props to how orochimaru rocked her akatsuki look like fr. NO shirt to be seen under that cloak?? the tastefully scratched out headband. the black and red of it all. her long, constantly manicured lilac nails. of course she was kicked out she was eating the whole organization up

Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours

// I’ve been on and off at the moment because work has been incredibly demanding. The visa issues we were having are now finally over and that’s given me some definite freedom again though. But to get into my fresh start, and to reboot my muse, I’m going to be dropping all my current threads. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I feel that’s the best way for me to get my muse back 💜 If I’ve dropped our thread, I still really want our muses to interact, and this is merely to clear out my dozens of drafts and get a fresh start for my return. Apologies for the absent behaviour and thread drop, please DM me if you wanted to keep a thread or discuss a new one!

Com by vltzid

// I’ve been on and off at the moment because work has been incredibly demanding. The visa issues we were having are now finally over and that’s given me some definite freedom again though. But to get into my fresh start, and to reboot my muse, I’m going to be dropping all my current threads. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I feel that’s the best way for me to get my muse back 💜 If I’ve dropped our thread, I still really want our muses to interact, and this is merely to clear out my dozens of drafts and get a fresh start for my return. Apologies for the absent behaviour and thread drop, please DM me if you wanted to keep a thread or discuss a new one!

Hidan @scurriilous

   Thus ensues the Snake’s rattlings. All sing and no dance. All bark and no bite. Magenta eyes roll as the ungodly one-sided conversation goes in one ear and out the other, like when a righteous adult gives a lecture to a problem child. He may hear their hollow words, but he sure as fuck wasn’t listening. Yet, a selective attention is quick to SPRING INTO ACTION at the implication that this Dissident was in anyway akin to an absolute deity. 

   Orochimaru continues to HISS their taunts and jeers, and slowly does the Priest begin to pivot his gaze and body to face them once more. Something has shifted within his eyes ; they were darkened, smouldering even deeper than before. No longer were they a piqued regal violet - rather a VAST, BALLISTIC plum. Interjecting, Hidan begins to prowl back toward them, eerily calm in his outrage.

                ❝ … Are you seriously comparing yourself to a God? ❞ 

   Grant the creature their crown ! They had succeeded in burying themselves beneath the albino’s flesh ! So much so that it begins to crawl - no - ITCH with literal irritation. He wants nothing more than to rip that smug look off their face and feed it to the wolves. It was foolish of him to leave his throne vulnerable to tarnish by the likes of this SICK PAGAN, but two could play this mind game. 

   Once close enough, a large palm comes to rest against the flat of the throne’s headrest beside the Serpent’s head, pinning them BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA. He looms over - borderline into - the slender form seated beneath him, portraying mannerisms of domination and intimidation. Much like they had, Hidan’s eyes scour to regard the other, only his leer is rooted in disgust, not admiration. 

   ❝ You’re no more of a God than that pathetic excuse of a leader Pein. And you’re no more of an ‘immortal’ than Kakuzu was. I’d love to test the limits of whatever kind of freak fucking science experiment you performed on yourself. Though, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stomach your blood, probably tastes like DOG SHIT. You do bleed, don’t you? Or does your body just circulate venom? ❞ - for the Reaper’s tone certainly does ; malicious and lethal. 

   ❝ Of course, there are other methods of killing you, ❞ he begins, scowl sharpening to a debaucherous grin, ❝ You wouldn’t be worthy of being sacrificed to Lord Jashin anyhow. You’re already fucking dead. ❞ To punctuate his words the Reaper springs backward to a standing position, looking down their nose at the other. 

   ❝ Heh. Haven’t you heard? I’ve got communes scattered ‘round every village you can think of. I have the Way of Jashin on my side. Our dogma is WAR. Fuck whatever allied forces those bastards come up with. You’re seriously stupid enough to think I’d want to partner up with you? 

                                          ─── Ha !                                      You and what army? ❞

They watch him in curiousity, pleased with every step he takes towards their person. They would take the crown indeed, elated to get a rise out of the other immortal. Enjoying the stance he takes of physically dominating them. He does dwarf their figure somewhat, he does have more weight to throw around. If physical appearances were what someone judged this scene on alone, it would appear the serpent overstepped. That they were about to be subdud and forced into submission upon biting off more than they can chew.  But physical prowess is not the viper’s weapon. It is their sharp mind, and an excessive amount of hard work in the hands of someone already born talented. His hand slams down beside their head, he leans forward to leer above them. He sweeps their figure with his crimson eyes, a shimmer of a ruby, or a splash of blood, they can’t tell what that gaze reminds them more of. But his words evoke challenge. They are happy to play along. A hand rests on the arm he places like a bar to keep them trapped to the throne. An elegant motion, and they have slipped out from his cage like postioning, before they speak, “if I’m not a god, then name a shinobi who has taken their mortal life and multiplied it for centuries at a time. Tell me what shinobi has stepped out of the reaper land without the mark of death. Tell me what shinobi has pulled others from graves, who has made puppets of the dead, and servants of the living. I offer power, I demand sacrifice, and I defy natures norm. What more is there to godhood?” they ask, before they turn to look at Hidan. A smile rises to their lips, as they place a hand to their hip to casually rest it there, “I have seen greater empires than yours fall to ruin. A clever leader builds his kingdom to be strong. A wiser one knows that will never be enough.”  That is when serpents would reach out as if from thin air, winding around Hidan, forcing him to be pinned to his throne. Tangling around him like writhing rope, biting into flesh and winding tightly, hissing in excitement. Orochimaru once more sits on the armrest of his throne, their elbow leaning on his shoulder as if the two of them are close friends, and the serpent is welcome to use Hidan as a comfortable support for their sylphlike figure. Well aware how much it would annoy him to be touched by their godless person. They lean down to speak into his ear, “let me show you what becomes of men in the presence of a true immortal.” they mutter, the door to his throne room opening by the sudden appearance of wind. Elements bending to the serpents command. Hidan, strapped to his own throne, would be able to gaze out. His followers lay limp, strewn and tattered, bodies upon bodies, enough death to look like a war ground. So akin to the Second War, in fact. The life of his shinobi were put out like a flame, but that is not the only part of the show the serpent wants to display, ”my blood can be spilled just like yours, just like theirs,” they say, gesturing to the massacre of bodies, “or it can be a poison that would snuff the life of anyone who spilled it. It is what I decide it to be. I am my own creation. That, my dearest, is what it means to be a god.” they say, before a smirk rises to their lips, and they extend their hand towards the piles of bodies stretching out beyond the eyes scope. Like a witch might conjure a spirit, the necromancer that haunts this king raises the dead before them. Shinobi made of cracked skin with hollow eyes begin to stand, one by one, group by group. The march of the dead begins to approach Hidan, their once Lord - until they became mere puppets of the viper. “Arrogance can cost you just as much as weakness can. Perhaps you do not fear death, perhaps neither do they. But even you must know that there are worse fates than death. Why, it can be a mercy, it is an escape. But you? Well you have no escape, now do you?” they say, slipping off his chair as the hoards of living dead descend upon the immortal king. Each one looking for skin to tear into. Now not only serpents pin him, but the viper’s blade in the hand of a puppet drives through his abdomen to pin him to stone like a butterfly is pinned as art. But the genjutsu then breaks, and Hidan would once more be glowering down at the serpent who he has pinned with his arms on either side of their head. Looking at them still seated comfortably in his throne. There would be no deceased followers littering his kingdom, no tears in his flesh where his own shinobi tried to rip him a part. Perhaps phantom pains, if he can not shake them, perhaps dizziness, if his body is in shock due to believing the mind, perhaps a headache, because it takes a toll. The viper chuckles, “I carry a kill count of a dozen armies. What makes you think I need to hide behind one?”

👨‍🏫 ,💛 or 👪

Tell me what relationship our muses should have! // @veroxins

send 💛 for our muses to be friends send 👪 for our muses to have a familial relationship send 👨‍🏫 for one muse to be a teacher/mentor for the other muse

// All three of these work honestly! Given what we plotted, I can see Oro easily taking on a mentor role for her, and they could definitely take on a more parental role too? Given the fact they want to avoid her being weaponized by Konoha, and given the fact she shows potential, they would have good cause to offer her a place in the Hidden Sound. And given they can't help but try and teach people things with their passion for learning and seeing growth in others, it would probably occur quite naturally that they would take on a parental role model type figure for her! Especially if she got any clarity on how she was being used, in which case Oro's plight may appeal to her more since they were dealt the same hand as a kid, and they can level with her inner rebel :')

Kabuto @raichoose​

To say that Kabuto is enamored with his bride-to-be is a huge understatement. As they state their vows, as they kiss the back of his hand, as their eyes search his - so, too, does he search theirs. That familiar shade of gold, far more beautiful than the precious metal that shares their hue’s name; those snake-like pupils that might frighten others, but will only ever seek to draw him in; that intense stare, one that makes him feel so wonderfully whole and seen. And, of course, the sound of their voice! He always said he could listen to them talk for hours at a time, and Kabuto meant it then as he means it now.

It’s now his turn to kiss the back of Orochimaru’s hand. “How beautiful it is, that both of our vows should mention forever … I want forever with you, even if that stretches through the very end of the world, even if we end up floating through the cosmos because of it. I want to experience all there is to know by your side, as I always have. I want to know you - as you were, as you are, as you have yet to be. I want to see every change you make, hear every word you say, witness every move and step that you take. I want to be the one you turn to and keep turning to, the one you count on to love you and know you and take care of you for the longest time forever could possibly be interpreted to mean. And the parts of you that you love, and the parts of you that you don’t … I want you to know that I will always love them, and you, forever. Make me immortal. Because it is as I’ve always said, is it not?” 

And then, even though he has not yet been told it’s time to kiss them, even though the couple still needs to participate in the sake ceremony that is being set up for them -

He leans in for a kiss.

“I’ll follow you to eternity, my love, and beyond even that.” 

The serpent never thought they would be at such a traditional ceremony, dressed in such a traditionally white kimono, partaking in such traditional customs. But for Kabuto? There is a great deal more they would do for him. He is ever the romantic, and has lead ever the most abnormal life. To offer him this simple joys? To be a part of the reason he gets to enjoy the human experience? That is worth it. Of course they wondered how their offer would be received. Immortality was a different kind of forever. More than just a lifetime of commitment. A hundred lifetimes and then some. But there is no hesitation from their husband. They return the kiss they had not been patient for, charmed that they can break at least one rule on the rather magical ocassion. The sake ceremony is next, and as the serpent brings the drink to their lips, they can’t help teasing Kabuto when they see one particular face in the crowd, “your brother didn’t object to the wedding. Makes me think he may have other plans. Should I check the wine for poison?” they tease, kissing their husband’s cheek so he knows they are joking. It is fair that Kabuto’s family has some reservations. It isn’t as if the serpent is the most loved or well behaved shinobi alive. The rest of the evening is as charmed as ever. Orochimaru is enchanted with their husband all evening, smiling behind their glass of champaign, stealing glances when their own comrades call for their attention and pull them aside. If Kabuto is not in sight for whatever reason, they placate themself by glancing down to their ring. Already they have know one another, and loved one another, for well over a decade. But the honeymoon phase has never quite lifted. By the end of the evening, they retire to their bedroom while Kabuto ensures Mitsuki does not give Rogu a hard time when the night is over. But while Kabuto would leave his partner dressed in pristine white, smiling and radiant from the festivity, he would return to something different. The serpent is collapsed, their kimono spilling out around them, drops of crimson lining what was once pure white fabric. The palm of the viper’s hand, meant to be an equally porcelain white, has a handful of blood. They cough up more blood in front of Kabuto’s eyes, dizziness having brought them to their knees. They don’t have the capacity to link their state of being to the state of the serpents in Ryuchi. They do not know why they feel their body betraying them with illness. They only search Kabuto’s midnight eyes with their frantic golden ones, “what’s wrong with me?” they ask between a raspy cough, not hesitating to trust the more experienced medic between them as they relapse from fatigue.

Sakura @hana-akari​

Hearing Sasuke’s name sparked a fit of rage in the pink haired woman, “He’s worse than a traitor! He’s a garbage deadbeat! Always talking about wanting to revive the Uchiha clan but when faced with actually taking care of a child? He leaves! Seems like the only thing he’s good at is running away. He better hope he never comes near my daughter and I again. They’ll be finding pieces of him all the way in the next village over!” Sakura crossed her arms, kicking some rocks on the road. At least Orochimaru got what they wanted. They got a genuine reactions out of Sakura. A bitter one, but a reaction nonetheless.

The subject of her kid softened her back up again. After she took a good deep breath, “Ah, yes, Sarada speaks highly of your kid… Mitzuku was it? I’ve only met him a few times in passing. It makes me happy to see Sarada making friends. I always worried that she would be alienated because of who her father is.” She let out a small sigh,

“I know I wasn’t exactly treated warmly when I got pregnant. Ugh, I don’t regret Sarada but god, what an awful man he is. Both in bed and personality.” She stated dryly, “Shoulda killed him when you had the chance.” Not that she was encouraging murder. Just sometimes, it seems like a good idea when it comes to certain people.

“You’re right, you aren’t the worst person to be traveling with, and I admit, I do admire your work. I’ve read a lot of your research. You progressed the medical field quite a bit. Even if your methods were…. Questionable at best.” Sakura figured the trip would be far less miserable if she played nice. Even if Orochimaru was just testing her.

They chuckle at her words, not quite expecting the wrath she offers. Evidently a hornets nest had been disturbed when they mentioned Sasuke’s name. They hold some dissatisfaction towards the Uchiha. He did murder them in their sick bed and dishonor their deal. But not all theives had codes, and they were hardly surprised by the treachery. If anything, they are happy to admit they had it coming. And living in Konoha had hardened them to the actions of dishonesty. That was all Konoha ever did, lies and double standards. One might say betrayal felt like home for someone born in the First Great War.  “It wasn’t for lack of trying that Sasuke didn’t lose his life to my hand. I merely honoured a deal too long. Shortsighted, I did not expect to end up quite so ill in his presence,” they say when she mentions they should have murdered him, “though in his defense, I had it coming. And in his defense, he never had a father or mother, and his eldest brother lead a very bad example. If Sasuke does not know how to be a good parent, well that’s hardly a surprise. Physically he lived through the massacre. But he never truly survived it. He’s damaged, you’re asking a broken cup to hold water.” Still they hold some resentment for the Uchiha too, not for killing them, but for dishonoring the code held with Ryuchi. For killing their dear Manda. That was a wound that would never close. She earns a genuine smile from them too when their son is mentioned, a bit of light on the darkening horizon for the serpent, “Mitsuki,” they correct her, “and he hardly has the luxury of judging another persons parent,” they chuckle next, “I share your worries. I thought first to hide who I am in his life, that if no one knew I was his parent, he may be spared any second hand hatred. But he’s as stubborn as I am, what I kept secret for him, he liberally shares with the world. So far, it seems he is charismatic enough that others do not judge him due to my connection. I should be grateful he is more likeable than I am unlikeable.” She earns their curiousity of course, the mention of their work. Science had always been their first ‘love’, married to their career for years. Until they had two children, how they learnt what real love was, “my methods are far more ethical these days, perhaps I can share some recent studies with you. I’m sure you’ll give me fresh and beneficial insights with my projects, and in return my studies can equally benefit your work and expertise.”

028 + 031. Just two pals having a spar again. Mortem very fixated on what is effective against Orochimaru but equally observant if it seems as though they are being pushed too hard. That extra shove against the wall meant to be a moment for her to take in their state quickly and determine if they should continue still or not. Disguised as a second attack as to not insult their prowess, just a moment of observation would do.

Though to be quite honest, the witch is clearly satisfied to spill their blood. Knowing how potent Orochimaru is now was an indicator of how they were in their prime - with a body closer to what they wanted. It's truly an honor to spill their blood. She can't help but smile.

Violent action starter // @cursedfortune

028. — Harm my muse enough for them to cough up blood. 031. — Slam my muse against a wall.

Gold eyes shimmer with excitement and anticipation, then narrow, they can only brace for her next strike, they can’t act quick enough to avoid it. Steeling themself for the blow, they feel the air stolen from their chest and their body lurches from the extreme force. A moment of tensing from the pain, and then blood is working its way up their throat until they are forced to cough it up. It may look grim, but they would resent her going easy on them. It is the reason they have gotten along with her so well. The refuse to be treated like some fragile mortal when they fought so hard and long to be above that. When they survived too many agonies to be reduced. And she has never even attempted to underestimate them, to patronize them with pity or mercy. She gives as much as they do in combat.  They back up to cough up crimson liquid, blinded by their own spluttering for a moment, opening their eyes to see her right in front of them and realizing their back is quite literally against a wall. The ruined village they train in has crumbled and collapsed, but some structures still stand tall. Their eyes spark with anger for a moment, not a good loser and getting too competitive when they realize she may win this sparring match. Angry because it means they are not keeping up with her anymore, they are getting worse, going backwards after all their progress. 

Suddenly she has slammed them into the wall, a moment of observation they almost don’t catch. Almost. But they are too attentive of her lately. And not just in combat to avoid a strike. No, they have started to observe her more... loyally. Fond of her? It is foolishly sentimental. But they have. And what they are fond of, they defend. They observe. They overanalyse and fixate. They watch to see if she ever looks uncomfortable, the tensing of her figure, the fidgeting of her hair. They watch to see if she ever looks to be brooding, dismayed, distanced. Should her eyes flicker with those emotions, they seek out next the cause, ready to eliminate it as a dog does for a master. Willing to spill blood at the smallest inconvenience caused for their dear one. That was what they were raised to do from their years as a soldier, since a mere child. Fight to the death. Defend what is held close at all costs.  They are vicious by nature. And they dare to think their loyalty is such, that their fierceness can be forgiven.  She has gazed them over, checking she is not harming them beyond a point of recovery. They take the opportunity to lunge forward, their lower half morphing into that of a serpent, now before her as a hybrid, a naga. Their tail twists around her tightly, they spin her around so her wrists are slammed beside her head and her back pinned to the wall. Nails have extended to be claws, their golden irises seem to encroach, wanting to make their entire eyes that molten hue. Violet chakra sparks around them like angry flames, licking at her skin, their fangs half a snarl half a smile, “what’s the matter? Worried I’ll break? Surely you know better than that.” they tease, winding tighter around her body, their serpentine tail circling into a tighter grip to steal her breath the way she had theirs. They realize they have gotten all their coughed up blood in their hair, raven locks twirled in a loose wave from the gore clinging to it. A little matted from the sticky source even, they give it a displeased look. But following their own gaze down their black river of hair, they notice where they have torn her clothing. A slit in her side where the skin has healed but the fabrics of her attire have not. Peaking out, a tattoo that is still too covered to be properly seen for its design. They observe her a moment in the pause, the coils of their serpentine body loosening due to their curiosity. They have had enough sparring, their body trembles from clear fatigue, their breathing is too heavy and full of effort, their mouth is still stained with red at the corners of their lips, their golden eyes a little glossy and their wounds are not healing. Chakra depleted. So they use the last of their strength and their naga tail to yank her from her pinned position to toss herself and them onto the floor.

Where they can catch their breath side by side. Something akin to a mermaid out of water but pulled right out of a nightmare rather than a fairytale, their long tail spills out around them. Part coiled loosely over Mortem in a possessive show that she is theirs, part lounging over broken rocks from fallen buildings to enjoy the residue of warm stone. Their hands idly twirl their hair in front of them, twisting it as they assist themself in cleaning the gore by summoning water. A small amount of chakra required that causes no further harm, “you speak a lot about your purpose. But what about yourself outside of that?” they ask, glancing to the tattoos that they have now discovered, trailing a clawed finger across it, “you’re one of the few people I take interest in outside of their purpose and use. It would be a shame if you didn’t share hm?”

// headcanon time! which season does orochimaru prefer? is there any special significance?

Unprompted Asks // @s-talking

They prefer the summer, overall! Winter has its charms for its wrath and storms, and they enjoy the aspect of chaos and unpredictability that comes with it, but the cold bumps it down on their list. They are incredibly vulnerable to the cold, and not being at their best makes them uneasy. Despite that, they actually enjoy winter aesthetically, they enjoy the snow (from a distance), they appreciate storms and violent weather. The cold and rain, not to mention longer nights, means being in disguise and avoiding being seen is a lot easier. Cloaks are not out of place in the downpour, shadows are all over with the dark weather. There is security in it. For this, winter is second on the list.

Autumn carries a chill with it that also has it being less favourable, more importantly, their relationship with Autumn's association with death/decay plays into it. They are fascinated by death, but also averse to it. Some autumns may be pleasant as they toy with the concept of fast-falling life and change, but others are spent loathing the fact that mortality is such an inescapable trap. Autumn is also when they were born, so it crosses over with their birthday, yet another reminder of their mortal clock. This becomes less of an issue when they gain immortality, but it's hard to shake old thoughts. It is third on their list.

Spring is when they lost their parents, a beautiful day, supposedly a time of birth and new life. Instead, they lost their mother and father. They always loathed the fact that the sky dared to be beautiful, the air warm, the world full of life on the night when they lost their parents. It seemed an insult that everything could be beautiful when they were robbed so terribly. They try to be above that kind of sentimental thinking, but they never truly can appreciate the spring until they finally gain immortality and replace painful old memories of their deceased parents with pleasant new memories of their children. Spring is their least favourite. Summer wins due to its climate. They grew up in Konoha, a sunny and warm landscape. They are accustomed to that and find themself more productive and in a better mood with the warmth to keep them going. They enjoy being outdoors and examining ruins and lost villages, this becomes more possible in merciful weather. They don't get overheated even on boiling days, so there are no real drawbacks for them.

🤯 or ✋, or both, whichever you fancy! ~~ @shatteredxlookingxglass

Send an emoji for a starter based on the trope // @shatteredxlookingxglass

🤯  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  recognises  yours  from  a  past  life,  but  your  muse  does  not  remember  them. ✋   -  a  starter  where  my  muse  traces  your  muse’s  scars. 

He was supposed to come back. The dim lights of the bar hang moodily above their head, candles replaced by modern fixtures of glass and electricty. So very different from their simpler youth. Menus are more complicated, drinks more dressed up, patrons fashioned in casual clothing lacking armor, signs flashing neon, streets paved and modernized instead of gravelled and rustic. Everything has changed in the last century. Everything except the Sannin sitting in the small bar, nursing a drink too fruity and not strong enough. They miss the liquor from the war days. It had the right kick. Despite having been born in the First Great War, and having fought and lived through the Fourth Great War, the viper looks not a day older than their mid twenties. Immortality looks good on them they decide. Eternally youthful despite being just shy of a hundred years old. But while they look exactly the same as they did in their youth, everything around them has dwindled out, the old replaced by the new. By all accounts, they shouldn't even be here. They are a criminal across five nations, and would be put straight back on trial for breaking their parole. Yet a custom is a custom. And they will not break it for the sake of the law. This is the bar they sat at every thursday afternoon with a dear friend. A friend now deceased. Who had been deceased since the Second Great War. An era of such immense tragedy, it had spiralled the serpent into a maddening depression. One that sought out violence and corruption. His death had sparked a grief that had transformed them from war hero to war criminal. His death had been what shaped them into a monster. His death had been the day they executed their old self to be reborn as someone entirely new. Someone stronger. At any wretched cost. The hopeful youth that would visit his home, drink his liquor, read his notes, listen to his stories and songs. That youth had their throat slit the moment their dear friend lost his life. He was supposed to come back. It's been more than half a century since Dan died. And yet, they have never moved on. They are still sitting at the same bar they used to frequent with him. They still hear the whistles of his song birds. They still picture him walking through the door. They still feel his presence. They don't know if Dan is haunting them, or if they chase his shadow out of pure psychosis. Perhaps they are the ghost. Haunting the same little corner in the same little bar. Never moving on from the last place they saw him alive. Smiling, talking, breathing.

They had thought they could bring him back, they had dabbled in necromancy to conjure his spirit. But never could they reach him. They swear dust will collect on their raven hair, their lavender kimono, their porcelain skin. They are little more than a statue frozen in time in this very town as they exist past their life expectancy. He was supposed to come back. That thought now resides in their mind every waking moment, and haunts even the sleeping ones. So when they suddenly catch his reflection in the window, they merely stare for a while. Calmly, as if they are first addressing their own mind and asking why such cruel tricks must be played so often. As if the ghost of him is not foreign. As if they are accustomed to the merciless trick of seeing the man they wished would come back to life. But his movement is not like the figments of their imagination. Nor is his voice as he makes a passing comment to the bartender. For a moment they try and think of what rational reason there could be. This isn't Dan, just a relative who looks identical. Maybe some punk shinobi stole the image of a deceased shinobi and is using henge for some unknown plight. Maybe their eyes are playing tricks on them. They watch him, but their own visage is hidden well. A cloak over their svelte figure. A shadowy corner. Avoiding attention because they are not meant to be here. When the bell chimes signalling Dan has opened the door and is leaving, the serpent slips from their chair too. The bartender eyes the viper cautiously, as if he wants to warn the silver haired stranger that a venomous missing-nin is pursuing him with interest, but thinking better of it to avoid the Sannin's wrath. Orochimaru follows Dan quietly, like a cat after a bird, knowing one wrong move and it will fly away forever. It feels almost too high stakes. As if the universe plays a trick on them. As if approaching him wrong, too quick or too slow, could mean he vanishes from their world all over again. Finally, they pounce. Maybe he lets them catch him, maybe they are above and beyond even an elite shinobi's reflexes due to their newest discovery of immortality. It doesn't matter. They have him pinned to a wall, their smaller figure deceptively strong when they back their movement with chakra. They have a dagger brandished to his throat, forcing him to stay still as it kisses his neck. Then they bring the blade down, and let the sharp edge slice down his shirts collar. It looks like they are toying with him, but instead they expose a scar they knew lays hidden there. Proof this is no imposter. For no one would know Dan as intimately as the seprent. No one could recreate a hidden scar. The serpent goes so silent that one could hear a hairpin drop. But instead, it is the clattering of their dagger that is heard as they release the blade to hold onto something more precious than a weapon in combat. First slim fingers glide down the scar to check it is real, to check it is authentic. Then slender arms suddenly throw themselves around his neck, pulling him in for a hug that has the vice grip of a boa constricting prey. Lunging at him for an embrace. How many times had they destroyed a bedroom? A rented inn room? A training grounds or research chamber? How many times had they had his memory flicker in their mind, rendering them either ensnared by rage, grief or both? How many times had they screamed his name in the night, in throes of anguish, as if hoping he might hear them and turn around from the afterlife to come right back to their side? How many times had they told themself they didn’t love him after all? Trying to convince themself in a futile attempt to not be quite so broken? How many times instead had they only managed to remind themself just how much they actually loved him instead? They had mourned him for more years than he had lived. Perhaps there are kinder words to offer him in this moment. Perhaps warmer sentiments. But they can not think of anything else to say but the honesty that rips itself from their shaken throat now choked by the tears they refuse to shed. “You took everything when you left.”

Hidan @scurriilous​

    SOUR is the only word truly qualified to describe the expression upon the Jashinist’s face. Brows crease, lips frowning ; like he’s in the presence of something repulsive and pungent. As the abomination comes to perch themselves upon his HIGH HORSE OF A SEQUOIA BUILD, a slitted, jagged gaze eyes them bitterly. Defiled is his cathedra. Challenged is his ego. Crawling is his milk white skin. Hidan never could quite place it, but something about Orochimaru always left him feeling rather … unsettled. It wasn’t intimidation - the Serpent could only dream - it was something awkward yet snide ; off yet alert. Such a displaced, ineffable feeling only further fuelled the Cleric’s disdain toward them. Not to mention the FUCKING PET NAMES - 

                       ‘ 𝑀𝑦 𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 ’

   ACIDIC bile threatens his gullet ( Jashin give me strength ) An already scrunched nose delivers a sigh of irritation, eye contact severed in an attempt to ignore the fanged, arrogant grin of his intruder, muttering out ❝ Ah. I see you haven’t changed. ❞  Midway through the musing an arm snakes it’s way to rest on his shoulder. In some alternate universe the image might be considered picturesque. 

A King and his companion ;                   Both stunning, capable, powerful and immortal.                   Only one is hallowed and the other is smoke and mirrors. 

   O’ Come, witness the THICK-HEADED as they play right into the Reptile’s hand, lifting himself from a seated position in order to reestablish dominance by making himself physically bigger, TALLER than his seated foe. From behind the pelt of his cloak he speaks, leering,

   ❝ If you’ve come all this way just to exchange pleasantries you’re wasting your breath. ❞ Simply put for a simple man. Why bother beating around the bush when you can plow right through it?

              ❝  I’ve lived this long under the assumption that you’re dead.      ─ Probably best we keep it that way. I couldn’t care less about your blasphemy, Orochimaru. ❞ Fuck a VIPER, Hidan regarded the other as no more than a troublesome PEST. A resilient cockroach that refused to roll over and die. How many more tales of this creature’s demise would spread across the Shinobi world until one finally rang true? Their pathetic experiments used to bite the ankles of eternal life transcended sin and epitomized sacrilege. 

 ❝ Now how’a bout you get the fuck out of my temple before I summon my henchman. I’ll send you a bill for the fumigation in the mail. ❞

His words are meant to offend, as is his crimson gaze, the sneer on his lips. Every cue he gives them, every sound, is intentionally trying to tell them how unwanted they are. That isn’t exactly a new reaction for the serpent, one may even say they are desensitized to it. Like a mischievous feline that thinks all attention is good attention, and has become ingrained to get the eyes of the room on them by completing irritating actions. Swiping a glass off a high table, seating itself where someone is trying to work. Feigned ignorance to test the others patience. But their intelligent eyes give them away, they know exactly what they are doing at all times.   How it delights them when Hidan gets to his feet to loom over them, how they might instead aim to annoy him further by acting like they haven’t noticed the attempt of dominance, feigning instead that they simply think he has risen from his throne to make room for them, and to perhaps give them a better full body view. They let their eyes sweep over his form, as if admiring it. And they do. He should be dead, decayed. But he is truly immortal. They then gracefully slip onto his throne, one leg crossed over the other, one arm perched lazily on the arm rest. Almost too much space allowed for their svelte figure on the more robust throne. A slender body barely takes up half the sitting room. They make up for their small stature with their large ego, “I have found my own version of immortality dear, wasting my breath is not so tragic anymore. It is not finite,” Orochimaru answers with a wicked smile, gazing over the domain Hidan rules from his throne. They chuckle at his next words, waving their hand at him as if to fan away the concept he speaks like one might an annoying insect, “now, what would a group of worship be without its local heretic?” the viper says, evidently willing to make mockery of the god held sacred in this domain.  They tilt their head curiously when he mentions his followers, perking up at the promise of violence, a flash in their eyes like the sudden attention of a wolf spotting a fast-footed deer. A prey drive that thrives off blood lust. But they settle themself, evidently having to physically remind their own mind to bury violent urges, “will you also send me the bill for your henchmen when I ensure their heads part ways from their bodies? We both know it would be an exercise in futility to remove me by force. And I’m far more compliant with a good deal. You know the drill better than anyone yes? Gods demand gifts and sacrifices to appease them. I don’t differ any.” they say. “Besides, I thought you might like the company. Especially with Konoha’s recent activity. They have the five nations all allied together, you stand alone. It would be a pity if that pretty face of yours was left buried alive, wouldn’t you say? Perhaps it’s time to worship another, Jashin has not been so kind to you.” they say, still stoking every fire and poking every bear for a bit of entertainment.  

// Just a heads up that I have so many lovely asks and threads I am eager to get to! But I am in the process of moving rentals and I just started at a new job all in the same month, so I may take a little while. I promise things are being worked on in between! Thank you for your patience ♡

send  an emoji  for  a  starter  based  on  the  trope.

tw:  dark  themes  present  ( blood,  death  etc )

“  my  muse  ”  is  the  muse  of  person  receiving  the  meme.  “  your  muse  ”  is  the  muse  of  the  person  sending  the  meme.

🛏️  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  have  to  share  one  bed.

💍  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  are  enemies  forced  to  marry.

⚔️  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  are  fighting  and  my  muse  admits  their  feelings  for  yours.  (  add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  admit  their  feelings )

😴  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  is  comforting  your  muse  after  a  nightmare.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  comfort  mine )

🤕  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  is  patching  up  your  muse’s  injuries.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  be  patching  up  my  muse’s  injuries. )

🥂  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  drunkenly  confesses  their  true  feelings  about  your  muse  to  them.

💭  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  chooses  to  give  up  their  memories  of  your  muse  to  save  them.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  give  up  their  memories  to  save  mine )

🥊  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  pins  yours  whilst  sparring.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  pin  mine )

🛡️  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  protects  yours  from  a  fight.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  protect  mine. )

🩸  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  is  injured  and  yours  demands  to  know  who  hurt  them.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  be  injured )

💋  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  have  to  kiss  to  maintain  their  cover.

🧑‍🤝‍🧑 -  a  starter  where  our  muses  are  fake  dating.

🤐  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  have  to  pretend  they’re  not  dating.

🤯  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  recognises  yours  from  a  past  life,  but  your  muse  does  not  remember  them.

☠️  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  admits  their  true  feelings  for  your  muse  after  believing  they’re  about  to  die,  but  they  survive.  (  add + reverse  for  your  muse  to  admit  their  feelings  to  mine )

🔪  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  kills  to  protect  your  muse.  ( add + reverse  for  your  muse  to  kill  to  protect  mine )

💔  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  breaks  your  muse’s  heart  to  save  them.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  break  my  muse’s  heart )

🌪️  -  a  starter  where  our  muses  are  trapped  together  during  a  storm.

💰  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  has  to  seduce  yours  for  information.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  try  to  seduce  mine )

✋   -  a  starter  where  my  muse  traces  your  muse’s  scars.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  trace  my  muse’s  scars )

🫂  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  runs  to  embrace  yours  after  winning  a  battle.  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  embrace  mine )

👗  -  a  starter  where  my  muse  helps  yours  get  ready  for  a  fancy  event  [ eg.  fixing  their  tie,  zipping  their  dress ]  ( add  + reverse  for  your  muse  to  help  mine  get  ready )

* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERS Send me a NUMBER for your muse to : 

001. — Backhand my muse. 002. — Stab my muse.  003. — Put out a cigarette on my muse’s skin. 004. — Hit my muse with a blunt object.  005. — Throw something large at my muse.  006. — Kick my muse. 007. — Punch my muse. 008. — Break one of my muse’s bones. 009. — Scratch my muse. 010. — Headbutt my muse. 011. — Shoot my muse. 012. — Knock my muse out. 013. — Strangle my muse. 014. — Push my muse roughly. 015. — Grab my muse by the hair. 016. — Bruise my muse. 017. — Threathen my muse with an object of harm.  018. — Go to harm my muse’s eyes. 019. — Bite my muse. 020. — Tear away parts of my muse’s skin. 021. — Force my muse’s head under water. 022. — Throw something scalding at my muse. 023. — Burn my muse. 024. — Step on my muse’s fingers. 025. — Rip one of my muse’s teeth out. 026. — Slash my muse’s achilles tendon ( s ). 027. — Clothesline my muse. 028. — Harm my muse enough for them to cough up blood.  029. — Drive into my muse with a vehicle. 030. — Electrocute my muse. 031. — Slam my muse against a wall. 032. — Force my muse’s arm behind their back. 033. — Kick my muse’s crotch. 034. — Trip my muse. 035. — Put my muse in a headlock. 036. — Break my muse’s nose. 037. — Force their fingers down my muse’s throat. 038. — Crack my muse’s head against a wall. 039. — Attempt to kill my muse. 040. — Attempt to kill my muse creatively.