The Chosen: A Kakuzu x Hidan fic
Title: The Chosen
Pairing: Kakuzu x Hidan
Rating: M at the moment for blood, but will be MA later on
Summary: Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. He has a choice as to how he can see the world. This is about Hidan, his choice, Kakuzu, and how sometimes there is more to things than what lies at the surface.
Warning: Blood for this chapter and extremely lengthy run-on sentences that, although grammatically correct, are long!
Fanfic.net link
AFF link
Status: In Progress
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Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. One of pain and death, sorrow and suffering. Churned out in a red sanguine wash and baptized with his mother’s tears, the first painful breath of life drawing a wail from his small white chest.
Looking out through his candy-colored eyes at a landscape painted in brutality by the cruelty of war, Hidan first knew hate. War was hell on earth, and other people were the origin of all that suffering. Their greed and lust, their never-ending desires for more than what they needed. And he hated them for it. He hated never having enough, always being hungry, always cold, always frightened, always discounted and ignored and marginalized because of his too-pale eyes and skin and hair and his pretty pretty face; not a warriors face.
But, there was one who looked at him and saw past the porcelain perfection down to his poisoned hate and anger and rage. A Jashinite priest who would become his mentor, his deliverer, his guide on the road to salvation; a road that would be paved in his own blood and suffering and agony and which led to a place where his life-blood became a weapon of death and his body and soul an indestructible tool that rose again and again, a triumph and a testament to Jashin.
Blood had spilled from his body in crimson rivers like prayers that rushed from his lips that very first awful time. Hidan had not been afraid though. He had the strength of his conviction like a mountain holding him up when first he took the piercing metallic rod and clasped it like a lover against his breast. Hidan took his own life, lifted it up in bloody hands and layed it on the alter for Jashin. A gift, an offering, a sacrifice; and Jashin in all His terrible glory glutted himself with the anguish prepared for Him, took it tenderly and mercilessly and reached down with his wicked hand and blessed-cursed Hidan as The Chosen.
Hidan trained as a shinobi after he was given The Gift. Nobody could deny him now- he was valuable, ruthless and indestructible. A perfect weapon that would not rust to ruin but shine on forever and ever, Amen.
He wasn’t afraid of pain, no, pain was the bread of his life, feeding his hungry God and in his ritual it brought with it catharsis. Because afterwards, when he felt the power of Jashin flowing through him, taking the heathen consecrated sacrifice along with his own pain and then, oh then! His body rejecting death, strength and power reforming him whole and pure and perfect, his skin anointed with blood and the taste of triumph in his mouth. He’d wept few enough times in his life that he could recall them- that first time had been one of them.
That first time. It was better than anything he could have imagined. He felt for once, like he mattered, like his life was not an endless, needless struggle going round and round in circles getting nowhere, being no one. He was worthwhile and valuable. Loved- it could not be called- Jashin was not a God of love but one of misery and hate, of suffering, agony, despair. Not ever love. So Hidan had taken what he could get, and like his wounded body, he gathered the hurt and pain and reformed it into something perfect.
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Like?
Pairing: Kakuzu x Hidan
Rating: M at the moment for blood, but will be MA later on
Summary: Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. He has a choice as to how he can see the world. This is about Hidan, his choice, Kakuzu, and how sometimes there is more to things than what lies at the surface.
Warning: Blood for this chapter and extremely lengthy run-on sentences that, although grammatically correct, are long!
Fanfic.net link
AFF link
Status: In Progress
--
Hidan was born into a world colored by blood and violence. One of pain and death, sorrow and suffering. Churned out in a red sanguine wash and baptized with his mother’s tears, the first painful breath of life drawing a wail from his small white chest.
Looking out through his candy-colored eyes at a landscape painted in brutality by the cruelty of war, Hidan first knew hate. War was hell on earth, and other people were the origin of all that suffering. Their greed and lust, their never-ending desires for more than what they needed. And he hated them for it. He hated never having enough, always being hungry, always cold, always frightened, always discounted and ignored and marginalized because of his too-pale eyes and skin and hair and his pretty pretty face; not a warriors face.
But, there was one who looked at him and saw past the porcelain perfection down to his poisoned hate and anger and rage. A Jashinite priest who would become his mentor, his deliverer, his guide on the road to salvation; a road that would be paved in his own blood and suffering and agony and which led to a place where his life-blood became a weapon of death and his body and soul an indestructible tool that rose again and again, a triumph and a testament to Jashin.
Blood had spilled from his body in crimson rivers like prayers that rushed from his lips that very first awful time. Hidan had not been afraid though. He had the strength of his conviction like a mountain holding him up when first he took the piercing metallic rod and clasped it like a lover against his breast. Hidan took his own life, lifted it up in bloody hands and layed it on the alter for Jashin. A gift, an offering, a sacrifice; and Jashin in all His terrible glory glutted himself with the anguish prepared for Him, took it tenderly and mercilessly and reached down with his wicked hand and blessed-cursed Hidan as The Chosen.
Hidan trained as a shinobi after he was given The Gift. Nobody could deny him now- he was valuable, ruthless and indestructible. A perfect weapon that would not rust to ruin but shine on forever and ever, Amen.
He wasn’t afraid of pain, no, pain was the bread of his life, feeding his hungry God and in his ritual it brought with it catharsis. Because afterwards, when he felt the power of Jashin flowing through him, taking the heathen consecrated sacrifice along with his own pain and then, oh then! His body rejecting death, strength and power reforming him whole and pure and perfect, his skin anointed with blood and the taste of triumph in his mouth. He’d wept few enough times in his life that he could recall them- that first time had been one of them.
That first time. It was better than anything he could have imagined. He felt for once, like he mattered, like his life was not an endless, needless struggle going round and round in circles getting nowhere, being no one. He was worthwhile and valuable. Loved- it could not be called- Jashin was not a God of love but one of misery and hate, of suffering, agony, despair. Not ever love. So Hidan had taken what he could get, and like his wounded body, he gathered the hurt and pain and reformed it into something perfect.
--
Like?