#asaraltu

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. 

@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 !! ❞

luna & shiemi new years 2022

It’s the late hours of the night and Mito’s tangled up in strands of ravenet and crimson locks, the only thing keeping her warm being a thin bed cover, and the presence of another body beside her. She faces the opposite way, dark hues gazing out the window and up upon the brilliance of the full moon in all its glory. Where her bed was located and the size of the windows, it was almost as if the bed were outside in the garden, allowing her to bathe under the moonlight.

The darkness brings her a sense of tranquillity and comfort, more so than the light does. Glancing down to her side, she sees the dark, untamed tresses tangled with her own and grins sweetly, shifting herself a little to take a handful of these incredibly thick locks of hair and use it to cover her eyes, peeking through the shadows of the strands with a childish chuckle.

Shifting again, red locks fall from her shoulders and shield her exposed chest, while she releases the hair which blocks her view. With her attention still focused on the starry night, she sits up and uses a hand to keep her upright, only now turning to face the man she’d spent hours here with, intertwined in more ways than just their arms and hair.