive for comfort. Tobirama knew that look well; she had inherited the Senju habit of prying beneath silence.
“The Kazekage arrives within the week,” he said at last. “And I dislike meetings that require both diplomacy and preparation for betrayal.”
Honest enough to satisfy her, though not enough to burden her fully.
“The future has become…” His voice lowered slightly, thoughtful. “Fragile. Your father believed peace would naturally take root if given enough kindness. I am less convinced.”
Only then did his crimson eyes lift to meet hers directly.
“And before you ask,” Tobirama added dryly, already anticipating her concern, “no.”
With all due respect, Nescafe Gold fucking sucks.
Orochimaru knew that look on Tobirama’s face. He recognised a version of himself, who stood after days of not sleeping but researching. The fatigue was familiar. However, he was struck by Tobirama’s youth. He was a legend, a phenomenon, but human. Orochimaru was past his fifties and essentially immortal, whereas the real Tobirama still had the youth and his needs for meals, for sleep, for answers.
It’s almost… cute.
Orochimaru put one hand onto the ground and stood up. He went to Tobirama, and took up the rice-beans bowl. While his right hand warmed up the meal with remarkable speed, his dominant hand took rice and beans on the spoon. He held out the spoon to Tobirama’s mouth.
“You first,” he said, “Demonstrate to me, that this meal is not pre-poisoned. Eat slowly.” He longed to see the great White Wolf of the Senju eat from the palm of his hand.
TOBIRAMA HAD NOT EXPECTED THIS.
The man had kept him perpetually on edge from the very moment he appeared. First, he infiltrated Tobirama’s laboratory, a feat bordering on impossible. Then he broke free from restraints that should have held him. He spoke as though he knew Tobirama personally, or at the very least knew of him. And now...
...now he was trying to feed him.
“I can feed myself,” he said flatly, plucking the utensil cleanly from Orochi’s grasp. The action itself was smooth, but his eyes never left the other man’s face. Tobirama had already learned that Orochi concealed too much behind those unreadable expressions and unsettling smiles.
The more Tobirama observed him, the more convinced he became that the serpent-man enjoyed watching people attempt to unravel him.
“Pre-poisoned sealed meals hidden inside a remote safehouse,” Tobirama mused aloud as he examined the food briefly. “Messed up. Worrisome, even.”
“You are not from here,” Tobirama began at last. His tone remained calm, clinical, though his mind moved rapidly beneath the surface. “And I do not mean geographically. You came here through Benzaiten.” His gaze lowered briefly toward the spoonful of rice and beans before continuing.
“And you came through time.”
The words sounded absurd spoken aloud, yet the certainty behind them settled heavily in the room. “The only remaining question,” Tobirama continued evenly, “is how far into the future you came from.”
Tobirama did not expect an answer. Without another word, he ate the spoonful of rice before taking the entire plate directly from Orochi’s hands.
Manners could rot. He was starving.
THE VILLAGE SLEPT BENEATH A VEIL OF AMBER LANTERNLIGHT, soft and deceptively peaceful, as though the earth itself had finally grown tired of bloodshed. Konoha stood tall now, no longer the fever dream of two exhausted boys grasping at impossible peace with bloodied hands. Its walls had risen from the bones of war, from old hatred and older grief, and every stone within it seemed to hum with the ghosts of what had been sacrificed to build it. Yet even paradise rotted at the roots.
Tobirama stood alone atop the Hokage Monument’s unfinished scaffolding, pale hair shifting like spilled moonlight beneath the restless wind. Below him, the village breathed in slow rhythm; distant laughter drifted from open windows, children still awake past their bedtimes, merchants closing their stalls for the evening. The sound should have brought satisfaction. Pride, perhaps.
Instead, it hollowed him out.
His gaze lingered upon the Uchiha compound far longer than necessary. A mistake...always a mistake.
The Senju exhaled slowly through his nose, sharp eyes narrowing at the treeline beyond the village walls. How many times had he hunted through those woods with steel in hand and death gnawing at his heels?
Then a presence he had come to know intimately in the battlefield. When red eyes had met his amidst blackened soil with rain and blood. A presence he should ignore, and then maybe—maybe he would be finally free.
“If you had come to start another argument about policies, save it for Hashirama tomorrow.”
The war had never truly ended, it had merely changed shape.
closed started for @hatredcurse
@heroicgenerations sent:
🥃 + How did you feel when Naruto used your hat to... cover himself? / for Juvia! :D
JUVIA FROZE MID-REACH FOR HER DRINK. The question hit her like a bucket of cold water straight to the face.
“W-when Naruto-san used Juvia’s hat to cover himself…?” Her entire face flushed scarlet almost instantly, hands flying to her cheeks.
Juvia’s eyes darted toward the ceiling as if salvation might descend from above. “Juvia thought she was going to evaporate on the spot…” she admitted weakly. “It was Juvia’s favorite hat too…”
A pause.
“…But Juvia also could not stop thinking about the fact that Naruto-san chose Juvia’s hat specifically.”
@uchihacollector sent:
Meme: drink or answer! "Tobirama, what is your opinion on Uchiha Hikaku?"
TOBIRAMA’S FINGERS CURLED LIGHTLY AROUND HIS GLASS. Out of all the names that could have been thrown into the circle, that one earned the smallest shift in his expression, brief enough to miss if one was not watching carefully.
Uchiha Hikaku.
A capable shinobi. Hikaku lacked Madara’s overwhelming presence or Izuna’s sharpened cruelty, but that almost made him worse. He had not known much about him except for the fact that Madara had made him his first advisor after becoming clan head.
Tobirama could respect that, which was precisely the problem.
His gaze lowered to the drink sitting patiently before him. The silence stretched just a second too long before he picked up the shot and swallowed it cleanly. Because admitting respect for an Uchiha aloud always seemed to become something far more complicated once spoken.
@woodblxssomcrowned sent:
🥃 Tell me about a lie you once told, that you came to regret
TOBIRAMA STARED DOWN AT THE SHOT GLASS, the clear liquid inside it deceptively innocent beneath the dim light.
The question lingered heavier than it should have. Regret was not a foreign thing to him. It clung to war like blood to steel, buried itself beneath every choice made for the sake of survival. He could name dozens if he wished.
But his mind returned, inevitably, to that fateful battle. To Uchiha Izuna collapsing beneath his blade. And worse still, to the look in Madara’s eyes afterward, when Tobirama had told him he would do it again.
Maybe that was the lie. Maybe he had regretted it from the very moment the words left his mouth.
Silently, Tobirama reached for the glass and downed the shot in one swallow.
Some truths were meant to follow a man into the grave.
