"No man chooses evil because he is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."
Rules | Muses — written by Nik

#extradirty

izzy's playlists!
🪼
Peter Solarz
styofa doing anything
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Cosimo Galluzzi

if i look back, i am lost

roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
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Show & Tell
Xuebing Du

titsay

ellievsbear
Sweet Seals For You, Always

Product Placement

oozey mess
sheepfilms

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from Switzerland

seen from Pakistan

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from Poland

seen from Italy
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany

seen from United States
@hatredcurse
"No man chooses evil because he is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."
Rules | Muses — written by Nik
knowing your writing partner can potentially make writing together a lot easier !
THE BASICS
Name : Nik Pronouns : She/they (or, any really, I do not care) Sexuality : Lesbian Taken or single : Single
THREE FACTS
I'm an artist on the side — my primary job is an engineer.
I almost committed to a life in a convent. (No, I am not religious).
I used to be in a cosplay idol group.
EXPERIENCE
How long? (months/years) :
At least 13-14 years now.
Platforms you've used :
RPGuild, various chatrooms/forums, Sky.pe, Tum.blr, Disc.ord, etc.
Best experience :
I've been roleplaying for a long time and find it unfair to decide on any one experience among the many that have passed through my hands. I will say I do treasure all that have evolved more than RP partners and have become close friends of mine.
MUSE PREFERENCES
Female or Male :
No preference between genders. I have plenty of genderless and intersex muses across fandoms to boot.
Fluff, Angst, or Smut :
I am not actually good at writing romance too well. At least, not to a standard I consider intimate and readable ( ? ). I can write all three, I am better at angst, and my smut is passable. I wouldn't expect too much substance with my fluff.
Plots or Meme :
I can roleplay on the fly/off memes without any plotting beforehand, however I am accommodating to those who prefer direction with dynamics and scenarios.
Long or Short Replies :
Both are fine. I tend to prefer novella length as I enjoy inserting setting along with monologue into my text, but I will usually match my partner as I do not want to cause burn out / have people turn away because they find it difficult to reply to me.
Best Time To Write :
I can write whenever. Sometimes I write at work whenever I need a mental break, but more often I usually write around 1-4AM.
Are You Like Your Muse(s) :
I don't know. My demeanor can be traced in Sasu.ke or Tobi.rama, I suppose, but I think that is a product of me getting older and tired, lmao. All muses are treated as plot devices, I seldom insert any relatability between me or them.
TAG'DTH
Tagged By : @multlfarlous (Thank you) Tagging: You, if you want it.
Hello. I've have minor surgery yesterday (along with dealing with the cause of it for the last week or so) and I'm still in recovery for that. That is to say, my replies will still be a slow crawl, but I will try to get to all known active drafts. If you'd like to plot or discuss anything, you're welcome to my DMs.
Each trip to the Leaf was longer than the last. Effort, on their part—to soften the ties. Suna had little in the way of creature comforts to offer anyone from the Leaf, at least for now. This last visit was used, in part, to discuss importing a new water supply between the villages: underground pipes and other such things Baki had no real understanding of. Sunagakure was full of bricklayers, though. They could easily build whatever was needed. Overseeing it would be his job, until Gaara came of age and took over the role of Kage—but that was still some years away.
ᯤ ☼ NINJA ID : @hatredcurse ᵎ ⤷ starter call !!
Something Baki was quietly grateful for: these few years in-between, where Gaara might be allowed some semblance of normalcy, before the weight of the title settled fully onto his shoulders.
Before taking his proper leave of the village, he found himself drawn back to the headstone for those fallen in the failed invasion. Call it sympathy.
[ Call it guilt. ]
This time, however, the stone was already listening to other prayers. A young woman—one Baki didn’t recognize. Then again, many faces in this village blurred together.
“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Silence gathered at her heels; the passing whispers of the tumultuous world seem to slip by. Each passing moment was another memory away from the travesty. Yugao did not need to linger here, for ghosts did not lumber around awaiting for her facsimile presence. None, no one, to greet her warmly as she stood at the bay of Styx, waiting for warm smiles to bring her home.
For a time, she was distracted in a current of useless thought before a subtle, rocky flare of chakra sifts into the sand between them. She didn't lift her head, choosing to remain bowed before methodical engravings, preferring their company to a stranger's.
" You are forgiven. " For a woman of visible strength, her sibilant, youthful voice betrays her. All soldiers were so young after all, who's to say where she lived on the timeline of requirements.
Another leave-rattling breeze wishes between them, insisting Yugao turn from her mourning to address whoever seem to linger. It would be a proper thing to do, the dead whispered in a twirl around her.
" Suna, " she took in the details with a passing glance," you're with the envoy, aren't you? "
With some irony, for the ~5 years I've had this blog, I haven't had a main Naruto for Sasuke to interact much with.
Sasuke is a hover somewhere behind Neji, stalking in all the unusual ways he ought to. He makes no grand entrance; slipping in silent as a deadly, greedy cold, furling up the flank of its victim from heel to heart. Even his breath plumes the air with frost when he speaks near a shoulder.
“ This is not a tradition I’m familiar with, “ he said before he brushed forward to properly face Neji. In the facet of his red eyes is a rich emotion coalesced with so many that the only resulting display could be described as a muted eros.
A breath before all-too-warm lips press upon the Hyuuga’s, seeking affection with a hunger, and trapping the unfortunate prey to his desire. Sasuke could stand to be more gentle, but he is not; he’s never learned how even if his shoulders quivered with some semblance of restraint.
~X~——; He was aware the other was there. No matter how hard Sasuke tried to stay hidden, Neji was always aware. He was always hyperaware of who was around him. A nasty habit he had picked up since being brought back. He couldn't risk the wrong person finding out that he was still around after all.
He tilted his head to one side, unaware of just what Sasuke was rattling on about. As far as Neji knew it was just another Saturday. Or at least he assumed it was Saturday. He wasn't the best about keeping up with the week anymore. Not unless it was needed.
Neji studied him, watching every small movement Sasuke took. Curious what the other was on about.
He froze at the kiss, sure he could have moved out of the way, dogged it. But he hadn't expected that of all things to happen. He was sure there was a joke about the hamster on the wheel that kept his brain rolling had gone flying off the wheel somewhere.
It only took him a moment before he kissed back, uncaring that Sasuke wasn't the most gentle with the kiss, it wasn't like there was anything physically Sasuke could do that would leave lasting damage.
He kissed back with the same level of need and desire Sasuke had tossed at him, before breaking it after a moment laughing softly.
"If this is how I'm treated after every time I take the life of one of those from my clan who's done me wrong, I think I am going to enjoy it even more."
@hatredcurse sent Obito to annoy the Hokage:
Awful and terrible should it be! An accursed holiday, infamous and famous as it were. Obito could not remember the last time he had paid attention to such things. Never could he remember if he cared, or if it ever provided him any value other than being an ache to navigate around. Either way, he will loom near his Hokage’s shoulder as an irritating sentinel. “ Kaa—shi-kun, ” his baritone is ripe with mockery of a sweet lover. Even worse, his rough hands gather the poor exhausted man by the shoulders as a big, wet, adoring kiss is sunk into his cheek. “ Muuaaaaah. ”
Who had the idea of choosing a Hokage by strength, and then chain them to a desk for administrative work?. Kakashi hoped whoever had created that concept (Probably either the Shodaime, or the Niidaime) were condemned to endless administrative work in the afterlife.
To say that Kakashi was burned out by the paperwork in front of him was an understatement. He looked up as Obito called his name, only to be suddenly kissed. Now he was confused.
"What was that for?" has he forgotten what day is it?.
Holidays carried little value to Sasuke. More often than not, he struggles with keeping record with the date whenever he is at leisure, never mind anything beyond that. However, now that he has another living body stationed in his residence, he is mindful of worldly happenings. He was no expert chef nor was he handy with much other than what worth his body carried was a blade. So, what Chitose will find waiting for her is an easel draped with one of Sasuke’s old cloaks next to the door to her room. ( He would never dare enter where he was not invited ).
It was an ornate piece painted by hers truly. It depicts one of the many beautiful shrines towards the Uzushio border, long abandoned by any masterful shrine attendants, but seemingly frozen in time. The light slants over the beastial statues bordering the entry outside with the host shrouded in the shadows of green canopies. Sasuke created a colorful masterpiece with such a rich saturation to place photographs to shame.
There is also a note tucked away in the corner:
“ For whatever it’s worth. Thank you. ”
Sasuke could go anywhere he wished (it was, after all, his house), but Chitose still found it touching that he respected her privacy. And the fact that he thought of her enough to leave a gift for the occasion was nearly enough to bring her to tears.
The beauty of the painting—meticulously detailed yet also brighter than life, as only the perfect memory and skillful hand of an Uchiha could capture—actually did. It tugged at some part of her mind and heart that she couldn’t quite identify, like a half-remembered lullaby.
She would have to find a frame for it: something simple so as not to detract from the art itself. And she would hang it in a place of honor in her room.
As for the note, it went in her treasure-box: an old cardboard shoebox filled with sentimental knick-knacks. Most people outgrow such habits by their teenage years, but Chitose still kept hers into adulthood.
It was surely inappropriate to approach Sakura like this — or at all. Sasuke hadn’t earned his forgiveness in his own eyes, and more so, he has done nothing to earn her affections. Yet, he imposes on her time and her attention with this small ask.
His leather-clad fingers tail down the length of her spine, inspecting all the fine details of her outfit and feeling the strength of her body hidden beneath the cloth. Sasuke admires her as he has done many times before, with a facsimile sense of reverence for her tenacity underlining it all. He dares not to proceed beyond this.
“ I am lousy at gifts, “ he freely confesses, likely with no surprise.
His attempt at a gift was in the form of a small canvas layered in gobs and strokes of acrylic paint; a mosaic amalgamating into a beguiling capture of sakura branches swaying above the clear pools near a Buddhist temple — painted by none other than he.
found herself with @hatredcurse
. ———— мѕнαяυησ
⌠⦾⌡—— She really hadn't thought much about the invite to spend time with him, long used to tempering down the childish whimsical thoughts from her younger years - ( even if still there time had made a quiet rift that she held more to herself ) - regardless of dates or holidays - he'd come give her his time when he was ready. She wasn't the little girl waiting for his return with anxiety and anticipation, but she did wait for him to come back - it might not be home to him, but she wanted him to always feel like it was a choice all the same.
So when she'd been lead to a stop of canvas - her fern eyes curiously distracted at first by the colours, the name sake flowers dotted through its image - and a breath that caught in her throat not just due to the image but by the sudden awareness of his hand to her back in a gesture that some how felt soft.. Fern eyes glancing back to the taller man at her side, internally holding the beat of warmth in her chest with inner hands willing it to not burst with those childish notions as ever - but it spills as do the petals on the image at his small utterance of words.
She can't help the rising grin of the corners of her mouth - hoping her face isn't flushed too terribly by the overwhelming joy such a small gesture created.
❝ If it's a gift I do not consider it lousy - double as much if it's from you you know? It's beautiful! -- I'd normally ask where you got it but - if it's a gift maybe I shouldn't? Now I feel bad I don't have something to give you though! You could have told me! ❞ The joy on her face shifts with the inner childlikeness of a playful tantrum that she still exhibits now and then, trying her best not to be so self conscious of the way he's still held to her and realising how much she hadn't moved away.. Feeling more like she'd leaned almost into the hand it seemed as she gazed up to him now with wide curious eyes and the obvious gleam. ❝ Can I cheat and ask you what you'd like? Even though you did it on your own? Is that too unfair of me? ❞
Hikaku, of all people, would sooner argue that part of Lord Hashirama’s gift was Madara in presentation. He, the Clan lord, beloved by all, was wrapped up in a delicate arrangement of brocade and satin robes, pantomiming the rich burnish palette of a phoenix. Pinned together with silver, capturing all the light as he passed through the open yard, what truly was reserved for him was neither Madara nor his undivided attention, rather what was seated in his palms.
His greeting was warm, gentle mid-tone whenever Hashirama should answer the door,” good afternoon, old friend.”
Quickly, before the other had a chance to speak, the Uchiha Lord passes a long thin object towards him: a heavy thing wrapped in speckled white-and-black beast belt and tied off with a leather string tailed with black feathers. It was a ceremonial blade. Its hilt wrapped in green-dyed finery, corded with gold; the blade itself carved with old feudal runes. Its meaning could only be gleaned off fading Uchiha clan tablets.
“It hosts no practical purpose unless you deign it so, but our friendship is more than battle and beyond the strife.” Madara’s smile is thin-lipped but genuine.
Hashirama sauntered through the halls of the Senju clan with nary an expression, but as his mind echoed an angry voice that said manners maketh a man, he pulled his lips up and nodded in acknowledgement of the many attendants who bowed their heads as he passed them. He only had one goal in his mind, which was to fix himself something really simple to eat, like a mixed rice with some proteins, and then make his way to the hokage's tower. It would be a quieter time in office, less distractions, as many took leave of their duties to attend to various festivities this time of the year. Valentine's, a clan's new year, the welcoming of spring, the list goes on.
When Hashirama returned to his house, he soon needed to answer the door, with a mouthful of rice. Again, his absentmindedness berates him, and Hashirama nodded profusely at Madara's greeting. Turning away for a moment, he made sure to cover his mouth as he chewed quickly and swallowed his food. Then his attention was fixed on what seemed to be a gift for him. Now, it was rude to converse at the door, so Hashirama stepped aside to welcome Madara in.
The table in the living hall was empty of any decorations, so he fully expected Madara to place the heavy gift down. It only made sense.
Sitting opposite his friend, Hashirama felt a real warmth begin to weave itself into his chest, and his smile was glad when eyes of oak rake over the beautiful thing. ❝ A blade without blood. We've come very far, Madara. ❞ the Uchiha leader spoke true: Hashirama has no need of this thing. It was Madara's presence that was important to him. ❝ Thank you for thinking of me. ❞ He does not say what he will do with it, or where he will put it. His house was devoid of most colour, just as its owner was devoid of many finer things in life.
Unfortunate it was that it should rain on such an amorous holiday. Perhaps, it was the sky was weeping for Princeling Izuna’s poor decision-making; extending his jealously guarded heart to someone far, far from deserving.
Stalking through the courtyard, this crimson blot of fluttering samite robes flicking out like flames from the edge of his umbrella, the Uchiha travels from one sector to the next with a lethal quickness. He didn’t intend to be seen by anyone, not his foes, and never his betters. Fixed into his hands was a small wooden box carved by a local merchant and whittled in with the visage of a fat canary over the lid. Its presentation lends no credence nor symbolism for the receiver nor the gift. A case to merely host what rested inside on satin cushions: 3 vials of mysterious poisons, unlabelled, yet romantic pink fluid of varying tints. A cheeky warning card is wedged into the corner, partially obscuring the three, with its patrician scriptwork:
“Don’t drink”
This ribbon wrapped gift finds itself near Tobirama’s personal chamber. Izuna, clever as he was a quiet shadow, managed to slip between the folds of human surveillance to deliver it here. It’s left abandoned before the bamboo doors atop another piece of parchment. When unfolded, it reads:
“With love — have fun deconstructing these.”
tobirama's eyes snap open.
had he been any average shinobi, surely there is a need to gasp, a whole body jerked with the suddenness of being awake so without warning. there are some things, after all, that one simply does not shed from the warring times no matter how peaceful the region had grown to be, and it is peaceful indeed as tobirama lies very still, closes his eyes, and takes in his surroundings. underneath the pitter-patter of the morning rain and the bustling of his household coming alive with the dawn, the young senju activates his sensory ability; there is a presence that does not belong to the senju compound, but it is gone before tobirama could identify it.
still, it must not be an intruder. somebody welcomed then, or someone the ward of their household had recognised for surely no one would be able to sneak so easily into these grounds, not without alerting anyone, under uzumaki mito's specially crafted ward.
tobirama makes to sit.
he calms his raised heartbeat and once more activates his sensory ability to identify any that seems amiss while his fingers make deft at straightening the yukata where he suspects has been wrinkled or folded in his sleep. finding nothing out of the ordinary, tobirama makes to fold the bedding, despite knowing that the servants of the house would feel more chastised than anything that he'd done so. but tobirama couldn't help it; despite the rigidity with which the senju held its members to the clan hierarchy, father's teaching is absolute. you must be as self-disciplined as you are self-sustained. out in the battle field, there will be no handmaiden to care for your bedding.
and it is only as tobirama cares for the last roll of his futon that his attention is taken to the sliding doors leading to his own personal engawa. tobirama stares. and then, finally, after a few seconds, he stands. makes his way to the edge of the doors and opens it. there, his mind quickly snaps to. a small wooden box with a note. paranoia dictates that he must seek others within the household, inform them of this foreign subject, but tobirama dismisses it. he has activated his sensory ability before, and this had alerted him nothing. so he bends down, and picks it up.
oh. he thinks, as he reads and finally opens the box.
the senju white demon does not smile, though he supposes he could feel the tension of his face breaks apart with each second he's inspected the vials. he has forgotten what today was meant to be; the day of love was never fitting for a then-boy made to be father's soldier. he is sure it hardly fits him now, the existence of any battle be damned, and the lack of acknowledgement in terms of gifts from others besides. and yet— someone has thought of him. not just anyone, but ...
tobirama soon finds himself with a scroll and ink. he writes,
Do not think I would not recognise your handwriting anywhere. Please accept this gift as token of my gratitude. They are made by highly-sought Senju silk and were woven by our best craftsmaster. My only contribution had been the choosing of the design. I would hope it is to your liking. As warned, I will not drink.
in the attached jewellery box, smaller in size, tobirama has neatly laid the kumihimo, in silk of dark blue, black, red and white. there is perhaps a distant whisper somewhere that tells him he must wait; that reciprocation is only anticipated a month from now, but he has never been gifted anything before, and he suspects he will not rest unless his thank is known. so he calls for a messenger boy, and sets him off to uchiha izuna, his own gift and letter in tow.
@hatredcurse — a valentine's day ask !!
In all the ways that he could, Sasuke attempted to make something of the holiday. They have celebrated many times before and there would be many more, but it should come at no surprise that Sasuke is no traditional romantic.
His arms come up in a possessive curl around Hinata’s middle, hugging her flush to the front of him. A kiss is then delivered into the crown of her dark locks and another near the shell of her ear.
“ You have me for the evening. “
@hatredcurse
Ah yes, Valentine's Day was today wasn't it? Being a married woman, Hinata was usually the one that did most of the celebrating or initiating. But when Sasuke wrapped his arms around her stomach, her smile couldn't hide, neither could the blush on her cheeks.
She hummed at his advances and his words. He was such the unique charmer. One that she feel deeply in love with.
She turned to face him, resting her arms around his shoulders.
"And you have me." She told her husband. "Why don't we enjoy each others company, sit by the fireplace, and just hold each other intimately?" She offered.
Resplendent as Izuna was, he doubled as cheeky today. A man who loved love more than the rumored agape would ever. He appears before Jiraya in a coordinated wrap of ribbons and lovely robes, complete with a sweet bow twisted into his ponytail. A pretty sight for a prettier gift: a small box of sweets paired with a flavor-matched sake. “ I considered pens and vellum, but I figured it would be a better choice to have a gift we can both share in, “ he explained as he delivered it into the sannin’s palms.
“ Blessed be this day, “ he punctuated with a kiss into the hollow of Jiraya’s cheek then another into the red of his robes draped over his shoulder.
Jiraiya tilts his head and grins. Well… this quite the nice sight for his tired eyes. He set the gifts side to focus on what was far more important. “Thanks. Although I think I woulda been happy with just this… you look great.”
He put his hands on the other’s hips. He returned the kiss in turn. “I feel very blessed to have you in my life… I got a few gifts in the bedroom to share with you. If you’re interested. We could just cuddle.” He offered before holding him tightly. “I miss being near you.”
Winter had arrived, but it was unlike that which Konohagakure and her villagers had endured in a decade. During Hiruzen’s prime, he’d witnessed maybe one or two harsh winter seasons, but not quite like this. Gazing out from his office window, nightfall settled upon this early evening like an ominous, black shroud, making the falling snow look like ash. The cold is unrelenting, and the sound of the wind as it blows through the barren trees is so loud that it mimics human shrills.
The lit kiseru pipe rests idle but clenched tightly between his teeth. The wrinkles on his brow crease into harsh lines, expression pensive. He’d been reflecting on the events of the emergency meeting with the fire daimyo and council of elders that took place not long ago, while awaiting his messenger to return.
News of their allies in the Land of Snow’s weakening political climate had been ongoing for months, causing concern over economic interests and raising fears about the spread of coup-contagion. There had been tension between Sōsetsu Kazahana, the ice daimyo, and his brother, Dotō Kazahana, a member of the council. Now, however, it would seem that the fire daimyo has lost all contact with Sōsetsu, and thus, word from Yukigakure, altogether as of today. The possibility of a coup was speculated to be the cause.
Suddenly, the messenger shinobi opened the doors to Hiruzen’s office, garnering his and the ANBU Commander’s attention.
“I’ve returned with the Captains you’ve requested, Hokage-sama, Commander.”
“Send them in,” the Hokage replied, settling at his desk. // @hatredcurse
Orders has been passed along in kind to all noted captains within the ANBU ranks, Kakashi having been listed in favor near the top. In the early morning, he readies in his routine: fatigues first, weapon clipped over hip, and everything else he was willing to die with tucked into compartments within his armor.
Filing in with uniformity, he appears before Hiruzen already at attention. The room somber from expected duty with Kakashi at the center, barring whatever else captains deign fit to appear. He nodded his head in its obedient bow before he stood at rest somewhere within the line, awaiting his orders.
There was no thought, no expectation on his end on what to expect. It held no relevancy to his previous experiences. Peeling away the layers of the order, all he found was another seek, then possibly destroy, order from them. Top-level assessment alone, he gleaned almost no challenge from this; another drab succession of duty to tow.
Entry { @wreathcrowns } —
height difference ?? What if Izuna was so quick (and short) that Hashirama, by complete accident, pulled Izuna's hair when trying to stop him in his tracks? There would be a shocked, stoic, ❝ I am so sorry. ❞ and he lets go immediately, carefully.
This little crow fell short of the preternatural quickness of the White Demon, but his speed was nothing to balk at. It carries over into the mundanity — this quickness slithering though passages and halls in a calculated weave between all breathing obstacles.
However, he had been far too hasty. ( He might argue he had not been hasty enough ), before the sleek length of his hair is grappled by a strong grip. His head snapping back with a painful lurch and a sudden flooding irritation of it. The pain was so instant && immense, he could only stand in a threatening silence before he turned to his offender here.
" Lord Senju, " his smile was a viper's grin," may I help you? "
Entry { @wreathcrowns } —
A dark, uneasy alliance has been formed in the depths of Tobirama's lab. Something unseen by the light, but it provided a strange coil of familiarity whenever Madara sought aloneness from the world. How despicable of the Uchiha lord, to seek comforts with the enemy, instead of a home emptied of brothers. Tonight, he just laid on the couch, with none of the lights turned on. He could sleep here, he could die here, he thinks. That's what swam in his mind, doing none of the projects he first intended to do when he arrived here before Tobirama. When the man enters the vicinity, Madara says, " I don't want to do anything today ... I just don't. " There was barely any strength as he held the pale hand next to his form. The two have performed many acts in this space between them, less scientific, more skin. And Madara hates that he craved such a companionship. But such soft thoughts do not belong to the scalpel that Tobirama wields. So, no one blame him when he tries to coax the cold man down, for a kiss.
To assume Tobirama would achieve any goals this evening was a blundering thought on his end. His lab had once been a place of solace, of invention && progress. However, he was seeing so little of this as of late, trapped between the emotional whims of an Uchiha lord and his own useless search for self-gratification. The carnal part of him sought proffered pleasure, wherever it came, it was almost shameful.
Tobirama never felt much shame. Couldn't. Everything he had ever committed to was with full intention. When his pale hands dart from the darkness of his shrouding cobalt cape, they were meant to grab Madara at the waist, reeling him in all the flagrant ways it had before. " Your interest of our work has been declining, " he quipped in honest observation yet with fraudulent reason — pretending as if he weren't an enabler of the clan lord's distraction. The kiss that came with, Winter cold and uncomfortably stiff, as it layers over Madara's lips, siphoning the beguiling warmth from him.
He stays here for many long moments, exploring all the ways his other might accept him. Madara was a conquest to him, his affections a trove he ardently desired, in whatever way he could seize it. His touch glides from the strong slope of his toned back down into the pinched dip of his waist, the heel of his palm pressing in, urging him back against the still-vacant tabletop. Instead of tomes and scrolls, tonight it will hold something else equally as important to the Senju.