Hidan | 飛段 - “ For you will certainly carry out God's purpose, however you act, but it makes a difference to you whether you serve like Judas or like John."
i missed you all, and  i’m sorry for the absences. my mental and physical health took away my motivation and tha struggle don’t end, but roleplaying always was good for me. always good.
i’m alive and i love you (y’all know who u r)
i’m back, i’m back going and running and gunnin again. might make a promo, but feel free if u wanna let people know i’m around
thank you all 200 + somthn followers. i’m blessed and loved. i love all you.Â
i missed you all, and  i’m sorry for the absences. my mental and physical health took away my motivation and tha struggle don’t end, but roleplaying always was good for me. always good.
i’m alive and i love you (y’all know who u r)
i’m back, i’m back going and running and gunnin again. might make a promo, but feel free if u wanna let people know i’m around
thank you all 200 + somthn followers. i’m blessed and loved. i love all you.Â
Out Of Character: Hey! I just cleaned out who I’m following, and will be doing so for a minute. If I unfollowed you and you are hurt, please don’t be offended. I’m not doing it because of any personal grudge. It’s just cause we don’t have any interactions and it doesn’t seem like we’re going to do any, and the clutter is killing me.Â
On another note, I am looking for new threads and new partners. If you got any suggestions or want to, pm me. Or like this and I’ll hit you up.
um i am interested in that asuma/hidan/kurenai thing you were talking about so ??? pls i need?? more about it???
( There’s several alternate universes for this, but I’m going with the one that I had in mind. Alternatively titled: The part where Hidan takes off his clothes to a Radiohead soundtrack (Probably Fake Plastic Trees). )Â
Asuma and Kurenai are meant to be. That’s where they begin and end, perfect for eachother. They get married and the honeymoon phase is long. Their marriage isn’t perfect, but no marriage is perfect, and they settle in to the perfect life. White picket fence, beautiful house, everything in it’s right place.Â
Kurenai wants a garden, Asuma pays for it. And the guy he hires, he’s a piece of work.
There’s no experience, no job history given, just shows up for the job. He’s built, and works hard, takes delicate care in planting the flowers and has notes on notes about how to keep them tidy.  He keeps the job, but for the first month they think he’s a drunk.
Everyday there’s a new bruise, new band-aids, new bloody nose or bandaged limb– or something. He’s a mess, but silent and never slacks in his work no matter how banged up he is. They would’ve gone on thinking it, if he didn’t help start helping Kurenai carry her groceries. The big boxes from Costco, he brings them into her house with out so much as batting a lash, and it’s only when she offers him a glass of wine his expression sours.
He doesn’t accept sins of flesh, and as soon as he has everything put in the cabinets he’s back outside working. He sweats like a whore in church for hours, before leaving without a goodbye. Over dinner they talk about him, hushed even though he’s long gone.
Hidan get’s crushes like a school girl, and it’s obvious. The way his hands constantly fidget slicking back his hair, the tenseness in his muscles, the way he shirks from both of them and can barely mumble a yes or no when they can hear him cursing god and the heavens in wild screams for the better part of the day when they’re inside. He’s quiet and moody, anger sown into a 20 year old frame, and if it wasn’t for the long stares neither of them would’ve guessed it. He brings it up, when they’re in bed, and Kurenai teases Asuma that he might have someone that has eyes for him.Â
It doesn’t take them long to realize it isn’t just for him, and it isn’t just them making something out of nothing.Â
It weird, there’s a lingering after bite of guilt but it’s not that either of them mind, after they manage to swallow it down. They don’t love eachother any less, but it’s funny seeing him fidget, that vicious look in his eyes as he plants poppies– carefully asking them what they’d want out front as they drink lemonade on the back porch. The conversation isn’t so much planned as it falls into place, and things go at their own pace, tender and weird. Mirroring actions from movies. Invitations to dinner, the way they skirt around his stares and the jerk of his his head, awkwardly bending in on himself as he fumbles around a shovel as if it was an intense piece of equipment.Â
They don’t know, not about the commune or the immortality, but the way he clutches his rosary and mutters about a vow of celibacy is relevant. Still, when Kurenai gives him a friendly kiss on the cheek as he gets ready to leave after dinner, you can see the devotion melt underneath her lip gloss.
And as he leaves, pulling his jacket over his dirt stained shirt in the garden, the way he turns when Asuma steps out the door is automatic. The sun is setting, and it’s getting cold out, but when he puts his hand to his forearm, and puts his mouth to his ear– his skin light up like a match thrown across lighter fluid.
She’s soft edges when she needs to be, warm and forgiving. And stern and brutal when it’s necessary. Falling in love with her is like sinking into water, slow and harsh, before all at once.
He’s head over heels, before he knows it, the way her short hair curls under her ear lobes when she tucks it back, the crescent of her eyes when she smiles, he knows what colors she looks good in before he sees her in them. It’s innocent, blissful, and eats him from the inside out. He hates her for it. For being sin. For being her. For being beautiful and everything his mother always told him to look for in someone to love. It’s violent how much he hates her, how much she hates him. Children soldiers angry and bitter, except she’s always right and he’s always wrong.Â
The weirdest thing is even if she resents him, she understands. The waking out of dead sleep in a cold sweat, the way he gets quiet and closes his eyes, the moments where he’s ripping apart his apartment and throwing things across rooms. She’s the only person who asks, and tries to dig him out of the hole he buried himself in.
He loves her so truly, so deeply, he can barely breathe. And it’s a blessing he doesn’t need to.
( Alternatively: They are the highschool couple you catch in the hallways and appreciate with vengeance. Dramatic fights, screaming matches, her punching him so hard he knocks out a row of lockers. But, at the end of the day, she’s grouchy but still sticking him with band-aids. And he’ll call her on the phone, bump some cheap ass songs until all is forgiven. One moment it’s yelling and then they’re making out across a row of movie theater seats. Dramatic, angry, in love.
Alternatively: Hidan is the perfect trophy wife and Sakura is the perfect catch, forreal. )
He isn’t human, he isn’t alive. And that glassy way his eyes go over, those muted expressions, the way he isn’t flesh and blood and bone– it’s unnatural. When Sasori looks at him he wants to scream, or fight him bare knuckle. Pound his stupid face in. Kakuzu’s the only one who knows how terrified of him he really is, and Kakuzu would smack him back handed if he ever tried.
The way he makes people into puppets reminds him so much of the commune he was baptized, the process of becoming a martyr, he gets sick to his stomach thinking about it. He tries to stay as far away from Sasori’s room, from his voice, from his vicinity as possible.
And when he gets that weird professional look in his eyes, clinical and already dissecting him, he thinks about becoming a puppet.
He thinks about not being able to die.
He says prayers of protection and light candles asking for safety whenever Sasori snags a new body to strip inside and out. ( The weird little fuck. )
the red of his eyes isn’t something weird or eerie. it’s popped blood vessels. he would get them every so often back when he was younger, but with five hearts pumping tons of blood, they’re constant and excessive now.
very similar to lawrence fishburne in expression and the way he carries himself.
hidan braids his hair a lot, and they have a lot of mellow conversations then. when they argue hidan braids his hair a lot tighter and rougher so kakuzu doesn’t say much that can get aggressive when he’s doing it anymore.
likes general care and upkeep things. cooking, gardening, sewing, organization--  but isn’t so good at cleaning. at like, all.Â
him and hidan share a lot of clothes, and he helps hidan with his make-up a lot when he’s feeling particularly fancy. kakuzu always wears make up, which he is very good at.
“ fuck, really? you stabbed me ten goddamn times, and don’t even have the decency to turn on the radio when you leave me in the car? that’s cold man, that’s cold.   ”
He spots the familiar brand of ice-cream and wonders why Hidan brought that along with other home remedies (the curiosity about why Hidan was in his house at all was beginning to fade, along with other aspects of his rationality). “Fever’s not too high,” he admits, glancing at his bedroom where he’d left the thermometer. The jars on the counter make a fine mess, but somehow, he thinks that when he sleeps and wakes again, it’ll be like it was before.
“Not—not too much cayenne in mine,” he calls, a little worriedly. And, after the thought gnaws at him enough, he asks, “Did you make that yourself?”
Hidan managed to grunt in response, not putting any cayenne in his soup at all, but seeming amiable enough. When he jammed every spice back into the cabinet it was straight armed and clumsy, some small jars going upside down or sideways, the dissaray making everything unmanageable for the next sucker who tried to find anything. But, the counters were back to being clean, and everything looked normal.Â
Well, as normal as it could be with an S-rank criminal running around Iruka’s home.Â
There was a rattling as he dug through the drawers, before coming out successful with a couple of forks. Carrying the little tupperware bowls to the living room, he set them on the coffee table, an odd moment as he came suddenly towards Iruka-- and gently pressed the back of his hand to the older man’s forehead. “Yeah, it’s a family recipe.”
He clicked his tongue , sounding every bit as mother hen. “Good thing I bought the fucking ice cream. It’s not gonna do shit but make you feel better, but you are running a little hot.”
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