“Oh, I see. But which is it you’d prefer? If you’dlike me to stay, I’d be happy to, however if you dont want me here I’m not going to do it simply because you allow it.” He pursed his lips, obviously a bit irritated by the entire exchange of words, if not simply a bit disheartened.
Dammit no space-filler tangents ic giraffes. Lazee. Jk space-filler tangents are the best. Hidan’s brow only furrowed, and he stared at Kabuto in irritation. The awkwardness was like a sheet of summer air, humidity and sweat sliding between his thighs. It was too uncomfortable, and he couldn’t stomach such social discomfort, especially since he usually resolved situations of disagreement with others through violence. But that would be inappropriate here even for him.
And his passiveness, waiting on the bloody bed, only added to that feeling. Hidan stood, walked over to Kabuto, grabbed him hard by the hair, and kissed him. He intended the impact to be more like a punch to the face than a gentle expression of affection.
Hidan can NOT die of “starvation” or “malnutrition”. That’s a completely dumbass notion if you take half a second to think about it. Being blown into little pieces and crushed under a ton of rocks won’t kill someone, but depriving them of food will?
For me, I define his immortality in roleplay as, for the biggest part, the inability of his soul to part from his body; they’re too ingrained in each other. There are ways to make him irreperable (e.g. burning, rotting away COMPLETELY), but his soul can’t be retrieved even then.
…Deidara hated admitting it at all, but Hidan was very skilled in using the red scythe to his advantage. It was irritating, really, how adept he was. The blond would much rather have been sparring with another member of the Akatsuki, it would have seemed much more useful than constantly dodging a three-bladed weapon being heaved at him every other minute. But whatever; he’d let Hidan get his kicks in the sacrifice, and withstand the inevitable lecture about, “sharing his pain,” and “Jashin will be pleased,” and things of that nature.
Just as Hidan had maneuvered his scythe to follow its target like a beast of prey, he was tripped backwards by his opponent- a maneuver he hadn’t been expecting, since it seemed to be in Deidara’s best interest to stay as far away from him as possible. In fact, he half-expected Deidara to hop on one of his birds and fly out of his reach, a motion that, while effective, would irritate Hidan to no end. His head hit the soft earth, and he was dazed for just a second. The cold metal of the knife pressed against his throat, but he paid it little mind as he yanked out an even closer-ranged weapon- his silver pike- and jabbed it towards Deidara’s stomach. If he was fighting a true opponent, he might’ve been more cautious about the possibility of being beheaded, but he knew from experience that kunais were far from ideal for decapitating a man. It wasn’t easy to separate a head from a body, though one might think it, with how many times he’d been torn apart.
(Source: deidarrras, via deidarrras)
Taking the chance while Hidan’s scythe was temporarily rooted, he tossed a large clay insect he had begun preparing towards the immortal, leaping high into the air. His hand caught hold of a thick branch, splinters wedging into his fingers. Heaving his body forward, Deidara found himself standing upright on the branch now, gazing down at Hidan. The bomber still held the black kunai in hand.
The distance he had managed to put between them was vital.
Hidan wasn’t deterred by the deflection of his weapon. It split the soft ground open, and he swung it around in a circle and back up towards his opponent. As weapons went, his, which was extremely heavy and difficult to wield as it was, far surpassed a simple kunai- but weapons were all he had until he got a single hit in.
By the time Hidan had withdrawn his weapon from the earth, Deidara was too many meters away, and a clay bomb was flying towards him. He cursed underneath his breath and rushed forward to dodge. Immediately, he darted towards Deidara. Though he thought of himself as stronger than the man in several distinct ways, he wasn’t a good opponent for him to try and defeat. Deidara was a mid to long-range fighter, and Hidan could only battle close-range until he landed the first hit, at which point he could perform his one-hit-kill curse jutsu from anywhere and in any dimension. The connection was absolute inside his diagram. The second fact- that Deidara would regenerate any injuries Hidan inflicted upon him- still didn’t deter him, though it was something of frustrating note. Neither of them could die by way of being wounded, but Hidan could still be incapacitated; not that he cared about how much reparation his body needed at any time as long as it was possible to be fixed. And he’d been brought back after having been buried alive and rotting, a dismembered, living corpse, under a ton of rocks for months.
The red metal scythe slid through the tree trunk, cutting it in two, and without missing a beat, Hidan leapt for Deidara and swung for his head. He didn’t want to spend the whole battle chasing his opponent down, but it seemed an unfortunate necessity when fighting a long-range attacker.
(Source: deidarrras, via deidarrras)
Turning around to look back at the devoted Jashinist, Deidara spoke, a hint of mischief could easily be identified behind the bright mask adorning his face. “Let’s spar. Immortal versus immortal? I’m dying to get my hands on some of my clay,” he proposed the idea, stopping about 2 yards away from his violet-eyed senior. Crossing his arms over his chest, Deidara smirked.
“Scared?”
As Deidara turned against the setting sun, Hidan followed him without hesitation. His own navigational skills left much to be desired, and he saw nothing wrong with tagging behind his comrades whenever he needed to get somewhere. After all, that had always been one of Kakuzu’s primary functions, aside from, of course, stitching his severed extremities onto his torso.
Deidara’s suggestion caught Hidan off-guard for a fraction of a second, and then he was thoroughly pleased by it. It was exactly his kind of activity, even if there wasn’t too much difference between his “friendly spars” and his battles against enemy shinobi. As he figured things, if his comrade couldn’t dodge an enormous scythe being swung at his torso, then he deserved to be cut in half and it was all divine will anyway. Of course, he didn’t have to worry (what little concern he may have had originally) for his opponent’s life when he was the undead to begin with.
“You’re not immortal.” Hidan pointed out, untying his scythe from his back in answer to the offer. “I can’t be killed. You’re a zombie.” It was a rather less eloquent image, but Hidan had never been one for dressing things up in consideration of another’s feelings, or to make things look prettier than they really were. Of course, being truly immortal wasn’t a glorious, delicate deal, either. More often than not, Hidan himself looked like a moving corpse.
In response to the (ridiculous, but expected) taunt, Hidan sneered, “Not in your dreams, dipshit.” Without any further warning or preparation, he leapt high into the air and brought his heavy weapon down towards Deidara’s head.
(Source: deidarrras, via deidarrras)
What. What is this fantasy that Hidan is having what. Hiding some sort of weird student-teacher fetish, Hidan? No seriously wtf. Uh, anyway, Kabuto fortunately cant read this thoughts that were just reviewed, so hes simply staring at Hidan with the same expression over his face.
“I never treated you in such a way.” He said simply, not justifying it or putting reasoning behind it. He was stating fact.
He raised his eyebrow, his own face turned in somewhat of a frown still, although hes curious. He doesnt respond for a moment or so, simply leaning against the doorframe there with that expression placating his facial muscles.
“I’m not sure what I want.”
Hidan did not, in fact, have a weird student-teacher fetish going on, though he was plagued by a variety of other weird fetishes (including, say, creating a new hole full of internal organs to be penetrated). Rather, he was opposed to being treated in any way that seemed to demean his pride and sense of strength. Physical mutilation did not necessarily fall along those same lines, but being looked down upon did, as did having his feelings considered, oddly enough. He’d be more offended by somebody kindly offering to dress his wounds than by that same person ignoring his spilling guts. He wasn’t used to being asked if he was okay with something, or being offered help, for that matter. It was hard to explain how not being completely emotionally disregarded made him think he was being called weak, however, and so he didn’t argue against Kabuto’s denial.
“Either get your ass back over here or leave.” Hidan demanded; it was worse being left there, dissatisfied, and talking through things than any other option. Indecision was an awkward point.
Kabuto raised an eyebrow to the wall, but didnt move, his grip rolling to slide across the doorframe. “Excuse me?” He said, as if calmly offended. “Dont let me force anything you dont want, Hidan.” His voice was even and low, as if not at all upset, although there was a lingering darkness that showed there was something more behind his words. He turned slightly so the rim of his bloodied glasses shone to the side of his face, barely blocking the yellow eyes beneath them.
“I dont think you have any need to order me around, either. In fact, I would go as far as to say that would just make matters worse. If you dont want what was happening to continue, I understand that. I simply regret that you let me push it farther than you were comfortable.” Again, there was an underlying tone.
Hidan moved to scratch the back of his neck, mussing blood in his now-disheveled hair. A slow roll of awkwardness billowed through the room, something that he couldn’t imagine would be rectified by a genuine discussion of his and Kabuto’s feelings. “Shit, quit making me sound like a pussy.” He snapped, thoroughly displeased with the mental image of Mr. Yakushi teaching his young student a few things and taking caution not to slip the boundary from mere statutory into real rape. Hell, they were the exact same age (notwithstanding Hidan’s unaging quality, that was). The very idea that Kabuto could “force” anything was offensive to his pride.
“Just do whatever the hell you want.” Hidan demanded, his tone indicating that it was a demand and not a suggestion, very blatantly ignoring the other’s admonishment against ordering him around. He was, however, giving him permission to leave or to stay. It wasn’t like his own body’s preservation was worth much- hell, he was covered in his own blood and guts, organs poking and bubbling out of his open stomach wound, and the room painted wall to wall with his red. He was immortal, and that meant anything that happened to him was inconsequential.
“The first week or so I couldn’t do anything but stand in that fucking coffin all day, waiting for Tobi and Kabuto to use me like their little plaything. After that, I was sent with Sasori and someone else on the ambush squad.” Deidara left out the part about how Sai had kicked their asses and forced their squad to retreat back to the hideout, a shameful loss on the Akatsuki’s part. “A ton of people. Kakuzu, Nagato, Sasori, Itachi, the Jinchuuriki, Kinaku and Ginaku, and half of Zetsu. That bitch got even more weird. I guess somehow his white half split apart from the black half and multiplied? I don’t know, but there’s 100,000 white Zetsu’s running around,” Deidara explained, blinking in boredom.
Hidan couldn’t deny the motion that Pein was overly pierced, though he also couldn’t speak from experience on the matter of his genitals. With such a lewd matter in mind, he was tempted to take Deidara’s light-hearted jab as a come-on, but he (just barely) resisted the joke begging to be made. It helped that he was so fiercely obsessed with honest-to-god, not-fucking-around-in-the-slightest fury at Shikamaru Nara, a flame hot enough that it threatened to consume his mind completely at times. “The bastard tricked me with Kakuzu’s blood.” Hidan’s tone was suddenly pitch black, and for a second, he stared at Deidara with a truly menacing expression hanging half-off the border of Sanity. Without elaborating, in the next instant, Hidan was half-grinning at the other with a light air again.
“Yeah, I’m sure it did.” He quickly agreed with Deidara’s mirrored theory. “That jutsu fucks with your mind and body enough as it is, after all.” The zombies were just tools, and free will was a façade imposed on them by their creator in order to attack his opponents mentally. It was more toxic to be attacked by a close friend greeting their mate with a posthumous gloom than by his empty shell of a corpse. Kabuto knew that well.
Being forced to stand in a coffin for a week certainly didn’t sound pleasant, even if one didn’t need air. Hidan was all too aware of what it felt like to be buried alive. “Yeah, I’ve seen Kakuzu and a couple of the Jinchuuriki.” And he’d even gotten close to the cat-woman he’d beaten half to death. “What?” Zetsu’s situation was simply confusing. “So what, that jackass’s deal is that he… reproduces asexually? Buds or some shit? Or is it just clones?” It sounded simultaneously useful, stupid, and inhumanly weird.
(Source: deidarrras, via deidarrras)
“Is that what you want?” His voice didnt seem particularly angry or nearly as calm as before, either way. He simply seemed to be asking as if they’d finished a business arrangement. He did, however, feel a bit of a weight over his shoulders as he realized the throws of passion that had Hidan supplementing his actions were nothing more than washes of masochistic adrenalin. He shook his hand once, slinging the blood away in a definitively irritated fashion, turning on his heel and moving to walk from the room before hovering in the doorway.
“You did give me permission, you know.”
Kabuto got up and turned to leave without protest, and Hidan didn’t spare a fleeting thought to the idea that he might have hurt his feelings, or that he might have given him the impression that he was just being used. He was, however, possessed by a lingering sense of personal dissatisfaction that came with being left there, unappeased, in the middle of a rather unorthodox foreplay (though it was him who demanded it in the first place).
He turned, sloshing in the blood still spilling from his cavity, and grunted, “Fine, get your ass back over here.” As if only realizing how unpleasant it was to be torn of the sensation after it was gone.
