𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃-𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄

                      𝐇 𝐄 𝐀 𝐃 𝐒                                                𝐖 𝐈 𝐋 𝐋                                                                         𝐑 𝐎 𝐋 𝐋    

▽  𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒  :  independent, selective roleplay blog for naruto’s  𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍 . rated M for heavy gore/violence, sex, and coarse language. slightly canon divergent. multi-fandom and OC friendly. 21+ only - written by evee.

what is he, an IDIOT? deidara chokes back a sob, frustrated at the situation and angry with himself — for the one fleeting second when hidan’s grip loosened deidara allowed himself to think his tormentor had had his fun and, true to his word, would let him go so the artist could go lick his wounds in peace. but hidan hadn’t actually promised to do that, something that deidara is only now realising.

his hair falls from his face at the new angle his head is twisted in, revealing deidara’s eyes. the usually hidden, closed one, and its open twin, wet and red – rimmed but furious, staring up at the priest. deidara can’t help the shiver that runs through him when hidan’s voice caresses his skin, part disgust and part — something. watching those purple eyes darkened with blood – lust jolt deidara with the realisation of what a picture they must make. ( like a depraved carnival mirror reflection, twisted in all the wrong — right? — places. )

he struggles to swallow, throat working visibly and audibly against the uncomfortable strain. he can no longer struggle in this position, so deidara settles on glaring. like HELL is he putting himself through that again. “ screw you — i SAID it, yeah. you had your fun, now let me GO, you fucker. ”

perhaps he is an idiot. whether he goes willingly or pulls back at the chain hidan is yanking, deidara is stuck playing the jashinist’s game of cat and mouse. but if playing dead under his claws only invites more jeering, deidara will bare his teeth in return.

   Despite their closeness, Hidan does his best to leer down at them ; to bear witness to their floundering. Squirm, piggy, squirm!! Let fat, sparkling tears brim your eyes. Let those delicious squeals hiss through your teeth. Every reaction, no matter how small or insignificant, fills your comrade with a perverse, overwhelming delight. Seeing Deidara like this . . his mouth feels like it’s watering. He wants to taste the fear in his sweat. See the pain in his eyes. That was his livelihood. His sending. 

   The boy’s glare is met and maintained, cocking the Immortal’s head curiously. Exactly how weak was this kid? Would he give in right away and fall to his knees - or would he fight back? Hidan hoped for the latter. He liked a challenge after all.   

   ❝ Ouch. That’s quite the mouth you’ve got on you. I was just trying to teach you some manners - ❞ he yanks the boy’s ponytail even further, ❝ - you know, play nice. ❞ By this point Hidan was practically hissing the words across the boy’s jawline, lips just barely gracing flesh. ❝ But fine. You wanna be a little bitch? Be my guest. ❞ 

   Loitering aimlessly, with one hand cradling cashews and the other tossing the salty treat into his mouth, Hidan deliberately ignores the girl playing coy in the other corner of the room. That is until he decides to toss one of his snacks directly at her head. Not cruelly or out of spite - but rather as a test of his own aim. It hits bullseye ; and elicits an egotistical curl to his lips. 

   Playing hard to get, are we? Too often did they play this game of Cat and Mouse ; waxing and waning between friend and foe. Between rival and lover. Sometimes it made him feel sick to his stomach. Other times, well ..

   ❝ Awe don’t be shy, baby ...❞ craning his neck, he offers himself to her blade fearlessly. Arrogant smile showing teeth, Hidan eyes her suggestively, body language submissive but the spark in his eye screaming THREAT. 

There was a lengthy pause in Kakuzu’s attention, which began the moment Hidan opened his mouth, and ended when the last words trailed from his lips. Then dual-toned eyes refocused on the crimson-streaked face, acknowledging the myriad of expressions that seemed to fight for dominance on the priest’s features. He ignored the obvious anger that was little more than a knee-jerk reaction and, he knew, often a shield for deeper emotions - and, yes, there it was. A brief flicker of something very unnatural on Hidan’s face.

He chose to ignore it. To do otherwise would be uncomfortable for both of them.

Instead, he opted to acknowledge the questions - or, rather, accusations - posed to him. “No, I’m not following you. We’re partners, Hidan. Generally we operate in the same space.” Though not currently on a specific mission, it was technically part of his duty to the organisation to ensure his murder-happy partner didn’t complicate things. “At least tell me the poor bastard wasn’t someone important.”

   Hidan snorts a laugh, ❝ Ooo, partners. ❞ The words are singsonged, oozing with a trademark toxicity, tone cynically sardonic and in a higher pitch than usual in a clear display of mockery. Handsome features then twist from a sneer into a full on snarl, ❝ So now we’re partners, huh. Sure didn’t seem that way at the meeting this morning. ❞ He was referring to a confrontation of sorts that had sparked between himself and the organization’s spearhead. Typical story: Pein speaks vaguely and dishes out the BITCH WORK for the week, and Hidan throws a hissy fit. 

   ❝ You should’ve had my back during that shit. I mean, who the Hell does he think he is?! Ordering us around like servants. Guy needs to grow a pair and tell us whats really going on. ❞ Crossing his arms across his chest Hidan scowls off to the side. He was tired of being treated like a child, which, was somewhat ironic given his pout reminiscent posing. 

“   thank   you.   ”   thank   you   for   nothing   /   thank   you   for   the   mercy.   daiten   looks   over   to   hidan   as   he   begins   to   have   somewhat   of   a   childish   fit,   watching   as   his   mouth   gaped   in   disbelief   over   his   newest   orders.   sending   a   glare   his   way,   she   says   nothing   else   —-   biting   her   tongue   and   keeping   herself   from   sending   rot   his   way   (   after   all,   chakra   binds   or   not,   there   was   nothing   that   could   keep   her   abilities   at   bay   —-   luckly   for   him,   she   knew   to   keep   them   a   secret.   )

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

months   passed   them   by,   and   so   did   the   era   of   daiten   being   kept   as   a   prisoner   :   chakra   restraints   replaced   with   heavy   monitoring,   and   that   being   lessoned   with   an   agreement   to   join   the   very   group   she’d   been   kept   by.

she   finds   herself   in   a   place   she   would   find   odd ;   those   unique   cloaks   have   to   be   kept   somewhere,   she   supposes,   and   they   would   have   to   be   replaced   —-   but   for   them   to   be   kept   someplace   as   normal   as   this   was   nearly   unexpected.   daiten   brushes   her   hand   acrossed   the   cloaks   as   she   walks,   and   stops   at   one   that   must   belong   to   kisame   —-   it’s   massive   in   comparison,   and   she   wonders   if   she   could   have   used   it   as   a   blanket   if   she   stole   it.

“   what   ?   “   daiten   turns   just   in   time   to   be   met   with   the   cloak   that   hidan   had   thrown   her   way.   she   huffs,   grumbling   :   “   yeah,   dude,   i’m   small   just   so   i   can   make   this   harder   for   you.   “   she   pulls   the   cloak   on,   finding   that   it   was   just   a   little   too   big,   yet   hitting   better   than   the   others   —-   sleeves   hanging   over   her   hands,   and   being   big   enough   to   slide   off   her   shoulders.   “   maybe   we   should   just   get   kakuzu   or   sasori   to   sew   it.   “

“   anyways   —-   when   are   you   going   to   tell   me   about   that   religion   of   yours   ?   “

   Religion? Pah. The Way of Jashin was not some nursery rhyme curated for society’s most gullible. Jashinists were elite punishers of God ; they were not sheep who worshiped blindly and cowered in the face of suffering. To be alive is to feel pain. And those who do not understand pain simply do not deserve to live. Torture. Slaughter. Savagery. It all was encouraged by the Albino’s Death God. Demanded even. He had an obligation to fulfill and a mission to accomplish. So to hear his ideology - his livelihood - be associated with such an empty, simpleminded term automatically made his brows pinch in disgust. 

  Hasn’t anyone told this child about curiosity? IT KILLS. Then again, her question was probably the most sensible thing he’s heard her say thus far. And given the fact they were now colleagues, maybe it would do some good to educate her a little. He was around her age when he performed the sacred blood oath that gifted him immortality ; but to allow that likeness to influence his opinion of her would be completely foolish. She was a Pagan ( sacrifice pending ) 

   Turning to look at her, Hidan stands tall, wearing his leisure attire which essentially was the same as his uniform, only minus the cloak. The same cloak that was currently eating Daiten alive. Judging lavender eyes take in her pathetic appearance. She looked more like a child playing dress up than a cold-blooded criminal. ❝ I’m an apostle of the great Lord Jashin, ❞ he speaks condescendingly, matter-of-fact and smug. ❝ Our mission is total destruction. I don’t expect you to understand, heh, you’re just a pup. ❞ That cocksure grin starts to reappear. 

   how observant , always a willing lapdog to the rescue , but one with jaws of a bear beneath . the hunger beneath his hues speak more of the sin than her namesake did   —   evident it was not solely his lust for her that caused this .   (   he wants to prove a point , that only he can please her    —   a shame , he was hardly anyone worthy of such title .   )   he comes baring a gift , a trembling a scared sacrificed that would be slaughtered in her name , and in the name of his god . oh , the thought of having him turn his back to what brought him such pain lingers for some time after they meet .

   right now , she simply was having too much fun in simply basking in his bloodied , tearing of the flesh madness . a desire to see more of his unholy righteousness rain down upon his sinners .   (   a reaper of those she deems unworthy mixed with his sadomastic need to fufil her and his god . it made her feel holy !!!   )   she grins toward the trembling fool , her eyes decided how far his pain would go as he silence began to bite at her . the smile turned sweet , shaking her head when she did not hear a peep from the human .

   ‘   hidan    …   he isn’t speaking    —   or thanked me for that matter .   ’   eyes closed and tilted to the side as she continues .

   ‘   fix that for me , my pet .   ’

   Ah, it would be his pleasure. Literally. He felt some sort of primal and sadistic feeling of obligation toward her. Every praise was like a sweet, savoury taste of gratification. Diabolic displays of his affection like this was their foreplay ; and God, did he want more. ❝ Yes, Mistress. ❞ purrs an obedient tongue. The title was more of a pet name than anything else, spoken endearingly. That’s when he turns his attention to the civilian,

   ❝ Hey idiot. You’re blind not deaf - show the lady some respect. ❞ The captive looks outwardly confused, and rightfully so, they had 20/20 vision. They saw everything; from the ominous smile that curled her sultry lips, to the movement of the Jashinist’s hand to reach for something on his waist . . . and of course, the SICKLE’S POINT heading directly for their left eye socket. 

   Like a fork would an egg yolk, Hidan stabs through their eye and carves the blade deep inside to ensure it was no longer salvageable. When he plucks away his weapon, the man falls to their knees, screaming, frantic hands clutching at his face. Blood poured from their wound onto the floor. Laughing, a terrifying threat sounds from above,

           ❝ . . . ❞ 

“   but   dad   —-   “   how   familiar   was   that   whine   she   gives,   one   of   child   to   parent   /   of   student   to   teacher.   the   desperation   in   his   voice   and   how   he   grabs   hold   of   her   shoulders   leaves   daiten   stunned,   surprised   that   he   seemed   almost   scared   of   the   idea   that   she   was   there.

“   i   don’t   …   ”   it   was   the   truth   that   she   missed   him.   it   was   the   truth   that   it   had   hurt   to   be   left   behind   time   and   time   again.   ‘ i   don’t   want   to   be   left   alone ‘,   is   what   she   means   to   say,   but   her   bottom   lip   quivers.   

“   can   you   at   least   visit   more   ?   “

   Breath leaves his lungs in a knowing sigh. Since joining the Akatsuki, he had neglected his paternal duties, a role he had willingly stepped into the moment he took the girl under his wing. Though unstable, Hidan was not entirely unhinged, and could recognize the hurt that glistened behind her eyes. PAIN was the substance of Jashinism after all. 

   ❝ Here - ❞ hands leaving her fragile frame, the Priest reaches for the rosary around his neck, removing it before taking her smaller hands in his, placing the item inside her palm ❝ I’ve had this since I was your age. Whenever you feel misguided, hold it to your lips and close your eyes ; you are a child of Jashin. Nothing can hurt you. ❞ The corner of his lip tugs into a smirk, flicking her chin with his finger. 

It wasn’t often that Itachi wished for those seventy-two hours to pass in real time, but as he watched Hidan’s gaze slowly refocus after a mere few seconds, he found himself wishing. Still, he had to admire the priest somewhat. Very few could emerge from his genjutsu and still manage coherent words without undertaking a prolonged recovery first. Kakuzu, it seemed, was right about Hidan. He was remarkably resilient. 

“You do not have to be cold-blooded to feel nothing. Merely… controlled.” His gaze, onyx once more, flitted away from the other’s face, fixing upon a point on the wall across from them instead. “Though I suspect you know little of control.” He cared nothing for Hidan’s words of slaughter. He couldn’t share in the other’s delight for violence, nor did he care to try. “No one is questioning how deranged you are, Hidan. But I ask you this - what is more deranged? To slaughter a village of people you care nothing for, who had no impact in your life besides a body count? Or to care, to love, and still execute your entire family just because you could?”

Oh, how easily the lie still slips from his lips. How bitter it still tastes.

   To care. To love. To execute your entire family. Such statements make the Immortal’s features twist into a disgusted, rugged grimace - both at the sentiment of it all and the fact their histories paralleled just a little too closely for his liking. While Itachi was considered merciful in his execution, Hidan was CUTTHROAT, serving both the commandments of his God and his own internalized detestation. Not only did he kill his eccentric mother, estranged father, unborn sibling, and halfwit half brother, but he also disemboweled and butchered their corpses. None of which he particularly cared for or loved, but admittingly one of the victims came close to striking a chord ( albeit out of tune ) upon his feral heartstrings. His mother.

    Sometimes he thinks about it ; the look in her eyes when he carved a knife across her throat. In her womb, he had drained her spine of life and nutrients, and in life, he tore those same viscera from her body with grim adolecent hands, all for the sake of immortality. Maybe that made him a monster. Maybe it made him a martyr. 

   A twitch of a lilac eye ❝ Yeah. Whatever. Use that freaky mind bending shit on me again and I’ll rip your guts out. I need another drink. ❞ standing then, he finishes the last of his already open bottle of liquor and searches the area for a vice closer than the hideout’s kitchen. Ah, Kakuzu’s cellarette: home to the finest, most expensive alcohol known to man. A mischievous grin returns to Jashinist lips, and within seconds, he’s already trying to jimmy the lock.