hell on earth.

hell on earth.

[kkmui]

# 𝚔𝚔𝚖𝚞𝚒 .          an independent  &   private  multimuse blog for muses as portrayed in 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙾 & 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿𝙿𝚄𝙳𝙴𝙽 , currently featuring  𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐎 𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐇𝐀 , 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 . as adored by kai (  21+ , they  /  them  ) . oc + crossover friendly . personals & & minors blocked on sight. ♡ writing w/ konohans . ⽉ rules under the cut .

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hiiii this is my very lowkey tiny naruto -> animanga multimuse! my rules are literally just be nice and trim your posts. umm my muse list is subject to change literally whenever as my inspiration for these guys can be quite fickle && this is a very low activity / effort blog, as my current priority is writing naruto @osumaki. all kinds of dark and kind of fucked up writing ahead. most of these muses have very tragic stories and i'm not keen on shying away from heavy / potentially upsetting themes in my writing.

muse list below.

DRAGONBALL. goku son, goten son, tienshinhan .

HAIKYUU. osamu miya, lev haiba, kenma kozume, shoyo hinata, tenma udai, wakatoshi ushijima, yu nishinoya .

JIBAKU SHONEN HANAKO KUN. kou minamoto, tsukasa yugi .

JUJUTSU KAISEN. megumi fushiguro, naoya zenin, panda .

NARUTO. obito uchiha, konohamaru sarutobi, hikaru tsuki, mirai sarutobi, kushina uzumaki, kurenai yuhi, utakata, shikadai nara, jiraiya.

YUGIOH. fubuki tenjouin, judai yuki, katsuya jonouchi .

[narutwitter]

[kkmui]

"I don't even know who I am without them pulling my strings." - for obito

it almost feels strange, inviting his fellow uchiha into his home. he'd known fugaku and mikoto as a child. he'd watched itachi mercilessly slaughter their clan in the moonlight. now, he sits at the table across from sasuke in his apartment to offer him tea and shitty company. how ironic, that he himself struggles with the questions plaguing this child more than a decade his junior. obito bites back the caustic laugh into his mouth and drowns it in his cup. he is prisoner of a reluctant attachment to his roots, guilt, and the influence of others. their colors are painted across his apartment in broad strokes ; the potted plants which line his windowsill, the breeze filtering through his open window, an assortment of books he didn't buy for himself, packaged cup ramen sitting on his countertop that obito doesn't touch. the traces of their presence are the only things which breathe some sense of life into the depression of this cage.

well, that and sasuke's voice, softer than he remembers. " you're still young, " he offers. it's not much of a comfort for a boy like sasuke though, he is sure. sasuke hasn't allowed himself to be young since he was seven and itachi killed every last one of his clansmen. obito tries to think back to when he was seventeen, or nineteen, or twenty-two, or however old the kid is now. those years blur together on the best of days, smatterings of madara's words in his ears and the boulder and the zetsu encapsulating his limbs and rin's dead body in his arms and her voice calling his name so softly. he has been uchiha madara since he was thirteen. is he even uchiha obito now ?

" you'll figure it out. " it's colored with a confidence he doesn't recognize, an optimism he hadn't thought possible in him, but sasuke pulls it from him easily. " you have time on your side. and good people. " he sips at his tea once more, falling silent once he sets his cup back upon the table. nothing moves between them but the rustle of leaves and noisy voices in the street. obito pushes back the hair falling into his eyes and scoffs, finally. he needs to cut it soon. " though i wouldn't say i'm the best person to talk to about identity. "

[copycaat]

Obito whimpers out his name, and Kakashi wonders if perhaps he should have left him laying on the floor. He follows up with another name that makes Kakashi's breath catch, make him wish he'd not stopped in at all. Something had been bothering him, something...

He supposes it doesn't matter now. Here he is, in Obito's booze-soaked apartment, holding his booze-soaked shoulders, smelling his booze-soaked sweat and breath and listening to him breathe laboriously in his sleep. Watching him come awake, blink at him in confusion. He seems so drunk, insensate, Kakashi doesn't really know what to do except try to roll him onto his side to keep him from choking if he ends up vomiting. Before he gets the chance to try, Obito's muscled shoulders tense beneath his palms and his body rolls and contorts and he's tackling Kakashi across the floor.

A snarl erupts from Kakashi's throat as he hits the ground flat on his back, and the pair struggles for a moment. Kakashi's legs lock around Obito's hips while Obito tries to pin his arms, and Kakashi slides them up to draw Obito close-- close enough to snap his jaws shut on whatever piece of Obito he can draw near enough to. Enough to draw blood, even through his mask.

Part of him recognizes that Obito is still drunk, clumsy and strong with it, but most of his good sense went out the door at the sudden lunge, and even if part of him recognizes that he should hold still and wait and hope for him come back to himself, thirty years of surviving by the skin of his teeth, reacting, was never going to allow that to happen. He bites him again, in fact.

[kkmui]

he's not awake yet, he thinks, as they tumble to the hardwood floor in a tangle of limbs and nerves. obito's knees ache as he goes down, his fingers wrapping around rin's wrists, only they're not rin's. they're kakashi's, or whatever demon-thing has claimed kakashi's body in the darkest corners of obito's mind and comes out only in the safety of the night, when he can't fight it. he thinks he feels legs wrapping around him, pulling him down into the heat of another body, but it all mixes in with the way the alcohol warms his blood and the ringing in his ears.

it's all a trick. some fucked up, sick, disgusting creation of his own mind, a fantasy and a nightmare all at once. even this, holding kakashi down solely by virtue of his greater size and the perpetual strength of his body's altered composition, is unreal. maybe that's why he doesn't register it at first, the fangs digging into the disfigurement of his face. the skin there has not been sensitive since he was twelve years old with one foot in the grave, but the pain is still sharp enough that he scrunches his eye shut until its source draws back. obito, it says, or kakashi says, or rin says. he's not sure which of the three, as their voices pull together unevenly. wake up. obito feels the bite its second time around, and he recoils hard, jerking his head away with a grunt.

it's like this that he gets a proper look at the face beneath him, or what is left uncovered of it, blood streaking down the scarring of his cheek and dripping onto the dark mask obscuring kakashi hatake's nose and lips. obito's head spins. " you ... " he is paralyzed, all of him but his mouth. somehow, it had been easier to confront the thing with a hinged jaw and too many teeth. perhaps he'd wasted his courage there, or the alcohol's haze is finally subsiding. the two of them are arranged awkwardly enough that he does not dare move, not that he could with kakashi's legs holding his hips in place and the threat of another feral snap of the hokage's mouth. " you're real ? " he demands, unbelieving, skeptical. he must still be drunk.

[copycaat]

Not-Kakashi's head flops like a doll's when Obito drags him closer, drags himself up to kneel in front of the beast like a supplicant, like a beggar. Not-Kakashi grips his wrists carefully, and hauls him to his feet. He does not laugh, because unlike Obito he has nothing at all to hide, because he is nothing, he wants nothing.

"I'm not real?" He asks, a perfect copy of Real-Kakashi's too-innocent tone. "But you see me, don't you? You feel me? Isn't that what makes a thing real?"

He pulls Obito close, chest to chest. The man smells like stale liquor and sweat and anxiety, and the monster smells like blood, like ozone, like rot. Not-Kakashi's arms wrap around his shoulders and their cheeks press together-- every bit of skin that touches writhes. Willing or not, they start to dance the sparrow dance, their feet moving in step to an unheard beat.

"Do you think I have a heartbeat?" Not-Kakashi asks, bloody teeth dangerously close to Obito's jaw. "Do you think I could be real, if you let me?"

The creature releases Obito from their dance, shoving him back over his low table and glaring down at him. Colors fade from the rest of the room. The eye remains blood red, glaring down at him as it looms.

"Let me be real, Obito," it insists, crawling over him with limbs that are too-long, with too-many joints. The voice has shifted from familiar-warm to something else, something strange, a low gasp like speech from a cut throat. "I would be better, if you let me be real. Will you let me be real?"

"Will you-- Wake up."

[kkmui]

on his feet now, obito's shoulders slump with the effort of standing, of being. " i see you, " he agrees, in some uncomfortable resignation to his fate. " i feel you. " but does he ? he hangs over kakashi's arms like a corpse, lets himself be dragged into lockstep with the pulse of a music he can't hear. they mirror each other like this, always. the eye that he gave kakashi throbs, threatens to dig itself from the socket of obito's skull as though it knows it doesn't belong to him.

do you think i have a heartbeat ? he can't remember what it might feel like. do you think i could be real, if you let me ? he can't answer, the creep of kakashi's body over his own like a hand on his throat. wake up, obito. it's in rin's voice, this time. wake up. it's already morning. you were supposed to come with me. " kakashi, " he groans, a plea. wake up obito. you can't dream forever. her hand is cold against the scarred skin of his cheek. he closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see her, not with blood running from her mouth and pooling like tears behind the glassy brown of her eyes as she mouths his name with gentle affection. obito, wake up.

it's still nighttime. obito's apartment is dark, lit only by the streetlights and the fireflies outside his window and the moon's reflection of a pale face in the shadows. he jerks his head to a side. left, right, he's unsure, but dark eyes follow him. " rin, " he starts, vision blurry. she's crouched over him in concern, shoulders broader than he remembers, hair shorter and lighter than he thinks it should be. she wears a tactical vest she never earned.

are you awake, obito ? he still can't tell if it's real, if this is rin or not-rin or whatever horrid thing wears kakashi's skin to haunt obito's nightmares. with the little strength left in his body, he hauls himself forward to barrel into it. it comes crashing to the ground with him as he clumsily makes to restrain it, with the desperate strength of a prey thing defying death. but his body won't follow his head, screaming that something is different now, horribly wrong. " fuck you, bastard, " he manages with a swallow of air, heart jumping into his throat. " stop haunting me. "

[kkmui]

"I'm good at hurting people. I'm not going to apologize for doing what I'm good at." For Kushina. Hi. Sorry

" kakashi , you are not listening to me ! " she's always had a short temper ; knows it in the flare of her hair and the run of her pulse against her chest and the way the skin of her hands turns red and splotchy white as her fingers curl into a fist. her voice raises to a roar, a loud ringing in her ears. anger is easy to stomach in the way vulnerability is not, a veil over that hurt in her heart, a pain she must not feel. but this child brings that weakness from her easily, settled into an silence, waiting expectantly for her answer. and what can she say ? nothing that will shake him, even if kushina pleads until she's blue in the face.

she might have shaped his name in some similar intensity before, but always for the easy things. spats between teammates, harsh words to friends. problems with a simpler solution than the fact that kakashi, still a child, does not fret about the blood stained into his gloves. something she could solve, even caged in the village like this. there is an irony in the strength of the beast sealed within her, the demon keeping her powerless. the embodiment of carnage and rage and all things awful, feeding off this delicious rage in her.

not turned to kakashi, never. but where can she point its blade ? a village torn apart by war, ruins an augury of what konoha would become if not protected by this child ? her own husband, his mentor, his mentor, impassive visage carved into the mountains to watch her brought to near tears ? a little dead boy and a little dead girl, bodies they couldn't even bring home ? she finds herself, finally, in the uncomfortable rise and fall of her chest. oh, she knows with certainty now: she could never be a mother.

" i am not, " she begins, voice muted with resignation, searching for strength in a short breath. it doesn't help much. " asking you to apologize for doing your duty to the village. " her hands find kakashi's shoulders. " i am asking you to take proper care of yourself, okay ? take more time off. rest, recuperate ... please. i'm sorry for raising my voice, but i feel like i'm losing you, a little. " i can't let you go too. it's selfish, she knows. he's lost so much.

[chinnuri]

happy winter ❄️

[kkmui]

the entirety of the war + madara/kaguya arc is very fuzzy in my head no matter how many times i reread it, but this panel is so incredibly important to my portrayal of obito. the thing about obito is that he was a child manipulated and groomed by madara, represented literally and metaphorically by the cursed seal placed in his body. madara's influence lived within obito to the point that he abandoned his sense of self for nearly twenty years and took on his identity. after he switches sides, he places not only his faith in humanity in naruto, but his very life. i just ask that you let me walk in front of you ... and die for you.

it's why my portrayal of obito is so bitter post-war. his whole life has been defined by the will of others, and this new chapter of it is no different. he clearly didn't have the disposition appropriate of a shinobi, but by virtue of his uchiha blood, he was expected to become one. he was denied his choice of death to save kakashi by madara, who would not only physically alter his body, but would orchestrate rin's death to reshape obito in his image. after naruto manages to get through to him, he begins to hope that his death might at least be atonement for his crimes. he fails to use the rinne tensei to exchange his life for those lost in the war he started but finally chooses to sacrifice himself to kamui away an attack that was going to kill kakashi. ( the one that actually hit him um. just didn't somehow for my portrayal. because i say so. ) he wanted the easy absolution that death would give him.

after all of the suffering he's caused, he accepts the relief his execution might give to the five villages and their shinobi, but naruto chooses to demand the preservation of his life instead. and so obito lives, but the village suffers for it. he can't even off himself after the kid's done so much to keep him alive, but the suicidal ideation remains. obito is repentant, but it is a very difficult process for him to accept that there can be more purpose to his renewed existence than his death. that atonement isn't as easy as offering himself to the guillotine and knowing the world will cheer when his head hits the ground. that's where the alcoholism comes in :) lashing out with cruel words and anger is his only form of personal expression in this existence that is still under the control of others and will be until he finally takes his last breath.

no one wants him dead more than himself, and if he can't make it happen by his own hand, he thinks he should at least have the decency to suffer in loneliness until the day comes naturally. and yet, foiled again, because people do look for him! not even just the visitors you'd expect, but people who remember that nice boy who always helped the elderly take their groceries home and fed the stray cats in the street and indulged the neighborhood kids in games on his days off. they always wondered where he went one day, back when the village was still at war, and wonder how he ended up this way now. but zetsu is right. how convenient would it have been for obito if he had been allowed to die a hero's death in battle, sacrificing himself to save a loved one!

[astrronomemes]

AND WEAPONS DON'T WEEP: STARTERS

a collection of dialogue prompts for or about characters who have been treated or trained as weapons by others, valued only for their capacity for violence, destruction, and harm. trigger warnings for mentions of murder and violence. change & alter as needed.

THE WEAPON:

"I'm not proud of the person they've turned me into. But it's all I know. And it's too late for me to change now."

"If there was ever any good in me, there's none left anymore."

"I don't know where the blood ends. Where my hands begin."

"I do what it takes to survive. And I don't care if that makes me a villain."

"I'm good at hurting people. I'm not going to apologize for doing what I'm good at."

"I'll never know who I could have been if they hadn't made me into this."

"This is your fault! You did this to me! You're the reason I'm like this!"

"Don't try and get close to me. You'll just get yourself hurt."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm... I'm not very good at being good."

"I don't really know how to be gentle."

"I'm not nice, and I'm not going to pretend to be. Deal with it."

"They made me a monster."

"They're all afraid of me. And they're right to be. You should be, too."

"I know I'm a villain. I don't need you to tell me that."

"Look at what they did to me! Look at what they made me into! It's their fault! They ruined me!"

"I wish they'd just killed me. I wish they'd just killed me instead of turning me into this. Being dead is better than being a monster."

"I know you're scared of me. It's okay. Everyone is."

"What does it matter whether I feel guilty about it or not? I still did it. Being sorry doesn't change that."

"Who am I if I'm not a monster?"

"No one could ever love me after everything I've done."

"Why aren't you afraid of me? How can you not be afraid of me?"

"I don't even know who I am without them pulling my strings."

"You want me to be the villain so bad? I can damn well provide."

"I don't want to be like this anymore. I don't want to hurt people. I want to be gentle. I want to be good."

"Who am I if I'm not what they've made me?"

"I don't need a weapon. I am one."

"Do you think I have it in me, to be good?"

THE WIELDER:

"You look so beautiful covered in somebody else's blood."

"And where did this little crisis of conscience come from all of a sudden?"

"You don't get to say no to me. Not after everything I've done for you. You owe me."

"You belong to me. You're mine."

"Where would you be without me? Who would you be without me? ...That's right. So let's try and be a little more grateful, hm?"

"I gave you everything, and this is how you choose to repay me?"

"I made you! You're nothing without me!"

"You don't make the rules, darling. That's my job."

"You are a dog, and I hold your leash. Never forget that."

"I didn't make you a monster. I just brought out what was already there."

"Look at you, coming when I call, eating out of my hand, doing everything I tell you... such a good dog, aren't you?"

"You think you can just walk away from me? Where are you going to go? Nobody else could possibly love a sick thing like you!"

"Monster is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as... helping you reach your fullest potential."

"I've got you trained so well, don't I?"

"I thought you knew better than to disobey me."

"Do you really think you can be a hero? After everything you've done?"

"Well, then, if I really ruined your life like you say, why don't you just kill me? We both know you're good at that."

"This is all you're good for. Don't go getting delusions of grandeur on me now."

"You couldn't survive without me. Don't ever delude yourself into thinking otherwise."

"I give the orders. You take them. Not the other way around."

"Destruction is really the only thing you're good at, darling. Take that away, and what's left?"

THE OBSERVER:

"You don't have to be what they tell you to be, you know? You're not stuck. You can change."

"You're not a monster. You're my friend."

"Being gentle doesn't come easy to you, does it?"

"You're a good person. I'm sorry they made you think you aren't."

"You kind of have a little... blood... on your face. ...Don't worry, I'll get it for you."

"I'm not scared of you."

"So, have you ever... you know... killed somebody?"

"You're sick, you know that? You're really sick. I can't believe you seriously do this kind of shit."

"Look, I know who you are. I know what you've done. And I'm not running away from you. You can't scare me off."

"You really are a monster."

"Why do you listen to them? Why do you take orders from them? You don't have to obey everything they tell you."

"So, let me get this straight: you know how to kill a man fifteen different ways, just with your bare hands, and you wouldn't even break a sweat... but you don't know what to do at a party?"

"You're not as mean as you want everyone to think you are."

"You say you're not a dog. So why do you blindly follow orders like one?"

"You don't have to do this. You don't have to be like this. You can choose your own path."

"You really are as bad as they say."

"Don't touch me. You have blood on your hands."

"I know you won't hurt me. I trust you."

"No! Stay away from me! Don't come any closer!"

"The world isn't just heroes and villains. You don't have to be one or the other. And just because you've been one doesn't mean you can't be the other."

"You don't have to listen to them. You don't have to obey."

"They don't get to decide who you are. No one but you gets to decide who you are."

[kkmui]

"I missed you." / shikadai :')

it'd been easier to call this place home once. they'd spent more time in suna before the inauguration of the seventh hokage, when his father hadn't been so busy and shikadai's care hadn't been left to his mother and whoever of the elderly nara humored him in debate and play. he realizes now, as the sand sticks to his shoes, that it'd been a conscious effort to keep him connected with this half of his identity. the journey between these villages is long. he doesn't remember the sweat at his neck and back from the blistering heat, or the heaviness of his limbs when he finally finds refuge in the building which houses the kazekage's office, his travel pack still weighing heavy upon his shoulders. perhaps he strolls in a bit too brazenly, considering his status as a shinobi of konohagakure. but there is no one to scold him for his lack of reverence ... konohamaru-sensei and his other two teammates have taken to exploring the village at chocho's insistence, leaving shikadai to take care of family matters in the meantime.

" hello, baki oji-san. " the title feels right with the name, even after years of separation. shikadai's grown, but baki looks just as he remembers him. he dips his head in a brief greeting, a gesture of respect he doesn't extend even to the kazekage. the man does not demand it, but there is something about him which snaps shikadai to attention, even with the knowledge this man had held him in infancy and indulged him in childhood. he never was a chatty boy, but something tells him baki doesn't mind.

i missed you, accompanies baki's greeting in turn. shikadai smiles. he's at ease now in this familiar comfort ... he still has roots here, some claim by blood and affection. " i missed you too. it's been a while. " he can't put it to an exact date, but he knows the last time he'd come to visit was prior to his graduation. now, he proudly wears his hitai-ate fastened around his arm. " ah, wait. this is good timing ... my mom wanted me to give you something. are you busy ? "

[duwude3]

🎶: Youtube 🎶: Spotify One of my favorite traits of Obito is his ability to cry. He’s one of the most courageous characters of the show and he also cries more than anyone else. I love that so much. He’s a soft hero with a lot of compassion. I wanted to exaggerate the way he was shamed for his tears because while it felt very cruel to me it seemed to be downplayed by the show itself.

[konohans]

❝ be good for me and spread your legs. ❞ um obiruka .. obito is mean.

iruka isn't sure how they'd gotten here—

maybe the empty bottle of sake is answer enough, although iruka would like to think that he does have some sort of restraint – if not common sense – to not have been swayed so easily by lust anyhow, no matter how smouldering uchiha obito could get his gaze to be, and how adequately sharp his tongue could get which almost always makes iruka wants to shut it close, and yet. there he went, noses brushing, before he pressed the other into the kiss. uchiha obito kisses like he fights – or at least, this is the speculation iruka is drawing from the eagerness of his teeth, and the forcefulness of his tongue. he kisses oppressively, like iruka is a battle he must conquer, or an opponent he has to yield to submission. and iruka is irate.

and it isn't as though iruka doesn't know the power uchiha obito has, , even beyond the strength one surely must possess having been the vessel of uchiha madara and the man who brought forth a war, because he'd seen it in the way each carefully bitten words leave its scars in kakashi ( kakashi ! the copy nin ! ), and he could even tell that, no matter the gruffness, part of naruto hangs his hopes in every progress made and advices given by the older survivor of the uchiha clan. uchiha obito leaves in the people he's marked an influence that's astounding, that iruka could almost see the very appeal in naruto's drawn-out stories about how the elder uchiha's once dream had been to be hokage. the few influences he has, he certainly makes full use of it.

and you might think that this is the appeal of the man for iruka. he wouldn't have blamed anyone for suspecting so, especially given his track record with mizuki and how easily iruka had bent and twist himself for his former lover up until their inevitable break-up, but with uchiha obito ? this might just be more spite than anything.

sure, there is the allure of the dangerous. the adrenaline of getting close to a wild beast and putting some flimsy faith that he won't bite. or maybe there is even a thrill in obtaining a scar when he does bite, iruka really doesn't know. couldn't possibly psychoanalyse himself when he's unzipping his flak jacket aside, tossing his shirts right after, and also pulling and pushing at uchiha obito to do the same. uchiha obito kisses like he fights, like he wants to leave endless marks for an existence otherwise tossed aside, and why is the agitation in defying him making iruka's cock throb so hard ? the sensei is splayed on the unrolled futon when obito says what he says, and iruka couldn't help it. he rolls his eyes, and ignores the burn of desire crawling up his chest as he tugs his hair tie off, thinks of what he plans next.

❛⠀no, ❜ he says, sitting up.

iruka's stomach quivers, just a little, as he wraps a hand around himself, giving his body the much needed relief seeing as he has probably staved off for– kami, he doesn't even know for how long, but it feels good, letting the familiar sturdiness of his palm alternate between languidly stroking his curved length and squeezing it. iruka could see himself dripping by his slit, the pre-cum translucent but continuously leaking, and he makes sure uchiha obito has a salacious view of it as he shuffles closer, and uses his other hand to push the other man to lie. ❛⠀do you think you've earned this, uchiha-san ? ❜ iruka makes a show of canting his hip, hitching his breath a little, as though to taunt his desire. the lust he has yet allowed obito to take.

❛⠀you earn my goodness ? my body to command ? no. ❜ and then, hunching forward, iruka bends his head as he grips himself a bit harder, breathes heavier, ensures that their faces are bowed close as iruka takes his place straddling the man. ❛⠀oh, but i do want you. fuck, do you see how hard you've made me, uchiha-san ? how much i'm dripping for you ? but you'll wait for me, won't you ? you'll wait till i'm ready and i'll tell you then that you can take me ? hm, uchiha-san ? or would that be too difficult for you ? ❜ iruka raises his head, his dark eyes meeting the uchiha's, and in his expression, a smirk.

@kkmui – you. me. now.

[kkmui]

it almost feels like he is iruka's prey now, as they try not to draw the attention of the anbu agents who lay in wait just outside the apartment building. with iruka's infrequent presence in his home comes another person who spends too much time sticking their nose into obito's business. like father, like son , he considers, or whatever degree of guardianship iruka's taken over the boy. the visit is familiar enough that obito hadn't bothered walking to the genkan when he'd heard that firm knock, and wordlessly offered some of the sake he'd been nursing when iruka tires of waiting on the other side of the unlocked door. it's sickly sweet, a mirror of the academy teacher, but it burns in protest on the way down. like much of what obito's become recently, iruka takes it without complaint.

his head tilts on its axis as he feels lips against his, but he presses into the kiss with intention. he may be buzzed, but it hasn't killed his desire ... though he considers that he is the hunted here, with iruka pulling him to the futon at the edge of his apartment, coaxing his shirt from him, knowing obito will listen obediently. where he's usually the dour husk of a man madara stitched together years ago, the alcohol and iruka's pretty face humors him enough that he impatiently boxes the smaller in against the futon once they're freed of their clothes. it's been far too long since he's been able to indulge in this carnal ugliness, to rut like a beast into anything aside from his own hand. even in his preparation to fix the world , he'd known himself flawed enough to indulge in these impulses on occasion. nameless faces which blur together in his hazy recollection. ironic, perhaps, that he who positioned himself adjacent to a god might have succumbed to something so basely human.

" be good for me and spread your legs, " obito says, propped up on his knees, desire heavy between his thighs as he spits into his hand and looks to work himself to proper attention. he doesn't want to stretch the moment too thin, pull it longer than it needs to be. there is nothing behind the weight of this intimacy but lust ... and perhaps, the seedling of knowledge that he might ruin yet something else. iruka, sent as a sacrifice which might whet his appetite for defiance of his pitiful fate, to mother hen uchiha obito into playing house in the prison of the village. he is too pleased with himself as they hide in the shadows of obito's shitty apartment together. his corrupting touch leads lower to iruka's hip, the pale white of his skin stark against the darker tan of the chunin's. perhaps it's that nagging voice in him, loathe to admit his own desperation for this, which snaps his jaw shut when his demand is denied.

perhaps the village is making him soft, he considers, falling back onto the futon as a hand guides him down. this offense does not displease him, as he almost expects that familiar tension to tighten in his jaw, that fire which burns in his belly ... how could it when iruka catches the moonlight filtering through the curtains like this, finding a seat upon his thighs, pretty with his hair down ? he watches, mouth dry. has he earned this ? no. he doesn't think so, but that resignation does not sate his greed. they're close enough that their breath mingles, their noses bumping as obito smirks. " you think you can domesticate me ? make me your little pet project, sensei ? " his mouth is his only weapon in this declawed state, where his eyes and his ninjutsu have been sealed away. it speaks in cruel expressions and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. he might kiss it away with the sake on iruka's tongue.

his hand finds iruka's hip once more. it's the flesh-toned arm now, obito's fingers which dig into the meat there. he hopes it blossoms into the prettiness of a bruise the following day, a visualization of that creeping depravity he pulls the other into. there is certainly no pureness in the world that might absolve obito's soul, but iruka tries his hardest with the saintly patience of a teacher. how far might obito push him ? when will he break ? " you'd better hurry your games along, " he hums, though his tone is still indulgent. " i'm not a very patient man. "

[inkkat]

he's been doing this for years

[konohans]

there is something to be said, perhaps, about naruto's naivety or ... optimism when he'd easily been persuaded to exit uchiha obito's sanctuary for a late mission report – something iruka had only wagered upon, but nevertheless found instant relief having known he'd played his cards just right – and therefore, leaving someone who has been known until recently as an international terrorist wanted across several elemental countries, alone with his former academy sensei. or maybe it says something in regards to naruto's faith in iruka, a sentiment the teacher could not fault the blonde for, given the fact that iruka realises he'd been, to naruto, one of the first to have accepted him as who he is, rather than what he holds.

of course, naruto's sentiment, here, is flawed. iruka was able to extend so much sympathy to him due to the fact that naruto was only a child then, helpless against the accusations, neglect, and outright mistreatment he'd received at the hands of those who knew that they could mostly get away with it. uchiha obito, on the other hand, instigated a whole shinobi war. and iruka gets it, ( he thinks ) he'd read most of the court transcription that he was allowed to read within his rank and maybe some ( thanks to both anko and genma ), and he'd gotten the first-hand testimony from the nights naruto had chattered away in their apartment which iruka had essentially tricked naruto into agreeing after the war while the trial for both the uchihas had went on. he understood, on the surface, that uchiha obito were much of a victim as he is a perpetrator. that much of his goals had overlapped so much with uchiha madara's, that it was difficult to distinguish which man ends, and the other begins.

that, had naruto not been extended the care by iruka, he too, could easily have been obito in another life: hell-bent on his own version of vengeance, warped by an extreme idealism.

except—

iruka really isn't that kind. bless the few who mistakes his tolerance for the trait of being ever-forgiving, but iruka had pulled too many corpses and near-deaths after the war to fully be as sympathetic or idealistic as naruto probably needs him to be. maybe that was what kakashi-sensei had intended to, when he'd spoken to iruka about the assignment, hiding behind cordiality and masked nonchalance as iruka exited the lady fifth's office. and yet, for as much as there is anger and despair, neither could iruka trample on their hope. kakashi, especially, seemed like the kind of person who would probably swallow a set of shuriken first rather than ask for any personal favour. and naruto ... oh, brave-hearted, bright-eyed naruto who has so much space for love and acceptance. both the heroes of konoha, the world, who had already asked for so little. could iruka really abandon them ?

❛ i think not, ❜ iruka finally answers around a wry smile. with that, he takes out a scroll, S-rank, his first and probably the only, opens it, and summons another set of document. that one, he passes over to the other across the table. ❛ i've been assigned as part of your inauguration team, uchiha-san. this is to re-introduce you back to society, i believe, in hopes that one day you'd be a proud civilian of konohagakure, and, to be frank, possibly as a way to monitor you much closer, which i am sure is also counterproductive to the first objective, but well — one thing at a time, no ? ❜ another wry smile graces iruka's features, forced and painful, before he drops the expression, his professionalism returning.

he stands.

❛ may i take a look at the seal blocking your chakra, uchiha-san ? ❜

in the document, it states the lists of requirements they both must fulfil for the mission to consider a success. a minimum of four hours spent daily excluding sunday, or sum twenty-four hours per week if the former couldn't be managed. uchiha obito must acquire a professional civilian employment, and the employment must be approved by his team. once accepted, a bi-weekly report must be made to gauge condition and status. failure to retain and maintain the employment within the mission timeframe would result in mission failure. the inauguration team is responsible for uchiha obito's social welfare. any defamation, continued negative perception, or physical harm inflicted on his person may result in mission failure.

the list goes on.

and at the bottom, stands stark-contrast, is UMINO IRUKA's bold hanko stamp, signifying his agreement.

[kkmui]

obito doesn't know enough about umino iruka to be able to deduce much, really. he sizes him up with a glance, but finds little on the surface beyond the easier details. an average chunin, if the flak vest reveals anything, perhaps a touch less capable in taijutsu than others he's seen. obviously close to naruto, and he surmises silently that this must have been the jinchuuriki's academy teacher if not a very unassuming jonin. an aged scar across the bridge of his nose that seems to be from long ago, if he observes how the darker skin there has worked to smooth that unnatural line into something closer to an accessory than disfigurement. nothing like the ugliness of obito, the skin of his patchwork body pulled tight where he'd been stitched together what feels like a lifetime ago.

i think not, iruka says. odd. he didn't think anyone not chained by the sentimentality of who uchiha obito was would bother giving him the time of day. if there is surprise welling up within him, or at least the closest thing to it he feels beneath the haze of his apathy, it does not show on his face. not even when he takes the scroll offered to him wordlessly, eyes squinting to read it over in the dim oranges offered by the evening horizon outside. the light is as warm as the pull of iruka's smile had been when flanked by the boy, or maybe it'd just been naruto, in the way that all the love he holds in his chest makes him burn bright. burn hot, enough that obito might not bear looking upon him for long. selfishly, the jinchuuriki had taken the sun with him, and obito is forced to entertain a house guest in the cold darkness of his apartment as retribution for the blood on his hands.

reintroduce you to society. as though he's an animal, some feral beast to be tamed. as though the humiliation ritual of being pushed about the table as a bargaining chip in the months-long trialing, sat in silence before the mob as though the noose wasn't halfway tied around his neck, were not enough. he thinks about how easy it would be to simply kill iruka here for his audacity, how he dares even think to smile in the face of obito's misery. even with his ninjutsu sealed, he does not think the chunin capable enough to fight back if obito's fingers were to find his throat in one last assertion of selfish free will. he has not killed for pleasure, only necessity, but it's no moral fixture of his. it'd be a shame, after the hells kakashi and naruto went through to save his head from the guillotine. wouldn't it be funny if that were the tipping point after so much carnage ?

" a proud citizen of konohagakure ? " don't make me laugh. here is a man much weaker than him, so insignificant an insect that obito would not have bothered to expend so much as a glance upon him just a year prior. despite this, he finds the collar of his shirt and pulls it over his head easily. obito is not shy about how hideous his body looks. the muscle of his arm has deteriorated in months of imprisonment, but that of the white not-skin retains its strength. on the angle of his shoulder blade, just diagonal to where the seam of his body bisects him in two, there is a faint marking of 押 against the skin, surrounded by the darker lines of a powerful fuinjutsu. he does not rise from his place in the chair ; if iruka would like to confirm its integrity, he can circle around to do so himself.

still, obito continues to read. far too many stipulations for his liking, demanding. " and you, as a part of this team, are to be ... what, my warden ? " it's laughable. it's ridiculous. months prior, he had indiscriminately slaughtered thousands of shinobi across the hidden villages. now, lady fifth would have him settle amongst her survivors. orphaned sons and daughters, grieving mothers and angry fathers, uncles and aunts and nephews and nieces and grandchildren. they must teach his hands, which took the lives of those they loved most, to hammer steel into a blade or press dough into bread for the betterment of their society. he resigns himself to the tight pull of his lip into something baffled. now more than ever, he feels how he is expected to play the part of a dog on a leash. how this caged existence is to be the compassionate alternative to death, mercy only for those who look upon him with pity. obito can't even starve himself into suicide. " you have your work cut out for you, " he finally hums, perhaps the slightest touch condescending. " what sins have you committed to be given this mission, i wonder. "

[kkmui]

"I hate this." / i'm throwing my kakashi at your kushina thank

" well you'd better learn to like it, or you'll find it very hard to be promoted to jonin, y'know ! " kushina doesn't wear maternity well. she's said she should never be a mother ; too loud, too brash. too impulsive, showing in the firm grasp of her fingers around kakashi's wrist as she pulls him along the path. it's forward march to the training grounds, where obito is having his emotional wounds tended to by rin and minato ... how her patient boyfriend manages these three brats alone, she'll never know. they're not hers by blood, but they are by claim, because these children have found a place in her heart.

from what she'd managed to pull from obito's sulking, this little spat is partially kakashi's fault. harsh words about the uchiha boy's habitual tardiness, or his reliance on his teammates to pick up the slack on missions, or kakashi's reluctance to acknowledge the efforts of team minato's two genin ... not quoting kakashi directly. this child has never played well with others, she's gathered in their time together, but it's no excuse for failing to apologize when he's in the wrong. " now, you will apologize to obito, and you will try to be better. do you understand me ? " only when the boy falls into silence, noticeable enough that she pauses in her stride to glance back at him, does she feel a note of guilt strike her heart.

kushina turns now. her fingers must be bruising his arm, so much smaller than she'd thought in her hold. she lets him go before she can press purple into the pale skin there, bends at the knee to meet his eye. his expression, somehow crotchety even with the curl of his lip hidden beneath the mask, makes her laugh. " you know what ? it just occurred to me that i didn't get your side of the story yet. " they're only children. she'd almost forgotten.

[copycaat]

@kkmui asked:

"leave me alone." from obito :o

Obito, do you know you're dreaming?

It's hard to tell sometimes, isn't it. The eye records everything in perfect razor-sharp detail, something for the mind to mull over long after events have played out, and the mind processes these recordings while it sleeps. A normal memory might get filed away, downgraded to 480p or erased altogether, but anything the Sharingan recorded stays put forever in picture-perfect flashes. Sometimes it twists into something else, something that never did happen but could have, might have, should have.

Kakashi knows. He still has these dreams himself, even without Obito's eye sucking the life out of him to feed his never ending list of nightmares.

So here he is.

He's leaning over Obito, who is laying flat on a ground made of nothing, looking up at a sky made of nothing. Kakashi's hands are tucked in his pockets but his right arm is soaked with gore up to his shoulder, and his skin is pale and paper-thin and writhing like he's filled with rot. His mask is pulled down to his neck, revealing a mouth with a natural upward curve, a mouth full of long, bloody teeth, a mouth that opens like a wound when he licks his lips and he asks: "Why should I?"

You will have to be convincing, Obito, because you are dreaming.

Not-Kakashi crouches slowly, like he isn't used to being inside of a body. He has one lone eye, red and glowing in the dark, and the other is a wound. He reaches out and grips Obito's collar, leaning over his face to force him to look at him. Blood falls, at first a trickle and then a stream, from his eye and his nose and his mouth. Not-Kakashi untwists his hand from his shirt, and very carefully touches his palm to Obito's scarred cheek.

"You watched me all these years, Obito," he whispers, "Why should I leave you alone now?"

What's going to be the death of me? / Static electricity. / What's making me take it all too far? / You are.

[kkmui]

he doesn't get night terrors anymore.

he might have, long ago. he remembers the vague shape of shadows which contorted in the moonlight, or a woman with too many teeth, or an emaciated old man who grasped his wrist with too much strength. they'd stopped one day, far too long ago for him to remember when and why. far too long ago for it to matter. it must have been when they'd stopped being intangible visions of a child's imagination, and had become the cold weight of a girl's corpse in his arms. or some time before, perhaps.

obito exists now in this plane between the real and the imaginary, same as the bisection of his body, stitched together like a toy in the flawed image of its maker. purgatory is a fitting punishment for him. he is no longer locked in the darkest cell t&i could find, but he spends his days staring at the cage of his apartment, finding where the wallpaper cracks and peels with the curtains drawn. he is no longer uchiha madara, but he is uchiha obito only in the voices of others. in kakashi's voice, brushing the stroke of his name in something caustic, as starkly crimson as the blood which pours from the figure's orifices. オビト . why should i leave you alone now ?

he stares into the dark expanse of nothing that is the false-kakashi's eyes. obito's vision is blurry and spotted black, probably from the empty bottles of booze that have disappeared from his table and his hands and his floor and his bed. in this not-dream, kakashi still has his eye, three-pronged pinwheel dancing as it meets its counterpart. the rot of him starts there, obito considers fondly, where the blood spills pretty like tears. there is something satisfied in him for it, at knowing his influence makes kakashi ugly. " i did, " he replies easily. he has committed too many sins to balk at the mention of them. watching kakashi in his worst, most intimate moments is hardly notable compared to the lives he's claimed. still, it surprises himself that he allows the disgustingly tender touch of a hand at the scarred skin of his face.

obito doesn't get night terrors anymore, because the unreal weaves in so easily with what is true. this gory sight might be something terrible painted by his mind, composed of guilt and anger and alcohol, but it feels too real. ironically, it's the gentle touch that brings this illusion into question. " didn't you say it yourself, back then ? dreams aren't comparable to reality. " he barks out something like a laugh, but nothing about this is funny. he's still unconvinced this really isn't kakashi, even with the sharingan that is supposed to be in obito's eye, even with the careful touch against his face from a hand which has taken life so easily.

all of the things that make this not-kakashi can be explained by the vice of alcoholism he's taken up, or the slow rot of guilt eating at his mutilated insides. they both know it. anger rises in him, a spark of flame all too familiar to him. his hand twists into kakashi's shirt. it's his turn to jerk the smaller man down to him, his teeth scraping together like sandpaper as his jaw clenches. " you're not real. " then why am i bothering to fight with a ghost ? obito rises to his knees now, at least he thinks he does, fingers still clumsily tangled in the other's jonin vest ... or is it his navy shirt underneath ? " damn it kakashi, you're not real. leave me alone. " he pushes, but the alcohol seems to have sapped his strength.

[kkmui]

he looks surprisingly human when he peers into his tea and sees his face staring back at him, water-warped, but more man than the husk of one he is in his mind's eye. there are no mirrors in obito's dusty studio apartment, or anything that might suggest someone lives here, really. the walls are as bare as they had been when he'd first moved in. its most alive resident is the cactus that claims a place in the corner of his windowsill, where the uzumaki brat had left it just minutes prior. a souvenir from suna, he'd announced cheerfully, even though obito snarks something unnecessarily mean at him every time he drops by unannounced, always with some stupid present in tow as he shoulders past the door and spills into obito's home like he owns the damn place.

today, it'd been three things: the cactus, the sand in his previously-clean genkan, and a man with a vaguely familiar face. the window has been open since the sun began to tuck itself beneath the clouds. that's when he'd heard those cries down the street, little voices in a chorus, getting louder as they shouted, " what're you doing here iruka-sensei ? " all the way up the stairs to where obito's front door sits at the end of the apartment's highest floor. it's got a nice view, the landlady had stammered out, months ago. it's out of the way. she hadn't been able to look him in the eye. he hadn't cared enough to agree, because he wasn't even sure if he'd be alive long enough to enjoy it.

it'd been just a week after the final trial which decided his fate. that must be where he'd seen iruka, a passive spectator to obito's misery. or maybe it was when he'd swept past the newly rebuilt academy in passing, skulking in the shadows on a midnight walk, or when he'd been summoned to provide an opinion on konoha's newest trade agreement and accidentally stumbled in on the missions desk while searching for the hokage's office. or maybe @konohans just has the warmth of someone obito knew, once upon a time. now they sit across from one another at the table. naruto's jacket is draped across the back of the chair next to iruka's, abandoned like his mentor at an abrupt reminder to submit his mission report at his earliest convenience. obito's place isn't far from the building, at least.

iruka might find it awkward, but obito's long since killed his childhood compulsion to fill silence with clumsy words. " you can leave, if you'd like. " it's an act of mercy for the younger man, really. in truth, he thinks he knows why naruto had chosen to bring his old academy teacher along today ... but cannot seem to grasp the intentions behind umino iruka's agreement to visit konohagakure's most notorious war criminal. to gawk, perhaps, at the plight of a bird in a cage, where naruto had hoped obito might enjoy the rare company of someone closer to his age. oh well. he only laments that it's a waste of the tea in iruka's cup.